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

by Georges Carrack

  “Hey, look. I’ll be masquerading as a tobacco salesman from North Carolina. I’d better practice my southern drawl.”

  “And your French. And your ciphers.”

  “How am I supposed to find out what Boney’s plans are for his navy?”

  “You won’t be alone. We have people in place over there already.”

  “So I’m just a messenger, and they do all the real work? Who are they, anyway? It doesn’t mention them in this… no details at all.”

  “Sometimes I have to wonder if you’re ready to go. Of course there are no details – we’re spies. I know I don’t want anything written down.”

  “So, Michael, here’s what’s not written down. You are to take any ship you find to Marseille. Be sure to go in the status of a salesman. When you arrive…”

  Stearns was pleased with the dinner arrangements. This was how it was supposed to be. A group of eight well-off men gathered in a fine hotel dining room in Marseille for a sumptuous meal, conducting espionage like true gentlemen – not slinking around the alleys drinking lukewarm coffee and waiting for something to happen. He had been told who they were and introduced properly. Now he just needed to keep the names straight in his head.

  “I will sit you next to Georges Cadoudal,” said his contact, a Monsieur Giroux. He is my advisor, and it is probably from him that you will get the papers that must go back to Norfolk – or I guess it will be Washington now. The others may have something, as well, so keep your ears open, but not your mouth, yes? I will be at the other end of the table.”

  “Where is M. Leclerc? I understand he is the shipyard buyer of tobacco. To keep up appearances, I really must make an attempt to speak with him.”

  “There is no question of that, but he is at my end of the table. You will have your chance when we move to the other room for cognac and a cigar.”

  Michael followed the instruction to keep his ears open as dinner progressed, but not so well the instruction to keep his mouth shut. The thing he did well was to act the part of the salesman.

  “We have the finest tobacco in North Carolina,” he announced between the second and third removes, “Your sailors will appreciate that. I certainly know that. I came into this business after leaving the school for navy officers in Norfolk. Jack Tar loves his smoke and chew.”

  “The navy, Mr. Stearns? You have left it, yes? Why?”

  “Yes. The mathematics of navigation, Sir. It is beyond my ken. My father took me back and put me in sales, and here I am.” He turned to M. Cadoudal and said quietly, “You can count on me to do something more than this mundane assignment. I’ll make a name for myself in this game.”

  Cadoudal glanced down the table and gave M. Giroux a slight wag of his head.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Stearns. The next course will be a few minutes in coming. Will you join me for a smoke out of doors?” asked Mr. Giroux.

  The street lamps were being lit, and the still-dusky sky cast eerie shadows around the detritus of Marseille’s commerce. It was a nice hotel, but not in the most fashionable part of town. The business of selling to the navy was conducted, understandably, at least on the fringes of the waterfront.

  “I am embarrassed, Sir, not only that I must speak to you but for what you have said. You cannot be talking about any time you have spent in the American Navy in public…”

  “What do you mean ‘public’. Are these not your friends?”

  “There are friends of different sorts, Mr. Stearns. They are not all…”

  “Oh, I thought…”

  “You cannot assume, Mr. Stearns.” He began searching his coat pocket. “Just because I introduce you to one man, it does not mean that everyone at the table is in our camp. Some may be there for their information or for other reasons. Did you not notice M. Foyard’s sudden attention to you?”

  “I can‘t say that I did…

  “Ah, good evening, M. Cadoudal.”

  Georges stepped out onto the sidewalk. He passed a knowing look to Giroux and said, “Mr. Stearns, it sounds as though you have ideas about our business with Napoleon… might you share them with us?”

  “Yes. In America, we would…” Michael outlined his ideas quickly while the sun sank below the rooftops.

  “Thank you for being brief,” said Cadoudal. He nodded to Giroux, who now had cigarette in hand, and disappeared back inside. Giroux said, “We’ll think about it, but no more at dinner except for your tobacco pitch to M. Leclerc, if you please. We two have to live here, and we like our heads.”

