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H.M.S. COCKEREL - Dewey Lambdin
- Дата:01.10.2024
- Категория: Приключения / Морские приключения
- Название: H.M.S. COCKEREL
- Автор: Dewey Lambdin
- Просмотров:0
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Описание онлайн-книги H.M.S. COCKEREL - Dewey Lambdin:
Alan Lewrie works to get a leg over on Emma Hamilton, and comes face to face with the rising star in France, a guy called Napoleon, as well as the infamous Captain Bligh. Not a small feat!
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Ah, well, he shrugged, that was a bloody good day. Just didn't think I'd end up paying for it the rest of my natural life. Going on now a full seven years, and time hadn't mellowed any of the participants. He had to give the Embletons credit- they could hold a snit as good as he could.
And there was no sense in stirring the pot up further. Or in being seen as he was at that moment, sitting slumped and indecisive, like a beggar too fearful to knock for pittance at the back entrance of a rich man's manor.
Devil with 'em, he sneered as he turned the reins and clucked his tongue once more, urging the horse with his heels to an easy canter. The gelding knew the way as well as he; on past the Red Swan and a new bank of row houses, onto the Chiddingfold Road, west along the stream, thence over the wooden bridge to Chiswick lands, his rented corner of them, and home.
Where there's a better sort of welcome waiting, he grinned.
Chapter 2
'Ave 'at owf in a tick, sir," his groom told him as he alit in his stable yard. Bodkins took the reins and tied the horse, then knelt with a rag so Lewrie could prop his boot on a wooden bucket. " 'Ere ye be, sir… good'z noo."
"Thankee, Bodkins," Lewrie replied, free at last of rank goo. "Be sure he gets a good, warm rubdown. 'Tis a fearsome cold night."
" 'At I will, sir, never ye fear," the groom said. " 'Ere, Thomas, me lad. Untack 'e master's horse."
It was a fine new stone stable, attached to the older thatched-roof house that now served as the carriage house for two coaches; one light and open for good weather, and an older, boxy enclosed coach. Lewrie petted and fussed over the gelding before the stableboy led him away for his well-ieserved oats and rubdown. Lewrie crossed the stable yard, sure that his workers had shoveled before dark, sure he would;ncounter no more messy surprises lying in wait, on past the lulking older "wattle and daub" original barn where the prod-icts of the farm were stored to tide him, his kith and kin, and lis beasts, through the rest of the winter.
Uncle Phineas had leased them, and that quite grudgingly, 160 acres, a corner of his vast holdings at the foot of his lane, like a gatehouse to the manor proper. But it was close to the village and the Chiddingfold Road, and quite handy. A sheeper had been renting when they left in '86, but it was vacant upon their return. Acreage enough to run a middling flock of sheep, a few beef cattle and dairy animals, swine, goats, turkeys and chickens, with orchards and grape arbors enough for the home-farm to feed quite well. There was enough cleared land for a decently profitable crop of wheat and hay in addition to the sheep, with wood lots, kitchen gardens, access to three creeks and several sweet wells. Hops and barley gave them homebrew beer, and they were awash in preserved fruits.
The new house, though! The old thatched-roof cottage had been a two-story, smoky, bug-infested horror, and, since wages and construction materials had been quite low, they had run up a presentable new stone and gray brick Georgian house, for about a quarter of what a London manse its size might have cost. It gave Alan pleasure to know that it was as fine as anything Governour in his new wealth had built, or as uncle Phineas' gloomy old red-brick pile. The perverse old bastard would not part with land permanently, but had been bludgeoned into a long-term lease which would expire long after he did, so Alan had no fear of losing his Ј800 investment. And it made Phineas grind what few teeth he had left in his head, so it was more than worth every penny.
They had a slate roof as tight as a well-caulked and coppered ship of the line, and enough fireplaces to keep it snug and cozy on all but the iciest nights-windows enough, too, to keep it breezy and well lit in the warmer seasons. Fashion had demanded, and with Granny Lewrie's last bequest the Lewries could afford, a Palladian facade for the center hall, in imitation of Inigo Jones.
He stopped to admire it in the lantern light, taking cheer at the sight of amber-glowing windows and fuming chimneys confronting the frigid night. Even coming from the rear, between the now bleak kitchen gardens and the ornamental flower gardens and shrubberies on the west side near him, it was imposing, big as a brig!
The central hall jutted towards him, which held the kitchens, the still rooms, butler's pantry, storerooms and laundry facilities. Just off the kitchens, they had a private bathing room, with a marble tub big enough for two. Nearest him, too, was an intimate dining room where they most often took breakfast, or dined en famille, overlooking the cheery ornamental garden that was Caroline's pride. Nearer still was the library and music room, and his private study, in the front of the house, adjacent to a receiving parlour just off the foyer and its cloakroom. The hall was tiled and paneled, with a broad staircase which led up to a landing, and another pair-of-stairs. And beyond in the east wing was a dining hall and main parlour almost big enough to host a middling-sized guest list for a dance. Unfortunately, that was little used so far-one needed guests who'd accept one's invitations. So furnishings beyond bare bones were far from complete.
Over his head in the west wing was the nursery, the children's small bedrooms and the governess' quarters. Over the entry hall was their own spacious bedchamber and intimate study (actually, Caroline's sewing room, so far). There were three more bed-chambers for guests in the east wing-once again, vacant and unused. Hopefully, once the last Lewrie was out of "nappies," they planned to convert the nursery into a classroom for a private tutor, with lodgings in the east wing.
