Spencer chuckled mischievously. “He was as ornery as ever. After we settled some family matters, we shared a pleasant visit. The sly dog’s trying to select a wife for me. Can you imagine me married and with a slew of brats?” he jested in horror.
“Why not? It happens to the best of us. You’re in your prime, Spence. You’ve established yourself well here. What harm could a nice wife and family do? Did he suggest anyone in particular?”
“I’m afraid so. A neighbor’s daughter, a real spoiled brat from the way I heard it! Lady Alexandria Hampton,” he sneered disdainfully, bringing a curious light to Madison’s eyes. Spencer alertly noted his odd reaction. “You’ve heard of her?”
“Her? Not exactly. But Lord Charles Hampton’s name is no secret to anyone. A fine gentleman. Too bad he isn’t an American. What has this daughter got to offer besides wealth, beauty, breeding, and a matchless bloodline?” he jested in a strange tone.
“I wouldn’t know. I refused to meet her. But I promised Will I would return within two years and make some sort of decision about wedlock. With any luck, she’ll be wed by then! The last thing I need at Farrington Oaks is a wild she-cat.”
“Surely a man of your reputation wouldn’t have any trouble taming a beautiful and audacious feline,” Madison taunted merrily, eyes filled with amusement and mischief.
“Right now, the only wild-cat I want to tame is the Royal Navy. I’ll leave shortly for home. I’ll wait there until I receive word from you.”
The two men stood up, shook hands, and departed company. As Spencer exited, Madison grinned in secret satisfaction, suspecting the paths of Lady Hampton and Lord Farrington would cross very soon.
“As Shakespeare aptly put it, Spence, ‘Lest too light winning make the prize light’…” Laughter filled the room.
VI
“The strongest oaths
are straw to th’ fire
i’ th’ blood.”
—The Tempest, William Shakespeare
An almost timid knock upon Spencer’s bedroom door pulled his stormy reflections from a goldenhaired siren who was claiming too much of his mental energy. Irritably dismissing mysterious Angelique from his mind, he tossed the cover aside and stood up, flexing his strong frame. He reached for a monogrammed robe in a rich wine shade and pulled it over his naked physique which rippled with each agile movement. He cast a nonchalant glance over his shoulder at the sultry beauty who was fast asleep in his massive bed. Not since his strange encounter with that bewitching girl by the pond had he been able to totally dispel Angelique from mind. To his annoyance and dismay, he seemed to be comparing every female to her, finding them all lacking in one way or another. He cursed her for her unforgettable image and matchless passion.
Spencer quietly opened the door to speak with the ruddy-faced Thomas Canter, his loyal servant of many years. The seemingly ageless man with salt and pepper hair grinned affectionately as he handed Spencer the sealed letter from President Madison. “I didn’t want to disturb you, sir, but you’re abed mighty late. I didn’t think you’d want me to delay this particular letter.” His lively gray-blue eyes filled with merriment and deviltry as they flickered past Spencer to the woman sleeping peacefully in his master’s bed. He secretly wished some enchanting and worthy creature would come along and capture the heart of this valiant man whom he respected and loved like a son. It was past time for Spencer to think seriously about a wife and children! How long would he continue his carefree and dangerous life?
“You’re a good man, Tom. I couldn’t do without you. I’ll be down to eat shortly,” Spencer replied in a mellow drawl, shrewdly noting the look on his friend’s face and reading it clearly. They exchanged smiles as Spencer closed the door to head to his bath closet and read this portentous message before he bathed and dressed to leave, for surely this was some type of summons to work. About time, he fretted to himself. He had been lazing around too long to suit a restless, vital man like himself!
Weary of Marianne Flannigan, he quietly went about his grooming without awakening her. With luck, he could be packed and gone before she awoke. Women! he scoffed in unsuppressed annoyance. Once their passions had cooled, why couldn’t they leave as sweetly as they had arrived? He’d never met one worthy of a serious thought or continued glance—except that little blond spitfire in England.
