Fortune's Flames (10 page)

As Maren was replacing them, Beth asked softly, “Does it really matter if the rumors are true or false? Some people are spreading them and others are believing them. Sell this place, Maren, and start over.”

“I can’t, Beth. I have a partner, and I would need his agreement to sell. I don’t even know who he is.”

“I don’t understand.”

Maren explained her curious and frustrating situation. “That’s why Eric couldn’t sell the Lady Luck to cover Papa’s debts.”

“What debts?” Beth inquired. “Your father was one of the few who was surviving. Papa said it was because he had so many local contracts that weren’t affected by the blockade.” When Maren looked bewildered, Beth explained, “You know, supplying restaurants and stores with food and goods. And this place was always busy.”

“But Eric said Papa was broke, that he owed lots of people. He said he sold nearly everything to pay Papa’s debts and to keep the firm going.”

Lilibeth Payne was as baffled as her friend. She reflected a few minutes, then asked pointedly, “Have you ever considered that dear Eric is pulling another of his pranks, or simply lying through his teeth?”

Maren’s expression revealed her suspicions, and
she admitted, “Lately I have. Too many strange facts have been surfacing since I returned. If he were in New Orleans, I would ask for some explanations, but he sailed on the eleventh and won’t return for six to eight weeks. Papa trusted Eric enough to give him full authority over James Shipping, so I regret doubting him.”

“But your father was such a good man, Maren. He believed the best of everyone. I’ve often wished he were my father. But your cousin is clever. Eric could have fooled him or betrayed him.”

Maren asked unexpectedly, “Was Payne’s Point damaged during the hurricane that killed my parents last year?”

“What hurricane? Your parents died of some kind of swamp fever.”

Maren stared at her friend. “But Eric said…”

“Eric said what?” the girl pressed, her gaze filled with suspicion.

As Maren revealed what he had told her on the ship, Beth’s astonishment increased with each sentence. “There was no hurricane, was there?” Maren finally asked, her heart thudding painfully.

Beth responded sadly, “No, Maren, there wasn’t.”

Maren paced her room and did not go downstairs that night. She had discovered many distressing things. She had not been invited to the homes of “friends,” not because her parents were dead and she had been away for so long, but because people were
gossiping about her. Eric had altered her partner’s records and had stolen money from him. Worse, Eric had lied about her parents’ deaths. What is going on? she wondered. Suddenly she felt alone, and alarmed.

Far away in Washington, Jared Morgan had reported to President Madison, Secretary of War Monroe, and Secretary of Navy Crowinshield. Peter Thomas, the spy from the
Martha J,
had been present. The five had discussed Jared’s recent missions and victories, and what they needed him to do next. They had speculated on James Slade’s voyage to London, on his motives and on what had been in the boxes he had delivered to Eric James’s plantation in Jamaica. They had talked of the grim rumor that the pirates who frequented New Orleans, and the Indian tribes around it, were joining with the British. Then they had discussed the possibility of a slave revolt. Peter Thomas had even said he wondered if Maren Slade, James Slade’s
wife,
was involved in whatever was going on!

After pacing his hotel room for an hour, Jared halted near a window and stared outside. His keen mind was racing. If Maren was married to James Slade, why had she dallied so wantonly with him? What was it she had said aboard the ship? Yes, he remembered: “I can think of no better fate than becoming your willing captive.” Had she been enticing him to take her with him so she could spy on him, use him, entrap him? She had claimed to be
almost destitute and had pretended to be vulnerable, but she wasn’t. And what of her behavior when he had confronted her in Jamaica when she was supposed to have been in Martinique? She had led him on, then had warned her husband to flee. She had bewitched him and duped him. By damn, she owed him!

After leaving Jamaica, Peter Thomas had overheard James Slade tell Horben Wolfe that Maren had a big part to play in their scheme, and that she’d already proven herself clever and trustworthy by fooling that privateer. That report had stung Jared.

Unfortunately, during the three days when Eric had been in port, Peter Thomas had been too weakened by dysentery to go into New Orleans and spy on “James and Maren Slade.” But by the time the ship had docked in Baltimore, Peter had been well enough to purchase another crewman’s shoreleave so he could ride the thirty-seven miles into Washington and meet with the President. Afterward, he had hurried back to Baltimore to continue his observation of “James Slade.”

