by Lady Vixen
"True. But please remember, Napoleon suffered a shattering defeat at Leipzig in Germany in October and is retreating now from Moscow and suffering even further losses. From what reports I have received, he is in a very unenviable position. The British field marshall, Wellington, crossed the Pyrenees into France months ago, and though the fighting is heavy, I have no doubt Wellington will carry the day. Once all of Napoleon's forces have had their teeth pulled, nothing will stop the British from turning on us! The capture of New Orleans would strengthen their hand, and possibly strike a fatal blow to our country."
Jason ran one hand through his heavy black hair. "All my reports indicate that the British are preparing for a large attack, what they hope will be a surprise attack, somewhere in the southern United States. New Orleans has not been positively identified as that site, but logic tells me that our Creole Queen is indeed the city that the English hope to take."
Somewhat thoughtfully, Christopher picked up his brandy glass, having already decided he would go to England. Jason's words and ideas about the present war coincided with his own, and he was convinced of the gravity of the situation. The Americans were being forced out of Fort George at the mouth of the Niagara; the British had burned the town of Newark and were continuing their advance on Fort Niagara, while their Indian allies were intent on plundering the town of Lewiston, New York. The news was all bad, despite Lieutenant—now Captain —Perry's victory in gaining control of Lake Erie. Granted Tecumseh had been killed in September, and that had ended the Indians' hopes of a strong confederacy, and General Andrew Jackson had taken command in the Creek War, but the picture was not a happy one. There were too many fronts in this war. It was scattered from Canada to Florida, with skirmishes fought in a dozen places and no clear-cut victories or losses. The War of 1812 was turning into a seemingly purposeless and unrewarding fiasco.
The news about a possible attack on New Orleans, though, jerked Christopher out of his almost-blind acceptance of the war. And he found that he very much wished to do everything in his power to prevent such a happening. "If you want me to go to England, I will," he said abruptly. "But I must admit I do not see how I can be of any great help to you. I was a boy when last there, and I have few if any sources that would be of use."
"I do not expect a miracle, my friend. I know you may discover nothing. I'm aware of the situation, and I will not be able to open many doors for you—for obvious reasons."
Grimly Christopher inquired, "Your uncle?"
Jason nodded and asked dryly, "You know my background? Or did you, as I suspected, overhear the conversation last night at the Governor's Ball?"
A grin passed over Christopher's face. "Certainly! You want a man with ears and wits about him, do you not?"
"You see," Jason said with some amusement, "you are the man I need! But remember, you will be entirely on your own. There are certain people I can recommend that you see—but only between ourselves. My letters of introduction would do you more harm than good. If it were known we are acquainted, your every move would be suspect. As it is, you will have a very difficult time of it!"
Christopher shrugged. "I'll do what I can. But you must be more precise. What good will it do for me to discover that an attack is imminent without proof? And how much proof do you need?"
His fingers making a steeple, Jason stared at him for some seconds. He replied very slowly, "Your word alone will suffice."
At Christopher's start of disbelief, Jason said, "All I need is something more tangible than rumors to lay before the military. I will vouch for you, and without conceit I can assure you that they will take my word." With a grimace Jason added, "And if a man of my choosing comes direct from England with word of an attack on the city, and they do not send us troops and supplies, I shall be at my wits' end." His voice hardening, he continued, "Governor Claiborne writes constantly requesting reinforcements but is ignored. That situation, in view of a probable attack, cannot be permitted to continue—hence, my proposition."
"Aren't you taking a risky chance? How can you be certain I won't betray you?" Christopher asked curiously.
"You could," Jason admitted freely. "I may be taking a foolish chance. But I know your feeling for the British. I know, too, that you own lands here in Louisiana, lands I doubt you would like to see devastated by war. You made a place for yourself here in New Orleans, even before the war started."
Christopher still looked skeptical. And then Jason smiled that very charming smile of his and said gently, "And there are times when I must trust my own instincts."
"How much time do I have before I must depart?"
