Chapter 4

Rain pelted against Stephen’s hunched back as he paced the deck, oblivious to its bitter cold. The ship’s captain, Jackson Sims, had just forged his way through the wet fury to advise him it was unwise to remain topside. The waves raged like giant mountains of bluish white foam around them, roaring thunderously while they tossed the sparsely manned frigate to and fro.

Stephen grudgingly thought it his right to do as he chose on his own ship while he nodded to the captain as a means of appeasement. His mood was as angry as the waters. They suited each other.

Stephen’s choice to stay topside was soon changed when he was almost seized by a wave determined to make him a prisoner of the water’s depths. Saved by his good footing and quick reflexes, he decided to heed his captain’s advice and go below.

His cabin was a fraction of the size one might expect the ship’s owner to occupy. He spared the more spacious quarters for Jackson Sims’ use, since it was he who spent his days in command of the ship and its crew. Even so, what the room lacked in size, it made up for in comfort. Great pains were taken to find the best furnishings money could buy whenever the ship made port along the coastlines of the Atlantic Ocean, and occasionally along the Mediterranean Sea.

Stephen long ago claimed this particular frigate for his own personal use. He purchased it shortly after leaving England to explore and make his fortune in the newly emancipated United States. It was his intention to use it as a means of transportation for not only himself but for goods he was either selling or buying. Over time his fleet grew, but the fond attachment to his first frigate remained strong.

He’d booked passage for the initial voyage he’d made fifteen years ago.  He’d hired the services of cargo carriers when he first started doing business on his tobacco plantation in Jamaica and his cotton plantation in Georgia. He soon discovered owning such undertakings in two different locations with such a considerable distance between them required speedy and frequent travel. It was not long before he determined that the wiser, more convenient, and less costly thing to do was to own the ship. In his case, he owned several.

It was an added boon when he was introduced to the very capable Captain Jackson Sims while traveling the South Carolina coastline. The captain he originally commissioned to head the operations of his frigate at the time of purchase found himself in a scuffle up the coastline just prior to beginning his duties on board Stephen’s ship. He was fulfilling a prior commitment for a brief commission that was to last less than a fortnight when his ship fell under siege by pirates. While defending the ship, the captain was severely wounded and was forced into early retirement. Stephen, having urgent business in Jamaica, made a few inquiries around the Charles Town docks for a replacement and was directed to a tavern where Captain Jackson Sims was dining on fare fit for a king.

Right up until the three weeks prior, Sims was in charge of a small fleet of vessels for a highly established family in Charles Town. While traveling to the orient on holiday, the entire family was overtaken by a mysterious ailment that the ship’s doctor was at a loss to treat. Fortunately for the captain and his crew, the doctor was able to contain the plight to the family members only. As a result, all but a young daughter perished while at sea. The doctor, captain and his crew were not afflicted.

At a loss at what to do, Captain Sims returned the vessel to its home port.  It was confiscated by the estate lawyers and placed into a trust for the surviving daughter when she came of age. The captain was left with no ship to command and his crew forced to search for a new post. It was as big a boon for Sims to be found by Stephen as it was for Stephen to find Sims, for a captain without a ship was a sad state indeed.

Captain Sims proved invaluable with his knowledge of the waters and vessels. It was not long before Stephen added more ships to his fleet and placed Sims as chief commander. Not only did the arrangement work well for all concerned, but the old sea dog of a captain and the handsome future duke developed a bond that went beyond that of employer and employee. It was a special kind of bond. One destined to last a lifetime.

Although one could not consider them to be original, Stephen’s name for each ship was quite explanatory of the vessel’s function. The Jamaican tobacco plantation’s merchant ship was named Jamaica and the Georgian cotton plantation’s merchant ship was named Georgia. Both ships were large and cumbersome when filled with merchandise. They were often accompanied by one or both of his two frigates, the Duke, and the Duchess. Each was suitably manned and armed to fend off possible attacks from pirates or privateers.

The ship that transported him in response to his father’s summons from the colonies to England was the Duke, his favorite and fastest vessel. Although sparsely manned, its crew was efficient enough that one would never notice an absence of manpower. Stephen and Captain Sims selected the best seamen they could find and he paid them handsomely for their services. They were also an extremely loyal crew, not just because of the money, but because of the captain himself. For never a fairer captain could they find in all the seas and harbors.

Stephen’s valet, Morris, helped him out of his soaking wet coat and breeches. slipped off his coat and breeches. He rubbed his wet hair vigorously with the thickly woven linen towel that rested on the back of an ornate wooden chair. The miniature coal burner in his room contained just enough hot coals in it to remove some of the damp air and provide the small quarters with much needed warmth.

Not that he really noticed. Stephen was so engrossed in his desire to catch the brigantine that swept his wife away that he was hardly aware of his surroundings or any occurrences such as inclement weather.

