“Right. I don’t know what it means, though. It said ‘Pig’s Tale’.”
“It means everything to you, then. I’ll explain. Let’s go below for a brandy, shall we? How’s Miller…”
Neville returned to Superieure in the evening a much less burdened man. I think I was close on giving up, he thought. Here in Jamaica I am constantly reminded of Maria. I can feel my melancholy over her even worse when I’m at sea spending much more time with my thoughts. I meet with Marion, but we can’t be even close to intimate. I yearn to hold her in my arms and kiss her, yet we can scarcely speak freely. It was so much easier with Maria. The plantation was so much more rural, and she was far less encumbered by society. Marion’s father is not my friend, as Thomas [Maria’s father] was. I also fear that she is playing me off against this Stearns fellow. Until today, when she saved me from drowning in these thoughts, I wondered if I was just wooing her to stave off the depression that remains of Maria. Thank the Lord for today. I am over the moon.
No invitation for supper with Marion’s father came from Independence Hall before Superieure set her sails again for the south coast of Hispaniola. Neville and Marion met several times. They took a carriage to the cemetery again, had lunch at Independence Hall and arranged another encounter with Joseph and Ellen at the Golden Strand. The association of Joseph and Ellen was obviously progressing well, judging by their smiles, cheery conversation, and a few hushed words. All-in-all they passed an enjoyable two weeks.
Before leaving, Neville walked up to the rum company, enjoying the thought of dealing with Marion rather than Stearns. He pushed the large door aside and stepped in to see the usual scene. The old clerk was at his desk. Today the offices of Marion and Stearns had people in them. Chester sat by himself, and he glanced up when he noticed the motion at his front door. He stared at Neville for a moment, and then nodded an acknowledgement of Neville’s presence. Well, that’s something. I wonder if he and Marion have had a chat. As much as I’d like him to call me in and offer an invitation, I’d rather deal with Marion today. I hope he doesn’t decide to play salesman.
Three men were waiting to be served. Two in civilian clothes had been talking since he walked in, though not loudly enough for the information clerk to understand them. The third, also in civilian clothes, but with the appearance of a navy purser, sat a few chairs down the row. Neville took a seat two chairs away from the talkative pair, annoyed to find that he could still overhear the chatty fellows quite clearly. One of the best things about being off his ship was that he could enjoy some time when he could not hear the incessant babble of human speech. Their gossip caught his ear, though…
“… father and that other fella spend a lot of time with the Frogs. That’s her, there - that wench. I’d wager she’s a terror, eh? Har, har! She’s gonna marry a Frog, they say… maybe already has. She even speaks Frog, she does.” Neville could feel his temperature rising and was considering confronting the man about his insults, but then they changed the subject: “I saw their barky, y’know the Rum Royale, out at the Isle of Ash t’other week…” He shifted his position and continued, so Neville couldn’t hear quite so clearly now. “…into a Frog launch…”
By now Neville was fairly convinced that the Stillwater Rum Trading Company was dealing with the French as well as pirates, privateers, the Spanish, Dutch and any other ship that came near. He knew the time was coming when he might have to talk with Marion about it. That would ruin our relationship for sure. Should I speak to Chester directly? It’s not my job to enforce the laws in this area unless ordered to do so. I would seize the contraband if I caught them at it, of course, but it’s not even my job to investigate – just an errand for Sir William. And what of the Rum Royale? I hadn’t even been thinking about that ship. I should learn more – a lot more.
Chester finally decided to act the salesman. He came out from his office, nodded politely to Neville and the purser, and led the two annoying gossipers to a sales booth. A few minutes later, Marion’s guest left. She had the reception clerk see Neville in. He caught a glare from Stearns as he walked back into the office area.
“This is it, then?” asked Marion, “Off again?”
“After we put some rum aboard, yes. I’ve come to see my favorite salesman about that.”
“Not a very good salesman, I’m afraid. I haven’t sold the captain of the rum company on a single supper yet.”
“I have every faith in you. I shall look forward to your letters and your words of success upon my return. But now I must bargain for enough rum to keep my men pleased for another month.”
The April-to-May patrol cruise was uneventful, and another month at sea passed slowly. The monotony was broken occasionally by letters that arrived by packet, an unsuccessful chase that took Superieure half way to the Caymanos before they abandoned it, three days of storms and two of calms, and one day of collecting an abundance of turtles. It was mid-May when Superieure’s best bower dropped into the azure waters of Port Royal harbor. This arrival was normal; they simply sailed in like a proper British warship.
“The harbor’s full of shipping, Commander. There’s a convoy collecting, I’d say,” said Framingham.
“Aye. No question,” added Catchpole.
“We’ll find out soon enough. Oh, look there at the Billy Ruffian. Her yellow flag is down.”
“That’s a bloody good thing,” said Dr. Trimbley on one of his rare appearances among them. “I was getting worried we’d have the ague here one day.”
Neville wasted no time making his excuses to go ashore for a walk - to exchange notes from the Pig’s Tale. He walked in to find Miss Fletcher at work behind the counter. She passed him an annoyed glance when the little bell jangled at the door, followed by a double-take and a big smile.