Having been at Farrington Oaks for over a week, Spencer was becoming anxious to have seaspray caressing his tanned face, to feel the gentle rolling of his ship upon the sea, and to experience that intoxicating feeling of total freedom and stimulating adventure. Nothing was more exciting or enlivening than to boldly confront danger and to skillfully best her.
Eager to learn what Madison had in mind for him, Spencer hurriedly bathed and dressed. He rushed down the staircase to eat as quickly as possible. “When Marianne wakes up, Tom, would you see her safely off?” he asked with a mirthful twinkle in his steel-blue eyes and a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Tell ‘er I’ll be gone for months. Maybe she’ll find a new interest while I’m gone,” he teased as his elderly servant smothered a laugh behind his wrinkled hand.
“I’ll see to everything, Master Spencer. Not to worry. How long will you be away this time?”
“I’ll send word back to you after my meeting. Probably six to eight weeks,” he ventured his guess. “If not, you’re in charge here until I can make it back home.”
In less than an hour, Spencer was astride a huge chestnut roan galloping to his meeting. His spirits soared with each mile. Soon, the journey was over and Spencer was dismounting before the impressive home of James Madison. He handed the reins to the groom and took the steps two at a time.
He knocked upon the massive oak door and waited for Madison’s servant to answer it. The door opened and a man clad in a black jacket and pants with a white cotton shirt stood before him. “Spencer Farrington to see President Madison,” Spencer announced.
“This way, sir,” the servant replied in a respectful tone, leading the way into the book-lined office of the President of the United States. “Have a seat. The master will be here shortly. Brandy, sir?” he politely asked, his expression stoic and his voice even.
“Yes, that would be nice,” Spencer replied, crossing his long legs and leaning back against the plush sofa.
When the servant handed him the fragile glass, he accepted it and thanked the fellow. The doors closed and he was alone. He slowly sipped his brandy and let his mind wander—and returned to delicious thoughts of Angelique. But Spencer instantly forbade his mind to dwell upon that vexing subject.
The door opened and in strode Madison. From his worried expression, things hadn’t gone well during his meetings with his cabinet and advisors. A serious man, Madison paced the floor a few times as if summoning the right words to open this vital conversation. He abruptly halted and turned to look directly into Spencer’s expectant gaze.
“You were right, Spencer. Things look pretty bad. It doesn’t seem as if Napoleon will take England’s attention from us. King George thinks he can take us both at the same time! I’ve no doubts he’ll go to war with us. Problem is, how far is he willing to push and how soon? Those boisterous Warhawks think I should declare war while he’s occupied elsewhere. They think we can set England on her heels in less than a month! Between Clay, Jackson, and Calhoun, I must admit I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “They’re demanding war, Spence. Even old silver-tongued Webster can’t reach them.”
Madison poured himself a brandy and dropped wearily into his desk chair. He levelled his somber gaze upon Spencer before going on. “The South’s complaining about that hornet’s nest in Florida; the Northeast is raising Cain about the new Embargo Acts. Those hot-tempered men in the Ohio and Mississippi area are screaming for something to be done about Canada and those Indian raids. And here we sit trapped between Napoleon’s Continental System and England’s Orders-in-Council! A country can’t enter war with her eyes and ears closed!” He paused and turned to Spencer.
“I’ve drafted a message to Congress. Clay’s the Speaker of the House; he’ll read it tomorrow. Then we’ll see how those men truly feel about a bloody war, and not just loud, boastful talk.”
“You mean a message to suggest war?” Spencer asked for clarification.
“I had no choice, Spencer. New England is practically threatening to rejoin the British Empire; the South is raving about concessions to the Northeastern shipping interests. Florida’s under Spain’s control, and Spain’s under Napoleon’s control. Now, England’s furtively strengthening her forces in Canada. We’ve got the British prodding those Indians on to the west. If England goes ahead with her threatened blockade of the entire coastline, we’ll be trapped between warring factions. It’s strike now, or we’ll be at a critical disadvantage later. You know England has just about convinced Russia to side with her against France. With combined forces, they could call a halt to that Corsican’s assault. If so, England’ll turn her full sights on us. If we’ve got to battle the Royal Navy, it’s best to do it while she’s weak,” he speculated.
