Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“Are you all right?”

Aurora walked toward the front windows, pulled aside the heavy draperies, and stared out. “I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” she said.

“It does not look like rain,” Giana said, eyeing her mother. “Why does it matter in any case?”

“I am going to Windsor for lunch,” Aurora said, and walked past her daughter out of the drawing room, her tea unnoticed.

“To lunch? With whom?”

Aurora turned at the foot of the stairs. “With Damien,” she said.

Giana stared after her mother, too confounded to question her further. She turned an astonished eye toward Lanson. “Who is Damien?”

“A gentleman who drives a very smart brougham, Miss Giana.”

“Mother,” Giana called after Aurora. “We must leave in an hour.”

Giana cocked her head to one side and tugged on her left earlobe, as she always did when she was concentrating. Drew smoothed his bushy side whiskers, the one extravagance he allowed himself as the head assistant to Mrs. Van Cleve, and waited for her reply to Thomas Hardesty, her mother’s partner. “I do not understand, Thomas,” Giana said, frowning down at the stack of papers in front of her, “why you are not even considering the proposal from Pierre LeClerc. Believe me, I can answer any questions you may have. I’ve had the wretched offer under my nose for nearly a week now—even under my pillow.”

“You have prepared a thorough assessment of his proposal, Giana, and I agree that the numbers look more than gratifying. But have you discovered anything about LeClerc’s reputation and business practices?”

“So far I know only what his business representatives say of him here in London, and that, of course, is positive. I have assigned Draber to check into his financial position, and Draber is reporting that he is worth a great deal of money.”

“Do you remember that French ship Alliance that sank in a storm off Ceylon last year?” Aurora asked her daughter.

“Yes, of course. It is in my report.”

“All hands were lost, and the two dozen passengers whose misfortune it was to be on the ship,” Thomas continued for her. “It was insured to the hilt through Lloyd’s. In fact, Oran Dinwitty handled it. He discovered that the Alliance was a solid ship and the storm that sank her was not all that severe. He suspected mischief, but could not prove anything.”

“Certainly Oran Dinwitty knows what he’s about,” Giana said.

“There is more,” Aurora said. “We discovered through our Captain Mareaux, who was in Colombo at the time the Alliance was in port, that she had already dropped her cargo, contrary to what LeClerc purported, and money had changed hands, money that was probably not on the Alliance when she was lost, but snug on an English ship.”

“There was one survivor, the second mate,” Thomas said. “A man called Jacques Lambeau. Oddly enough, he was found murdered some six months ago in Marseilles. His style of living until his death was rather splendid, from what Captain Mareaux could find out from a former crew member in France.”

“You mean,” Giana said, gazing from her mother t

o Thomas Hardesty, “that LeClerc paid this Jacques Lambeau to sink the Alliance with everyone aboard? And then had the man killed?”

“It would appear so,” Thomas said. “ Unfortunately, there isn’t proof, but suffice it to say that Lloyd’s will not touch another LeClerc ship. That is why LeClerc has made us such a grand proposal for a share of the Van Cleve shipping line. His aim is to merge with us as a silent partner, throwing all his ships under the Van Cleve umbrella and name. As a partner, he would have the good name of Van Cleve to cover him, and the right to retain his own crews. And he would be a partner in one of the largest shipping lines in Europe.”

Aurora shrugged. “Doubtless LeClerc believed we wouldn’t find out about his troubles with Lloyd’s. But we have found out. Were we to accept LeClerc’s offer, we would likely find ourselves as uninsurable as he is.”

“Then there is certainly no profit to be made there,” Giana said.

“No indeed,” Thomas agreed. “Now, if you two agree, I will see to it that LeClerc is informed that we have no interest in pursuing any business relation with him. As to the additional evidence we have uncovered—” He turned to Drew. “Would you see to it, Drew, that the French authorities are informed? There is nothing very substantial, but perhaps it will interest them.”

Giana sat back for moment in her tall leatherbacked chair, a smile about her mouth. She had just learned a valuable lesson, one, obviously, that her mother and Thomas had prepared for her. “Now that you two have left me spinning in the wind, I presume you have an alternative to LeClerc.”

Thomas grinned at her and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Indeed we do, Giana. We’ve received a proposal we think worthy of serious consideration. It comes to us from America—New York, to be precise—from a wealthy shipbuilder, Alexander Saxton. You will see that his offer encompasses far more than does LeClerc’s.”

“But first, Thomas,” Giana said, amusement in her voice, “you must tell me all about Mr. Saxton’s cook. Have you discovered that she has a fondness for poisoned mushrooms?”

“Well, I don’t know about the cook or the mushrooms, but Saxton is third-generation shipping. His grandfather, George Saxton, founded a small shipyard in Boston before the turn of the century, and his grandson learned the business from him and from his own father, Nicholas, from the time he could walk. Mrs. Amelia Saxton, his mother, died when he was fourteen, his father some four years later. He has one younger brother, Delaney Saxton, something of a dark horse. All we know about him is that he is somewhere in California, caught up in the gold rush. It appears the elder Saxton is possessed of several qualities his father did not have: he is extraordinarily ambitious and he has both cunning and imagination. When he was twenty-two, he married Laura Nielson, the daughter of Franklin Nielson, a Quaker gentleman who owned one of the largest whaler yards in northeastern America. With one stroke, Saxton gained a good deal of capital from his early marriage, and used it to expand his father’s shipyard.”

“He sounds rather mercenary to me,” Giana said, “married for money when he was but twenty-two.”

“The word is ‘ambitious,’ Giana,” Aurora said.