The seaside city of Portsmith was stripped of color. Whitewashed brick stained with soot and blackened slate shingled buildings lined the cobblestone lace facing the waterfront. Jack slowed his mount at the head of Wellington Street where the livery stable's sign Potter & Sons swung in the wind.
He dismounted the chestnut mare as one of the stable boys came to take the reins. "Will yu be wanting Gracie aain tomorrow, Captain?"
"No, young Jacobe. I cannot miss my tide. Here's a penny foryour help, lad. I'm going to the inn and sleep before I sail."
After a miserable ride of six miles through the blinding rain, Jack, numb wih cold ached for the comfort of a war bath. The Fox & Field ownd by a sprigtly north country matron, Mrs. Gould, served up decent mutton, or would, that is, if he got there in time. He quickened his steps, eager to resume his life at sea and the lessening of his grief.
"Ah, it's the young cap'n," greeted the innkeeper in the entryway, Brass hooks along the paneled walls overflowed with hats, cloaks and greatcoats, giving off the musty smell of wet wool. Male voices, some strident and others boasting, came from behing the closed tavern door to the right. "Bless my soul, I've a full house tonight. Pop into the public room and have yerself a pint whilst I send a girl to lay your fire. Shall I send your supper along as well?" She bobbed a curtsey,
"Yes. After my bath. I'm not in th mood for the pub, Mrs. Gould." Jack's fatigue increased as his hostess hovered near. "I'm chiled to my very bones."
"let me take your cloak, sir. We've water heating for your bath. Expecting you, we was. I sez to Fanny, 'Surely the gentleman is wanting his soak, I sez.'"
"Thank you, Madam. Kind of you. Send up a whiskey, too. I need fou hours of sleep so don't desturb me after supper."
As Jack climbed the staircase, Mrs. Gould hung his cloak. As she did, the inn's door flew open with a blast of frigid air. A slender woman, holding a black umbrella and carrying a stout valise, stood on the threshold. Water dripped from her crimson cape and matching high-crowned hat adorned with white egret feathers, She sneezed violently.
"I am Miss Whing. Seraphim Whing. I understand Captain Dupree keeps a room here when he's not at sea." She blew her nose on a lace hndkerchief and tucked it in her sleeve. "It's urgent I speak with him." She put down her portmanteau.
Mrs. Gould found herself tongue-tied befor she recovered her dignity. "The poor gentleman's caught a chill and won't be disturbed, Miss ...?"
"Miss Whing. W-H-I-N-G." She drew out her handkercief again and sneezed.
"Miss Whing, this is bothersome. I'm really not sure I, ...Are you poorly?" Shutting the door, Mrs. Gould studied the shivering woman. Wisps of red-gold hair clung to an oval face. She wore silver-rimmed spectacles. Her chin trembled as she half-smiled and shook droplets from the umbrella.
Who was she really? Mrs. Gould had never seen the Cap'n in the company of females ...not that he didn't attract the ladies' attention. Their hungry eyes followed him, but he seemed unaware of his fine looks.
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