A King`s Trade

'I suspect Fillebrowne figured out he'd been finessed, sooner or later, learned that Chute and I were old friends… acquaintances, really… perhaps he and… my former mistress,' he said, avoiding Phoebe's name, as if to deprive Twigg of un-necessary information… just in case, 'had an angry parting? Sharp an eye as she had, when it came t'treasures, if she tipped him that they were frauds, he'd've gone off like a bomb on her. On me! And, he'd have seen, or heard, just enough needful t'pen scurrilous letters to Caroline, in revenge.'

'One could see his reason for pique, yayss,' Twigg mused, those long fingers of his steepled thoughtfully under his chin, not exactly mocking, at that instant. 'Though, you do have that effect on people. But, was Commander Fillebrowne still possessed of active commission, I do not see how he could stay… current anent your, ah… pastime.'

'There's been nothing… current,' Lewrie querulously replied. 'Not since I sailed for the Caribbean. Well, the last bits… about Mistress Connor lodging with me at Sheerness for a week before we departed…' he admitted with a squirm. 'And, afore that, about the two-dozen doxies my solicitor was t'pay, for services rendered…'

'Two-dozen prostitutes?' Twigg barked, as if in breathless awe, going so far as to lay one hand on his heart. 'What stamina! Damme, Lewrie, but I am impressed!'

'For helpin' me kill belowdecks mutineers, so I had enough true men t'take back my ship and escape the Nore Mutiny!' Lewrie retorted. ' 'Wos innit f'me? Wos innit f'me?' ' he snipped, impersonating lower-class dialect main- well, after twenty years of exposure to it. 'They wouldn't've tried it on, else! Christ, my report to Admiralty got 'em letters of appreciation, ev'ry last one of 'em! And, I didn't lay one single finger on any of 'em, but someone twisted it into a scandal!'

Idly, and illogically, the face and form of the then-tempting young Sally Blue did cross his mind. Black hair, blue eyes, promising poonts, and a waist 'bout as slim as a sapling pine…!

'And was Commander Fillebrowne's ship at the Nore at this time?' Twigg pressed, looking grimly intent. 'And, do you believe Lady Lucy was aware of your doings, as well?'

'No, don't think so,' Lewrie had to confess, going as slack as a sail in the Atlantic Doldrums. 'So, damme if I know who.'

'No other suspects, then?' Twigg asked, one dubious brow raised.

'Well, in my madder moments, I sometimes fancy it was you!'

Both of Twigg's brows leaped upwards at that statement. He sat back so quickly in his chair that Lewrie could hear the joinings squeak in protest. Then, to make Lewrie feel even worse (was such a thing possible at that instant), Twigg quite uncharacteristically threw back his head, opened his mouth, and began to guffaw right out loud!

In an evil way, it went without saying.

CHAPTER SIX

Lewrie had to bite the lining of his mouth to keep a tranquil face on, as Mr. Twigg exhausted his highly-amused outburst; he eased off from red-faced brays to napkin-covered 'titters,' thence at last to a top-lofty and nose-high sardonically-superior air of very faint humour-lordly chuckles of the arrogant kind, which more suited Mr. Twigg's usual nature.

'Oh, Lewrie…' Twigg finally drawled, after a restorative sip of wine. 'Believe me, sir, did I wish you destroyed, professionally or personally, such a nefarious ploy would never be required. All I'd have to do is sit back and watch you do in yourself! Besides… what reason would I have to attempt such… hmm? Merely because your ways of prosecuting the King's enemies now and then row me beyond all temperance?'

'Well…'

'Which they do… now and then,' Twigg intoned, with a vicious twinkle in his eyes, as if he enjoyed turning this particular victim on his roasting spit. 'Despite the mute insubordination you've shewn me whenever we've been thrown together… your truculent reluctance to sully your hands with underhanded duties that force you to get out of bed earlier than is your wont… or, out of some doxy's bed, more to the point… I have always been more than amply-gratified with the results you achieved, and have expressed my satisfaction with you, and your methods of fulfilling my aims, to your, and my, superiors following our ev'ry assignment.

'Secret reports, of course,' Twigg added, with a casual wave of his free hand, the sort of gesture that put Lewrie in mind of someone tossing tidbits overboard to the sharks. 'Bless my soul, must I have gushed? Does your long-held enmity arise from a lack of vocal praise? Was I remiss in not patting you on the back… or the top of the head? Would a box of sweets make up for it?' Twigg posed facetiously.

'Damn my eyes…!' Lewrie began to say.

'No matter what you've thought over the years, Lewrie, I admire your good qualities,' Twigg stated as he reached for his knife and his fork once more. 'On the, other hand, your good qualities have at times been rather damned hard to find, but…'

A mouthful of food, a cock of the head as he savouried it, then a palate-cleansing nibble of bread and a sip of wine followed Twigg's admission.

'I will confess that my sense of duty, and urgency in the fulfillment of that duty, might have given you the impression that you're little more than an occasionally borrowed gun-dog of doubtful lineage,' Twigg said on, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. 'I have gathered that I sometimes do act more brusquely with others than they might've preferred, but… to use a military simile, it little matters to me do the officers' mess dine me in as a 'jolly good fellow,' just so long as they perform as required to attain success 'gainst our foes.'

No J Really? Lewrie thought tongue-in-cheek; Such an out-going and amiable fellow like yourself? Perish the thought!

'Believe me when I tell you, Lewrie,' Mr. Twigg continued, now stern-faced and cold, 'that people who've displeased me in the past I have ruined, for the good of the country, and, when naval or military force was involved, for the good of their respective services, in the long view. Had I really felt call to ruin you, whyever had I not had you cashiered years ago, hey?'

'Well…' Lewrie was forced to realise.

'Your personal life… such as it is…' Twigg scoffed on, with a leery roll of his eyes, 'has no bearing on your public life, or your service to the Navy. Unless you were a drunkard, a rapist, or a brute so heedless and flagrant as to become a public spectacle, and a newspaper sensation. Thankfully, you're rather a mild sort of sinner. You know how to keep your 'itches' scratched with little notice. Sub Rosa, as it were. As an English gentleman should, or he ceases being a gentleman, and then you'd deserve ev'ry bit of your come-uppance.'

Lewrie could have little to say to that. He squirmed a little more on his chair, and blushed like a Cully chastened by a very stern old vicar, ready to swear he'd never do whatever it was, again.

'Put me in mind of the Scot poet Robert Burns, you do, Lewrie,' Twigg said with a thin-lipped smile and a simper. 'Know of him, hey?'

'Aye,' Lewrie allowed himself to admit.

'Burns said of himself that he was, ah… 'a professional fornicator with a genius for paternity,' ' Twigg quoted with a chuckle.

'Ah-hmm,' Lewrie said, clearing his throat with a fist against his mouth.

'Despite that, Burns wrote simply marvellous songs and poems,' Twigg allowed, thawing a little. 'Despite your shortcomings, you are an invaluable asset to the Navy, and the Crown, Lewrie, and I'll not let you be 'scragged' over this smarmy jape of yours 'gainst the Beauman family. Not 'til this war is done, and we've wrung the last drop of usefulness from you. You're as much a weapon as any broadside of guns ever you, or anyone else, fired.'

'Thank you, sir,' Lewrie felt called to reply, with a shiver of relief that someone, no matter how horrid, was on