Cast Adrift - Book 02 Pt. 02

CHAPTER SEVEN

The full-page headline on the front page of the Times on the second day of August, 1814 screamed the paper's demand for a full and complete investigation. Two people had died, scores more had been injured, and considerable private property had been destroyed as a result of the explosion and fire at the pagoda in St. James Park the night before. A smaller headline, much lower on the page, expressed horror at the assassination of Captain Sir Edward Pelham of the Royal Navy, and a sort of satisfied pride that his assassin had been fatally beaten by an enraged mob of intoxicated, patriotic Londoners. Nowhere in the paper was any mention of the pistol ball that had passed within inches of Lady Caroline Stanhope's head immediately before the man was taken down.

It was a harbinger of things to come. Just as there was no mention of Caroline in the newspapers, there was no place for her at Sir Edward's funeral. Charlotte moved quickly to take charge of the arrangements, and failed to even respond to Caroline's request that she be permitted to join the official procession. Unwilling to make a scene, Caroline quietly took a place in the middle of the mourners, wholly unacknowledged as the woman to whom Sir Edward would have been married before the month was out.

What started as merely a private humiliation quickly turned much more serious. Two weeks later, Caroline recalled with a sudden start that she had given notice that she would be vacating the house at the end of the month. Her efforts to renew the lease were met with a sneer from her landlord, who told her that given her obvious flightiness he would maintain her as a tenant only with a significant increase in rent, the first two months payable in advance. Caroline gave an inward sigh at the unfairness of life and asked her landlord to hold the lease open until she could return with the necessary funds.

"You wish to close your account?" her banker asked her with a smile on his face. On James's advice, she had established a separate account so as not to have to draw on her investments in the Naval Funds.

"Oh, no," she answered. "I merely wish to withdraw fifty pounds to pay certain expenses."

"Lady Stanhope, the account only contains forty pounds."

"I beg your pardon? I have your last statement here, Mr. Tutwill. It indicates that there is well over three hundred pounds in my account."

"Ah, yes. But of course that was last month's statement, my lady. Before I received your letter granting Sir Edward your power of attorney. I have it here in my files. Sir Edward withdrew all but forty pounds from this account as well as everything in the Naval Funds."

After a moment's reflection, Caroline swallowed hard.

"He was to purchase stock with the money," she said quietly. "Sir Edward and I were to have been married, Mr. Tutwill."

The banker's surprised smile disappeared as Caroline continued her explanation.

"In light of his death, however, I will once again need access to my own money," she said. Her eyes suddenly widened. "This power of attorney I signed. It does not authorize his heirs to manage my funds, does it?"

"I am not a lawyer," Mr. Tutwill demurred, "but I certainly would not follow instructions from anyone else. Nor do I believe that my attorney would authorize me to do so. But that is an issue that you will have to resolve with the company in which he purchased the stock. It is perhaps a simple matter of transferring ownership of a portion of the stock to you."

"What precisely did you do with the funds?" Caroline asked. "Would there not be some sort of record of their transfer?"

Tutwill shook his head.

"Sir Edward wanted the funds in gold. Evidently he lost some money in the last bank failure and no longer trusts paper credit."

"Very well, then," Caroline said before she was interrupted by a rapid knocking at the door.

"Yes?" Mr. Tutwill said.

A breathless clerk opened the door.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, his voice rushing out in a burst, "but there is a messenger who insists upon seeing Lady Stanhope."

"A messenger?" Caroline asked. A young boy pushed his way past the startled clerk and pulled his hat from his head.

"Beg pardon," he mumbled. "This lady asked me to fetch you home immediate like."

Caroline felt her legs trembling as she quickly came to her feet.

"What lady?"

Alarmed by Caroline's tone, the boy simply stared at her.

"Speak up, boy," the banker said. "What did this woman look like?"

"Yeller hair, sir," the boy said quickly. "With these curls, like, in it." He made circular motions on his forehead with the fingers of one hand.

"Sarah," Caroline whispered. Her legs collapsed beneath her. "Michael."

The boy evidently recognized the name.

"Michael," he said. "She said there were nothin' wrong with Michael, mum. It's the other lady."

"Lucy?" Caroline got to her feet once again. "Mr. Tutwill, please excuse me."

She rushed out the door.

