Instinctively, Louisa seemed to know who the more important men in the collection were. She met the five senators and the others, all of her senses keen to what each man wanted to find in her, treading carefully, surefootedly, being demure, or clever, or intelligent, or bewitching, whatever the customer wanted. "Have I missed my calling?" she remarked snidely to Aaron in a brief moment of privacy, one she arranged for them to have in the evening that went on and on. He only smiled and quickly escorted her into the surprisingly mild night. Other guests had also escaped the crush, and were conferring on the pleasant, lantern-lit terrace. Aaron took her hand and they walked into the moonlit grounds for a few moments of seclusion. "I don't think you have a prayer of a chance to convert Crawford to 'the cause,' " she began in a hushed voice. "He's a man of the people―and aspires for nothing more than their approbation. He definitely doesn't want a place among the likes of William Easton." She paused to evaluate the men she'd so recently met. "I think Taylor is your best bet: he has schemes of his own, and belongs among the vain and powerful. He even looks like he belongs at court with the rest of them. Isn't he from Mississippi?"
"You've been busier than I'd suspected. It seems to me, though, you'd have no time to consider anything but keeping your dress up to accepted levels of modesty."
"Stop it and listen to me―answer my questions for once!" she demanded, pushing away his probing hands.
He accepted her rebuff, knowing he could not now afford to consider her charms seriously. "You've assessed the situation remarkably well, Louisa. Tonight the herd is being thinned, and I imagine Crawford is out. And if I read Melville correctly, I'm sure we're in. My performance is very good―don't you think? I'd have gotten on without you, in the long run," he teased, "but you're blinding them to any flaws I might have. Even Melville would vouch for me based on your assets―and your potential. Don't be surprised if he asks for a few of your sweet favors."
"Mmmm. He'll just have to go away emptyhanded," she said without hesitation. "But perhaps Mrs. Hill will oblige him."
"He's interested in a new conquest, and for him, Mrs. Hill is old, very familiar territory."
"I thought so," she purred with feline satisfaction.
They had walked far enough into the still woods to be quite alone. Aaron stopped, and turned to Louisa, taking her in his arms, gently seizing a fleeting moment which came quietly on them. The tension of the evening, the teasing, the flirtations evaporated for an instant, and they embraced as the loving couple they pretended to be. There was a strange absence of the soaring passion that so often swept them away, and only an odd, piercing warmth flowed gently between the two. Aaron's mouth was warm, the taste of him good and fulfilling, and he savored her in every sense. The touching was brief, yet the feeling haunted them both, even in the din where they returned to resume their acting. Whenever they caught the other's eye, the looks they exchanged were soft and loving, and, just before the evening drew to a close, Aaron claimed his wife, holding her surely in his arms to dance before the company. There were other couples on the floor, but all spectators' eyes were on the powerful, lithe, and unquestionably male animal who held his delicate, worshipping prey easily, but firmly, in his hands. And a few saw that what they did, in their polite acceptable motions, was make love to each other, the two actors on the stage forgetting they were only playing a game, or that their bond was only a loosely woven web. The music seemed to be only for their ears, and the late hour, the wine, the success of the charade climaxed in their movements. They had no sense of time or place or others, and, for the seemingly few bars of music, they were totally alone, of one body and one spirit.
Chapter Forty-nine
"MARSHALL, Louisa could be of great assistance to me, if you don't mind," William Easton suggested brusquely after an annoying interruption during a meeting he and Aaron were having with Melville and Carson.
"Oh? What can she do for you?"
"I'm expecting a man to arrive here shortly to assume duties as my secretary and aide, but in the meantime, I cannot keep up with supervising the affairs of this house and with my growing correspondence," he said impatiently. "I must concentrate on more important matters. The man has been delayed, I suspect through no fault of his own. Your father is sending him with his recommendations. In fact, I imagine he and your mother are traveling together."
