“Nonsense. You’ll dazzle as always. Will you play your flute? Did you bring it as I asked? Could you play one of Bach’s solos? At least find occasion to use your French.”
“You’re a good and loyal friend,” Madeleine said, hugging Dorothy from behind. “But no, I did not bring my flute. After all these years, you know I’m not a performer.” And in any event, she thought, I would never play to win the hearts and minds of those who’ve treated my family so poorly these past years.
“You must make an exception tonight. We could borrow one.”
“No, Dorothy,” Madeleine repeated. “Besides, Sir Ethan wouldn’t care the tiniest bit if I played flute like a master or spoke a thousand languages. He and his wife will only see a dress three seasons out of date, worn by a destitute lady past a responsible marrying age.”
“Stop that! You paint yourself and your family terribly and unjustly! You’re lovely beyond words. Come. We’ll find a dress that suits you. One that will satisfy even the Covingtons.”
Sweet Dorothy, Madeleine thought, afraid and saddened as her friend took her arm to lead her to the wardrobe. What will happen to our friendship when the prosecution of my cousin for piracy becomes widely known? When word of our investment in the Padget reaches the whispering crowds at galas and balls? When the reason for my father’s absence is fully exposed?
What will you think of me then, Dorothy?
It was drawing near dinnertime, and Madeleine chafed for the evening to be over.
The older man standing before her, Torrance Fetterly, continued his ramblings about his exacting management of his country estate. At least his single-mindedness allowed no questions from his audience, including Madeleine. She nodded politely again and stifled a yawn as the speaker regaled her with the latest theories of crop rotation and the proper care of recently sheared sheep.
Her eyes wandered. Mr. Fetterly’s wife stood in a corner with Lady Helen Covington and Dorothy’s husband, Daniel, all safely away from Mr. Fetterly’s boring salvos. Dorothy had left the room to see to dinner details. That accounted for everyone except Sir Ethan Covington. He was the man Madeleine most feared this evening.
Sir Ethan was eyeing Madeleine from a chair by the fireplace. From reputation and experience, Madeleine had no wish to be cornered with the man.
The party was called to dinner. Even seated, Mr. Fetterly continued dominating the conversation. His rolling lecture continued through early courses of oysters and asparagus. Not until the soup had arrived did Sir Ethan’s wife, Lady Helen, finally wrest the talk to the theater, her patronage of the Lyceum, and the latest music from Vienna—all topics which permitted Madeleine to maintain her courteous silence.
“Madeleine?” Dorothy’s voice interrupted her welcome solitude in the midst of the fourth and main course.
Madeleine toyed with the venison on her plate, not looking up.
“Madeleine?” Dorothy called again.
Madeleine smiled at her friend. “Yes, Dorothy?”
“Do tell us, have you had an opportunity to travel to France recently?”
Please no. She shook her head. “Why, no. I’ve never had the opportunity.”
“That’s so unfortunate. I know you speak French brilliantly.”
Sir Ethan stirred, seated across the table from Madeleine.
“On the topic of traveling,” he picked up loudly, “I have another question for you, Miss Jameson.”
The dragon had been awakened. “Yes, Sir Ethan?”
“Have you sailed anywhere recently?”
“No, Sir Ethan. I haven’t traveled much lately.”
“I see. Well, what do you think of sea travel?”
This thread was leading somewhere. Madeleine’s chest tightened. “I think it’s the wonder of our age, Sir Ethan.”
“Yes, yes. Essential to the trades, of course. Which raises another interesting question. Do you have an opinion on the subject of trading?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dorothy’s brow furrow with uncertainty and worry.
“What on earth could you mean, Sir Ethan?” the host intervened.
“I quite agree, Sir Ethan,” Mr. Fetterly added. “What would the young lady know on that topic? Now, if you’re talking about agricultural exports, I can say from no small experience—”
“It’s a simple question,” Sir Ethan shot back, his eyes fixed on Madeleine. “And an unobjectionable one. I simply asked the young lady’s thoughts on trading.”
The table grew quiet.
“Trading?” Madeleine replied.
