No commitments, no embarrassing entanglements, no…!
His sane moiety pointed out that, surely, 'Eudoxia' might have a lover or protector among the circus or theatrical troupe, already, someone jealous, hulking… someone like Jose, perhaps, who'd proved his skill with knives, who had wild beasts to sic on him, someone who might pester him to death with clowns, if nothing deadly fell to hand.
No matter, he felt… 'Invited.'
And, damme, lam curious /he told himself; What harm in that?
So, now without a certain amount of trepidation, lest he'd misunderstood the wench's broad gestures, he alit from the stands once it appeared that the night's entertainment was winding down, and casually ambled, as innocently as he might, over towards the circus's screened-off area, even going so far as to stick his hands into the pockets of his breeches, most un-officer-like, and attempt to whistle a gay air to disarm the squinty looks he was getting from the thickly-muscular 'Hindoo strongmen,' and some equally strong and daunting sailors off Festival, who did double duty as roustabouts and guards over Wig-more's property. He could reassure himself that he still owned a watch, and a full purse, if nothing else!
Before he got quite to his destination, though, the curtained-off backstage area erupted performers and beasts, out to take a final parade and their last bows from an adoring audience, and he ended up standing there looking foolish. A minute later, he felt even more of a Cully as smarmy, slick-looking local young gentlemen and pretenders came stroking their mustachios and leering, with flowers in hand, on much the same mission as his!
Oh, bugger this! Lewrie scowlingly thought, feeling hot under the collar, and even more embarrassed to be lumped in with such sprogs. He turned away and shaped his stroll out towards the empty end of the vast plaza, towards the fountains, statuary, and such, when…
'Cap'm Lewrie!' Daniel Wigmore gaily called out, as the torches and lanthorns were doused, and the tinny little band strangled their last notes and fell silent. 'Why, bless me soul, Cap'm sir, but 'ow'd ye h'enjoy me show?' Wigmore came bustling up through the departing crowd, beaming and bobbing at one and all to take bows of his own from them for a successful performance.
'Why… I thought it was simply capital, Mister Wigmore, sir, and I dearly wish my sailors could come ashore to witness it!' Lewrie cried back, stopped in his tracks and removing his hands from his pockets to doff his cocked hat. 'Enjoyed it immensely, especially…'
' 'Owever not, then, sir?' Wigmore wondered aloud as he came up and not only doffed his own huge, Austrian-style fore-and-aft bicorne, adrip with gilt lace and egret plumes sufficient to stuff a large and fluffy pillowcase, but stuck out his hand for a hearty shake. 'Fetch 'em ashore t' next night's performance, why don't ye?'
'Ah, that'd be up to our Captain Treghues, Mister Wigmore, and he'll not allow shore liberty, not in Recife, at least,' Lewrie said. 'Perhaps at Saint Helena, which is more a garrison than a civilian, and desertible, liberty port. My lads'd relish that, aye, sir.'
'Aye, that'd bulk th' gate, 'sides th' few poor sodgers stuck h'out there wif nary a di-wersion,' Wigmore happily agreed, the sound of silver coins dropping into his receipts sack in his mind's fantasy. 'Why, there must be 'undreds o' th' buggers, ah ah!' he purred, with his hands rubbing greedily together. 'Promise me, Cap'm Lewrie, ye'll do all ye may t'git yer sailors, allyer sailors, an' them off t'other warships, ashore so'z we can h'amaze 'em, an' I'll give yer officers an' ye free h'admittance, h'often'z ye'd like!'
'That'd be grand, too, Mister Wigmore,' Lewrie told him, 'and, at Saint Helena, you'd be staging your plays, as well, so, did Captain Treghues allow, we might even be able to attend several nights… one night the circus, the next a comedy, the next a drama, or opera, or, in this case, what they call an operetta. I was quite taken with how your performers filled so many roles. Surely, what they may do on a stage would be even more interesting, revealing such a well of talent, so to speak. Does, erm… Eudoxia, for instance, or whatever her real name is… play dramatic roles, as well?'
