So – now that I have a moment – the by now customary all text version of a new chapter!  Sorry for the wait – it’s been a rough month.

Here, of course, is the link to the whole thing on Ao3.

Chapter Fifteen:

Manor houses, Miranda reflected, were much the same the country over.

The one she was in, for example, varied little in architecture or interior layout from the one she herself had grown up in. The rooms that she crept through at present were reminiscent of a hundred such that she had, as a child, spent long hours in, getting up to mischief with her sister and, later, with more than one young man. She had spent long days wandering the halls of her parent’s manse, blessed as she had been with long spans of time in which to do precisely nothing, and it was that very familiarity that was now going to prove her salvation, or at least so she hoped. She grasped the hand of the little girl who stood beside her, trembling, and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Stay very close to me,” she murmured, and Abigail gave a frightened nod.

“They can’t have gone far! Spread out and find them!” The cry came from far too close by, and Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, offering up a silent prayer.

She turned to Abigail.

“If I tell you to go, I want you to do it, and do so quietly,” she whispered, the barest murmur. “Don’t stop, and don’t ever look back. Do you understand me?”

Abigail nodded silently, and Miranda swallowed hard, her lips flattening into an unhappy line.

“We’re going to make for the abandoned wing. Not a sound, now, can you do that?” Abigail nodded again, and Miranda stood. This was no different than the games of hide and seek she’d used to play with her cousins when they were children, she told herself resolutely. She had excelled at it, and she did not think that she had forgotten how it was done. If she could hide from Cousin George, she could do it from this pack of fools. She motioned to Abigail, and together they set off down the darkened corridor.
******************************************
An hour earlier:

She could not help the sense of satisfaction that rose up in her at the sight of George Churchill’s parlor door.

It had, she thought, been absurdly easy to get inside. The maid, Millie, had seen to it that she entered through the servants’ door, and she had gone entirely unnoticed since then, passing through the very halls that the Lord Admiral had proposed to have her drug through kicking and screaming without a hint of recognition from anyone. Had she not spent ten years in Nassau, she might have been unnerved – might have wondered exactly how many of her own servants were not servants at all but agents in the employ of either Alfred or Peter Ashe. As it was, she had done a tally after the fact – people who had, in retrospect, been ever present and just so subtly wrong, and come up with a rather depressing number. She had most likely been wrong in one or two cases, but the ones she was certain of more than made up for any error in her calculations. The ones who had quite suddenly found other employment in the wake of her father-in-law’s death, for example, had given her the idea for this gambit in the first place.

She was drawing nearer now, and she paused. She could not go inside – that much was certain. Admiral Churchill might not have recognized her, but his sister-in-law most certainly would. She did not know for certain what Sarah’s part in this was, and until she did, she did not dare risk being discovered.

Fortunately, she did not think she would have to get close in order to hear the conversation in its entirety. The Churchills might have been many things – powerful nobles, schemers, friends to the Queen, great military minds – but what they were not was quiet.

“- in God’s name what you think you are doing?!” Sarah Churchill’s voice penetrated the wall, carrying through the corridor, clear and cold and absolutely, incandescently furious.

“I might ask you the same,” an unfamiliar voice, waspish and somewhat nasal, answered. This, then, was George Churchill. Miranda pressed her lips together. She was not well acquainted with the Churchill family and had never met George, but she somehow doubted based on his voice that he much resembled his famed brother, either in looks or personality. “Tell me,” the Admiral continued. “Did you imagine that Alfred’s death would go unnoticed?”

There was a brief silence. When Sarah spoke again, her voice was surprisingly calm – deceptively so, Miranda thought.

“Do you know,” the Duchess said softly, “what they are saying about it on the street?”

“I’ve had other concerns,” George answered, and she gave a short, sharp laugh.

