Betrayal of the Cloak

By Scott Stanley

Former Navy JAG officer Charlotte Morris is hit by tragedy when her English grandmother, who is her closest friend, dies unexpectedly. Now, Charley must travel to Britain and sort out the details of her grandmothers estate. But what begins as a routine trip soon takes a dangerous turn when Charley uncovers startling new information.

Her grandmother held a secret that Charley now claims as her ownone that points to a centuries-old mystery that could rewrite American history. Charleys mundane life as a government attorney is turned upside-down when she and two friends embark on the pursuit for a fortune in missing gold.

Charley has become a treasure hunter, and her adventure takes her from London to New York and even to her quaint childhood home in Connecticut. Soon the three friends find themselves in serious danger and the victims of a treacherous and sinister twist. Will they find the goldor become victims of its cursed past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Mar 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781458214607

Scott Stanley

Scott Stanley is a retired naval intelligence officer who served worldwide over a twenty-eight year career. He is currently Associate Dean for Homeland Security and Criminal Justice at Everest University in Colorado Springs. He and his wife, Kelle, have two sons and two daughters.

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SCOTT STANLEY

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Copyright © 2014 Scott M. Stanley.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-1459-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1461-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1460-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014903399

Abbott Press rev. date: 2/27/2014

CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

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18

19

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32

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A fter serving for twenty-eight years as a Naval Intelligence Officer and following his retirement in 2010, Scott Stanley turned to academics. He was an on-line adjunct instructor teaching graduate school courses in Homeland Security and Strategic Intelligence at the University of Colorado, Colorado Springs before becoming an Associate Dean at Everest University On line.

His desire to become a writer began almost three decades ago, but was delayed because of his military career and the commitment to serving his country. During that time, he and his family traveled and lived abroad, spending many years experiencing different cultures, peoples and places. It is from those rich life experiences, and his love of history, that Scott has drawn the essentials that he uses in his stories, and in this book in particular.

Scott and his wife Kelle have been married for twenty-eight years and currently live in Colorado Springs, Colorado. They couldn’t be more proud of their four children, Matthew, Sarra, Joshua and Emma, who are the greatest blessings among many that God has given them.

To my wife and partner for life Kelle

and our children Matt, Sarra, Josh and Emma

These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in the crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.

- Thomas Paine, The American Crisis, 1776

In recognition of all of our Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, Airmen and Coast Guardsmen past and present, and their families. A grateful nation salutes you as the heroes and patriots that you are.

1

January 1775

T he morning sky was unusually gray and dreary, even for Lo ndon.

‘This damn weather is getting to be a bit tiresome’, he thought as his carriage rounded the corner, approaching the buildings of Parliament and leaving the darkened shape of Westminster Abbey behind.

Lord Jacob Hatfield was not in a good mood. The stout, fat man had been spending far too many hours lately trying to convince his colleagues of the coming danger, all without much success. Now, the depressing weather only served to further deepen his foul disposition.

The black carriage jerked to a sudden halt in front of the steps leading up to the impressive façade.

Good morning, my lord said the footman.

His tone was far too cheerful.

‘What an annoying fellow’ the round, stocky parliamentarian thought.

He grunted a sour acknowledgement as he stepped awkwardly down to the street, clumsily dropping his cane onto the well-worn cobblestones. His gout was more painful than usual lately and the damp air was taking its toll. He swore under his breath, hoping that this morning wasn’t an omen for what today’s agenda would bring.

Good day to you, Jacob! announced his friend and colleague, Lord Harold Benson, from inside the marbled foyer.

Lord Hatfield managed a feeble wave in reply as he slowly ascended the steps with a pronounced limp. Each man had known the other for years and they genuinely liked one another. Lord Hatfield knew that Benson shared his political philosophy, and they were inseparable on most positions which they both considered important to governing. Hatfield drew comfort knowing that his friend Benson was the one reliable ally he could count on for support whenever things needed to get done and he’d be facing strong resistance.

It’s going to be a good day for our side, said Lord Benson, quietly. Indeed, I can sense it. The tall, gaunt man reached out and firmly grabbed Hatfield’s arm through the doorway, shaking it vigorously. Benson’s brown eyes twinkled.

