She turned and looked at the place where Marlowe had been standing, still hoping for some respite from Matthew Wilkenson, but Marlowe and the Governor had disappeared through the far door.
Thomas Marlowe. She had met him almost two years ago, just after his arrival in the colony. A very bad time in her life. Joseph Tinling had died just a few months before, and she was trying to weather all of the rumors that swirled around about that event.
The house and its contents were not hers, of course. They became the property of William Tinling, Joseph’s eldest son, a son by his first marriage, who lived back home in England.
For long months she had fretted over the decision he would make concerning her future.
William had lived in Virginia for some time and was a particular friend of Matthew Wilkenson’s. He might have decided to return and take over the plantation. He could have left her penniless if he so chose.
It was a warm day in early spring, the last year of the last century, when the Tinlings’ factor, who served as their agent in the colony, arrived with a curt letter from the elder Tinling. The note instructed him to sell the plantation and give Elizabeth one quarter of the proceeds and inform her that doing so would dissolve all ties between herself and the family. The
Tinlings wanted no more to do with Virginia, and no more to do with Elizabeth.
And along with the note, the factor brought a potential buyer.
“My name is Thomas Marlowe,” he said, giving a practiced bow, “and my associate is Francis Bickerstaff. We give you condolences on your grief, ma’am, and shall respect your privacy.”
“You are new to the colony, sir?” He had a look about him that she had not seen in a long time. He was handsome, to be sure, and cultured and genteel, but he was not a fop. There was something wild behind that facade, like a tiger that has been trained to the house but remains nonetheless a dangerous animal.
“We are new to the colony, yes, ma’am. Mr. Bickerstaff and myself have spent these past four years or so in travel and are looking now to establish ourselves.”
“Well, sir, if it is your wont to respect privacy, and to have your own respected, I would suggest that you have come to the wrong land. But forgive me, I am still in some shock over my husband’s death and I do not wish to dissuade you from purchasing this fine plantation. Do look around, and perhaps you and Mr. Bickerstaff will join us for dinner?”
Elizabeth spent the next two hours supervising the packing of her clothes and personal belongings. The rest of it-the furniture, the horses, the slaves, even the portraits on the wall-she would sell with the house and never think on them again.
At last Marlowe and Bickerstaff and the factor returned from their tour of the plantation, talking, excited, their fine shoes covered in mud. As Elizabeth seated them around the dinner table she asked, “Tell me, sir, what did you think of this place?”
“Magnificent ma’am, just what we had hoped for,” said Marlowe.
“These Virginia plantations are much lauded in England,” Bickerstaff said, “and I find the land is all that it is said to be,
though to be sure the houses do not in any way compare with those great homes in England.”
“They do not, sir,” said Elizabeth, and it was true. The most palatial dwelling in Virginia would be considered but a modest country home in England. “This is still a wild land, for all of the pretensions you will find.”
They passed the time agreeably, Marlowe animated and amusing, Bickerstaff quiet, pedantic. An odd pair. With gentle prodding Elizabeth was able to establish that Marlowe was from Kent, though he was circumspect about his family, which further engaged her curiosity. Said he had commanded a privateer for many years during the last war, had spent a good deal of his time abroad.
That might explain why his accent was not quite right, she thought. And perhaps why the man himself was so…curious. Not in any objectionable sense. There was nothing about him-his looks, his manners-that was objectionable. There was just something out of line. A man to be approached with caution, or not at all.
When the last of the dishes were cleared away, Marlowe clasped his hands in a self-conscious manner, the first such gesture Elizabeth had seen from him, and said, “I do not wish to be rude, but perhaps we should talk about the sale of the plantation.”
“You are not rude at all, sir, it is a subject dear to me,” said Elizabeth.
“Then perhaps I can make an offer to you, ma’am. Sir?” Marlowe nodded to the factor. “Would, perhaps, five thousand pounds be a fair price?”
