Lorenzo and the Turncoat (21 page)

“By all the saints!” he exclaimed. “Lorenzo is heading into an ambush!” He grabbed the reins to Thomas's horse, scrambled onto it, and dashed toward the fort.

Sweat rolled down Hawthorne's face and chest. The fever had returned, worse than before.

Madame sponged his face with a wet cloth and spoke to him soothingly. She propped him up with pillows and gave him a drink.

Someone rapped on the door.

Madame moved toward it.

“No!” Hawthorne croaked. He had seen what soldiers did to captured women and he would not let that happen to Madame. He reached for Davy's pistol. His heart raced from the effort.

The door swung open. Two Spanish soldiers stepped inside.

“Mrs. Hawthorne?” one of them said in English. “I have come to—
Dio s m ío !
Eugenie!” He grabbed Madame and pulled her to him in a tight embrace.

Cocking the pistol sent pain shooting through Hawthorne's fingers. Every joint hurt. He pointed the pistol. “Release her!”

“Robert! Don't!” Madame screamed. “This is …”

A second man pushed the first one out of the way. He dashed forward and grabbed the pistol.

Hawthorne wrestled with him.

“Give me the pistol!” the man said.

Hawthorne recognized the man, or at least he thought he did. “Lieutenant Peel? What are you doing here?”

A third Spaniard dashed into the room, weapon drawn.

There was a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar.

Someone cried out in pain.

Hawthorne let the pistol slip from his hand.

Charles Peel clutched his forehead. “Damnation! He shot me!”

Lorenzo let Eugenie go and moved over to Charles. He examined the wound. “It's just a scratch, Charles. Bear up. The bullet grazed your temple.” He glanced over at the colonel.

He had gathered Eugenie in his arms and was hugging her tight. “
M'ija!
” he muttered over and over. “
M'ija!
”

Eugenie squeezed him back.

Lorenzo turned his attention to the man in bed. He was unconscious. Lorenzo checked his pulse to see if he was still alive.

Hawthorne opened his eyes. The cabin ceiling had turned from brown to white. A breeze whipped through an open window, bringing the aroma of flowers in bloom. At first, he thought he had died and gone to heaven, but then he saw a man in uniform leaning over him, holding his wrist the way a doctor would.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hawthorne,” the man said.

“Where am I?”

“In Colonel Gálvez's temporary quarters. You've been delirious with the fever for the last two days.”

A woman walked toward him from across the room. “Hello, Robert.”

“Madame!” He smiled to see her. “You aren't hurt.” In a burst of sudden recognition, Hawthorne remembered the doctor. “You attacked Madame.”

She and the doctor exchanged a significant look.

“No, he didn't,” she said. “Lorenzo would never hurt me.”

“Lorenzo?” Hawthorne asked. “You're Lorenzo?”

“Yes.”

“She kept asking for you.”

“She did?” The doctor looked pleased.

“She was having hallucinations. I could not understand why she would call out for someone other than her husband. Why did she ask for you?”

Again, a significant look passed between the two of them.

“Robert,” Madame said, “I'm not who you think I am. I am not Felicité De Gálvez.”

“You're not? Who are you?”

“Eugenie Dubreton.”

A slow realization set in. “You tricked me!”

“You tricked yourself! You saw me with the colonel and made an assumption. I played along to protect my mistress.”

“I kidnapped Colonel Gálvez's domestic servant?”

She nodded.

He sank into a bank of pillows and laughed. “
Touché
, Madame. Well played! Well played, indeed!” His gaze slid to the doctor, who had failed to introduce himself. “And who are you?”

“I am Eugenie's fiancé.”

“You have my deepest sympathies.”

“What do you mean by that?” The doctor looked half-perplexed and half-annoyed.

“She was more trouble than you can imagine. She bit me. She even tried to shoot me with my own pistol.”

“You deserved everything you got,” Eugenie said.

The doctor struggled to hold back a smile. “She told me about the kidnapping, but she left out those details.”

“Just to quell my curiosity, sir,” Hawthorne said, “what's your name?”

The doctor's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “Are you sure you want to know? We purposefully avoided telling you.”

Hawthorne had a bad feeling about this. “Go on,” he urged. “You have my complete attention.”

“Lorenzo Bannister.”

“Oh, God.”

Laughter rumbled from the doctor. “I must admit there was an awkward moment when I had to decide if I was going to kill you or cure you. Luckily for you, the doctor won out over the angry fiancé.”

“Lucky me.”

“Maybe. As Eugenie's fiancé, I reserve the right to call you out for a duel when you are completely recovered.”

“You're going to make sure I recover so you can kill me. Is that the plan?”

“Basically. Unfortunately, Colonel Gálvez has first dibstones on you.”

“Speaking of Colonel Gálvez,” Eugenie said, “I promised that he would give you a full accounting of your cousin's death. I spoke to him about the matter. He wants to talk to you whenever you feel well enough.”