I wish I shared your enthusiasm, responded Lord Hatfield, taking off his hat while being careful not to dislodge his wig. He removed a lace handkerchief from his pocket and swiped it across his brow and around the back of his thick neck. His ruddy, round face was redder than usual, with streams of sweat running down his cheeks. He swiped his hands down rapidly over his coat, determined to banish any wrinkles from the fabric. Jacob Hatfield, balding but still distinguished looking, took great pride in always maintaining a meticulous appearance, and had long ago become oblivious of his constant self-grooming which even his friends could find annoying.

Tell me, what makes you so certain, Harold?

New correspondence arrived from Boston after you’d gone home last night. Not good news I’m afraid.

Oh?

Yes, quite. The situation there has deteriorated considerably since word last came in October. The assembly’s insistence on asserting itself as the duly chosen representatives of the people’s voice in Massachusetts has resulted in yet another confrontation. This time, the governor had to arrest two of their leaders. Lord Benson became pale as he spoke and lowered his voice to a near whisper.

Lord Hatfield was intrigued at the news. Bent over in a nearly permanent stoop, he picked up his pace as he shuffled along, wanting to get to his office as quickly as possible and hoping they didn’t run into anyone along the way.

The ‘people’s voice’ — indeed! mocked Lord Hatfield in response as he reached the door to his chamber and stepped inside.

"If the people of Massachusetts, and their rabblerousing leaders, spent more of their time and energy remembering what they owe to the Crown instead of behaving like spoiled children, they’d be more suitable subjects of the king. And much more productive, I might add."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down.

"Good God, don’t they realize what this country has sacrificed for them – for all of the colonies - over the last twenty years? Why, it was just fifteen years ago the damn French and their savage allies were at their very throats. As subjects of this government, our American brethren deserved the full protection of the Crown and so it was rightly afforded to them, Hatfield said indignantly. This country did its part, blast them! Do they now think that all of that came without cost?! You and I both know, Harold, that the treasury is greatly depressed because of what was done to protect those ungrateful people." Lord Hatfield’s eyes were now bulging out of their sockets and his hands began to tremor.

Of course America should be grateful, Jacob. No one in Parliament disagrees with that, Lord Benson said softly, trying to calm his friend. And, thank God, there are many in the colonies who would gladly disavow the malcontents in Boston and Philadelphia and show their loyalty to His Majesty by paying whatever is asked of them. The problem is they are outnumbered. But, as you know, our real problems lie here, he said, pointing to the floor, within these very halls. He sighed deeply.

Lord Hatfield’s shoulders slumped and he slowly walked over to the window. Sadly, you are correct, my friend. There are too many here among us who share the opinions of the American sympathizers in this government. Why, Pitt and Burke —

Lord Benson cut him off. "Yes, but they are also being well countered by Lords Grenville and Townshend in their efforts. Prime Minister North also has much influence when it comes to convincing members in the House of Commons that we are not wrong in continuing the present course. The colonies will, in the end, succumb. But they must first be taught to accept that they bear a burden when it comes to the king providing for their own protection." Benson’s eyes shifted toward his friend, wondering if he was even listening.

Lord Benson continued, sounding more hopeful. At any rate, the good news is that, once these most recent dispatches from Boston are circulated and the growing trend they portend is understood, I am convinced that common ground can be found, here, in Parliament. We must come together, both sides, to prevent circumstances in America from becoming even more intolerable than they already are.

Aye. You’re right, of course, Harold.

Lord Hatfield had been listening in silent resignation, staring blankly out the window, the panes made blurry by the heavy rain now running down them. "They – nay, we - cannot go on like this. Reconciliation and common ground must be found here, in Parliament, to prevent the colonies from embracing rebellion. This country cannot afford another war."

He turned around and looked at Lord Benson. When are the others coming to meet with us?

They should be here any moment, Jacob.

Lord Benson moved over to the window and put his hand gently on the older man’s shoulder, joining him in staring into the deluge outside. A sudden, soft knocking on the door broke the silence.

Come Jacob, they’re here.

Lord Stuart Downing entered the room, his head down, the first to join them. Although he was considerably younger than Lord Benson and Lord Hatfield, it was said by others that, at times, he didn’t have one-tenth of their energy. Downing was even more portly than Hatfield. His rotund frame was supported by two spindly legs which struggled under his massive weight.

