The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (63 page)

       Stunningly, they had been joined in early evening by Aaron Burr.

       That the Colonel had dined alone with Jackson two nights previously had been known to Blair. But he had not expected Burr to help put together the most important speech of Jackson’s career…yea, arguably the most important in the history of the Dominion.

       Apparently, the two ancient adventurers had Sunday night concocted the unorthodox arguments Jackson would lay before Congress and the people tomorrow:

          *Under the Compact and the Constitution, Parliament does have the right to mandate emancipation; however

           *The Administration and Congress, as the elected representatives of the British American people, also have the right to reject financial incentives---and a fixed timeframe---in overseeing such emancipation; so long as

          *A workable, functioning emancipation policy agreeable to the people of the USBA is passed into Dominion law and is implemented in a reasonable timeframe.

       “In other words,” Cass had said after digesting the gist of the G-G’s plan, “you in London have the right to order us to abolish slavery; but don’t force your ideas on how to do it down our throats…”

         The G-G laughed openly: “Well said Mr. Secretary. That about hits the nail on the head.”

      Cass was looking doubtful. “Putting aside for the moment, General, the compensation issue, it seems to me London---Parliament or whomever---is focused on the seven-year transition period, beginning next January 1
^st
.  How can you be certain they’ll accept any delay, especially as they’ll naturally tend to believe we are simply obstuficating?”

         Frank, meanwhile, was shaking his head in wry amusement: “Would you two first care to let us in on how you arrived at this position?”

          Burr was also smiling, though a harder look was evident in his eyes. “As we discussed this over a particularly fine roast two nights ago, it suddenly became obvious that London’s plan is financially---not sociologically---based. We then proceeded down the logical path from there.”

       The War Secretary looked confused: “I beg your pardon?”

       Burr shot him a patronizing look.
Scott is right: A politician…not a political scientist. Can’t imagine what Andy sees in him…

      “Mr. Secretary, how do you think London arrived at the seven-year transition limitation? Or, more properly, which do you think was arrived at first, the compensation…or the transition period?”

     There was a brief silence as Blair and Cass exchanged glances before Frank spoke for them both:

      “Are you two implying that the transition period was determined by fiscal constraints?  That London decided how much to pay…and then how much of the overall amount they could afford annually?”

      Burr grinned impishly as Jackson banged his cane down on the desk.

       “Frank, we’re not
implying
anything. It’s obvious to us---and should be to you---that London came up with a figure they could afford…”

        Burr interrupted: “…were willing to cough up…”

        “…at any rate, added up the cost of emancipation throughout the Empire and then determined how much they could afford…”

       “…were willing…” The impish grin once more.

       “…to pay annually and divided that into the overall total. That, gentlemen, is how our English masters arrived at a seven-year transition…and why it is not written in stone.”

      Cass returned to the compensation issue: “Compensation as called for in the Parliamentary bill is miserly enough, I admit. But it is something. What makes you think the South will go along with your call to reject it entirely?”

         Jackson and Burr exchanged looks.

        “Mr. Cass, I am not
rejecting
compensation. Only Parliament’s conception and payment of compensation. The Congress will determine the compensation due the planters. And, working with the Administration and private interests, how best to raise and distribute it.” 

        That perspective once agreed to, construction of the speech, though slow, was not particularly difficult.

___________

Calhoun Residence

June 11-12, 1833, 1 a.m.:

      Sleep would not come tonight.

     As Calhoun gazed out his bedroom window, he attempted to weigh the options:

     The 25-year exemption---only, of course, with a sunset provision, not a cap---was the safest route. He’d presumably be in his grave by renewal time, but he owed it to the others, and the children, to fight at least for that…

     No one knows, apparently, exactly what that old man in The Residency will propose tomorrow. It might be worth considering; then again, perhaps not. Jackson is, after all, a planter, but he is also, unfortunately, deep down a Dominionist
…

      The other option is more exciting…if also more dangerous: independence from the Dominion! A whole new Southern Dominion (including Cuba, Texas and the Mexican Southwest). With ties to London, probably---but not automatically---but free from the inexorable advance of Yankee political power fueled by immigration. And with a commitment from London of domestic freedom in the new Southern confederacy…including the right to hold slaves, for as long as it remains fiscally prudent to do so.

      A third option---total independence---is the most desirable, of course; the South free of
both
the damn Yankees
and
the damn British…free to chart its own course!

      Well, he thought with a yawn,
tomorrow will not be just another day; it promises to be the biggest day. At least, the biggest this town has ever seen…

___________

The Golden Eagle Tavern

June 11-12, 1833,

2:30 a.m.:

       “Even Joanne will be impressed, Richard. You do want that, don’t you? Most of all, in fact, as you, above all, know how hard it is to impress her.”

       The standard dull, empty look in the bartender’s eyes was gradually replaced by a sparkle of childish excitement and desire.
Did his friend Andre mean what he thought he meant?

      “Of course, when I’m King, I kin have any wench I want.” Richard licked his lips greedily. “That’s part of bein’ King, ain’t it? Still, Joanne…”

      Count Ignatieff exhibited the monumental self-control necessary to continue in a seemingly serious vein: he literally bit his tongue to keep from laughing in the fool’s face. Too much was now riding on this to act as if the premise was anything but obviously plausible:

      “Once you arrive in England to be crowned, of course all Europe’s women of noble birth will be throwing themselves at your feet. But until proper accommodations can be arranged aboard the fastest Royal Navy vessel available, you’ll have time here to enjoy your new position. Joanne will have to fight the other women away…”

       Richard grinned hungrily and reached for the wine bottle sitting between them. But the Count was quicker (and more sober). He grabbed the neck and poured them each a short one.