"Yes?" Mr. Tutwill asked the boy.

"The Sarah lady, sir, said I was to get sixpence."

Mr. Tutwill rolled his eyes and gave the boy a sixpence from his pocket. The boy retreated, the door closed, and Mr. Tutwill returned to his desk to make a note. Lady Stanhope now had? 39/19/6d to her credit.

Caroline found Sarah in the living room of the house, her dress spattered with blood. Taking the stairs two at a time, she stopped in Lucy's doorway, nearly unable to push herself through the door.

"What have you done?" she asked the unconscious woman in horror. It was quite clear what she had done, however. An empty vial lay near Lucy's prostrate body. The bottom of the woman's dress was stained dark with her own blood, and Caroline was well aware of what she would find underneath it. She dashed back downstairs, saw the futility of asking Sarah to do anything further, and opened the door to bawl for the nearest boy.

"Run for the doctor," she told him. "The one two streets down. Tell him that Lady Stanhope's maid has harmed herself and killed her . . . her baby. Do not leave until he comes with you. Do you understand?"

The boy took off like a shot, and Caroline returned to the house. Satisfying herself first that Michael was untouched by the incident, having slept through everything, she returned to Lucy's room to give the woman a closer examination. Perhaps, she thought, the baby was far enough along that whatever drug Lucy had taken would not have been strong enough to deprive it of life. But such was not the case. And when the doctor arrived a few moments later, it became clear that Lucy's life hung in the balance as well. He prescribed for her and recommended constant nursing but left the house shaking his head.

As the month of August drew to a close, Caroline's straits had become even more desperate. The doctor and the apothecary had both taken bites out of the account she maintained with Mr. Tutwill. She had found more inexpensive lodgings, but that had required another outlay of funds, both for the rooms and for the expenses of moving her possessions there. It was not until the 30th, in fact, that she finally received the return letter from Mr. Cochrane that she had been eagerly awaiting.

26 August 1814

My dear Lady Stanhope:

As delighted as I was to receive your letter, I am equally distraught at not being able to accede to your request. I have consulted my own attorney on this issue, and he informs me that my hands are tied in the matter. The monies that were deposited in my account in late July were specifically designated for the purchase of stock in the name of Sir Edward Pelham. I have any number of potential investors who would be happy to purchase that stock for a premium above the amount paid by Sir Edward, but I am told that the stock in question is now legally a part of Sir Edward's estate. He having left me with no instructions to make any part of that available to anyone else, such as yourself, I am constrained to follow the dictates of his executors.

My attorney has strongly recommended that I leave the matter there, in your hands. I cannot in good conscience, however, simply abandon the widow of a former messmate, particularly one I held in as high regard as Midshipman Stanhope, without offering at least some advice, which is to consult your own attorney in this matter. I have made several informal inquiries, and understand that Sir Edward's sister, Charlotte, is named executrix under a will he drafted when he obtained his first ship. She always struck me as a particularly avaricious woman. The sooner that your money is out of her hands the better off you will be.

I wish you the best of luck, and remain,

yours truly,

Charles Langhorne

"Yes." Andrew Carhartt, who was already acting for Lady Stanhope in the matter of her late husband's estate, finished cleaning his glasses as his client finished reading the first paragraph of the letter to him. "And you have asked Miss Pelham's sister for the money?"

"She has so far not graced any of my letters with a response."

"Just so. Well, I will be happy to write to her myself, Lady Stanhope, but I am obligated to tell you in all honesty that should she refuse, the alternative is yet another court case."

He replaced his glasses on his face and watched Caroline's face fall.

"In this case, of course, we would not be contesting his will, but rather contesting the inclusion of these funds in the estate at all. As I understand it, the evidence in favor is comprised solely of your own testimony."

"My banker will testify that the money was mine."

"'Was' being the crucial word," the attorney said with a nod. "He can explain that the money that was yours was withdrawn and given to Sir Edward. However, we cannot trace that money to the purchase of the Cochrane company stock."

He smiled.

"That will take some time, however. You are well aware how slow the chancery courts are. In the meantime, we can hope that Miss Pelham will be reasonable."

