Dunham

Chapter 32

"You lost her?"

A cold wind blew outside Tavendish Manor, driving drizzle against the paned glass, but inside the library the fire in the large hearth crackled merrily. The room was warm and lit quite brightly by the numerous candles that nevertheless cast dancing shadows here and about.

Elliott stared incredulously at the bedraggled couple that had thrust themselves upon his peaceful midnight, having sprung up from the darkness as if conjured by a witch.

The woman wept softly, miserable in wet, torn, and stained clothing. She could barely speak through her chattering teeth, and Elliott pulled on a bell.

"Yes, my lord?" the butler sniffed.

He gestured toward the woman. "Take Mrs. Mocksling here and have one of the maids settle her in a room, draw her a hot bath, and give her something to eat."

He bowed. "Very good, my lord."

Elliott turned to Mr. Mocksling once the woman was out of earshot. He was just as wet and torn and stained as his wife, but he was the male and thus Elliott would expect him to bear his discomfort with equanimity. Yet the man had not been the one to present them, nor had he spoken a word in the quarter hour since they had knocked on the door.

"How did you lose your daughter?" Elliott asked, wondering if he should be furious or jump for joy.

"We were beset by pirates," he said dully, as if it were a tale oft repeated. "They took her." At Elliott's huff of impatience, he mumbled, "You would not believe it if I told you."

"Tell me anyway," he snapped.

The tale was slow to unfold. The voyage had been difficult. The captain had been incompetent, losing their way several times (and if a land merchant could discern this, by God, a sea captain certainly should be able to). The mother had been seasick. The crew had been ogling the daughter (that should convince my lord of the truth of his description of her), and the father had been hard-pressed to keep her secluded and protected.

"Yes, yes, yes," Elliott said with great impatience. "And you were overcome by pirates and set down somewhere down south and now have walked hundreds of miles to get here for what purpose?"

"The captain sent us. She was—"

Elliott's head snapped up. "She? The captain of the pirate vessel was a she?"

"Yes. Yes, I realize how unbelievable that is. Yet she was unmistakably female after she removed her shirt and gave it to Georgina—" Georgina?! "—but one would be excused for not noticing the woman's ... generous bosom ... for all the scars. I have never seen such and God willing, I never will again. Gave her name as Captain Fury, but of course, that is most likely not her name."

"Nay," Elliott whispered, gaping at Mocksling, then he began to chuckle. That turned into a laugh. Then a rolling guffaw.

The man looked at him as if he were mad and indeed, he might be—mad with joy.

"Ah ... " Elliott began, but then laughed again and wiped tears from his eyes. "Tell me of your voyage, then. Other than being a bit damp, 'twould seem no harm has befallen you."

"We had duties," he muttered as if bewildered. "We worked hard—menial tasks—but were not unduly molested."

Elliott's eyebrow rose. "Unduly?"

The man gulped. "The captain did seem a mite put out with the missus and, ah, chastened her."

Chastened? Elliott wondered that he was not more outraged at his wife having received a lashing and then been set to tend all the personal needs of the women aboard.