“Other concerns,” she repeated scornfully. “They are saying, brother, that it must have been Lord Thomas himself – or his wife. It is widely rumored that he and his father had a falling out – that Alfred’s death was the result of a power struggle, one that Lord Thomas won. And do you know what they will say when it is discovered that you, in your infinite wisdom, tried to abduct Lady Miranda?”

“They will say nothing, provided of course that you remove yourself and allow me to get on with the business of saving this family from your ruinous stupidity!”

“My stupidity?” Sarah demanded. “Mine? Do you have any notion of what I was trying to accomplish? We were one step away from an alliance with the Hamiltons – from allying with the Duke of Hamilton himself, and you -”

“I am trying to save us all from ruin!” There was a brief shocked silence, and Miranda leaned closer, eyes widening. “Do you have no notion,” George breathed at last, “of who Alfred Hamilton was? Of what he was?”

“A thorn in our sides,” Sarah answered. “An obstacle -”

“And he knew it!” George answered. “Good God, woman! Did you not think for one moment of why John never had him removed before now?”

“I know it all too well, and I think you will agree that his death was a less unappealing turn of events than the outcry that would have resulted had he testified, in court, about your activities and his part in them,” Sarah answered. “You should count yourself fortunate that I have not seen fit to share those activities with John.”

“His son -”

“His son has concerns, you fool, other than your meaningless, petty little career. Do you honestly imagine that he would turn you in? What could he possibly gain from it that he could not have at a moment’s notice now?”

“I do not know but I would prefer not to take the risk. With his wife in our keeping, he will not dare to -”

“And what are you planning on doing with her, exactly?” Sarah asked waspishly. “Keep her at the top of a tall tower like Rapunzel in some fucking fairy tale?”

“The boy is -”

“The boy, as you term him, is a man full grown, and a peer of the realm,” Sarah hissed. “That man is now in command of a very large fortune, an equally large cohort of supporters, and a wife who only this morning informed me that your men had been sent to abduct her from her carriage, manhandling her in a shameful fashion before she took it upon herself to set herself free. Whatever damage control you were attempting to perform has failed, miserably, and now Lady Miranda is ready to tell the world, George! May I remind you what Thomas Hamilton does to those he finds inconvenient, let alone those who threaten him? Dear God – Alfred was his father, and he had no qualms about disgracing him! Imagine what he will do to us!”

“He cannot threaten us if his wife is -”

The sound of a slap rang out, and Miranda jumped, looking around her once again. The hallway remained deserted, although how long that would hold true was anyone’s guess, and she did the best she could to tuck herself even further into a shadowed corner.

“You fool,” Sarah breathed. “You utter, mindless, useless cretin. Have you any idea what the new Earl will do to us all?”

“You think that I do not know -”

“You have no idea the things I have done to hide your blundering from your brother – the things I have done to prevent you from bringing his career crashing down along with our entire house, and now – now, when Lord and Lady Hamilton were about to leave for New Providence – when we were finally safe -”

“Alfred’s death left a rather large gap in our finances, or perhaps you had forgotten? You call that safe?”

“SILENCE!” The Duchess’ voice rose, and Miranda raised an eyebrow, impressed at the volume. There was a brief silence – apparently even George Churchill had not expected quite such a response.

“You will clean up this mess,” Sarah ordered after a moment. “Lady Hamilton tells me that you have taken her lover, the Captain that she and her husband have become so close to. I don’t know what led you to make the decision, and I do not care, as it is perhaps the only sensible thing you have done in this entire catastrophically stupid endeavor. Ensure that he is kept safe and treated well, and when I return, you will allow me to speak with Lady Hamilton. Above all else – all else – you will say nothing of any of this to John.”

There was a second silence, and then the Admiral’s voice sounded again.

“If I go down,” George Churchill said, almost conversationally, “you’ll go with me. It would almost be worth it.”

Miranda could hear the Duchess’ breathing – could hear her fury even through the door.