Five thousand pounds of tobacco, the coin of the realm in the tidewater. Elizabeth considered that offer. It was fair. Not exorbitant, not even generous, but fair, and she wished to be rid of the place quickly. But, like most people in Virginia, she had little specie, little hard money, and it was money that she needed now, not tobacco that would take this Marlowe half a year to grow.
“Well…,” said the factor, not overly impressed with the offer. “We are opening ourselves up to some risk, sir. Crop failure, a drop in the price of tobacco on the market. With that in mind, perhaps it would be better-”
“Perhaps you would consider this, sir,” Elizabeth jumped in. Her interests were different from the factor’s, quite different. The factor would hold out for the best price, however long it took, while she wished to get at least some hard money and get it quickly. “Might it be possible to make up a part of that in specie, and the rest when the crop is in? I know that that is a great deal to ask, but our circumstances force this condition on me.”
The factor scowled at her, but she ignored him, tried to ignore the confusion on Marlowe’s face. He glanced over at Bickerstaff, but the older man looked equally confused.
“I am at a loss, ma’am,” he said at last. “I have no land now, no crop…”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth said, growing irritated. “I assumed that the five thousand pounds of tobacco you offer would come from your first crop after purchasing this plantation. I have no objection to that, but for my immediate concerns-”
“Tobacco?” Marlowe interrupted. “Did you think my offer was five thousand pounds of tobacco?”
“Well, certainly,” said the factor. “Tobacco is the unit of currency in this colony. What else is there?”
“My offer was five thousand pounds sterling, sir. Gold and silver, if that is acceptable.”
It was only with the greatest effort that the factor did not spit his tea all over the table, and even Elizabeth had difficulty in controlling her reaction. Five thousand pounds in gold and silver? It was unheard of in the cash-strapped colony. It was an exorbitant price for the plantation.
“Yes, that would be acceptable,” said the factor, recovering quickly. “Will you send to your bank in England?”
“There is no need, sir. I have the funds here.”
She stared at Marlowe. He had with him five thousand pounds in gold and silver? She would not consider asking how
he happened to have five thousand pounds in specie. And she would treat him cautiously. Very cautiously indeed.
But perhaps, she thought, staring at the door through which he and the governor had disappeared, it is time to relax that caution a bit.
The rumors about Marlowe’s past ran through the colony: He was the third son of the Duke of Northumberland, he was a former naval captain drummed out of the service, he was a former pirate, he was the bastard son of the old king. She did not believe any of it.
But Marlowe was wealthy and growing in power, and while he made an obvious effort to ingratiate himself with the powerful families of the tidewater, still he did not seem in the least intimidated by them, or anyone, for that matter. He had the governor’s ear. Perhaps he was an ally she should cultivate.
But now he was gone, and nothing could save her from the unwanted attention of Matthew Wilkenson.
“Allair has been relieved of his command,” Governor Nicholson said, taking the invoice and replacing it on the pile of papers. “I be
lieve as vice admiral it is within my authority to do so, and if not, too damned bad, I say. I’ll not suffer a thief to run amok in the guise of an officer of His Majesty’s Navy. We have endured fewer insults from the pirates and picaroons than we have from him.”
“Well, sir, I am very sorry to have been the instrument of Allair’s downfall,” Marlowe began, but the governor cut him off.
“Nonsense. It was none of your fault, and frankly I’m glad this has come to light. But look, here’s what I wished to speak to you about. The colony cannot be without a guardship. The pirates are swarming about the Capes, and once word of Allair’s arrest is spread abroad they’ll be amongst us with nothing to fear. Now you, sir, are a former naval officer yourself-”
“Please, Governor,” he interrupted, holding up his hand, “I was captain of a privateer, not a naval vessel. I have not
held a naval commission, though to be certain I participated in many actions with the navy during the last war.”
“Yes, of course, a privateer. But still you have the experience of many a sea fight. And as you are a gentleman of some breeding there can be no question as to your suitability for a naval officer. What I am asking, sir, is will you take command of the Plymouth Prize? At least until we have communicated with the admiralty and an official replacement for Allair has been sent?”
