The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Read online

  “Your business of selling rum to the enemy is less dangerous?”

  Stearns looked up at him and held silent for a full minute. “It’s not me. I’ve seen him with the Frogs often enough, though. He’s in contact with all of them – knows where every ship is going and who is buying rum for whom...”

  “I still don’t understand why you came here; just for this?”

  Again Stearns kept his tongue for a few moments, then answered, “Rum sales in Washington. This is just a bit of diversion.”

  “Fair enough. But I will write Marion of this. I will leave out your accusations of her father, though. He won’t fire you on my account.”

  “He’ll be all right to ride, Doctor?”

  “He will.”

  “Thank you, doctor. Mr. Foyle, let’s be off.”

  How much of that tripe should I believe, Neville wondered. Are these all Stearns’ own ideas or was he put up to it by Chester? I’ll ask Marion to see if Chester has his dueling pistols. Is all the trafficking with the enemy - rum… and guns - all Chester? Maybe Sir William can sort it out. I’ll write him, too.

  “Think of it, Mr. Foyle, you have your living space back.” He spurred his horse to a trot.

  12 - “The Navy List”

  Do my chances with Marion sink with that anchor? Commander Burton wondered. The anchor cable attached to Superieure’s best bower raced out the hawse at England’s Downs anchorage on an unusually warm eleventh of August in the year 1804.

  “What are we to do now, Commander?” asked his Second Sailing Master two days later when Neville returned from Bellerophon.

  “I can happily report, Mr. Catchpole, that it involves no convoy. Captain Cook has informed me that he has no orders for us, and does not expect any for a month, at least, so it is my intention to petition for a minor refit and for personal leave to be off to London.”

  “Might we be paid off?”

  “We could be…or sent straight back,” said Neville, “I pray for the latter. You’ve been in the navy long enough to know that you never know until the anchor’s up again.” Maybe Sir Mulholland could help me with that.

  Travel to London in June proved to be relatively easy. It was not a particularly wet year, but there was enough rain to keep the fields pleasantly green and the dust down. Upon his arrival he considered avoiding his mentor, Sir William Mulholland, at Whitehall. I know he is a long-time family friend and would be disappointed, if not insulted, if I do not visit. For that reason alone I should go. He always seems to have another assignment for me, though, and his assignments are usually dangerous. But I am not required to see him and I could refuse his missions. Technically, he is not with the navy. So why do I keep going to see him? Do I long for the danger? Do I have some wish for death?

  He procrastinated. He went first to the Navy Office to check on the Navy List.

  “Are you on there, Commander?” asked a lieutenant in the small room where the list was publicly posted. “It’ll be some time before my name shows up, but I like to see if I know anyone on it.”

  Neville put his finger at the names on top. “Yes,” he said, “it seems the war is taking its toll. That’s me there. The fifth name…

  “And the second one, Joseph Dagleishe, is a capital fellow. I count him a good friend, and I wish him the best of everything.” He ran his finger on down the list, passing several he knew, until he reached one at the bottom. “And here’s yet another that is far overdue,” he said; “my childhood friend Daniel Watson, just recently added.”

  The lieutenant peered over his shoulder. “Commander Burton, is it? May I shake the hand of an officer so properly employed?”

  “I appreciate your sentiment, and I don’t count myself as particularly sentimental, but I shan’t shake on that until the day comes.”

  Neville left Whitehall and took a hack to the offices of the Chancellor of the Cheque.

  “Burton, you say?” asked the clerk at the counter within.

  “Aye, Neville. Lieutenant.”

  “Ah, here ‘tis. For the ketch Le Serpent?”

  “Well, yes, but is there nothing of the frigate Duquesne?”

  The clerk left the counter and spent another few minutes looking in another book at a desk in the rear of the room. When he returned to the counter, he said, “The Duquesne is not concluded. Are you interested in Le Serpent or no?”

  “Yes of course.”

  The clerk’s index finger ran across the line to the right side of the page. His eyebrows raised. He looked back at Neville and said, “Four thousand, two hundred fifty-one pounds, twelve shillings and threppence.”