  M. Giroux knocked on his door at 8:00 a.m. the next morning with a large envelope about an inch thick. “Here is our response to your proposal,” he said. “We have made arrangements for you on a ship departing later today. Don’t open this. You’d best hurry…”

  There were three inches of snow on the ground when Stearns passed through Latrobe Gate into the new Washington Navy Yard. Evidence of construction was still piled in corners beneath the icicles hanging from the cornices. It was all new enough that even those working there were not all able to give him directions to the office he sought, but by 10:30 he had found his way.

  “Lieutenant Stone, I’m told you are the one to whom I am to deliver this envelope from France.”

  “France?” he asked, his head jerking up. He looked Stearns up and down and stuck out his hand.

  “Yes, France. Marseille, exactly. Some of us leave the country.”

  “Thank you, Mr.…?”

  “Stearns. Michael Stearns.”

  “Who is your contact here?”

  “Fordson. William Fordson.”

  “Right. I’ll see he gets it. That’s it for now.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes. You can’t expect him to be in, and to drop everything he has going, even if this did just come from France. Don’t leave town until you’ve been called in, and leave the address of your rooms with the clerk, if you please.”

  “I guess bureaucracy is the same everywhere, isn’t it?” queried Stearns. He turned and left.

  It was a week before he heard from the Navy Yard. The day was slightly warmer and the snow had turned to slush. He returned to the same reception area with wet shoes and cold feet. “Michael Stearns to see Mr. William Fordson.”

  “He’s not in. You are to see Mr. Roger Townsend.”

  “I’m your new contact,” Townsend gushed enthusiastically. He popped to his feet and came around the desk to shake Michael’s hand. The man seemed to be trying to use up some excess of energy. “You’ll like this, I think,” he went on.

  “They’ve taken my suggestions?” asked Stearns. “When do I leave?”

  “Almost as soon as you wish. I envy you. Warm weather, beaches and palm trees. Bare-breasted women, too, I hear.”

  “I’ve been to France, and there’s no such thing this time of year, I can assure you.”

  “Oh, no. Not France. You’ve been assigned to Jamaica, Mr. Stearns. I know nothing of France, myself. That’s Fordson’s area.”

  “That’s who I came to see. Why have I been directed to you?”

  Townsend slowed for a minute, returned to his side of the desk and paged through the single file that was there. “Oh, it is you, I see.” His enthusiasm returned. “Well, no matter. Fordson tells me that his contacts over there didn’t want you back. Didn’t say why, but he thanks you for the papers you carried for him. Jamaica’s better anyway. No snow.”

  “Is this because of that little slip in Marseille? Did that Frog sell me out, Roger? And for that you’re sending me to Jamaica? What good am I going to be in Jamaica? The island is stinking English, you may remember.”

  “Yes, exactly. You’ll be behind the enemy lines, so to speak. It is dangerous, although not so much as France. Is that not what you want – the adventure of it? In a foreign country they will still hang you as a spy if they catch you.”

  “I’d rather not be among the English. My father was killed by a Frog because he took English advice. Why do you think I got into this, any
way?”

  “It’s not my business to get into all that, but we need this done, Mr. Stearns,” Townsend continued in a more businesslike tone. “This intelligence-gathering business isn’t all dash and dagger. Most of it is digging up information about the enemy. HQ has a place in Jamaica where we think you’ll fit right in. There’s a rum trading business there – the Stillwater Rum Company – that must know every ship that moves about the Caribbean, whether it’s legal or not. They all take rum. The owner used to be in tobacco like your father. His son was killed last year and he needs a man to help manage it.”

  For all practical purposes, Stearns was in mourning for his first years in Jamaica. He denied that he had been sidelined from an active spying career. He became angry about it and wrote letters to the main office. He made excuses for his situation. Finally he accepted it. He improved considerably when he determined without a doubt that it was indeed Georges Cadoudal the Frenchman who had rejected him. But by then he had begun to like the situation with Stillwater, the warm weather and the ability to live so well. He also began to notice Marion Stillwater as she matured from a little girl to the beautiful woman she was now at the age of twenty-two.

