Only three feet away now, he forced the arm that held the glass up to her. It had been Neville’s intention to address the lady again in French, but suddenly thought better of it. Last year they were not at war, but this year the Peace of Amiens was history, and the French were their enemy. He didn’t want the officers around them to treat him with suspicion, and she might not want it known that she spoke French, either. “A glass again this year, Miss?”
Marion’s face was alive with the amusement of the party. She was a petit girl. The slight tan on her clear complexion was evidence of tropical life. Small facial features included a short nose and thin lips. Her smile and twinkling eyes showed that she was enjoying the attention of several uniformed men. The smell of plumeria from the flower in her hair – just as Maria had worn – threatened to turn him feeble.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s you again. I hoped you would come.” She looked back at him with the same confidence that Maria had worn so well. I had forgotten the similarities to Maria. How could I do that? Is it good that this woman brings back my memories of her? Is it bad that this one stirs feelings I thought were dead?
He handed her the glass and took her empty. He said very softly close to her ear, “Could we meet again later? After dinner, perhaps, on the veranda?”
“I look forward to it,” she said. Over her shoulder she added, “Thank you very much for noticing my glass, lieutenant.”
Neville found Lt. Dagleishe again and made his request to sit with the officers of Vanguard for dinner. The dinner guests were not all seated so carefully here as they had been in Neville’s experience at Newfoundland, except for the captains of ships, the local politicians, noteworthy businessmen, and personal friends who were organized at the host’s tables furthest from the doors. Marion lit up the room beside her father. Neville knew the silver-haired man beside her was Mr. Stillwater because he had greeted the man in line. He distinctly remembered his awkward feeling - ashamed or duplicitous or something - for accepting of the hospitality of a man who might be his enemy. But this is war, isn’t it? What now? And what could my feelings for his daughter be?
Although he would have preferred to sit with Marion, he knew that was not possible, so he sat with the officers of Vanguard. He was glad of it, too, for if he had been alone, his thoughts would have returned to Maria, or to Miss Stillwater or, worse yet, the time might have dragged at a snail’s pace. At this table the camaraderie was a rare joy for him. They faced a group of officers from HMS Bellerophon. Conversation was lively, and the dinner passed quickly. The men were offered rum and the women sherry, and the room returned to general milling and mixing. “I must step outside for a bit of fresh air, Joseph,” Neville said, “and to meet Miss Stillwater.”
He waited by the veranda railing for a few minutes, hoping that it would be possible for Marion to find her way outside. The view of the harbor grew dim with the falling of dusk. He continued to watch the glow of sunset fading to oranges and grays amongst the patches of azure blue. He was relieved that the view was not the same as from the veranda of Thomas and Maria Fuller’s plantation house, or his emotions would certainly have overpowered him. When the unmistakable smell of plumeria reached his nostrils, he whirled about to see if the source of it was what he hoped for. It was. Marion approached.
She smiled widely, “It is very nice to see you again. I have remembered you a few times during the year.”
“Pray tell, why is that? Have you nothing better to do?”
“That’s a rather impertinent question, so I’ll just say that it isn’t you I remember, just those blue eyes… and that’s a change, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing to his shoulder.
“And I thought you didn’t know navy ranks. Yes, I am still a lieutenant, but my position is ‘Master and Commander’ of the HMS Superieure. She’s a…”
“So you’re a captain now?”
“By duty I am, yes, but my rank remains lieutenant, although I move my epaulette to the left shoulder.”
“Most confusing. You’re a captain who is a lieutenant.”
“Or I’m a lieutenant who is a captain. They call me Commander.”
“Miss Stillwater, I would very…”
“I know this is rudely forward, but I will not call you ‘Commander’ in private. If I may call you Neville, will you please call me Marion?”
“Marion is a beautiful name. Thank you.” She didn’t just remember my eyes, but my name, as well!
“How do you manage to escape all the admirers for a moment with me? And don’t I remember a large gentleman who came and removed you from my sight last year?”
“I know my way around the house, is how I escape the wolves for a moment. And yes, that fellow, Mr. Stearns, can at times act like he owns me, but I assure you there is nothing to it.” She said this with a slight edge, somewhere between annoyance and exasperation.
“I know this is also very forward, then,” said Neville. “May I see you again?”
This time Marion blushed. “I would love it, I think, but I seriously doubt father would allow me to be visited by – no offense – a mere lieutenant, even one called a ‘Commander’.”
“Then I might ask your father’s permission to call on you on another day?”
“You may ask his permission, and he would appreciate it greatly, although it is not his to give.” Her eyes twinkled the way Maria’s did when she was announcing to the world that she would run her life her own way.
“Yours, then?”
“Oui, je voudrais en profiter, (Yes, I would enjoy it,)” she said, and held her hand out for his kiss.
He gave it, and she added, “…although you may be just as aggressive as the other wolves.”
“Who do we have here, Marion? I don’t believe we’ve met,” the stranger said.
Neville turned to see the same robust man he had seen the previous year. Mr. Stearns, as Neville now knew his name to be, was thirty-five or so, square-jawed as a marine sergeant and a good fathom of height, dressed in a fine suit of civilian clothes. Together with the question he just asked, the smooth good-looker’s confident approach indicated his familiarity with Marion. He had obviously noticed that Marion had been standing with only one officer, not six or seven.
