The Scent of Betrayal (26 page)

‘You don’t have to, your honour. Just ask her to look over the ship. Since she’s soft on you, the idea would likely please her. All she has to do is get the sod out onto the deck for a while and I can do the business.’

‘I don’t like it. First, involving her. What happens if anything goes wrong?’

‘Then I’m for the high jump,’ said Pender, sharply.

Harry winced, realising that in his concern for Hyacinthe he’d forgotten the risks his servant was proposing to take.

‘Sorry. I’m just not sure that she can distract Fernandez for any length of time.’

It was Pender’s turn to grin. ‘Why not, Capt’n? She’s managed to do it to you!’

HYACINTHE
, taking an early dinner, listened as Harry delivered his strong and continuous hints. Her lack of interest, or indeed of any response, forced him into ever more desperate enthusiasm, as he described
Bucephalas
in terms that made the ship sound like a work of art to rival a sculpture by Michelangelo. Finally, having sat with a bland expression on her face, she burst out angrily.

‘I am not an idiot. Would it not be better, Harry, to tell me the truth.’

‘Truth?’ he replied lamely.

‘Yes. You want me to go to your ship for a reason. I saw that gun today. I know you have a plan to escape. Why should I help you to do that?’

‘You wouldn’t want to see me trapped here for ever, would you?’

She lifted his hand gently off the table and placed it on her left breast. ‘Here, yes, Harry. In New Orleans, no.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for? That you have tried to lie to me, or that one day, perhaps soon, you will leave without saying goodbye?’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he insisted.

She smiled. ‘You are a man, Harry. That is exactly what you will do. Now tell me why you truly want me to visit your ship so I can make up my mind.’

‘I won’t leave without saying goodbye, Hyacinthe. Indeed, I might not want to go without you at all.’

‘Then you are a fool,’ she snapped. ‘You are going back to England, yes? What will you do when you land there and meet all those grand, rich people you know? Will you say to them,

“Meet Hyacinthe Feraud. She was a whore in New Orleans but she is a lady now”?’

‘You are not a whore.’

‘No, Harry, I am the keeper of a brothel.’

‘True. But it’s a very fine brothel.’

She threw back her head and laughed, leaving Harry to wonder, for the hundredth time in three days, how someone of such beauty and wit could be so self-deprecating.

‘You must understand, Hyacinthe, that if I have any grand friends I don’t give a toss for what they think. If you don’t believe me, ask James.’

‘Tut, tut, Harry. He is the last person to ask.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I like your brother. He is amusing, droll, and he uses his brushes like a divine saint. Already he has shown me the way he is painting me.’

‘He hasn’t shown me.’

‘While he dabs, we talk, and certain things I get to know. Perhaps he has more of the sense than you. He likes me. But here, in the Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans, he would not care to see me even aboard your ship. And he would have a horror to imagine me on your arm, walking around in London.’

‘You’re wrong, Hyacinthe. James is an artist, and I might add rather unconventional. He’s not like that, at all.’

She shook her head slowly, then abruptly changed the subject. ‘Tell me why you want me to visit the ship.’

Hyacinthe showed her intelligence right away, pointing out to Harry that for her to go aboard
Bucephalas
alone wouldn’t work: being well known in New Orleans, only a fool would believe she was interested in a ship. Cayetano couldn’t fail to know who was sharing her bed, since he’d more or less ordered it, so her idea was to involve him, let him ask to have a look at her new lover’s floating home, taking her along. Harry wasn’t convinced that de Coburrabias was the romantic soul that Hyacinthe described, and
was extremely doubtful, but she was sure that loving all things military he’d oblige. A note was sent off immediately and the soldier, still less than a morning’s ride away at Fort St Jean, agreed with alacrity – that he should be invited, while the senior naval officer was not, amused him. This provided a double bonus, because with El Señor Cayetano de Fajardo de Coburrabias on deck there was no way that Fernandez could stay in his cabin. Indeed he had to be on deck when his superior arrived, with a guard of honour lined up to greet him.