“’Ello, Cap’n. Nice to see you’re in. Certain somebody’ll be ‘appy. Just a minute,” she said, and retreated into the back room.
“T’other miss brought it just this morning,” she said when she came back with a small envelope, “with another for Vanguard. You lot must think I’m the bloody Royal Post,” she finished with a wink.
“Is she in? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Who, Miss Ellen? You don’t see her do you?”
“Not Miss Ellen, Vanguard.”
“Oh, no. Out a week Tuesday, I think it was.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Fletcher.”
The little bell jangled him out into the street. His patience was not enough to see him back to the ship before he opened the note.
Dear Commander Burton,
I am pleased to extend our invitation to Late Tea on Thursday next.
4:00 p.m. would do nicely.
In Anticipation,
Marion
An interesting combination of formal and friendly, he noticed. I shall take it that I have improved in her favor.
Neville busied himself with ship-duties for the next three days, including exasperating Hajee by fussing over his uniform. Thursday finally arrived; Neville disembarked from his hired carriage in front of Independence Hall, precisely at 4:00.
The Hall’s ostlers whisked the horse and carriage away. The same butler in tails and white shirt gave him the customary shallow bow and gestured him in. Chester was not waiting there inside, giving him some idea of his importance, but Miss Aughton stood just to the right as he entered.
“Miss Stillwater sends her regards and wishes me to inform you that she will be a few minutes late,” she said. She gave him a warm smile with a nod, and left. The butler led him to Mr. Stillwater’s study, rapped on the doorframe, and announced: “Your guest, Sir.”
“Oh, hello there, Commander. Good of you to be prompt. I find myself a mote peckish today. We’ll have to wait for my daughter, but such is always the way with women, isn’t it?” Chester didn’t rise from his overstuffed leather chair. He also did not motion Neville to sit.
“I’ve not had much experience, Sir.”
“No, not with fine ladies, I should think. Sherry?”
/> Is he trying to get my goat, I wonder? He’s not offered me a seat. “I would enjoy that, Sir.”
“What do you think of the convoy, Commander?”
“I see it is gathering, but I know naught of it.”
“I would think you kept yourself more informed. It is all the talk about the waterfront.”
He is trying to annoy me. I won’t rise to it. “I have seen the ships of course – one couldn’t miss them - and we have speculated that it is a convoy, but other than assuming it will proceed to the United States or on to England or to both destinations, I have learned nothing. I have no orders related to it.”
“Hmmm.”
“Here we are.” The butler carried in a silver tray with two glasses of amber fluid. They each took one. “Thank you, Gregory.
“I’m sorry, Commander. Where are my manners? Please be seated.”
“While we have a minute, Commander, I’m going to say something to you that I don’t want my daughter to hear me say,” Chester began in a lowered voice. “You are here at her invitation, not mine. I am doing my best to please her in this. Since the loss of my wife and son, she is the most important thing I have left in life, and I assure you it would go very poorly for any man who causes her pain. Have you had serious intentions with other women?”
“I have, Sir, but it is of no consequence.”
“I think you are wrong. I suspect it would be of great consequence. Where is this woman?”
“She’s dead these four years past, Sir. A great accident; hurricane. She was much like your daughter. Headstrong, if you take my meaning.”
Chester almost coughed out his wine. “Do I not!” he said. “I am sorry, then. Where did she live?”
Neville considered his answer carefully, taking a sip of sherry. “Here in Jamaica.”
“Here, four years ago? There was a hurricane, I know for a fact. It took out half my warehouse. What was her name?”
“There are some things in my past which I am forbidden by the Navy Office from discussing. Any more comes too close to one of those things, but I assure you it is true, and it could be proven at some point in the future if such were necessary.”
Chester stared at him strangely, and then changed the subject. “I have told Marion that I do not approve of her taking up with any navy man of lower rank than captain, and I think you know why. You lieutenants have no assurance of reaching the rank of captain or of ever having any money to speak of. How would you ever provide for her? You see how she lives.”
Neville paused a minute for effect, taking another sip of sherry. “I have said nothing of this to your daughter, Sir, and she seems to like me none the less for it; perhaps she assumes the same as you – that I am typically penniless. I admit I am not royal. I have no title, but I have a pound or two at Hoare’s in London. I can provide.”
Chester repeated Neville’s pause and sip. He was a skilled negotiator. He took the direct approach. “What is ‘a pound or two’, Commander? I have met a good many people who think a hundred pounds is a small fortune. It’s not that I need to know your business, but we are talking about my daughter, and I am not going to gamble with her future, you understand?”
“I do, indeed, Sir, but I would ask your confidence in this. I would rather she did not know of it. I would much prefer to be convinced that she would continue to enjoy my company even if I became a pauper. Do you get my drift, Sir?”
“You are an unusual fellow, after all, aren’t you? How much at Hoare’s then?”
“Your word, then?”
“You have it,” he replied with something of a smirk.
“Close on two hundred thousand pounds, Sir. I am also due more in prize money.”
The number obviously took Chester aback. “I’ve never…” he said, “I’ve rarely met a navy man – even a captain – who could claim any such thing. From whence came such a sum? An inheritance?”