“If you go anywhere near my husband,” she breathed at last, “if you attempt to contact him – if you dare to ever again breathe in a way that might harm him – I will ensure that you spend whatever is left of your miserable existence screaming in agony without respite. Mark my words, George – I will set you on fire from the inside such that no water in the world will be sufficient to smother it, so help me God.” She turned, her skirts rustling –

And Miranda hurried away down the hall. She had heard all she was likely to – all that might be of any use – and she had no desire to be caught listening for more.

She needed, she thought grimly, to have a look at George Churchill’s papers. She had anticipated the need when she had entered the house, but it had become only more urgent in the face of the conversation she had just overheard. Somewhere, James was being kept to be used – was imprisoned, and she would not tolerate it. If she could make her way to Churchill’s study, she could either find the answer among his papers, or she could lie in wait for him and force the answer from him. Either way, she would find James, and then –

She took a deep breath. She had come here tonight with the full intention of treating the Churchills to a dose of the same bitter medicine she herself had been force fed once, and in truth, the desire to do so still remained. She could not stop hearing the Duchess’ voice in her head – the sound of the other woman ordering George Churchill to hold James prisoner as presumable ensurance of Miranda’s acquiescence to their latest scheme, and the thought burned. And yet –

“If you go anywhere near my husband,” Sarah had said, and Miranda could not help but understand the sentiment. The Duchess, she realized, was not doing this out of maliciousness. The desperation in her voice – the sheer anger – was as familiar to Miranda as breathing, and she could not help but sympathize with the other woman’s predicament. She had solved a problem – had, in fact, done Miranda herself a very large favor in the process of doing so, and this was her reward, this mess that was not of her making. It was not her fault, and yet it had become her problem, one that she was still attempting to solve without further bloodshed and a minimum of heartache even as she tried to protect her husband from the fallout of his brother’s stupidity. Was that not worth some small consideration?

No, something small and petty and utterly, utterly furious wailed inside her. No, it was not enough – would never be enough to warrant mercy. The Duchess, her husband the Duke, the Admiral – the titles only helped to establish their guilt, for had they not sat by in another life and watched while Miranda’s life was destroyed? Had they not been complicit in James’ disgrace, in Thomas’ murder? What mercy did they deserve, no matter their motives?

It did not matter – not yet. The question was irrelevant at the moment. She began walking again, refusing to spend another moment considering. She needed to find James – to free him and see his condition for herself. Then, and only then, would she allow herself to contemplate her next moves. She could not make any decision without –

The scream sounded from behind her, close by and piercing, loud enough to rouse the entire household. It was high-pitched – full of terror, entirely too ill-modulated to belong to an adult – and familiar.

“Abigail,” she murmured, her heart stopping in her chest for the space of a moment. “No.”
******************************************************
London:

Admiral Hennessey’s home, Thomas thought privately, was not what he had been expecting.

Having met the man, he had expected, somehow, something – darker in tone, not in mood, but merely in the color scheme. He had anticipated dark woods, rugs and drapes to match, and paintings of naval battles – something, in other words, like his London office, and to a certain degree, he had been correct. Hennessey’s private study and the drawing room, such as it was, certainly reflected the man who lived here, but the rest –

He stood in the front foyer, looking up at the ceiling. The house, he thought, certainly could not have belonged to Hennessey from its first construction and decorating, not for any lack of funds on the older man’s part, but simply because he could not picture Hennessey commissioning the soaring, open spaces for himself. Then again, though – Hennessey was a sailor, and what was the sea if not a great deal of open space?

“So – did you grow up here?” John’s voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to find James and John both standing behind him. James, he noted, still looked tired, and John looked little better, although as the youngest in body and most resilient of the three of them, he undoubtedly looked less worn out than Thomas himself.