  “I am pleasantly surprised at that, I must say.” My Lord! This large amount must be due to my position as captain and having no other ships involved. It’s more than three times what I expect from the Duquesne! “And another one, my good man, the schooner Unique.”

  “You have been busy, haven’t you Lieutenant?” mumbled the clerk.

  “Aye. That’s my job, isn’t it,” Neville queried, “And it’s Commander.”

  “Unique, yes. She’s here. One thousand, eight hundred sixty-eight pounds, one shilling and six.”

  Neville departed a happier and richer man. He did not carry cash but rather a paper that would allow the money to be transferred from the Chancellor of the Cheque to Hoare’s bank. Hoare’s Bank, at the sign of the Golden Bottle on Fleet Street, was his next stop. There he passed in his paper and asked for an accounting of his balance on deposit.

  “Two hundred ten thousand pounds and change, Sir,” said the clerk. “Here’s the record.” He passed Neville the ledger.

  “I hadn’t noticed this deposit before. Would you have any information on a deposit made in 1715 of eighteen thousand pounds?”

  “Only what’s there, Sir. There may be some notes in the back, or maybe you could find the family Bible is all I can suggest.”

  Neville turned to the back of the very old book. There was only a single note. It was in his own hand. ‘Dad promises to write Mum’. I remember that, but she has never said anything. I wonder if he did and it was lost, or if mother just doesn’t dare say anything.

  He took a third day just to stroll about town, but finally he decided that he could no longer delay his visit to Whitehall.

  He could see no significant change in the lobby of the yellow building beside the Admiralty. The building was quiet compared to the usual stream of officers coming and going through the central portico of the other. He was accosted, as on every occasion before, by a marine sergeant asking his business. This time he had no letter of introduction, but he had knowledge of the place, and he knew where he was going.

  “I wish to speak to the secretary to Room Four, if you please.”

  “I cannot allow you to pass, Sir, I am sorry.”

  “Send your man, please, with my name. I’ll wait.”

  The sergeant beckoned a sentry, who had been watching from the far corner of the lobby. When the messenger arrived in front of his sergeant, Neville said “Please pass word that Commander Neville Burton requests an audience at his Lordship’s convenience. I shall wait on a reply.”

  The private walked away purposefully, and the sergeant waved his arm at a set of four chairs near the sentry’s post. It’s a good job I’ve had breakfast, Neville thought. He took a seat, prepared for a long wait.

  The response was quick, however, and not altogether unpleasant.

  “He’s gone home on summer holiday, Sir. Not back for another three weeks, at least.”

  “Oh, brilliant. I’ll see him there, then,” said Neville.

  “You won’t be allowed to see him there, I’m sure, Sir,” said the marine, “and I don’t know where that is, anyway.”

  “I do, and my mother thinks I can,” said Neville with a crooked grin. He left the bewildered marine and walked outside to find that a short summer shower had passed. Thousands of tiny puddles between the street cobbles twinkled in the afternoon sun that was beginning to peek out between gray cloud
s. It’s my lucky week, I see. A lovely English summer, prize money and another reason to go home.

  Neville sat in a well-stuffed wingback chair in the back garden of Stonelake, his mother’s residence since she was married to Mr. Andrew Blake a few years before. His mother, as pretty a lady as any in Bury, looked older than when he had seen her last; but her spirits were good.

  “This is a nice house, Mum. I’ve only stepped inside a couple times to visit. I must admit that even with you living here the place feels more like a stranger’s house than my family’s. We had less when I was little, although it meant nothing to me then. This is a city gent’s house for sure. The country was more fun for us as children, I think.”

  He had found it easily enough, after the Royal Mail coach from London had clattered to a halt in front of the Angel Hotel in Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, four days after his visit to Whitehall. He still remembered the smell of raspberries in the brambles around the Roman ruins across the way that had greeted his nostrils when he stepped down. He had decided that he would see family before Sir William Mulholland, but he sent a boy with a note round to Mulholland’s to be sure the man didn’t return to London before they had a chance to visit.

