Rough Passage to London(129)
“Leslie, I am not thinking clearly. I have a great many business obligations to catch up with. Would you excuse me? Don’t rush off. Please finish your sherry and make yourself at home here in the library.”
He turned to leave, but then, as if he had abruptly changed his mind, he walked back toward Leslie and Morgan, his eyes now cold and businesslike.
“Oh, Captain Morgan, I wondered if you wouldn’t mind giving me just a few minutes of your time before you leave. I would greatly value your advice. I need to consult with you on a business matter. Leslie, would you mind terribly if I take Morgan away for just a short time.”
“Not at all, your Lordship.”
“Good man!” said Lord Nanvers, patting the artist on his back.
Nanvers led Morgan into a small room across the hallway from the library, which he clearly used as an office. A large mahogany desk occupied most of the room with just a few straight-backed wooden chairs. On the walls, hung a painting of a sugar windmill on a hilltop with bare-breasted slave women walking alongside a donkey cart amidst some palm trees, an old map of Africa and the West Indies, and an oil painting, presumably by Landseer, of a pack of hunting dogs surrounding the carcass of a recently killed elk. Nanvers closed the door behind them and turned to Morgan with that same cold stare.
His menacing eyes bore into Morgan’s face.
“Enough pleasantries! What is your game, Captain?” Nanvers hissed fiercely, his eyebrows rising.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Lord Nanvers,” replied Morgan defensively.
“We have always understood each other well, Captain. It appears we both share something. Why don’t you tell me what you think you know about Ophion.”
Steeling himself for a confrontation, Morgan answered in a calm tone with a sharp edge to it.
“I have only suspicions and questions, Lord Nanvers. That is all.”
“I like questions,” exclaimed Nanvers with a dry, haughty laugh. “But as for suspicions, Captain . . .”
Nanvers paused as he walked around the room. Morgan thought about what he should do. He wondered about excusing himself and backing away from this confrontation. He considered staying silent, refusing to reveal what he knew. But his curiosity, anger, and a certain mindless courage combined in convincing him to take a risk. He cleared his throat.
“Do you deny, Lord Nanvers, that you have been pursuing certain illegal opportunities right under the nose of the Royal Navy’s admirals?”
“What kind of opportunities are you referring to?” Nanvers replied, his mouth twisting to one side. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
The chilly, arrogant tone in the man’s voice was too much for Morgan. He felt an unknown force boil up inside of him. He threw all caution aside. Despite his emotional state, he spoke evenly and clearly, as if he had been rehearsing this moment for most of his life. His eyes never wavered as they locked on to Lord Nanvers’s face.
“What I have surmised is that you are the head of a well-established slaving syndicate called Ophion Trading Partners, and you have used at least one of Her Majesty’s warships stationed off of Africa to promote your illegal business dealings in the slave trade. Your associates are responsible for murdering hundreds of Africans and no doubt countless numbers of sailors, including Abraham Morgan. That would be my brother, who as you well know, I have been looking for . . .”
Nanvers cut him off. His face had grown red. “Slaving syndicate,” he snorted. “What utter nonsense, Morgan. You are such an innocent, like some of these Wilberforce reformers here in London. Why do you object, Captain, to something the world needs? Cheaper sugar. Cheaper clothing. You should know that is what everyone wants in today’s world. To do that you need cheap labor, and there is no more efficient way to provide that largesse than with slavery. Who else will do that work but the Africans? At least America is doing that right. Your country is indeed the land of the free, Morgan . . . free labor, that is.”
Nanvers laughed and resumed his walk around the room, his jowly face more serious. He stopped to pick up his walking cane and began slapping his palm with the gilded handle. Morgan noticed it was a serpent’s head. Nanvers suddenly whirled around and turned to Morgan, speaking in a subdued, hushed tone.
“What if I am running a slave syndicate, Morgan? Isn’t that what the hypocritical world wants? Even some of these navy admirals you speak of, they know it is useless to stop slaving. They can try, but it can’t be done. It is as simple as the laws of supply and demand, Morgan. As a ship captain, you should know those laws.”
Morgan hardly dared to breathe as he listened to this startling confession from a man he thought he knew.