Miss Pelham was anything but reasonable. Her response to Mr. Carhartt's letter came from her own attorney, who assured Mr. Carhartt that Miss Pelham had no information in his possession that would allow her to connect Sir Edward's purchase of the Cochrane company stock with his "alleged" withdrawal of Mrs. Stanhope's money. His letter stopped just shy of suggesting that Caroline's request was a complete and utter fraud, although its tone suggested that he and his client believed that to be precisely the state of affairs.

********

"How are you this morning, Lucy?" Caroline asked as she put a hand on her maid's forehead.

"I am well," Lucy answered. "I believe I shall get up and –"

"I believe you shall do no such thing," Caroline said. "We have this discussion every morning, Lucy. You will not be getting out of this bed until Dr. Collards and I are satisfied that you are completely better. He considers it a miracle that you are alive at all after taking that vile medicine.

Lucy's eyes welled with tears.

"I could not live another day with that monster's child inside me."

"I understand, dearest. I have to go out for the rest of the day. I will be home later."

"Where are you going? Why are you leaving?"

"Lucy, my dear. You will be fine by yourself. I need you to be better. I have . . . I have had to give Sarah notice. Next week you will have to take care of Matthew for me. He does not need a wet nurse anymore. And since he sleeps most of the day, he will not tax your strength too much."

"And where will you be?"

"Honey, we have so little money left . . ."

"Caroline!" Lucy's eyes widened with alarm. "You are a wealthy woman!"

"Perhaps on paper, dear. But my money was commingled with Edward's, and there are some difficulties with his estate. I have had to hire a lawyer for that."

"Lawyers," Lucy said with disgust.

"At present they are our sole hope, Lucy. I have sold some jewelry."

"No!" Lucy said with a gasp.

"They meant nothing," Caroline assured her. "I have thought about writing James to ask for a loan to tide us over, but it would be simply too much of an imposition. And in any event he is still in Vienna with his friend Mr. Whitson, solving the problems of the Continent. I could not possibly think of disturbing him with my petty problems."

Lucy sighed, knowing full well that James would move heaven and earth to help his brother's widow if he was only informed of her situation. But Lucy could barely read and write, let alone send a letter to Austria pleading for help.

"What about Sir William's household?" she suggested.

"I did call there," Caroline admitted. "The house is being managed by a caretaker. The entire staff was called north to help care for the Earl."

"What will you do, Caroline?"

"I have taken a position, Lucy. Assistant clerk to a bookseller in Market Row."

"But you are Lady Stanhope," Lucy protested.

"Caroline Stanhope never turned up her nose at work, Lucy. Giving me a title makes no difference."

"You should have said."

"And have you turn down medical care because you thought it too expensive?" Caroline asked with a laugh. "I think not, my dear friend. Now you stay in bed and regain your health. I will need you next week more than ever."

"Yes, my Lady." Lucy sank back into her pillows with a sigh.

********

Admiral Poultney Malcolm fidgeted in the chair behind his desk in the Governor's Mansion. Although his replacement by Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane was dictated by time-honored naval custom, he still considered the invading armada was his own. It was he who had brought them to Bermuda, on the very cusp of North America. It was he who had badgered and cajoled the civilians at the Admiralty to increase the size of the forces that would be deployed against the Americans.

It still hadn't been large enough for Cochrane. The man seemed to want enough troops to invade the entire continent at one time. When the fleet had arrived on 26 July, he had complained bitterly that he was only being given 5,000 men. He had complained even more bitterly about Rear Admiral Cockburn's suggestion to begin his attacks at the small town of Benedict Maryland, on the Patuxent River. But he had nonetheless assumed command, leaving Malcolm as port admiral in Bermuda during his absence.

That had been over two months past. In the past month, Malcolm had begun to burn for knowledge of the ships that had once been his. In the past week, he had reached the firm conclusion that the news was unconscionably late. Perhaps they had met with ruin. Perhaps that scrub Cochrane had declined to give him even the courtesy of a report, bypassing Bermuda entirely to report directly to the Admiralty.

But it was today, 1 October, that his stomach had begun to churn, ever since H.M.S. Classic had been sighted by the port lookout. The Classic was the fastest frigate in the force, commanded by young Stanhope. What did the presence of that one sole ship mean?

"How long does it take to bring the damn ship into port, anyway?" he asked himself at the very moment he heard his Secretary's knock at the door.

"Captain Sir William Stanhope, Admiral."