I sound like a 'Country-Put' sniffin' round a Pimp.'Lewrie chid himself, feeling a burn rise up from his collar once more; like a young buck tryin' t'sneak backstage at Drury Lane!
'Why, h'Eudoxia h'is 'er real name, sir,' Wigmore declared with a wry squint of understanding at him, 'th' 'princess' part's a bit of a stretch, but she did come from somewheres 'round th' Greek or Turkish 'Ellespont… s'truth! 'Er King's h'English h'ain't all that good t' play h 'important talkin' parts, but she goes down well when it come to supportin' roles, h'at comedies an' such… chorus singin', and, wot we calls in th' trade the h'ingenue. Like 'er show, partic'lar, Cap'm Lewrie?' he asked with a knowing nod and smile.
'Most impressive, indeed,' Lewrie confessed, reddening more.
'Why, ye should tell 'er 'ow much ye were h'impressed!' Wigmore exclaimed, all but taking Lewrie by the elbow to steer him towards the tentage. 'Come backstage wif me, an' we'll do that this werry minute!'
'I'd be, ah… delighted!' Lewrie agreed, much took quickly to make it sound casual, so he amended, 'if that would be no imposition on your performers' privacy, o' course, ah…'
Wigmore looked at him most disbelievingly, damn' near goggled in point of fact, as he led him past the hopeful, leering local senhores and into the backstage area. And, knowing the goal of Lewrie's wish to 'congratulate' his performers, took his own sweet time getting round to the object of Lewrie's quest. Lewrie was, perforce, made acquaintance with the horses; the parrots, who made use of his shoulders and arms for roosting branches; the terriers of the dog act, who found the permanent scent of cats on him equally delightful; a joyful rencontre with Fredo, and his brother Paulo (once the dog pack had been forcibly removed), both of whom seemed devilish-glad to see him, again; and both mother and baby camel, which involved rather a great deal of slobbers.
Hello to Jose, hello to almost everyone; a handshake with that eye-patched skeleton who made the lions perform, though without having to ruffle any lion fur, for those beasts were already back in a stout iron cage, gnawing on what little was left of their earlier supper.
Finally…
'An' surely ye remembers our darin' h'archer, Cap'm Lewrie,' Wigmore said with a sly simper. 'H'Eudoxia, darlin'… ye recollect Cap'm Lewrie o' th' Proteus frigate, wot stopped us?'
'Da, I do… yes,' Eudoxia purred, cocking a brow at him as if to ask what took him so long. The scanty outfit and wig were now gone and she sported a thin silk dressing robe belted at the waist, looking as if she'd had a quick sponge-off right after the final parade. Her own hair had been brushed back into a single long mane, and the garish makeup she'd worn in the ring had been removed, as well. No cosmetics of a more conventional nature had replaced it, either; even so, Eudoxia appeared nigh-flawless, fresh-scrubbed, with her natural colour still high from her satisfaction with her performance, and her excitement at being in the public eye for a bit.
There was no curtsy or bow; she stuck out her hand man-fashion to shake with him, catching him in mid-'leg,' forcing Lewrie to shift his hat from his right hand to his left to respond in kind, and finding her grip surprisingly strong, her slim fingers tautly lean.
'Your servant, Mistress Eudoxia,' Lewrie said by rote.
'You are havink parrot shit on your shoulder, Kapitan Lewrie,' she said, instead, reaching for a damp towel to sponge his coat, with an impish grin on her face; which kindness and care for his appearance required her to step overly close to his left side. With her in flat slippers, Eudoxia's chin was just below the point of his shoulder; shod in shoes with fashionably, and sensibly, low heels, she might stand within two or three inches of his own height of five feet nine. Looking larboard at her work, her face seemed solemn, but her eyes glittered and crinkled with well-hidden glee.
'Very kind of you, Mistress Eudoxia,' Lewrie told her. 'Normally sponging off my coat would involve cat fur.'
'You havink pet cats?'