After lunch on Friday, Maren went to visit Eric’s younger brother at the office of James Shipping. She had waited long enough to see if her cousin was evading her. She needed to learn what, if anything, Marc knew about Eric’s schemes.

She greeted the young man exuberantly. “Marc. You’ve been very naughty to avoid me.”

Marc James whirled about, knocking over several things. “M-Maren, what are y-you doing here?” he asked.

Maren realized that her cousin was unsettled by this surprise visit. Good, she decided. He might let something slip. “I’ve been home for more than two weeks, yet I’ve only seen you twice, and both times on my first day in New Orleans.” As she eyed him furtively, she remarked, “This is the first time I’ve visited Papa’s business since I returned. His office has changed.”

“It’s Eric’s office now. But you can’t see him today; he’s gone to Baltimore,” Marc told her nervously.

“I know. Why haven’t you been to Lady Luck to visit me? You don’t seem glad to have me back. Are you angry with me? Did I get you into trouble with Eric? I didn’t tell him about your slip.”

“I’ve been busy since Eric left.”

“With the blockade, how much work is there to do?” she teased. “Are you in charge while he’s away?”

“Not really,” Marc confessed, lowering his gaze. “I just watch the office and send customers to Mr. Andrews at the wharf.”

“Why doesn’t Eric train you to handle things while he’s away? With a little help and patience, you could learn to run the business for him.”

“Eric says I’m not smart enough. He says I would mess things up. He’s right,” Marc added quickly. “I ruined a whole order trying to show him I could help out. He was real mad.”

Maren thought it sad that Marc believed he was so incompetent, and she found it cruel of Eric to keep him that way. However, her younger cousin was so frightened that he kept revealing things without meaning to do so. “You work all day, but surely you’re off at night. Why not join me for dinner?”

“Eric told me to stay out of Lady Luck so I wouldn’t cause problems for him and for you. I don’t know how to play cards. He said I would make your customers nervous by watching them, that people don’t like to be observed when they’re betting. And he says I’m clumsy. I might knock things over and make
people real mad.”

“I didn’t know about that, Marc. I suppose Eric could be right, but I’ll bet I could teach you to play cards. At least we could visit sometimes. Wouldn’t you like that?” she asked as if she were speaking to a child.

“I suppose,” he replied sullenly. “But let’s wait for Eric to return; then we’ll ask him if it’s all right.”

“Do you do everything Eric says?” Maren asked.

“Course I do,” he quickly replied, fear dancing in his eyes.

“Why, Marc? You’re smart enough to think for yourself.”

“I’m not,” he argued. “Ask Eric; he’ll tell you I’m not smart.”

A well-dressed gentleman called in from the doorway just then. “Could you please tell me where to find a Mr. Andrews?” he asked.

“He’s in the warehouse at the wharf,” Marc responded.

“Where is that, young man? I’m from upriver.”

“I’ll show you,” Marc said obediently. He turned to Maren and told her he had to leave.

“I’ll wait here for you,” she declared. “I’m not finished with our visit.”

Marc seemed reluctant to leave her in Eric’s office. “You should come back later. Mr. Andrews might have some work for me to do.”

“If you’re not back within thirty minutes, I’ll lock the door and leave. Since I have nothing else to do this afternoon, I can wait.”

When her cousin lingered, Maren said sternly, “Show the gentleman where to find Mr. Andrews. You’re wasting his valuable time. Go on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Marc responded.

Maren watched the two men until they rounded a corner. Then she locked the office door. She hoped Eric had not changed the safe’s combination. Since the numbers matched the month and day of her mother’s birthday, she could hardly forget them. She twirled the dial as quickly as her quivering fingers would allow, then yanked on the heavy door. Nothing. She frowned.

She coaxed, “Try again, Maren, maybe you missed a notch.”

This time the safe opened, and she smiled. She searched the ledgers and papers, but found nothing suspicious or incriminating. No doubt Eric kept his important papers elsewhere. Suddenly she wondered where Eric lived. She hadn’t been told, nor had she asked. As she lifted the last stack of papers, she noticed a ribbon-bound set of letters beneath them. Lifting the packet, she saw that the letters were addressed to Miss Maren James. They had been written by her parents during her absence….