"Stanhope. It's good to see ye again. What news? Ye'll stay to dinner, of course."

"I regret not, Admiral. It is but touch and go for the Classic. I am ordered to call for mail, to report our news to you, and to head home with all due dispatch."

"Very well, Captain," Poultney said with growing impatience. "Report."

"The invasion of Washington proceeded perfectly, sir. It could have gone better only if we had captured the President himself at dinner. As it was, though, he left it warm for us on his way out the door."

"The coward."

"Yes, sir. And we left it warmer than when we arrived."

"Eh?"

Poultney raised his bushy eyebrows.

"The Presidential mansion, sir – the "White House," they call it – has been razed to the ground."

"Excellent." Poultney slapped his knee in satisfaction.

"The invasion of Baltimore, however, fared far worse. General Ross was killed before it even got underway. Killed by American snipers."

"Damnable cowards!"

"Yes, sir. And then the Americans put up a fierce resistance outside the city. The army could go no further. The navy bombarded their Fort McHenry for hours on end, sir, with nothing to show for it in the end. We slunk down the Chesapeake almost as quickly as we had crept up it."

"Just like the whole damnable war," Poultney growled. "A victory at sea followed by a defeat on the lakes. Triumph in Canada, tragedy in New York. What a waste of men."

"Yes, sir."

"What a waste of ships," Poultney continued, his tone suggesting that he had now accounted for the true cost of the war.

"Any news from home, sir, on the peace talks?"

"Nothing," Poultney said. He walked over stared out the window. "Admiral Cochrane is right behind you?"

"No more than a week, sir. Now if you will excuse me, I will see if the port captain has a bag for us and weigh anchor on the ebb."

Poultney merely nodded. He would have rejoiced in an English triumph or taken smug satisfaction in a disaster. He had no doubt that the present stalemate was being continued solely to test his patience.

William Stanhope's patience had received a shock as well. His coxswain, Matthew Cooper found him sitting on a pile of roping, a letter in his hand. It was a pose unbefitting any officer, let alone his captain, and Matthew furtively looked around to make sure that no one else had seen.

"Is there trouble, sir?"

William sighed and looked up.

"She is to be married," he said with a shake of his head.

"Miss Caroline?"

Matthew was stunned. It was quite true that his captain had failed to make any avowal of love or even affection toward his brother's widow prior to their departure. But surely the girl, her Ladyship as it was now, could not have missed the look in his eyes, the catch in his voice, the dumbstruck expression on his captain's face every time he caught sight of her.

"I have a letter from Sir Edward Pelham," William continued. "Dated 29 July. He states that she has accepted his hand. They will have been wed before we get back, Matthew. You served under Pelham, didn't you Matthew?"

"Aye, sir. In my youth. A good man, sir, but no Stan'ope. It is her Ladyship's loss," he continued in what he took for a genteel manner.

"Bah," William said, catching himself just short of chucking the letter into the sea. "It is my loss, Matthew, and we both know it. And now I must go pen a note of congratulation to the man who won her heart, Matthew. And to the lady herself. We will mail them upon our return to London."

"Aye-aye, sir."

**********

But as bad a day as 1 October was for Rear Admiral Malcolm and Captain Stanhope, it was a far worse day for Lady Caroline. Three weeks ago she had walked to work in a pouring autumn rain, where she had been met at the door by its proprietor.

"Mr. Brooks," Caroline said. "May I not come in?"

"I cannot let you, Caroline. It would destroy me."

"Destroy you? I do not understand. I am your employee."

"And a fine one you have been. I cannot do it, Mrs. Stanhope. I cannot turn you back into the rain without at least the courtesy of an explanation. Come into my office."

Caroline followed him into the back, where he handed her a letter. Her heart fell as she saw the Earl of Prescott's crest at the top, and her breath caught in her throat as she read its contents.

Merchant:

It has come to my attention that you employ or may be asked to employ one so called Lady Caroline Stanhope. You should be aware that this woman is a vile confidence artist, who is still attempting to gain control of the fortune of my late son, a hero of the war against Napoleon. I have it on good authority that before the year is out, she will be declared so by a court of chancery, and her misbegotten babe labeled as the bastard that it is. When that time comes, it will be an unfortunate employer indeed who has this creature in his employ for he will surely be shunned by London society. Be warned accordingly.