They had spent the past several hours attempting to get some sleep, with varying degrees of success. Thomas had tossed and turned, unable to put Miranda’s predicament out of his mind, and finally managed a cat nap of no more than half an hour. James, still hurting from the injuries he’d garnered the night before, had done much the same, although he had slept longer, aided by his enviable ability to sleep under any circumstances – an ability, he told Thomas, he had gained aboard ships over the length of three decades. Thomas privately wished that the skill could be taught, rather than gained by experience alone, as he himself was not accustomed to this kind of extended stress without the benefit of rest.

He wondered whether Miranda had had any rest. He wondered whether Miranda was being kept comfortably, or if –

“Thomas,” James’ voice came to him, and he shook his head.

“Beg pardon,” he offered. “What were you saying, James?”

“He was explaining how the chip in that bust got there and why he’s permanently forbidden from going anywhere near the kitchen,” John answered, his tone almost gleeful, and Thomas turned his attention to his lover, whose cheeks flushed, the red almost drowning out the freckles on his face.

“It was only once,” he said. “And in my defense that platter was unreasonably large. Who needs one the size of a nine year old child?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, and James gave him a guilty expression.

“I think I’ve mentioned that I was young when Admiral Hennessey first took me on as his ward. The first holiday I spent here I -” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “There may – may – have been an incident involving a very large silver platter, the staircase, and a bust that just happened to be sitting at exactly the wrong height. I’m still not sure why it didn’t shatter entirely.”

Thomas stared.

“You -” He looked at the staircase, and at the pedestal that housed a bust that, indeed, seemed to have a slight dent in it. “Christmas?” he asked, and James nodded, wincing.

“Sledding season,” he confirmed, and Thomas could not help it – one corner of his mouth turned upward, quickly followed by the other. He raised a hand to his mouth, trying to cover his mirth, and could not quite manage it, the image of a very small James sledding down the staircase entirely too amusing to be ignored. James seemed to agree, as his embarrassed expression quickly gave way to a tell-tale grin.

“Mrs. Teller still chases me out with a broom if I get too close to the kitchen door,” he confessed, and then Thomas was laughing. It should not, he thought, have been all that funny, but the stress of the last two days made it seem somehow hilarious, keeping him laughing, shoulders shaking, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes at the mental image presented.

“You -” he started, and then began laughing again, imagining James yelping and running from the cook and her broom.

And that, he realized, had been the point. The laughter had finally subsided into chuckling, and he had only just started to regain control of his breathing properly, one hand still braced against his side, when he noticed John. He was standing next to James, his mouth quirked upward, not truly smiling, and yet –

He must, Thomas thought suddenly, have been a terrifyingly effective quartermaster. The laughter – Thomas’ laughter – had been the point of this. The distraction, more than anything, had been the desired effect, and while he did not doubt that John was as curious about James’ childhood as Thomas himself, he never, ever did anything without at least two motives, and this time was no different. He looked directly at John, who shrugged even as he grinned, and Thomas could not help but grin in return. John’s grin widened. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head toward James, and Thomas could not help but follow the direction of the tilt, looking toward his lover – at his smiling face, his green eyes resting on Thomas fondly. Thomas allowed his eyes to travel over James’ face – over the fond expression on it, his green eyes warm and amused, and understood. This, then, had been Silver’s goal – James, happy and distracted from the situation at hand when he could do nothing about it.

“It wasn’t funny at the time,” James said. “I thought I was going to be kicked out for good. Fortunately Admiral Hennessey claimed he never liked that bust to begin with – belonged to the previous owner, evidently. They must not have liked it either.”

“Well, who can blame them? I mean look at the fucking thing, it’s hideous!” John chimed in. He made a face, imitating the statue, and James laughed. John, Thomas saw, had turned his attention to James. He was watching, blue eyes focused, mouth half-quirked still, and one hand wrapped around the bannister, leaning as if to take weight off the side that Thomas knew had once sported a peg leg. Thomas was about to reach out – was about to gently correct John’s stance, in fact, so as to avoid him ruining the knee and hip on the opposite side unnecessarily, when he saw it.