He was followed a minute later by Lloyd Greeneville. Serious and stubborn, Greeneville was a man who had never seen a sunny day in his life. He was a huge, muscular man, with an equally large ego which fueled his inner anger and smothered any attempt to see the alternative side to anything. He would never allow his position to waver, not even in the face of the overwhelming evidence that he was wrong.

In one significant way, Greeneville was the exception to the other three, as he was a proud member of the House of Commons and not from the preferred class. He was not particularly well invested in property, nor was he the product of primogeniture. Above all, he was a staunch believer in the law and the inherent rights of every Englishman, which perhaps made him more sympathetic to the patriot cause in New England. Well, sometimes anyway. His position at least made him empathetic to their position.

Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Lord Hatfield’s welcome was subdued. Please, rest yourselves, he said as he gestured toward the chairs around the table.

Lord Downing settled into his usual chair, nearest the fireplace. He was normally reserved, but this morning he was clearly not inclined to be quiet. Before anyone else had even sat down, he spoke up.

I trust everyone here has read of the latest unpleasantness in Boston. he said.

There was a low murmuring of agreement in the room.

Downing continued. "Gentlemen, we cannot ignore what is happening in the colonies any longer. If we do not act, and soon, I fear all will be lost. The Americans have already convened – what are they calling it? Oh yes, their ‘First Continental Congress’, he snickered.

All of these men new that the recent trend by the colonies to establish their own representative governments was a direct and negative response to the Coercive Acts, which had been passed by Parliament just the year prior.

"They even have their own name for the Coercive Acts –the ‘Intolerable’ Acts’!" Downing chided.

Lord Hatfield responded.

"Those measures, in effect for over a year now, were a legitimate response to years of insolence and disrespect for this Parliament. And, what of the Dartmouth, Beaver and Eleanor? Those three ships were attacked in Boston without the slightest provocation by rabble disguised as Mohawk Indians. The wanton destruction of thousands of pounds worth of tea – over three hundred chests mind you - dumped straight into the Boston Harbor a mere month before the Acts were enacted, well, that’s ‘intolerable’! Something had to be done. And we did it. I, for one, am not sorry. Not in the least! Jacob Hatfield’s eyes were burning. As the king himself has said, the die is cast. The colonies must either submit to the Crown’s authority, or they themselves must triumph. There is no middle ground."

Lord Hatfield was one of the leading voices of support in Parliament that had ensured passage of the Coercive Acts the previous January. He was convinced of their righteousness, no less than he was of the correctness of his own actions in promoting them.

But my lord, you must admit that the Acts have not had the desired effect, Lloyd Greeneville said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Indeed, the law successfully closed the port in Boston, and, forcibly replaced the membership of the governor’s counsel there with his own appointees instead of the peoples’ representatives. Are we now to presume astonishment and surprise at the backlash we are witnessing? Is there any wonder the citizens of Boston are upset? The Acts even caused the venue for some trials in the colonies to be moved from there to here, in England, under the questionable theory that the accused would somehow be in want of a fair hearing in America.

"That was – my apologies, is - a legitimate concern," quipped Lord Hatfield.

"Well, it’s certainly not a concern that’s shared by a certain British officer and his men who are alive and free today. They were, after all, successfully defended by Mr. Adams and Mr. Quincy. Were not those very soldiers of ours acquitted by a jury of New England men five years ago, following that unfortunate event in front of the Boston Customs House?" argued Greeneville. He removed his wig and ran a pudgy hand through a shock of wavy red hair.

He continued, pressing home his point.

Despite what the print propagandists in that town misleadingly called a ‘massacre’, I seem to recall that Captain Preston and his men received Mr. Adams’ legal representation without prejudice. Theirs was a fair hearing. And it was provided to them despite the deplorable accusation that they slaughtered innocents in the middle of Boston. Greeneville’s voice rose.

What is your point, sir? Hatfield demanded.

My point is that they received justice, did they not my Lord Hatfield?

Jacob Hatfield remained silent as Greeneville continued speaking.

