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

  “Father would never approve of any of this,” she said inside her hotel room after they had taken an afternoon tea. “He allowed me to travel because I behaved so well in Washington. I’m older and more responsible now,” she added with her most winsome grin. “I have Ellen now, too. Despite our liaisons today, I deem her far more trustworthy than Mr. Stearns. I think father was starting to doubt the wisdom of pushing Mr. Stearns and I together and then sending us off as though I was safe with him. I’ll have to admit to becoming more concerned, although I said nothing about it to father.”

  I can’t tell her that he tried to shoot me.

  “I think a little aperitif would be in order,” she said. “There’s a bottle in that cupboard, and I have glasses. See them there? I’ll be back in just a minute.”

  Marion’s suite at the Saxon Arms was opulent, yes, but at the same time somewhat spartan. Nobody really lived there, after all. He found a bottle of some amber fluid that he did not recognize, and two glasses, and carried them to a small table by the windows. Along the wall past the windows was a small writing desk. It looked as if Marion had been writing, and he knew she wasn’t writing to him, so he was curious. A crumpled ball of paper lay on the floor beside a tiny wastebasket. That in itself seemed very unlikely for Marion, whom he knew by now to be an extremely tidy person, so he picked it up. He opened it rather absent-mindedly without intention of being nosy, and pressed it flat. What he found was almost enough to make his skin crawl.

  It’s a letter from Stearns; meeting arrangements in Paris, not Brest. The French Navy yards were in Brest, not Paris. Why were there meeting arrangements in Paris. And what meeting? Marion and Stearns or Marion and some customer? An old memory surfaced: a memory of a letter he had carried from Toulon. The letter was from M. Stillwater to someone in Paris. Was it from ‘Monsieur Stillwater’ or from ‘Marion Stillwater’? What do I do now? Do I confront her with this? She’ll throw me out. Of all things, I don’t want that! Do I ignore it? Am I feeling jealousy?

  “What have you there, Neville?” said Marion. He jumped. She was only two feet away, wearing a far more simple gown than she had been before. Very simple. Almost nothing to it.

  “Neville, what are you doing? That’s mine!”

  “Marion. It was on the floor all crumpled up. I just picked it up. Verily, I wasn’t snooping on you.”

  She was angry, he could tell, but she was controlling herself; not something he expected. She stood staring at him, arms akimbo. “Neville, I…” she began. Her face was turning red. She looked to be feeling something other than angry. Neville knew his face was red. It wasn’t hot in the room. “I need to discuss something with you.”

  “Is it Stearns?” he asked, waving the letter at her.

  “That idiot?” she spat. She snatched the letter, crumpled it up again and threw it at the wastebin. It missed. “That’s why it was there. It belongs there. The fool can’t stay out of my business.” Tears were forming in her eyes. One dripped down a cheek.

  Neville opened his arms to invite her hug.

  “No,” She said tersely, “Not until we talk. You may not want me after we do.”

  “I can’t imagine that.”

  “If you weren’t in the navy, it might make no difference to you, but I put you in a terrible spot. You know why I’m here?”

  “You haven’t aid, but it is logical to assume your plan is to sell rum to the French. You are right that it is a problem for me, so I think I decided not to ask. Frankly, I don’t think I care if the Frogs have rum aboard their ships, although I hear they prefer wine. Their men are like ours; they have little else for comfort. Forbidding them rum does nothing to help our country win the war. Verily, if you can carry some money out of their country, it might be to our benefit. Our government don’t see it that way, though. It’s called ‘trading with the enemy’. But since you’re an American, probably the worst they would do is throw you out of England – and Jamaica, by the way - and forbid you to return. I think you should not tell me. What must I do, if I know?

  In truth, she is a lucky girl. What she tells me will go no further than Sir William. With anyone else, it might send her to the gallows until they sent her home. He shuddered to think of that.

  An awful thought struck him. “Does Dagleishe know? What does Miss Aughton know?”