It was Neville’s turn to cough into his sherry. “Excuse me, Sir. Would that my family had any such! But no, that is part of my history of which I am forbidden to speak. I will offer that it was pirate money.”
“Here she is,” Chester blurted.
They both jumped to their feet, and Neville turned to see Marion standing in the doorway. “We are visited by the queen,” he said. “Charming.”
“I’ve never seen this dress, have I?” asked Chester.
“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, and I think this is it. It was the wrong size, but Miss Aughton has done a marvelous job, don’t you think? Now if I could get you two out of this dark office, we could enjoy a conversation in our seldom-used drawing room before the sun goes down. It has a beautiful view of the garden.”
As they made motion to leave, the light glinted off a small glass ornament on a shelf near the door. When Chester followed Marion out, Neville had a chance to walk close enough to it to see that it was an award of some sort: an engraved glass plaque. He could read ‘Chester Stillwater’ and ‘Harpers Ferry Armory’, but none of the fine print. And now was not the time to indulge his curiosity.
Supper conversation continued smoothly into the second and third courses. “I thought you would relate best to an invitation to ‘Late Tea’, you being English and all,” Marion said. “We Americans don’t stand on so much ceremony, but it is an English island.”
“Yes, I took your meaning. I’m afraid I bothered my coxswain something terrible about my uniform.”
“This dish is one of our cook’s best, Commander. Lamb.
“I am surprised that Father hasn’t been bothering you with a dozen questions by now.
“Is there something you would ask the Commander, Father – about how he might be considered an acceptable suitor, for example?”
Chester and Neville immediately looked each other in the eyes. They could not contain it, and they both laughed.
“You mock me?” queried Marion. “How could you two...?”
The men gathered themselves quickly. Neville gave a slight nod to indicate that Chester should lead their defense. He did a superb job. “We have both noted that one of your finest – and most endearing qualities – is your straightforwardness. You have just proved it again.”
“We would not change it,” added Neville. “It is only the mutual observation that amused us, I assure you.”
“Hrrrmmpf,” she said. “You two had better behave, after that.”
“As to your question, dear,” Chester said, “I believe we have an understanding.”
Marion looked questioningly to her father and then to Neville. She apparently came to the realization that she would not get a better answer at supper. The subject was quickly changed. Conversation went to lighter things: the weather, number of ships for the convoy, and then the prospects for incumbent United States President Thomas Jefferson against Federalist Charles Pinckney. Of the latter, Neville had absolutely no opinion or knowledge.
In a larger gathering, Marion would have been relegated to entertaining the ladies, but since they were only the three, they all retreated to Chester’s study for a glass of Madeira. The moment Marion had finished it, she excused herself, but stopped at the door to ask Chester to come out for a minute.
She’s going to ask about our ‘understanding’, Neville thought. She is probably beside herself about it. I’ll have a minute to look around.
His first action was to find the glass plaque and read the fine print, which indicated the armory’s appreciation for Chester’s sales efforts. He probably expects nobody to ever see this. His desk is not clear. What are those papers?
Neville walked to Chester’s desk and found, lying atop a short stack of correspondence, a letter from the same company in the United States. He began to realize his disappointment in not learning more about that new country. The letter he found from the Harpers Ferry Armory was regarding sales of the Model 1803 Flintlock Rifle. He turned to the second page.
He started when Ellen Aughton’s voice asked, “Would you like something else, Commande
r?” She crossed the room to him quickly and pushed his hand down to replace the letter to its original position. “He’s on the way back, Neville,” she whispered. “Best leave this, and think nothing of it.”
Confused, but understanding, he said, perhaps a bit louder than necessary, “Thank you, Miss Aughton. Another Madeira would be nice. The last went down too quickly.” She used my given name? I must think on the meaning of this… maybe confer with Joseph.
As Chester entered, she was giving him a short bow and backing away. “And you, Sir?” she asked. “Gregory will be right back.”
Neville and Chester sat for their last Madeira of the evening. In England we would be by a nice fire, he thought. It’s too warm for that here, though.
“She is near incensed, young man, so this is your warning. I have respected your wishes as we discussed earlier, so it will be your business to explain my comment about ‘reaching an understanding’ – or not, as you see fit.”
That was the end of it for the evening. Nothing more was said other than the ‘good evenings’ and other pleasantries on closing a dinner party.
What have we here, Mr. Catchpole?” Neville asked in the late morning as the two stood with their pots of coffee by the binnacle.
“I’ve no idea, Sir, but I believe it’s the shore patrol. They bring messages at times.”
The eight-man launch rowed to their position and thumped alongside in the blinding sunlight.
“Clap hold of that painter, there Mr. Foyle,” ordered Catchpole. “A prize captain can still handle that job, can’t he?”
“Dispatch pouch,” the coxswain said, and slung it up on deck.
“Let go, Midshipman.
“Shove off, lads. Make way.”
With that they were gone, and Johnson picked up the packet. He handed it off to Neville, who took it below to his cabin. There was only one envelope within. It bore the Jamaica Station’s heavy seal. He returned topside after taking a few seconds to read the short note within.
The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Page 12