Dunham

Chapter 14

14

God help a house indeed, since Elliott was, in fact, the head of his: fourteenth Earl Tavendish by virtue of the fact that his father and older brother had died in a coaching accident.

Rather, God help him, since he was most definitely not mad.

Enraged, desperate, and betrayed, aye, but not mad.

Elliott sat in his cabin alone, at his table, having pleaded captain's duties soon after nuncheon had concluded and Croftwood resumed his leisure. Elliott had buried his head in his palms, his hair soaked with the sweat he had been hard-pressed not to wipe away during Croftwood's recitation.

It would not take long for Fury to make the connection between what she suspected of Elliott's circumstance and that tale. She seemed inclined toward sympathy, particularly once Kitteridge's sobriquet was trotted out and her face had lost all its already meager color. Elliott could only hope Croftwood's account, no matter how accurate, was perfunctory enough for Elliott to avoid unwittingly betraying himself by supplying further details. As long as Croftwood thought Lord Henry still thirteenth Earl Tavendish, Lord Phillip Raxham still the heir, Commander Elliott Raxham still the second son, and Lord Kitteridge still alive, there was less chance the boy could connect Elliott to Judas.

Because if he did ... all could be lost. The Crown would strip the title and every asset from them all and cast his family to the wolves. His younger brother and nephew would lose their places at the bar. Elliott's villagers, tenants, and boarders, his staff in London—everyone associated with the earldom—would suffer greatly for Elliott's piracy.

His family and select villagers and tenants, who covered his absence so well that no one would connect him to Captain Judas, could be counted upon to keep their counsel. They had far more to lose than he did, as he would suffer the least: If caught, he would simply be executed on the spot.

He had taken such care this past year to leave no one behind who could identify him, until the blockade when he could not turn back to kill every last British sailor still floating in the wreckage and the ones swimming to shore. They were too many and too scattered.

Both Rathbone and Bancroft had been bobbing in the water, casting up for a glimpse—anything—that would give them a clue as to Captain Judas's identity. He had no way of knowing what they had seen, and thank God he'd had his hair braided and head wrapped.

And now he was becalmed with a woman who could not only identify him by sight, but, given just a few more pieces of information, could put it all together in the blink of an eye.

A series of low thuds reached his ears, then the clang of metal. The Silver Shilling rocked a bit and Elliott arose to lean out his stern windows. Exactly what he had expected: the Mad Hangman, now being grappled to the starboard side of the Thunderstorm. There were shouted commands, greetings, and questions.

He heard Fury's voice coming from her quarterdeck, though he could not see her. She was speaking quickly, orders mixed with bawdy jests. There ensued a shouted conversation 'twixt Fury and the Hollander, which Elliott could not understand because they were speaking in Dutch. She bellowed something which caused great guffaws to ring out from beyond the Thunderstorm. Once the Mad Hangman was attached to the Thunderstorm, all three ships settled back into the still water, and their crews went about the business of pursuing their pleasures, he ducked back into his cabin.

He looked around as if searching for something to do, or as if he had many things to do of equal importance and he could not decide which to do first.

Yet he allowed his mind to drift.

... went back to Northumberland properly chastened and is permanently rusticating. Elliott did have to chuckle at that. Only one person had ever managed to properly chasten him, which was how he had ended up at sea, where he least wanted to be. In fact, he preferred rustication.