Watery Grave by Bruce Alexander Page A

we were.
    “But Annie is a fme cook, little doubt of it, ” he added.” Pretty, too, when you think of it. I should like to know her better.”
    We were beneath the blanket, the candle out, and near asleep in the bed we shared when a thought occurred to me.
    “Tom,” said I, “was it you did the washing up tonight —all those pots and pans?”
    “Think nothing of it, mate, ” said he in his drowsy state.
    “Well, I thank you for it.”
    “An3hing for a chum.” And moments later, I heard him breathing deeply and regularly in sleep.
    He had called me mate and chum. That meant, I was sure, that we were now friends. I mulled that over happily in my mind until pleasant dreams overtook me.
    My Lady Fielding determined, and Sir John agreed, that one thing that must be got ere the admiral visited us for dinner was a suit of clothes for Tom. Since Sir Robert was sure to appear out of naval habit, it would be improper for one of their number to make an appearance so dressed.
    “No, lad,” said Sir John to Tom, “it will not do. Your mother has described to me that costume of bits and pieces you now wear. Proud you may be of your sailor’s garb, but it would be an affront to the admiral to ask him to sit down at table with an ordinary seaman.”
    “But-”
    “And JLtice,” continued Sir John over Tom’s attempted objection, “and jince, I say, the object in inviting him here is to seek his help m elevating you from seaman to midshipman, it would be best to present you as the young gentleman you might have been had not fortune turned against you.”
    “But surely you will tell him of … of the circumstances of my enlistment!”
    “I will in due time, perhaps not tonight. What I wish to do tonight is offer you in the best light —well dressed and well spoken —then plant in his mind the notion that such a fine young fellow as yourself would make an excellent midshipman and a superb officer.”
    Tom gave a sigh of capitulation.” As you say then, Sir John.”
    “Precisely.”
    And so it was by these circumstances that Lady Fielding got her wish. She would not, as was her hope, see him in bespoken clothes, tailored to his new dimensions, yet there were respectable shops in Chandos Street that sold ready-made of fair qualitA- and castoffs of high quality that might be altered to fit. It was decided she would take him there.
    Before they left, however, she passed to me a list of comestibles to buy in Covent Garden for the admiral’s dinner. At the top was “a side of lamb fit for roasting.”
    “Lamb is hard to find,” said I, mumbling my dissent.
    “Go to Mr. Tolliver,” said she.” He is sure to have it this early in the day. If not, I fear you must make a trip to Smithfield Market.”
    “All right then,” said I.” I’m on my way.”
    And so I was, running as I did most days through the crowded piazza, making my way from vendor to stall, picking over the stock to find the best they had to offer. I had become a wise buyer in the year or more I had been with Sir John. Satisfying Mrs. Gredge was no easy matter, yet taught by Lady Fielding, I had learned that to buy the biggest was not always to buy the best, that the brightest color did not always assure the best taste.
    Yet in our trips through the Garden, Lady Fielding had surprised me by avoiding the butcher stall of Mr. Tolliver. Situated as it was in the far corner of the piazza, it was not difficult to avoid, but well I remembered that it was she who had first taken me across the wide Garden and introduced me to Mr. Tolliver and assured me that his was the best meat available there, that he gave the best cuts and the best values for pence and shillings. All this, however, wa before her marriage to Sir John. During their brief courtship, I had borne a message to her from him, and afterward seen Mr. Tolliver emerge from her lodgings all dejected and forlorn. I know it now, though I did not perceive it then, that the Covent Garden butcher had himself