  “It’s a right proper place, yes. Andrew provides well,” she said

  “And don’t you ever forget, Mum, that if you need anything, you can have it off me. I have money in the bank, you know.”

  “I’m sure you do. But you’ll need it yourself one day. Some day when…”

  “What is it, Mum?” he asked. Her eyes had teared up.

  “I forgot. I’ve been so happy to see you. Mary’s husband, Lieutenant John Towers, was killed eight months ago at the Battle of Assaye in India; and she with the little one. At least they think he’s dead. They never found the body. I’m sure I wrote you. With him and Gage gone all the time, Mary has been like another daughter to me. Her mother’s not doing so well.”

  “I don’t think I read it. He was with Gage’s unit, yes? And how old is the child”

  “Did you meet John – or little Martin?”

  “Neither, no.”

  “Martin is three; a little older than you when Dad went missing.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. How about Daniel’s family – Angelica and Alice. The girl is what – also three?”

  “Three, yes. A little older than Martin.” She sniffled. “They’re both fine, and wonderful little friends. You really must go round and see them all. Maybe Angelica or Elizabeth would go to Mary’s with you.” She knew Mary and her son had been young sweethearts, and that Mary had waited for him until he went missing for three years. Was she contriving something? Mothers do that. She knew something had happened in those three years, but she knew nothing of Maria and he had so far left Marion out of his letters.

  “Daniel and his father both are at sea now, Neville. It’s a shame you missed Daniel. He was here just a month ago. He stopped round and inquired of you. I read to him some from your letters,” said his mother. “Thank you for that, too. You’re much better at writing than you used to be.”

  “I’ve had a little more time, I suppose. Do I understand that Daniel’s got into a new ship?”

  “Yes, he’s just gone to Thunderer. He thought he’d be second, though I don’t really understand what that means.”

  “Still with the big ships, is he? I don’t envy him. How about his dad?”

  “Edward is first in the frigate Dryad. Daniel says he complains that he has seen little action and has therefore moved slowly toward captain. But it seems to me he can’t be all that far off.”

  “He should see action in a frigate. Time will tell. That’s where I’d like to be.”

  “I must say, Neville, you military men may like your action, but I am glad I found Mr. Blake. I feel sorry for Mrs. Watson with rarely a man about the place. My corn merchant’s life may be dull, but I see him every day. It’s a very good thing your sister has Gage’s parents – and me, of course. Well we have your whole visit to catch up. We’ll start with Elizabeth tomorrow…”

  “You are in hot water, Sir,” said Neville when he shook hands with Sir William two days later at the Farmer’s Club. They had agreed to meet for lunch by messenger-boy. Neville suspected it would not be a short meeting.

  “I think the queen knows little of my activities,” he joked.

  “The queen of England, maybe, but my mother said, and I quote her now: ‘The sneaky old rascal. He comes in town and I don’t get so much as how d’ye do?’”

  “Oh, I have missed a step, haven’t I? Capital to see you, though. I thought you were still in Jamaica. I just received your letter mentioning Mr. Stillwater… A brandy to start? Here’s the waiter.”

  They ate their lunch while catching up on the local gossip, but Mulholland insisted on moving their get-together to his house before they spoke of navy matters. “There seem to be ears everywhere these days, Neville – even here in Bury.”

  Mulholland rapped on the locked door of his own home. They heard the lock rattle and then Spencer, his butler, opened it for them.

  “Come in, Neville. Come in.”

  “I dropped by to see you at Whitehall, Sir, but they told me you’d gone home.”

  “How do you come to be here?”

  “In Superieure, my little schooner. I came in with Bellerophon’s convoy.”

  “Ah, that’s it, then. We don’t so much watch the unrated ships… no offence.”

  “None taken. But there’s a story in that, as well. We were all provisioned and ready to sail when Mr. Stearns came aboard…”

  “Stearns? I don’t think I know the name.”