“Let's get this over with,” Hawthorne said. “I know I'm in a lot of trouble.”

Eugenie left.

“I seem to recall shooting someone,” Hawthorne said.

Lorenzo nodded. “Charles Peel. He has a minor head wound.” Lorenzo tilted his head questioningly. “Why did you call him Lieutenant Peel?”

“I was out of my mind and mistook him for someone else.”

“Really,” Lorenzo said in an unconvinced voice. “That's quite a coincidence. You plucked the name ‘Peel' out of thin air.”

Hawthorne locked gazes with him. “It's a common English name.”

“Tell me about Lieutenant Peel.”

A strange feeling that he could trust this man settled over Hawthorne. “When I was in New York, I met an artillery officer named Peel. He was a decent chap with few vices. He transferred to Fort Detroit and I lost track of him until rumors began to circulate. According to my sources, he fell madly in love with a Dutch girl and planned to marry her. Unfortunately, she was killed. You
see, Governor Hamilton paid the Indians for scalps. Hers happened to be one they brought in one day.”

Shock registered on Lorenzo's face.

Hawthorne exhaled deeply. “It was an enormous blunder, perhaps the biggest mistake we have made in the war.”

Lorenzo frowned in confusion. “How so?”

“It has turned public opinion against it. Colonists who were once loyal British subjects have given us their backs. How can we protect them, they wonder, if we can't protect the fiancée of one of our own lieutenants.”

“So there was a purpose to her death. She didn't die in vain.”

“Pardon me?” Hawthorne said.

“Nothing.”

“No, you meant to say something.”

“Charles Peel, the man you claim you do not know, once told me he believed that God had a purpose behind his fiancée's death.”

“He did. Her name has become a rallying cry for American troops.”

“Charles should know this.”

“Yes, he certainly should.” Hawthorne thought it best to keep the rest of the story to himself. Charles Peel had killed the man who scalped his fiancée. Governor Hamilton ordered him locked in the stockade, but Peel escaped with the help of friends.

Hawthorne was glad he had. Under the circumstances, it would be wrong to prosecute Peel. There was a legal term for his crime: justifiable homicide.

Gálvez paused with his hand on the doorknob. He turned to let Lorenzo and Thomas enter. “Thomas, if you feel uncomfortable …”

“I can do this, Your Excellency.”

They entered and found Hawthorne propped up by pillows.

“Thomas!” His eyes sparked with genuine affection. “What a wonderful surprise! How have you been, my boy?”

“Fine, sir.”

Gálvez rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. “I asked Thomas to speak to you because he knows better than anyone what happened with Sergeant Andrews. He has agreed to answer all questions. Would you prefer to interview him in private?”

“That won't be necessary.”

Thomas eased into a chair beside Hawthorne's bed while Gálvez and Lorenzo retired to the back of the room.

Hawthorne asked Thomas several polite questions before he got to the matter at hand. Gálvez had the distinct impression that he had been trained as a lawyer.

“Miss Dubreton told me Sergeant Andrews went to Texas,” Hawthorne said. “Is that true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Despite my telling him to stay in New Orleans?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did he go there?”

“To settle an old score with Lorenzo.”

“Did you go with him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you saw everything?”

“Not everything. Most of it.”

Hawthorne digested that. “But you saw enough to make an informed opinion.”

“Yes, sir.”

He paused. “Was Dunstan's execution justified?”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said firmly. “He committed murder.”

“Then what Miss Dubreton told me was true.” Hawthorne laid his head back and focused on a distant point. There was a long pause. “I am satisfied, Your Excellency. Thomas would never lie, not even if you told him to.”

Gálvez moved to the foot of the bed. “You have placed me in an awkward position. On the one hand, you committed a crime when you kidnapped Eugenie. On the other, you did me a favor. By bringing her here to Baton Rouge, you twice saved her life. Once, from the hurricane. Once from scarlet fever. Further, Eugenie and Lorenzo were to be married at the St. Louis Church two days after the kidnapping. Virtually the entire city would have been at the wedding when she was most contagious. It is possible you spared New Orleans an epidemic.”

“Not me. God.”

The response caught Gálvez off guard. He had expected the man to seize the opportunity to negotiate a light sentence.

Thomas appeared equally surprised. “Thou hast changed, sir.”

Hawthorne's face clouded. “I hope so, son.”

Gálvez could not help comparing Hawthorne to Sergeant Dunstan Andrews. In his cousin's final moments, he had been completely unrepentant. This man was ready to accept punishment.

Gálvez swiveled toward Lorenzo. In private, Eugenie had asked for leniency for her captor. Gálvez understood her request. He had once captured some Apache youths in battle. After a couple of days, they showed an odd sense of loyalty to him and asked to stay with him. At the time, he had not known what to do with them, so he sent them to school in Mexico City. Yes, Gálvez understood the strange relationship between captor and hostage. He doubted that Lorenzo did.