The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Page 28

  “When it is like this it is hard to imagine a nicer place to be. This is the sort of thing Neville always talks about.”

  “And Joseph. I have a suggestion, Marion.”

  “A suggestion? About my problem at home, I assume…”

  “Yes. I am afraid you won’t like it, but it is the logical thing. Shall I explain?”

  “I think I know what you’ll say, so go on.”

  “I shall say it straight out. Please don’t condemn me for it. You should ‘cozy up’ to Mr. Stearns, if you find him at home acting as if nothing happened. Find out what he thinks he was doing. You must decide for yourself what ‘cozy up’ means, though, I’m afraid.”

  “I came to the same conclusion. I certainly don’t want the man as a serious suitor.” Marion shuddered. “I really can’t tell why father likes him, or why he would want to pass his company to him when I could run it just fine, but I do understand that it’s in Mr. Stearns’ best interest to keep on to see if he can have me as well as the company. I can ask father if he sent Mr. Stearns, but he probably won’t say much. If Mr. Stearns is there, he will have told some story of his own already. I’ll need a better story about you, too, because he saw you there as my equal…

  “And then there’s the guns you mentioned…

  “You say Father does not hide it at home?”

  “He has a little glass award on a shelf in his office.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve seen it; just never bothered to read it.”

  “You could have. He doesn’t know otherwise. Stearns could have seen it as well, and done something with it… his own ‘Paris Plan’, if you will. Harper’s Ferry is very near Washington, and you know he was there.”

  “I see,” said Marion, “Maybe the Americans didn’t send him at all. Just another of his brilliant ideas.”

  “Could you use that to get rid of him? Tell your father that you want in on it. Tell him he doesn’t need Stearns for that, either. Maybe that’s the last piece of why your father wants him around… he thinks a woman can’t handle the arms business?”

  “Hmmm. Possibly. I need something.”

  20 - “Sir William”

  “Happy New Year, Neville,” parroted his mother and stepfather, when he came down the stair for breakfast.

  “Yes, I suppose,” he answered. “I’m sorry, yes, a good morning and Happy New Year to you as well,” he responded. “What do you think? 1805 will be a better one?”

  “We pray it is one where you don’t have a sword stuck through you, Neville,” said his mother.

  “Ellen…” chided Mr. Blake.

  “I’m sorry. I always worry. And a lady to call your own, too, I pray.”

  “It’s all right, mother. I agree with your sentiment.”

  “There’s a note for you just there, dear. A boy brought it this morning. It doesn’t look the least official, so it shouldn’t be orders to go back to war.”

  Neville opened the plain envelope. “It’s from Sir William. He’s here in town and asks that I come ‘round to see him this afternoon. I’d best clean up a suit of clothes.”

  “What, he can’t have the rest of us?”

  “There’s a ‘p.s.’ here, Mum. It says he’ll have the family around later, but this is something navy – and urgent I would guess. Do you have a bit of paper I could reply I’m going?”

  Neville scratched a quick acceptance to the invitation and stuck his head out the door to look for some boy who would carry it. Here’s one advantage of living in the city, he thought. There’s always a boy about who’ll hold his hand out for a scrap.

  Neville knocked at the familiar door of Sir William Mulholland at two in the afternoon, as he had suggested in his reply. He was greeted by Spencer, the butler, and ushered him into the parlor where two men were warming their feet by the fire. They sat with their backs to the door. When they heard the rustle behind them and felt the draft from the door, they both stood and turned to face the new guest.

  Neville was almost speechless. There was Sir William, as expected. There also was Georges Cadoudal, whom Neville hadn’t seen in several years.

  “Happy New Year,” he said to them, and advanced for a less formal greeting. He and Sir William gave each other a short embrace and a clap on the back, and Georges, as a Frenchman is wont to do, kissed Neville on each cheek.

  “You look well, Neville,” said Georges. “Sir William advised me you might not.”

  “He’s right, though, Neville. You do look well,” said Sir William. “All the better for you to take in what we have to say. It is easier here in Bury. I don’t have to smuggle Georges in the back door and all that rot…

  “Spencer, bring another cognac, if you would, please.”