      “Enough for tonight, my friend. You have much to accomplish in the day. Tomorrow night the world’s supply of vodka; of rum; yes, even of gin…” He paused as another fire lit the benighted bartender’s eyes. “…will be yours for the taking. Best now get some sleep, however. I’ll be down to wake you at the proper time….”

        Ignatieff had risen as he was finishing speaking. He now got the cadavernous drunk to his feet and pointed him toward the cellar. “Pleasant dreams, Your Majesty…”

        Lawrence grunted and staggered to the door. As he turned back, Ignatieff was pointing sternly. “Tomorrow, Richard. The start of your reign!”

        As the door closed behind him, Ignatieff became aware of the familiar scent. He pivoted to see his lover step out of the darkness of the back dining room.

___________

        “All right, Andre. I think its time you told me what’s going on here.” Though she attempted the stone-cold look and hiss that, for whatever reason terrified her employees, Joanne’s demand actually came out as more of a desperate plea.

         Nicholas/Andre stared back at her for an instant before smiling graciously and extending his hand. “Yes, my darling, I believe it is time we discussed ‘what is going on here.’ He led her back to the bar and poured them both drinks from fresh glasses. Downing fully half his drink, he lowered it onto the bar and, in the same motion, pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her passionately. As always, she melted into his arms, her show of anger unmasked as the fraud it was.

          “I assume you heard enough to know Lawrence thinks he will soon have the power to make you a queen, my sweet. That, of course, is as insane as he himself obviously is. I however, have the power to make you a countess…”

         Her eyes widened from their glow of animal contentment as the words registered slowly in her brain. “Andre….”

      He cut her off with another, almost savage kiss. “I understand you have had reason to question my authenticity, my darling. And you are right: ‘Andre Karlhamanov’ is an alias I assumed upon arrival in New York last winter. My real name is Count Nicholas Ignatieff, of His Imperial Majesty, Nicholas, Czar of All the Russias, personal staff. I am here at the direction of Czar Nicholas himself…”

     He paused and looked into her loving eyes.
This will be even easier than I anticipated
, he thought.
She has no conception of the consequences of what I have just told her…

      “With your assistance, my beloved Joanne, tomorrow I intend to use that fool Lawrence to advance the banner of my country by igniting a full-blown crisis here in America.”

     They shared another long kiss before he picked her up and carried her to the stairs. “Andre---Nicholas---I want no one but you, no matter who you really are. I’ll…I’ll do anything you ask…”

      He smiled down at her. “And you will
have
no one, my darling, once you do as I ask:  help me dispatch ‘King Richard’ to his destiny tomorrow.” They laughed into each other’s shoulders as they climbed towards her bedroom.

CHAPTER FORTY

Georgetown, D.C.

June 12, 1833, 9:30 a.m.:

       Missing today was the festive atmosphere that normally marked the day of a major speech. In part, it reflected the unbearably hot and humid weather that signaled the imminent arrival of another electrical storm. But the mood was somber as the crowds piled into the streets, hotels and taverns. Grim-faced politicians and military figures making their way to Capitol Hill brushed shoulders with bemused members of the diplomatic corps. Captain Goodwin led the official Marine Guard honor detachment down Pennsylvania Avenue to The Residency. All were collectively gasping, for the air, even at this relatively early hour, seemed squeezed and wrung of all freshness…

___________

The Residency

10:00 a.m.:

       For the Governor-General, a decision once arrived at, a policy once determined, a position once adopted, were singular and irrevocable. His demeanor today betrayed his single-minded determination to set the plan he and Colonel Burr had devised---without
compromise---
in motion for the good of the Dominion. Sectional interests be damned, by the Eternal!

       Jackson came down the stairs with a vigor and determination that Lieutenant Wilder, standing in the doorway of his cubbyhole office, had seldom witnessed. Andy Donelson was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a cream-colored folder; the Private Secretary had completed the final, clean copy only 45 minutes ago. Now he handed it over as the G-G, followed by Blair and Cass, passed him. Outside, Arthur Goodwin could be heard calling his Marines to attention.

     Jackson went out onto the Portico without a glance at the staff and servants lining the vestibule walls. He grunted as the ugly weather hit him a body blow on exiting the building, but he continued down the Portico steps and toward his official carriage. Jackson eyeballed the Marines professionally and nodded curtly at their commander before being assisted into the vehicle. The two advisors climbed in after him. At Goodwin’s direction, the procession was immediately off down the driveway. It was 10:07 a.m.

___________

The Golden Eagle Tavern

10:15 a.m.:

        Her lover had never performed better
, she thought drowsily. Their couplings had been frenzied and seemingly continuous. After all this time, after all her experience with countless men, she had thought nothing could any longer shock her. But Andre’s vitality was amazing…more than six hours…with remarkably few breaks!

       She felt her eyes closing again now. Andre had gone downstairs to wake Lawrence; he had promised to return immediately upon dispatching the fool on his ‘errand.’ And she wanted---needed---her strength for his return.

        She had heard their voices some time ago in the alley below her window. Surely he’ll return momentarily… She rolled contentedly over onto her side and slid into a deep sleep.

        Now boots sounded lightly in the hallway. The door creaked open. Count Nicholas Ignatieff stared with contempt.

      
You aging slut! You are definitely not at your best in the morning, even on this appropriately dark one! God, how have I been able to get it up for you these past few months? I deserve a principality at the very least for this, Nicky, my Czar and friend!

     
 He quietly closed and locked the door before walking toward the bed.

___________

The Capitol Building