Maren was in a quandary. If she took them, Eric might notice and realize she had been in the safe. If she didn’t, she would never know what they said. They belonged to her, but she didn’t want to alert him to her knowledge of the safe’s combination. Suddenly she grinned. She could read the letters and
replace them before Eric’s return. She stuffed them into her reticule, locked the safe, and left the office.

Maren settled herself on the sofa in her suite at Lady Luck. She lifted the first letter and opened it slowly, praying she was ready for this task. She read only ten letters before she was forced to halt for a time. Closing her eyes, she reflected on days gone by, remembering her parents. She recalled books they had discussed, plays they had seen, events they had shared.

Maren recalled the day her mother had questioned her feelings for Daniel. As in their many talks before that one, they had discussed love, sex, duty to one’s self and to one’s heritage, and other people’s behavior. Maren had told her mother that she wanted to marry Daniel, and it had been true at the time because it had seemed like the best thing to do at that point in her life. Her mother had advised her to marry for love, not wealth or position or responsibility, not even to please her grandparents in London. Guilt now overwhelmed Maren, for she had agreed to marry for those very reasons. Until Jared had opened her eyes to love, she had not imagined truly winning her heart’s desire.

Maren was mystified as to why Eric had kept the letters from her, especially since they spoke so highly of him. Had he withheld them to “surprise” her as he had with the news of Lady Luck? Or did he think
they would serve him better on another day? Since the envelopes had never been sealed, she could not tell whether Eric had read these missives, but she assumed that he had. But why did he keep them, unless he intended to give them to her? If not, he would have burned them long ago.

“Papa was very smart, so how did Eric fool him?” Maren murmured pensively. Then she chided herself, “You’ll drive yourself mad trying to figure out Eric’s behavior.”

So far, all of the letters had praised Eric’s hard work and the growth of his character. Her parents had referred to the many happy times they had shared with their daughter, but they had also mentioned that Eric had moved into the townhouse with them and that he often spent time at the plantation, trying to learn how it was run.

Her father had written, “Eric is becoming like a son to me. I don’t know what I would do without him. Much as I hate to fault my own brother, John never gave this boy a chance. I’ve watched Eric mature since he’s been here, and I’m very proud of him, Maren. You will be too. I can see love and gratitude in his eyes because of what we’re doing for him, and I’m pleased. He can’t seem to do enough for us. He even embarrasses me by working harder than I do.”

Another letter said, “When this war is over, I won’t have the slightest qualm about leaving the firm in Eric’s hands while we visit you and Daniel. He’s kept my business from sinking on more than one
occasion. I’ve tried to reward him, but he refuses to accept payment. I honestly believe the only thing he wants is to prove himself. Too bad John and Elizabeth aren’t here to see the man he’s become.”

The following missive had more to say about her cousin. “Every day Eric tries to persuade me to run the blockade, but I think it’s too risky. Others have tried and failed miserably. He’s purchased a raggedy ship, and hired a crew with his own money to prove to me that he can break through the British line. I won’t be like John was about that horse race. I told Eric if he succeeded, we would send out one of my ships.”

And the next one revealed even more. “He made it, Maren! He sailed to the islands and back—safely. He exchanged goods with foreign ships and made more than enough to cover his expenses. It looks as if James Shipping might make it through this war after all, thanks to Eric. Mercy, he’s stubborn and persistent, just like me. He ordered us to keep writing and promised to get these letters to you one day. Knowing Eric, he’ll find a way. I wish we dared to visit London, but the islands are as far as we should risk sailing right now.”

Then Maren came upon a page written by her mother. “I slipped up on Eric crying the other day. It broke my heart to hear him scolding God for giving him John as a father instead of Cameron. He’s been hurt badly, Maren, and I think it’s good for him to live as we do for a change. He gets kinder and more thoughtful every day. More and more I can see your
father rubbing off on him. They enjoy each other’s company, and I must say it’s been delightful having him with us, Maren. He’s done your father so much good. They spend nearly all day together. It warms me to witness the love and respect they have for each other. Eric is a very special young man. He’s had a hard time, but he opens up to us a little more each week. Cameron is strong, but it’s been wonderful for him to have Eric to lean on in hard times.”