Pender, apparently on the ship by coincidence, insisted on organising the men to pipe the Spanish commander aboard. He then suggested, by much slow talking and arm waving, that Fernandez could hardly carry off such a visit without providing refreshments; that only he, as Harry’s servant, knew where the best was to be found in the way of delicacies and plate. Thus he found himself alone in the cabin for a good half-hour, with more than enough time to search McGillivray’s chest. He found the letters, in a pouch, in a secret compartment in the bottom, under the silk lining. He also managed to stuff two cutlasses, wrapped in canvas, into the leather case that contained the portraits they’d found aboard the
Gauchos
. He lowered it out of the casement while the Spaniards, officers and men, were occupied. Then he left the ship without anyone saying a word.

‘It took ten minutes, your honour,’ he said, when he returned. ‘And if you hadn’t said they were there for certain, I might not have found ’em at all.’

‘What did Hyacinthe think of the ship?’ asked Harry, swiping at an imaginary enemy with one of the swords.

‘I didn’t enquire, Capt’n, but she seemed happy enough.’

‘Did the crew take to her?’

‘Course they did, like they would to any good-looking woman in her finery.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Harry replied. He picked up and fingered the beaded pouch of letters that Pender had placed on the table.

‘Let’s just say, Capt’n, that the idea of a woman aboard when they’re at sea only gets their superstitions twitching.’

Pender made no attempt to keep the slight note of disapproval hidden, and Harry looked at him with some sadness. ‘You don’t approve, do you?’

‘It’s not up to me to do one thing or the other, your honour. I like the lady, if’n that’s what you want to know. But I also reckon that what’s fine when the sun is shining don’t always look so good when it clouds over.’

‘Harry,’ said Hyacinthe, bursting in. ‘I love your little ship. Cayetano tells me you have named it after the horse of Alexander. He gave me this for you.’

She handed Harry a note, which he opened immediately. ‘De Coburrabias has invited me to go hunting, would you believe. Where is the Manchac Post?’

‘On the border where the Americans are.’

Harry laid the note on the table and held up the beaded package to show Hyacinthe. ‘We were successful.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ She took Pender’s arm and squeezed it. ‘This rogue here, as he left the cabin, he give me a big thing with the eye.’

Hyacinthe followed that with a huge wink. Harry laughed, and was pleased to see that his servant, still clutched by Hyacinthe, despite his reservations about her, was prepared to join in the hilarity. She spotted the rolled-up canvas that had been dragged out of the leather case when Harry had removed the sword.

‘A couple of portraits we took off the
Gauchos
,’ Harry said, as his brother walked in. ‘I cannot comprehend what Pollock was talking about, James, when he said you’d do well in America. It seems to me that every living soul has been immortalised on canvas.’

He threw him the other cutlass and presented himself. James did likewise. Watched by Pender, none of the men noticed that Hyacinthe had opened the inside portrait just enough to see the mantilla-covered head, and the pale wistful face underneath. They
didn’t observe the odd colour, almost grey, that tinged her face. Nor, because of the clash of metal, did they hear the small gasp. By the time Harry, sweeping James’s cutlass aside, turned in triumph, the portrait was back on the table, but the effect had not entirely gone. He saw her face and walked over quickly.

‘Are you all right, Hyacinthe?’

She gave him a wan smile. ‘Of course. A little sun perhaps.’

‘Do you wish to lie down?’

‘Rogue,’ she said, forcing a smile as she dug him in the stomach. ‘I have work to do.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he insisted.

Her eyes fixed on his with some intensity. ‘Did you mean what you said yesterday?’

‘I said a lot of things yesterday,’ he replied guardedly.

‘I know what I’m saying, Harry,’ she whispered, this so that James and Pender couldn’t hear. ‘Will you take me away?’

