Burke in the Land of Silver

by Tom Williams

‘Indeed. That should see off the English!’

  M Goriot allowed himself to join the laughter for a moment before suggesting that M Bergotte might like to address himself to the buffet where the sorbets were already suffering from the warmth of the spring September evening.

  James did address himself to the buffet and, for all his national pride, found the array of pastries and iced desserts a refreshing change from the groaning boards of the O’Gorman household. He did not linger over his food, though, but set off to circulate again, wanting to waste no time in assessing the political mood.

  All he found was more of the attitudes expressed by M Goriot. The French (like the British, if O’Gorman was anything to go by) were in Buenos Aires as merchants. They had no interest in politics and, indeed, were rather nervous about expressing political views. Given how many people had lost their heads in political arguments since the start of the Revolution, Burke had some sympathy for them. It must be difficult to say the right thing when the right thing to say could change so dramatically from month to month. Only a few years ago, anyone who had addressed Napoleon as ‘Your Highness’ would have risked death. Burke rather suspected that in a few months, anyone who didn’t show that degree of respect would face the same fate.

  He sipped his wine (imported from France, of course – as if they could not grow perfectly good vines where they were) and scanned the room again. He was becoming bored. The French here would not fight. They would toady to the Spaniards while Spain was in charge and, if Britain ever invaded, they would toady to the British. So long as their profits were guaranteed, they would toady to anybody.

  He noticed a cluster of guests at one end of the room and, in the middle, Ana, flirting with a crowd of men who were behaving as if she were the first woman they had ever seen. Burke watched her with the gaze of a connoisseur. She was, he conceded, not a conventional beauty – her lip had a slight twist to it and her eyes were fractionally closer together than fashion dictated – but she had a natural vivacity that shone the more brightly in this backwater. And (he knew, instinctively, recognising in others the imperatives that drove his own life) she had a definite enthusiasm for sex.

  Burke caught her eye and was gratified to watch as she extricated herself from the group of men around her, albeit with much kissing of cheeks and clasping of hands. Moments later, she was beside him.

  ‘You look bored, monsieur.’

  ‘Oh, God! Does it show? I have been doing my best not to look bored these last three hours but I think that by now I have learned all there is to learn and I may retreat, my duty done.’

  ‘Back home so early?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He paused. ‘Perhaps not all my duty is done. I have yet to exercise your horse.’

  ‘Well, sir, let us exercise him.’

  They made their way out and a servant led the chaise to the door. He wore no livery, James noticed. Obviously the Goriots could not keep a large establishment and had simply hired the man for the evening. Still, he seemed smart enough and he hurried to open the chaise for Ana. James tipped him a few pesos and then mounted beside Anna and took the reins.

  It was cold by now and Ana had every excuse to press herself close against him.

  ‘Where would you like us to go?’

  ‘Head for San Telmo. It’s that way.’ She pointed southward, along the river.

  The chaise clattered along the cobbled streets. They were moving away from the fashionable centre to the fringes of the town but the streets remained straight. The city was arranged in neat blocks, making it easy for Burke to find his way around, even after so short a stay.

  The houses they were passing now did not belong to rich merchants but to the men who worked in the port and made their living from the sea. The streets here were darker, but, as they passed a tavern with a torch burning beside the entrance, James turned to his companion. The light of the flames gave her face an almost terrifying beauty. He had admired her since the moment he saw her. He had been surprised that O’Gorman had been so relaxed about leaving them alone together – behaviour which pushed at the very limits of propriety. It was almost as if he did not care how his wife behaved.

  As if reading his mind, Ana spoke. ‘My husband is a kind man. But he is always the man of business. He is always calm. Always sensible. I am not like that. I was born under the sign of Aries.’ She smiled. ‘I am the victim of my passions.’

  ‘And where are your passions taking you now?’

  ‘Ah!’ she sighed. ‘My passions would take me to places that I really shouldn’t go with a gentleman of so short an acquaintance.’