The letters went on in much the same vein, which caused Maren to wonder if she was being fair to Eric. She deliberated the…
evidence.
He had saved the firm, had worked hard for it, so wasn’t it natural for him to feel as if it were his? He hadn’t stolen Lady Luck from her, nor had he destroyed these letters. He had given her an expensive necklace to cover some of her losses. He had turned over the money in the bank, even though it was short by several thousand, and he had risked his life and ship to rescue her and to help America’s war effort. They had been separated for years and they both had changed. Perhaps she shouldn’t put so much weight on Marc’s words and behavior. Perhaps Lilibeth Payne’s opinions were biased; Beth had never liked Eric. Perhaps she herself was blaming him too much for her losses. After all, his decisions had caused them. Perhaps some of her suspicions were petty or groundless. Eric might have a good explanation for each of her charges against him.

“Oh, Eric, if only I could trust you… Either you cleverly duped my parents, or I’m fooling myself
badly. Lordy, which is it?” she fretted.

Maren lit most of the candles in both rooms to chase away the rapidly increasing shadows. She would finish the letters tomorrow, then replace them. It would be interesting to see whether Eric passed them along to her. She concealed the two stacks, one read and the other unread, in her bedroom.

It was late, so Maren bathed and dressed quickly. Needing her mood lifted, she wore the rose-colored gown and secured her dark hair in a chignon. Perhaps she should have a red dress made to match the ruby necklace, as Eric had suggested on the ship. No, she decided, recalling the gossip about her wearing “flaming red gowns.” She recalled that Evelyn Sims had talked with her about new gowns, and wondered if there was any connection with the gossip circulating about her wardrobe. It might be a good idea to give that woman a sweetly laced warning, she thought.

That evening Maren ached for some distraction from the problems which plagued her. She played poker at several tables before joining the same four men who’d challenged her to play on her first evening at Lady Luck. She did not realize she was unconsciously accepting the previous challenge of one of them to prove herself, but tonight she did need to do that, to herself and to others.

After winning two hands, the man who’d challenged her scoffed, “I told you, girl, I’ve never seen the day when a twit like you could beat me. Why
don’t you go back to the kitchen where you belong? I’ll bet you can handle pots better than you handle cards. Want me to prove it again?”

The other three men scolded him and apologized to Maren for his rude behavior. But she smiled genially and replied, “Give it a try, sir.”

This time, Maren intended to concentrate on the game. She desperately wanted to beat the arrogant snake across from her. As the antes were paid and play began, the card game drew attention. After a series of passes, raises, calls, and draws, it was time for a showdown.

“Well?” Maren’s obnoxious challenger said with a sneer, as he looked at the large pile of money on the table. He had insisted they play with cash instead of chips.

Only three players remained in the game. As their hands were revealed, one man had a full house; the offensive gambler laid down four of a kind, grinning triumphantly; and Maren gracefully and nonchalantly spread out a straight flush. Only a royal flush could have bettered it.

Her competitor’s face became redder than the hearts on Maren’s cards. He quickly downed his drink, then said loudly, “You baited me, girl. I think you cheated. One of you men check those cards.”

Dan Myers came to stand at Maren’s side, but she clasped his hand to signal that she would handle this repulsive man. “I did not bait you, sir, and I never cheat. I think you’ve had enough liquor for a whole week and enough cards for tonight. If you desire to
come here again, leave your crude behavior at home. And,” Maren added, “I’m not a girl.”

“You can’t tell me how much to drink or order me to leave. I’ve been playing cards and socializing here for years. If you persist in this, none of my friends will ever come here again, and you need us.”

“Dan, will you kindly show this…man to the door. Tell Ned and Harry that he isn’t allowed in here again.”

“Afraid I’ll whip your pretty ass next time?” the irate loser shouted.

The house fell silent, and Maren stared at the man, wondering if he was as drunk as he appeared. Frankly, she didn’t think so. In fact, she believed he was intentionally creating a scene. “Look around, sir. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Walk out like a man, or I’ll have my guards toss you out.”