"I'm sure Louisa will welcome the diversion. She'll do whatever she can to lighten your burden." Aaron was certain Louisa would relish the opportunity. With Peter Melville's arrival the signal had been given at Crane's Nest. He, Franklin Carson, and Simon's proxy in the form of his son Marshall, were aligned, and under the guise of pleasure and relaxation, formal plans began to take final shape. Carson and Melville conferred at all hours of the day and night, with Marshall included in the discussions with increasing frequency. But Easton was kept busy more with domestic considerations than with affairs of state, a condition he remedied by approaching Louisa through Aaron.
And she was delighted, hoping the tasks would at least prove to be distracting if not informative. "I gladly accept!" she said enthusiastically when Aaron brought up Easton's offer. "Just think―a chance to be something more than an ornament―something to do besides just warm your bed."
"If you perform as well for Easton as you do for me, you may have a permanent appointment with the new regime. Would you like that? Now I've been taken into the fold―I'm sure I can arrange it. Your title could be Mistress of State!"
"Very amusing. And what will you be? Court Jester?" she laughed at him and at her own joke.
"Let's see if I can make you laugh now," he said, grabbing her, throwing her onto the bed playfully, tickling and teasing her until she was helpless and begging for him to stop. And when he did she lay exhaustedly against him, snuggling happily.
"We haven't had much time to ourselves these last few days―or nights," she mused, kissing him lightly. "By the time the night ends we collapse with fatigue and nerves―I think I'll complain to William. He ought to be treating his guests with more courtesy, don't you think, Marshall, love?"
"Well, now you're in charge of seeing to the comfort of his guests―but you needn't extend yourself too generously," he cautioned, pretending to take a generous bite of one of her breasts.
"Why, I thought you wanted me to give my favors wherever they might do the most good? You never know when a kindness might payoff, isn't that how it goes in politics?"
"You're catching on, Louisa. Perhaps a little too quickly. Remember you don't want to be too generous―the rule is, a few promises, but you try to keep from having to payoff―keeps the treasury flush."
"Let's see if I can remember that." She closed her eyes tightly, pretending to memorize this code of ethics. "Promises only; no payoffs."
"Got it!" he laughed at her. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" he demanded harshly, catching the hem of her skirt as she leapt from the bed.
"Why, I'm putting your words of wisdom into practice. Promises only―for all customers. Fair's fair!"
"Doesn't apply to your mentor, honey," he said, leaping on her, finding she wasn't in the mood for much of a struggle, so it was a race to see who could cast aside their clothes more quickly.
"Not fair!" she insisted, still tangled in petticoats while he waited for her smugly on the bed. But when she'd lost the contest, Louisa took her sweet time, he noted, teasing him with gradual exposure of her sleek beautiful body. And when she was fully naked in the streaming rays of early-afternoon sun, her skin glistening lightly, her perfume heavy in the air, she stood motionless, waiting, contemplating. And Aaron waited for her.
Finally she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it tumble wildly as she shook her head, the flying curls shining like spun gold in the sunlight. And still she stood before him, realizing, as she looked at him, that she loved every part of him―the taste, the scent, the look, the feel, the sounds of his voice when he made love to her. She had no recollection of ever being quite so overwhelmed; there was no memo
ry of quite this kind of feeling. She'd loved before―oh, yes! But this yearning for Aaron went beyond what she'd known―these feelings for Aaron were fierce, consuming passions which made her confront emotions she would have said were alien to her. But gnawing at the edge of her passion was an unnamed fear, which, for now, she tossed aside as easily as she did her gown, succumbing to more enticing sensations. She found it a joy merely to fill her eyes with the sight of his lean, hard male body. And when she went to him and touched him, she could not imagine the act gave him any more pleasure than it did her. "Now that I'm in command," she whispered, "I order a siesta every afternoon according to the custom of this country. Surely, it's only our duty to establish traditions for the coming empire, and I think some of the old ways were not so foolish," she sighed, soon sailing with his caresses into what seemed to be all too few moments of bliss.
Later, Louisa approached Easton and began her new duties, relying heavily on Loo Kim since most of the servants spoke little or no English. And since Loo Kim already performed the function of head housekeeper, all Louisa needed to do in that regard was make final decisions as the mistress of a grand household would. What she found most interesting, and what heightened her interest in the political affair she and Aaron were engaged in, was to aid Easton, and soon Melville and Carson, with correspondence to various men throughout the country who were in league with their schemes. There were perhaps forty men with whom they regularly corresponded, and whom Louisa came to recognize from their names alone when they called at the estate. Louisa found herself caught up in the activity and the plotting, and, had she not been so painfully aware of Aaron's and her purpose in the mansion and among the conspirators, she could have easily lost herself in the excitement, for soon the plans were laid before them, piece by piece, each fragment painstakingly thought out. And when she sometimes sat alone with William Easton before the lamps were lit in the waning afternoon sun, drinking tea, reflecting silently over the day, she was sure she could sense the dreams that filtered through the pensive man's brain. When their conversation ceased and he stared into the distance, she knew he saw the same splendor he had seen on the fringes of the court in Paris, and probably other capitals of Europe. But there he had only been in the galleries. Here he believed he would reign, if not rule. She saw his visions in the way he gazed at the possessions of the house he now occupied. She'd learned most of the treasures did not belong to him but were merely the trappings, and, if necessary, the collateral of the new state whose birth was imminent, waiting only for the correct moment, the inevitable tide of natural consequences.
The business of state moved slowly but steadily, and the tension of the days was always between Louisa and Aaron at night. They had few private moments, and some days they did not see each other, except for meals, until their door closed behind them at night. And often before a word was exchanged, before a lamp was lit, Louisa knew by the way he seized her how the events of the day had gone for Aaron. It became a source of amusement. "I think I like it best when you've had a unproductive time with Peter and Franklin," she purred, one night after he'd made love to her, and she was feeling particularly contented.
"Mmmm. That so," he replied, in less of a mood to converse than she. He had to force himself to listen to her whisper of the things she had done and learned. At those moments he told her what, if anything, he wanted her to know, worrying silently that she was much more involved in the project than he would like, thinking also he continued to be much more attracted to her than he believed wise, beginning to realize a romantic alliance with Marguerite Hill was inevitable.
Aaron was drawn and openly welcomed into the conspiracy, but he sensed and then learned from his own sources that what was revealed to him, as well as to Easton, was not the complete picture. Aaron suspected the whole of the operation was known to one man, and that man was Peter Melville. Franklin Carson thought he knew the total, but Aaron was certain Melville had more in his portfolio than was revealed even to Carson. Perhaps Simon Hudson was privy to it all, but that was doubtful. Aaron was sure Peter Melville's schemes outdid them all. His life-style was opulent, even by Hudson standards, and Aaron knew Melville's tastes were bred in greed that fat surpassed his partners' lusts.
As Aaron lay in the darkness next to Louisa, thinking himself drained of passion for the night, he considered his probable liaison with the colonel's wife. He smiled broadly, his expression hidden in darkness, telling himself it would be good―and the best way possible―to remember Louisa was not the only woman who could arouse and satisfy him. She was, after all, only a woman, and he was positive Marguerite had abilities of which he only needed to take advantage.
Yet, even as he considered the probable delights of future conquests, the beguiling woman next to him brought him from reverie and into the heat of the present moment, where he soon realized he was not finished with desire for Louisa―for this night, at least, he assured himself. A man was a fool to believe there was but one woman to fill his needs, and possibly insane to consider monogamy as a mode of existence.
Chapter Fifty
PETER Melville studied the men who came to his attention, and soon the field captains were selected, the maps unfurled. Each man's devotion to the success of Southern dreams, power, and rights was placed above the value of their individual lives. The holy oaths were given, the duties assigned, and the plans set in motion. Like Melville, the select men were prominent, unsuspected, taciturn; their infrequent conversations held in parlors where no one could overhear, or in grand houses like Easton's, where the ears of any uninvited listener were unschooled to any but specific English commands. Each man was then charged with choosing a trustworthy agent who would be expected to search out a group of men, each unknown to the other, but ready whenever called to come forward without knowledge of their mission―a lethal, conscienceless, adventure-seeking lot―men whose natures were strikingly similar to the man who not long before had sailed the coasts of Britain and the Gulf states of his native country. And the lures for this new company of soldiers were the same that had stirred Aaron's blood-money and excitement―but without the loyalties, or the dreams of vengeance, or the emotion of hate―at least, not yet.
