Moonstone Obsession

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  “No more surprised than I,” said William, handing a glass to Selina who was seated in a wingback chair close to the window. She had determined take advantage of the twilight to complete her watercolour from the day.

  “It seems that he is very agreeable to the idea of a business partnership,” said William, taking a seat next to his wife and sipping from his own sherry glass.

  “He tells me the coal deposits around the city of Pittsburgh are huge, larger than Yorkshire, and then there is the trade that services the south. Transportation by ship and smaller boats are sorely needed there.

  “He has proposed that he purchase the remaining leasehold on the Andorra and the Diamond.” William paused significantly until all eyes were on him. “And in exchange for a half share in the Marguerite he will fund an agent in Pittsburgh.”

  Selina started in surprise. The three masted barque, the Marguerite, had been their father’s ship, named for their mother.

  The ship was his pride and that too of his son.

  “That’s an extraordinarily generous arrangement, brother,” piped up Selina. “But to sell a share in the Marguerite…”

  “I know and I’m not taking the offer at face value,” he replied. “We have a broad agreement and that is all. There will be at least another month of negotiation before we agree to sign contracts.”

  William paused and sipped his sherry for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

  “It was a very pleasant surprise to see the Viscount Canalissy this afternoon,” he sounded out.

  “Yes, very pleasant,” Selina replied levelly. She waited to see the direction this conversation was heading in, all the while with a horrible feeling that it would be the same old discussion regarding her marital state.

  “Perhaps you should encourage him to call.”

  “I shouldn’t get your hopes up William. Viscount Canalissy was simply being kind,” she said, hating the way she allowed her ruefulness to colour her words. “Besides, he was putting on an act to teach your new business partner a lesson.”

  Now she had the attention of both William and Sarah and she knew neither would let the matter drop before she explained.

  Deciding on her words cautiously, she told of Canalissy’s diversion at the ball and his warning regarding Sir James’ relationship with Lady Abigail.

  Seeing her brother’s darkening countenance, Selina realised she hadn't been cautious enough.

  “Let me explain again,” she continued. “Lord Penventen did nothing untoward at the ball. He was pleasant and amusing. It was me. I was the one at fault. And the Viscount knew that Lord Penventen's...” she struggled for the right word “...vivaciousness might be misunderstood by someone who’s…inexperienced.”

  William settled somewhat and now it was Selina’s turn to grow red.

  “I’m sorry, Will.”

  “For what, darling?” her sister-in-law soothed. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman and it should be no surprise that men should be hovering around like mayflies. Just know that not every man has the most honourable intentions, is all.”

  “This summer cannot end quickly enough,” Selina muttered, mostly to herself.

  “Well, don’t be in too much of a hurry to rush off into service, there’s plenty of time for a husband to sweep you off your feet,” Sarah advised.

  * * *

  James cast a glance back at Abigail, dressed flawlessly in a gold and coral red brocade gown, less wide than her royal ball gown, but still at the very height of fashion with sleeves that puffed slightly at the shoulder and fitted tightly at the elbow.

  Satisfied that she was preoccupied with the attentions of a gaggle of admirers and friends, her escort disappeared out of sight and down a passageway leading to the opera boxes on the far side of the house.

  He had less than ten minutes during this intermission to attend his meeting.

  Counting down until he found the right box, he silently slipped into a seat beside a man who remained in a shadowed corner.

  “Enjoying the performance?” James greeted.

  “Not particularly,” the man chuffed and then went on. “You knew that idiot Charles Fox has thrown his hat in with the Revolutionary Society?”

  Ah yes, the Leader of the Opposition and thorn in the side of the Prime Minister for nearly ten years.

  Fox was not a man who liked to be humiliated, but he certainly had been when he and his coalition partner, then Prime Minister Lord Frederick North, had been defeated in a vote of no confidence in 1783. He’d spent every moment of the intervening years trying to undermine Pitt’s government.

  James nodded. “I heard Fox was at the event to commemorate William of Orange’s landing at Torbay. If he thinks the revolution in France is going to be as glorious as that in America he has another think coming.”

  The shadow nodded in agreement before addressing his chief concern.

  “There are fears that the King’s madness is making another appearance.”

  James’ heart sank. George III’s illness resulted in a constitutional crisis just 18 months ago with Fox leading the call to install the Prince of Wales, George’s weak-willed, profligate heir, with all the powers of sovereign.

  In response, William Pitt the Younger, the thirty-year-old Prime Minister of England, had successfully pushed the Regency Bill through the House of Commons to limit the powers of the Regent. The need for Royal Assent to the legislation was by-passed when Pitt invoked the authority held to reside in the Great Seal.

  It was a risky move with no guarantees that the bill would pass the House of Lords, as it seemed the King had made a recovery last March; the legislation was not put to the test.

  News of the King’s derangement reasserting itself was grim indeed, James mused. There was no chance of Pitt’s slick political manoeuvring working a second time.

  The man in the shadows cleared his throat before continuing.