How could Elizabeth have been so foolish as to board a ship such as the Lady Fair? Did she not know it was a vessel of questionable repute? He heaved a heavy sigh. Of course, she would have no idea. The life she led under the guardian-ship of the earl shielded her from such gossip and scandal as was floating around the seaport about the seedy Captain Kline and his even more scandalous crew. Furthermore, she more than likely put all her faith and trust in that scoundrel Jameson.

Surely the doctor learned of the rumors when he made his inquiries for their passage. Nary would a man’s lips part when speaking of the Lady Fair without including her rumored participation in a very vulgar side of the slave trade. He was also rumored as a possible privateer against the British on behalf of social outcasts in the colonies.

Stephen was actually surprised to discover the ship had even been allowed access to British ports. Somehow the captain of the Lady Fair managed to slink into London’s busy harbor and slink back out with a cargo consisting primarily of disreputable passengers willing to pay higher than the normal passage for the opportunity to leave England quickly and quietly. There were only a few passengers of status aboard, his wife being one of them.

Learning this was no easy feat. He was reduced to practically pummeling whatever information he was able to squeeze out of more than one sailor and fish vendor before he managed to determine the doctor of considerable dress, traveling with a petite niece whose unusual beauty included thick, unruly raven hair, notably rosy and dimpled cheeks, and the most unforgettable violet eyes, were his wayward bride and that scoundrel Jameson.

Stephen was relieved to learn that the Lady Fair was destined for Charles Town, South Carolina. This was one of the few ports that welcomed her sort since Charles Town ports were far busier than those of Savannah.  Since hos plantation outside of Savannah was only a few days ride from Charles Town, Stephen made many a trip there. Thus, he was quite familiar with the city and its docks. He was thankful for that, at least.

He threw the dampened towel onto the impeccably clean floor and slammed his fist into the palm of his hand while he went over in his mind what he intended to do to that rogue, Jameson, when he finally caught up with him. To risk the wellbeing and reputation of a naive young daughter of a deceased family friend was bad enough, but to take off with a man’s new bride – well that was unconscionable.

The fact that the banns were read on only two of the necessary three Sundays during the church service before they took their nuptial vows weighed heavy on Stephen’s mind. If Jameson was aware of this fact, then claiming Elizabeth as his legal wife would be difficult, if not impossible. The earl assured him it would be taken care of and hoped he was successful in doing so. Things were a complete mess.

A man who liked his affairs to be orderly, Stephen cursed himself for being so swept away by Elizabeth’s beauty that he did not have sense enough to delve deeper into the earl’s motive for marrying them before the agreed upon date and time. Not that knowing she preferred to run away rather than marry him would have swayed him from going through with the wedding. It was quite common for young brides to be concerned about their future with a man they hardly knew. Many a future bride rebelled with the threat of running off. If he had known Elizabeth was so set against becoming his wife, he would have taken greater pains to allow more time to court her. He would have wooed her instead of forcing her to do something she was so obviously repulsed by.

He was certain that, had he been given more time, he could have changed her mind about him. As it was, he managed to make her desire to be free of him even stronger. This was obvious since even with all of her uncle’s precautions, she fled in spite of their marriage. Could it be that she knew the marriage law of seventeen-fifty and planned on using it to free herself from him? Was it her intention to nullify their nuptials because of an absence of the completion of the third reading of the banns? She and Jameson were privy to the council of his brother who was the very same lawyer who was privy to all of Elizabeth’s most personal affairs.  He was also the very same man who helped them slip away.

Stephen clutched the back of a chair until his knuckles turned white.  How could he love a woman who disliked him to the extent Elizabeth clearly did? With so many women literally flaunting themselves at him daily, why would he fall for the one woman who wanted nothing to do with him? What was wrong with him?

At least his father managed to see him wed to the woman he chose for him.  If all went well, his father’s desire to see a grandson born into the world would also be fulfilled. Had Stephen realized the duke’s health was going to become so suddenly compromised and deteriorate so rapidly, he would not have procrastinated on marriage and his father would have been enjoying several grandchildren by now. The duke always seemed so healthy and strong. When his lungs weakened to such a precarious state a few years ago -struggling daily to pull enough air into them to allow him to maintain a normal lifestyle- everyone was taken by surprise. Since Stephen was off proving himself and building a fortune of his own that surpassed the inheritance awaiting him in his homeland, those concerned thought it best not to burden him with news of his father’s weakened state. With the overseer dead and his father’s health in such a seriously impaired state, they felt they had no choice. He would have to abandon his adventures and return to England post haste. The future of his family’s legacy depended on it.

