Fortune's Flames

by Janelle Taylor

  Her attention was then drawn to an ivory batiste with a gold lace overskirt and flounced sleeves which teased the elbows. The circular bodice was gathered and edged with gold lace ruching. The snug waistline rested in the natural position, and an ivory sash dangled to mid-calf. The skirt, with a hemline that just cleared the floor, was a little fuller than those of the first two gowns.

  The last two gowns, both made of deep purplishblue satin, were beautiful, but slightly provocative. She had ordered two just alike, thinking she would use them to work in most of the time. The necklines dipped to a V shape in the front and back, the material just covering the edges of her shoulders. The sleeves were full and short, snug bands holding them in place, and the waists were cinched just below her bosom. But the skirts seemingly flowed to the floor like tranquil rivers, at the back forming short trains decorated with exquisite silk embroidery a shade darker than the material. That same decoration enhanced the bosom.

  Maren could imagine her curls a top her head, tiny wisps dangling down her nape and forehead, and covering her ears. The ultramarine shade suited her coloring perfectly. These matching gowns were her favorites, and she could hardly wait to wear one of them. Mary Malone had taken her to the shop of a talented seamstress, and had helped her select the best materials and styles. Maren knew the bolts of cloth had been bought from the pirates who traded freely in this town. She wondered if Jared ever sold goods here. He was working as a privateer. Jared, everything seemed to remind her of him!

  That night Maren wore one of the satin gowns, and she distracted the men at her table long enough to win two hefty hands of poker. Dan teased her later about using her beauty to obtain victories.

  Maren had noticed Evelyn Sims’s reaction to her appearance and had been baffled by the dealer’s frown, which had been quickly concealed when Maren had caught her eye. Maren looked exceptionally lovely and it pleased her. Others had remarked on the change in her appearance, and many invitations had been extended by eager men.

  Maren had politely rejected all overtures, however, claiming it was not proper to see one’s patrons socially. Actually she did not want to show favoritism to any customer, and no one had caused her to tingle as Jared had. Single and a gambling house owner, Maren realized she had to be cautious in her behavior in order to prevent wicked speculation and gossip.

  Monday was a wonderful day; Lilibeth Payne came to call after lunch. When she was shown to Maren’s door, the happy friends greeted each other affectionately, both bubbling with questions. After Beth entered, they seated themselves on the sofa to talk.

  “It’s been so long, Maren, and you look marvelous. Please, tell me everything you’ve done since you left home.”

  Maren laughed gaily. Beth’s fair complexion was flushed with excitement and anticipation. “First, I must hear all of your news,” Maren said.

  Beth lowered her tone conspiratorially and urged, “We have to keep this visit a secret from Papa; he would kill me if he learned I had been to Lady Luck. I’m supposed to be shopping while he handles business. After I received your letter, I could hardly wait to see you. It’s been so long,” she said once more.

  “In nine days, it will have been two years. So much has changed for me, Beth. What about you?” she asked her nineteen-year-old friend.

  “I was supposed to get married at Christmas time, but Bart was off fighting the British somewhere. This war has ruined everything for me. Papa can’t get crops to market on time, so half of them spoil. And if it weren’t for the pirates in those bayous, we would be without imports. Their goods are in such demand that those men walk the streets like regular people. Some of them are wicked looking, and I’m certain they would snatch up a proper lady and sell her into slavery if she were not careful,” Beth asserted, jumping from topic to topic.

  To settle down her friend, Maren asked, “Which Bart?”

  “Barton Hughes of course,” Beth replied, sighing dreamily.

  “However did you snare him?” Maren asked in amazement. Barton Hughes was, or had been, the richest bachelor in the area. He was also well educated, highly polished, and very handsome.

  “It was at a picnic. He was racing with some other men and nearly ran right over me. I was knocked into a mudhole and my new dress was stained forever. Naturally I pretended that my ankle was twisted to hold his attention for a while.” Maren and Beth laughed merrily. “He carried me all the way to the hotel and sent for a doctor to check on me. By the time he got me there, we were both a mess, but talking and laughing like we had known each other forever. He then began to call on me, and asked Papa for my hand within three months.”