  “Also, I have recently discovered that revenues at the Treasury do not tally. The difference in gold has been being spirited out of the Exchequer for the last three years.

  “Of course, we all know the Foxites are supplying private funds to support the revolutionaries in France. But they may also be behind the Treasury's losses to the same end. And if they learn the King is unstable again they won’t support the Prince of Wales this time, they’ll openly throw their lot in with Jacobites and that will mean war in England.”

  The man shifted in his seat.

  “James, losing the American colonies has cost us dearly, not only in prestige but also revenue, not to mention the cost of the war itself.”

  “We’re back in trade with the Americas, surely...”

  “It takes time,” the man added impatiently. “We’re not in position to fight a war on our doorstep and certainly not against revolutionaries within our own borders.

  “We need time to replenish the Treasury, even raise an income tax if needed, then stamp out corruption and institute real electoral reforms. I know people want change but the godless radicalism that has taken root in France is not going to bring liberty, it’s going to bring bloodshed.”

  The man quieted his impassioned speech and added, “France is also bankrupt which means she is desperate. With Louis under house arrest, I doubt he will keep his grip on power for much longer, even with promises of constitutional reform, so the last thing we need is stolen gold leaving our shores to have it return in the form of cannon ball and musket shot.

  “It is vital we find if it is the Foxites who are behind the fraud and also how the gold is being smuggled out. It’s why I called on our friendship to bring you back from Pennsylvania. You’re one of the few I can trust to be effective and discreet.”

  Voices and foot traffic increased as the opera-goers started back to their places for the third act.

  The man handed over a sealed envelope which James placed in his inside coat pocket.

  “There’s a list of dates and approximate amounts of gold lost fro
m the Exchequer, names of people we suspect are involved, and the name of the man who will be your contact. It would not be wise to meet too frequently. Anything Fox can do to discredit me, he’ll use, including my friends.”

  The men stood and shook hands.

  “Don't worry,” said James, “I'll be careful.”

  He moved to the door and glanced back with an afterthought.

  “Needless to say, you have my vote in the upcoming election. I wish you the best in the rest of the counties.”

  William Pitt the Younger loomed out of the shadows momentarily, a sardonic smile on his lips.

  “The best of luck to you too, James,” he said.

  James slipped from the Prime Minister’s opera box without detection and returned to Lady Abigail armed with two glasses of champagne. If she had noticed that his absence was over long, she didn’t remark, accepting the glass and threading her arm through his. The full skirt of her gown swished as they made their way back to their box.

  “Do not think that seats at the opera and my acceptance of your company for the evening mean I have forgiven you,” she spoke under her breath as she smiled and nodded to an acquaintance.

  “For which of my many sins do I need your absolution, my dear?” he asked, distracted by thoughts of his meeting with Pitt.

  “You know very well I’m talking about the ball. You make us both a laughing stock by leaving me like a wallflower most of the evening while you try to make an easy conquest of some silly country girl.”

  He bristled at her unflattering description of Selina.

  “You never want for masculine company Abigail, not on that night or any other. I wouldn’t have thought you'd notice the absence of one.”

  She took her seat and deliberately positioned her body away, ignoring him and speaking animatedly to Comte Alexandre and his escort, Lady Olivia, as well as the Earl and Countess of Cambridge whose box they shared.

  James knew that Abigail would expect a fulsome apology and a declaration of devotion by the end of the evening. Spending four weeks with that woman at a house party would be a chore, but it was a concession that he was willing to make to ensure his guest list included an invitation to Selina.

  As curtains rose on the opera's final act, James sat back deep in his own thoughts.

  Had his interest in the pretty little brunette been so obvious? James thought back over the ball. Perhaps it was.

  The memory of her light laugh, her intelligent conservation, the feel of her in his arms as they danced stirred something in him.

  Lust most likely, he supposed.

  Then he recalled discovering Selina frightened and out of breath by the columns.

  The thought of someone touching her made him angry and brought out protective feelings that didn’t quite sit well with him.

  The idea that the Viscount Canalissy was also paying her attention irritated him even more. What the hell was he up to? As neighbours they had virtually grown up together, but that’s where the familiarity ended. As they grew to manhood, their interests differed and by the time James had achieved his majority, he was off and making his own way in the world, encouraged by his father.

  James hadn’t needed a second encouragement. He reasoned that it was much easier to avoid emotional entanglements and devote his energy to creating independent wealth instead of working his way through his inheritance as others of his class had done.

  Not that he had gone without feminine company. The cities and towns he’d visited had their share of disorderly houses, although he had always been careful. In his travels he’d seen enough of the ravages of venereal disease, although judicious consorting with the occasional prostitute seemed preferable to the weighted shackles of marriage as modelled by his parents.

  He’d seen his father turn into a husk of a man at the hands of his poisonous mother, and the “eligible” women he’d met since his return to England appeared to have been cut from the same cloth.

  That is until two weeks ago when he first spoke to Selina Rosewall.