  “That fellow Stearns, Neville,” Georges began after they sat themselves, “You have met him, no?”

  “The last I saw of him I had run a sword through his shoulder… a duel of his making.”

  “I assume you have an opinion of him, then. May I ask you for it?”

  “Verily. He is a rather sad sack, in my opinion. Rather getting on for the ladies, but quite keen on one who will not have him. He acts the part of a wealthy businessman in Jamaica, but I can’t see that he has much of anything to call his. Sort of… well… just another rum salesman to me. Why all this interest in Stearns?”

  “You asked for my help in France through our friend here, you remember. I sent you that note.”

  “A note? About Stearns? It must have gone missing.”

  “You’re sure? It was very brief: ‘MS has run, double agent, that sort of thing’.”

  Neville could physically feel the blood drain from his face and his stomach knot. His chin began to move up and down, but no words were coming out.

  “Neville, what is it?” asked Sir William. “You’ve gone white as a sheet. You’ll not have a seizure will you? I heard the wound was severe.”

  Neville held up a finger for the others to wait while he began gulping and breathing in short gasps. It began to pass. “MS ran?” he finally squeaked. “Michael Stearns? Why would I know he was in Paris? I assumed you meant Marion Stillwater- ‘MS’?”

  “Marion? Why would I refer to Marion. You asked me to check on her, but in truth, by the time I received Sir Williams’ note she had already sailed,” said Georges.

  “Where is she now, then? I’m sorry. It’s a silly question. Why would you know that?”

  Neville saw Georges and Sir William look at each other and was sure he saw a tiny nod by Georges.

  “She has gone back to Jamaica – to her usual position with the Stillwater Rum Trading Company.”

  “You know this? Why do you know this?”

  “She is one of us, Neville. I am sorry now that I did not tell you earlier – when I learned you had feelings for her, but I was worried that your feelings would have you prevent her from going to France on something more than a rum sales ruse. She is our ‘comrade in arms’, as they say. She is new and inexperienced, of course, but she works for me, as you do.”

  Neville’s brain was tumbling over itself in an attempt to understand what all this information meant to him. Marion never deceived me for Stearns – only for her mission. She couldn’t tell me… or she didn’t know that she could tell me. I must assume she still loves me.

  “She doesn’t know about me working for you either, then, does she?”

  “She came by Whitehall after her visit to France. I thought about telling her, but I decided that should be left to you. It may be quite tricky, though. I still suspect her father, and I cannot ask her to investigate him. You may need to confront him with our evidence to learn his reaction.”

  Neville slumped back in his chair and took a long pull on his cognac.

  “When might that ever be?” he asked. He did not expect an answer.

  “When you get to Jamaica,” answered Sir William. He walked across the room to a small writing desk on the far wall and extracted a canvas envelope with the seal and flimsy string of the Admiralty. He c
arried it over to Neville and handed it to him. “I’d say you are strong enough to sail,” he said. “Report to your ship in Portsmouth. She’ll be out of ordinary in two weeks.

  “If you can keep your attention focused on Georges for a few minutes, though, he will give you all the details he has on Mr. Stearns… it might signify, but it may be that he is no more than an interfering bungler. After that I will review what we have on Mr. Stillwater.”

  HMS La Désirée was swinging easily at single anchor in Spithead when Neville saw her again. Her mizzen course yard was back up where it belonged, as was the fore t’gallant yard. His little shore boat had a small sail up to assist, but was rowing hard to beat the current that was trying to send it west down the Solent.

  “Who goes there?” cried a voice from the frigate.

  Stroke Oar of the shore boat shouted back, “La Désirée!”

  A quiet minute passed. Have they forgotten me or are they dumbstruck with disbelief? Neville wondered. Yes, I think I see a glass pointed at us.

  A din began to arise aboard ship; whistles first, then shouting and disorganized drums. It all carried quite clearly across the water. Neville could hear voices he recognized: Foyle, Worth and Towers – even Carlyle the Marine.

