Episode 8

Meanwhile, at the manor house in Ipswich:

The Count of Devonshire woke with a sense of fatigue greater than usual. Since his wife had passed away, his days had turned into a devastating monotony, and exhaustion had become part of his life. He knew he was ill, very ill. At least with her, he always had a reason to argue and talk. Despite many believing she was arrogant and cold, she had always been sweet and friendly with him. He could say he had had a blessed marriage, very different from the typical aristocratic marriages.

The only thing that had given him some comfort was the letter that had arrived from Paris. He had a granddaughter, an heiress; he didn’t mind, like many others, that she wasn’t a man—she was of his blood, and that was what mattered. And she was alone in the world, just like he was now that his son had passed away. Yes, he had also been informed of that sad event.

He rang the bell beside his bed to summon his valet. Shortly after, the man entered with his breakfast, the newspaper, and a stack of correspondence for him to read.

“How’s the weather outside, Jaspers? Yesterday, when I went to sleep, there was a hellish storm. I hope the horses are well?” He asked while heading to the wardrobe to choose his clothes.

“It’s sunny, sir, with a light breeze. I believe your horses are fine; I heard the stable master say he had the stable boys sleep with them, in case they got scared and found a way to escape.” Jaspers replied as he pulled a dark suit and a shirt from the wardrobe.

“Good. And the farmers, were there any incidents?” He asked while picking up the newspaper to begin reading.

“Only Mr. Harris's sheep strayed, but he has already rounded them up with the help of the gardeners. The stream overflowed into the northern fields, but since they were in their resting period, no crops were lost.”

“Hmm... so no damages.” Good, he commented, continuing to leaf through the newspaper. Then a headline caught his attention. A merchant ship, led by Captain Scott, lost much of its cargo in yesterday's storm, and two passengers are missing.

“Jaspers, my clothes, quickly, and have my carriage prepared, I must go to Plymouth.”

“But, sir, what about lunch with your lordship?”

Cancel it, tell him there’s been an unforeseen event. Hurry, man.

“Yes, sir.” Jaspers said, never having seen his employer so flustered.

In half an hour, the Count of Devonshire was on his way to the Plymouth port, repeatedly telling the coachman to go faster. The time seemed to drag on endlessly. Finally, he arrived at the port and went straight to the place where the Azure had just anchored. He waited, his heart racing.

When Amélie stepped down from the Azure, the first person she saw was the imposing figure of the Count of Devonshire. When he saw her, he hurried to her, his eyes full of questions.

“Amélie, where is my granddaughter? Where is Tabitha?” He demanded, his voice heavy with emotion.

Amélie tried to respond, but the words got stuck. Finally, she shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know, My Lord. The storm... She and Lord Devereux were thrown into the sea. I couldn’t save them.”

The Count staggered slightly but quickly recovered and gripped Amelie’s shoulders firmly. “We will not give up on her. Tabitha is strong, and Devereux is a resourceful man. I’ll hire every ship in this port if necessary, but we will find my granddaughter.”

Amelie nodded, wiping away her tears.

Shortly after, the captain was not surprised to receive the Duke’s card—he had expected it at any moment, if what Lady Tabitha had said was true, and apparently it was. He told his first officer to introduce the Duke into his cabin. As soon as the Duke entered, Scott stood to greet him and bowed as was appropriate for his rank, but he was not expecting the aristocrat’s reaction upon entering.

Lord Devonshire entered the cabin and immediately grabbed the Captain by the shoulders, tears shining in his eyes and a trembling voice asking,

“Please, tell me they are alive.”

“My Lord, please sit.” Captain Scott asked, concerned.

“Tell me.” the Duke insisted, shaking him.

“I can’t give you a definitive answer, My Lord. The storm was so fierce, I still don’t know how we managed to survive.”

Hearing this, the Duke collapsed into a nearby chair. Seeing him so pale, the Captain rushed to the sideboard, where he had some brandy, and poured a generous amount, placing it in the old gentleman’s hand.

“Drink this, My Lord, it will help.”

“I’ve lost them...” The Duke said with an expression of complete despair, bringing the glass to his lips.

“Not wanting to give you false hope, but there are some small islands in the area where they fell; they may have managed to reach one of them.”

Upon hearing this, the Duke placed the glass down, stood up in a rush, and grabbed the Captain again, shaking him violently while shouting. “Then what the hell are we doing here? Lift anchor, and let’s go look for them!”

“I’m sorry, My Lord, but the storm left my ship in very bad condition. I will need a few weeks to repair it.”