  Furthermore, he was becoming more and more disposed to believing in God’s benevolence after today’s fruitful meeting with Captain William Rosewall.

  The business transaction was straightforward as these things go—there was a lot of money to be made in transportation as there was in manufacturing goods and extracting resources—but it remained to be seen if Rosewall could be trusted with the news he had sealed in the envelope in his pocket.

  He needed allies to help the Government and the only way he could be certain that he could trust William and Selina Rosewall was to keep them close at hand.

  And the idea of being under the same roof for four weeks with Miss Selina Rosewall was very appealing. At that he smiled broadly and genuinely for the first time this evening.

  James turned to Abigail, who had since lost interest in the opera and instead was using her mother of pearl opera glasses to spy on the occupants of the other boxes. Rather on one location in particular, where an indiscreet couple alone in their box were fondling each other quite openly.

  He leaned in close to her ear. “I see you like to watch.”

  James grinned as she jumped, squeaking in surprise. The clatter of her glasses was just audible over the aria on stage.

  Abigail turned to give James the full heat of her glare, her anger made worse by his indolent smirk.

  “I hate you,” she hissed.

  James grinned even wider.

  Chapter Five

  27 June 1790

  St Mary Woolnoth was the most unusual church Selina had ever seen.

  Instead of lofty conical spires or the castellated square towers of Norman churches, it was in the high English Baroque style for which its architect, Nicholas Hawksmoor, was renowned.

  On a site that had been a place of worship since the Romans and not completed until 1716, the church had no cross and no spire. Instead it featured two small flat-topped columned turrets that housed the bells that had survived the Great Fire of London in 1666.

  In turn, the turrets rested on six Corinthian columns behind which a squat block tower sat. It was relieved of its starkness by three full length rusticated niches supported by a bevelled pedestal into which three square windows were placed evenly along its length.

  The bottom third of the building was the most fascinating architectural feature of all with walls of horizontally grooved stone bands. They drew Selina and her family towards its distinctive entrance, an inset, forward-curving pediment that rested on skewed columns.

  If the outside of St Mary’s was stark and imposing, the inside was a revelation of colour.

  The large spacious nave was painted white. Geometric tiles gave colour to the floors. Wooden pews, altar, and wainscoting around the walls added warmth.

  It was an unusual church for an unusual clergyman, the Reverend John Newton.

  His history as a hard drinking, slave trading gambler was widely known, as was the fact he had undergone a most remarkable religious conversion. His subsequent reputation as a vocal abolitionist, hymnist, and confidante to some of the most important people in England made his parish the most popular in London and Newton himself arguably the city’s most popular preacher.

  William and Sarah’s boys were herded to the pews, their eyes following the heavenward trajectory of the columns that supported the vaulted ceiling. The family took its seat.

  The invitation to worship at St Mary Woolnoth’s was an unexpected one. While the church was open to all, its proximity to Westminster, England’s seat of wealth and power meant the Sunday services were attended by many leading figures.

  On this day, William Wilberforce was in attendance, looking much healthier than at the ball, and Selina wondered whether he would be singing in the full rich baritone that had captivated many in society including, it was rumoured, the Prince of Wales himself.

  The Rosewalls had received their invitation to join Lord Penventen and his mother Lady Christina at St Mary’s—followed by luncheon at Jam
es’ townhouse in Mayfair—just two days ago. It was the continuation of several invitations by James to the family over the past six weeks that included trips to Hyde Park, and tours of the Houses of Parliament and Tower Bridge.

  Just as the service was about to begin, the Rosewalls were joined by James and his mother.

  It was clear to Selina that William was delighted by the opportunity to meet with James again. Her brother had spent several days planning new trade routes for the Marguerite, the Andorra, and the Diamond, and was looking forward to discussing them with his new business partner.

  She was in absolute earnest in her advice to William. Before committing a great deal of time and money into this venture, he ought to satisfy himself of his partner’s scruples.

  But whether or not her advice had been heeded, Selina had taken the liberty of making enquiries herself. As mistress of her father’s house, she had learned that the richest source of information was the servants’ network, and her very first enquiry found gold. The upstairs maid revealed that Winifred, the housekeeper’s daughter, was sweet on Penventen’s groom and the young man was equally besotted.

  Winifred was old enough to be observant but young enough not to know when to guard her mouth. Opening it took just a paper bag filled with chocolates and the promise not to reveal why her errands from the house took twice as long as they needed to, for Selina to get the full story one afternoon in a sunny corner of the back garden.

  It seemed the Mitchell family did not want for money, but it was generally accepted that it was the success of the young Lord’s business ventures that paid most of the bills. Wages had improved when Sir James returned to England about a year ago.

  Winifred’s beau had complained that Lady Christina had a temper, but was nonetheless tolerated well enough by the servants. She regularly entertained her contemporaries, but the widowed Duke of Canalissy had started making weekly calls in the past three months, and it had been noticed his visits were most often when his Lordship was not at home.

  Winifred had stuffed another chocolate into her mouth as Selina crafted her next enquiry.