The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (34 page)

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British Liaison Office
Georgetown, D.C.
February 28, 1833:
    Jackson had been right with regard to rank but wrong with regard to aides.
    Wellington had of course chosen the Liaison Office for their meeting to underline the fact that, as the King’s official representative, he outranked the G-G. It was a point that would be crucial when Jackson realized the implications of what he was being told, the Duke had explained to Sir John when informing the Liaison’s political chief that he would sit-in on the meeting. And Blair, who struck him as a cool, cautious customer, would have a calming effect if the fiery G-G looked to be losing control.
     That Burrell, not Bratton, would be Wellington’s second might surprise Jackson, but the rationale was not appropriate for discussion with the colonial leader, the Duke continued. The information was still too sketchy and preliminary (and perhaps too delicate) to share with the Americans: while going through official correspondence from London that had arrived during their tour of the MidAtlantic States, Captain Bratton had come across a rather startling report.
     Something extraordinary had occurred within the walls of the Russian Embassy in early January; something so dramatic and stunning that the Princess Von Lieven had cancelled all her social engagements for the better part of a week and had remained in seclusion. The Foreign Office was still sorting out the details, but it appeared that a personal representative of the Czar had arrived secretly from St. Petersburg to much internal Embassy fanfare. Within days, however, he had vanished without a trace after some sort of shocking event.
     Sources with ties to the Embassy staff---the Russians of course manned the place entirely with their own people, but still needed to do business with London merchants---said the Czar’s man had been smuggled out of England under the tightest security. The Russians were apparently too terrified to add more, though one had described the operative as an average-sized man of obvious noble birth. The description was useless---it could have fit a thousand men---except for one added feature: the man’s eyes were somehow distorted.
      Harry had come across the report Wednesday afternoon, during a break in their preparations for the emancipation speech. That Karlhamanov fit the description was obvious, he had reported soberly to Wellington and Burrell, except it made no sense: why would the Czar send a top operative to British America? And via London?
     Major Layne had been away on his Burr errand, so his assistant had been called in. When he admitted that the tail on the Russian had been arbitrarily dropped while Wellington and Bratton were up North, Burrell thought the Duke would erupt in rage. But Wellington had merely shook his head in disgust and ordered the mortified---and terrified---junior officer to reinstitute it at once.
     “Harry, you will take charge of the surveillance,” he had ordered. “I still need your help in preparing to brief Jackson, but make it your business to determine once and for all who and what this one-eyed Russian of your acquaintance really is. And why he’s here. Meanwhile, Sir John, you will have to take a larger role in the overall preparations for this address. I trust your political instinct is better than your colleague’s talent for espionage…”

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British Liaison Office
Georgetown, D.C.
March 1, 1833, 12:30 p.m.:
     Harry hated the idea of missing this historic face-to-face meeting with the temperamental Jackson, but his role would have been a passive one. Instead, having prepared His Grace as best he could---he had argued the G-G’s part in practice sessions with the Duke---he now was meeting with the embarrassed Major Layne to review the Karlhamanov situation. Unfortunately, the Liaison Office had no sources within the Russian Consulate; there had been no reason, Layne was explaining: “We’ve always considered the French to be our major concern, Captain, as you well know from your own days here.”
     Still, there had to be a way to penetrate the Russian screen. Some way to discover the truth behind Andre’s sudden immersion into Georgetown’s social and political life!
     The two men rose from their chairs at the sound of outside commotion: Jackson’s carriage was rolling up the driveway towards the Royal Marine honor guard drawn up at the foot of the Office’s steps. Harry watched as the officer commanding Jackson’s own mounted guard leaped down from his horse; surprisingly, it was not Lieutenant Wilder. The officer was opening the carriage door when the thought struck Captain Bratton:
Wilder’s friend, Harper of the Interior Department! Hadn’t he seen that young swan dancing with the Russian C-G’s daughter at the French Embassy several nights ago? And hadn’t Wilder jokingly warned that he might require aid “if the Cossacks show up to haul Harps away”?
     
