by Lady Vixen
"Do I see him?"
"No. I do not feel he would be of any use to us. But I will give you what information I have on him tomorrow."
Another round of whiskey was poured, and swallowing it slowly, almost enjoying its stinging bite, Christopher decided that he was going to be drunk as a wheelbarrow if he stayed much longer. But Jason appeared to be in no hurry to end the conversation and said with amusement, "I must congratulate you on your ward."
Almost with misgiving and definitely suspicion Christopher repeated, "Congratulate?"
"Yes. You said she wouldn't shame me and she didn't —she did beat me at cards, though, she is very good at them! And it's fortunate that you are sailing on Thursday, for the suitors will be clamoring outside your house. Her manners are delightful. We dined at the governor's mansion on Saturday and Claiborne himself was very attracted, but only in an abstract way, you understand, as he is unusually devoted to his wife. And Sunday we took her to the opera. The opera itself was not a great success, but Nicole certainly was! I vow I thought I would have to fight our way clear."
A glitter gleamed in Christopher's eyes that couldn't be defined by Jason, but there was no mistaking the deadly smoothness of his voice as he asked, "And did Nicole find anyone who took her fancy?"
"That, I couldn't tell you. But I'm certain you will discover it for yourself—she is, after all, your ward."
"Perhaps." And abruptly Christopher changed the subject. "If Monroe has accepted Castlereagh's offer, has a place for the actual negotiations been settled upon?"
"No. Remember that Monroe wrote his reply barely a month ago—it hasn't even reached England yet. There has been a new commission appointed for us also—John Adams will be the leader and the others are a Federalist by the name of James Bayard, our speaker of the house, Henry Clay, Jonathan Russell, and Albert Gallatin. Madison finally appointed Campbell to Gallatin's post as secretary of the treasury. It is an imposing group."
"But can they accomplish anything?" Christopher asked sarcastically.
Jason shrugged. "Well, Gallatin and Bayard are at the czar's court in Russia at this very moment supposedly negotiating for peace with England. Who knows what they will accomplish? You, I hope, will certainly have more success than they have had so far."
They stayed talking quietly for several more minutes and decided on two final and vitally important items. The first, and by far the easiest, was a simple code to be used for what news Jason could send to Christopher. Knowing the various improbabilities of the mail during the war, they had acknowledged that the letters might never reach England. But Jason had agreed that he would try to keep Christopher abreast with events in New Orleans.
The second item was more difficult. Leaving England in this time of war with the United States was something they discussed at length. Obviously no British ships were sailing to American ports. If Christopher were successful in obtaining any documents of value, speed would be of utmost importance, and there would be no time in which to take a more circuitous route—to go from one port to another before heading to the United States.
After much thought and argument it was agreed they would make use of several privateers known by Jason to be plying the waters off the coast of England. Christopher jibed Jason about it, finding it vastly amusing that he would make use of them in view of his feelings about Lafitte. But Jason snapped, "These, my young friend, are honest privateers!" Christopher wisely held his tongue.
The most difficult obstacle was the timing. Neither had any idea how long Christopher would be in England. They dared not set just one date for a rendezvous. There would have to be several different times that Christopher could meet with an American ship. Finally it was decided each month, starting April 25, a privateer would be tarrying off the coast of Sussex, near the tiny village of Rottingdean. The ship would remain for several hours of darkness and sail with the midnight tide if Christopher's signal did not appear. The date would change each month, the next month's date being a day later than the previous month's. The captain would know nothing except that he was to pick up one or two passengers and then immediately set sail for New Orleans. A simple lantern signal would be used.
It was perhaps not the best arrangement—it was risky and left much to chance—but it was the best they could do.
The problems solved to their satisfaction, they had another glass of the rotgut whiskey, and it was only when the bottle was finished and they were both as drunk as lords that Christopher and Jason began to stroll in the direction of their respective homes. It had started to rain, and swearing with discomfort, Christopher pulled his thin jacket closer to him. Seeing his actions, Jason laughed, "Wait until England, my friend. Wait until it rains in England."
PART THREE: THE ROGUE AND THE VIXEN
"I hate and I love. Why I do so, perhaps you ask. I do not know, but I feel it and I am in torment."
—Catullus
CHAPTER 21
In February, while Christopher and Mrs. Eggleston had been drilling Nicole in deportment, London had been gripped by the longest and hardest frost in centuries. The Thames River between London Bridge and Blackfriars became a road of solid ice, and the populace traveled across its frozen expanse by way of "Freezland Street."
At the ends of local streets signs were mounted announcing that it was safe to cross, and before too long there sprang up a "Frost Fair." It was a marvelous affair to see; crowded side by side were booths for bakers, butchers, barbers, and cooks. There were swings, bookstalls, skittle alleys, toy shops—exactly like a regular fair. But the "Great Frost" ended, only to be followed by a tremendous fall of snow that continued without intermission for six weeks.
The weather was still beastly on one of the last days of March when Christopher and his party disembarked. Cursing the wind and rain, Christopher had promptly and efficiently removed them to Grillions Hotel, a fashionable hotel on Albemarle Street.
