The French Admiral (4 page)

“And did you?” Alan asked, stroking her hips and thighs.

“What da you think,” she said, smirking. “With the Colonel, hit's lay down're get knocked down. Doubt there's a girl in the Caralinas he hain't had, even he had ta rape 'em ta take what he wanted. Tom weren't too happy on me after that, got all upset, but he knew ah was whorin' when he met me. Maybe that's why he wuz sa eager ta leave me here in Chawlst'n when the army marched north. Momma went on with 'em ta Wilmin'ton, but Tom left me twenty pounds an' tole me he couldn't take no camp followers along as they wuz gonna march light an' fast. Raght after that, the money wuz runnin' out, so ah took up with Lady Jane an' come away with her hyuh.”

Alan suspected there was more to Lieutenant Woods's rejection of her than she was telling, but it didn't really matter. She was out of her bad mood and still in bed with him, without a stitch on, and it was barely three in the afternoon. Alan stroked her into a better mood soon enough, and this time, perhaps from some gratitude she felt for his listening, or for his seeming concern, she was more properly passionate, and gave him the best rides he had known in months.

I feel like a fool, anyway, Alan thought as they left the house in the gloom of early evening. It was five, and they would barely be able to get back to the landing and take a boat out to their ship to report on time.

Alan had left her a crown, despite all his good intentions not to be gulled by the girl, and he carried a hastily written letter from Bess to her mother in the event they put into Wilmington or caught up with the army.

“And how was Della?” Alan asked David as they strolled loose hipped along the dirt road for the lower part of town.

“Damned interesting,” David said. “Not as virginal as she seemed at first, thank God. Almost made me feel as if I were ravishing her for the first time for a while there.”

“Lots of tears and entreaties?”

“Well, there's that,” David confessed. “I suppose that is something they all do.”

“Only if it pays,” Alan said with a lofty air of superiority in amorous dealings. “With an older man, she might have been a fishwife, if that was what was desired. Now you take that Bess. Started off acting like I was a great treat until she found all the acting wasn't necessary. They all have an air that appeals more to one than another. They're probably comparing tips and sharing notes about us to see what will make them more money from the next pair of fellows like us. Might even take turns playing the ravaged innocent,” Alan said cynically.

“My God, what a hard bastard you are,” David said.

“What did you think we bought back there, undying love?”

“No matter what you say, I think she truly liked me, beyond the coin we gave her and her mistress,” David said stubbornly.

“She might have, David, but it don't signify once we're gone,” Alan said. “Tonight she'll be just as nice to the next man with money in his purse. What difference? We got what we wanted. Now, someone you could set up as your mistress, that might be a different story.”

“She was not some drab you rattle in an alley,” David insisted. “She's more a courtesan, taking hours to please instead of a quarter hour and a quick wash. She has time to decide whom she truly likes or dislikes and is probably genuinely glad to see a favored customer again. I felt sorry for her, actually.”

“Well, I can't think it natural that two such pretty girls have to take to that life except from sheer necessity,” Alan said, realizing David would believe what he wished. He did not want to dispel all David's illusions or ruin his birthday remembrances with the brutal truth. And Bess had rung true, and had treated him with what felt at the end to be almost genuine fondness, and he did not think her so jaded or skilled.

“My sentiments exactly,” David said firmly.

“Still, without necessity, there'd be a lot fewer available and obliging young girls to make sport with, so I think we should propose a toast to brute needs when we're back aboard,” Alan said, tongue in cheek.

“Especially our brute needs,” David laughed, tipping Alan's cocked hat forward onto his nose. “Remember what Wilkes said, A few good fucks and then we die.”

“Speaking of brute needs,” Alan said, looking up and down the street, and to where it joined a busier thoroughfare in the market area, “keep a sharp lookout while I pump my bilge on these . . . azaleas, or whatever.”

He stepped into the weeds until he was out of sight and unbuttoned his breeches to make water.

“No worry, Alan,” David told him softly. “No one coming but a pack of men with a cart.”

“Fine. Be out directly.”

“Jesus Christ!” David yelped. “Alan!”

“What?” Alan yelled back, aware of the sounds of running feet in the dirt of the road. He did up enough buttons to preserve modesty and stepped out into the lane, hand on his dirk.

There were three men on the road, big bruisers with staffs in their hands, all intent on beating David senseless, hemming him in as he stepped back with his dirk drawn. Two more faced the weeds, waiting for Alan.

“Get the Tory shits now,” one man rasped.

“The hell you will,” Alan said, drawing his own weapon. The man from the pair nearer him swung his staff. Alan leaped at him, taking the wood on his forearm and palm with a loud smack that almost paralyzed his left arm, but he was inside the man's guard, arm extended.

He buried his dirk hilt deep in the man's stomach, bringing a howl of agony, for it was a death wound, death for sure not too many days in future. He bulled over him as the man collapsed, using the body as a shield against the second man's staff. The man jabbed with the pole to keep him away. Alan fended off with his numb left arm once more, slashed at the hands that held the staff and nearly sawed off a couple of fingers. As the attacker flinched with pain, Alan shouldered up to him, shoving him away, and as he spun to turn, stabbed him in the kidneys, which brought another terrified shriek of pain.

David had been knocked down, though he had hurt one of his foes, a man clutching a slashed forearm. Alan gave a great shout and ran to David's assistance even as the remaining two prepared to brain him.

“Die, you bastards,” Alan howled, brandishing his bloody blade.

