Rebel Dreams (3 page)

Evelyn did the same. “What am I supposed to do with it?
Every one of these crates marked ‘Staffordshire’ will probably be like that.”

Hampton hammered down the lid. “What did you do with the
last shipments?”

“I had already shipped them before I learned what they contained.
The box I held back for my mother as a Christmas gift was the first I knew of
the brandy. I don’t normally inspect everything we receive.”

“You suspected all the shipments after opening one crate?”
He turned to stare at her with incredulity.

“No, two. I thought the first a mistake and ordered another.
It was the same as the first. That’s when I sent the letter. I was furious. I
not only did not have the gift I wished for my mother, but I was stuck with
harboring two crates of illegal brandy. If they are found, I could be arrested.
You don’t know what it’s been like here since they started rewarding spies and
liars for turning in their neighbors to the Admiralty Court.”

Hampton ignored her indignation. Shouldering the crate, he walked
down the rows stacked high with goods until he located a crate of Chinese porcelain.
He set one crate on that, then looked around until he found an empty space on a
high shelf.

Evelyn watched in astonishment as the elegant gentleman
easily heaved all the crates over his head to set them on the highest shelf.
Even if anyone saw them, it would not seem unusual to store porcelain out of
the way of clumsy feet.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“We get the hell out of here before someone wonders what I
am doing lingering so long with you. Do you know where your shipments went?
Where these will go?” He steered her toward the door.

“I looked up the names, but they mean nothing to me. They’re
companies in various towns some miles from here.”

“Can you get me a list?”

“Yes, but it will take some time.” Evelyn shivered at the
precariousness of their situation. If the smuggler was anywhere about, he must
wonder at his shipment being unloaded early and at the command of the ship’s
owner. Their prolonged conversation might drive him to investigate.

“Then we’ll need to meet again, preferably somewhere else.
Any suggestions?”

“My uncle’s. I will see that you receive an invitation to
dinner. I’ll pass you the list when I can. No one could suspect us of colluding
on a social occasion.”

“Your uncle might,” he argued. “It’s better if we claim no
prior acquaintance other than that necessary to unload the ship.”

“That’s not a problem. My uncle will never know that I am
the one inviting you. Trust me.”

Hampton placed his hat under his arm and made a curt bow. “I
will leave it to your discretion, then. It will take months to find out who
shipped it from my end. The receivers are our best hope.”

“I understand. Good day, Mr. Hampton.” Evelyn said this in
full view of the front office as he opened the door to escort her out. Only her
brother and the clerk from another warehouse were in the room, but she felt the
need for formality.

She breathed a sigh of relief as he departed. Finding the
smugglers was going to be easier than dealing with one Alexander Hampton. She
shivered at the thought of meeting him again. Was he always so angry?

“They say he owns half of Cranville Enterprises,” Cousin
Frances said in awe over her teacup, the day after Evelyn’s encounter with the
subject under discussion. “I cannot imagine such wealth, can you? Just the
contents of the one ship in port now must be worth tens of thousands, and he
must own dozens. Why, I saw bolts of silk from his stores that would make your
mouth water.”

Evelyn set her saucer down and gestured toward the package
on the seat beside her cousin. “I really must be going. Mama insisted that I
bring you some of those candies Mr. Hampton gave Jacob. They are delicious,
though personally I find the man odious. Flaunting his wealth in front of
starving, unemployed sailors is the height of maliciousness.”

Evelyn reached for her hat. Her cousin Frances leapt to her
feet in a flurry of silken skirts and laces and a cloud of scent. Generally her
cousin’s porcelain prettiness sported a pout of boredom when she was forced to
converse with her bourgeois relatives. At the moment, she was all sunshine and
roses, catching Evelyn’s arm gaily and attempting to delay her departure.

“Faith, but you must not hurry so! We never have time for a
good girlish chat. Sit and tell me more about this odious gentleman. Is he old?
Is he ugly?”