Harry barely paused before he answered. ‘Yes. I will.’

That produced another thin smile. ‘All you need is your money.’

Harry bent forward to breathe in her ear. ‘This close to you, Hyacinthe, I’m not sure that need is so desperate.’

‘I had the luck, Harry. There are girls who came to the hotel at the same time as me who will end up like ragged skeletons shivering outside those leaky
tiendas
on the edge of the swamp.’

Harry slid across the bed and ran his hand down her chest, just below her breasts, his fingers picking out each rib, wondering why Hyacinthe seemed depressed.

‘I can feel your bones already.’

He’d meant it as a joke, but her response, even if she knew that, was slightly querulous.

‘Can you imagine how many men I have heard make such jokes?’

‘Only too well, Hyacinthe, since you made no secret of it.’

He, in turn tried to sound as though that didn’t matter. But
of course it did, even if he knew that it was ridiculous to come into someone’s life and behave as though he had a commitment that preceded the first meeting. Everyone had a past, including himself, that was entirely their own affair, and judgements, moral or otherwise, were futile. She had been quite open about hers, without in any way labouring the point. The luck she spoke of he understood, since her rise to her present position had been seamless. Given her looks and intelligence it was entirely understandable, but he knew from his own experience the fickle nature of good fortune. Yet her background wasn’t something he could ignore under this roof, with at least one of her previous lovers, Thankful Tucker, still hovering about.

‘Do you trust me, Harry?’

The question, given the nature of his thoughts, caught him completely by surprise, and made his positive reply sound what it was, automatic.

‘Some men I have known trusted me more than they did their own wives. They told me things that they should have kept to themselves. Sometimes I think I have heard confessions that they would not even have dared tell their priest.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he replied, squeezing her flesh in his hands to add a degree of reassurance.

‘You are not like that.’

‘What makes you say that?’ he replied, his voice betraying the fact that he was slightly stung.

She laughed. ‘You are not the type to confess, Harry, I think. That would be a weakness. You like your secrets too much.’

He lifted himself on to one elbow, and looked down into her eyes. ‘I can’t think of anyone I’ve been more open with than you. Do you believe me?’

Hyacinthe put a hand behind his neck and pulled his face towards hers till his head was buried in the crook of her neck. She was thinking about honesty; of the note she’d picked up the day before, crumpled and forgotten, with that disguised writing and the effect of seeing that portrait. Harry had secrets he shared
with Pender and James, from which she was excluded. But lovers lied to each other all the time. She, too, had been less than truthful with Harry: when she’d described how she’d come to be at the hotel, leaving out those things which were painful, it had been as much for her benefit as for his. How could she tell him about the degradation she’d been exposed to, as her virginity had been sold a dozen times to slobbering lechers so jaded in their appetites that any girl over the age of twelve was too old to arouse them? Of working the road outside, just as her successors did now, and the luck that had plucked her from that path and set her up here, as the madam of the place, free to choose her partners rather than obliged to accept anyone, drunk, or deformed, who offered enough money? Nor could she say how transient her situation was, that a flick of one man’s fingers could see her back on the streets; nor how she longed for a security she’d never known.

The lie she told now came much more easily, since she wasn’t obliged to look this enigmatic Englishman in the eye. He would not see the pain his lack of trust inflicted, nor detect the hope that she could somehow make that change.

‘Yes, Harry. Of course I believe you.’

HARRY NOTICED
the escort well before he reached the junction of the Calle de Bourbon and the Calle San Luis. Two Indians were ahead, one behind, while another was on the opposite side of the street. They didn’t look at the trio of Englishmen once. Instead they scanned the route to ensure their charges weren’t being followed, even casting a wary eye over the almost endless scaffolding that surrounded those buildings still under construction. Harry, equally cautious, slowed his pace as he approached the black door that opened onto the corner. Able to see the building for the first time, he observed that it was unremarkable. The dun-coloured walls were flat and featureless, the street-level windows shuttered in wood, and decoration was confined to metalwork on the balcony that ran around the first floor. With the same magical air as they’d experienced before, the door opened as they approached. All three walked into the cool, dark hallway to find Alexander McGillivray standing at the end. He gestured to them to follow him, and made his way up the stairs. They entered an upstairs room, a comfortably appointed affair, cooled by a slight breeze coming through the open full-length windows.