So, what has changed then, in the short years since? Is there any question that these Acts, on top of the crippling taxes that preceded them, have led the colonies to a sense that their natural rights as Englishmen have been, shall we say, ‘violated’? No sir, I tell you that the pot has boiled over - and with some good reason. Our job is to find a way to put the lid back on it.

Harold Benson came to the defense of his friend Hatfield, his voice indignant.

"Dammit man! The intent of the Coercive Acts was to isolate the radicals in Massachusetts and to get them to submit to the rightful authority of their king and this Parliament! The other colonies would, at the same time, be wisely informed as to not follow in Boston’s footsteps and avoid the error of using that city as a model for similar conduct."

And I say again, my lord, the effect has been the opposite, if not worse, shot back Greeneville. "The Intoler—that is to say, the Coercive Acts - have been widely judged in America as extreme and harsh measures. And, it is not just in Massachusetts where a sense of injustice has taken root, but it has now spread to some of the middling and southern colonies as well. Those who we thought to be voices of moderation and reason, the same men who we assumed would be on our side, many of them have now turned against us. Instead, they are in support of those agitators in Boston."

Lloyd Greenville’s expression relaxed as he took a deep breath.

The greatest danger though, I fear may be even worse, his voice became hushed. "I am told by confidants in New England that there are growing rumors of creating actual secession from this country. As we all know, that would surely mean war – war gentlemen! A war which this country can ill afford, I remind you, given our present circumstances. General Gage is well positioned to engage his men against the rebels at any time, it is true. But my good sirs, I’ve said it before and it still remains true. We cannot afford to spark another long and costly war in America without exploring all other options first. We must find a way to resolve this situation in our favor without blood being spilt or more treasure being spent."

At these last words, Lord Hatfield nodded in agreement.

"I agree with you. There will be, most assuredly, undesirable consequences which await us if something is not done. I believe we are all of like mind in that respect. The Stamp Act, the Townshend Act, and every other damn act we have seen fit to justifiably, he emphasized the word as he said it, impose on the Colonies in order to replenish the vast expenses incurred during the Seven Years War against the French, whether we like it or not, are already baked into the pudding. We cannot un-do them or their effects. Then, shooting an accusing glance at Greeneville, he added dryly, Be those effects intended or unintended."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence around the table.

Lord Hatfield, realizing that he may have overplayed his hand, softened his tone. He held his gaze directly on Greeneville as he spoke, calmer this time.

Although I remain convinced that our motives were correct and honorable in expecting the colonies to repay their just debts in return for their protection against the French, I admit our methods may have contributed to the present situation, which is clearly not to our liking.

He turned to address the other two men.

"Therefore, our friend Mr. Greeneville here is quite right. It is urgent that we – the four of us – find a way to mollify the discontent that exists before it leads to ruinous and irreversible events for this country. All previous or even ongoing attempts to find a remedy have met with failure. Mr. Franklin, who I remind you all is still employed as the representative colonial agent for Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia – and Massachusetts - has toiled in vain these past ten years to reconcile differences between his constituents and the Crown. Meanwhile, the French, Spanish and Dutch – all of them are itching to expand their current interests in America. If war were to come, it wouldn’t be long before one, or all three of them, were courting the Americans and showing themselves willing and able suitors as allies. Britain would soon find itself isolated and in a most unfavorable position indeed."

The others looked at each other grimly.

Therefore, gentlemen, I believe the time has come for us to discuss further the plan which I have already proposed. Lord Hatfield’s voice trailed off and his face looked somber.

Stuart Downing sat up. His back stiffened as he began to speak.

I have considered this…option…of yours Jacob, at length. I believe it remains our best, and perhaps last, hope to avoid war with America.

Greeneville leaned forward in his chair, sensing it was his turn to speak up again.

My lords, you know well that I have expressed my opposition to Prime Minister North many times in the course of my own chamber’s business. His disdain for our American colonies makes me uncomfortable. His dismissiveness of their concerns over what they view as an erosion of their rights as subjects of the king, he made a circular motion around the table with his finger, is at odds with our goal of reconciliation. In my view, the Prime Minister invites separation with our American colonies. Through both his speech and his actions, he seems eager for war.

Lord Downing raised his hand, and then slammed it down on the table.