Unknown to the secret army, when summoned they would be expected to lay siege to and capture key military positions and arsenals within the state, and, if Franklin Carson did his job, the soldiers would be equipped as well as "the enemy." Then the territory could be declared to be in the Southern camp, or become a separate state as the moment and the triumvirate dictated.
While the army was cautiously being recruited in the countryside, editors of some of the more popular newspapers began assisting the conspirators, usually as a result of sincere personal conviction, with no connection to the conspiracy. The papers announced the news from home, the editorials raging in favor of Southern opinion, and slowly the California populace grew to be aware of the nation's impetus toward disunity, if not actual war. The onslaught was slow, the momentum gradual, but, from the conspirators' point of view, prophetic.
It was hoped Colonel Hill would turn out to be a significant figure in the final act. It was expected he could be persuaded to cooperate, for his assistance would be crucial to the plans. In his position at the headquarters of Western military operations, he could assign soldiers sympathetic to the South to key locations where, when attacked, their resistance to the invading army might be strongly affected by their ambivalent loyalties. The true nature of Colonel Hill's personality was unclear for the present. His personal honor seemed strong enough to make his oath to the government in Washington a matter of fact, but his assignment to the San Francisco command had been secured by Edwin Taylor, a congressman whose sympathies were openly, unabashedly Southern. And for the time being, the inner circle at Crane's Nest was very optimistic about the future of Hill's allegiance. His vices were scrutinized, and his potential for corruption developed whenever possible. Slowly his gambling debts in private games with socially prominent San Franciscans began
to mount. These obligations among gentlemen were of no great concern to anyone―for the present. The sums were merely recorded as the action progressed.
All throughout the planning, Aaron listened and watched as if his life depended on it. He moved casually, easily, within the circle, his innate capacity for intrigue giving him an advantage where a better educated but less intuitive man would have failed. His handsome, well-groomed appearance, his seemingly natural aristocratic bearing afforded him entree to society, and there was no suspicion of his charade. Only Louisa read his tensions and she did all she could to soothe them. If there was any hesitation, it was on Peter Melville's part, and it pertained only to Marshall's previous philosophical inclinations. He actually never considered the possibility of Aaron's impersonation of Marshall. He merely acknowledged Marshall's lucky escape from injury aboard the Golden Lady. When Louisa paled visibly at his comments, he apologized for unnecessarily bringing up uncomfortable memories, never knowing how close to a nerve his remarks had struck.
Aaron schemed on several levels, just as he suspected Peter Melville did. He regarded Colonel Hill as a likely traitor, but expected to hedge his bets with Marguerite Hill. He knew little of the woman, except what his eyes could plainly see. The rumors about her were many; the facts few. But as he began to observe her, he suspected the truth would tend to confirm rumor. He knew for certain Peter and she were occasionally lovers, and the more Aaron saw of Marguerite, the more her general boredom with life became obvious.
Her preoccupation was self-indulgence, and she had endless opportunity to see her whims and fantasies, as they pertained to men, were realized. She had no family in California, and no children, with no hopes for any. In fact, Marguerite made it plain, when she queried politely about Louisa's new baby, that she really preferred to remain childless, and would not give it another thought, "except Colonel Hill would die with regret if we did not someday produce an heir." Her inclinations were strictly toward selfgratification, her pleasures taken without her husband's knowledge, and without the inconvenience or discomfort of conscience. She professed love for the colonel, and believed whole-heartedly that her affection rested solely with him. It was simply a matter of her preferences diverging from accepted standards. She would have openly indulged herself with other men, but she did accept the reality that her husband would never understand. Her behavior was not flagrant―she "carried on," as she so aptly described it, in secrecy, but only for the sake of the security of her social position and her very comfortable life, not for any principle, or regret. Her tastes were very democratic, and only fear of exposure prevented her from too often crossing class and color lines―and the sometimes transient fear of producing a child of strikingly dissimilar features. She was the kind of woman Aaron knew best. And he knew he could play any game she cared to name, and at any stakes she cared to set, for it was a contest of equals.
Ford, Jessie Page 25