Troubled Waters

their face, begin to sound… colourable.'

MacDougall swivelled about on his chair to grin at Lewrie, and then at those supporters from the Abolitionist Society seated behind him. He even tipped Lewrie the wink!

'Until such time as I come to a firm conclusion, I will not, as you, Counsellor MacDougall, request, declare the result of the Jamaican trial null and void, but… since such deep perusal and contemplation in search of the truth shall surely expand beyond this Law Term, and in fact far into the Michaelmas Term, I do find that there is no plausible reason why the accused may not be allowed his freedom after money bond is posted. Captain Lewrie?'

'Sir? Milord?' Lewrie piped up, rising to attention in the dock.

'Do you solemnly swear upon your honour as an English gentleman, and a Sea Officer of the King, to return to appear before this court at such time as I order?' Oglethorpe posed to him.

'I so swear, milord,' Lewrie firmly answered.

'Then you are, sir, for the moment, free to go, about your business on the King's Service,' Lord Justice Oglethorpe announced with a final rap of his gavel, 'and these proceedings are, for the nonce, at a conclusion.'

'Huzzah!' Burgess Chiswick howled, setting off the crowd once more, coming to embrace Lewrie and pound him on the back the second he left the confines of the prisoner's dock. A great many people came to do the same, clapping him on the back, shaking his hand vigourously, or even embracing him. And, from the ladies came enthusiastic curtsys and hand clasps, even some fervent, but chaste, kisses upon his cheeks. By the time his party reached the outer halls, Lewrie had amassed a rather cumbrous pile of posies and nosegays, as well.

'Free to go? Really?' Lewrie breathlessly asked his attorney.

'For now, yes, Captain Lewrie,' MacDougall happily assured him. 'Best we could expect, and thank God for Beauman behaving so de-witted! Doubt old Oglethorpe'll uphold the Jamaica trial, so… pardon me, my dear lady… a complete new trial will be necessary, and we both know that the Beaumans will press the matter hotly. Believe me when I tell you, though, Captain Lewrie, that I am more than ready for that, ha ha!'

Christ, does it ever end? Lewrie glumly thought, all joy of the moment dashed; all this is but a temporary reprieve? Niggles aside, I did steal 'em, and they'll be the first t'confess that I did, so…

Then the Rev. William Wilberforce was there, along with Hannah More, the Trenchers and their daughter Theodora, nigh-giddy with lady-like thrills over the court's decision; or, to have a handsome suitor such as Burgess Chiswick at her side, who had shot it out with hired assassins, and won, in support of the Noble Cause. Sir Malcolm and Lady Lucy Shockley were next up, Sir Malcolm sternly, but warmly, in approval, and even Lucy acting delighted.

'Let us celebrate!' MacDougall cried, once they were outside, ready to descend the steps to the street, and their waiting coaches.

'Hang, ye will!' Hugh Beauman swore from the window of his own departing coach, shaking a fist and walking-stick at them. 'Get ye yet, I will, ye vile sonofabitch! Bastard!' Which cries only thickened the shower of horse turds, rotten vegetables, curses, and paving stones that followed him.

'My treat, and gladly…,' Lewrie began to say, quite enjoying the sight, and reaching for his wash-leather money bag, but… 'My God! My money's gone! My pocket's been picked!' Frantically, Lewrie felt over his possessions, and found his watch and fob gone, too.

'What? In a court of law?' His father Sir Hugo gawped, unsure whether it was funny or not.

'Hallo, old son, and joy o' the day to ye!' Lord Peter Rushton cried as he and Clotworthy Chute came to congratulate him. 'What? Yer pockets picked? Ain't that damned gall!'

' 'Three-handed Jenny,' I'd wager,' Clotworthy stated with a grim and knowing nod. 'Never misses a sensational gathering. Pretty light-brown-haired wench, with big blue eyes? Recall a kiss or touch from a girl o' that description, Alan? I'll see to her. Grand at the 'liftin' lay,' Jenny is. Could filch a violin an' leave the music playin,' she can, but damme if she'll get away with it this time. Not from one o' my friends, she won't. Know where she lodges, haw haw!'

'Damme if there wasn't a money bond I was t'post, too,' Lewrie realised. 'Mister MacDougall, what of that matter, if I haven't…?'

'A note-of-hand 'pon your solicitor or banker will serve just as well,'

MacDougall told him. 'Damme! Right in the law court! I warned you law's a foul business, but I say!'

'Celebratin', were ye?' Lord Peter queried. 'Think nothing of money, Alan, for you'll not pay ha'pence. Allow me to treat… should you gentlemen allow me, and Clotworthy here, to spur good cheer along.'

'Know the very place!' MacDougall quickly agreed, making Lewrie sure that wherever they lit, it would be grander and more expensive an establishment than any he had had to pay for with MacDougall before! 'Alan, might ye oblige me?' Sir Hugo asked.

'Oh! Remiss o' me,' Lewrie said, ready to slap his forehead. 'Father, allow me to name to you Lord Peter Rushton and Mister Clotworthy Chute old friends of mine from Harrow. Expelled the same time as me, unfortunately. Lord Peter, Clotworthy… my father, Sir Hugo Saint George Willoughby.'

'Lord Peter… Mister Chute,' Sir Hugo replied, shaking hands with them in turn. 'Of the school governor's coach-house fire, I take it, haw haw? Harrow men, hey? '

'Briefly' came from Lord Peter, from Clotworthy, from Lewrie and finally, an echo of 'briefly' from Sir Hugo as well.

'Never would've taken, anyway, Sir Hugo,' Lord Peter haw-hawed right back. 'Education's rather over-rated, don't ye know. Not quite necessary in Lords, I've noted.'

'Mister Chute, sir,' Sir Hugo said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. 'You are familiar with London 's underclass, I take it?'

'Enough to warn those who come to the city and request my services yes Sir Hugo,' Clotworthy replied with a greasy smile. 'Guard 'em, their purses and… morals. All that,' Chute simpered.

'Excellent! We must speak, sir! Hugh Beauman, hmm?' Sir Hugo said with a wink, knowing a rogue or a pimp by sight.

'Oh, deuced wicked, yes!' Chute quickly agreed, hopeful of huge profits from such an under-handed commission; which sort was right up his alley. 'Where are we to celebrate, sirs? So that I may find you, once I retrieve Alan's possessions from 'Three-handed Jenny.''

'Why, it'll be just like old times, won't it, Alan, old son!' Peter Rushton crowed as they went down the steps to the waiting equipages. 'Merriment mirth, and glee… with wine freely flowing!'

That's what I should be feared of^! Lewrie thought with a wince.

BOOK III

In Fame's temple there is always a niche

to be found for rich dunces, importunate

scoundrels, or successful butchers of the

human race.

JOHANN GEORG VON ZIMMERMAN,

Swiss physician, writer (1728-1795)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN