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

  “Good Morning, Father,” she said. “I thought I might find you here. How are you this fine day?”

  Chester had been up for several hours. He was casually dressed for a day when he expected no visitors.

  Chester’s wooden chair creaked as he swiveled to face his lovely daughter. He glanced down to be sure his hand placed the burning cigar safely in the little pewter tray on his desk. It certainly wouldn’t do to begin the new year with a fire. The fragrant smoke of it filled the large room. Marion enjoyed it. Her father never smoked one long enough to overpower a room.

  “Is your office our New Year’s Morning tradition?”

  “It may be. I find it to be a peaceful place when there’s nobody else about. Did you have an enjoyable stay in Spanish Town? You look to be in a sparkling mood.”

  “I did. The hotel has a new chef, and his lamb is better than ever. I have a feeling 1804 may just be a wonderful year. I wish mother and Freddie were here to see it.”

  “So do I. It’s been a long three and a half years since your mother passed, hasn’t it?”

  They sat quietly for a minute. Marion broke the silence. “You’ve been writing. What are you up to already this year?”

  “Not much. A few letters. I’m not trying to sort accounts or anything like that.”

  “Marion, do you remember a lieutenant… No, I’m sorry, a commander… to whom you gave the suggestion to ask me for permission to visit you?”

  “Your permission…?”

  “Now don’t start with that, young lady. Did you suggest it to him?” She watched with interest as her father’s countenance changed. The reaction was immediate, but she thought it unsure. Did he know what his own reaction was? Was he angry? Defensive?

  “I certainly would not… blue eyes? Six feet tall? One ear a little droopy?”

  “Yes, that would be him. You did, then?”

  “Yes, I did, now that you mention it. I feel like I know him from somewhere. He came by?”

  “He did.”

  “And you said?”

  “I said he might, but that you would probably send him away faster than the navy will.”

  She gave him a perky, “Oh,” and then added, “Thank you.” She walked off across the hall to drop the packages she was carrying in her office.

  Her father stood up and followed. He stopped at her door and leaned on the frame. “I also told him you had a suitor,” he said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because you do: Michael.”

  “That’s not how the game is played, father. Really. We’re not engaged.” She was quiet for a moment, and then added, “I hear you and Michael are making plans for him to take on the Washington sales trip.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Come on now, father. They say that on a ship every man knows what every other one knows. Do you really think the Stillwater Rum Company isn’t just another ship tied to shore?”

  Since neither had sat, Chester turned around and returned to his desk; she followed He sat and fumbled in the top drawer of his desk for another cigar. “Yes, I am sending him to work the Washington accounts.”

  “And neither of you were man enough to tell me?”

  Chester’s mouth moved a bit, but no words came out. He resorted to blowing a smoke ring.

  “Why are you not sending me?” she asked

  What’s wrong with Michael? He’s been our sales manager for four years and has a fine potential with us.”

  “HE has a fine potential with ‘US’?”

  “Again…?”

  “You say ‘US’, implying that this company is ours, not his, and in the same sentence you say he’s the one with the ‘fine potential’. I have been working in sales and management for two years now. You trusted me with that trip to Washington last year, unless you’ve forgotten, and you know I was a hit on the party circuit. That’s not just to claim my feminine rights to men’s’ attention, but I was an absolute success for this company’s sales, and you can’t deny it.”

  “Mr. Stearns was with you. You weren’t alone.”

  “Oh, Father, really. I am a good – no, a better – sales representative than he is, and you know it. He was hardly writing down the orders as I went about our business. He really wasn’t much help, if I must say it, but I can say he was not the most attentive escort a woman would want.” Except for the pass he took at me, which was really awkward. I don’t think he’s done trying yet, either.

  “Why can’t you trust me for this? So now you propose to send him alone? As if he will be even half as successful. You wouldn’t have been sending Mr. Stearns instead of Freddie.”

  “I wish you hadn’t brought that up. It was just a simple disagreement. I miss them.”

  “I do too. I’m sorry.”

  Marion sat opposite her father and swung her legs up onto the other side of his desk. It wasn’t the least indecent. She was wearing her long travelling skirt and tall boots. It was just a bit belligerent.

  “Cigar, please,” she said.

  “I don’t like it when you get like this,” he said, but it didn’t stop him from leaning down to fish one out for her.

  She took it. He lit it for her. Maybe I shouldn’t complain, she thought. Except for the fact that I would do a better job for the company, Mr. Stearns will be gone for a while and I could work on my ‘Paris plan’.

  They puffed for a minute, each in their own thoughts.

  Chester broke the ice, “So, it’s ‘professional jealousy’ is it? If this will be your company someday, do you not want an experienced salesman on board?” His chair creaked loudly as he leaned back.

  That simpleton Stearns didn’t even meet the British attaché in Washington. It’s a good job the attaché found me. I have no idea how I would have found his equivalent – either American or British.

  “You simply must oil that, father. Mine is quiet as a mouse.”

  I must admit that I enjoy the idea of finding myself in a dangerous situation. If that’s what it takes to avenge Freddie’s death for father, that’s what I’ll do, she mused.

  “On the other hand,” she said, “if I stay here while he goes, I could spend more time with Neville.”

  “Him again? And on a first-name basis already, is it?” said Chester. “You were not interested in anyone you met in Washington, and those are surely some of our country’s finest gentlemen. If you’re not interested in Michael, then you don’t need some unreliable navy boy. This Burton is only a commander. Do you not remember that I said that if you are interested in the navy, the man must be at least a captain? In Washington, it should be a senator or a congressman.”

  “There were certainly some interesting men in Washington, father, but none had the right combination of youth and – what do you call it? – basic manners, maybe. But I don’t need Michael. I don’t need a man to manage me. And, he’s certainly not the salesman that I am. In truth, father, I suggest that you stop pushing Mr. Stearns at me. He’s just not going to be my final choice.”

  Chester sat up, stubbed out his cigar and looked directly at her. “Now it’s 1804, and you still aren’t getting any younger. Maybe I should insist you go and just hope you will run into the right man.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “No, no, no. no. I can tell when you’re manipulating me. I say again, a navy man will do you no good. They’re all the same. A girl in every port. Again I say, I forbid it.”

  I knew he’d say it.

  Mr. Stillwater wagged his cigar in the air, implying some form of emphasis.

  Marion didn’t take it that way. She knew her father. She thought it comical.

  “Hmmmpf,” she said. She changed her voice to the sing-song that she had always used to manipulate her father since she was old enough to talk. “That’s not what you said before.”

  “Oh, as you had it, then. Just don’t bring any indecent dalliance to my house.”

  Ha!” she laughed. “Always the last word. Never mind. I’m
in a good mood and intend to stay that way. I wish you a wonderful new year, and I’ll see you right here next year to hear your new story.” She leaned back again and took another puff. Then she followed her father’s example and snuffed out the cigar.

  “I have something better than this conversation,” she said. “Are you interested?”

  He glowered at her, and probably would have left the office if they weren’t in his, but after a moment or two he said, “All right. I’ll bite. What is it?”

  I don’t have it all together yet, but I can give him the idea. “My ‘Paris Plan’,” she said.

  “Sell to the French navy?”

  “You are quick, father.”

  “I’ve had the notion before, but I haven’t figured out how to sell to the French when we live on an English Island.”

  “That’s because you haven’t had me on it. I’ll need you to write a few letters.”

  “I’ve written before.”

  “Maybe, but now it’s my turn.” She walked out the door.

  7 - “Independence Hall”

  “Annoy French trade, Commander Burton. Those are your orders. Rather straightforward, I would say. Most of the vessels we have captured have been of similar size to yours... little barks and ketches, a few sloops. So you would have the advantage of speed over most of them. I’d like you to concentrate on the trade routes at the north end of the Windward Passage and up toward Florida…

  “That’s all Commodore Loring said, gentlemen, almost verbatim. Straightforward orders, but also quite open.”

  “Our objective then, if it were up to me- May I, Sir?”

  “Yes, Mr. Johnson, go ahead.”

  “- is to gather ourselves as much prize money as we are able to spend.”

  “I think that is indeed a good way to look at it, Mr. Johnson.

  “Mr. Catchpole, you look worried. I will assure you that this doesn’t mean we will be sticking our noses into the business of any French 74’s – or frigates either, unless they chase us. French trade, Mr. Catchpole. Merchants; lightly armed ships, we would hope.”

  Neville suddenly yelled forward, “Mr. Foyle! Mr. Foyle, there! Get that jib in or we’ll be all week here in the Passage.”

  The group heard Foyle’s muted yell from forward, “Aye, Sir.”

  “Mr. Catchpole, does it not seem rather brisk out here today?”

  “Aye, Sir. Christmas Trades are acting up.”

  Superieure leaned heavily to larboard and shouldered an unusually large wave aside. Even though Neville was near the stern he turned his back for a moment to shield himself from the spray from its crash on the bow. This second day out of Port Royal they were on the return tack from Spanish Cuba back toward the cul-de-sac of Haiti.

  On the third day, well inside the cul-de-sac, the wind died away with the rising sun, the seas went flat, and they began to bake in the stillness.

  “It’s hot for January. Unusual weather for this time of year, ain’t it, Commander?”

  “Yes, do you think it portends anything, Mr. Catchpole?”

  “I’d say it portends only…”

  “Sail, ho!”

  “Where away, Mr. Mulgrove?” yelled Neville to the lookout. I’m pleased that I am finally learning more of their names. I feel I’ve been rather slow at it on this ship.

  “Due north, Sir. Point off starboard bow. There. One square topsail.”

  “Does she look to have wind?”

  After a moment’s pause, Mulgrove called down, “No, Sir. Looks dead like us.”

  Johnson and Framingham sauntered back the deck to where Neville stood. “Not a very big ship, then, Commander,” said Framingham. “What shall we do?”

  “Sweeps?” asked Johnson.

  The entire group turned to stare at him for a second. “You must be very hungry for a little sack of coin, Mr. Johnson,” said Framingham. “If Mulgrove up there sees only one topsail, and if she is about the size of us, then she must be three leagues or more distant. Would you propose we row over there?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “We wait, gentlemen. There’s the only way,” said Neville. “But hey, look there. Turtles, Mr. Johnson. There’s a prize worth going after.” The sea was littered with the backs of sun-bathing turtles, many with small white birds standing on them. “Soup for all, by the look of it. Sway out the boats. And while you’re out there catching dinner, see to towing the bow around to the nor-east. Mr. Foyle and Mr. Catchpole, reset the sails for a breeze coming up from there.” He held his arm out straight to the east. “We can be set to run after that topsail as soon as the wind comes up.”

  The breeze returned after Superieure had been towed around and a pile of turtles sat dripping on the foredeck. “I just hope Cookie learned what to do with ‘em,” said Foyle. “I didn’t care so much for his last attempt.”

  “Amen to that,” said Catchpole. “Is it gone, then?”

  “Is what gone?”

  “Your stutter, Mr. Foyle - I didn’t hear it at all.”

  “When I d-d-don’t think on it, or if I’m n-n-not thinking about the Elephant.”

  “Jolly good for you, then. As to the soup, I think our good commander got Cookie a new recipe from Vanguard. The soup should be much better.”

  The jibs fluttered. The two booms wagged their sheets like dog’s leashes, and then slowly swung alee. “Avast your gossip, gentlemen,” said Neville, “Let’s catch a merchant. I hope she’s French.”

  In half an hour the wind had removed wrinkles from the sails. Superieure was cutting a neat furrow northward across the cul-de-sac of Haiti – the great bay within the western arms of Hispaniola. The square sail ahead was easily visible in the morning sun.

  “Three knots and a half, Commander,” announced Framingham.

  “Deck, ahoy!” called Mulgrove’s replacement from the masthead. “She’s not flying her colors, but she looks French.”

  “And we look American, if anything,” said Neville to those on deck. “Hoist American colors and continue the chase. Call me if things change or in an hour, whichever is sooner.” He went below.

  He took the time to write a letter home to his mother and sister, expecting that he would be back in Port Royal within a few weeks. Maybe much sooner if we make a prize of our chase and take her in. No sooner had he affixed his blue sealing wax than there came a rap at his door frame.

  “Master’s compliments, Sir. Would you step up, please?”

  Given the number of times he had been in such situations, Neville was surprised at the reaction in his body. He could feel his heartbeat speed up and a tingle of some sort race through. He was alert for whatever might happen, but he forced himself to sit still for a minute. “Tell Mr. Catchpole that I shall be right along.” We mustn’t have the men think I come running to every little change, must we? he thought.

  He was surprised at the nearness of their chase when his head reached a point above the bulwarks that he could see her. She was hull up. No glass was needed to see the entire ship.

  “She’s a ketch, Mr. Catchpole.” Her mainmast was stepped amidships and her shorter mast was aft, opposite the Superieure. Although her larger foremast was entirely square-rigged, she carried large jibs and a lateen mizzen course. “She should be relatively fast when close upon the wind, as she is now. I’m surprised we have caught up so quickly.”

  “She’s indeed a Ketch, Sir, and we caught her quickly because she wasn’t all that far off. See how small that tops’l is? Catching her may not signify at all. I expect she will be very nimble when we come in close.”

  “How many guns? Can you tell?”

  “Mr. Foyle has gone up with a glass. We should have the benefit of his eyes soon.”

  “Why does she stay this course do you suppose, and not fall off to run?” Neville began looking to windward toward Haiti, and found his answer before Catchpole spoke. “The island. Ile de la Gonave. It is mostly an inhospitable thing, with rocks about it, but she might have a rendezvous waiting there. Sh
e thinks to go somewhere we cannot. I’d wager she is of less draft than we are, and if you say more nimble, we don’t want her playing games in there, do we?”

  Foyle’s feet thumped on the deck behind him. “Six guns and small chasers is all, I believe,” he said.

  “There you are, then, Mr. Catchpole. He certainly does not think to blast us to pieces.”

  “Mr. Foyle, what else did you see?”

  “She is carrying at least some lumber on deck, Sir, but still no colours. What might that mean?”

  “Methinks the most part of it is that her captain is a very cautious fellow. He is thinking hard now. If we are American, and he is as well, then he would be safe. He should also be safe if we were French, but why would the French put up the ‘stars and stripes’ and give chase, unless that ship was actually British? If we are French under false colors, we wouldn’t chase either an American or a Frenchman. For that matter, why would an American chase except possible to speak. If we are pirates, he is not safe no matter what his nationality. So that means he is a scared Spaniard or Britain with a French ship?”

  “A Britain should not fear an American,” said Foyle. “We might stop them for some strange reason, but there should be no harm done. Americans, even looking for some contraband, should allow almost any ship to go on her way after a search.”

  “Then I am afraid she runs simply because she is being chased. Haul down the ‘stars and stripes’, Mr. Framingham, and hoist our proper colours. We shall see what she does then. Perhaps we have caused ourselves undue annoyance.”

  The Flag of Britain soon reached the top of her hoist.

  “She’s raising American colors, but she does not throw her sheets to the wind or slow in any other way I can see,” said Catchpole. “Do you think her still just cautious?”

  “Now I say she is either a very cautions American or she is, indeed, French. We shall keep on. These are our waters, and her captain knows it. We may not have a perfect right to stop an American and search, but she knows we assume the right. There is no reason not to stop unless she has a very strong belief that she can get free of us or carries some contraband. Do you suppose we are close enough to try a shot at her? Pass word for Gunner Jimson.”