All in all the first three months of 1814 had been bitter and icy in England, but beyond that swirling curtain of snow and ice, across the Channel, Napoleon's empire was in ruins. Schwarzenburg led his Austrians, and von Blücher his Prussians, into Paris. Wellington defeated Soult at Toulouse, and on April 6, 1814 Napoleon finally conceded defeat and abdicated. He left Paris at midnight on the following day on his way to exile on the island of Elba, and Louis, the Bourbon, who had become old and fat in exile, was now King of France, Louis XVIII.
By April the cruel winter was over, the long war with Napoleon was over, and in England there was exuberant rejoicing with the white cockades and the flags of the Bourbons everywhere. Despite the festive atmosphere, neither Nicole nor Christopher felt any sense of homecoming. For Christopher it was understandable—he had left unwillingly, under painful and brutal circumstances. England was simply a foreign country to him, one that was at war with his own adopted country. Nicole had no strong feelings for England, having left it so many years before. But she was glad to leave the ship's confinement, for she had been tortured by Christopher's nearness during the long voyage.
Of the three of them only Mrs. Eggleston was truly happy at the return to England. She was home again— and she had Christopher and Nicole with her! During the week following their arrival they had absorbed all the latest news and gossip circulating about the city. With something like dismay Christopher had heard the news of Napoleon's abdication. The end of the war with the French Empire freed British troops for service in America, and bitterly he cursed the necessity to act cautiously. For the moment there was little he could do but smile and act the part of the returned native son.
The first week of April passed swiftly. Christopher was taken up with a variety of mundane but time-consuming affairs—seeing a banker in the city, establishing his credit, the hiring of horses and carriage, the selection of an agent for whatever business he might have, and finding his feet in a strange city.
The ladies had promptly discovered the delights to be found in the shops on Bond Street and proceeded, after a certain amount
of reluctance on Mrs. Eggleston's part, to add a number of elegant trifles to their wardrobes. Christopher took out a subscription from Colburn's Lending Library for their amusement and even managed to escort them on a few sightseeing tours: the National Gallery, the London Museum, and the wild beasts at Exeter to name a few.
There were two notable and curious omissions in all Christopher's activities; namely, he did not present any of his letters of introduction nor did he seek out Nicole's guardians. He undertook one personal task his second day in London, paying a quiet visit to Somerset House, that monumental institution where the records of all births, marriages, and deaths were kept and discovered to his relief and satisfaction that Simon Saxon was still the sixth Baron of Saxony. His grandfather lived, and not for the first time, Christopher wondered how the irascible old gentleman was going to take his return.
Yet knowing his grandfather was alive, he kept the knowledge to himself, and beyond discovering that Simon Saxon was presently staying in his London residence, he did nothing to bring about a meeting between them. He was busy adapting to London, discovering the temper of the populace, familiarizing himself with the city itself, and absorbing the currents, rumors, and news that flew like wildfire. After about ten days he knew he could no longer remain in the shadows.
His first official call was to Alexander Baring, head of the great banking firm of Hope and Baring, which served American interests in Europe. Baring was also a member of Parliament and had campaigned vigorously against the war with the United States and for the repeal of those damaging Orders of Council that gave Britain the right to stop American ships and remove at will whomever they desired. He greeted Christopher cordially, and after producing a chair, cigars, and some refreshments, he proceeded to read Monroe's letter of introduction. Glancing up from the letter he remarked, "I do not mean to be discouraging, but there is little I can do for you at present. You are here unofficially and we are still at war with one another. I can introduce you socially, but I'm afraid that will be the extent of my patronage."
Christopher nodded. "Of course. It is no more than I expected and I appreciate your difficulties." He smiled, the gold eyes very bright. "I can only hope you will continue your efforts on our behalf in Parliament."
"You may be assured on that point, but it is a damnable situation that I can do little to change. At least your American commission has been appointed for the peace talks." A grim smile on his mouth, he added, "Now if only we British will do the same and finally settle upon a place for the talks."
Looking startled, Christopher said, "I beg pardon! I thought the site of the talks was to be in Gothenburg, Sweden."
Baring shook his head. "No, not any longer. At first this was true, but now there is a movement, God knows why, to move the talks to Ghent in East Flanders."
"I see," Christopher mused slowly. "And this change of site will no doubt delay the start of the talks a few months, or at least several weeks?"
"I'm afraid so. But bear this in mind—Britain does desire peace."
Christopher agreed politely, unwilling to share his very different views with Baring. Baring was, after all, a member of the British Parliament and as such, while perhaps wishing for peace, was naturally watching over his own country's interest. Christopher said little more and took his leave shortly thereafter. He returned to his rooms at Grillions and spent some minutes pacing the floor of his elegant parlor.