“Yes. More specifically, what do you think of a gentleman becoming engaged in foreign trade?”
She avoided Sir Ethan’s stare. “I suppose it depends upon the circumstance.”
“Well, say a gentleman acquired a ship to procure goods abroad and sell them in England. Do you think that engaging in the merchant trade through such means is an appropriate vocation for a gentleman?”
The other guests looked on, perplexed and curious.
“I would say it depends upon the nature of the trade,” Madeleine answered.
“That is a politic answer, Miss Jameson,” Sir Ethan replied. “For myself, I see no circumstances when trade would be appropriate for a true gentleman. Our ordained role must be the maintenance of our estates for the betterment of the people who depend upon us, and the governing of England and its growing empire. But let me narrow my inquiry. What would be your opinion if that ship were used for illicit ventures?”
Madeleine took a bite of her venison, her fingers tingling.
“Why on earth are we wandering into such serious topics?” Dorothy mercifully demanded. She looked to Lady Helen for aid. “What were you saying, Lady Helen, about the concerts at Vauxhall Gardens we can expect this spring?”
Sir Ethan was unrelenting. “Let me be even more direct, Miss Jameson,” he pressed on. “Is it true that your father has taken an interest in a trading ship?”
There it was. What did he know?
“That’s not true, Sir Ethan,” she answered carefully. “My father has done no such thing.”
“Well, that’s settled,” Dorothy said. “Lady Helen? Vauxhall Gardens?”
Sir Ethan waved his table knife like a rapier. “Truly? Because my sources seemed quite certain. I was told that your father purchased a brig and used it to launch himself into trade in the Far East. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Jameson, that becoming a trader is no solution for poverty borne of poor farming? And that trading in illicit goods is worse still?”
“Sir Ethan!” Mr. Fetterly exclaimed. “I insist that you cease your interrogation of the girl!”
But Sir Ethan would not be deterred. Besides, the subject was too far engaged.
Madeleine set her napkin on the table. “Sir Ethan, as I’ve already said, my father has not acquired a ship for trade.”
“Well, I’m very pleased to hear of it,” Sir Ethan said, though his eyes declared her a liar.
All the days of searching for her cousin. The worry and fear for his welfare. Concern for the fate of the Padget and all it portended for the estate. Her inability to hire the barrister she’d chosen. Now those eyes. The fear and weariness crumbled into anger: a fuming, roiling cascade of emotion that drove Madeleine beyond her last restraint.
“But I’ve acquired such a ship myself,” Madeleine added, almost to her own surprise. “And apart from your reference to illicit trade, I’ve done all that you described.”
A curtain of silence covered the room. Even Sir Ethan looked surprised at the sudden admission he’d been seeking.
“Your attempt to defend your father’s actions is admirable, Miss Jameson,” Sir Ethan said at last. “But that’s impossible. Your father is still alive. You’re not an heiress yet.”
“You are incorrect once again,” Madeleine said. “If you must know, my father made me heiress to Heathcote Estate two years ago, before his declining health rendered him unable to care for our holdings. Any ill thoughts you bear for t
he actions of my family you may assign to me. Is your curiosity fully satisfied now? Or have you other questions about my affairs?”
“No, I’m not satisfied.” Sir Ethan matched her stare. “I’ve also heard that your family mixes socially with members of your town, Staunton, and that your social circle there includes a woman said to abet the smuggling trade in Essex County. Is that true as well, Lady Jameson?”
There were several gasps. Mr. Fetterly and his wife joined Sir Ethan’s stare, awaiting a response. Lady Helen looked away in shock. Dorothy and her husband seemed bewildered.
Madeleine’s own breaths began coming deeply and fast.
What purpose lay in preserving the last thin threads of connection with these people and all the others who would swiftly learn of tonight’s dinner?
You will regret this and soon, a voice whispered inside her.
I don’t care.