‘This man is your servant, yes?’ he asked, indicating Pender.

‘He is and he isn’t,’ Harry replied, enigmatically.

‘Then he should wait out here.’

‘No,’ said James.

‘You trust him?’

‘We both trust him,’ said Harry.

McGillivray looked Pender up and down. ‘Are you armed?’

‘Do we need to be?’ Pender replied.

‘No!’ McGillivray smiled, exposing again that even row of gleaming white teeth. Then he opened his black coat to reassure them.

Pender looked into the room, then, satisfied that it was empty, produced a club from inside his loose breeches. ‘Then you’ll want to see this put somewhere we can all keep our eye on it.’

‘On the table will do fine,’ the Creek replied, before looking at Harry. ‘You have my letters.’

‘Pender!’

McGillivray’s eyes followed the pouch as it was passed over. Harry held it up so that he could get a better look. The Creek held out his hand.

‘I believe you have something for us.’

‘I have information.’

‘About de Carondelet’s bullion?’

‘You could say that,’ McGillivray replied.

‘Please do not bait us,’ said James, with evident impatience. ‘Either you have something to tell us or you don’t.’

‘When I have that pouch and I have checked that the seals on my letters have not been tampered with.’

Harry threw it gently. McGillivray caught it with ease and immediately opened it up, tipping the letters onto the table beside Pender’s club. He stood to the side of one of the windows and carefully examined each one.

‘Thank you, Captain. If you’d care to sit down.’ Harry and James obliged. Pender stood behind them, as McGillivray began to pace the small area before the fireplace. ‘After we spoke the other night, I suddenly remembered something, a piece of information which I at the time thought had little significance.’

‘Which was?’ asked Harry.

‘I wasn’t in New Orleans when what I’m about to describe took place, but it was within hours of the time at which the
Gauchos
was being loaded with those sugar casks. One of my informants told me that a party of Royal Walloon Guards had set out north, on horseback, with a train of a dozen pack-animals.
No one, it seems, was informed of their ultimate destination.’

‘Is that so very remarkable?’ said Harry. ‘There are garrisons all the way up the river. And if I’m not mistaken, the whole territory is riddled with Spanish missions, all of which have small pockets of troops to guard them.’

‘It’s remarkable in New Orleans, Captain, where knowing what is going on is a civic pastime. Something kept so secret has an odour about it, especially since the Dons rarely bother with subterfuge. Look at the display that surrounded the loading of Rodrigo’s ship, a comprehensive charade seemingly designed to hide a greater truth. Also, I don’t think you understand the lure of the waterways. Even going upstream to the main garrison at Manchac no one would use a horse if they could make the journey afloat. Why ride around Lake Pontchartrain or Maurepas when you can cross them from Fort St Jean? If you’re going west or north-west you’d be bound to use the river system. Yet this party did just the opposite.’

‘Perhaps they weren’t going very far.’

‘The party headed out north at first, as though they were making for Fort St Jean. That’s a common occurrence and would excite no comment. But they turned west well short of the fort, crossed the Mississippi just west of the German Coast, clear of any settlements, and struck inland. We know they’re not heading for the Manchac Post since they’ve already passed behind the Arcadian settlements further upriver, without any of the settlers being aware that they exist. Since they left New Orleans they’ve bypassed all habitation, including the missions. In fact, the local garrisons, all the way up to the border, know nothing of their presence.’

McGillivray looked at them closely, his black eyes examining them to see if they’d caught his drift.

‘Do you know why?’

