A King's Trade by Dewey Lambdin

recall. Thought I’d take to him, at first, but in the space of a single hour, I came away a bit disgusted. Comes from a very rich family, treats the Navy like a place to kill time ‘til his inheritance is come…all yachting, cruising, and claret, and his orlop the storehouse for art treasures he was buying up from refugee Royalist French.
Boasted
of it! Fillebrowne’s family’d all done their Grand Tours, the war was
his,
and all he cared about was … ‘collecting’!” Lewrie sneered. “He chaffered me, that very
morning,
with hints he’d taken up with my former mistress….”
    Lewrie paused, waiting for Twigg to say, “Phoebe Aretino, better known as ‘La Contessa,’ Corsican-born, former whore,
shrewd
businesswoman, and collector, trader, and treasures-dealer in her own right,” but Twigg kept his mouth shut, or busy with his victuals; and, for the sort of man whose very gaze could turn cockchafers “toes-up dead,” his expression was a very bland “do tell” and “say on.”
    â€œThrew it in my face, rather,” Lewrie growled, shoving rice on his plate with an angry, scraping noise of steel on priceless china. “Nose-high, top-lofty sort, the greedy, callous bastard. Well, Chute saw through him. Clotworthy’s a ‘Captain Sharp,’ makes his livin’ by gullin’ naive new-comes to London… ones who’ve just inherited some ‘tin,’ and such. When I told him that Fillebrowne thought himself an
astute
collector of fine art, Chute cobbled up a brace o’ bronze Roman statues o’ some sort,
I
never saw ‘em. Amazin’ what a week’s soaking in salt water’ll do t’make ‘em look authentic, and Fillebrowne bought ‘em, straightaway.
Pantin’
for ‘em!
    â€œI suspect Fillebrowne figured out he’d been finessed, sooner or later, learned that Chute and I were old friends…acquaintances, really…perhaps he and…my former mistress,” he said, avoiding Phoebe’s name, as if to deprive Twigg of unnecessary information…just in case, “had an angry parting? Sharp an eye as
she
had, when it came t’treasures, if
she
tipped him that they were frauds, he’d’ve gone off like a bomb on her. On me! And, he’d have seen, or heard, just enough needful t’pen scurrilous letters to Caroline, in revenge.”
    â€œOne
could
see his reason for
pique,
yayss,” Twigg mused, those long fingers of his steepled thoughtfully under his chin, not
exactly
mocking, at that instant. “Though, you
do
have that effect on people. But, was Commander Fillebrowne still possessed of active commission, I do not see how he could stay…current anent your, ah…pastime.”
    â€œThere’s been
nothing…
current,” Lewrie querulously replied. “Not since I sailed for the Caribbean. Well, the last bits… about Mistress Connor lodging with me at Sheerness for a week before we departed …” he admitted with a squirm.
“And,
afore that, about the two-dozen doxies my solicitor was t’pay, for services rendered….”
    â€œTwo-dozen
prostitutes?” Twigg barked, as if in breathless awe, going so far as to lay one hand on his heart. “What stamina! Damme, Lewrie, but I am
impressed!”
    â€œFor helpin’ me kill belowdecks mutineers, so I had enough true men t’take back my ship and escape the Nore Mutiny!” Lewrie retorted. “’Wos innit f’me? Wos innit f’me?’” he snipped, impersonating lower-class dialect main-well, after twenty years of exposure to it. “They wouldn’t’ve tried it on, else! Christ, my report to Admiralty got ‘em letters of
appreciation,
ev’ry last one of ‘em! And, I didn’t lay one single finger on
any
of ‘em, but
someone
twisted it into a scandal!”
    Idly, and illogically, the