Troubled Waters

might settle upon him!'

'He hasn't tried cases in King's Bench, then?' Twigg posed with a frown on his face, his spidery long fingers flexing on his glass.

'Oh, many, sir!' Sadler countered. 'For those accused who may meet his honorarium, or who have family and friends who may have the wherewithal to support their kinsman's, or friend's, cause. Not that often on the defence, mind you, gentlemen. Mister MacDougall says he suspects that placing one's reputation at risk, should he lose, might not suit Sir George's cautious nature. No, he has been engaged most often to prosecute, and has an estimable record of success at it. As Mister MacDougall says, though, most of those were open-and-shut cases with but little doubt of the accused's guilt, nor the outcome of the proceedings.'

'I see,' Twigg said slowly, drawing out the phrase, and with a sly grin spreading on his skeletal face, thin lips drawn upward. 'And, after seeing Captain Lewrie's name featured so prominently in the newspapers, perhaps even in some of those Abolitionist Society tracts, and such, he scented a chance to shine in a most prestigious case, certain that the fame resulting from the successful prosecution of a well-known figure would polish his repute to a high gloss, aha!'

'And, if he read the transcript, and took the Beaumans' lies as Gospel Truth… !' Lewrie exclaimed, snatching at sudden hope, after a dismal few hours.

'… not realising how despicably and shamefully the Beaumans cheated, and colluded…!' Burgess, ever a staunch ally, cried in like glee. 'Why, it must've looked as easy as a stroll in Hyde Park! And, thousands of pounds in his bank account for two hours' work, to boot!'

'Yayss,' Mr. Twigg drawled, 'for I am sure that the solicitor who engaged him for the Beaumans made known to him how King Croesus-wealthy the Beaumans are, and how large an honorarium he could demand.'

'Mister MacDougall, sirs, is confident that Sir George is not yet cognisant of how weak his case really is,' Sadler stated, 'nor how colourable is the testimony, and the veracity of the witnesses quoted in that transcript. Mister MacDougall said for me to tell you, Captain Lewrie, and I quote, 'that, forearmed as we now are, I fully expect to eat Sir George Norman, and the Beaumans, alive, in court.''

'Thank bloody Christ!' Lewrie breathed, ready to leap to his feet, raise his arms in victory, and perform a spastic dance around the room!

'That is why your presence in London is urgently necessary, sir,' Sadler went on, pouring cold water on that wee horn-pipe of joy.

'D'ye mean, now the Beaumans are in England, we're goin' t'court right now}' Lewrie spluttered, visibly paling a trifle, and with a sinking feeling under his heart. 'Tomorrow, or…?'

'Oh no, sir!' Sadler countered, his attempt at a sympathetic and reassuring smile more of a leer at clients' ignorance of the law, than anything else. 'As I said earlier, the Michaelmas Term, in October, is the earliest we may expect. No, this would be more in the way of an evidentiary hearing, a preliminary, to stave off the prosecution. My employer wishes you to be in London no later than day after tomorrow… in your best fig, he told me to tell you, Captain Lewrie. Best of your uniforms… I'd suppose today's, for the wedding, will suffice. Though, ah…,' Sadler cautioned with an 'ahem,' and a cough into his fist, 'perhaps it might be best did you coach up in civilian clothes.'

'In mufti,' Lewrie's father said with a knowing nod, and a bit of Hindee slang. 'So any bazaari badmashes the Beaumans might have hired don't recognise him, aha.'

'Surely, you do not imagine that any English gentleman, even if reared in the Colonies, would stoop to violence, or murder, sir!' Mr. Sadler gasped. 'The Law grinds slow, but fine, and to go outside of the Rule of Law would be…'

'Revenge is the reason for half the murders, Mister Sadler, and yes, dignified, home-grown English gentlemen do it all the time,' Mr. Twigg harshly told the naive Sadler (and he should know what he was talking about, after all his deeds and experiences!). 'Or, they hire on bully-bucks, so their own hands stay clean.'

'Ye don't know the Beaumans, if ye think they're civilised. I was ordered out of port after Kit Cashman shot Hugh Beauman's brother, and I shot his cousin,' Lewrie sourly commented. 'Else, I'd have ended up dead in a dark Kingston alley, with my throat slit, a second duel for revenge bedamned. They're vicious brutes, for all the money, land, and slaves they own… English-born or not.'