"Naturally I would prefer you to be on the next ship we can get out of port. But you must have a legitimate reason for returning to your homeland, or have you overlooked that fact?"
Christopher pulled a face. "The thought had occurred to me, and I do have an idea that might work. The problem is time. I'll need at least a month or two."
Frowning, his black brows meeting over the wide forehead, Jason asked heavily, "You realize that time is an important factor?"
"I'm aware of that! But by the same token, nothing is going to be moving very fast this time of year, and for now we know where the enemy is. You yourself admit that we don't know for certain that New Orleans is their target. With that in mind, I would hazard a guess that, whatever is planned, nothing definite will be set in motion before next fall, and that assumes Napoleon is beaten on all fronts in Europe. Until he is contained or completely annihilated, the British and their allies have their hands more than full." Christopher paused, trying to gauge the effect his words were having on Jason.
Jason was watching him intently, and Christopher had the curious conviction that despite Jason's earlier words, he was on trial. Picking his way with care, he continued, "If you agree with my assessment of the situation, I think you'll concede that as long as I arrive in England by the middle of April, I should have enough time to discover what is planned and to return ahead of the enemy. I'll admit, I could be cutting it fine, but without a very legitimate reason for returning to England, I am useless."
"Just what is this plan that takes two months to perfect?" Jason asked dryly.
Christopher hesitated. It was a flimsy idea, but at the moment it was all he could think of, and it depended upon so many different things. Not the least, Mrs. Eggleston and Nick. And he didn't like explaining himself to someone else. He was too used to doing what he damned well pleased!
Jason could guess at some of Christopher's dilemma. After all, Christopher knew very little of him. And from what Jason knew of Saxon, Saxon was not a man used to answering to another.
Having come to a decision, Christopher said in a perfectly expressionless tone, "Last night I met an old friend of mine, a Mrs. Eggleston."
"The governess to the Dumas girl?"
Startled, Christopher stared at him—was there anything that Savage didn't know? And nodding his head he admitted, "The same. Only when I knew her, she was living not far from my grandfather's estate and was the wife of a retired colonel."
"So?"
Quickly, keeping the facts to a bare minimum, Christopher explained about Nicole Ashford—leaving out their personal relationship. But Jason caught the slight change of inflection in Christopher's deep voice when the girl's name was mentioned and drew his own conclusions— young Saxon wasn't entirely indifferent to the chit. But his words gave away little as he asked thoughtfully, "You think you can eradicate the last five years in a few months and have her presentable by March?"
Christopher shrugged. "It shouldn't be impossible. After all, her first thirteen years were like those of any other young lady, and I think Mrs. Eggleston will be up to smoothing off the rough edges."
"Well, we can only hope. I give you credit for quick thinking."
Christopher bowed; his features lightening and a smile hovering about his lips, he murmured, "Thank you. I trust you will find the remainder of my activities as satisfactory."
An eyebrow
rose in mockery. "Oh, I'm certain you'll get the task done. I am not often wrong in my dealings with my fellowmen, and I definitely don't intend to be this time."
Christopher merely nodded his head. Jason rose from his chair and said with surprise, "We seem to have covered the most important items in a remarkably short time. For the present, you will set about with your own plans, but keep me informed of any problems or setbacks. I will keep you abreast of any new developments that may necessitate our moving faster."
"Agreed. I'll meet with Mrs. Eggleston as I planned on Wednesday, and depending on the outcome of that meeting, I shall be returning almost immediately to Thibodaux House."
After Jason had departed, Christopher roamed the library like a caged jungle beast. At one point he decided he must be the biggest fool alive even to consider becoming involved in such a scheme, but he knew it would put to rest the dissastisfaction that had been plaguing him, while allowing him to do something for this country that he had adopted—or that had adopted him, he thought wryly.
Though he did not consider himself a patriot, New Orleans was his city. And he would hate for his lands to be destroyed by war. The thought of the British boot on Louisiana soil was intolerable, and he would be damned if he would meekly stand by and let it happen. He silently congratulated himself on having been able to concoct the plan to return the heiress Nicole Ashford to her rightful place.
