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 Covilhā!
“Mistress Covilhā!” 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 Covilhā, 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. “Māe 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 Covilhā.”
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.
“First things first, then,” Lewrie said, letting go her hands and reaching for his glass to clink against hers to seal the bargain. “There’s a branch of my London bank here, and I’ll be needin’ t’make a draught on my accounts. Then, we’ll go settle with your landlord. After that, a grand supper, your choice of the chop-house!”