“Sir Ethan,” Madeleine began, her face as hot as her pounding heart. “Do you know where your servants acquire the sugar that sweetens your tea and coffee? The tobacco that fills your pipe? The molasses that adorns your table and fills your cookies and tarts? You set budgets and leave it to your staff to meet them, not worrying about how they do so. Well, they acquire those goods from the smugglers you decry. They must do so because the Crown’s taxes prevent the filling of your ample larder by any other means. Taxes which you bear with difficulty, but which crush the tenant farmers and shopkeepers without discrimination or empathy—people who would simply do without if not for the quarterly arrival of the smugglers’ prows. Those taxes were raised to impossible heights to pay for the recent war with France, which impoverished the Crown and the state, and which are now necessary to keep the regent and his coterie in finery and new homes. Wars in which neither of your sons found reason to fight, but in which my brother, Devon, died for England on a foreign field under Wellington’s banner.”
Sir Ethan’s visage was taut and unforgiving. Had she really believed she could move him?
“You failed to answer my question, Miss Jameson,” he said. “Are you engaged with such people as I described?”
Strength and resolve faltered. A glance took in the white face of Dorothy and reminded Madeleine that her words this evening did not only affect herself. She held back her intended response.
Her hands clasped together to avoid trembling, Madeleine rose. “Nor did you answer mine, Sir Ethan,” she replied. Then she turned to Dorothy. “Thank you so much for dinner. I believe I’ll be returning to Heathcote this evening after all.”
7
VILLAGE OF STAUNTON
COUNTY OF ESSEX
It was well past midnight when Madeleine rode her mare Gypsy at a walking pace into the empty streets of Staunton. The evening fog enveloped hedges, trees, and buildings she’d known her entire life, rendering them strangers. The absence of anyone on the street painted the scene a town of ghosts, rising to mock her for her failed performance under Sir Ethan’s attack.
Madeleine clasped the reins tightly, huddling low over the horse’s damp mane.
The sign for the chemist’s shop emerged from the gray to her right. Madeleine coaxed her mare to a halt and slid from the saddle, tying the reins to a post. An alley took her over slippery cobblestones to a door at the back of the shop, and a shiver shot through her as she knocked gently.
Candlelight appeared in the window overhead. Moments later, the door before her opened inward.
“Keep it low” came the croaky voice of the chemist’s wife. “Samuel’s sleepin’ light these nights. And you’re very late.”
“The fog,” Madeleine answered as she entered. “I hadn’t planned to travel alone and at such a late hour.”
“That’s right, you shouldn’t have. But I was meanin’ you’re days late, girl.”
The chemist’s wife lit a match, and two candles soon sputtered to life. The pair of them, set on a table, tossed shadows at tins, mortars and pestles, and glass bottles half full of powders. The aproned woman, her thick ginger hair tied back, gave Madeleine another stare. Then she reached out to take Madeleine in a crushing hug.
“You look bad,” the woman whispered in her ear. “You look worried.”
Feeling the approach of tears and ashamed at her weakness, Madeleine drew away. She took a deep breath of the strange, familiar smells of the place that always comforted her.
“Some business matters in London, Roisin.”
“As you say, dear,” Roisin said, eyeing her carefully. “Did that ship of yours come in at last?”
“Yes. But not as I’d hoped.”
Madeleine told about the charge of piracy and seizure of the Padget and its cargo.
“Oh, good Lord in heaven,” Roisin burst out, making the sign of the cross. “And you indebted to Solicitor Rooker and all. Not to mention the American too. What are you plannin’ to do?”
Deadened by the worries she’d been contemplating for over eight days, Madeleine only shrugged. “As for Solicitor Rooker, I’ve no choice. I’ll ask him for more time to repay his loan.”
“Really? You know old man Rooker, girl. He’d dig up a grave if he thought a client had taken a farthing into the ground with ’im. He’ll take full advantage of this, mark my word.”
“I know, Roisin, I know. I don’t trust him. I’ve simply no choice.”
“Listen now, girl, I’ve some money I can give you to tide you over. Enough to satisfy that graspin’ Rooker for a bit anyways.”
“No.” Madeleine’s answer was firm. She wouldn’t shame herself twice in one evening by accepting Roisin’s help. “You’ll not tie this shop’s future to the problems of our estate. No, I’ll convince Solicitor Rooker to extend the loan somehow.”
