The Solitary Envoy (7 page)

“No, I’m— There it is now!”

Erica was bundled into the carriage with the footman on one arm and her mother on the other. Mildred called up, “Make all haste for home!”

“Yes, madam.” The driver cracked his whip, and the horses leaped forward.

“Do you need a blanket, child?”

“No. Can’t he go any faster?”

“There is traffic to all sides. You look all flushed. Are you sure—”

“My ailment is not physical, Mother. I have heard news.” Erica twisted her parasol handle so hard it snapped. “Oh, please tell him to hurry!”

“Driver!”

“Yes, madam?”

“There is an emergency here. Do what you must, but fly!”

“Fly it is, madam. Heyah!”

“All right, Erica. Now, will you tell me what is transpiring!”

“It has to do with business, Mother. You have always preferred not to hear of such things.”

“Don’t argue with me, child!”

She looked at her mother clearly and saw a woman distraught. She also knew there were threads that had to be woven together for the situation to make sense. “You know how upset Father was the day of his return?”

“Of course. I was there beside you when he spoke with that gentleman.”

“Mr. Bartholomew is a British banker. Nine months ago, he approached Father with an offer. I have only learned about this in the past few weeks. Father treated it as highly confidential. From what I gather that was part of the arrangement.” She straightened a fold in her dress to give her hands something to do. “By then the blockade had made it nigh on impossible to obtain either tobacco from the islands or coffee and cocoa from the southern Spanish colonies.”

Just thinking of the situation they had endured for almost a year now made Erica’s blood rise. The British claimed it was not a blockade at all, for did they not permit all ships finally to pass? But any vessel bound from New Spain or New Portugal, as their colonies south of the United States were known, had to first travel to a British port and be inspected by British customs officers. The same was true for vessels bound to or from the island colonies. The British said it was perfectly reasonable. They had been at war with France for twenty years and with Spain for almost five. Of course they had to inspect all goods headed to and from their enemies’ lands to ensure there was no contraband.

But this meant that a vessel traveling from Cuba to Washington, a voyage of some two weeks, was required to travel first to Portsmouth. The journey to and from England could take four months. Not only was the cost staggering, but these vessels were minutely searched. For weeks. During the process, goods vanished, as did a number of their men. So many sailors had been press-ganged from some vessels that their skippers were forced to scour the byways of England for farmers, men without any sea experience at all, just to return home.

But there was no need to explain all this to her mother. “We had just lost a blockade runner, filled to the gunwales with coffee. The British navy requisitioned the entire supply.”

“I remember that day. I had thought your father’s heart was ailing him. But what does that have to do—”

“The British banker offered Father two ships, one of coffee and one of spices. One was at anchor in Martinique, a vessel taken under the Spanish flag and thus a spoil of war. The other would be granted letters of marque and thus permitted to pass through the British naval blockade of our waters.”

In an instant of astonishing clarity, Erica looked at her mother and saw not her parent but a distressed and confused woman. Mildred disliked becoming involved in the affairs of men. She felt that her role was to provide an island of safety and calm in the tumult of Washington politics and business. She had given her life over to anchoring her family within the rough-and-tumble Washington society and had raised her children as best she could. She set a fine table. She was a perfect hostess. She lived by the rules of her day. Erica saw all these things and found herself flooded by a love so intense she was silenced.

“Don’t stop now, child!”

“I do wish you would stop calling me that, Mother.” For some reason, the love was so intense, the vision so clear, she could say the words with utter calm. “I mean no disrespect. But the time for calling me a child is past.”

Their eyes met. Erica saw a refocusing within her mother’s gaze, then a light of realization as clear as her own.

“Go on with your story,” Mildred urged.

“One of the most difficult matters we have faced is costing our product. How do you price something when half of what you pay for never arrives and the shipping costs and customs duties have skyrocketed?”

“So this is why,” Mildred offered, “I see the prices of coffee and cocoa rising so ridiculously fast.”

“Doubled and doubled again, just in the past eight months,” Erica confirmed.

“And why has tea not risen so sharply?”

