Throughout his nearly fifty-year career at sea, Jack could count exactly two single ship engagements that the Royal Navy had lost. In the span of a few months, that number doubled. “What has become of this navy, in the name of God where has it gone?” he raged. “The mightiest force on the water, Mr. Thomas. Vanished off the face of the earth.”
“In my opinion, Lord St. Vincent was sadly accurate in his assessment. One does not refer to Debrett’s when seeking a commander,” Mr. Thomas said.
“No, one does not,” Jack said through clenched teeth.
He lost himself in petty details, from inventories to personal squabbles. He was weary and contemplating a nap when a ruckus erupted just outside his cabin door, a shouting match that rang of mutiny. In the time it took to don his coat, the door was flung open and Lord Sunderland charged in, sword drawn. It would be no contest. The dragoon was weak and pale, his scowl suggesting a painful injury not yet healed.
“An unexpected visit, my lord,” Jack said. “Will you take some refreshment?”
Most of the furniture was in the hold, the cabin fitted out with the desk and a small dining table. Jack sat in one chair and used his foot to push the other towards Sunderland. The ungrateful buffoon pushed it back with too much force, sending the seat clattering against the edge of the table.
“Where is she?” Sunderland demanded. “What have you done with her? It it true, that you murdered her and then walled up her body?”
“Good God, is that the fairy tale?” Jack asked. He nudged the chair and frowned at what he feared was a nick in the carving. “Did no one spreading the nonsense ever consider her estate in Charleston as a possible residence?”
“There are hundreds of plantations in Charleston, my lord,” Sunderland said. He held the sword under Jack’s nose but the blade waggled. The man was liable to collapse at any moment.
“What you do not know about South Carolina would appear to be your undoing,” Jack said.
“The name of the estate, you vile, contemptible brute.”
“Indulge my use of the Socratic method. If my daughter were to venture to Northumberland, how might she locate you?”
“Any farmer on the road could direct her to my home,” Sunderland said. The tip of his sword dug into the plank of the deck. Jack winced.
“Put that sword away, young man, before you nick this table next. It was a gift from my late wife and I do not look kindly on those who damage her furniture.” Chastened, Sunderland slid the blade into the scabbard, but he still would not sit down. “Now, having said that, I ask you this. If you were to arrive in Charleston, how would you find my daughter?”
“Stop playing with me.”
“How would she find you in Northumberland? And how would you locate her in Charleston?”
“I should stand on a street corner and ask all who pass to direct me to the residence of Lady Madeleine Ashford?”
“Lady Madeleine?” Jack was tired of craning his neck to meet Sunderland’s gaze. He stood and walked towards the exit, hoping that the dragoon would take the hint. “In the United States, where all men are created equal? Go home, my lord, and learn about her country before you prance about a ship of the line asking foolish questions.”
The gallery on the bulkhead caught Sunderland’s attention. He stood for a long time before Maddie’s portrait, but he was puzzled by the four miniatures surrounding it. For the damage to the deck and the dining chair, Jack would extract a small sliver of pain.
“Go on, take a closer look. Indulge this proud grandfather and allow me to boast of my precious angels. Remarkable, that you should first point to that of her son. That’s odd. I detect a slight resemblance to you. Surely her husband is nearly your twin in appearance.”
“Bastard son of a whore,” Sunderland roared. “You bound her to another, did you? Did you think to keep her from me? We shall see who triumphs. I return to the Continent in June, but I shall not be deterred. I shall not rest.”