‘Obviously they didn’t want questions asked about their ultimate destination. In fact they replenished their supplies, and paid for them, at a trading station run by a Choctaw half-breed called Leslie. Paid for food and livery that they could have requisitioned
for nothing at any number of places. That can only mean one thing.’

‘That whatever they are about is something that requires secrecy.’

‘Which naturally leads to the question of what it is.’

‘He sent his gold and silver by ship,’ said James, well aware that everyone had already made the connection.

‘Did he?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Who told you that it was on the ship?’

‘De Carondelet,’ James replied. ‘And if we are talking of the kind of sum already mentioned, then he’d hardly send it with such a small escort.’

‘He might if he wanted to avoid being asked questions,’ McGillivray replied emphatically. ‘De Carondelet only has the Walloons at his disposal and he can’t denude the city of the only troops he can personally rely on. If he wanted more men he’d have to ask de Coburrabias, and explain his intentions to the
Cabildo
. Hell-bent on secrecy, he might have taken the lesser of two evils. Since no one in his right mind would entrust such a sum to anything less than an army, none of his officials will ever guess what he’s doing.’

‘But loading it onto the ship was confirmed by the others.’

‘Not confirmed, brother,’ said Harry. ‘You implied before, Mr McGillivray, that the Barón doesn’t get on with his officers and has scant regard for his magistrates. Are you now implying that he has created this charade to mislead them?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Is there any way of finding out?’

‘Yes. Stop them and search their pack-animals.’

‘I meant here in New Orleans,’ said Harry tersely.

‘Let’s assume that what I suggest is true. Then the only people who would know for certain are de Carondelet and the officer he’s put in charge of that party of mounted soldiers.’

‘Does that officer have a name?’

‘He does. His name is Pascal de Guerin, and he’s the commander of the Royal Walloon Guards. He’s Spanish born, but his grandfather was an official in Charleroi when Spain ran the Low Countries.’

‘De Carondelet is from the Old Spanish Netherlands as well,’ said James.

‘De Guerin, like his detachment, arrived with de Carondelet. So did de Chigny, another Walloon. You see what I’m driving at, don’t you? He doesn’t care for San Lucar de Barrameda nor is he the type of man to trust de Fajardo de Coburrabias. They, in turn, are hidalgos, and look down on him as a Flemish upstart who has no right to be Governor of a Spanish colony. He brings with him his own bodyguard plus an officer to command them, one who just happens to share his background. And to crown all this he may well be filching the King’s money and salting it away in New York.’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, he’s not stealing it, otherwise he’d never have allowed them to know it was being loaded on board the
Gauchos
. And that also means that whoever it’s destined for, and the purpose it’s designed to serve, has official approval. My guess is it’s some kind of payment for services rendered, or the promise of something to come. So the money is for person or persons unknown, in New York, who have the power to affect some political aim.’

‘The American government?’ said McGillivray, his voice full of doubt.

‘Stipends paid to foreign statesmen are not unknown,’ said James, with a touch of irony, it being a well-honed practice in most capitals for high government officials to accept money to advance a particular agenda. ‘I don’t see that the Americans should be so very different.’

‘That’s because you don’t know them,’ said McGillivray. ‘And being a European cynic, I don’t expect you will believe me when I say that the men who run the Federal government are not like that.’

‘You are right on both counts, sir,’ James replied.

‘Who would de Carondelet want to bribe?’

‘Anyone who will help him protect Louisiana.’

Harry got up and walked to the window, taking a deep breath of the heavily scented air.

‘I’d prefer it if you weren’t seen, Captain.’

Harry spun round to face the Indian. ‘Let us assume for a moment that you’re right, that that caravan you told us about is carrying the bullion. Let’s also, despite your protestations, say that it is destined as a payment for someone who can influence the activities, or at the very least divine the intentions, of the American government. What would that person, in relation to de Carondelet’s problems, be trying to achieve?’