“Because, Mother, tea comes from British colonies. The British ships do not pay such tariffs. Nor are they harassed by their navy. So long as we buy our cloth from British mills, and drink tea instead of coffee, and use British wool, then we are fine.”

Erica glanced out the window. They had been forced to a crawl by a wagon filled to the brim with uncut logs. Erica leaned farther out the window. There was no chance of overtaking the wagon. Traffic flowed by in a steady stream. Had it been permitted, she would have leaped to the ground and run on her own two legs. “Oh, why is it taking so long?”

“Erica, look at me.” Mildred was catching her daughter’s distress as she watched Erica bunching and releasing fistfuls of her dress. “Tell me the rest.”

“The banker offered Father such an astonishing price it would mean recouping all we had lost on the earlier ship. And Father claims that Bartholomew’s bank is most reputable.”

“There was a catch. I can see it in your face.”

“You heard it yourself, Mama. They insisted upon payment in advance. Father agreed, but not with a direct payment. This was very shrewd of him. He established an account in their bank. He deposited payment in gold, as they insisted. He gave them a letter stating that only when we received the goods,
all
the goods, would the funds be theirs.”

“I-I don’t understand. The goods have not arrived, have they?”

“No. You heard Father complain about that, just as I did.”

“So the bankers cannot have taken our money?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. Not yet.” She forced her voice to hold to a false calm. But the inner tumult left her feeling as though she were listening to another person speak the words. Someone far more composed then she ever could be. “But Mr. Bartholomew was so confident, did you see?”

“And if Bartholomew’s bank did somehow manage to get hold of Forrest’s funds, what then?”

The sick dread rose in her. “We would be ruined.”

“You are not exaggerating?”

“No, Mama. It has been a calamitous year. Between the loss of a vessel and the cost of building another … Everything has become so expensive, as you well know. Money has been pouring out and too little coming in.”

“Your father said the banker knew something he did not.

Is this what you have learned today? Was it from Abigail Cutter?”

“Please don’t tell Father you saw us talking. Please. I promised her I would not tell anyone.”

“What …” Mildred stopped as the carriage rounded the final corner and halted in front of their home.

Erica did not even wait for the footman to help her alight, but her mother stayed her with a question.

“Daughter, do you recognize that carriage?”

Standing in front of theirs was a black coach pulled by a four-in-hand. “The ships’ merchant Arimond,” Erica identified immediately. “Out of Baltimore.”

“Come with me.” Instead of heading straight upstairs, Mildred led her daughter into the front parlor. She moved to the mirror and removed the long pin that kept her hat in place.

“Really, Mother, shouldn’t we—”

“Follow my lead here, Erica,” she replied firmly. “Do you think your father would wish our affairs to be known to all?”

Instantly she saw the wisdom of her mother’s words. “No, Mama.”

“We must set the proper pattern in front of guests. Now let me inspect you. Fasten up that button upon your neck.” She tucked a wayward strand of her daughter’s hair behind her ear. “Now smile for me.”

Erica did her best to follow her mother’s instructions.

“Head up. That’s right. We are merely paying respects to your father.” She patted her daughter’s cheek. “You are a Langston. Never forget that.”

“I won’t, Mama.”

“Very good. Let us proceed.”

How her legs supported her up the stairs, Erica did not know. She drew strength from her mother’s easy tread and proceeded slowly.

Mildred found the chief clerk seated in his outer office, head bent over a vast ledger. “A very good afternoon to you, I’m sure, Master Carter.”

“Mrs. Langston.” Carter rose to his feet. “Forgive me, madam. I did not hear your approach. Good afternoon, Miss Erica.”

“Is my husband in?”

“He has visitors, ma’am.”

“Would you tell him that I require a moment of his time?”

“He, ah, that is …”

“Now, if you please, Mr. Carter.”

“Of course, madam. Excuse me.”

Mildred turned from Carter’s office and positioned herself in the middle of the upstairs parlor, seemingly content to wait in utter stillness all afternoon. Erica marveled at her mother’s poise, her absolute composure. She wanted to rush into her father’s office and blurt out their news, but she followed her mother’s example and waited patiently for what seemed like days.