  “And?” Maren inquired eagerly.

  “We set the wedding date, but the war intruded. I begged him not to leave, or to at least marry me first, but he said we should wait until he returned. I know he’s fine because he sends messages every few weeks. Mercy, Maren, he makes me quiver down to my toes.”

  “You’re still living at Payne’s Point?”

  “I’m afraid so. Papa wants Bart to return and marry me just so he can squeeze a loan from his new son-in-law. Things have been bad for most of the plantation owners.”

  “Eric told me about the sorry conditions here since the war began. You remember my cousin. Have you gotten better acquainted with him during my absence?”

  “You know I never liked Eric James. He was always talking you into those silly pranks and games. It’s a miracle you didn’t get into more mischief and trouble than you did because of him. Would you believe he’s actually tried to court me since Bart left? Such nerve!”

  “You can’t blame him, Beth; you are very beautiful.” Maren did not want to say that during wartime lovers often did not return. She had known that Beth had not cared for Eric James, and obviously her friend had not changed her mind about him.

  “If you don’t hurry and tell me about Daniel Redford, I shall die of curiosity. You didn’t sign his name to your letter. I would have known who Maren Redford was. Why did he allow you to leave England during a vicious war? And won’t he be angry with you for coming here?”

  Maren realized that her friend did not know about Daniel’s death, so she slowly related the tragic tale. She watched Beth’s green eyes enlarge with disbelief, then narrow as the girl grimaced in empathy. When Maren bravely told of the allegations against her intended, her long-time friend frowned in vexation.

  “How dare he treat you like that! I’m glad you discovered the truth before your marriage. Served him right to be slain. Don’t you worry; you can have your choice of men here—except for my Bart,” she teased. “How did you get home? What about the blockade?”

  Maren explained that Eric had run the blockade to get to London and rescue her, then had skirted it on their return. Since the President was involved in her cousin’s secret mission, Maren kept quiet about that part.

  The perky blonde eyed her brunette friend, and said playfully, “All right, Maren. Something happened on that voyage. Tell me about it.”

  Maren had the perfect solution to her friend’s curiosity. “I met a man, a simply divine one.” She grinned slyly.

  “Who? Where?” Beth asked, her eyes glowing.

  “The privateer who raided our ship,” Maren replied calmly.

  “The what?” Beth asked. “Surely I did not hear you correctly.”

  “Do you remember the handsome sailor I met on the wharf when I was fifteen? The one I followed around for days?”

  “You mean the one you fell madly in love with, and pursued dressed as a boy?” she teased.

  Maren laughed and nodded her head. “That’s him. He’s a privateer now. He attacked our ship, without a battle of course, and he flirted outrageously with me, as I did with him.”

  “Maren James! Do you know how dangerous that was? Pirates are known to take women as captives, to use them or to sell them as slaves. Did he remember you?”

  “Heavens, no! And I didn’t tell him we had met before. But when he comes here to see me again, I’ll r
eveal all.”

  Lilibeth Payne stared at her friend. “Whatever has come over you in the last two years, Maren James? Are you living here because he robbed you? Why doesn’t Eric support you? He’s one of the few men in shipping who can conquer this damnable blockade. But he charges a fortune, so Papa and a lot of others can’t afford him.” For the moment, Beth decided not to reveal the price at which Eric had agreed to help her father. Maren had enough problems without adding another one.

  “You can’t blame him, Beth. It’s dangerous and costly to challenge the British line. He’s already lost two ships since January.”

  Beth replied skeptically, “Really? I’ve heard he’s always victorious. I just wish he could have learned his skills earlier; your parents were desperate to get a message to you. The ship you were on did make it back here, so at least they knew you had reached London safely. They wrote to you every week, but I doubt the letters ever got shipped.”