Taking the duke’s health into consideration, Stephen decided to keep Elizabeth’s flight from him. News of this nature would only be torture to a sick man who was powerless to be of any assistance. He sent a message by courier claiming a small business matter that could not be ignored called him back to his plantation in Georgia. He and his new bride would be making haste, but they would stay no longer than necessary. He felt terrible about lying to a distinguished old man who lay so sick in his bed, but it seemed the better thing to do under the circumstances.

Morris silently went about his business tidying up the room and made ready for the long evening ahead of them while watching Stephen out of the corner of his eye. He decided to extinguish the fire in the miniature coal burner in lieu of the raging waters becoming even more troublesome than they already were. The cabin was constructed as such that its heat would hold for several hours before Stephen would feel the effects of the cold and often intolerable damp and salty air. Hopefully, by then the storm would have passed and Morris could bring the small box back to life.

After assisting Stephen with his dressing and aiding him into bed, he extinguished the lighting and fumbled his way to his own cot.  He was grateful for its softness and warmth. His master may be young and still hot headed at times, but he was also considerate and appreciative of those who served him. Although smaller in proportion, Morris’ bedding was almost as plush and grand as Stephen’s own.

“Good night sir. Sleep tight,” Morris uttered softly.

“’Till the morning, my good man,” Stephen replied before he rolled onto his side and pulled the thick woolen blanket high around his neck. He was eager to let slumber take him away from his worries and the storm.

The incessant pounding of a fist against wood not two hours later startled both master and servant awake. Morris leapt toward the door and opened it just enough to allow the blinding light of the globe protected candle the ship mate held high to assault his eyes.

“What is it, man?” Morris whispered with mild agitation. He looked over his shoulder in hopes the intrusion did not disturb Stephen.

“I am awake, Morris. What is it?” Stephen bellowed through the darkness.

“’Tis the captain, sir, ‘e sent me for you,” the mate said firmly, but hesitantly.

He’d begged not to have to be the one to awaken Lord Carlson at such an hour. Although the storm passed and the waters were calm, the sun was still not risen. Disturbing the slumber of someone as grand as Lord Carlson seemed very wrong. He wanted to have no part of it, but the captain was stern with his orders.  So here he was, doing exactly what he wished so vehemently not to have to do.

“What time is it?” Stephen growled as he struggled to shake the sleep from his head.

“’Tis not yet daylight, sir,” the mate replied with a groan. Why did he always get the dirty jobs? Why could that scum Williams not be set to a task such as this?

“’Tis important then?” Stephen’s voice sounded a little more reasonable.

“Aye, I believe so, sir,” the mate replied, mildly encouraged by the change in Stephen’s tone of voice.

“Tell the captain I shall be there shortly,” Stephen stated flatly as he heaved his body out of bed.

Stephen felt stiff from the chill of the storm he so foolishly stood engulfed in for a questionable period of time. Rubbing his hands together, he watched as Morris lit a lantern and did his best to pry a little heat out of the few barely glowing coals in the coal box.

“I shall have this place heated up in no time, sir,” Morris stated enthusiastically.

“All well and good,” Stephen said, “but for now, just help me dress to go atop.”

“Very good sir,” Morris responded. He set the well-used iron poker back in its cradle and began assisting Stephen with his ritual of dress.

Morris served Stephen since he was a young boy and was overly fond of him. A lover of travel and adventure, he was more than delighted to accept Stephen’s offer to join him on his adventures and remain in service.

Watching young Stephen transform from an over-privileged young boy to a man who earned his own way in the world by accumulating such wealth on his own that he suffered no requirement for the inheritance of his father’s vast fortune earned the valet’s respect and everlasting devotion. Like the crew felt about their captain, Morris was certain that a finer man could not be found than the employer he was now assisting with dress.

Stephen made haste to the captain’s cabin. Entering without knocking, he was greeted by a notably unkempt Captain Jackson Sims seated at an ornate, sturdy looking mahogany table holding a small piece of paper. A dead carrier pigeon lay before him.

“’Twas a terrible storm he struggled through,” Sims said as he nodded toward the dead bird. “‘Tis a shame to lose him. Homing pigeons what can locate ships are difficult to train. This was one of our last,” he mumbled. “’’Tis a wonder the little guy made it through a storm the likes of what we just had. You’re lucky the message even reached you.”

“Aye, ‘tis true,” Stephen replied as he seated himself on a bench secured to the floor on the opposite side of the table from the captain. He gently nudged the bird with his index finger; as if by doing so he would bring it back to life. “What did it bring?”

“This,” Sims stated flatly as he shoved the small message sheet he disbanded from the bird’s leg at Stephen.

Stephen unrolled the slight bit of paper and read the words that were written in the tiniest of scripts, The Duke has died. Our sincere sympathies.

Although he knew the news would come one day, he felt overwhelmed with sadness.