It was a good 30 minutes after heavy necking when they became aware of the show's closing theme. They pulled away from each other and looked at the TV screen, dismayed that they'd missed the last half of the episode.
Jo quickly recovered. "Don't worry. I DVR'd it."
vvvv
Henry watched with fascination as Jo did her magic to recover the recorded episode and advance to the last 30 minutes or so that they'd missed. In this instance, he definitely loved technology and waited eagerly for her to restart the program.
"There we go," she said, biting her lower lip. "This is the last that we saw." She looked up at him and added, "I think." She grinned and blushed as she set the remote down on the coffee table.
"You're very adept at that," he told her, smiling. "I must learn how to handle those controls myself."
She sighed and sat back into the cushions. "That's not all you, we, have to learn how to handle."
"Yes. You're quite right." He paused in thought and told her, "We need a chaperone." His face clouded with confusion when she laughed. "Well, we can't seem to keep our hands off of each other, like two ... canines in heat! It's embarrassing, this lustful behaviour of mine." She laughed again but she could see that he was serious.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, waving her hand. "You're serious about this, about a chaperone?" He nodded, determinedly.
"Well, how about the modern-day equivalent of that?" she asked. "We'll have company over next time we watch the next episode. Okay?"
He thought for a moment, considering which of their colleagues. "You choose."
"Abe."
"Hmmm ... excellent choice. I'll ask him when I - as a matter of fact," he said, shaking a finger in the air, "I should call him now to let him know that I'll be home a little later than planned. May I ... ?" He pointed to her cell phone. She picked it up and gave it to him and smiled as he dialed his son. His elderly son. His lovable, elderly son. This was certainly one aspect of his unusual existence that she found pleasing, the two mens' father-son relationship. It warmed her heart to watch them interact with each other, to witness their caring and concern for each other.
He successfully ended the call himself and proudly handed her phone back to her. "Thank you. It's a date, he said. Now," he said, motioning toward the TV, "let's see what we've missed, shall we." She did just that and they both settled back, considerably further apart from each other than they had been earlier, determined to be on their best behavior.
The recorded action was now in play on the TV screen. Robert Morgan didn't look well. He was in the London office of their shipping lines with his business partner, Harrington Smithers, painfully aware of his physical distress.
"We have no choice, Robert," Smithers tiredly reminded him. "Farrow owns the majority stock in the company now, by buying out all of the smaller investors."
"You mean by bribing and threatening them!" Robert angrily stated.
"Threatening?" Smithers scoffed. "Some, perhaps." He sighed and placed his hand on Robert's shoulder as they stood in the middle of the office near Robert's desk.
"More likely appealed to the greed in most of them. Face it, old friend; ruling interest in the Morgan Shipping Lines has been pirated away from us and from our decent customers. He's already signed contracts to - "
"I know. Don't say it. Turns my stomach, tears at every decent fiber of my being." Robert closed his eyes and sighed, head bowed. "If only I'd not been so lacking in business acumen; not fallen behind in our commitments ... maybe I could have foreseen this, fought against it better."
"Against Farrow and his dirty little crowd? Not likely." Smithers walked over to the large bay window and surveyed the ships in the harbor. "Just think ... in the next few months our company - "
"His company," Robert hissed. "I wanted no part in the transporting of human cargo!"
Smithers eyed his troubled business partner and friend and nodded. "Well, for what it's worth, the books will soon be in the black." Smithers took no pleasure in that fact.
"And, God help us, so will our souls," Robert direly predicted.
Jo quickly picked up the remote and paused it at the beginning of the next scene. She held onto it and looked over at Henry. He appeared deep in thought or in his memories; right arm extended and fingers drumming on his knee, the other hand fisted and shoved up against his mouth. He let out a long sigh and lowered his fist, then looked over at Jo.
"Your father participated in the slave trade?" she cautiously asked.
"Yes. I found out by accident one day when I sought a few hours of respite in the Diogenes Club in London. My friend, John, introduced me to a friend of his named Nathaniel Hale." He scoffed at the memory. "This Nathaniel Hale knew all about my father's dealings in the slave trade and made it known in front of all my other friends who were gathered around." He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers across his brow, then clamped his hand over his mouth.