“What did you have in mind for me?” Spencer asked quietly, realizing the gravity of this moment.
“I want you to head up north and see if you can detect a build-up of forces there. If England’s planning to dig in there and then head down this way, I want to know before she gets too strong.”
“That should be simple enough,” Spencer confidently agreed. “I can use Steele’s cover to capture a few ships to see what I can learn,” he suggested.
“Excellent. Any dispatches between here and there would be invaluable,” he remarked.
“When are you supposed to address Congress?” Spencer reluctantly inquired.
“On June eighteenth,” Madison answered.
“June eighteenth!” Spencer echoed in shock. “But that’s less than two weeks away. I doubt I can confiscate any critical information and have it in your hands by then, sir,” he mildly protested this impossible mission.
Madison shook his thinning head of hair. “I know, son, but it can’t be helped. If I don’t hear from you before then, I’ll have no choice but to follow the wishes of the majority,” he concluded in a strained voice. “Do the best you can, then report to me in Washington,” he advised as calmly as he could manage under these trying circumstances.
Two lousy weeks, Spencer grumbled to himself as he rode off. What could he possibly accomplish in one and a half weeks which could change the course of this impending tragedy? Spencer headed for a secluded cove near Norfolk to meet with his crew, having previously alerted Andy to call them back to his ship. In his state of turmoil, the ride was a swift blur of dirt roads and green trees.
Once aboard the ship, he called all his men to the main deck to hear their new and pressing orders. “We set sail for the northeasterly coast, men. Hoist the Virginia White until we meet another ship. Hold the Jolly Roger, Spanish flag, and the Grand Union in readiness. Pull in the anchors and hoist sails. Let’s see if we can overtake an important British frigate. We sail until we do,” he informed the crew of loyal men.
The thrill of adventure filling them, the crew shouted and laughed in abandonment as the ship left her hiding place to seek out their enemy. Hands and minds were quickly involved with their beloved ship and her dauntless captain. Risque ditties could be heard above the sensuous song of the ocean and her sweet breezes. The sails popped and cracked as the winds passed and filled them with air. As the waves crashed against the black hull of this mighty ship, seaspray dampened the rails and parts of the deck.
Days of endless blue skies and tranquil seas and nights of scintillating stars with variations of halfmoons passed without the sighting of another ship of any interest to this indiscriminate crew. With a calm and deserted sea and the skillful Danny at the wheel, there was little need for the restive captain to remain on deck. Spencer had grown weary of scouting the expanse of empty blue and the numerous papers before him. With an irrevocable war at hand, how could he concentrate upon business matters which concerned his plantation in Virginia? How could he discover England’s closely guarded secrets when every ship they sighted was either a merchantman or a privateer?
Not one to sit idle for any length of time, Spencer found this solitude and lack of adventure much to his disliking. His nerves were taut with anticipation; his keen instincts were alert and tense. Just as the waiting seemed too much to tolerate, a ship was sighted to the port side.
“Ship a’ port, Capt’n,” came the signal he had long awaited. “She’s flying the Union Jack. Looks wellarmed. Three-masted frigate,” the news was swiftly passed down to him from the lookout.
“Bring ‘er around, Danny. Let’s see where our lovely lady is heading,” he ordered. His eyes sparkled with new life and intrigue. This was the moment he had been seeking.
“We gonna take her, Capt’n?” George excitedly asked.
“As surely as the sun rises, George,” came his confident reply. Within minutes, the sleek ship was in pursuit of the sluggish English frigate. She rode heavy in the water, carrying some weighty load.
“Think we’ve got enough daylight left, sir?” Tim asked in merry delight as he nimbly descended the swaying ropes, knowing they could take a ship in the pitch of night if they wished.
“I’m counting on the Lady of Darkness to help us. Let’s keep our distance until dusk, then close on her like the wind. George, stand ready to lower the black sails. Tim, hold the Jolly Roger in hand. Andy, get the boarding party alerted. Tully, stow the fire; supper’s going to be a little late tonight,” he quickly issued his orders, orders which were performed readily by this well-trained crew.
