The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (27 page)

___________

     Lieutenant Wilder had been through a year’s worth of planning for various White House social functions, but he had never yet seen anything like the tension and frenzy that marked the preparation for this evening’s affair.
      General Jackson was pulling out all the stops to impress his former commander, exhibiting a lack of concern for cost that matched a previously suppressed appreciation of and taste for sophistication.
       Old Burr is supposed to be the gentleman of the age, according to my grandfather, but the G-G certainly seems to know how to throw a banquet. Once he’s in the mood to
do so….
      Once again the oval room with its view of the Virginia hills (Arlington House sitting atop the nearest) was to serve as the initial reception room. This time, however, the formal dining room was dominated by a long centered table with elaborate candelabra placed in front of every fourth or fifth set of facing chairs.  Other tables hugged each wall; the various courses would be deposited here in quantity so the servants could then present servings to the five or six guests each was assigned.
      Tom was shocked at the number of courses to be served: an elaborate chowder was to be followed by game, to be followed by the main meats: hams, roasts of beef and various lamb and pork specialities. The side dishes were to include mashed and roasted potatoes, sweet meats, several green vegetables, rice, turnips, cauliflower, corn and roasted onions, as well as a creamed oyster dish that he had not encountered previously. All this to be washed down with nine separate wines (judging by the nine wine glasses arranged around each table setting). Deserts were listed on the menu to include iced creams, cakes, pies and French custard.
      I’m glad all I have to do is meet and greet the guests. You couldn’t pay me enough to assume the responsibility of preparing all these courses…and seeing that they are served
at the appropriate temperatures!
       It was now 3:30 p.m. and Tom was back at the Indian Queen, changing into his formal dark blue uniform with the gold stripe down each pant leg. The last time he had donned the uniform, Candice had ripped several of the gold buttons off in her haste to attack him while her carriage yet rolled---bumped---its way back to her townhouse, he remembered with a grin. No such luck tonight, though: he’d be on duty till the final guests were shown to their carriages and both the G-G and the Duke had retired to the upper floor.
Anyway, Candice is safely home at Twin Peaks and Lucille---
he still hadn’t heard from her since the botched dinner engagement, he thought disheartenly---
won’t be
here either. At least, she’s not on the guest list.
     No, tonight will be all work…which, come to think about it…will be a pleasure.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Georgetown, D.C.

Early Evening,

February 13, 1833:

     Forty-five minutes later, Lieutenant Wilder, dress uniform freshly crisp and black boots shining (he had taken a for-hire hack from his hotel), stood inside the Main Portico awaiting the arrival of the first guests.
     “Lieutenant! In your formal duds! Then again, I recall you did mention when first met that Residency social aide is one of your jobs!”
      Captain Bratton was in his formal Coldstream Guards attire, bemedalled and glittering.
        “Yes Captain. On the rare occasions such as this, my intelligence function is limited to joint introductions of people who probably know each other better than I know either party. As well as keeping single diplomats away from Congressional wives…and single Congressmen away from diplomatic
and
Congressional wives…”
      Bratton laughed: “Lechery, lechery---still wars and lechery---nothing else holds fashion.” At Tom’s blank look, Harry shook his head. “Not a Shakespeare scholar, eh Lieutenant? Or hasn’t the Bard yet arrived on these virgin shores?”
        Tom reddened at the Englishman’s condescension. “Shakespeare was not a part of the curriculum at the Point, Captain Bratton. Though I’m sure he’s a favorite at Harvard and Columbia. I’m afraid my recall fades somewhere after ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen…’ Speaking of lechery: how did you enjoy the Golden Eagle?”
       Now it was the British officer’s turn to stiffen. “Most interesting, Lieutenant. You are correct, however: there have been some subtle changes. By the way, how late did you and Mr. Harper stay?”
        “I left Dave at the bar at approximately 9:30, Captain. He was talking about a nightcap but I had an early day today, what with preparations for this dinner and all.”
And how about yourself, Captain, did Joanne let you out of bed before dawn? Maybe I should inquire among the Residency ushers
…
       Bratton was frowning. “A ‘nightcap,’ you say? Don’t think I’ve heard that word before. To what does it refer?”
     “Means a last drink before leaving, Captain. So I would say David was probably there till at least 10 p.m.”
      “Mr. Harper appears quite the night owl…”
      “He doesn’t seem to need much sleep, that’s certain. It will be interesting to see if he is here tonight. The Interior Department’s been invited, but the new Secretary, Mr. MacLane, hasn’t arrived in town yet. David may exercise the invitation himself. There are certain people here he hopes to see…”
       “That reminds me, Lieutenant. In reviewing the guest list with His Grace, it occurred to us that only, shall we say
, titled
personages and their ladies have been invited. Yet I recall the planter class and other
ordinary
citizens at these affairs in the past, even under the Adamses.”
       Tom smiled. “That’s an astute observation, Captain. It was the G-G’s decision to restrict this affair. I believe he feels the Duke should meet ‘official’ Georgetown first. As he tours the Dominion, he’ll dine with more than enough planters and others, I believe the thinking is.”
       Harry’s prodigious forehead was puckered. “Yes, I see. But the planters are still part of the capital’s social life, you say?”
         “On most any other occasion, yes. In fact, there were quite a few here for the last affair, the G-G’s Christmas reception.”
      “And do you know them, Lieutenant? The individual planters, I mean?”
       Tom’s guard was suddenly up.
If this one’s inquiring after Lucille, I’m going to be
more than a little perturbed
. “Anyone in particular Captain Bratton?”
       “Ah, yes. I had been introduced to a Maryland planter and his wife, Colonel and Mrs. Samples, some months before I returned to England. The Colonel was then involved, unfortunately, in a deadly riding accident, as I recall. Does his widow ever come to town? Or has she remarried?”
         Tom’s relief that Bratton’s interest was not in Lucille was offset---to his amazement--by feelings of unexpected jealousy over Candice.
So this is one of her old paramours
.
Man gets around better than Harper…Joanne and Candice. Well, let’s steer him back to the Eagle...
      “Mrs. Samples has been here occasionally, Captain. She and the G-G are rather close. I’ve heard her say that the General helped her immensely after her loss. I believe she spends much of her time at her plantation, however.”
       Bratton was nodding his head. “I see. Yes, I do recall that Colonel Samples and General Jackson were old comrades from their Louisiana days. And the General lost his wife at about the same time…”
         The first carriages were beginning to arrive.
Just in time,
thought Tom,
I’ve got to
think this one through…
       “Well Captain, our evening begins. I believe that is Mr. Van Buren’s carriage, with Mr. Webster coming up the grounds on foot. Time for us both to play social aide.”

