The Guardship Read online

  Chapter 2

  THE DANCERS came together, meshing like the gears of a clock, and blocked Elizabeth Tinling’s view of Thomas Marlowe at the far end of the room.

  Or, more to the point, they blocked Marlowe’s view of her. For Marlowe had been looking, had been bracing himself to ask her for a dance. She recognized the look, the posture, and she would have welcomed the overture.

  On the one hand, it would have saved her from having to further endure the vapid young Jamestown fop in the brocade coat who was trying to engage her in conversation.

  On the other, it would have saved her from Matthew Wilkenson, who was also eyeing her and was ever so casually approaching, a wolf circling toward an animal too wounded to escape.

  Of lesser consideration was the thought that she might do well to become better acquainted with Mr. Thomas Marlowe, might even enjoy his company. But now the open space was filled with dancers and she feared the moment was lost.

  “I swear,” she replied to whatever the fool from Jamestown had said, “this heat will be the undoing of me. I feel positively faint.”

  She flashed him a quick smile, cast her eyes over the room. Governor Nicholson was making his way over toward Marlowe, which would end any chance of Marlowe’s rescuing her, but it was an interesting development nonetheless.

  “…and so I said to him, ha, ha, ‘Well, sir, if this is the finest horse you have to offer—’” the idiot in the brocade coat was saying.

  “Oh, I beg, sir,” she interrupted, “but at the banquet table they have an everlasting syllabub for which I absolutely perish. Might I trouble you to fetch me one?”

  “But of course. Your servant, ma’am.” The young gentleman bowed and grinned, delighted to have some service to perform. He pushed his way through the crowd toward a table that to Elizabeth’s certain knowledge contained no syllabub at all, everlasting or otherwise.

  She smiled at his back, wondering how long he would search for it. Quite a while, she imagined. He would not wish to come back empty-handed. She felt just the tiniest glimmer of guilt at using him thus, but she could not bear to listen to him for one moment more, and such practical jokes were her secret delight.

  And men could be such fools.

  She turned back to the endlessly fascinating crowd, social interplays, the feints and attacks and flanking movements of the colony’s ruling class. A good deal of surreptitious attention was being paid to the governor, who was leading Marlowe out of the ballroom, a development that piqued her curiosity as well.

  Marlowe had been only two years in the colony, but in that short time he had managed to insinuate himself into Virginian society in a way that could only be accomplished through good looks, an affable nature, and a great deal of money, all of which he possessed. He was well liked and well respected.

  Elizabeth kept her distance, ignored his obvious interest in her. Elizabeth understood people, had observed the species in all its plumage, understood there was something not quite right about Thomas Marlowe.

  She stole a glance to her left. Matthew Wilkenson was making his way toward her, boldly now, his generally haughty and disdainful expression exaggerated by drink, his gait unsteady. If Thomas Marlowe was climbing the colony’s social precipice, then the Wilkenson clan stood on its summit, looking down. Matthew Wilkenson was the younger of the two Wilkenson boys, but the one who had inherited the old man’s force of personality, the heir apparent to the Wilkenson fortune.

  That, along with the Wilkensons’ close ties to the Tinlings, and Matthew’s insufferable arrogance, had apparently given him the idea that Elizabeth should, by rights, be his. He was becoming less subtle on that point.

  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 subje
ct 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 believe 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 d
eep 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.