  “Chester’s right-hand man…”

  “Chester?”

  “Yes, Mr. Stillwater. I’ve made progress.”

  “So it seems. Go ahead.”

  “Chester has enough pull there in Kingston to have Captain Cook put a civilian aboard my ship to be delivered to Philadelphia…” Neville continued his account of what small talk there was on board ship from Jamaica to Philadelphia, the provocation of a duel, and Stearns’ admissions afterwards. He added his discovery of an unknown connection to the Harper’s Ferry Armory and his conversation with Stearns about meeting Georges Cadoudal in France some years before.

  Sir William listened carefully. At the conclusion he commented, “I admit that I didn’t know you were coming, and it has been some time since I spent much time thinking about this issue, so forgive me if I take a moment. I don’t have my notes with me.”

  “May I refresh?” Neville asked, holding up his glass.

  “Yes, yes. Over there. If you get it yourself you’ll have it before Spencer would even get here.”

  He will assign me some mission – or he will try to – unless I say no, thought Neville while crossing to the sideboard holding the brandy bottle. But it will be something to do other than sit with all the other officers waiting for a ship. I might get back to Jamaica sooner if I argue my case to continue the investigation of Chester.”

  He carried their two glasses – now filled – back to Sir William. “Is it possible I could stay with Superieure if she will be sent back to Jamaica?” he asked.

  “What?... No, no, Neville. You are well up on the Navy List now. You’ve looked, yes? It will not be long ‘till you’re made post, and a posted captain needs a post ship; he would rarely be seen commanding an unrated ship the size of Superieure Your career requires that you wait for a proper posting,” said Mulholland. “Maybe after you are made post we can find something…”

  So I would expect…

  “I really will have to think about this. Stop by Whitehall on your way… Where is your ship now?”

  “At the Downs, but she may go in for a small refit.”

  “All right, then. Stop by Whitehall on your way there. This Stillwater thing seems increasingly complicated. I’ll take another look at that dossier, and we’ll see if I have worked something out.”

  “There you are! Look at you; no worse than last I sa
w you. No more scars, and you have all your hands and feet,” jabbered his sister Elizabeth when she appeared early at Stonelake early the next morning. “Hold the door there, please, Gage. See to your manners.”

  “My Lord!” exclaimed Neville. “Look at you, Gage. You’re almost as tall as your mother. I expected to see a small boy. I have forgotten your age, for sure.”

  “I’m nine now, Sir,” said Gage.

  “Mum said we should come by for breakfast,” Elizabeth continued, “so here we are, and we’ll go straight off afterwards to see Angelica and Alice – and maybe Mary,” she added, looking into Neville’s eyes. She had noticed the pain in them three years ago when he had come home and had suspected then that he had lost someone. But they hadn’t spoken of it.

  “Why’s your epaulette on a different shoulder than Lieutenant Watson’s? Does that mean something?” asked Gage.

  “My epaulette is on the other side because I am the commander – the captain – of a small ship,” Neville finally answered.

  “You’ve made captain?” Elizabeth exclaimed. His mother turned round to look as well, and Gage yelled, “Hooray!”

  “Yes. No, not captain the rank. I’m still a lieutenant like Daniel, but I am captain of an unrated ship.”

  They both stared at him. “You shouldn’t joke like that, Neville,” said Elizabeth. “It’s wicked.”

  “It’s not a joke…”

  “The new vicar has come, Mum,” said Elizabeth, intentionally cutting Neville off. “He seems nice enough.”

  “I’ll see him later today, dear. Here are your sausages. The toast is there in the rack by the cupboard, Neville, if you would get it, please.”

  “Where’s Mr. Blake, then, Mum? I thought he would join us.”

  “Gone this week to Ipswich. I thought you knew.”

  “Forgot, I suppose,” Elizabeth answered. “Isn’t the weather wonderful today? There’s not a cloud.”

  “I understand, Sir,” Gage said to Neville. “The ranks are different in the Army, but I’ve studied the navy, too, because of you and the Watsons.”