  How long has it been? he asked himself. Only two and a half months. It feels like years.

  “Row me ‘round to get a look at her, cox’n; and we’ll give them up there another minute to compose themselves.”

  He was proud of his ship. She showed almost nothing of the beating she got at Trafalgar, and all looked ready and willing to go again. The little boat rowed hard forward to clear the anchor cable, slid swiftly down the starboard side under sail, and then rowed hard again up to the larboard main chains.

  Mr. Foyle himself took the painter when Stroke Oar threw it, and Neville was aboard a moment later. He tossed Stroke Oar a full pound. Foyle released the painter, and the little boat drifted rapidly astern with the current.

  Neville saluted the colors aft, then First Lieutenant Towers, and he touched his hat to the others. A cheer arose from the ship’s company as Neville gave each of his officers an embrace and a clap on the back. “Not too tightly, lads,” he begged.

  21 - “Michael’s Dilemma”

  Michael Stearns walked down the gangway from the Virginia Belle onto the new wharf at Kingston, Jamaica on a sunny afternoon in mid-November of 1805. The passage had been easy. Straight from Le Havre to Norfolk, and then Norfolk to Jamaica, with only one brief stop in Charlestown. Fair weather all the way; it was a good omen for sure.

  Everything he saw was familiar – except this new wharf – yet it all seemed different. He knew the same would be true when he walked in to the Stillwater Rum Trading Company: all the same, but all different.

  He called for a carriage first, taking his sea chest home to his rented rooms in a large house that overlooked the harbor. His rooms were comfortable, but he did not enjoy the splendor that was the Stillwaters’ at Independence Hall. He was suddenly very aware of the latter when his house came into view. There’s that, as well, he thought. If I had Marion I would also have Independence Hall. People would look at me differently. That lothario Burton and the loathsome Cadoudal have stolen my right – my future.

  Michael Stearns’ plan, after a long bath, some clean clothes, and fresh food, was to settle back in to the old grind as if nothing had happened. He would gather his strength for another go at the world. After a nice big steak, why not?

  Marion has no idea I’m a spy. How could she? I didn’t say anything to her about such a thing, even in Paris where that straw-headed Georges was trying to cut in. He and Marion certainly couldn’t have known each other. Nobody other than my contacts in Washington and that other fool Giroux in Marseille know anything about me. Mr. Stillwater can’t possibly know anything – he’s too busy trying to make money, and he certainly pays no attention to people. He never let me in on the rifle business, although he should have. I’ll have to talk with him about that. Therefore, it is logical that I can go forward with ‘business as usual’. I’ve had plenty of time to prepare my defense against his rantings, which I’m sure will come.

  The following day being Tuesday, Stearns dressed in his best workday suit of clothes and walked to the Stillwater Run Trading Company offices on Water Lane. Again he whistled ‘Yankee-Doodle-Dandy as he walked, thinking that any Brits who heard him and took offense could damn well bugger off. He opened the door to the scene he had expected: all the same; nothing ever the same again.

  Chester’s head rose from his work when he detected motion at the front door. Stearns chuckled at the instant double-take as Chester’s head snapped full upright and the man stared at him. See? He’s never done that before. I’m no longer ‘just old Michael Stearns’.

  Chester left his office and walked to the hallway entrance to the lobby. “Mr. Stearns, you grace us with your presence,” he said. “This is a surprise! Come in to my office and tell me all about it – where you’ve been, what you’ve done, and where you’ve left my daughter, if ever you were near her at all.”

  “I have indeed… Chester… I saw her in Paris. She was looking splendid.”

  Once the two were inside his office Chester closed the door. “I know why she was in Paris,” he said. “Why were you there?”

  “Didn’t you get my letter from New York?”

  “I did, and I thought it rather irresponsible for a man in my employ to suddenly take a vacation. What possessed you to go to Paris. Did you know Marion was there?”

  Stearns decided consciously to push his luck: “I did, Sir. She wrote me from London that she would travel there in September. You know she has had a fondness for me for some time, and I think…”

  “You may overestimate your position, sir,” interrupted Chester. He was gaining a slightly pinkish hue.

