The King's Marauder (41 page)

*   *   *

Sir Hew Dalrymple must have had a lacklustre dinner, or the weather had put him in a bout of the “Blue Devils”, for their reception was very cool, and his appreciation of Lewrie’s report was chary.

“A good show, but a most costly one,” Dalrymple said, with one of his heavier sighs. “You note that you only have fourty-three Marine Privates at present, and that there are only eighty-eight effectives from the 77th, Captain Lewrie.”

“Aye, sir,” Lewrie replied, noting that Dalrymple did not address him with the chummier “Sir Alan” this time. “Though, I’ve yet to use my armed sailors, the ones who row the troops ashore and stand guard over the boats and the landing place.”

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Mountjoy almost giving him a congratulary grin.

“Drilled in musketry, are they?” Sir Hew asked, with a dubious brow up, doubting the fighting qualities of sailors.

“Not as efficient as soldiers or Marines, sir,” Lewrie told him, “but they can manage controlled volleys. They’re more used to firing at will.”

“Like country militia,” Sir Hew disparaged, waving a hand in the air as if to shoo off such irregular troops. “If, as it now appears, the Spanish have placed small guard units at their semaphore towers, and re-enforced their coastal batteries and fortifications, it may very well be that they will stay in place, whether any further landings are made … perhaps for a good, long while, what? Why, one could imagine that, did you trail your colours up and down the coast with your transport in company with you, they would
have
to remain in place, tying down a sizable part of the Spanish Army which might otherwise be available to my counterpart, General Castaños, even is the transport empty, and I may at last send the detachment of the 77th to Sicily to re-join their regiment.”

Lewrie had not penned any conclusions about the Spanish response to the raids, and had written nothing about
why
the Dons had been at Salobreña, and both he and Mountjoy were happy that Dalrymple took it as gospel that their efforts had already drawn a portion of the Spanish Army in Andalusia to a wasted task.

“Well, one would hope that you would not, Sir Hew,” Mountjoy interjected, “not until their wounded are fully recovered, and they may all go together.”

“Which will be some weeks, sir,” Lewrie stuck in quickly. “In the meantime, we
do
have sufficient strength for, uhm … several easier objectives. Mister Mountjoy has a few in mind…”

“Do you, sir?” Dalrymple demanded, wheeling to face the civilian. “Are you in possession of
reliable
information? It would not do to blunder into fights which further decimate your forces, as the recent landing at Salobreña did. Remember the Greek general Pyrrhus … he won his battles, but destroyed his army in the process.”

“
Most
reliable information, sir,” Mountjoy assured the old fellow, who seemed to be becoming more “duffer-ish” by the day. “I have enough to be able to sketch out at least two more landings, though we have not yet laid any plans. Captain Lewrie has only been back a day or two, and has been busy seeing to the needs of his ship, and victualling the troops aboard the transport.”

“Yayss, those soldiers of the 77th,” Dalrymple drawled, frowning heavily. “And your ship’s sailors and Marines, sir. It is already bad enough for the Town Major and Provosts to deal with all the bored drunks of the garrison, and a deal worse to deal with all your
swaggering
drunks and brawlers!”

“All the more reason to re-enforce us and get us back out to sea, sir?” Lewrie said quickly, experimenting with a winning grin. That earned him a scowl, and a twitch of Sir Hew Dalrymple’s eyebrows.

“If, Mister Mountjoy, London wishes you to continue this programme of harassment,” Dalrymple said, turning to face him, “and you may guarantee me that your so-called easier objectives will show more success than failure, I shall allow you to proceed … for the nonce, mind, at your present strength, for, as I have expressed before, there is nothing in my … larder … to spare.

“Captain Lewrie,” Sir Hew said, rounding upon him, again. “In your opinion, could either of the company officers of the 77th serve in overall command of the landing force?”

“What little military experience they have, sir, has been gained during our landings,” Lewrie had to tell him. “They were fresh from the regiment’s home barracks, and their tailors. Captain Kimbrough is nineteen, and Captain Bowden is a year younger … unless either’s had a birthday I don’t know about.”