'The high-handedness of Lewrie's trial, Mister Sadler,' Mister Twigg archly said, 'as if they own the courts on Jamaica? If they may present such calumnies in a court of law, so prideful as to think they may get away with anything so fraudulent, should be proof enough for you as to what innate English respect they hold for the Rule of Law, and how unscrupulous, and dangerous, the Beaumans may be when rowed beyond all temperance.'

' What temperance?' Lewrie scoffed. 'Never had any.'

'I see,' Sadler murmured, both enlightened and appalled.

'Alan and I shall coach together,' Sir Hugo offered, 'with my man, Trilochan Singh. B'tween the three of us, the Beaumans'd need a squad o cutthroats t'do him in.'

'Why not hire a band t'lead the way, while we're at it?' Lewrie gravelled, heading for the brandy, too fretful to sit any longer. 'We could stand out like a royal fireworksl 'Ooh, Da… lookit th' foreign feller! Oo's 'at wif 'im, 'at Lewrie git?' Mine arse on a…'

'To the contrary,' Mr. Twigg interjected with a sly expression. 'A grand show's the very thing. Sir Hugo and I came down together in a hired coach, not the diligence, with Singh, and my man, Ajit Roy… who, I may dare say, is as dangerous an opponent as Singh, though not a Sikh sworn by his faith to wear the 'seven steels'. Mild appearance on Ajit's part has led many a foe to underestimate him. Dead foes, I am happy to relate, hmm? No, we shall coach to London as grand as any lord and his retinue. Sir Hugo in his uniform, Singh in his, and Ajit Roy in his best native, holiday suiting. You, Lewrie, in the clothing you now stand in. T'would take an extremely well-paid gang of bully-bucks who'd dare attack such a party.

'Lewrie!' Twigg snapped, turning his gaze as quickly as a famished falcon in his direction. 'Have you, among your crew, any tars who'd relish a fight, does it come to it? Sailors who'd kill, if it is required? Any who might enjoy a melee… to the knife?'

'Bloody dozens, I suspect,' Lewrie said with a sly smile of his own, recalling past battles, and those possessed of the hottest blood-lust during a boarding action. 'My Cox'n, Liam Desmond, he's a battler… his mate Patrick Furfy. Not the sharpest thinker, but he is big, strong, and like most Irish, dearly loves a good scrap. And, there's Jones Nelson, one o' my Black, uh… volunteers. Monstrous-big, and very strong. Not so good with cutlass or pistol, but Nelson is daunting, just t'look at, and does wonders with mauls, logger-heads, and wooden rammer staffs.'

'The more exotic, the better,' Mr. Twigg agreed, nigh purring. 'Good, we are agreed, then. Dawn, day after tomorrow, we shall, with those additions, coach to London.'

'Make room for me,' Burgess Chiswick offered. 'I did not pack my own uniform, but I did fetch along a brace of double-barreled pistols, and, may one of you gentlemen lend me a sword…?'

'I've some spare French officers' swords aboard my ship. Pick whichever you like, Burge,' Lewrie offered.

'We'll be arseholes to elbows, but…,' Sir Hugo said, flexing his fingers on the hilt of his costly tulwar, as if looking forward to a violent encounter somewhere 'twixt Portsmouth and the Elephant and Castle posting-house in London. 'Perhaps anyone sent to intercept us might think that Lewrie and his armed sailors are the Impress, looking for fresh muscles for the Navy, and shy off, haw haw!'

'Should I also fetch cutlasses for Singh and Ajit Roy?' Lewrie asked.

'No need,' Sir Hugo told him with a grin. 'A hanger sword's a part of his seven blades. In his luggage already.'

'Ajit Roy and I, ah… are always… prepared,' Twigg added.

Just bet ye are, Lewrie thought; daggers, swords, pistols, and a pair o' swivel-guns, t 'boot! Mounted t 'either beam o 'yer coach?

'Well then, gentlemen,' Sadler said, draining the last of his brandy and setting his glass aside with a determined thump, as if the meeting was gavelled to adjournment. 'I must be off in pursuit of the happy groom, to obtain his deposition and Lieutenant's journals, then join' you in London as soon as possible. It is obvious that I depart, leaving Captain Lewrie in the safest of hands.'

'And I could use a lie-down, 'fore supper,' Sir Hugo said with a yawn as he finished his own brandy and rose to