___________

Georgetown, D.C.
February 13, 1833, 7:30 p.m.:
   Count Ignatieff had spent much of the day exploring Georgetown’s various landmarks and other geographical points of interest. He always made a habit of studying the terrain; one could never tell when a vantage point or escape route might come in handy.
     He had stopped at the unfinished Capitol and toured the quiet hallways. Groups of what he presumed to be legislators were meeting informally, while other sharp-eyed men waited to part the groups into ones and twos. He had also familiarized himself on the locations of the various consulates and the British Liaison Office. Later he had, of course, ridden down Pennsylvania Avenue to The Residency, studying the old mansion from the park.
     The Count had assumed his Karlhamanov persona before leaving his own Consulate; the eye patch and expensive civilian clothing donned in his quarters before speaking with Renkowiitz, who was preparing for this so-called ‘state dinner.’ Drago was still inquiring into the background of Captain Bratton and thus had nothing new to report, though he expected some word from his source inside the Liaison Office before Ignatieff’s planned meeting with the British official the following evening at the Golden Eagle.  The Consul had departed for the formal dinner in late afternoon, taking his daughter with him. Countess Caroline, he had broadly hinted, was quickly assuming a position of popularity amongst the younger portion of Georgetown society.
     Ignatieff was now on his way to the Eagle, unaware and unconcerned if the British had decided to trail him. He thought he might have detected someone following him early in the afternoon at the Capitol, but had decided it was simply a member of the building’s staff. (As a Russian security chief, Ignatieff was accustomed to clouds of agents tracking foreigners in official---and non-official---St. Petersburg locations.)
    As Count Nicholas paused outside the Eagle, he recalled that his last---successful---amorous adventure had come with the unfortunate London chambermaid. The low profile he had kept on the voyage over and while traveling in Bratton’s company had excluded any physical contact.
Not that there was anyone in range on that damn ship who
interested me
, Nicholas thought with a slight shudder. But Bratton had hinted that this tavern was a lively spot; perhaps he’d end his sexual fast with an American barmaid
. It
will be interesting to see how bawdy these colonials are
. From his stopovers with the Captain, it seemed the Americans liked to have a good time.
Well, let’s find
out. I’m due for a good time myself
.
    The Count was disappointed with his first impression of the Eagle’s congregation. A tall, skinny, diseased-looking fellow presided at the mostly deserted main bar. Ignatieff, remembering the pitiful husband/bartender at the South Jersey inn, suddenly wondered if all American taverns posted their most innocuous, passive individuals behind the taps.
    A fleshy blond well past her prime added to the distinct lack of luster, in the Count’s eyes.
My God, is Bratton’s taste this bad? This floozy looks like she’s already taken on
fully half the Ukrainian Cossacks
…
     The blond, whose meaty hands matched her heavy breasts, carefully looked the stranger up and down before addressing the bartender as Ignatieff strode casually to the bar. “Another newcomer, Richard. Georgetown is brimming with them this month. And, pray tell, how did this gentleman hear of our lovely establishment?”
     The sickly-looking man behind the bar, whose tall, shallow demeanor reminded Ignatieff of an over-ripe corn stork, grunted in return before addressing his new customer. “What’ll it be? We’ve every beer known to man…and some you’ve likely never tried. Plus enough wine and more potent liquers to take the edge off your travels…”
       Ignatieff tried to hide his distaste of both bartender and barmaid and wondered if he should simply about-face and find a more ‘select’ establishment. But Bratton’s enthusiasm for the Eagle had led him to surmise that this place could be an intelligence gold mine. He decided to swallow the bile already rising in his throat and at least sample the tavern’s wares.
     “A bottle of your finest vodka, if you please. And be good enough to see that both bottle and glass are well-dusted.”