“Leave it,” their leader said, and they broke their circle about David to run back up the lane to the north, but they had Alan in their way. As they paused, David picked up a discarded staff and tripped the wounded one, and the others abandoned him as their courage left them. David slashed the last opponent across the back of the thigh as he stumbled to his feet, bringing him down once more for good while the other two made off at their best speed, abandoning their cart and their dead.

“You much hurt?” Alan asked, getting his breath back.

“Of course I am, you ass,” David gasped, wiping blood out of his eyes from his head wound. “You think this is claret or something?”

“Go get the watch, then, while I keep an eye on these.”

“Uh, could you do it, Alan?” David said, sinking to the ground. “I can hardly see straight. Sort of dizzy and weak, too.”

“Help!” Alan yelled in his best quarterdeck voice. “Call the watch! Cut-purses! Murder!”

“I'll be alright, I think, if I can sit down.” David sighed. “You go get some help.”

“Lawsy mussy!” A black man spoke from the gloom. He was barefoot, dressed in a pair of discarded breeches, ragged shirt, and straw hat, leading a donkey.

“You!” Alan bawled, freezing the man in his tracks. “Go get the watch, or help from the nearest store! We've been attacked by five men and my friend is hurt!”

“He sho is!” the black man agreed, goggle eyed.

“Well, get with it, damn you!”

“Yassuh! Yassuh!”

Within minutes there was an army patrol on the scene, prodding the dead and taking the wounded foes into custody, taking notes on how the attack had started and binding David's head up in a shirt ripped from the back of one of the dead assailants.

“And they said ‘Get the Tories'?” the young infantry ensign asked as they made their way toward the lit streets. “You are certain of it?”

“Exactly, sir,” Alan replied, trying to find something on which he could wipe his dirk free of blood.

“Might have been an attempt to take your purses.” The ensign pondered. “Where were you coming from?”

“The knocking shop up the road, Lady Jane's,” Alan volunteered. “By God, it's nearly the end of the first dog. We have to get word to our ship we were set upon, or my captain'll have our hides off!”

“Lady Jane's, eh?” the ensign sneered. “You're lucky to get out of the doors with your heads still attached. We've been keeping an eye on it for weeks now. A little too much roughness going on there for my captain's comfort. You'd not be the first to be robbed after going there.”

“You don't think they had anything to do with it, do you?” Alan asked, familiar enough with rough practices back in London to guess that they were indeed lucky to be alive.

“Not sure about that.” The ensign shrugged in his trim red coat. “But it's far enough out and dark enough off the main streets for footpads to be sure of easy pickings, not like some of the brothels closer in. Gets a better clientele, with heavier purses than most of the sailors' haunts, at any rate.”

“Think you'd better see this, sir,” his corporal said from the cart, which still stood in the middle of the road, the runty horse flickering her ears with supreme patience. The corporal held up ropes, grain sacks, two muskets, and some old blankets. “Might have been more than robbery, sir.”

“Corporal, send a man to the captain. Tell him we have three Rebel suspects who were part of an attack on two sailors.”

“Midshipmen,” Alan corrected, not wanting to be considered a mere sailor now that he had his equanimity back, along with his wind.

“Whatever.” The ensign sniffed at being corrected. “Send another man to the wharf. Which ship?”

“The
Desperate
frigate sir,” Alan replied. “Commander Treghues.”

“However do you spell that?” the ensign asked.

“Commander the Honorable T-R-E-G-H-U-E-S,” Alan replied sardonically.

“Ah, one of those, eh? Tell him to really foot it, Corporal.”

They were taken to the watch office near the wharves at the foot of the town, and while David's head wound was being staunched and sewn up they gave a more formal statement, interrupted by David's protests at the dullness of the army surgeon's needle.

“I believe that should be all the information we need,” a lieutenant said finally. “We have the prisoners to question, and we'll find the others quick enough, you can count on that.”

“I believe we are sailing on the evening's tide, sir.” Alan said, “Is there a possibility that Lady Jane's could have been involved with this? They treated us rather decent, really, and it would be hard to believe if they were linked to it.”

“Doubtful at best. I'm a customer there at times myself,” the officer confided with a grin. “No, it was most likely robbery they had in mind. Abduction, possibly, but that would have raised such a hue and cry, and for what purpose? If you were post-captains it would have made more sense. Not even Rebels would have a reason to take you off and pump you for information you most likely didn't have. Ah, there's a boat from your ship here to take you back. Hope your friend heals quickly. Your ship shall be going where, in case we need to send queries by letter?”

“At first to New York, sir. After that, God knows. The Chesapeake or the Delaware,” Alan said.

They were escorted to the wharf and into a rowing boat in the charge of the captain's coxswain, who was staring at them sadly. Once under way and the stroke was established, he turned to them.

“You done got yourself in trouble this time, sir,” he told Lewrie.

“But it wasn't our fault—we were attacked and almost killed!”

“Not fer me ta say, Mister Lewrie, sir,” Cottle told them sadly.

“Wonderful,” Alan spat.

“Well, no matter what,” David said, trying to fit his hat over his bandaged head and giving it up as a bad go, “you have to admit it was a memorable birthday celebration.”

“There's that to savor,” Alan remarked sarcastically.

“In case I did not mention it, thank you for saving my nutmegs back there. They'd have dashed my brains out in another minute if you had not gotten the upper hand with them.”

“Think nothing of it, David, you'd have done the same for me,” Alan said, taking his proffered hand and shaking with him heartily. “How's your head?”

“It hurts most sinfully. How's your arm?”

“Now that it's coming awake again it's throbbing away like a little engine.”

“A proper shore leave, then,” David laughed. “Eat our fill, topped up on wine, bulled a pretty girl into exhaustion, and then had a fight to cap it all off!”