They persistently trailed the burdensome ship upon the gradually darkening horizon. Just as the setting sun first kissed the face of the ocean, they increased their speed. The midnight sails were expertly lowered before the virgin white ones. The Virginia white was replaced by the Jolly Roger. The crew was armed and steady. The wooden board which read Black Mist was suspended from the same hooks which had so recently carried the sign reading Wandering Siren. All measures taken, the distance between the two ships quickly vanished.
The door to the ship’s interior opened and out stepped their captain, imposingly dressed for the raid in his pirating attire. Andy grinned in unsuppressed amusement. His gaze eased over the tall man walking his way. Captain Joshua Steele of the nefarious Black Mist was at his best. He was dressed in knee-high polished boots of finest leather in a shade of sooty black. His muscled legs were clad in snug-fitting black pants which clearly revealed their agility and strength with each pantherlike movement. His white linen shirt billowed with the breeze and revealed a furry chest of black hair through its opening to his narrow middle. A bright red sash was secured around his waist as was expected of any well-dressed pirate. A silver cutless swung to and fro as he swaggered toward Andy. Only a small portion of his sable hair could be seen below the mask which concealed the upper portion of his handsome face and head, a mask which reached from crown to upper lip and encircled his entire head, a mask which prevented anyone from learning the identity of the scourge of the ocean and of the English. Yet, the arrogant stance of this valiant man, the clarity of his commanding voice, the firm set of his squared jawline, and the sensual play of a noticeable contempt for danger upon his full lips vividly exposed all any enemy needed to know about this dangerous and puissant pirate.
Naturally the English frigate was aware of the smaller ship tracing her stern for hours, but foolishly assumed her to be sailing to the same port since she obviously made no attempt to overtake them. But the moment those satanic black sails were sighted, it required very little to guess the intent or identity of their elusive aggressor. The warning was sounded, but it was too late to make any difference. It was almost as if that black witch was sailing straight for them, as if she feared no power or man. She moved swiftly and gracefully upon the sea’s surface, easily gaining on them. The English captain wondered if he should stand and fight or give quarter to a ship
he knew from reports could sink him in less than an hour! The Black Mist and Steele weren’t myths; their power and skills were well-known and feared. But another fact was also known: Steele didn’t sink ships unless they demanded it through a futile battle. Which was best, humiliating wisdom or reckless courage and dangerous pride?
The infuriated English captain watched the Black Mist as she played the waves and currents with natural ability. The way she maneuvered from port to starboard with each smooth plunge, there was no way he could hit her with cannon fire. The battle had been forfeited the moment her black sails appeared! Previously alerted to the wrath of Steele if attacked, the disgruntled English crew cursed as the captain issued his orders to come about and peacefully await Steele’s boarding. Intimidated and cowed, the crew obeyed. The Wind Rover lowered her flag to signal surrender.
“She’s yielding, Capt’n. Guess she don’t want to tangle with us,” Danny yelled over the roar of the ocean and wind.
“That’s the reward of having a fierce reputation,” Spencer laughingly retorted, relieved the English ship wouldn’t force a bloody and futile battle with him.
Before the moon could gain any height, the crew of the Black Mist was in full control of the English frigate and Spencer was searching the cabin of its captain. Finding nothing of importance, Spencer turned to face the scarlet-faced captain who was standing at rigid attention behind him and curiously watching his every move. Spencer strolled over to the irate man, halting within two feet of him.
“You seem to be travelling heavy, Captain Stovall,” he noted. “Is it true you British plan to take over my territory? I don’t think I’d take kindly to your intrusion,” he remarked, goading the helpless man, hoping his inevitable anger would reveal some clue Spencer needed.
Stovall whitened, then flushed a guilty red. He stuttered as he replied, “Don’t…be absurd! I’m… taking supplies to…our men up Canada way,” he lied.
Love Me With Fury Page 11