Finally the office door opened in a billowing cloud of tobacco smoke. Forrest came lumbering through his clerk’s office and said, “You wished to see me, my dear?”

“Ask Mr. Carter to take your guests on a tour of the warehouse, please.”

“I …” Forrest blinked slowly. “My dear, we are in the midst of rather important matters.”

Mildred kept her tone light. “I am sure they would relish seeing your man roll his special cigars, husband.”

Erica added a tremulous “Father, please. Do as she says.”

He examined his two ladies, then turned and went back to his office. An agonizing moment later, he returned. “What is it?”

“Your daughter has something of dire import to tell you.”

“Erica?”

“You recall the night of your return. The banker said something—”

“I remember vividly. What of it?”

“Bartholomew spoke of war.”

“It is an excuse as old as the hills. Whenever the British wish to renegotiate, they bring out the conflict against France.”

It was a measure of Forrest’s internal distress that he permitted his impatience to show. “Really, Erica, this is nothing new.”

“He was not speaking of the war with the French, Father.”

He froze. “What?”

“Tomorrow Congress will vote on a new measure. They are declaring war against Britain.”

Forrest Langston took the news as he would a blow to his heart. He staggered back against the rear wall. “This cannot be true.”

“It is, Father. I can’t tell you how I know, so please don’t ask. But it is true!” Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “What if the British banker suspected this would happen all along? What if they had no intention of ever delivering the goods? Would war not grant them the perfect excuse to claim the ships were casualties of the new conflict?”

Forrest Langston’s face had turned a waxen gray. “They intend to destroy us.”

Erica’s worst fears had now been spoken aloud. “If Langston’s goes under, could they not go before a British court and claim the gold as their own, recompense for goods that were lost to the war?”

“That will not happen.” He gathered himself with great effort. “You are certain this news is correct?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Absolutely certain? Our very lives depend upon this, Erica.”

“The news came from the president himself.”

“Then there is no time to lose.” A trace of the vibrant Forrest of old returned. His eyes held a frantic light, but the lethargy was now cast aside. “Come, Erica. We have matters to attend to.”

Chapter 5

They could never have managed it without Reggie.

It was not the work, although there was more of that than ever before. But the work did them all a world of good, keeping them too busy to worry. Even so, they all felt the strain. Erica moved through the hectic days with the hand of fear squeezed tightly about her heart.

But not Reggie. Erica found her brother’s attitude completely baffling … and most welcome. He threw himself into whatever task came his way and sang the latest music hall ditties as he labored. He was always ready to do anyone’s bidding, race to the market for his mother, or act as escort for his sister. Erica’s father was sending her on an increasing number of errands, trusting her to be his eyes and ears.

In the eleventh week after Congress declared war, the two siblings were off for yet another visit to the office that prepared provisions for conflict. Forrest sought to obtain contracts from the quartermaster general. The carriage clip-clopped down streets dressed in autumnal finery. The wind through the open window was fresh but lovely. Reginald sat across from his sister, dressed in his formal day garb of dark frock coat, top hat, frilled shirt, vest, and tight black breeches. He hummed a jaunty tune.

“You certainly do look like a dandy,” she observed. “I thought you hated dressing up.”

“Father said it was important, this meeting, so I thought I should look my best.” He gave her the lopsided grin that split his features with merriment. “It seems we’re all doing things we’d rather not these days.”

“However can you be like this?”

He didn’t ask what she meant. “Would it do any good if I worried?”

“No more than it does me. But I can’t stop.”

“Ah, but you’re smart enough that your worrying just might lead you to think of something good. Me, I’d come up with a right corker and burn the place down around our ears.”

“Don’t talk like that, Reggie. You’re not slow-witted.”

“I know exactly what I am, dear sister. I am a pair of strong arms and a willing heart. I have enough sense to know I’ll never be as smart as you. And you know what? It doesn’t bother me a whit. Why should it, when I have you to worry for the both of us?”