He had thought John Silver to be quite cunning – opportunistic, James had said, and devilishly clever, and above all else, a ruthless manipulator, entranced with the idea of power, capable of commanding it with frightening ease. A dangerous man, in other words, and one quite incapable of truly loving another person.

James, Thomas suddenly realized, was quite possibly an idiot. He could not be otherwise, for what man in his right mind and possessed of a full complement of wits could look at the look on John Silver’s face right now and not see what was painfully plain to Thomas’ own eyes? Who could possibly -?

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment. James, he thought fondly – his James, who had not changed so far over the years after all, especially not when it came to attachments and people’s feelings towards him. He released a huff of breath, and opened his eyes to find John still making a truly ridiculous face, and James watching him, somewhat reluctantly amused. Yes, Thomas thought – he knew that look, and it was a very good thing that they were all heading to New Providence when this was over, because –

The door, when it crashed open, startled all of them. James turned, startled, hand going to his hip as if for a sword, and John did much the same, while Thomas, for his part, jumped, a hand going to James’ shoulder, reaching out less to restrain but to put him within arm’s reach, ready to yank him out of harm’s way if need be.

“Sir – Lord Hamilton!” He relaxed at the sound of the messenger boy’s voice.

“David,” he answered, relieved. “What-?”

“What is it?” James demanded, and David quailed.

“Not this again!” he said. “I’ve got a message for Lord Hamilton and so help me if you lay hands on me again-”

James rolled his eyes.

“Oh for -” he muttered, and Thomas attempted not to laugh. “Did you want an engraved apology,” James demanded, “or would you be pleased if I swore never to do it again?”

“I’m certain that Captain McGraw regrets frightening you,” Thomas interjected. “The message, David?”

David shook his head.

“Loony,” he muttered again, still side-eyeing James, and turned back to Thomas. “You’re to come to Windsor at once, sir. Lady Ashe sent a message. Lady Miranda is in Windsor, and she’s gone to Admiral Churchill’s home on her own. Lady Ashe says to come quickly, sir – she’s not seen Lady Hamilton in hours and Miss Abigail’s gone missing as well.”

“What the hell do you mean, she’s gone to see Churchill?” James demanded. “Was that the entire message? Come back here -!”

The boy proved entirely too nimble for him this time, hopping away from James’ outstretched hand, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone, heading toward the door.

“David -!” Thomas started, but it was too late. He was out the door and gone before any of them could blink.

“Damn it,” James swore. “What in the fuck does she think she’s -?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Thomas answered. “John – see if you can’t find some pen and paper, won’t you? We need to notify Admiral Hennessey. We need to go to Windsor. Now.”
******************************************
Windsor:

She had not meant for the guard to hear her.

She had made it out of the carriage just fine. Father’s coachman was never very observant, and this was not the first time that Abigail had snuck her way into her parents’ carriage. Getting out without being seen was just a matter of timing her exit well, and time it she had, right down to the moment that old Hal the coachman sat down with a creak on the seat, hiding the sound of the door opening behind him. She had not dared to close it – that would have made too much noise. Hal would simply assume that he had neglected to latch it behind her aunt and Millie – he had done so in the past, after all, and Abigail was not too concerned about it, worried as she was about keeping up with Aunt Miranda without being seen.

The problem, she thought mournfully, was that Aunt Miranda was so tall – much taller than Abigail, and so she moved so much faster. It was hard with her short legs to keep up. Then, too, there was Millie to consider. Aunt Miranda might have had her attention on bigger problems, but Millie was smart, and she was used to Abigail’s tricks, which meant that Abigail was forced to stay further behind than she might otherwise have done, avoiding the maid’s sharp gaze, made even sharper tonight for that she was serving not only as guide and introduction to the house but as a sort of bodyguard. The result was that by the time Miranda and Millie entered the house they were heading for, Abigail was several yards away, and by the time that she caught up, her aunt and the maid had disappeared, leaving Abigail to wander, lost and increasingly frightened, through the house.

