Joan glanced again at Winston, then rose and disappeared through the shuttered doors leading into the back room.
After Briggs watched her depart, he turned toward Winston. "You, sir, have studied to plague me from the day you dropped anchor."
"I usually cut the deck before I play a hand of cards."
"Well, sir, I'll warrant Cromwell's got the deck now, for this hand at least. We'll see what you do about him."
"Cromwell can be damned. I'll manage my own affairs."
"As will we all, make no mistake." He took another drink. "Aye, we'll come out of this. We'll be selling sugar to the
Dutchmen again in a year's time, I swear it. They can't keep that fleet tied up here forever." He looked at Winston. "And when it's gone, you'd best be on your way too, sir. Mark it."
"I'll make note."
Joan moved back through the room. "Five pounds." She handed Briggs a small cloth bag. "Count it if you like. That makes her mine. You'll see the balance when she's safe in this room."
"You've got a trade." He took the bag and inventoried its contents with his thick fingers. "I'll let this tankard serve as a handshake." He drained the last of the liquor as he rose. As he clapped his soaking hat back onto his head, he moved next to where Winston sat. "And you, sir, would be advised to rethink helping me whilst there's time. That savage is apt to slit your throat for you soon enough if he's not tracked down."