  Burke raised an eyebrow and she shook her head prettily.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘my passions must be kept in their place. And you, sir . . .’ She shook her finger at him in mock reproof. ‘You shall take me home.’

  Burke turned the chaise and trotted back the way that they had come.

  *

  James allowed himself the luxury of an extra hour in bed the next morning. His attempt to discover the mood of the French had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. And Ana’s mischievous flirting had added some spice to the end of the evening. He wondered if her flirtatiousness might lead to something more and, if it did, whether this might give problems with Mr O’Gorman. It was difficult to tell. The couple obviously got on well enough together, but Ana seemed bored by her life in Buenos Aires and by her husband. She had avowed herself a passionate woman, but Burke could see no passion in her marriage. The Ana who sat politely at the breakfast table while her husband carved himself a slice of cold beef to start his day was a shadow of the creature who charmed and sparkled at the Societé Francaise. She had been the ideal companion for the business in hand, chattering busily to the other guests while James was, by comparison, inconspicuous as he went about his business. There was no doubt she was a useful ally and, he could not deny, he would be happy to spend more time in her company.

  For now, though, he needed to concentrate on his next objective: to infiltrate Spanish society and mingle with the Spanish merchants as easily as he had with the French. He could not rely on Ana’s help here. Reluctantly, he rang the bell to summon his valet to help him dress.

  William Brown entered the room with an alacrity that suggested he had judged to the instant when he would be needed, and had been waiting ready for the call. Even after all their years together, James was still occasionally surprised by just how sharp William could be. His honest broad face and apparent simplicity had lulled many an enemy into a complacency they had come to regret.

  Now he was the perfect valet, laying out breeches, shirt and jacket, all freshly laundered.

  ‘Excellent work, Brown. When you leave the Service, I will be able to recommend you as a valet with a clear conscience.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say so, sir.’

  ‘And I’m glad that you’re glad. But . . .’ James swung himself from the bed and started dressing as he spoke. ‘. . . I need your more exclusive skills at the moment. We need an invitation to one of the Viceroy’s soirées.’

  ‘Would that be another outing for M Bergotte, sir?’

  James had buttoned his shirt by now and the conversation paused as William adjusted his cravat. M Bergotte was now an established alias and James was tempted to use him again. On the other hand, relations between France and Spain were uneasy. The French had taken exception to the fact that Spain had made a separate peace with England and the Viceroy would be likely to be on his guard with a Frenchman, even assuming that M Bergotte could obtain an invitation. A Prussian, on the other hand, would be seen as distant from the immediate concerns of the Spanish and hence more likely to have the opportunity to gauge the real state of relations between Spain and the other European powers.

  ‘No, William. I think it is time to resuscitate Captain Witz.’

  ‘Captain Witz? But why should the Viceroy be inviting the Captain to one of his fancy parties?’

  ‘As to that, William . . .’ Burke smiled. ‘I thin
k I will pray for divine inspiration.’

  *

  Sunday morning found Otto Witz worshipping at the church of San Ignacio. The oldest church in Buenos Aires, it offered a refuge from the heat and a reminder of the European world that the Spaniards had left behind. Burke, listening to the once-familiar litany, was not sure that he wanted to be reminded. He had abandoned his Catholicism the day that he left the Regiment of Dillon, reasoning (rightly) that Popishness would not help advancement in King George’s army. Despite himself, he could not bring himself to take Mass without first attending confession. He winced as he recalled his time in the booth the previous afternoon: ‘Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been more than ten years since my last confession.’ Fortunately, the priest had been no more anxious for the full details of Burke’s life than he had been to reveal them but, nevertheless, penance had meant that Burke had spent most of the night on his knees before he had felt that he could turn up to the service without putting his soul into immediate peril.

  He tried to distract himself from memories of Sunday mornings in Kilkenny by concentrating on the splendid uniforms and gorgeous dresses that filled the pews. The church was favoured by the Viceroy’s court and no one attending from there would miss the chance to dress in their full glory. Burke’s inspection saw much to be admired, especially among the ranks of the younger and prettier of the wives. More importantly, it confirmed that the place was not popular among the French. He ran little risk of meeting anyone who knew him as M Bergotte.