"I tried to tell him that he was mistaken, but from everyone else's reactions, it was apparent that he was spot on with his vile information. The news took me completely by surprise and ... and I felt like an utter fool. A blind fool. How could I have been so naive so, so ... And he just sitting there with that smug look on his face."
"It, um, looks like your father may have had no choice, having been swindled or tricked out of his controlling interest," Jo feebly offered.
"He knew exactly what he was doing. He'd told me that 'business had turned' or some such nonsense as that. The father I knew, or, rather, thought I knew, would have slept in a cave before joining in with the buying and selling of human flesh!" Henry virtually spat the words out at the memory of his father's confessed moment of weakness.
"Did things happen that way, though? Possibly, I, I never took the time to find out all of the pertinent facts. Simply ... resolved to try to remove the stain from my family and its name."
vvvv
Joanna Reece's home, Lower Manhattan ...
"His ancestors participated in the slave trade," Joanna mumbled to herself.
"Not that surprising, given the times," her husband, Gregory, pointed out.
"Still disappointing to find that out, though," she sighed.
Gregory rubbed her back as she sat forward, elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her clasped hands.
"We don't know if any of this is true, Babe," he pointed out again. "If it bothers you that much, do your own research." Joanna turned her head to look at him, doubt written all over her face.
"I'll bet you find out that this was just put in to attract viewers, to ... spice things up, that's all," he shrugged.
Joanna chuckled softly and sat back, nestling in next to him. "It shouldn't matter now. That was wayyyyy back when. And Henry certainly had nothing to do with all of that."
"That's right. Bad doings long time ago. And from what you tell me about him, he's kinda weird with his naked night runs to the river, but basically a good person. No reason to treat him any differently than you do now, right?"
She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I wonder - if all that is true - how Henry's reacting to all this? Would it bother him or not?"
"I'm sure it would; nobody wants to find out that their ancestors helped buy and sell people, ugh." He watched her as she suddenly grabbed the remote.
"What's up, Babe? You wanna watch it again?"
"No, I recorded this, remember? Think I saw something in that scene where Robert Morgan's business partner was looking out of their office window," she mumbled as she worked the equipment to bring up the specific part of that scene. "There. There it is."
"There's what?"
Joanna advanced the scene to the specific part where Smithers was looking out of the office window at the ships in the harbor. She paused it and pressed the button to enlarge the image of a ship. The name on the ship became easier to read.
"Empress of Africa," she barely whispered. "Well, waddaya know."
vvvv
Back at Jo's ...
The final scene was of that Henry boarding the Empress of Africa as the ship's doctor. After he was shown to his quarters, he placed his bag on the small table provided and looked around, then sat on the small bunk. In a flashback, he recalled how he'd confronted his father in anger after having found out from Nathaniel Hale, that the family business was now entrenched in the slave trade and had been for more than two years. His anquished appeals to his father for a meaningful explanation then, and feeling that he had not been provided one, continued to plague him. The flashback ended with his father near death and Henry seated uncomfortably near his feet on the chaise where he lay.
"There's something I need to give you before you go."
"Whatever it is, father, I cannot accept it."
"That's your choice. But know it was given to me by my father and to him by his father."
His father then presented him with his cherished gold watch. The camera closed in on the watch now in Henry's hand that clearly displayed the Morgan family crest on it.
Flashback ended, Henry took the watch out of his waist coat pocket and held it in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the crest. The camera again closed in on the crest, then moved up to his face, pained with memories of his father's dying words and of their troubled relationship during the last few years of his life. He realized that he could continue to dwell on these memories or get about executing his plan. His plan to free the 300 or so slaves in the hold of the ship. He once again studied his pocket watch, then, with pursed lips, stared at his cabin door.
"This will be the last, father. The last of your ships to have those poor men below set free." He had a plan and he was determined to see it to the end. Even if he felt the captain was suspicious of him. His eyes fell on the watch in his hand once again and the camera closed in on the crest and the scene and episode ended.
Jo turned off the TV and she and Henry turned to look at each other with widened eyes at the same time.