The new arrival spoke with a flat American accent that contained a hint of – what did they call it – southern drawl? It was akin to what Neville had heard in Norfolk in the American colonies. This man looked as if he would be stiff competition for Marion’s hand, assuming there could ever be such a contest. I could understand what Marion might certainly see in him, although I think I just got the impression she is rankled by his possessiveness.
“Commander Neville Burton of HMS Superieure,” he said. “We met briefly last year.” The best defense is a good offence, he told himself. “I must thank you for a second lovely evening, sir.” He extended his hand.
Stearns shook it. “Michael Stearns of the Stillwater Rum Trading Company. I’m sorry, Sir. There are so many of you, and I often deal only with your pussers. But you are quite welcome. We are pleased to show our appreciation to the navy’s defense of the country. We couldn’t operate here without it, could we?” The country, I heard him say – not our country. But he is smooth, I’ll give him that. He must be their salesman.
“Excuse me, but can you two please come with me?” Mr. Stillwater himself stepped out on the patio to make his request of Marion and Mr. Stearns. “It is nice out tonight, isn’t it?” he said with apparent surprise. He looked Neville up and down, gave him a polite nod, and turned to go back inside.
“Please excuse us, Commander Burton,” Stearns said, and took Marion by the elbow to guide her away.
“Very nice to see you again, Commander,” said Marion, “But now I must return to my duties as hostess. Don’t give up.” She turned and floated away, a swishing pale yellow blur.
“What was that about?” Neville could hear Stearns ask Marion as they returned to the party.
“Just something he was telling me
…”
5 - “Chester’s Permission”
“The squadron will not sail for at least another eight days, gentlemen,” Neville announced to his immediate reports. “I have some unfinished business ashore, so expect I will be out and about often. If you have something that needs my attention, do not be bashful about stopping me to ask it when you see me.” With such success at the party, I do not wish to lose my momentum.
Neville’s first thought was a ship-visit to Dagleishe at Vanguard, but he changed his mind due to the formality of it, and invited his friend aboard.
“It is as small as I remember it, Neville,” said Dagleishe, “I don’t know how you can stand it.” When he saw Neville’s face fall, he added, “I’m sorry, Neville, I mean no offense. I’m sure it is different when she’s yours.”
“It is, Joseph. All the difference in the world. Can we step astern for a minute’s conversation? I would have come to Vanguard, but they would pipe me on and pipe me off. It gives me a great pleasure, for sure, but it’s embarrassing knowing that I would be there just to ask for advice in a personal matter.”
“What is it then, Neville?”
“I wish to call on Marion Stillwater, and I feel I should ask her father’s permission.”
“Yes, so?”
“Do I go to the rum company as if his daughter was business or do I presume to call on him personally at his home; his mansion? Either sounds preposterous for me.”
“I am flattered that you would ask me, but I have no experience in such things. The closest I ever got to calling on a girl was back home, and her father lived in a mean little rabbit-hutch at the end of the lane in the woods. I see you are disappointed with my answer. I’ll give my opinion, then. I would go to the business. I think it presumes nothing except that you knew where to find him.”
Neville had seen the impressive business façade before. This one was impressive, although rather in an industrial sense. It was not a retail operation, after all. He had gone in once, using the perfectly legitimate excuse that he was looking to supply his ship with rum. Superieure was too small to carry a purser, so that left the purchasing duty to Neville – at least for parts of the supply that weren’t provided directly by rear-admiral Duckworth’s shore command. The place was impressive inside as well as out. More like a courtroom than a business, he thought. He’d once seen a courtroom. He could think of no other similar interiors outside of Whitehall. Three booths with small conference tables in each were along the left wall as he entered a double door to the large waiting room. He recognized the purser of Vanguard speaking with a man in civilian attire in the second booth. He could imagine that when the harbor was filled with shipping there might be several pursers waiting here for their chance in a salesman’s booth. No other buyers were there this warm day. An information desk to the right held an elderly gentleman working on some papers. In the center was a door to the rooms behind, three of which had windows to the waiting area. A man Neville believed to be Mr. Stillwater was sitting in the center one, his head bowed as if he were reading.
“Excuse me, sir,” Neville said to the information clerk, “Is Mr. Stillwater in?”
“Your business, lieutenant?” he asked.
Neville felt himself blush. “It’s a personal matter.”
“I must tell him something. Your name or ship, at least.”
Neville suspected that most ‘personal matters’ meant some inability to pay, and he also suspected that Mr. Stillwater knew neither his name nor that of Superieure. “Hmm. If you could tell him that it’s his daughter’s request, if you please.”
At the mention of Marion, the man gave him a hard stare indeed. However, since it was his duty to announce visitors, he motioned to the row of wooden chairs and went off without anything further being said.
As Neville waited, he tried to avoid staring at the office window, where he did notice Stillwater turn his head away from the window as the clerk went in, then turn again and look out at Neville, and then back to speak with the clerk. He also had a thought that worried him: Other than the chance meeting last year, he has known nothing of me. Now he will know who I am, and I’m out asking questions about him. Any indiscretion on my part could get back to him very quickly.