Well now, a word with young Mr. Harper may be in order! I’ll send a messenger to arrange a meeting for tonight
…

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Arlington House Plantation
Arlington, Virginia
March 1, 1833, 7 a.m.:
    Tom had ridden out of Georgetown over the Long Bridge in the predawn darkness and had arrived at Arlington House well before breakfast. Mary Lee had been surprised but delighted to see him. She had received word from General Scott on Wednesday that her husband would be home this evening on a short unscheduled leave and was happily counting down the hours.
   After breakfast, Tom had suggested a walk around the grounds; he wanted total privacy when he broke the emancipation news. Mary’s demeanor had changed before he had finished his report. Her previous display of sisterly-like affection for one of her husband’s closest friends was replaced by a nasty frostiness that bordered on outright hostility: the Yankee intruder come as predicted to destroy her wonderful way of life!
     “You have to understand, Mary, that this is London’s decision, not the North’s. There are less than a dozen people in all the USBA, yourself included, who know what Wellington will say tomorrow!”
     “Yes Thomas, but once the announcement reaches the North, church bells will be ringing in celebration! You Yankees have been planning this for years and now you’ve somehow gotten King and Parliament to do your bidding.
     “And now you and your General Scott expect my Robert to join in ramming this down the South’s throat, don’t you? That’s why he has been ordered here, so General Scott can convince him to side against his own family, against his own people, against the South!
    “Well Sir, he won’t do it. Arlington has been my family’s home for four generations. It is his home. He will defend it, I know he will!” She turned heel and ran back to the mansion, leaving a stunned Thomas with two thoughts:
     Was this a preview of what he faced at Cranford? And did Mary truly epitomize the South’s reaction to what Wellington would be spelling out tomorrow
?

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Cranford Plantation
Alexandria, Virginia
March 1, 1833, 1 p.m.:
    The General’s other errands had been routine (an obvious excuse to get him to Cranford). Thomas rode up the hill toward the big, Iconic-columned house a few minutes before 1 p.m., wondering if he’d be stoned back down the rise within a few hours. He was still shocked by Mary’s visceral hatred; he had often remarked on her apparent indifference to affairs beyond her immediate sphere. Now he realized that Arlington and her family were fiercely---entirely--the world as she knew and wished it.
     Sebastian was waiting in front of the mansion with a wide, wise smile when Tom pulled up. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Tom,” he grinned. “Miz Angeline tol’ me be on the lookout for you. Allow me to ‘cort you in…”
      The Latoure ladies were gathered in the main hall when Thomas came through the door. The smiling matriarch was flanked by her daughters, one of whom could barely contain the laughter evident in the features of her finely-carved face. While the other’s eyes resembled daggers aimed directly at the USBA officer.
     
Damn, this is going to make this morning’s little tragedy look like a picnic on the Brooklyn Heights,
Tom thought.
     Greetings exchanged--hissed, in one case--and Tom’s Army cap taken by Sebastian, the Lieutenant countered Mrs. Latoure’s suggestion to proceed to the dining room.
No sense putting this off. If the General has taught me anything, it is to confront the bad news first
…
    “Mrs. Latoure, I have some critical information for all of you. That’s why I asked for and received General Scott’s permission to come here today. I believe it better if we discuss it before dinner and I think it necessary that we discuss it in an exterior setting that affords total privacy.” With a nod of his head he indicated the gardens evident through the tall glass doors leading from the formal dining room. “I suggest we step out there.”
    “Certainly, Lieutenant,” said Mrs. Latoure, smiling through the surprise written on her face. “Though I can’t image the need for such secrecy. It does seem rather exciting, however, doesn’t it, dears?” The expressions on each of the younger women had changed: Jaine’s eyes had narrowed as she stared questioningly at Tom, while Lucille’s furious glare had faded to a somewhat sullen look of puzzlement.
     Thomas escorted the eldest Latoure lady to the far end of the garden, this afternoon bathed in a warm spring sunlight, before deciding that here their conversation would not be inadvertently overheard by the household staff.
Well, hopefully this will
last a bit longer than this morning’s disaster at Arlington
…He looked directly at Mrs. Latoure:
     “Ladies, I am about to tell you something which will shock you. It concerns the Duke of Wellington’s speech tomorrow…”
    “I worked hard to obtain tickets for tomorrow, Lieutenant,” interrupted Lucille in an icy tone, “as a birthday surprise for my mother. I’m sure we can all wait to hear the Duke’s address from his own lips.”
      “…which I understand you will attend as guests of General Scott.”
      Never taking his eyes from the mistress of Cranford, he delivered the news in a monotone he hoped was both straightforward and neutral, continuing through a series of gasps that gradually turned from disbelief to anger. None of those gasps, however, had slipped from the lips of the plantation’s mistress.
     Her unblinking stare, however, reminded him of the legendary hardfaces both Scott and Wellington were capable of flashing at will.
Damn, no wonder this whole operation runs so well. She can radiate an air of command with the best of them
.
      “We appreciate the courtesy exhibited by General Scott in allowing you to come here today, Lieutenant. I have some questions, if you don’t mind.”
   