"I'm home!" He called out hopefully as he entered through the garden doors to his cozy study. He sailed his wide-brimmed farmer's hat at a wall peg and shrugged off his cloak, draping it over a wing chair near the cheery fireplace. Warmth was what he wished that instant, the Fires of Hell if he could get 'em. He raised the tails of his coat and backed so close to the hearth that his heels were almost between the firedogs.
"Didn' 'ear ya come in, sir," Will Cony said, entering from the central hall. " 'Spected ya through th' front, I did. I'll take yer things, 'ang 'em up f r ya, sir. Aye, 'ere's 'at of cat, Pitt, sir!"
The grizzled old battler shambled into the room, stalking slow and regal. William Pitt the ram-cat was getting on in years, spending most his days lazing in windows or patches of sunlight, but he still ruled the farm with fang and claw, and even the dogs slunk tail-tucked in terror when he was out and rambling.
Pitt's haughty entrance was disturbed, though, by the arrival of his middle son Hugh, who darted between Cony's knees, leaped the cat, and dashed for him, whooping like a Red Indian. Sewallis, his firstborn, entered behind him. William Pitt, outraged and his dignity destroyed, turned, raked the air in Sewallis' general direction, hissed and moaned before hopping up on his favorite wing chair to wash furiously. And Alan noted that Sewallis shied away from the cat, giving him a wide berth. That was all he had time for before Hugh tackled his leg, howling a greeting.
Alan laughed and reached down to pick him up, to lift him over his head and give him a light toss, making Hugh shriek with joy.
"There's my bold lad!" Alan rejoiced. "There's my dev'lish man! What mischief you been into today, hey?"
"Pwaying, daddy!" Hugh wriggled as he shouted his reply.
"Good Christ, you're in that much trouble again? I surely hope not Oh, play-ing, you mean, ha ha. And here's Sewallis. Come here, my boy. How was your day? Been keeping your brother out of scrapes?"
"Yes, father." Sewallis replied with his usual reserve. He cast a wary look over his shoulder in Pitt's direction to determine how safe movement might be, then dashed with unwonted haste as Lewrie held out his arms. The boy came to him dutifully for a more sedate welcome-home hug, and a kiss on the forehead.
"Good to be home," Alan told them both. "Cold as the Devil out tonight."
"Wa' yoo bwing me, daddy?" Hugh coaxed in an almost unintelligible voice. He was only three, and still having trouble pronouncing his "R's," so much so that even a doting daddy, who should have been familiar enough with baby talk, had difficulty understanding him. The boy's eyes gleamed, sly with expectation, clinging to Lewrie's knees, his tiny fingers beginning to probe all the pockets he could reach.
Thievery, Lewrie thought: runs in the family, don't it. Boy has a promising set of careers open to him, long as he doesn't get caught. Few years practice, though…
"Why, I brought myself, boy!" Alan chaffered, kneeling to eye level with them. "You don't get a pretty or a sweet every time I ride to town, do you?"
"Yess, ah dool" Hugh hollered.
"A body'd think I had to bribe you lads for affection."
"No puddy?" Hugh gaped, beginning to screw his face up for a heartfelt bawl of disappointment. This was betrayal at its blackest.
"Don't be a baby, Hugh, 'course he did." Sewallis chid him with a very adult-sounding touch of vexation.
Alan glanced at his eldest. Both the boys were "breeched" in adult clothing: stockings, shoes, breeches and waist-coats, shirts and stocks, their baby hair grown long enough to be plaited or drawn into a man's queue. But Sewallis suddenly sounded so very mature for his tender five years. Always had, Lewrie realized. Even young as Hugh, the boy had always been aloof, quiet and reserved (call it what you really think, damnit!)-timid-with none of the neck-or-nothing exuberance, the silliness or the folly of a normal boy. Scared of the cat? And for God's sake, he hardly ever goes near the damned pony I got 'em. A Lewrie afraid of a horse? An Englishman shy of a horse!
"Of course I brought you something," Alan announced, "just as Sewallis said, little man. Can you keep a secret?"
Hugh agreed with a firm nod as Alan peered into corners, like a housebreaker unloading his ill-gotten gains in a slum alley, an eye out for the previous owners.
"Rare treats," he promised. Hugh was giggling now, dancing in impatience and wonder. Sewallis.,. well, he was a little wide-eyed, but ever the little stoic. "I made an arrangement with a pirate and a smuggler, lads. Fiercest, meanest set of blackguards you ever did wish to see. Off they went, far as the East Indies. Down to Malabar. Oh, 'tis a mysterious, fearsome place-elephants, and snakes thick as my legs, heathen princes and headhunters. The pirate, he took 'em, and the smuggler, he got 'em out, one step ahead o' the headhunters. Then six months at sea on a tall 'John Company' ship they came, all the way from pagan Hindoo India. 'Round the Cape of Good Hope, over to the Argentine and the Plate for a slant o' wind-"
"Mister Lewrie-oh, excuse me." Mistress McGowan, the cheerless governess, had entered the room. She didn't approve of parents and children mixing except at teatime, perhaps after supper for an awkward moment or two of stilted conversation. Certainly not of parents who really wished to spend time with their children.
"Firewood and water, then off to St. Helena, the crossroads of the Atlantic, m'dears. Thence 'cross the Westerlies, daring all the French privateers, to Ushant. Up our good English Channel, into the Pool o' London up the Thames. From mysterious Malabar … a delight fit for the mighty Moghuls themselves!" He reached into his tail-coat pocket as the boys fidgeted.
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