Free Falconer's Quest by T. Davis Bunn

tonight than thanks?”
    “Amen,” Reginald Langston intoned, his voice shaky and tight. “I say again. Amen.”

Chapter 8
    They made landfall at Portsmouth in southern England on a Wednesday. The very same storm that had threatened their survival also shortened the standard journey by six full days, for a solid wind had stayed off their beam the entire voyage. Seventeen days from Chesapeake Bay to England, a time that missed the record by less than thirtysix hours. The pilot who took charge of their final sail into port insisted upon seeing their master documents from the American docks before believing them, then took it upon himself to trumpet the news. Harkness was the toast of the harbor.
    He and Lieutenant Bivens remained in Portsmouth while Reginald arranged a swift carriage to London. A new train line was being laid from London to Brighton and then on alongside the coastal road. But it had not yet been completed as far as the port, and Falconer still held serious reservations over the safety of trains. After surviving such an Atlantic storm, he did not wish to lose his boy to a metal beast that ate coal and belched fire and black smoke.
    Falconer feared London would be full of painful reminiscences. He had not yet even met Ada when he had resided there with the late William Wilberforce and his young staff. Still, any glance into his past risked raking his heart over the burning coals of regret, sorrow, and lost love. However, he scarcely had time to remember much of anything, for they remained in London only seventy-two hours.
    They stayed in the Aldridge residence bordering Grosvenor Square. Samuel Aldridge, who formerly served as a high-ranking diplomat to the court of Saint James, was now Reginald Langston’s partner overseeing their European affairs. The two dinners in the Aldridge home were long and crowded affairs, with as many as twenty guests filling the dining hall and cramming the long table to overflowing. Erica Powers, Reginald’s sister and wife of the famous pamphleteer Gareth Powers, was in constant attendance. Their entourage filled two entire carriages as they made their way to a variety of official meetings. Though everything was arranged in great haste, seldom were they refused entry. Such was the combined influence of these friends and allies.
    They stopped by Bond Street and bought clothes off the rack for Falconer and his lad. They attended a session of Parliament. They met with both the French ambassador and the Spanish, as these nations’ Africa holdings were rumored to harbor pirates. They were granted letters of introduction and letters of marque. The documents were signed with great flourishes, dripped with sealing wax, stamped with gold seals of office, and affixed with flowing royal ribbons. Both ambassadors were well aware of the Langston family’s power.
    Everywhere they went, Matt Hart was agog. He had never seen a big city before. Never seen such grand buildings. Never entered an official residence. Never seen Parliament or a palace or even a museum. The Powers’ daughter, Hannah, slipped away from her private school for the first dinner. She and Falconer had become the best of friends during his first foray in England. She was growing into a young woman whose beauty mirrored her mother’s. Matt fell head over heels in love and later mourned her departure for two whole hours.
    Falconer took time out the second afternoon to go exploring with Matt. They took in the British Museum and the royal Portrait Gallery. They walked along the Serpentine and tossed bread to well-fed swans, all of which were owned by the king. They squandered an hour in a theater which Mrs. Aldridge had assured Falconer was safe and appropriate for children. Matt shouted his delight, while Falconer enjoyed the child’s amusement far more than what occurred upon the stage. They dined at the famous chop house on Fleet Street, where Falconer paid extra for the table by the upstairs window, from which they