  “They must have been terribly worried, but there was no way for me to reach them. It was terrible being out of contact for so long.”

  “Well, they did know you were safe with your grandparents. What are you going to do now, Maren, run your father’s businesses?”

  Maren did not mention that she had been in Jamaica because it was an enemy port and that stopover had to do with Eric’s mission. “Eric owns the shipping firm and he sold everything else. This is the only place I have.” Maren related some of her episodes at Lady Luck. “Actually, Beth, it’s wonderful. This place is mine,” she concluded.

  Beth argued with her. “But you’re a lady, Maren. You shouldn’t be living here, working here. Why don’t you sell this place? Surely you realize that people will gossip about you. It isn’t proper for a woman to be managing a gambling establishment, especially one of your age. To tell the truth, I’ve already heard wild stories about you,” Beth confessed uneasily.

  “What stories? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You’re beautiful and single, Maren, and only twenty. You’re a James, a lady from one of the most prestigious families in this area, but it is said you’ve been playing cards downstairs—you, Maren James, my best friend, gambling and drinking, in public! It is also said that you’ve been cavorting with your… customers.”

  “I do play a few games downstairs. I’m good at cards, and I need the money I win. Besides, it’s merely good business to join in with your patrons once in a while. I don’t know who started the other tales, but it isn’t like that here. A glass or two of wine in an evening can’t be considered heavy drinking, and being friendly can’t be called cavorting. Beth, I’m very careful about how I dress and behave. I even refuse all social invitations so people won’t get the wrong idea. You know people will talk whether they speak the truth or not. They simply need something besides a nasty war to discuss. Let the novelty of my position wear off and they’ll move on to another topic.”

  “I’m not sure about that, Maren. You’ve attracted a lot of men, and many women are miffed at you.”

  “They’re only jealous because I’m doing something exciting.”

  “That’s partly true, but there’s more to it. I’ve been told that you dress in low-cut, flaming red gowns that are so snug you can hardly move, that you wear red plumes in your hair and use them to tickle guests.”

  Maren could not believe what she was hearing. “Those are lies, Beth. Come with me,” she commanded, then rushed into her bedroom. Jerking open her armoire, she yanked out her gowns and showed each one to her friend. “Not an immodest or sexy one amongst them.”

  As Maren was replacing them, Beth asked softly, “Does it really matter if the rumors are true or false? Some people are spreading them and others are believing them. Sell this place, Maren, and start over.”

  “I can’t, Beth. I have a partner, and I would need his agreement to sell. I don’t even know who he is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Maren explained her curious and frustrating situation. “That’s why Eric couldn’t sell the Lady Luck to cover Papa’s debts.”

  “What debts?” Beth inquired. “Your father was one of the few who was surviving. Papa said it was because he had so many local contracts that weren’t affected by the blockade.” When Maren looked bewildered, Beth explained, “You know, supplying restaurants and stores with food and goods. And this place was always busy.”

  “But Eric said Papa was broke, that he owed lots of people. He said he sold nearly everything to pay Papa’s debts and to keep the firm going.”

  Lilibeth Payne was as baffled as her friend. She reflected a few minutes, then asked pointedly, “Have you ever considered that dear Eric is pulling another of his pranks, or simply lying through his teeth?”

  Maren’s expression revealed her suspicions, and she admitted, “Lately I have. Too many strange facts have been surfacing since I returned. If he were in New Orleans, I would ask for some explanations, but he sailed on the eleventh and won’t return for six to eight weeks. Papa trusted Eric enough to give him full authority over James Shipping, so I regret doubting him.”

  “But your father was such a good man, Maren. He believed the best of everyone. I’ve often wished he were my father. But your cousin is clever. Eric could have fooled him or betrayed him.”

  Maren asked unexpectedly, “Was Payne’s Point damaged during the hurricane that killed my parents last year?”

  “What hurricane? Your parents died of some kind of swamp fever.”

  Maren stared at her friend. “But Eric said…”

  “Eric said what?” the girl pressed, her gaze filled with suspicion.