Jason Savage, also pacing his own elegant library, was plagued by uncertainty. Saxon's plan to return Nicole was admirable, but Jason, older and less impetuous than Christopher, saw several pitfalls. After staring at the fire for some time, he seated himself behind his desk and began to write to the secretary of state, James Monroe. It was a brief letter, and after rereading it, he sealed it. Christopher, he decided, need not be apprised of his action. If it came to nothing, it came to nothing; but if Monroe fell in with his suggestion, he would have something of value to offer the young man.
Christopher, meanwhile, continued to view the plan from all angles. He distrusted it as much, if not more, than did Jason, but for the moment it was all he had.
Nick would give him no trouble. Mrs. Eggleston should be willing to fall in with his idea, if she accepted the story he gave her. Naturally he could say nothing of his real reasons for wishing to return to England, nor could he tell her the truth about his relationship with Nicole.
Seeing Mrs. Eggleston last night had been a shock. He still wasn't certain whether it had been unpleasant or pleasurable.
As a youth, left often to his own devices by parents more concerned and involved with the antics of the ton than their own offspring, it had been to Mrs. Eggleston that he had turned, and she had provided the only deep human affection he had ever known, except for his irascible grandfather. He had been barely in his teens when his parents were killed in their coach as it hurtled over a cliff. That tragedy had made him cling even more to the warmth and sanity that she represented. Perhaps, he mused, if she hadn't been away with the colonel that disastrous summer, he never would have fallen under Annabelle's dark spell and his uncle would never have been able to trap him so neatly.
It was unfortunate that he was going to trick Mrs. Eggleston, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that she would be much better off under his care than in her present situation.
He was still turning over half-formed plans on Wednesday when he set out for his meeting with Mrs. Eggleston. They met in front of a well-known dressmaker's shop, and after a little conversation, Christopher persuaded her to enter his carriage.
He had come to the conclusion that he would wait to spring Nick's presence on her. Once Mrs. Eggleston was under his protection, he could, he hoped, present a plausible story of why Nick was currently at his plantation, unchaperoned, and why she had been with him for the past five years.
Although he would admit to Mrs. Eggleston that he had done his share of privateering with Nick in tow, there was no need for her to know of his connection with Lafitte, or that he had sailed under the name of Captain Saber. No, Christopher decided thoughtfully, there was no reason for him to divulge everything.
He didn't doubt his ability to carry it off; the real problem would be later, in convincing Mrs. Eggleston to agree to lie about her own activities these past five years and to say that she and Nicole had been together. His first step must be to prize Mrs. Eggleston out from under the thumb of Miss Leala Dumas. He had decided that he would offer her the protection of his home, her position being much that of a favorite aunt. In this he was sincere, and even if Jason Savage had not called, Christopher would not have allowed her present situation to continue.
Now he would be able to use her dependent state, although, to give him credit, this was not what he had originally planned for her. Mrs. Eggleston would not be harmed in any way by the deception, and when it was complete, he would still see to her welfare. But first he must convince her that she was welcome under his roof.
He presented the idea to her in the politest and most graceful way possible, and was so certain of success that he had planned to have her settled in his home on Dauphine Street that very evening. But he had not reckoned with Mrs. Eggleston's gentle determination to make her own way.
Her eyes filled with tears at his kind words, and a tremulous smile quivered on her lips. "So kind," she whispered, but gathering her failing emotions she said sadly, "I cannot, Christopher. It would not be convenable. Someday you may marry and come to regret this fine and noble gesture you make now. I have managed so far, and while some of my charges have been—" She hesitated before saying, "high-spirited, I contrive to make myself amenable to whatever fate sends me. I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice and saddle yourself with the care of one old woman. I have a little aside, and when the time comes that I can no longer find employment, I shall be able to keep myself, if not with the elegancies of life, at least with the necessities."