The clerk took several minutes before returning. Took the time to go out for a smoke, I’d wager. Stillwater probably told him not to hurry.
Some sort of small timing bell rang. The clerk stood and walked over to Neville. “You may enter, Lieutenant. Mr. Stillwater has time now.
Chester Stillwater, owner of Stillwater Rum Trading Company, was dressed in his favorite red and black checkered waistcoat with twelve brass buttons and matching knickers. His ruffled white shirt and neck-cloth, white stockings, and freshly-blacked shoes – with real silver buckles – completed his costume, except for the long jacket that hung on the hook by the door. It was Jamaica, after all, and some consideration to the climate could be taken in the private of his office.
Neville was mildly surprised that Stillwater stood to greet him. Always the salesman, I presume.
“Good morning, Mr. Stillwater,” said Neville. “I am Commander Neville Burton of HMS Superieure. I appreciate your taking the time to see me. I apologize that I didn’t give my ship or name, but I expected you wouldn’t recognize them.”
They shook hands and Stillwater returned to his seat behind the desk. He motioned for Neville to take the visitor’s chair. Stillwater leaned back in his chair and spent a moment taking out a cigar. He did not offer one to Neville. “I must admit that I didn’t know your name, but now that I see you I believe I recognize you from our party a few days ago.”
“Thank you for that, Sir. You had quite a few people there. You must have quite the memory for faces.”
“I’d like to think so.” He returned to his business. “I am aware that Superieure is in the harbor. We keep very close track of our potential customers.”
I see, thought Neville. That explains why he’s being so polite. I’m a potential customer. I still feel awkward, but I must persist…
“The reason for my visit is your daughter.”
“Yes, so you said. Her request, you say? She receives a great number of uninvited admirers.”
“She is a beautiful young lady; no question. But yes, Sir. Our conversation at the party was very short. She suggested I come by to request your permission to continue it.”
“She said that, did she?” he said with a smile. I suspect he misinterprets the importance of his permission. She may have even more visitors than he knows of.
“And your intentions, Commander?”
“She reminds me very much of another I was very close to, God Rest Her Soul. To spend a little time in her company would be a great pleasure to me.”
Mr. Stillwater stopped fidgeting with his cigar and finally lit the thing. He thoughtfully puffed a perfect smoke ring and stared out into the lobby. “You might suspect that I don’t approve of navy callers… certainly not those under the rank of captain. Until an officer has… ‘made post’ I think you say, there is no assurance that he will ever be a man of any means.”
“Is it not the lady’s choice, Sir, in this advanced age?”
“A lady may join the hunt, as does a man. It’s wonderful to see her enjoying the company of all the young men at the New Year’s parties, but they cannot be considered her suitors. The final decision will always require the father’s permission. He must be sure she marries well, don’t you think?”
“I am not asking to be considered a suitor, Sir. Simply spending some time would be a great joy – with your permission, of course.”
“Your case is unusual, I must admit. We don’t see many commanders here – and certainly not polite ones. Your position places you on my list of potential customers, which I can’t ignore. It also puts you a step above the average lieutenant, I must say…
“She is not without a suitor, though, you realize?” It appeared to Neville that he had added this last sentence as an after
thought… didn’t think it was serious?
Stillwater seemed to be in a chatty mood, so Neville continued, “Oh, I hadn’t realized. Might I ask who it is?” At this question Stillwater gave him a curious look. Getting too inquisitive?
“Mr. Michael Stearns, my right-hand man.”
“A big fellow? He was at the party, for sure. What does he do for the Stillwater Company?”
“He’s my Sales Manager. It’s him we’ll send to Washington or Norfolk and the like to work up United States Navy contracts. And to cities like New York to visit restaurant supply firms.”
“I hadn’t realized the complexity of it. There are two other offices here. One is his, I assume. Whose is the other?”
Now Neville realized he was beyond the bounds of his curiosity. Stillwater answered more curtly, “Yes, one is his. The other is my daughter’s”
“She works here?” Neville asked in an incredulous tone that brought a laugh to Stillwater.
“Ha, ha! That’s the reaction of everyone. Not that I think it a joke, by any means. If she had her way she would be the Sales Manager rather than Mr. Stearns. She is not the demure thing she appears, I warn you. Although I have no doubt she would do as well as Mr. Stearns, it’s just not a lady’s place to have a profession, is it?”
I should quit while I am ahead. “I suppose not, Sir. I have your permission then?”
Stillwater blew another perfect smoke ring and then stubbed out the cigar. “Yes, why not? You may visit with her. I suspect you won’t be around long, anyway. She’ll see to that, even if the navy doesn’t.” He looked down to the papers on his desk, as he had been when Neville entered the lobby.
“Thank you, Sir. Good day.”
“Mmm.”
6 - “A New Year”
On the Monday one week after the new year began, Marion Stillwater bustled into the offices of the Stillwater Rum Company. She caught her father’s eye through the glass as she walked toward her office. He looked up with a smile.
The Stillwater Conspiracy (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 4) Page 5