Evelyn donned her hat and began to tie the ribbons. “Quite
striking, actually. He has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. And
the meanest mouth.” She added that for her own personal satisfaction. It should
be amusing to see how the hateful man pried Frances’ claws loose from his
scalp. “Anyway, he is still unmarried, which shows that London women have much
more sense than I ever gave them credit for. I really must be going. I’ll see
you later.”

She hummed to herself as she left the house. She really had
no idea of Hampton’s marital or financial state, as it was of no concern to
her, but it was all the information Frances required to set her on the prowl.
At twenty, her cousin was a year younger than Evelyn, but horrified at her
spinster role.

Evelyn could have told her that the available young men of
town thought she was a spoiled, greedy Tory. Frances wasn’t quite that bad, but
she didn’t belong in Boston right now. She would be much better off back in
London, where she had been born.

Of course, if Frances were not quite so thoughtless, she
would have offered her cousin the use of the carriage to take her down to the
wharf. But Frances was busy scheming, and Evelyn was accustomed to the walk. She
preferred the anonymity of the crowd. The Uptons’ carriage was just one more
sore point in a town where the grandest transportation was a good horse.

During bad weather, Evelyn rode a rented hack down to the bay.
The rest of the time she enjoyed traipsing across the Common and gossiping with
her neighbors, stopping at Faneuil Hall for fresh vegetables, or listening to
the arguments of the men after a town meeting. She felt quite at home in this
milieu of men, and because they were accustomed to dealing with her at the
warehouse, they accepted her into their conversations.

With her father’s death, Evelyn had taken his place in more
positions than the warehouse, however. As she hurried past the State House, a
young man in dark broadcloth and rakishly cocked hat hailed her.

“Miss Wellington! Will we be seeing you at the meeting
tonight?” He crossed the dusty cobblestones and politely removed his hat when
he reached her.

“I will try to be there later, Pilgrim. I suspect I will be
commanded to my uncle’s house for dinner first.”

The young man looked concerned. “Then perhaps we should hold
the meeting at the tavern. We have no wish to overburden your poor mother—”

Evelyn waved away his protest. “You don’t know how much it
means to my mother to be allowed to continue hosting these meetings. Please, do
not consider moving it. I will be there as soon as I can, to take her place
should she grow tired. You know the Sons of Liberty are always welcome in our
home. My father would have wanted it that way.”

The young man grinned. “He always preferred your mother’s fare
to the tavern’s, and I must agree with him. But I fear our committee will soon
overflow your accommodations. In times like these it might be necessary to
bring all the smaller groups together under one roof. You know we discussed it
last time.”

“I know, and then you will find it necessary to keep women
out.” Evelyn spoke with more irritation than sadness at the departure of this
group whose politics fascinated her. “Stand forewarned, we will form a
committee of our own, and you will never know what we are up to.”

Instead of lecturing as some of the older men might have, he
grinned and returned his hat to his head. “Just don your breeches and join us,
Miss Wellington. We’ll be happy to have you.”

She laughed as he strode off. ’Twas a pity she could find no
romantic interest in Pilgrim Adams. He was a fine young man, even if his red
hair and freckles made him look more clown than merchant. Unfortunately, she
suffered Frances’ problem in reverse. She had worked and played with all these
young men since she had been in leading strings. They thought her one of them.
It seldom occurred to them to come courting a woman they had exchanged
argumentative blows with the day before.

The few who had dared to approach her door with flowers in
hand were men who believed she would stay home if she married, leaving them
with the care of her father’s profitable business.

Tightening her lips as she remembered those few disasters,
she hurried toward the bay. She intended to teach Jacob the business just as
their father had taught it to her. One day they would share equally in the
warehouse. She wished there were some way of owning their own ship, but that
would have to wait until Jacob came of age. No one would lend capital to a
female.

***

The summons to her uncle’s dinner arrived in the middle of
the afternoon. Evelyn glared at the message with a mixture of relief and
annoyance. The day had turned intolerably hot. Perspiration rolled down her
back as she sat on her high stool, pulling ledgers in search of the names of
the companies ordering porcelain in the last year. Caught up in the detective
work, she had traced all orders of Staffordshire porcelain back to 1762, at
which point she found no more. She was in the process of locating old
correspondence for names and addresses when she received her uncle’s summons.