Aunt Miranda, she thought, had said something about overhearing a conversation – something to do with the Duchess and an Admiral, and then she had said something about the Admiral’s papers. Abigail wasn’t sure where the Duchess and the Admiral would be, but she knew where grown-ups kept their papers. Papa, after all, had scolded Abigail once or twice about touching his papers, and told her that they were kept in a very specific order. The Admiral, she decided, probably had his papers in the same place Papa kept his – in his study, and Abigail could find that. And if she found it, maybe Aunt Miranda would let her help look at the Admiral’s papers. Mama had taught her to read last year, and she was getting good at it – Mama said she was, and the Admiral would surely have a lot of papers that Aunt Miranda wouldn’t want to go through herself. Resolved on her course of action, Abigail had turned toward the lower floors of the house, intending to find the Admiral’s study and wait there.

The Admiral’s study, she had decided after five minutes of waiting in it, was boring. It was so quiet there – filled, just as Abigail had thought with books and ink and quills and nothing, nothing at all, to entertain a little girl. There was not even a globe to spin like the one that Papa had in his study – just a lot of boring old maps and shelves of books. Even the desk seemed devoid of distractions, filled as it was with stacks of papers. She stood on the chair, attempting to read some of the ones on top, but they were all reports about this ship or that cargo, and she sat down again, disappointed. Why did adults have to be so boring?

There was a book out of place. It was the only interesting thing on the entire shelf filled with boring, boring account books and even more boring stuff about laws and sailing ships, and Abigail wanted to know what it was, since it was out of place. At the very least, she could put it back where it belonged, and then –

She tugged on the book, her chubby fingers closing on the spine, and gave a frown when it failed to move. That, she thought, was odd. It was just a book – unless there was something behind it? She tugged harder. No luck. Maybe if she pushed -?

The resulting creaking, grinding sound knocked Abigail off the chair she had been standing on with a startled cry. She landed with a thump against the floor and then scrambled backward as the bookshelf before her swung out, leaving her facing –

“Hey! What are you doing in here?”

She spun, heart suddenly racing. Oh no. The guard in the doorway looked angry – angrier than she had ever seen an adult save Mama when Papa had done something she didn’t like. She gulped.

“H – hello there,” she squeaked. “I’m -”

“You’re in the lord’s study, is what you are!” the guard snapped. “Come here – hey!” Abigail did not let him finish his sentence. She was in trouble – she knew that much, and if she got caught, there was a very real possibility that Aunt Miranda would too and that –

That couldn’t happen. It couldn’t. She turned, running down the open passageway, and heard the door creak shut behind her, the mechanism triggered as a pressure plate depressed under her foot. She heard the guard curse and run after her, catching the door and pulling against it to keep it from swinging shut, grunting with the effort. Abigail kept running. It wouldn’t take the guard long to catch up to her – unless she ran fast enough, although she wasn’t sure where she would run to. Aunt Miranda, she thought with a sinking feeling, was going to be so angry.

********************************************************

Miranda turned, her heart sinking into her shoes, terror freezing her in her tracks. She knew that scream – knew the small person it belonged to, as well as she knew the same sound coming from her young niece, her sister’s eldest child. She picked up her skirts, prepared to run toward the noise –

Running footsteps sounded, along with the sound of heavier footfalls close behind them. Abigail, her tiny face screwed up in fright, black hair streaming behind her, came running around the corner, closely pursued by a guard, and Miranda felt her thoughts begin to spin. Abigail was here. Abigail was here, and she had been caught, and if Miranda wanted any of this to mean anything, she could not allow her to be taken. If Abigail were found and questioned – if the Admiral learned that Miranda had been here – he would move James. He would move James, and he would find a way to punish Kitty for sheltering Miranda, and in the meantime, Abigail would be alone and frightened, stuck in a strange place with adults who did not care one whit about her well-being, and all because of Miranda. She would not allow it. She could not. She did not hesitate any further. As the running child came flying past her, she stepped out of the shadows. The guard, startled, motioned at her with one arm.

