Steeling his resolve, he entered the spacious shop of Brambly and Boone to find half a dozen tailors at a worktable before the large front window. September’s waning light streamed over breeches and coats and waistcoats in various stages of construction. No shoddy cloth here.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A small, bespectacled man emerged from a back room and gave a little bow. “Richard Boone, sir.”
“Henri Lennox.” He removed his hat, aware of his dishabille after a morning’s row and a day about town. “I’ve come for a suit of clothes fit for a pleasure ball.”
Respect smote the man’s close-set eyes. “Ah, Lady Lightfoot’s, no doubt, though there’s a great deal of entertainment to be had in Williamsburg as well.” He went to a glass case and retrieved paper ribbons with which to measure Henri. “Lennox, did you say? Captain Lennox of theRelentless?”
“The same,” Henri replied, aware of every eye at the worktable now upon him.
“Honored, Captain. I promise you a suit of clothes that befits your rank and station. A quality wool broadcloth woven to a rich finish, perhaps. Our seamstress shall sew your shirt.” Boone took a wheezing breath. “Have you any preferences, sir?”
“No pleated ruffles or other frippery,” Henri said as the measuring ribbon stretched from his shoulder to his wrist.
“Mother-of-pearl buttons and a stock of the best linen, adorned at the end with fringe or knots, is my recommendation.” Boone stood back and surveyed him. “Should I summon a wigmaker, sir?”
“No need.” Wigs and powder were as unwelcome as ruffles and lace. The sea had stripped him to the barest essentials, including dress. While many good men on shore suffered want, others smothered themselves in velvet and silver thread. He’d not be among them. “But a shoemaker is in order.”
“Consider it done.” Boone’s scrutiny shifted to Henri’s booted feet. “Silver buckles and black leather seem in order as well.”
“Agreed.”
“We’ll have your garments ready in two days’ time. Will you be lodging at the Swan like so many watermen?”
“Nay. The Royal Oake on Church Street.”
“Of course. A gentleman’s establishment. Would you like your purchases delivered there, sir?”
“Obliged, aye.”
“And will this be on credit, Captain? Or otherwise?”
“Spanish silver dollars.”
“Ah.” The sudden smile on the tailor’s face promised a handsome suit indeed. Coin was always hard to come by in the colonies. “Very well, sir.”
The Royal Oake’s dining room boasted a table for twenty, and a dizzying array of dishes promised no one would emerge hungry. While the other lodgers lingered at table, Henri sought the silence of the parlor, where a case clock’s ticking reminded him that time was all too fleeting. On a side table was a stack of Virginia newspapers from as far back as summer to the present day. He reached for the latest, the ink smudged from repeated perusals. Best familiarize himself with local matters, at least, before braving the ball and being asked his opinion on colonial politics or the ferocious fighting on the frontier.
“A gentleman cannot possibly ponder current events without a pipe.” His hostess, Charlotte Oake, a comely widow who operated the inn with her aging father-in-law, held out not only a handsome filled pipe but a light. The pipe’s clay bowl bore a Scottish unicorn on one side and an English lion on the other.
Pleasure warmed his words. “Your hospitality is unsurpassed.”
“Bull’s-eye tobacco.” She smiled as she lit the pipe, and fragrant smoke purled between them. “Only the best for our guests.”
At the sound of her father-in-law's voice, she moved away with a beguiling swish of her skirts while Henri returned to the most recentVirginia Gazette. International news, most of it disturbing. A plethora of notices for runaway slaves and indentures. And ads—a great many.Yellow candlelight spread across the page, and his gaze landed on the last thing he wanted to see.
Sold here. Shaw’s Superior Chocolate. Water Street, York. Soconusco, Caracas, and Maracaibo cocoa, the purest in the world. Greatly recommended by several eminent physicians for its lightness on the stomach and its great use in all consumptive cases. Two shillings sixpence per pound.
He set his jaw. His sweet tooth roared.
Pulling the pipe from between his teeth, Henri eyed the door through which his hostess had disappeared. Was there any chocolate to be had in the house?
He’d passed by Shaw’s on his afternoon walk through town, the sweet, velvety aroma slowing his pace. He needed a pressed cake or two wrapped in paper and stamped with the Shaw insignia before returning to Indigo Island. ’Twas his one indulgence. Two shillings sixpence per pound exceeded a sailor’s daily wage, if not a captain’s.
On second thought, mayhap he’d avoid Shaw’s altogether and see if there was any chocolate to be had in Williamsburg instead.
CHAPTER
four