"And in the meantime," he bit out explosively, "you are at the beck and call of a supercilious young wench who is not worthy of sweeping the floor in front of you. By God, madame, I had thought better of you! Why must you act the drudge when I am offering you most sincerely a way of escape?"
His plan aside, he was genuinely furious that she would not accept his help.
"Such temper, Christopher!" she reproved gently. "I had hoped that you would outgrow it."
Nearly strangling on the hot words he longed to hurl at her small white head, Christopher snapped his mouth shut. Controlling his temper with an effort, he said in carefully enunciated tones, "Madame, you are behaving in a most unreasonable manner! You are saying you would rather continue at the mercy of spoiled beauties and be tossed from pillar to post as they marry and you are again looking for employment. Is this your desire?"
With a tremor of unease, she said, "Well, not precisely. I would love to have the charge of some dear little children and be able to stay in one family for the rest of my life." She sighed. "But everyone wants young nannies— they say I am too old and perhaps they are right. You see, there is nothing left for me but to act as companion or governess. Miss Dumas is not dreadful, Christopher. I had been companion to an elderly French emigre lady in Canada, and she was a trifle wearing on my nerves." Encouragingly she added, "Miss Dumas is an angel beside Madame Bovair," innocently giving Christopher a very clear picture of what must have been a hellish existence. Unaccountably moved, he concentrated on his horses, not trusting himself to speak. Mrs. Eggleston timidly laid a blue-veined hand on his arm and asked in a small voice, "You are not angry with me?"
He was. Very angry with her. But he didn't allow himself to say so. Coldly he replied, "Of course not. I enjoy having my generosity thrown back in my face." He meant it. Inexplicably he wanted to care for her, he who cared for no one, or so he had convinced himself long ago, and she would not let him.
Stricken at his words, she glanced away. They continued thus for several seconds; then unable to stand the sight of her obvious distress, he asked in a milder tone of voic
e, "What is it you actually object to? Living in the same house with a bachelor? If that is so," he said impetuously, "I will give you your own house. But let me assure you that we would not be in the way of each other. I confess that it would be pleasant to share my meals with another and to know that there would be someone waiting for me when I returned."
She smiled slightly and remarked, "If that is what you want, why not marry? Surely a wife is the one you would wish to have waiting for you—not an old woman." Then she gave a little sigh and said, "It is too bad that you are not married and have not set up your nursery—you wouldn't consider me too old to be a nanny."
"Are you saying you would work for me?" he demanded incredulously.
"Well, of course I would!"
Raising his eyes heavenward, he cursed a pride that was as stubborn as it was gentle and said out loud, "God, give me strength! Very well, madame, you will not live in my home without earning your keep. Give me a week, two at the most, in which to make certain arrangements, and then I shall be back to present you with another proposal that I hope you will find more to your liking."
A short while later he deposited Mrs. Eggleston a scant block from where they had first met, and watching her birdlike little figure disappear down the wooden sidewalk, he was filled with amused frustration—women!
CHAPTER 16
The library at Thibodaux House was a long and narrow room. It ran the full length of the house, with tall windows at opposite ends that nearly covered the width of the room. On one long wall was a magnificent moss-green marble fireplace and a carved door that led to the main hallway of the house. Above the mantel rested a massive gilt-edged mirror, and before the fire burning on the grate were two dainty, but extremely comfortable, scarlet-covered chairs with a large satinwood table between them. At one end of the room stood a graceful dark Spanish desk, a black leather chair behind it, and at the opposite end, beneath one of the windows, was a long, narrow spindle-legged table in a dark wood. The floor was brightened by the jewel tones of the fine Oriental rug. Opposite the fireplace were two sets of French doors that led outside to the veranda. All in all it was a beguiling and elegant room, and Nicole spent a great deal of time there, especially on drizzly, gray days like this afternoon. Despite Galena's protests she was still dressed in her boy's garb. She vowed she would go naked before wearing a gown cast off by a discarded mistress of Saber's. The only time she released the gray trousers and white linen shirt was at night, and when necessity demanded they be washed.