“Out of the way!” he barked, and Miranda took one step to the side. He passed her –

And without allowing herself to think any further, without wasting another moment, she swung the heavy iron sconce that had hung on the wall at his head, knocking him to the ground. He gave a surprised grunt, and then he was down, unmoving, blood already showing on the back of his head. Abigail turned, confused at the odd sound behind her, and Miranda moved quickly to stand in front of the body, her skirts covering what had just occurred.

“Aunt Miranda?”

She moved forward quickly, grasping the girl’s hand.

“Abigail,” she answered. “Come with me, quickly.”

“There was a man – he was right behind me -” the child started, and Miranda shushed her swiftly.

“We haven’t the time for that,” she said. “Are you alright?” Abigail nodded. “Good.” Angry shouts sounded around the corner, and Miranda looked to the little girl beside her. “How many of them are behind you?” she asked, and Abigail shook her head, her eyes wide.

“There they are!”

Miranda did not wait any longer. She ran, Abigail right beside her, and prayed for her pursuers to trip.
*************************************************
London:

The horses stamped and pawed in their traces, and James looked upward, meeting the eye of the one next to him.

“I know,” he said. “Believe me – I’d like to be away as well.” The horse stamped the ground again, and James reached out, petting its nose. It did little to calm his nerves, but the horse seemed to appreciate the gesture and it was certainly a great deal better than pacing or snapping at people for no better reason than because he was stuck here while –

“You know, talking to the horses is probably a bad sign,” John pointed out, and James gave him an unimpressed look.

“Has anyone ever told you you have a singularly irritating way of trying to be helpful?” he asked, and John raised an eyebrow.

“Occasionally,” he answered. There was a smile on his face, James noted, but the look in his eyes belied it, showing concern instead. “She’s a resourceful woman, or so you once said,” he reminded. “I’m sure -”

“Resourceful and still in danger. Has there been any word yet?” Thomas asked. He had emerged from the house and now stood, looking as anxious as James felt, his blue eyes fixed on James’ face and his brows knotted together in a frown. James shook his head.

“Not yet,” he answered impatiently. “Damn it all, Hennessey, where -?”

As he was saying the words, he heard carriage wheels rattle, and the Admiral’s personal carriage came rolling into the courtyard of the house. The man himself hurried out of the conveyance a moment later, and strode toward James. He fished in his inside coat pocket as he did so, and produced a document, sealed with red sealing wax. He held it out to James as he approached.

“There,” he said as he got closer. “Your warrant. You can be on your way immediately, and I will follow behind as soon as I can round up a few more men I can be certain won’t turn on us.”

James took the warrant from Hennessey’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, sir.” The term of respect rolled off his tongue without a second thought, and Hennessey gave him a half-smile.

“I owe Ned Russell no small debt for getting it so quickly,” he said. “Remember – you cannot actually accuse him of anything based on a note from an hysterical noblewoman. Don’t -”

“Kitty’s message hardly sounded hysterical,” Thomas put in from behind them. “Furious, maybe. I think we’d best be off – she’s likely to do something unwise if we don’t hurry. Admiral.” He nodded, and then he was grasping his horse’s reins, leading it away to mount it.

“James,” Hennessey said sincerely, “be careful. I’ll be along as soon as may be. If you should find Lady Hamilton -”

“I’ll give her your best and convince her not to do to you what she’s probably already done to George Churchill,” James answered. “Good luck.”

“The same to you.”

He turned, and swung into the saddle. It was a good feeling – it had been several months by his reckoning since he had last ridden, but he did not have time to enjoy the ride or to get to know his horse.

“You think we’ll find him unharmed?” John asked, and James shook his head.

“Under the circumstances… I think we’ll be lucky if the house is still standing when we get there.”