“That’ll be a feat. But even if you do, what’ll happen when the American hears of this? He carries half your debt, and smugglers have ears everywhere. The takin’ of your ship will be no secret for long to someone in his profession.”
“I’m sure he’ll get no wind of it until the trial has started,” Madeleine answered, trying to sound convincing. “By then, I can talk him into waiting until it’s over.”
Sir Ethan’s words about her family’s connection to a smuggler drifted back to Madeleine. “I’m worried all of this will bring attention to you,” she said aloud.
“And what have I done that I’d fear such a thing?” Roisin asked innocently.
Madeleine smiled at the dear woman before her, and the defense she’d nearly made to Sir Ethan came rolling out. “Not a single thing. You’ve only kept the folks in Staunton and the rest of the county in goods they couldn’t otherwise afford with the Crown’s tariffs. Storing and distributing molasses and sugar and coffee and tea that the American smuggles in past the King’s Navy—at no profit to yourself. That’s all you’ve done. If the king cared half as much for the people in the countryside as you do, Roisin, the American would have no market for his goods at all. And you also introduced me to the American when I so desperately needed more funds for the Padget.”
Roisin looked away. “Stop makin’ me out to be Joan of Arc. I get first pick of the goods, don’t I? And as for the American, don’t bring that up as a prized decision. I wish I’d never introduced the two of you. Let me make it up now. Please, take the help I’m offerin’.”
“No. You’ve helped enough.”
“You’re as stubborn as when you were ten.” Roisin sighed, throwing up her hands. “And too brave for your own good.”
Madeleine’s insides quaked with shame, recalling how she’d wilted under Sir Ethan’s attack. “I’ve no courage at all when it really matters.”
Roisin took her arm. “You’ve a saint’s courage, girl, fightin’ as you do to save you and yours. My offer to help stands, girl. But if you won’t accept it, what are you going to do about gettin’ your ship and tea back?”
“I’m hiring a barrister. Someone to represent my cousin Harold—and myself if necessary. I saw him at work in a trial in London. He’s very good.”
&n
bsp; The older woman reached out and took Madeleine’s hands. “It saddens me to see you this way, and with no mother awaiting you at home to talk to. Or a father well enough to help. I’m glad you stopped by. Very glad. You know you’ll always have me and Samuel. Ever since you wandered in off the street, daughter of his lordship, wonderin’ if we sold candy and what were all those interesting smells and a dozen other questions. That day you became the child Samuel and me never had. It pains me so to see you lookin’ like the devil’s chasing after you. It breaks my heart. Go home now. Go see after your father. Get some rest.”
She’d longed for a word of encouragement from Roisin since the instant of seeing her cousin taken away at the docks. She smiled, momentarily released from her blanket of solitude and worry.
With a final hug, Madeleine left as she’d entered.
Back in the saddle, Madeleine walked Gypsy through the remaining streets of town. Only a few miles now. It was foolish to ride home tonight without an escort. She should have waited until her manservant, Davidson, could come to pick her up. Yet she couldn’t stay another night at Dorothy’s home, not after the terrible dinner. Regret and distress began filling her again as the chemist’s shop retreated behind her. The infuriating judgment of Sir Ethan and all the others like him. The wearisome years of struggle.
Renewed fear for her cousin and the Padget.
Her horse whinnied worriedly.
Madeleine sat up. What had troubled the mare? The thickening fog? Even leaning forward and straining, she could barely see the road under the horse now. The ground began to rise with the clip-clop of the mare’s hooves on the arched wooden bridge. It marked that she was leaving town, passing over the gurgle of the stream beneath as though she and Gypsy were floating across the water. Until they were back to the quiet of the dirt road beyond.
Another quarter mile passed.
The horse whinnied again.
Madeleine listened. From a distance behind her came the clatter of another horse trotting the planks of the bridge. Who would be out in this fog who didn’t need to be? And why did they sound as though they were moving so quickly?
The Barrister and the Letter of Marque Page 6