"But they deserve what they’re getting from the king and from this Parliament. The Americans are deficient in genius, education and fortune – deficient in everything!"

"No sir, they are not. You are wrong." Lloyd Greenville got up from his chair, walked over to the window and stared out at the rain.

"Gentlemen. These people, for the most part, are not rabble. They are aristocrats, merchants, lawyers. They are self-sufficient, making their own furnishings and growing their own food. In a word, they are unique. And, above all, they are certainly not weak." He rammed his walking stick down hard on the floor.

These are facts, whether we choose to believe them or not. I tell you, we are in serious error if we consider the Americans to be mere ‘beasts of burden’, existing merely to carry the royal load, as the Prime Minister would have them bear it.

He paused and looked back at the other faces. All eyes were locked onto him as he continued.

"Many of our American brethren would gladly pay their taxes. However, it is the lack of representation of their persons in this Parliament that is the cause of their unhappiness. That being said, and although I may appear at times to side with them, do not misread me. I have no tolerance for the reckless attitude of the rogues who lead them towards war. Sam Adams. John Hancock. Those two in particular - and others of their ilk - are spurred on in their distasteful conduct no doubt by fame and self-promotion. Which is why I believe with all of my soul, as do you, my Lord Hatfield and evidenced by your plan, that our attention should be focused on those leaders in the colonies who possess more moderate voices. And, rest assured, there are still some, gentlemen. Some of them live in New England, and they are the ones who can most influence events to turn in our favor. There are even many in the southern colonies, too, living far from Beacon Hill, who are still friendly to the Crown. They are men more motivated by a love of greater position and increasing their wealth than rebellion against us. Their loyalty can be bought. And, for a price, I believe they can even be trusted. So, there is still time for us to act. I have been told, and I believe, that these men of reason will see things differently, if only we were to provide them with the right, well, incentive. Therefore, I too, stand in support of Lord Hatfield’s plan."

He leveled his gaze at Jacob Hatfield. Your proposal is most sound, sir.

Lord Hatfield smiled slightly and nodded an acknowledgment of thanks. He now turned to his friend, Harold Benson, and waited.

Lord Benson took a deep breath, and then he exhaled slowly.

We’re holding a rabid mongrel by the ears, Harold Benson said. There’s little question that we don’t like it, but we know we can’t let him go, either. What got us here matters little now, I’m afraid. The only way is forward, and the future demands that we take the action that you, Jacob, have asked us to consider.

Jacob Hatfield smiled in gratitude at Benson’s vote of confidence. He scanned the room and looked each man in the eye, one by one.

If my friend and colleague, Mr. Greeneville, is correct regarding the attitudes of certain parties in America and their willingness to be accommodating, then this plan has a chance. If there are indeed, as his contacts in the colonies inform him, such men of reason and influence in America who can mold public opinion in our favor against the separation of our colonies from Great Britain, then we have no other choice. We must proceed with my plan, as proposed, he said resolutely. If we’re agreed, then I suggest we adjourn. We can reconvene in a fortnight at my home and make final arrangements to initiate our actions. There and then, we can put the course of events into motion. Gentlemen, I look forward to having you as my guests.

With that, the men rose and started toward the door. A sudden, sharp crack of thunder pierced the silence, gently shaking the window glass while a mournful bell from Westminster pealed in the distance.

2

T he next two weeks passed with little interaction between the group. Jacob Hatfield was anxious. He left London a few days before the rest of them, glad to be going home. He loved London, but he treasured his ancestral home, Tudor Glen, even more. It was a thing of grandeur. An imposing structure of stone walls and parapets, it and the land it occupied had been bestowed to Jacob’s great-great-great grandfather, Sir William Hatfield, as a Lancastrian gift from Henry Tudor him self.

Sir William had supported Henry in his claim to the throne over the House of York during the War of the Roses, nearly three hundred years earlier. William had distinguished himself at the Battle of Bosworth in 1485 on Henry Tudor’s behalf, a victory over Richard III which sealed the end of Plantagenet rule once and for all. After the momentous battle, under the same oak tree where Henry Tudor was crowned Henry VII, Sir William was the first to pledge his loyalty to the new king. In return and on that very day, he was given both title and the sizeable amount of property that would become the location of Tudor Glen, in Stoke Golding.