  4 - “New Year’s

  1803-04”

  “It’ll be 1804 tomorrow, Commander Burton. When you were my age d-did you ever think you’d live to see it, p-particularly in a setting like Port Royal ‘arbor?”

  “I’m not that old, Mr. Foyle. There have been a few times when I wondered if I would see the next day, but just living this long is no surprise to me. Have you always had this stutter, Mr. Foyle?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Were you also the youngest on your ship? What ship?”

  “Aye, S-sir, I w-was. Elephant, Sir.”

  “Elephant!” Neville exclaimed. “I didn’t see you there. Ahh, wait. You probably weren’t there when I left her. No matter.”

  The sun was climbing fast. Neville could feel the breeze flagging and the heat rising. The colours above his head, that had been so gaily flying, began to droop.

  “Well, what started the stutter, then?”

  “First Lieutenant Aderlay started it, Sir.”

  Aderlay. My God, I hoped I’d never hear that name again. “How could he start your stutter?”

  “He s-scared me to d-death, Sir… had me in the t-tops more’n once. I got ‘fraid to s-say anything, I did. He thought it f-funny. And then when the s-s-stutter s-s-started, the other m-mids made s-s-s… fun of me.” A tear squeezed out from his right eye and rolled down his cheek. Neville wouldn’t have seen it at all but for the strong sunlight. To the boy’s credit, he made no attempt to wipe it off. “B-b-bright sun ain’t it, S-sir.”

  “You’ve heard of Demosthenes, then?”

  “Who, S-sir?”

  “No matter. We’ll have you cured of it in no time. Nobody on this ship will make sport of you, either, I’ll promise you that.” He couldn’t tell if there was any reaction at all on Foyle’s face.

  “It’s been a good year in my b-book after I left Elephant. For that I thank you.”

  “Your thanks should be directed more at Captain Walker. Superieure was his capture and he put me in her. We’ll have a little prize money out of his work, as well.”

  “I could use the p-prize money. How many was it?”

  “Three, I think. That 74 Duquesne will pay the most, just because she’s such a big ship. The prize money will be split between us, Bellerophon, Vanguard, and Tartar, though. What’re you smilin’ about?”

  “Just remembering Mr. Catchpole covered wi’ f-feathers, Sir.”

  “Ho, ho! That was funny, yes… Then there was the little brig Papillon. We helped with her when Vanguard brought out the last of those starving Frogs at Saint-Marc. And we were part of Tartar’s capture of the frigate Clorinde. I think that’s all we’ll get credit for…

  “Who’s on duty next?”

  “Mr. Catchpole I be-be-… think, Sir.”

  “All right. I think I need to get on, Mr. Foyle. We’ve been invited to that party the Stillwater Rum Company throws every year. I need to see to my uniform. And you might, too. Your arms and legs are sticking out an inch more than they were when you came aboard.. Mister Chester Stillwater, the owner of the Stillwater Rum Trading Company, declares it is merely in appreciation of the considerable amount of rum the navy purchases from him. It is not a navy affair, though, so your participation is not mandatory.

  Neville went below to tidy his uniform and to think. Here we are again. Another New Year without Maria. I’m here in Port Royal - or Kingston - but she’s not. If I had only taken another street, I might be with her today. It is getting harder to recall the feel of her face against mine or the twinkle in her eyes or the – oh yes, the little scar on her knee. That’s enough of that.

  He stepped through the door into the Stillwater’s banquet hall. The party was already well under way. I must keep my eyes and ears open. There may be something I can learn about Mr. Stillwater. I would expect his business associates would be here – although not the French ones.

  An older man in servant’s garb was working his way through the crowd with a silver tray of hors d’ouvres. The little bits of food on the tray were becoming fewer and fewer as he approached Neville. Another person caught his eye on the far side of the room. It was the big fellow he had met last year; the one who came and collected… ahh, yes, that beautiful creature that reminded me so much of Maria. I should look ‘round for her.

