Biddlecomb stood and moved his gaze up to her face, the flash of her white teeth, her dark eyes, and the playful freckles that dotted her ruddy cheeks, and his dark thoughts were swept away. He loved to look at her face. He remembered that she had asked him a question. "I'm, ah, fine. I'm fine. Virginia, thank you. How could you have heard…?"
"Good God, Virginia!" Stanton interrupted. "Go and dress yourself, child!"
"In a moment, Father. You are uninjured, Captain?" Virginia asked, her voice more controlled.
"I'm fine, as I said, and quite touched by your concern."
"Don't be, sir. I am concerned with all Americans, especially when they are so ill-used by the British," she said, flashing a quick smile that belied her disinterest.
"She follows in your wake, William," Biddlecomb observed.
"I could wish that she would learn a bit of modesty from me," said Stanton, sounding scandalized. "Virginia, return to your bed or dress yourself at once!"
"Humph!" said Virginia, tossing her hair back over her shoulder in a way that Biddlecomb found profoundly enticing. "Very well. I wished only to inquire after Captain Biddlecomb's health, after the rumors that I've heard." She stepped from the room and Biddlecomb followed her with his eyes. She loved to pretend that she had no interest in him, he knew that. He was equally certain, save for those few dark moments of self-doubt, that it was an act. Now Stanton was talking to him, and he forced himself to listen.
"There is not a day goes by," said Stanton after Virginia had taken her leave, "that I do not grieve her mother's passing, but never so much as when I see that I am not able to educate her in the way a young woman should be educated. You know, Isaac, Virginia is not a little girl anymore, skylarking in the stables."
"No indeed," replied Biddlecomb, his eyes still fixed on the door through which Virginia had departed.
"I know what you're thinking, Isaac," Stanton said, interrupting Biddlecomb's thoughts. Biddlecomb looked at Stanton. He felt his face flush. "You're wondering if there's another command for you." Stanton eyes moved to the model that stood on the sideboard. "You're the best captain in my fleet, Isaac, perhaps the best in Rhode Island." Stanton paused. "Eighteen sous per gallon! You're gifted, Isaac. I've never known a man who could talk his way through anything like you can. You're been the best in my fleet for sixteen years now."
"That may be going it a bit high, William. For at least the first two of those years I was a cabin boy."
"Sixteen years from cabin boy to master. I intend to give you the Virginia Stanton when she's complete, but that won't be for ten months or more. I had hoped to keep you occupied with the Judea until she was launched, but now I don't know..."
"There's no ship for me now?"
"There is not. Things are very bad right now, with the British stepping down hard on our trade. There are dozens of captains on the beach."
The silence was awkward. Biddlecomb began to speak, but Stanton cut him off. "If it's money that you need, please, don't think on it." Biddlecomb open his mouth to protest but Stanton continued, "Call it a loan, or an advance on wages, however you wish to arrange it. And of course you'll have a home here."
"Thank you, William. We'll add this on to the enormous debt that I already owe you."
"Nonsense. But another thought occurs to me. It may not be safe for you to remain in Bristol. The British may come looking for you. You said the Judea hung up on the ledge; I have no doubt Wallace found your papers in the cabin."
"Honestly, William, you're blowing this war things all out of proportion. Surely the British have better things to do than—" Biddlecomb's words were cut short by a pounding, loud and insistent, at the front door.
Biddlecomb met Stanton's eyes, and the two men were silent for the forty-five seconds that the pounding continued. "Perhaps now you'll see for yourself how seriously the British are taking things," Stanton said softly, then opened the door of the sitting room and stepped into the adjoining foyer. Rogers, the Stantons' butler, entered the foyer from the other direction.
"Rogers, said Stanton in a low voice. Rogers was close to six feet in height, a somber man who reminded Biddlecomb more of a driver of a hearse than a manservant, but he was devoted to Stanton and had served him for years. He bent his lean body forward to hear better. "Captain Biddlecomb and I are not at home for any stranger. Also, the household has not been informed of the incident involving the Judea."
Rogers nodded, but his expression did not alter, as if he had not heard. "Very good, sir," he said, reaching out for the handle of the front door. He held it and waited while Stanton withdrew to the sitting room and shut the door.
In the sitting room Biddlecomb and Stanton listened as Rogers pulled th front door open.
"Rogers!" they heard an excited voice exclaim, accompanied by the sound of the front door swinging open and boots on the hardwood floor. "Is Captain Stanton up yet? Have you heard? Surely you've heard?" the words spilled from the unseen messenger.
"I'm afraid that I don't know to what you refer, Mr Oray," replied Rogers in a neutral tone.
"Why, it's the Rose! The damned Rose, sailing right into Bristol Harbor! And Captain Martin says they'll be landing the marines, and they'll tear the town apart until they finds Captain Biddlecomb!"
Chapter 3.
Bristol
"IT'S GIDEON ORAY. He's a friend," said Stanton as he swung the door open. He and Biddlecomb stepped into the foyer. "Gideon, what brings you to our door at such an hour? Stanton asked, extending a hand to the visitor. Oray took the proffered hand and shook it vigorously.
"Oh, Captain Stanton, odds my life, you can't imagine what's happened. Last night, or I should say rather this morning..." the farmer began, and as he spoke, his eyes wandered over Stanton shoulder. "But... why, there's Captain Biddlecomb now!" he exclaimed, and turned and looked at Stanton again. "Well, damn me, sure he'd come here after... after what happened. So you know about the Judea?"
"Alas, I do, Gideon. The British are pleased to continue ill-using us."
"Indeed, sir, I warrant they are. Them British bastards..." His voice trailed off, but then he looked up again, startled, as another thought occurred to him. "Oh, and Captain Martin, he's turned out the militia. He sent me to tell you."
"Indeed? said Stanton. "And why is that?"
"To what militia do you refer?" asked Biddlecomb, but the three men ignored him.
"First light the Rose was seen just south of Hog Island, standing into Bristol Harbor," Oray explained. "Captain Martin charged me to tell you he believes they intend to land their marines."
"There, you see, Isaac?" Stanton turned to Biddlecomb. "Here's further British aggression, like we've been seeing all along."
"Now wait a minute, William," Biddlecomb protested. "We don't know that they're intending to land their marines. For all we know they're wooding and watering/"
"Do you believe that?" asked Stanton.
"No," said Biddlecomb.
"Please, Captain Stanton," Oray interrupted, "won't you come down to the harbor with the militia? Your company needs you. Captain Martin sent me to fetch you!"
"Yes, yes, of course I'll come. Run along and tell Martin I shall be there in half an hour."
"Half an hour, yes, sir!" said Oray, smiling in his relief. "I'll tell him!" He gave a perfunctory salute and raced out the door, leaving Rogers to close it behind him.
"Your company?" asked Biddlecomb, but he received no reply.