Dalrymple mused that’un over so long that Lewrie thought he’d fallen asleep, his eyes closed, his chin on his chest, and his breathing deep. “So…” he said, at last, drawing out the word to a chant. “You have need of an older, experienced field officer …
another!
”

“Aye, sir,” Lewrie replied. “My senior Marine officer is very experienced, older than the other two, but, he’s only a First Lieutenant, and I don’t know how…”

“Of course not,” Sir Hew snapped. “Just isn’t done. Even did Admiralty award your man a brevet promotion, he’d still be only a Captain of Marines. No, I suppose I must give up an officer seconded to my staff, costing me someone who’s only
just
become adept at all the boresome work of headquarters, to the detriment of my offices’ efficiency. I shall consider whom I may select, and shall inform you of my choice. Will that be all the under-handed secret agent tomfoolery we must discuss today, Mister Mountjoy?”

“I do believe it is, Sir Hew,” Mountjoy said, rising.

“Then I bid you both good day, sirs,” Dalrymple replied, shooting to his feet, eager to see the backs of them. Lewrie and Mountjoy almost made it to the tall double doors before Dalrymple got in his parting shot.

“By the by, Captain Lewrie!” Dalrymple called out.

“Sir?”

“When I
do
send you a replacement for the unfortunate Major Hughes, promise me you’ll try hard not to lose another one, what?” Dalrymple barked.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Lewrie vowed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Mister Deacon, Mountjoy’s grim assistant and bodyguard, had been waiting near the exit for his employer to emerge from the meeting, and nodded Lewrie a silent greeting as Lewrie gathered up his hat and his sword belt. Mountjoy gave Lewrie a confident nod and a wink, and that pair set off for the dockside, and their false-front offices.

Lewrie pulled out his pocket watch to determine if it might be time for an early shore supper, and how much time he had to waste with shopping before it was. He looked skyward past the Convent to the stony heights of the Rock; he’d never climbed to the top to see the view, or the Barbary apes, either, and wondered if he should take time to do so, someday soon. Wonder of wonders, though; as he lowered his view to the Convent and its entrance again, who should he see exiting but Maddalena Covilh
ā
!

“Mistress Covilh
ā
!” he called out.

“Ah, Captain Lewrie,” she replied, performing a sketchy curtsy as he doffed his hat. She wore the same pale yellow sheath gown with a white shawl as she had the time they’d all dined together, and the same bonnet, and, in Lewrie’s opinion, was looking rather winsome and fetching, though her expression was hard, half-angry, half-sad.

“My regrets, about Major Hughes,” Lewrie told her.

“All I hear are regrets, Captain Lewrie,” Maddalena said, with an impatient shake of her head. “But no one tells me what happened to him. He lodges here, but no one who knew him will talk. I went to his regiment, and they say nothing, either. Do you know, Captain?”

“I do,” Lewrie replied, nodding gravely. “I was there. Whyever do they not inform you of his loss? Do they treat it like some state secret?”

“To them, I was his hired woman,” Maddalena countered, “so no one will take the
time!
If I am not a wife, of his family … see?”

“Let us go and find a place to talk, Mistress Covilh
ā
, and I’ll tell you all I know,” Lewrie offered, stepping forward to give her his arm, and relishing in her scents of fresh-washed hair and a light, citrony-lemony perfume.

A short block or two away, there was a tavern with an awninged outdoor sitting area and tables and chairs. He seated her, then took a chair across from her at a two-place table, laying his hat aside as a blue-aproned waiter came out to take their orders.

“Is he dead?” Maddalena asked plaintively after they’d ordered light and cool white wine.

“We think the Spanish made him a prisoner,” Lewrie said, explaining how the assault on the semaphore tower had occurred, drawing on the tablecloth with a finger. He told her of the gunsmoke and the earliness of the hour, of the confusion, and the last recollections from the junior officers that he’d gathered for his report, what were Hughes’s last words, and …

“‘Must I be the one to save you fools from disaster?’ he said?” Maddalena repeated, and to Lewrie’s astonishment, a faint smile curled to life on her lips. “
M
ā
e de Deus,
who was the fool? And did your officers say that he was red in the face? He always was the … how do you say … blusterer, hah hah!” She laughed right out loud. “English words, some sound so funny!”

“But descriptive,” Lewrie drolly replied. “‘Blunder’ is another. He
blundered
into a party of Spanish stragglers, most-like, and they took him prisoner. I expect we’ll hear from the Spanish authorities, sooner or later, that he’s been taken somewhere inland and placed on his parole ’til he can be exchanged for a Spanish officer of equal rank.”