Well, at least she didn’t turn and walk away
. “Yes, Madame, I’ll answer to the best of my knowledge.”
      “It is my understanding the Duke arrived here before the special session ever started. Has General Jackson known of this emancipation plan since then? When was he told? Who else knows? And when did you and General Scott find out?”
    “I believe the G-G is being informed of London’s plans as we speak, Mrs. Latoure. It is my understanding that you are among the very first British Americans, certainly among the first dozen, to know. As for General Scott, I have no idea. I myself was informed a few days ago.
     “Why are you telling us this Lieutenant?” Jaine’s voice, though tense, was an imitation of her mother’s; any coquettishness had been discarded in light of the seriousness of the subject matter.
     He was blunt: “So that you’ll have time to prepare, Miss Jaine.”
      “Prepare? Prepare for what, Lieutenant? To plant and harvest our own crops?” Lucille’s scorn cracked whip-like through the air. “Or does General Scott plan to send a regiment under your command to do that for us?”
     Tom turned slowly to look at her, hoping to project his own imitation of General Scott’s drill-stare.
      “To prepare for any eventuality of a security nature which may arise once word of the Duke’s speech reaches Alexandria, probably late Sunday or Monday.”
     Lucille’s anger was replaced by a look of bafflement. “Security? Whatever do you mean?”
     Mrs. Latoure turned to her eldest. “He means, my dear, any eventuality once our people get wind of London’s plans.”
     She and Tom exchanged looks of mutual understanding.

___________

Tom might have felt he had taken all necessary precautions before briefing the Latoure ladies on the Duke’s upcoming speech. But Sebastian ferreted the secret out anyway---and in record time.

The heads-up butler knew something of the highest importance to Cranford was to be discussed the moment the white folk adjourned to the garden. He couldn’t interrupt, of course; nor could he send a child of the plantation to spy from a nearby tree.

The cagey Sebastian simply kept his ears open during the ensuing meal. While he couldn’t piece all the puzzle’s parts together, he came away with the definite impression that the Latoure girls had been stunned into virtual silence by Lieutenant Tom’s news.

And that the Lieutenant’s table conversation with the Mistress of Cranford centered on three things: someone named Wellington; a speech to Congress next week and emancipation. Sebastian had no real idea who this ‘Wellington’ fellow was, but he knew ‘emancipation’ was a fancy word for ‘freedom.’ And that this ‘Wellington’ planned to preach emancipation to the white folks’ ‘Congress.’  And while he couldn’t follow all the details, one phrase kept reverberating through his increasingly excited mind: “seven years.”

The question was how to quickly get this news to Moses. Even a trusted house servant couldn’t simply leave a plantation, even one as benevolent as Cranford. Even if he could come-and-go (which he most definitely could not), there were papers to be readied and signed by the Mistress authorizing the trip. Papers which would undoubtedly be closely scrutinized by hard-eyed, armed whites more than once between Cranford and Georgetown. Virginia had not forgotten Nat Turner…

Sebastian had about quit racking his brain in frustration when the solution presented itself. Mammy Anna, Mrs. Latoure’s personal maid and the acknowledged head female slave---some said the acknowledged head slave, period, Sebastian thought wryly---came to the Mistress as the white women were bidding adieu to Lieutenant Tom on the mansion’s steps.