"That, uh, crest on the outside of the pocket watch looks - "
"Exactly like mine, yes," Henry whispered, finishing her thought.
"Easy for the writers of the show to have found it during their research," Jo reasoned.
"Yes, of course. Except that the traditional Morgan family crest included an ornate letter 'M' as the centerpiece with two birds of prey on either side, an olive branch in their beaks. Father had commissioned a special crest with our family manor as the centerpiece with laurel wreaths carved onto the outside of the pocket watch once he'd struck it rich, so to speak. The crest on my pocket watch is unique; one of a kind."
"How on earth did they ever uncover it?"
"I guess they're topnotch researchers," Jo speculated.
As unique as his pocket watch was with its one-of-a-kind crest adorning it, he felt certain that it would be of no interest to anyone else but himself. Unbeknownst to him, he was wrong.
For Lucas, Mike, and even Lt. Reece had seen him consult his watch for the time on many occasions and had admired the delicate design of the crest. They were now wondering if Henry's watch was just another family heirloom. What a coincidence, if that were the case. If that were the case.
vvvv
"Nice," Lucas commented as he admired the crest on the outside of Henry's pocket watch.
Henry noted the time, snapped it shut but failed to reply, placing it back into his waist coat pocket. He stared straight ahead instead of at Lucas, who hovered over him on his right.
"The, uh, crest ... nice," Lucas continued, in an effort to engage his boss in a conversation over the time piece. "Your family crest, right?" he awkwardly added, scratching the back of his head.
"Yes," Henry finally replied, still staring straight ahead at the elevator doors. They opened and he and Lucas exited and walked into the bullpen of the 11th Precinct toward the desks of their detective colleagues, Martinez and Hanson.
Mike cheerily greeted the two men as they approached. "Hey, Doc, that uniform hanging in your closet, was that the same one worn by your ancestor?"
"What?" Lucas exclaimed in surprise. "In his closet?" He stared wide-eyed at Henry.
Although mildly irritated at their sudden interest in his personal belongings, he knew it stemmed from them having watched last night's episode.
"The exact, same one," Henry said. "An heirloom passed down from generation to generation." He knew it was a lie. It had been the one he'd worn and fought in alongside his brave comrades. But he couldn't divulge much else to Mike or Lucas. It would lead to more questions and more of an explanation than he was ready to give.
"Guys, can we get back to business here?" Jo asked, trying to divert their attention away from Henry and his belongings. "Let's pay attention to what Henry and Lucas came up with on our vic. OK?"
Mike nodded, a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, Doc. Waddaya got?"
vvvv
Across the pond ...
In the living room of a posh, London flat, a handsome, dark-haired, young British actor, Aidan Greene, slowly paced back and forth with a script in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. He alternately lowered the script, looking away from the words on the page, and voiced them in an effort to make them, his performance, believable. He took another sip of scotch and nearly choked when he turned the page and read the next scene. Aidan scrambled over to the phone, dropping the script and drink onto the coffee table. He fidgeted, greatly agitated as he dialed and listened to the rings at the other end.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon - Yes, this Aidan Greene, I need to speak to Quentin - No! Put me through to him now! - Thank you." He picked up the script again and re-read the next scene and grunted, tossing the script back down onto the coffee table.
"Spare me the pleasantries! What is this with my character dying so soon in the show? I've barely - No! You promised me that this character would endure to the end of the show." Aidan frowned and grew quiet. As he listened, he picked up the script again and flipped ahead a few pages, then a few more. As he read, his frown gradually lifted and his eyes widened under raised eyebrows.
"So this fellow may or may not have died when everyone first thought he did?" Aidan listened to his agent, Quentin Turner, a bit more while he sipped his Scotch again. "Hmmm, interesting." He chuckled and retorted, "Sounds like the booger is some kind of ghost." He nodded, grinning, and ended the call, satisfied that his paycheck would last a little longer on this gig. He raised his glass, smiling, and made a toast.
"To you, Henry Morgan, my perpetual character of questionable longevity."
Notes: _
Robert Morgan's deathbed scene dialogue is from Forever TV S01/E14 "Hitler on the Half Shell"