  “Ellen tells me he knows none of it, and I only tell her the basic travel plans. He has not found a letter, and like you, he would not want to know either. I did not jest when I said they were smitten.”

  “Who are you meeting in France, and where?”

  She was angry again, “That stupid, gormless man!” she exclaimed. “The navy yards are in Brest, yet he writes that he is making arrangements to meet in Paris. And he’s going to be there? What is he thinking? Does he think at all? Why does father keep him? I should let him go to Paris and visit Napoleon himself.”

  “Why wouldn’t you go where your business takes you and let him go where he wants? Why should you bother to set him to rights?”

  Her performance regarding Stearns was enough to allay some of his jealousy concerns, but what about the danger to her of having him near her in France?

  “Father would be angry, I’m sure. And Neville, I am now almost embarrassed to tell you that this whole thing was my idea – my plan to make father stop pushing Mr. Stearns at me, stop him from giving my birthright – the Stillwater Rum Trading Company – to Stearns through marriage to me. I don’t need him.”

  “Why do you say ‘almost embarrassed’?”

  “Because, while it makes our relationship exceedingly awkward, it is a good plan for the rum company, is it not?” she said with an irrepressible little grin. “Also, as you would clearly understand, French men would find this salesperson irresistible, would they not?” She held her arms out to the side displaying herself. Her mood seemed suddenly lighter, most probably for getting this off her chest to Neville. With a naughty grin, she unbuttoned her top button.

  “You little trollop,” he said, and grabbed her around the waist. “You wouldn’t dare use your wiles… would you?”

  “Only on you, Captain,” she said, pressing close onto him.

  Neville wasn’t quite finished with his inquisition, but he didn’t let her go. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thin gown – and her shape. “All right, so why are you here in London, then, and not France? An American can travel straight to France with no problems – just not from Jamaica. The US and France are not at war.”

  “Time, Neville. Just time. I must have a letter of invitation from the government of France for them to let me in. If I wait in the United States it will take months for the letter to go there and find me, for me to make travel arrangements, and then to travel to France. Even worse from Jamaica. It is not my intention for this trip to last a year. Here I am now, a single day’s sail from France. As soon as I receive my letter, I am off.”

  ‘But you cannot sail from here to France. Again, I remind you that we are at war.” He ran his hand down her back. There was nothing beneath her ‘gown’.

  “I cannot sail from here to France? Again I place you in a pickle, Neville. Smugglers go every day, and you know it, although you in the navy try to stop it. You would think nothing of finding a nice cognac in the bar downstairs. It should be child’s play to find a ship - or a small boat, for that matter. My letter will certainly come by smuggler, and…”

  “What is it?”

  “And it could come any day. I have been here a month already. Then I will need to run, as you must when your ship is ready.”

  “I am well aware. This has been the most wondrous week of my life. It will end soon. There is not much time before La Désirée will be out of ordinary, and there will scarce be time for good-byes. Even now I should be checking in with the Admiralty every day. From what you tell me, though, if you do not have in invitation soon you might as well pack for the return to Jamaica. I would rather see you do that. It would end my conflict between knowing you
trade with my enemy and loving every inch of you.”

  “Oh, Neville, we must make arrangements to meet again. We must. Make love to me again - now.” She put her hand behind his neck and pulled his lips down to hers.

  Neville awoke in the morning before Marion. He tried not to move, though, happy to watch her face in peaceful slumber. She wore a slight smile – and nothing else, he knew. That made his concentration more difficult. How much of what she has said should I believe? Is she simply an excellent actress? I understand why she doesn’t want me to know much about the business, but what about the Stearns part? Can there be anything there? Would she deceive me?

  He was becoming too excited to let her sleep. He ran his hands over her warm naked body. When she stirred and rolled towards him, he put his face between her breasts. She hugged his head and snaked her legs around his. They made love yet again, slowly and quietly.