  “I think,” Stearns continued, “that she was implying that I should go to share the ‘City of Love’ with her. Since, as I wrote in my letter, I had al…”

  “So you would sneak behind my back to court my daughter? I may have implied myself that you would be a good match, and you have had every opportunity to ask my permission, but I have heard none of that.” Chester’s face was passing from pink to red, despite the normal tan of a Jamaican resident’s skin. “And now you would follow her to a foreign city? Did her letter tell you where she was to stay?”

  “No, Sir, it did not. But I have certain skills and contacts.”

  “Contacts in France?”

  “Good salesmen must have contacts, as you know.”

  “I haven’t asked you to sell in France.”

  “I… I had other interests as well,” he fairly blurted. This may not go well, but I have opened the bag. I had better carry on.

  Chester looked him in the eye, and enunciated clearly, “Other interests, Mr. Stearns? I thought you were working for me?”

  “Rifles, Mr. Stillwater. The Harper’s Ferry Model 1803 Flintlock Rifle.” He sat back haughtily to watch Chester’s complexion turn blotchy. The man didn’t speak immediately.

  “You have some familiarity with it, I believe?” continued Stearns. “I visited them. Nice folks; and they are quite near Washington, where I went to visit Marion. She was no longer there, so I had to do something with my time.”

  There was still no response from Chester. He’s considering raising my status in the company, no doubt.

  “Since I had decided to go to France, I thought I might have something valuable to sell.”

  “So you admit that in addition to taking an unauthorized holiday, you followed my daughter, probably with very unsavory intentions, and went behind my back with Harper’s Ferry to secure some sort of sales agreement? I should challenge you to a duel myself for all your backhanded insubordination. The Good Lord knows I would win!”

  Stearns’ disposition flipped from haughty to angry. He yelled back, “You should have let me in on your rifle trade from the beginning, Chester. Why wouldn’t you? Am I not, by your
own words, ‘your right-hand man’?”

  Chester responded in kind. “Why? You should know why by now, Michael. You talk too much! This is not rum sales, where talk, talk, talking is the way to go. Talk, in the arms business, will get you killed. Why should I keep you here now? You are a scoundrel after my daughter and my business, and your talk will be the death of both of us. I think you should get out.”

  “But I won’t, will I? I know something you don’t want others to know, don’t I? After all this time of groveling to you, I have found a way in, and I’m not leaving. Good day, partner!” Stearns concluded. He rose from his chair and left the building. He whistled his way to the Golden Strand Hotel on Church Street. Once there he ordered an American whiskey. Very expensive here in Jamaica, but worth it for the celebration. As I thought, it’s a new beginning.

  Stearns poked his head into Chester’s office. “Mr. Stillwater,” he said, “there’s a ship come in with news of the war in Europe.” Nothing further had happened after their heated discussion on Stearns’ arrival. Business was indeed back to normal, except there was now very little communication between the two men. In some way, both were biding their time.

  Chester looked up at him with a sour expression, “Mr. Stearns, there is always a ship coming in with news of the war in Europe. Have you nothing better to do than listen to gossip?”

  “This is a bit different, I think. You might want to come hear it, but suit yourself.” He left Chester’s door open and walked into the lobby where a very animated naval purser was telling the story of a great naval battle off Spain’s Cape Trafalgar.

  The town was alive with the news. A small parade passed in the street waving British flags and making a general mess of singing ‘Rule Britannia.’

  Michael’s thoughts were muddled. A proper Britisher would have no such emotional confusion, he knew, but Americans in business on a British island must wonder whether it is better to have our former allies or our current hosts win such a battle. In Michael’s case there was no confusion. He remembered what he had told the American Lt. Leonard in Norfolk years ago, although surprised that he remembered the man’s name: ‘It was a damned French ship that sunk Father’s and it was the damned British who are responsible for that war. He never should have taken advice from a Brit. I was just twelve then. Why join the navy? To get back at the buggers.’