Marlowe smiled. “If it would be helpful to my king and my adoptive home, Governor, then I should be delighted to accept.”
And delighted he was.
Marlowe had watched Allair’s conduct aboard the Plymouth Prize, his petty thieving and his robbing honest merchants of trifles, and he found it intolerable. He could not stand to see the guardship used thus, to make pennies. Not when he knew that in his own hands the ship could be made to yield a fortune and at the same time raise in colonial society the name of Marlowe to the heights of Rolfe or Randolph or Wilkenson.
“Perhaps we should return to the ball?” Marlowe suggested, for fear that the governor, once begun on the subject of the guardship, would not be easily stopped. He was still thinking of the lovely Mrs. Tinling, had not lost his resolve to approach her.
“Yes, of course, but, pray, let us make certain we are of one mind on this. You will take command of the Plymouth Prize at your earliest convenience?”
“I will.”
“Excellent, excellent. If you would like to send a man by tomorrow, I shall have your official orders drawn up, and your commission, and you can then go aboard as soon as ever you are ready.”
“Then all is settled, sir,” Marlowe said, standing as if to leave.
“Yes, quite, but for one small thing…” said the governor, half standing and then sitting again.
“That being?” Marlowe sat as well.
“The fact is, it seems Allair has a mind to keep possession of the ship. I have ordered him to relinquish command and report to me, but he has so far refused and remains on board…”
They sat in silence for a moment, both thinking the same thing: the Plymouth Prize would have to be taken by force from her legal commander. What more was there to say? Nothing, or so the governor apparently felt. He stood at last, smiled, and held out his hand, which Marlowe shook.
“Well, we should return to the ball,” he said. “I have no doubt that you’ll find some means to extract that rogue from the ship. Your king and country are much indebted to you for this.”
Indeed, thought Marlowe. But in fact he shared Nicholson’s confidence that he could pluck Allair from his ship like a splinter from a thumb, and the thought worried him not in the least.
And as to the debt that the country owed him, he was equally confident that the Plymouth Prize could be made to pay that debt many times over.
Chapter 3
“ELIZABETH.” MATTHEW Wilkenson, grinning with the cocky air of the confident. “Might I have this dance?”
“Mrs. Tinling.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Address me as ‘Mrs. Tinling.’ You take great liberties, sir.”
“Oh, Mrs. Tinling, is it?” Elizabeth felt her anger and disgust rise in proportion to Wilkenson’s widening grin. “Your husband has been gone nearly two years, and you, ma’am, do not look to be in mourning any longer.”
“Whether I am in mourning or not, sir, is no cause for you to be discourteous.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Tinling.” Wilkenson bowed deep at the waist. “Might I have this dance, Mrs. Tinling?”
“I am faint with the heat, Mr. Wilkenson, and I do not believe I shall dance this next.”
Wilkenson straightened, looked her in the eye. His expression was something altogether different from his former arrogant, self-satisfied look. “There is no call for you to continue with this game. I am growing weary of it.”
“I do not know what game you refer to, sir. I do not wish to dance.”
“And I do, and I think it is in your best interest to cooperate with me.”
“Oh, indeed? And do you think because the Tinlings and Wilkensons were such friends that I am beholden to you? Do you think it my duty that I yield to your base whims?”
Wilkenson glared at her for a long moment. “Duty? No, it is not your duty to me. But perhaps to yourself. Your position in this colony is tenuous. You know that. And there is nowhere for you to go. I have had much correspondence with William Tinling since his father’s death, you know. He has told me much. So I suggest that you consider…accommodating me.”
“Or what?”
“Or you might find your position entirely untenable. I should hate to hear tales being spread abroad, and I think perhaps that might be best prevented through an alliance between you and me.”
