In the next ten years, he had traveled all over the world on his own ships, had agents in all principal ports; he had expanded his father's holdings in Virginia, with great tobacco plantations; to this he had added a Baltimore and a Philadelphia shipyard.
He had built a mansion at Sixth and High Streets in Philadelphia; his big offices were opposite those of Robert Morris on Front Street, across from the London Coffee House, where the merchants of the city gathered. He was accounted one of the most considerable shareholders in Stephen Girard's stone-pillared bank, and one of the most eligible bachelors in the States. He was a famous horseman, and an excellent shot, and considered women as a man's pleasant diversion in his few leisure hours.
Douglass had known this much and was learning only a bit more. First that he had a deep drawl—the South, she supposed. Second that he was very handsome, with deep blue eyes and a cleft in his square chin.
"American men are big," Douglass said, watching him as he paced back and forth.
He stopped in his stride. "What?" he asked, frowning. "I have been trying to tell you, sister, that—" he stopped m front of her chair; there was a knock on the door and a man came in to clear away the supper things. Joshua waited till he had gone.
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"I was listening, sir," Douglass said. "It's just that I was thinking that American men—you're not listening."
"You're not making sense, sister," Joshua said. "The point I am trying to make is this. Simply this." He drew a deep breath, as if to draw upon patience. "There is no money for you due from Harris and Company."
Douglass leaned forward. "But Joshua," she said.
He looked surprised at the use of his first name. His "sister" had been avoiding first names.
"You don't mind if I use your first name? I should like to."
"Of course not," he said hastily. "Your friendliness gratifies me, Douglass."
"You say that too politely," she said, and rose, too, walking over to the window to look out on the narrow street. She turned slowly from the window. "Then there isn't any money for me? None at all?"
"No, sister." The word "money" seemed to make his blue eyes remote.
"But Joshua," she said, coming toward him. "How can that be? When you are so wealthy a man?"
He said briefly, "But you don't have a share in me, sister. You have an eventual share in Harris and Co."
Douglass sighed. "That is true. You are so logical." She smiled then, and sat down on the couch, curling up like a kitten. "All the money goes back in the business?"
"Yes," he said, as if he were delighted she had finally understood. "After the war it will be different. Now we need every penny." Then he added stiffly, "I am sorry about James. I didn't know him very well, as you know; I had hardly even seen him; he was ten years younger than I, and in England most of his life. But I am sorry—" he hesitated—"Douglass." There was a moment of silence and then Joshua went right on. "So, foreseeing this difficulty, from your letters, I booked passage for you, as I said before."
"You have arranged everything," Douglass said. "I heard, Joshua. I am to five with you." Once more she rose, and put a hand on his arm, looking up into his face. "It is most generous of you."
"Then that's settled." He made a move to turn away.
Douglass said, "You said there was a rumor Captain Barney was returning, too." She paused. "Did you confirm it?"
"I want to see Barney now," he said. "If you'll excuse me, sister. Oh, and I hope your rooms suit you."
40
"They're very lovely," she said. "Truly, Joshua, I am most grateful." She looked down at her own hand on his arm. Then she said, "But I cannot even tip the maid." She smiled and fetched a big sigh.
Joshua looked grave. He reached in his coat and pulled out a wallet, from which he extracted a number of five-pound notes. Douglass looked at them with wonder.
"I know you said you'd pay my expenses, too, Joshua, but I didn't—"
"What?"
"Didn't expect that much."
He said, sternly, "Did you think I was miserly?"
"A little near," she admitted.
He frowned and explained: "Lord God, sister, it's the company's money I don't like spending now. Not my own." He thought of explaining further that when her interest on her shares could be paid it would amount to hundreds of pounds. He decided this course would be very unwise, and he smiled slightly. "Goodnight, sister." Her voice reached him as he picked up his stick and made for the door.
"Goodnight, Joshua."
He walked rapidly down the stairway to the ground floor. "Your hackney is waiting, sir," he was told.
Joshua stopped at the side of the waiting hackney. "I want you to find Captain Barney for me."
The driver grinned. "Yes, sir. I know where he is. He always stays at Fraulein Schmidt's."
Joshua got in and slammed the door. The driver jerked on the reins and the hackney started off through the streets of Brussels. Joshua was hoping he would find Barney still at supper.
He did. Joshua came striding through the door, past the small square hall, and into the dining room, with its German waiters and its rows of hanging copper pots on which the flames of the big fireplaces gleamed. Joshua didn't blame Barney for liking this place. The clientele was strictly male.
Barney was sitting at a round table with a heavy white linen cloth, near the fireplace. A wheeled cart at his side supported a chafing dish, in which the bewhiskered waiter was deftly making crepes-suzette, rolling and powdering them, and setting them at Barney's place. And the whole room smelled delightfully of coffee. Barney looked up to see Joshua standing in front of him. Politely he rose.
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"I am Joshua Harris, Captain Barney," Joshua said.
Barney held out his hand. "How is your beautiful sister-in-law?"
"Thank you, entirely well," said Joshua, dismissing that subject briefly. "Allow me to say I'm damned glad you are here."
"Thank you," said Barney. "Won't you sit down and join me in a cup of coffee? I'd seen you before, but we'd never met, I believe."
"No," said Joshua. "I'd like coffee, and I brought you a small token, let us say from one American to another." He laid an oilskin carefully on the table. Barney reached for it in delight, opened it and sniffed appreciatively. Joshua watched him and smiled.
"It's been ten months since I even had a smell of Virginia tobacco," Barney said. He raised his voice. "Two pipes!"
His waiter dived for the rack of clay pipes on the wall, extracted two, and came back to the table. Barney handed him the precious packet. "Spill any and I'll throttle you," he said genially.
The waiter hobbled his head and said, "Yes, sir." He filled both pipes, handed them to the gentlemen, and lighted them. Barney sucked in the smoke appreciatively. "Now we can talk," he said, contentedly. He noted Joshua's swordstick, with its tortoise-shell heavy knob. "Paris?" he asked.
"Paris," Joshua answered.
Joshua leaned back in his chair. "I'll come direct to the point, sir. There are rumors flying all over the city that you intend to return to the States, and resume your privateering. Also, it is said that you need money."
Barney responded noncommittally, "I've been offered a ship building at Brest."
"So I hear. However, I can do better than that, Captain Barney. I can offer you a ship already built and waiting for you at Corunna. Further, I'll obtain passage for you, which is difficult to get, aboard the 'South Carolina,' under command of Captain Gillon, sailing for Corunna day after tomorrow."
"I see," said Barney. "What is this ship?"
Joshua once more reached in his pocket and brought out his leather wallet. "She's the 'Pomona,' " he said, as he opened the wallet. "I've five hundred pounds here for you." He laid the notes on the table. "The 'Pomona' made her maiden voyage from the States last month. She is an armed barque of twenty guns. She's escorting two merchantmen. Her captain is ill. He will not be able to make the return voyage as her commanding officer."