No sooner had he looked over at her than he noticed her stealing a glance away from her three companions, who were all loudly competing for her attention. Her eyes briefly encountered Morgan’s. He looked away, a little flustered and embarrassed that he’d been so bold and blatant in revealing his interest in the young woman. The thin-faced, curly-haired French count was mentioning how much he admired America, quoting something from Lafayette in French. The young American from Philadelphia, Buckley Norris, whose demeanor Morgan found to be both dull and arrogant, was bragging about his illustrious English ancestors, and how he was descended from King Arthur.
Morgan wondered if anyone else had seen him looking at Eliza Robinson. He glanced over at Mrs. Robinson and thought she had noticed when she abruptly looked in his direction, but then she turned away and appeared engrossed in a conversation with the well-to-do Sir Charles Molesworth. Sir Charles was busy mopping his brow with a handkerchief and combing back his thinning gray hair with his hand even as he expounded on the fine quality of American cotton and the efficiency of his cotton mills.
It was at this awkward moment that Lord Nanvers surprised Morgan with an unexpected question. He was pretending to listen, but his attentions were still focused on the girl at the other end of the table.
“Captain, the mutiny was certainly a shock to all of us. How did those men get on your ship? Were they known to you?”
Morgan abruptly turned to Lord Nanvers, explaining that many of his regular sailors had mysteriously taken sick. At that point Lady Nanvers, with her silky, sultry voice, turned her attentions to the young captain. Morgan’s eyes couldn’t help but notice a sapphire and ruby brooch in the shape of a serpent that strategically spiraled downward so as to draw the eye to her bosom.
“Captain, we are all so appreciative of your bravery. Has this ever happened to you before?”
“I’ve had my share of fights and deckside brawls, but I never have had to contend with a mutiny, Lady Nanvers.”
Lord Nanvers put his fork down and rubbed his chin with his right hand.
“I have always been curious, Captain, about men who decide to take on the sea as their calling. I may have asked you before, but tell me again, what made you decide to become a sailor on the New York to London run?”
Morgan was again surprised at the directness and the personal nature of the English lord’s question, but he answered it as truthfully as he could. He explained about his brother Abraham and how his mysterious disappearance at sea years ago was still unsolved. He had always been drawn to the sea, he told Lord and Lady Nanvers, but when his brother went missing, he knew he had to find him. He still had hope, although it was fading, that his brother was alive somewhere.
Loud voices at the other end of the table prevented Lord Nanvers from asking another question. Morgan heard the name of Frances Trollope come up with angry protests from many of the Americans at the table, who cursed that awful English woman who wrote such dreadful lies about the Americans. The English were mostly silent, their faces smug. At that point, Lowery was clearing the plates and bringing in a dessert of apple pie and molasses gingerbread. Soon the feasting began all over again. At the other end of the table, Morgan could hear Eliza Robinson expounding on her views about slavery. She had grown up in Petersburg, Virginia, but her family had moved to New York four or five years ago. Her father was a businessman, originally from Massachusetts, and as a result had never felt at home culturally in the South. She was praising the British for their moral act of freeing the slaves in the West Indies, and explaining to her English and Continental luncheon companions that there were many Americans who favored abolition and she was one of them.
He could just make out her conversation with the French count.
“It is indeed tragic, Mademoiselle Robinson. En France, many of us now realize slavery is like a serpent. Il faut couper la tête. You must cut off its head.”
The days passed by with favorable summer weather, ideal for romantic walks on deck, shuffleboard games, and decoy shooting for the gentlemen. Invariably, the sight of Eliza striding along the ship’s rail with one or two suitors on either side became the talk of the ship. In the roundhouse, at the head of the companionway where the shipboard gossip gathered like rockweed on a tidal shoreline, all the ladies could talk about was which gentleman the spirited Miss Robinson would pick. Morgan often heard such conversations as he walked by groups of women crocheting and reading. He listened with interest as one woman jokingly commented that the captain should preside over a contest where the three suitors would compete for Eliza’s hand.