  Neither Marion’s letter of invitation nor Neville’s orders to return to Chatham did came. With Neville’s new civilian clothes, they entered a new world as unknown young lovers in a large city. They strolled the parks and met Joseph and Ellen for lunches and dinners and they made love at night. And they waited, knowing the end was coming soon.

  A knock came at the door of Marion’s hotel suite some days later when the four were playing at cards. They shared knowing glances, and the knock came a second time. Neville rose, walked to the door and opened it to find the expected bellboy in a blue and gray uniform. He handed in an envelope addressed to ‘M. Stillwater’.

  “I think the two of you should take it in your chambers,” said Neville to Marion. She and Ellen left the two captains at the table.

  “Ours can’t be far behind, Joseph. Have you no news of a ship?”

  “I have orders, Neville,” he patted his jacket pocket, “A frigate, the Galatea.”

  “And you’re not already gone?”

  “I put it off as long as I could. I can’t think about life without Ellen. We have agreed to wed; we just don’t know when that could be – or where. I am not late, but I have little time. I shall run now, like the wind. She will leave with Marion soon now.”

  The two women emerged from Marion’s chambers looking solemn. Both appeared to have shed tears.

  “We have our invitations. We will leave tomorrow noon,” said Marion very resolutely.

  “Come Joseph,” said Ellen, holding out her hand. He stood, and they left to enjoy what little time remained.

  “This sales idea of yours, Marion – what is it, exactly?”

  “I can’t give you all the details, Neville. You don’t want to hear all the details. You haven’t taken this much interest in weeks. Why now?”

  “Because now I know for sure that you are going.”

  “Let’s not talk of this now. I’d like nothing more than another supper at that little place we found off Aldwych the first night, and to lie with you one more night.”

  Half an hour after noon Neville closed the carriage door behind Ellen. Marion was already inside, sitting quietly with a resolute face. Both were in traveling clothes, with their daggers conspicuously strapped at their belts. Neville gathered his best spirits and said, “Goodbye ladies. Be careful. You have my love. I’ll see you in Jamaica.” He slapped the carriage twice, announcing to the coachman that his passengers were loaded. The driver snapped his whip and grunted something like “G’up.” The carriage jerked and then lurched forward, and they were gone.

  With mixed emotions, Neville stood at the curb watching the coach clatter out of sight down the busy street. While his heart felt the pangs of her departure, several events in the last few days had been enough to make him suspicious of Marion’s trip. He also couldn’t get the idea of Stearns out of his head. Why would Stearns go? Maybe Chester doesn’t even know Sterns is going – thinks he’s in the USA? Is this just a very exotic getaway for the two of them, and she didn’t want anyone, especially me, to know?

  He had considered sneaking aboard her ship as a deckhand in order to follow her. His French was probably good enough. He decided against it as being too much risk for a British Navy captain. He would surely be hanged as a spy if discovered. His orders would arrive soon, anyway, and he couldn’t miss his own ship.

  I have one option left, he thought. I will contact Sir Mulholland with my latest information and request Georges’ help. The two of them will know what to do.

  15 - “New York”

  “Good day, Mr. Stillwater,” said Stearns. He slid himself into Chester’s side chair at the Rum Company office.

  “Good day, Michael,” said Chester. “I thought you were doing well, but you look rather tired today. Do you still have the fever?”

  “No, it has gone. It broke some time ago, and I think that’s done, but today I’m just tired, I suppose. You have Marion going to finish the navy contracts?”

  “Yes, we cannot skip a year with the navy.”

  “I could go back. I should be well enough soon.”

  “The way you look, I think you should wait a bit. She is ready to leave in just a few weeks. She has Miss Aughton for a companion, and she certainly knows our business. Another month or so, when you are better, not just thinking you will be better soon, we can talk of a different sort of sales trip: to the spirits wholesaling companies in New York.”