Britain might wish for peace, he thought sardonically, but not before she had one more brilliant victory in America. A master stroke that would show those brazen colonials who was the actual power. The fact that the peace talks site was in question pointed to delay. Also, although Monroe and Castlereagh had finally agreed on direction negotiations and the Americans had appointed their delegates, it appeared Britain had done nothing, thereby creating a further delay. A delay that would perhaps enable them to capture New Orleans. Christopher snorted derisively. Though it was up to him to find proof, he cursed the fact that there was little he could do at present except allow himself to be absorbed into English society and hope eventually to stumble upon something or someone that could provide the information he wanted.
He joined the ladies in the drawing room of their suite for tea. It was Mrs. Eggleston who raised the question of his family. "And when do we call upon your family, Christopher? We have been in London over a week now, and I feel it is very rude of us not to have apprised some member of your family of our arrival before now."
Christopher regarded her with something like consternation. He had avoided his family simply because he wasn't certain he was prepared to be plunged into the possible recriminations and ugly repercussions that might result. How was his grandfather going to react to his return? And Robert . . . dear, kind Uncle Robert . . . planning some new underhanded plot? His family was a complication he didn't really need at this time, he thought with frustration.
Unfortunately Mrs. Eggleston was not going to give him much choice! "Well, Christopher?" she asked as he continued to remain silent.
Stifling a curse in his throat about interfering old women and yet knowing she was right, he said reluctantly, "I suppose, I could call at Cavendish Square this evening and at least leave my card if no one is at home."
Mrs. Eggleston gave him a searching look. But before she could pursue the subject, Nicole asked the question that she, too, like Christopher, would have preferred not to have answered. "Do my aunt and uncle know that I am returned? Have you written to them or am I to do it?"
Nicole, too, had been content to drift, but Mrs. Eggleston's very proper question made it impossible for her to avoid her own uncertain situation.
Christopher swore silently to himself at Nicole's unexpected query. His deliberate avoidance of informing the Markhams of their niece's return had its roots in a perplexing problem: he was simply unable to deal with the idea that Nicole would no longer be under his protection! He told himself grimly that this feeling would pass soon enough, that the reason for it was their many years together, the shared adventures on the sea, and because he had seen her grow, helped her grow, he admitted cynically, from an impetuous Nick into the extremely desirable young lady seated across from him.
And like most males confronted by two determined women asking questions he would rather not answer, he was feeling harassed and slightly exasperated. "No, I haven't informed them, damnit! I didn't realize you were so eager to return to their bosom!" It was unfair, and Christopher regretted it the moment the provoking words left his mouth.
Nicole's eyes darkened with sudden anger, and Mrs. Eggleston instantly thrust herself into the role of peacemaker as she murmured soothingly, "I'm certain dear Nicole meant nothing of the kind, and really, Christopher, you should not use such language in front of ladies."
Choking back his unaccountably rising temper with an effort, he said tightly, "I apologize. And since you ladies are dissatisfied with my arrangements, I shall immediately see to your expressed wishes!" He gave them both a stiff bow and departed.
"Well!" Mrs. Eggleston exclaimed, considerably startled at the uncalled-for display of bad temper. "Whatever was wrong with Christopher? I have never known him to behave so."
You don't know the half of it, Nicole thought angrily. She set her teacup down with a clatter, showing her own temper.
But the smile she bestowed upon Mrs. Eggleston a second later was all that could be wished for in a well-bred young lady. With a pretty shrug of her shoulders she said lightly, "Perhaps he is not feeling well, or it could be that his visit to Mr. Baring this morning was not to his liking. There's no telling."
Doubtfully, Mrs. Eggleston concurred. "Yeees, I suppose that could be true. I feel, though, that there is something more behind his unseemly display of temper than a morning gone wrong!"
Of course Mrs. Eggleston was correct. Christopher, to his dismay, was finding himself compelled to do several things he didn't want to do. Leaving the ladies, he cursed his bad luck for ever having set eyes on Nicole Ashford,
her mother—that damned and bewitching Annabelle!—his Uncle Robert, and Jason Savage.
In his rooms over the following hours he composed many letters to the Markhams but ended up screwing them into knots and throwing them on the empty hearth. He had no excuses or reasons for not having notified them of Nicole's return before now. And as he was aware, the longer he postponed informing them, the more suspicion would be cast on their tale. He reached once again for a clean sheet of paper and then with a curse crumpled it and tossed it aside.
Grimly, he finally acknowledged to himself that he was not going to write to her relatives—not now, and his reason for not doing so was his own business! And damn anyone who questioned him—Nicole included!
It was impossible, he knew, to keep her in his bachelor household much longer, even with Mrs. Eggleston's chaperonage. Legally and even morally, he should have written the Markhams the instant they arrived in England, and legally, once her guardians knew where Nicole was, he could do nothing to stop them from whisking her away.
Christopher had been playing for time with regard to both his family and Nicole's guardians, but time was obviously running out. Thoughtfully he stared at the gleaming shine of his top boots. Alone he could not hope to do anything for Nicole. But his grandfather was a lord, the Baron, and if all Nicole had told Allen was true, Lord Saxon could exert a great deal of influence on her behalf. Influence enough, perhaps, to have the guardianship set aside? Possibly. But the question remained—if the Markhams were to be stripped of their authority over Nicole and her fortune, who would take their place?