“That will take long, Captain Lewrie?” Maddalena asked in some worry, turning sobre again. “A week or so?”

“If we hold a Spanish infantry Captain, and I don’t know much on that head, it could take months,” Lewrie supposed. “If we don’t, well … it could be a year or more.”

Maddalena’s face sagged from hopeful and anxious to a look of utter despair. She put her elbows on the tabletop and pressed fingers to her temples, looking as if she would begin to weep.

“Didn’t know ye missed him that much,” Lewrie said, reaching a hand out, which she took and squeezed, hard.

“Before he sailed away the last time, he left me two pounds,” Maddalena said, “the rent on my lodgings are due next week, and I have thirteen shillings, five pence left. My landlord, he will throw me out, and I will have nowhere to go.”

“And how much is the rent?” Lewrie asked.

“Two pounds,” she told him, “two pounds a month.” She gave his hand another squeeze and made a wee snuffling sound. “Pardon,” she pled, letting go his hand to pull a laced handkerchief from a reticle and dab at her nose and eyes.

“Month-to-month, not long-term?” Lewrie wondered aloud, scowling. “Not t’speak ill of the absent, but … what a cheese-parer! He
had
money, surely, or his family did. His tailor’s bills looked like he spent hundreds … egret feathers and all.”

“I know he did, but…” Maddalena agreed, looking him in the eyes, making a wee pout and a distraught shrug. “I know he had a full purse, even if he was very careful with it.”

“Cheap?” Lewrie scoffed, “Or guarded?”

“Both,” Maddalena replied, laughing. “Hmm … now that he is gone, is it possible he left his money in his rooms at the Convent, or with his regiment? Is there some way someone could get it for me?”

“Unless he left some instructions, a will, or something, I’ve my doubts,” Lewrie had to tell her. “His uniforms, arms, and such will be crated up and stored with his regiment, and what funds he had would be sent on to him, along with his Army pay, to wherever the Spanish are holdin’ him. Once his family’s told, they might even advance him some money for his upkeep, too, but … if you weren’t his wife…”

“Then I am lost,” Maddalena weakly said, hugging herself with her head down. “If I had some way to have some of his money, I would take ship back to Oporto, and start again, but…”

“Portugal may not be safe for you, much longer,” Lewrie said. “Ehm … did Hughes speak to you of how the world’s goin’? Did he mention the rumour that Napoleon’s ready to invade Portugal t’shut down her trade with Great Britain?”

“I heard that in the markets,” Maddalena said, looking up at him, again. “The Major … Hughes, he did not explain much to me, or why the French would do so. He boasted that he might have the chance to march with a proper army to
defeat
the French, and how he would liberate Lisbon, if they did. He did not think that I was able to understand important matters,” she said, with a sad bitterness.

“Portugal and Sweden are the last hold-outs from his Continental System, and he can’t get at Sweden, so…” Lewrie explained, laying it all out for her. “You’re safe as houses here at Gibraltar, but not at home in Oporto, or your hometown of Covilh
ā
.”

He poured them both refills from the wine bottle, and she took a sip or two, looking towards the harbour, and the streets, looking pensive and thoughtful. At last, she turned her gaze to Lewrie, again, frankly and directly.

“To stay here and be safe from the French, Captain Lewrie, I am in need of a protector,” she said in a soft tone, smiling a little. “The first time we saw each other at the
ristoran,
” she said, using the Spanish word, “and when you dined with us … I felt you wished to be … you flirted with your eyes? Yes?”

Her slim hands were in motion, inches above the tablecloth, in hesitant, embarrassed fiddling.

“Yes, I did,” Lewrie confessed with a smile. “Yes, I do want to protect you, Maddalena. That, and a lot more, and what’s taken us so long?” he joked, which drew forth a hearty laugh from her, and both her hands took hold of his, this time, as she gazed at him longingly. “And I dare say I’ll do ye a great deal better than Hughes ever did.”

“I knew from the first that you would be a much kinder, a much more … pleasant man,” Maddalena replied, beaming. “I
wished
from the first, that … I day-dreamed?”

Lewrie knew that there was a mutual attraction between them, but he wasn’t going to bet the bank on how sincere her protestations of affection were.