  Captain Witz may have chosen to forgo his uniform for a visit to church but he was every inch the soldier and, as he clicked his heels and bowed to everyone he met, equally obviously a Prussian.

  It was not long before one of the Spaniards in the crowd leaving the church after Mass introduced himself.

  ‘Juan de la Cruz Bringas, at your service. You are a stranger amongst us, sir?’

  ‘Captain Otto Witz, at yours, sir. I am, indeed, a visitor to your country.’

  ‘You are a Prussian?’

  ‘I have that honour, sir.’

  ‘And yet a Catholic?’

  ‘There remain a few adherents of the True Faith in Prussia, sir.’

  It was as Burke had anticipated: a Prussian Catholic not only had novelty value but was to be feted as a victory of the Church of Rome at the heart of Protestantism. Thanks to William Brown, Captain Witz had been set up with rooms some distance from the O’Gormans’ home. Soon messengers arrived there regularly carrying invitations from the cream of Spanish Society.

  As Captain Witz became an established character in the town, so Burke spent more time away from the O’Gormans. Much as he regretted losing the pleasure of Ana’s company, he felt that it was, perhaps, for the best. So he was surprised when, on one of the increasingly rare evenings when he was dining at the merchant’s house, O’Gorman berated him for his neglect.

  ‘Mrs O’Gorman flourished when you attended upon us almost every evening. Now the poor girl is fading away again.’

  Burke looked at Ana, who seemed, to his eyes, the picture of health. He turned back to her husband, wondering if the merchant was joking. But, though the wine glass at his place had been drained and refilled several times during the meal, he seemed quite serious.

  ‘I am sure, sir, that your wife does not lack for attention now that you are returned from Europe.’

  O’Gorman drained his glass again before replying. ‘I am a dull old stick, Burke. I know my limitations. Ana needs more amusing company than the merchants in this town can offer.’

  Ana shook her head, insisting that this was not true. James had the uncomfortable feeling that he was caught in the middle of some matrimonial quarrel that had started long before he arrived in La Plata. Searching desperately for a change of subject, he started to talk about the saddles that had proved so useful for concealing the messages that he sent to London. He had admired the quality of the richly decorated leatherwork, but thought the American saddles ugly. ‘I cannot believe that they would be comfortable to ride upon.’

  ‘I can’t really judge.’ O’Gorman clearly didn’t want to talk about saddles, but Ana hurried to keep the conversation on a safe topic.

  ‘No, Mr Burke. You couldn’t be more wrong. People put a fleece across the saddle and it is as comfortable as if I were sitting in an armchair by the fire.’

  ‘Then you must have little control of the horse.’

  ‘Oh, that’s far from true. The horses are trained to respond to the lightest of touches. Riding is one of the best entertainments available in Buenos Aires.’

  Her husband interrupted, grumpily. ‘I have never seen the pleasure in riding.’ Then his expression lightened. ‘But you, Mr Burke, you could ride with Mrs O’Gorman. It would allow you to become familiar with the way that things are done over here, and it would give my wife the entertainment she so desires.’

  It was not settled straight away. Ana claimed it would be an imposition on their guest and James insisted that Mr O’Gorman would be a better companion for his wife. But by the time they had finished dessert, it was decided. James and Ana were to spend the following afternoon riding together.

  *

  The wide, straight streets of Buenos Aires were ideally suited to an excursion on horseback. James had to admit that Ana was right: the saddles gave a more comfortable ride than the European style he was used to and, the horses being responsive to even a light touch of the leg, he still had enough control to canter alongside Ana, kicking up dust as he enjoyed the sensation of the horse moving beneath him.

  They had been riding an hour, aimlessly crossing and recrossing the city, when James realised they were taking the San Telmo road that he had followed on the night after their visit to the Societé Francaise. As his eyes met Ana’s, he realised she was remembering that night, too.