  As Maren revealed what he had told her on the ship, Beth’s astonishment increased with each sentence. “There was no hurricane, was there?” Maren finally asked, her heart thudding painfully.

  Beth responded sadly, “No, Maren, there wasn’t.”

  Maren paced her room and did not go downstairs that night. She had discovered many distressing things. She had not been invited to the homes of “friends,” not because her parents were dead and she had been away for so long, but because people were gossiping about her. Eric had altered her partner’s records and had stolen money from him. Worse, Eric had lied about her parents’ deaths. What is going on? she wondered. Suddenly she felt alone, and alarmed.

  Far away in Washington, Jared Morgan had reported to President Madison, Secretary of War Monroe, and Secretary of Navy Crowinshield. Peter Thomas, the spy from the Martha J, had been present. The five had discussed Jared’s recent missions and victories, and what they needed him to do next. They had speculated on James Slade’s voyage to London, on his motives and on what had been in the boxes he had delivered to Eric James’s plantation in Jamaica. They had talked of the grim rumor that the pirates who frequented New Orleans, and the Indian tribes around it, were joining with the British. Then they had discussed the possibility of a slave revolt. Peter Thomas had even said he wondered if Maren Slade, James Slade’s wife, was involved in whatever was going on!

  After pacing his hotel room for an hour, Jared halted near a window and stared outside. His keen mind was racing. If Maren was married to James Slade, why had she dallied so wantonly with him? What was it she had said aboard the ship? Yes, he remembered: “I can think of no better fate than becoming your willing captive.” Had she been enticing him to take her with him so she could spy on him, use him, entrap him? She had claimed to be almost destitute and had pretended to be vulnerable, but she wasn’t. And what of her behavior when he had confronted her in Jamaica when she was supposed to have been in Martinique? She had led him on, then had warned her husband to flee. She had bewitched him and duped him. By damn, she owed him!

  After leaving Jamaica, Peter Thomas had overheard James Slade tell Horben Wolfe that Maren had a big part to play in their scheme, and that she’d already proven herself clever and trustworthy by fooling that privateer. That report had stung Jared.

  Unfortunately, during the three days when Eric had been in port, Peter
Thomas had been too weakened by dysentery to go into New Orleans and spy on “James and Maren Slade.” But by the time the ship had docked in Baltimore, Peter had been well enough to purchase another crewman’s shoreleave so he could ride the thirty-seven miles into Washington and meet with the President. Afterward, he had hurried back to Baltimore to continue his observation of “James Slade.”

  Chapter Five

  After lunch on Friday, Maren went to visit Eric’s younger brother at the office of James Shipping. She had waited long enough to see if her cousin was evading her. She needed to learn what, if anything, Marc knew about Eric’s schemes.

  She greeted the young man exuberantly. “Marc. You’ve been very naughty to avoid me.”

  Marc James whirled about, knocking over several things. “M-Maren, what are y-you doing here?” he asked.

  Maren realized that her cousin was unsettled by this surprise visit. Good, she decided. He might let something slip. “I’ve been home for more than two weeks, yet I’ve only seen you twice, and both times on my first day in New Orleans.” As she eyed him furtively, she remarked, “This is the first time I’ve visited Papa’s business since I returned. His office has changed.”

  “It’s Eric’s office now. But you can’t see him today; he’s gone to Baltimore,” Marc told her nervously.

  “I know. Why haven’t you been to Lady Luck to visit me? You don’t seem glad to have me back. Are you angry with me? Did I get you into trouble with Eric? I didn’t tell him about your slip.”

  “I’ve been busy since Eric left.”

  “With the blockade, how much work is there to do?” she teased. “Are you in charge while he’s away?”

  “Not really,” Marc confessed, lowering his gaze. “I just watch the office and send customers to Mr. Andrews at the wharf.”

  “Why doesn’t Eric train you to handle things while he’s away? With a little help and patience, you could learn to run the business for him.”