The French Prize Read Free Page A

in fact, made up of several masts. Thus a mainmast might be, as a whole, a mainmast, but in its component parts it is a main lower mast, a main topmast, and a main topgallant mast. These sections overlap where they are mounted one upon the other in a carefully balanced system of perfectly fit parts.
    Each of the masts is supported by its attendant shrouds: lower shrouds, topmast shrouds, topgallant shrouds. Those and the backstays keep the masts from falling forward, while the forestays keep them from falling aft. All of those parts pull in opposing directions, holding the others in check, a balance of tension. All of those parts get worn with use until they fit easily into their familiar places, and resist any change, reject any effort to make them assume a different position.
    And so it was with Jack Biddlecomb and his family. And so it would still be, Jack knew, as he sailed through the open door of the Biddlecomb home and hugged his mother where she stood just inside. She and the house were of a piece: elegant, tasteful, ageless. In the foyer behind her, portraits hung on the flawless white walls and oak stairs bordered by a mahogany handrail ran up to the second floor. A chandelier, one of several in the house, hung above their heads. Around the edge of the intricately woven carpets, oak flooring peeked out that was polished until it looked like it was under a sheet of glass.
    The house itself was a three-story brick affair on Second Street, just to the south of Market, an easy stroll from the dock where Abigail was tied up, a great blessing to Jack in his present condition. As much as Virginia Biddlecomb had made the home their own in the short time they had occupied it, it was not, in fact, their own, but rather one they had rented. In the volatile world of United States politics in the 1790s, with the great stabilizing presence of President George Washington yielding to the Adams administration and the full flourishing of party politics, one did not buy in Philadelphia. If your business in that city was government, you rented. If your business involved intriguing against one faction or another, however, you might reasonably hope for more permanence.
    â€œJack, dear, you are looking well,” Virginia said, a thing she would have said no matter how he looked. She proffered a cheek for a kiss, then drew away, quickly and discreetly looking him up and down. He had done his best to clean up in the time he had, a cold water wash, a shave, a clean suit of clothes, fresh stock, but he still looked like something that had been sloshing around for some time in the bilge. He knew it and he was sure his mother, for all her graciousness, did, too.
    His father was standing right behind his mother, very erect, dressed with precision, ship-shape and Bristol-fashion, as the sailors would say. Jack would not say that, however, because he feared a mention of Bristol would lead to the story of how his father rescued Uncle Ezra from Bristol Harbor in England itself. Bristol? I recall some excitement there! Must have been the year ’75 … no…’76. Was it? Virginia, do you recall?
    Jack kept his mouth shut.
    â€œJack, my boy!” Isaac stuck out his hand, and his look was genuine pleasure as they shook. Jack was pleased to feel the strength in his father’s grip, though the hard calloused palms he recalled from years past were gone, and the dark, nearly black hair—the hair that Jack had inherited—was shot through with gray. “We heard the good news. Word on the waterfront, you well know how that goes. Congratulations.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Jack said. Again, his ears were alert to any false note, any tone of irony or disapproval, and again he heard none. But their visit had just begun. There was time enough, yet.
    The sound of activity in the foyer had drawn the other Biddlecombs like moths to the flame. Elizabeth Biddlecomb swept in, sixteen years old, favoring her mother in