     “As his lordship insists.” The sickly-looking bartender was sarcastic. “And would you like a second glass in the event the Duke of Wellington joins you?”
     Ignatieff stifled the immediate reflex to throttle the impertinent servant. “No my good man, neither the Duke nor any one else will be joining me. I simply don’t want to catch any of your diseases…”
     The bartender snorted bitterly. “Hear that Kathy? This
gentleman
has concerns as to the healthfulness of our operation… What will the propratess herself think?”
       Kathy, who had been observing Karlhamonov from several feet away, expanded on her earlier, unanswered, question: “And what brings so illustrious a gentleman to our humble establishment on such a quiet night, when all the rest of the bluebloods are kissing Andy’s Scotch-Irish ass? As well as that of our most distinguished Limey visitor?”
       Ignatieff was still formulating a reply designed to demonstrate his social superiority, while maintaining his anonymity, when the sudden silence was broken by a different female voice. While far from cultured, this one lacked the recognizable lower class bitterness inherent in Kathy’s tone while also reflecting a practiced air of command:
      “Perhaps our guest has had his fill of our local aristocracy. Or, perhaps, he is lately arrived in our burgeoning metropolis. At any rate, your jobs as servers are to fill his glass and to make him otherwise at ease. And to refrain from asking him impudent questions whose answers don’t concern you…”
     Ignatieff/Karlhamanov slowly spun around to eyeball the slight, black-haired woman standing in the doorway of the backroom. The woman’s features included wide dark eyes and high cheekbones with the facial skin pulled gauntly across them. Less than 5-foot-2, she flaunted an impressive pair of firm breasts barely covered by her low-cut blouse. Her skirt emphasized her lower curves, and her lower legs were encompassed in dark stockings that ended in sandals laced provocatively up her shapely calves.
       In the name of Holy Mother Russia, this is more like it.
Nicholas’ face broke out in its wolf’s head grin.
This one will be mine tonight.  Renkowiitz
can have charge of the
Consulate until at least noon tomorrow
…
     For Joanne, the effect of the lopsided smile of unmitigated lust (when he was smiling, Ignatieff’s eye patch unintentionally made him look more merry than menacing) was instantly intoxicating. Her resignation at the thought of, for once, sleeping alone vanished as she contemplated her newest potential partner.
He’s not as big as Harry, nor
as handsome as David, but he’ll certainly do for tonight
…
    She strutted across the room, never taking her eyes from the stranger’s face. “Open my private stock,” she commanded Richard, while ordering Kathy to “set a private table in the rear. Tell Joseph to prepare the finest meal available.”
      She knew instinctively that this man would see through her usual false-innocence routine and so made no attempt to hide her hunger. The well-built but wiry one-eyed stranger continued to focus his sea-blue left eye on her as he grabbed the new bottle pulled by Richard from behind the bar. Motioning for a corkscrew, he quickly popped it, continuing to stare at the dark-haired woman. Their glasses, quickly filled, clanked together and were equally quickly emptied.  Only then did they address each other.
    “My name is Andre. I’m newly arrived in your city and country. However, I begin to feel at home.”
     Joanne, despite imbibing only the one drink, felt her head spinning. “My name is Joanne. I am the owner of the Golden Eagle. Please consider this your new home.”
     Kathy, returning after arranging for the private dinner, shook her head in disgust
. The
damn slut leads a charmed life. That big Brit, the young kid from the Interior Department, all these other Congressmen and government officials. How does the skinny little bitch do it?  I just don’t see it…though this one-eyed Don Juan certainly seems to find her irresistible.
     She watched in envy as the newly matched pair moved into the almost empty backroom.
     
Well, if that kid from Interior shows up tonight, I’ll just head him off at the pass. Though the big Brit is more to
my liking
…