  ‘I said I was guided by my passions.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Do you want to see where they were guiding me?’

  He nodded, as if speaking would break the spell.

  She led the way. After a few minutes he saw a building, larger than the others around it, with a gate leading to a courtyard within.

  Ana gestured towards it. ‘People are always coming and going to the ships – they need places to sleep. So the inns here are very prosperous. And comfortable.’

  She rode through the gate and dismounted in the courtyard. A groom ran forward to take the horse.

  For a moment, James hesitated. She was his host’s wife and O’Gorman’s cooperation was essential to his mission. But then she smiled again and he was lost. He swung himself from the saddle and, taking her hand, led her into the inn.

  Half an hour later, they lay happily exhausted in each other’s arms. Burke watched as she slipped easily into sleep. He thought of the taste of her mouth, the touch of her body on his. She was very beautiful. And very passionate. O’Gorman didn’t deserve her. She was worth the risk.

  *

  The next few weeks allowed Burke little time to spend with Ana. Captain Witz was invited to dine with one Spanish family after another. In truth, he was quite pleased not to be eating at O’Gorman’s table. The man seemed careless of his wife’s activities – and, for all James’ feelings toward her, he could not fool himself that he was her first affaire – but Burke still felt uncomfortable dining with the man he was cuckolding. So he concentrated on the business of cultivating his new Spanish friends.

  Most of his conversations over dinner were about the weather and (for the men) the organisation of the Prussian army or (for the women) the latest European fashions. Everything seemed rosy in La Plata except that now and then someone would talk about a robbery or windows being broken or the danger of being attacked on the way home in the evenings.

  ‘It’s odd,’ James remarked to Ana. She had taken to visiting him in Otto Witz’s rooms. Burke was more comfortable with Ana when they were not under her husband’s roof. Now they lay in Captain Witz’s bed. It was October. The days
were fast growing hotter and their skin had a light sheen of sweat. He licked Ana’s shoulder, enjoying the taste of her.

  She rolled toward him. ‘What’s odd?’

  ‘No one at the Societé Francaise mentioned this spate of criminal activity.’

  Ana stopped caressing him for a moment, her brow puckered in thought.

  ‘None of my friends have mentioned anything either.’

  ‘It’s almost as if the Spanish are being targeted.’

  ‘Mmmhh.’

  Ana’s tone made it clear that she had no interest in extending the conversation.

  James pulled her to him and, for some while after that, neither of them spoke at all.

  After Ana had left, James lay alone on the bed, thinking.

  The next day, arriving at the O’Gormans’ after the merchant had left for his office, he summoned William to his room.

  ‘Enough of the idle life! I’ve got work for you.’

  William’s eyes betrayed his enthusiasm but he said nothing.

  ‘I’ve met the French and they count for nothing. The English keep to themselves. Yet somebody is attacking the Spaniards. Nothing spectacular: a window broken here; a fire set there; a man attacked on his way home; a woman insulted in the street. So if it’s not anything that the French know about and it’s certainly not the work of the English, then what is going on here, William?’

  ‘You think there’s unrest among the working people?’

  ‘Well there’s unrest somewhere. Which, strangely, is what Colonel Taylor told me our government suspected. It seems that, just this once, Pitt and his men might have got something right. Yet I have found no one who admits to any unhappiness with the regime at all. So I think it’s time you started asking questions among the servant classes.’

  William nodded: ‘What I’ve heard here is that O’Gorman’s people are sound because they think he’s a good master. But they don’t give two hoots for the Spanish. I’ll get myself about a bit and see what I can pick up.’

  ‘Will they trust you?’

  ‘They’ve no reason not to. I did what you said and I’ve made myself out to be unhappy with my lot. And now I can show myself as taking advantage of your being so much away. I’ll suggest I’m ready to throw up my position with you and settle over here. I could talk like those damn Yankees and sound off about “the land of the free” and “being created equal”.’