‘A halt to westward expansion. Spain wants America to stay put on the east bank of the Mississippi?’

‘Yet you’ve told us yourself that you consider it can’t be stopped. So it’s not that. What would de Carondelet, and the King of Spain, be prepared to pay two hundred thousand dollars for?’

‘They like the idea that frontier states might secede. Kentucky and Tennessee, as separate entities, would be worth more than the sum you’ve mentioned.’

‘Both are, at present, states,’ Harry continued, ‘so they will have representatives in New York.’

‘Of course. Their senators and congressmen.’

‘Which appears to justify the concept of sending a bribe there. But while I admit my knowledge of American procedures to be scant, if the decision is made to secede from the Union it won’t be taken in New York. It will be taken in …’ Harry paused. ‘Do they have provincial centres?’

‘Louisville and Nashville,’ McGillivray replied.

‘Then that is where I would send the money.’

James stood up as well. ‘This is all very interesting, Harry, but you’re indulging in wild speculation.’

‘It ties in with what Pollock said.’

‘Oliver Pollock?’ snapped McGillivray, suspicion evident in both his look and his tone.

‘A passing acquaintance,’ said James, airily, as Harry nodded.
‘We met him on the island of St Croix. Naturally we fell to talking about the Americas and he told us what a fractious tribe you frontiersmen are.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘Because we had no reason to,’ said Harry. ‘And at this moment I have no idea why the mere mention of his name causes you annoyance.’

‘It doesn’t,’ the Creek replied, in what was clearly a lie. ‘I know him myself, that is all.’

James turned his attention back to Harry. ‘This leaves us still speculating.’

‘There has to be a way to find out,’ Harry replied.

‘Would Saraille know anything?’

‘You know him too!’ McGillivray cried.

‘Perhaps,’ James snapped, ‘you could give us a list of people you disapprove of and we will avoid mentioning them.’

‘Is there anything more you can tell us about this?’ demanded Harry, cutting off McGillivray before he put James in his place.

‘No. I will ask, of course. If something comes to me, I will pass it on to you.’

‘Then we will bid you good day,’ said Harry, turning to open the door.

‘One more thing,’ said James. ‘If this was such a secret I wonder at the identity of your informant.’

‘Europeans are so used to seeing Indians about, and so convinced of their stupidity, they rarely spare them a second glance.’

Pender picked up his club, gave McGillivray a hard look, then followed the brothers out into the hallway. He said nothing till they were outside the black door.

‘That took a lot longer than it should’ve done, your honour.’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Harry.

‘Well, he could have told you, instead of leaving you to work things out for yourself.’

James smiled at Pender. ‘You believe that he’d already guessed everything we subsequently deduced?’

‘He’s a close one, for sure. But I had my eye on him all the time you was talkin’, and that’s the way I see it.’

‘You don’t like him.’

‘I’m not bothered one way or t’other,’ Pender replied. ‘Though I can’t see how come if he’s an Indian chief, a savage, he sounds just like Lord Drumdryan.’

Harry didn’t get a chance to stop James, who was onto the opportunity presented by the question in a flash.

‘Because, Pender, like our brother-in-law, the Scots have no more control over their loins than they do over their avarice.’

‘Thank the Lord you’re not like that, your honour,’ replied Pender, with devastating irony, leaving James and Harry wondering who he was referring to.

Saraille returned to his cupboard of an office in quite a sweat. His fat pink face was excited, though he tried, with his manner, to behave otherwise.

‘Your information is correct. De Guerin left at night, a party of twelve soldiers, each with a spare mount and a pack-horse, carrying rations for ten days.’

‘Who told you this?’ asked James.

‘The quartermaster,’ Saraille replied, with an air of triumph. ‘I slipped him the gold that you gave me, which is something he’s not seen for an age. If you want to know what is going on in an army, ask the men who issue their food and clothing. They are without exception open to a bribe.’