She glanced at the long-case clock on the wall. Four o’clock!
Good heavens, Frances had taken longer than usual to win her father over, or
had maliciously delayed the message until there was scarce time for her cousin
to get ready. Whichever, Evelyn had to be satisfied with the hastily scribbled
notes in her hand.

Calling for Jacob and the hired man, Benjamin, to close up
for her, Evelyn tucked the list into her pocket and hurried out into the
street. Her hair was dirty and disheveled, and she needed a bath. Heating the
water and hauling the buckets would take another half-hour. Her hair would have
no chance of drying. Perhaps she ought to just show up in breeches and smock to
teach her uncle the results of ill manners.

Already tired, irascible, and worried, Evelyn was in no
humor to be treated as a dependent relative when she finally arrived at the
Uptons’. The maid abandoned her in the hallway, leaving her to discard her
mantilla on the hall tree and enter the drawing room unannounced.

In deference to the occasion she had donned a lilac silk
that billowed extravagantly over her petticoats but did not require the use of
the French panniers. Her wrists and throat were unadorned except for the lace
frills on her sleeves and décolletage. She wore her still-damp tresses in a
loose coil covered with a bit of lace and a lilac ribbon, and not in the
English fashion of piling her hair upon cushions and covering it with powder
and plumes.

If Uncle George complained of her plainness, she would tell
him in no uncertain terms that she would wear breeches the next time he
summoned her so late in the day.

She entered the drawing room to find Frances clinging to
Hampton’s arm and gazing up into his sardonic face with a look of rapture.
Foolish creature! Couldn’t she see the mockery in the man’s damnable eyes? He
thought them all primitive amusements compared to his usual sophisticated
company. Even Frances’ elegant imported gown and fashionably coiffed hair would
not impress an arrogant aristocrat like Alexander Hampton.

His gaze turned to her, and Evelyn felt it rake over her
modest silk and hair. It must be like comparing a caterpillar to a butterfly,
she surmised. He merely acknowledged her presence with a nod and returned to
her cousin’s conversation.

Obviously he had dressed down for the dubious honor of
dining with colonials. He wore the same navy silk frock coat he had worn
yesterday. His lace was newly cleaned and starched, but no more elaborate than
for a business call. He had not even condescended to powder his hair but wore
it tied in a simple black ribbon. Uncle George must be choking at such impertinence.

Evelyn assessed the remainder of the company. At such short
notice the guest list was small. There were the neighbors, the Stones, and her
uncle’s best friend, Thomas Henderson. Uncle George had been throwing her into
the lawyer’s company for several years now, but the feeling of antipathy
between them was mutual, thank goodness.

She smiled at her aunt as she approached and submitted to
that lady’s questioning on the state of her mother’s health. Anything was
better than confronting either Hampton or Henderson.

***

Bored by the chatter of the peacock at his side, Alex
allowed his thoughts to drift. The gracious smile Miss Wellington bestowed upon
her aunt revealed her affection for the older woman. What would it take for a
man to elicit such a response?

From the glare with which she had gifted him, he was not
likely to find out. It was a good thing they were agreed on the priorities of
this situation. Now that he’d found a buxom tavern maid to ease his needs, he
could deal sensibly with Miss E. A. Wellington. He’d acquire the list from her,
conduct a quiet investigation, hand his evidence to the Admiralty Court, and
get the hell out before the straitlaced witch scratched his eyes out for
existing.

Alex strained to keep a pleasant demeanor throughout dinner
as the Henderson fellow occupied much of Miss Wellington’s conversation, while
Frances Upton chattered mindlessly. He had ample opportunity to observe the
table’s other occupants.

The neighborly Stones he dismissed as nonentities. Matilda
Upton seemed a motherly, kindly woman with no significant thoughts of her own.
He had been shocked to discover that “Uncle George” was the same officious
customs officer who had approved his cargo, but he could see the reason why
Miss Wellington might not wish to acknowledge the relationship. The man was a
pompous ass, so puffed up with his own consequence that the veriest pinprick
would deflate him.