  Stearns knew this was a compromise, but it was better than being stuck in Jamaica without Marion about. He would have preferred to leave on the same ship as Marion. But he could go wherever he wanted after he left Chester’s watchful eye.

  Marion and Ellen went aboard their ship on the seventh of November and sailed for Washington on the morning tide. Mr. Stearns did not follow until the Star of Brighton sailed for New York after the New Year. His health had been regained. The only thing left of Neville’s insult was a scar on the front and back of his right shoulder. He and Chester had agreed on the accounts he was to visit in New York. Most had been sent letters of introduction, but no replies had been received. None had been expected in a mere two months.

  Stearns’ passage north was not eventful. The ship was British, so there was little to fear from enemy aggression. The beautiful Caribbean winter weather carried the ship easily north to Florida, except for a rather boisterous bash through the Windward Passage. The ‘Christmas Trades’ were acting up, he was told by the captain at a dinner function with the officers. Atlantic gales were the concern for sailing north, up the coast in the late American winter.

  The Star of Brighton docked in February on the East River at the Front Street Pier in a light snowfall, leaving Stearns to wonder why he had thought it a good idea to follow in Marion’s wake. He wasn’t concerned, however, since his plan all along had been to immediately find a ship back south to Washington. Certainly Marion would be pleased to see him. It was inevitable, after all. He could always return for this business after his personal affairs were conducted.

  Stearns located an American coastal lumber freighter the next day and secured a tiny cabin for the passage that should have taken less than a week down the Atlantic seaboard and back up the Chesapeake Bay. Although he was told there was a relatively good road from New York to Washington through Philadelphia and Baltimore, with regular coach service, Stearns was not of a mind to try it in the snows of winter. As fate would have it, the same winter storm that dropped two feet of snow on those roads also was accompanied by gales at sea that delayed the freighter’s departure for over a week.

  On March second Stearns stepped off the freighter and found a hack for the ride to the Capital City Rooming House on Pennsylvania Avenue.

  “Good afternoon, Sir,” said the reception clerk when Stearns entered, brushing the drops of a fine rain off his cloak.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, “Would you kindly inform Miss Stillwater that she has a visitor.”

  “Oh, no, Sir, I cannot. I’m sorry.”

  “Why not?” Stearns interrupted, “You do know who I mean, don’t you?”

  “Oh, certainly, Sir. It is diffi
cult not to notice such a beautiful young lady, but I…”

  “Why then, will you not inform her that I am here?”

  “Sir, I mean no disrespect. I was simply trying to tell you that she is no longer here... gone almost two months now.”

  “No longer here? Where did she go? Home to Jamaica?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Sir. She left a forwarding address. Just a moment.” My God! All this way for nothing? Did I just miss her arrival in Kingston?

  “Here it is, Sir. The Saxon Arms in London.”

  “London?” Why on earth would Marion go to London?

  ‘Yes, Sir. Here’s a bit of paper and a quill. You may copy it.”

  “Thank you. And I’ll need a room.”

  Stearns stepped into his room at the Capital City Rooming House on Pennsylvania Avenue and closed the door. The room was spacious and warm, with a reasonable view from the window. The building was not far from either the Navy Yard or the capital. I can see why she stays here, he thought. First I must see to my letters; one to Marion and one to Mr. Stillwater. Mr. Stillwater will tell me why she’s gone to London, won’t he?

  While unpacking he made the decision not to chase after Marion. If she had been gone from Washington for two months, then where might she be? The whole thing could be an exercise in nonsense – a wild goose chase. He found his travel quill and ink and began a letter to Chester. He had only written two lines before he realized that his letter would announce to Chester that he had gone to Washington rather than New York as they had agreed. Furthermore, Chester may not know why Marion went to London. Could that be? Why wouldn’t he know?

  He put the letter to Chester aside. It would have to wait until he had done some work on the New York accounts – which, from here, would have to be in the form of letter-writing. Fter waiting a while, he could report that he had received no response from Marion in Washington.