(no subject)
It is mid-afternoon, and the Pridewin lies at anchor at the East India docks, rocking very gently with the slight ebb of the tidal Thames. Her crew have been given their most recent month's pay (a little under two pounds for an ordinary seaman, not a bad wage by the day's standards) and a week's leave, and as a result every man under the rank of officer appears to be as far away from the ship as possible. Some of them have family in London, some have debts to settle or avoid settling, and some have doubtless made their way up to Covent Garden in hopes of finding a pleasant companion for the evening -- or hour, as the case may be.
The Pridewin's commander is in his cabin, signing his name to the letter he has just finished writing. He sprinkles a bit of sand on it to blot the ink, then brushes it off and reads over what he has written.
Captain Morrison,
I do entreat you to pardon the intrusion of this letter, but I have recently come into the possession of a piece of news that I believe would be of immediate interest to you. It relates directly to the subject of our recent conversation, and I would appreciate and indeed welcome your opinions on potential courses of action.
I should perhaps mention at this juncture that it happens to be a matter of some delicacy. I would prefer not to discuss it in a public setting if at all possible. That specification aside, I am available at most any time that would suit your business, and will likely remain so for at least the next fortnight whilst I am in London.
My compliments to your lady wife, and I would once again like to express my most sincere gratitude for the hospitality shown to me the other evening.
With respect, Sir,
I remain,
M. Lyon
A small nod of satisfaction.
'Hardly subtle,' he murmurs, taking up a candle to drip a bit of red sealing-wax onto the flap. 'But it will suffice.'
A few minutes later, a slightly ragged-looking boy -- not one of the usual messenger boys employed by the Company -- is sprinting up the docks towards the City and Threadneedle Street. He darts like a sparrow through the busy cart- and foot-traffic, spurred on by the promise of the second sixpence that will join the first in his pocket if he makes haste in delivering the letter in his hand to the coffee house known as Lloyd's.
The Pridewin's commander is in his cabin, signing his name to the letter he has just finished writing. He sprinkles a bit of sand on it to blot the ink, then brushes it off and reads over what he has written.
Captain Morrison,
I do entreat you to pardon the intrusion of this letter, but I have recently come into the possession of a piece of news that I believe would be of immediate interest to you. It relates directly to the subject of our recent conversation, and I would appreciate and indeed welcome your opinions on potential courses of action.
I should perhaps mention at this juncture that it happens to be a matter of some delicacy. I would prefer not to discuss it in a public setting if at all possible. That specification aside, I am available at most any time that would suit your business, and will likely remain so for at least the next fortnight whilst I am in London.
My compliments to your lady wife, and I would once again like to express my most sincere gratitude for the hospitality shown to me the other evening.
With respect, Sir,
I remain,
M. Lyon
A small nod of satisfaction.
'Hardly subtle,' he murmurs, taking up a candle to drip a bit of red sealing-wax onto the flap. 'But it will suffice.'
A few minutes later, a slightly ragged-looking boy -- not one of the usual messenger boys employed by the Company -- is sprinting up the docks towards the City and Threadneedle Street. He darts like a sparrow through the busy cart- and foot-traffic, spurred on by the promise of the second sixpence that will join the first in his pocket if he makes haste in delivering the letter in his hand to the coffee house known as Lloyd's.