Elizabeth held his hateful gaze. Matthew Wilkenson had started this advance six months before. Back then he had just wanted to bed her, nothing more. She had seen animal desire in all its forms and recognized its countenance.
It was different now. Now it was base urge mixed with thwarted pride and a need to possess that which was denied him. Wilkensons, like Tinlings, were not used to being denied. It drove them to distraction.
And in the end he would win. They both knew it. He could make life unbearable for her in the colony. She could not return to London, and even with the money she had received from the sale of the plantation there was not enough to set up in some other city, as if a single woman, even a widow, could travel on her own. She could fight him, but in the end he would have her, and the longer she held out the more he would make her pay.
“Very well, sir. This one dance,” she said through clenched teeth. She held up her arm for him to take.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Marlowe asked Bickerstaff once he and the governor had returned to the ballroom.
“No.”
“Oh, but I think you are.”
Bickerstaff sniffed by way of reply. “Your meeting with the governor? It went well?” he asked. He sounded as if he could not care less, but Marlowe knew that he was consumed with curiosity.
“Very well. He has-Is that Matthew Wilkenson with whom Mrs. Tinling is dancing?”
“Yes, I believe it is. Now, what has the governor done?”
“He has relieved Allair of his command and asked me to take charge of the Plymouth Prize. I had always supposed there was some kind of animosity between Mrs. Tinling and that young Wilkenson git. Sure she cannot be taken with him?”
“The governor has given you command of the guardship?” Bickerstaff said. His voice incredulous, more so than Marlowe had ever heard. “Relieved a king’s officer? Is this over the affair with the silver?”
“That and other things,” said Marlowe, his eyes never leaving the dancers. “You’ll own that Allair is hardly fit for command of a king’s ship. Is this the first dance they’ve danced?”
“Yes. Nor did Mrs. Tinling seem overly anxious to dance this one, you will no doubt be relieved to know. So are you to have a commission as an officer? A naval captain?”
“Insofar as it is within the governor’s power
to issue one, yes. It will be temporary, perhaps, but yes, I shall be a commissioned officer.”
At this Bickerstaff actually smiled. “Now, this is something of an irony, is it not?”
“I quite fail to see why.”
“But tell me, it seems a great coincidence that Nicholson’s silver should end up on your table, and a week later the governor is invited to dine. Are you entirely certain it was an accident?”
Marlowe pulled his gaze from the dance floor, met Bickerstaff’s eye. Bickerstaff could at times be quite irritating, with his exaggerated sense of nobility. “It was an accident, be assured,” he said, leaving it to Bickerstaff to believe that or not.
He turned back to the dance floor. Elizabeth was smiling, though the expression did not look entirely genuine. “Son of a bitch.”
“So when do you take command?” Bickerstaff did not press the point about the silver.
“As soon as is convenient.” The music stopped, Wilkenson bowed to Elizabeth and Elizabeth in turn curtsied, and then Wilkenson took her arm and led her off the floor. “Son of a bitch,” Marlowe muttered again, and then to Bickerstaff said, “There is one small problem.”
“What might that be?”
“Allair is apparently unwilling to give over the ship.”
“And what will you do?”
“We, sir, we. We shall convince him of the desirability of doing so.”
Marlowe’s attention was now entirely given to the people across the room. Wilkenson had led Elizabeth over to a knot of his friends, all cut from the same cloth as himself. Well-bred, rich dandies. Families that numbered their time in Virginia by generations.
Marlowe hated the arrogance of that crowd, the disdain they had for all who were not of their class. It was greatly at odds with his own craving for acceptance among the colony’s elite. He tried his best not to think on it.
But he could not ignore it now. Wilkenson still had a hold of Elizabeth’s arm, and though their movements were subtle and people kept blocking his view, it appeared to Marlowe as if he was holding her despite her desire to be released. She seemed to be tugging, just slightly, against his grasp. Wilkenson and his friends were laughing at some unheard joke. Elizabeth was smiling as well, at whatever had been said. Marlowe was certain that the smile was forced.
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