  “Roasted Shrimp, Sir?” asked the man with the tray, “It’s the last one.”

  “Yes, I’ll try it. But excuse me. Do you work for the Rum Company?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Can you tell me about that big fellow there? I was introduced last year, but I don’t remember his name.”

  “That would be our Mr. Stearns. He’s been with the firm maybe seven years.”

  “From where, if I might ask?”

  “Somewhere north in the Americas. Carolinas, I believe. He seems to like it here now. I don’t think he did when he first arrived – found fault with everything. Then one day he just stopped complaining. Sorry to ramble on, Sir.”

  “Is there any connection…”

  The waiter lifted his tray back up into position for walking through the crowd. As he turned away, he said, “Sorry, Sir. I don’t know much more, anyway, and I must get back to it.”

  … between Mr. Stearns and Miss Stillwater, I wonder? No matter, I’ll ask her myself.

  He chatted with the guests. He asked what he could about his host.

  “He’s American,” said one. “He’s from Virginia, if I have it right. His father was in tobacco and he came here to Jamaica to check out the possibilities for expanding the business. He discovered rum and started the business. The ‘rest is history’, as they say. He’s done well, and I’m bloody glad of it today,” he added, raising his glass.

  “First Lieutenant Joseph Dagleishe, as I live and breathe. It had fallen from my mind that you might be here.” The two hugged and thumped each other’s backs.

  “Most of the officers in the fleet are in here, Neville,” Joseph commented, “Even the Americans.”

  “And most of the councilmen of Jamaica, too, I’d wager,” said Neville; “and Kingston’s prominent businessmen. Did you try that French wine from that drinks table in the corner? It’s wonderful. I would have thought it would be all rum.”

  “They enjoy their rum here, there’s no question of that. How is the old Vanguard, Joseph?”

  “She’s just fine, Neville, and all the wardroom well. How’s that little jolly boat you’re sailing? I see you now and then, dashing about hither and thither.”

  “It’s a bit lonely, I’m afraid. There’s not another officer aboard to confide in.”

  “That’s the lot of the captain, anyway, Neville. You might as well get used to it. I have moved well up the Navy List, by the way. By this time next year you may have to salute me.”

  “I shall hope for
it, of all things, Joseph, for you more than any other. We must get together for catching up before we go back to sea, but right now I see that girl I met last year; Miss Stillwater. She deserves another ‘hello’, don’t you think?”

  “Good luck getting through that cordon of officers. Half of them are probably your senior, I might add. At least a couple are captains. ‘Excuse me, Sirs’ will not cut it.”

  “I managed a word last year. I’ll do it again. I’ll begin with the wine you suggested,” Neville said, “and I’ll find you later, my friend.” I feel like some voyeur, but I simply must meet her. If naught else, I must see her more clearly. I have been rather thick. While it might be a great pleasure to meet her, it is also my duty to get to know her. It is her father I must investigate. She must know him better than any other.

  He decided on the most forward approach he could imagine: taking her a glass of wine and boldly walking straight into the fray. He took a second glass and turned her way. She was but twenty feet distant.

  Neville circled slowly, like a lion circling its prey. He enjoyed what he saw. Marion stood about five feet and two inches, with a very straight posture. Hair of a color between brown and blond hung to just above her shoulders. Her empire-waisted dress, currently the style in England, showed her well-formed young figure extremely well. After a hunt of close to a quarter hour, Neville saw his chance. Miss Stillwater had finished her glass of wine and began to fidget awkwardly - but rather daintily, he noticed – with her glass. None of her admirers were offering to take it from her. A quick glance around found him the drinks waiter, and before the others could react, he slipped in through the circle.

  Somewhere faintly in the background, at the very edge of his concentration – the tinkling sound of silver on glass. Someone was calling the room for its attention. The group of officers around her turned toward the speaker, and Marion said to them as they did, “Excuse me, gentlemen, My duties as hostess summon me.” She turned away from their attention with a hint of a courtesy – or maybe just a nod – directly into Neville’s advance.