by tiffy
ʺThe general has powerful friends in the congress and the navy. Let us face facts, Liza. Given my precarious political position, I cannot dismiss Wilkinson unless I have firm evidence.ʺ
ʺHe is Agent 13 on the Spanish pay rosters! It is unconscionable that he cannot be stopped.ʺ
ʺWeʹve long known of his involvement with Spain, but itʹs a double‐edged sword, for he barters us as much information about the Spanish as he sells them about us. He is a scoundrel, but for the nonce, he is our scoundrel.ʺ
ʺA dangerous one, according to Samuel. Here, read this last letter I received from himʺ ʺLiza, please, sit down. I have something of great moment to tell you.ʺ
Jefferson assisted her to the threadbare settee in the shabby room.
Elise felt a premonition of disaster but forced it aside. ʺWhat could be of greater moment than the very existence of our country, Mr. Jefferson?ʺ
ʺAfter surviving all the personal losses in my own family, I know no easy way to say this, my dear. Samuel is dead.ʺ
She felt everything go from red to black before her eyes. Digging her nails into her palms until she drew blood, she asked, ʺHow did it happen?ʺ
ʺThe details are not clear. Only this evening, as I was leaving to meet you, did the letter arrive from St. Louis. It appears to have been a drowning accident in a small lake outside the city.ʺ
She stood up on shaky legs. ʺThatʹs absurd! Samuel was a strong swimmer. He had been watching Wilkinson closelytoo closely it would now appear.ʺ Her voice grew flat and her eyes became hard as glass.
Jefferson, never known to drink anything stronger than wine with dinner, rang for brandy, then urged Elise to sit down. ʺI think it wise if you leave Washington for a while, perhaps visit your Shelby cousins in Kentucky.ʺ
ʺI shall leave Washington, rest assured, Mr. Jefferson,ʺ she said quietly. ʺBut I shall go to St. Louis to bring my brotherʹs body home.ʺ And to punish the men who killed him!
Chapter 4
St. Louis, Summer 1806
ʺNo wonder St. Louisans boast that God would never dare cross the Mississippi,ʺ
Elise said to her companion, Elijah. The wind whipped at her skirts as they stood on the precariously bobbing ferry. The crude raft fought the swift current of the great river as they neared their destination.
Elijah Coombs had been dispatched by Jefferson to ensure Eliseʹs safety on the journey. Born in the hills of Western Virginia, Elijah was a blunt, homely backwoodsman whose crude manners were an excellent disguise for one of the presidentʹs most skilled spies. He and the coolly beautiful French‐American had worked together for two years. He posed as her groom and bodyguard.
ʺSt. Louis is a rough‐lookinʹ place,ʺ he agreed as they scanned the riverfront where several dozen vessels, mostly keelboats, bobbed in the muddy water.
Here and there a few big flatboats constructed of hastily lashed‐together logs banged against their moorings. Cargoes were being loaded and unloaded by rawboned, yellow‐haired Kentuckians and swarthy French half‐castes while a motley assortment of Indians watched impassively.
Above the stone embankment of the levee, several narrow streets were cut up the steep bluff to where a number of buildings were scattered in a haphazard manner along the riverbank. Those nearest the waterfront were of crude timbers, dark and musty smelling as the river itself. Beyond the trees, an occasional stone edifice several stories high loomed. Perhaps there would be a few amenities after their exhausting and perilous cross‐country journey.
ʺWhatʹre ye goinʹ ta tell the general?ʺ Elijah asked in a low voice, careful that the ferryman and other passengers could not hear them.
ʺCertainly not that Iʹm Samuelʹs sister. I have a letter of introduction from Elizabeth Shelby, my dear friend who has gone to the family estates in Virginia to grieve. That should give me access to Samuelʹs personal possessions.ʺ
ʺAnd in the meanwhile, yeʹll be able to charm that peacock Wilkinson,ʺ Coombs said in his sandpaper voice. He knew how close Elise and her brother had been.
If the general was involved in Shelbyʹs death, he would not want to be in James Wilkinsonʹs boots.
Once ashore, they made their way past the crowds of rowdy rivermen. A babble of curses rang out in French, Spanish, and English. Elise was glad of Elijahʹs brawny presence as they passed a French Canadian keelboat captain, whose bare paunch was obscenely exposed through an open leather vest. His red pantaloons and high black boots were as grubby as the red bandana tied over a head of greasy black hair. All he needed was a gold ear loop to look the part of a buccaneer. He brandished a wicked‐looking knife, challenging a fat Spanish merchant whose sweat‐beaded face indicated how little he wished to fight. Half-naked Indians and an assortment of rivermen made bets on the impending contest. Several of the disembarking ferry passengers were also drawn in. Elijah quickly engaged a wagon to transport them and their baggage to the city.
Fort Belle Fontaine, above the city
ʺI trust you have found the Widow Fournierʹs accommodations adequate, Madame Louvois?ʺ
Elise smiled coolly as she appraised James Wilkinson. ʺYes, general, the lady comes most highly recommended. It is kind of her to open her home to me.ʺ She studied him from beneath thick, inky lashes as he preened for her.
The governor of Upper Louisiana was a short, plump popinjay with thinning sandy hair and a bulbous red nose. She was as familiar with men who overindulged in liquor as she was with vainglorious adventurers who used military uniforms to impress gullible women. Wilkinson should be easy to handle. Yet Elise never allowed herself the luxury of overconfidence. He had not risen this far without possessing some skills in intrigue!
ʺThere is to be a gala at the home of my old friend, Auguste Chouteau, on Saturday. I hope this sad errand will not keep you from attending.ʺ His lips were oddly thin and bluish in that round, ruddy face.
ʺI should be charmed, Governoror do you prefer your military title? Governor-General does have a splendid ring to it.ʺ She smoothed the pinched waist of her deep blue traveling suit and posed coquettishly for him.
Wilkinson was struck by the ebony‐haired beauty before him, yet anyone with even the remotest connection to Lieutenant Samuel Shelby was to be watched most carefully. ʺOfficially it is Governor‐General, but my dear lady, I would be delighted to have you call me James.ʺ
She dimpled. ʺYes, James, and you must call me Elise. Now, I fear I must tend to poor dear Elizabethʹs tragedy. My servant, Mr. Coombs, will assist me in packing the lieutenantʹs effects if you would direct me to his quarters?ʺ
An hour later, Elise sat surrounded by Samuelʹs worldly possessions. So few things to account for a manʹs life. She clutched his rosewood hairbrush and fought back tears while Coombs stood mutely by the door of Lieutenant Samuel Shelbyʹs spartan quarters.
ʺMaybe I should go through his things while youʺ
ʺNo, Elijah. There are things only I would know to look for. We can be certain Samuelʹs papers have been carefully readat least all of them that could be located.ʺ At his curious expression, she began to sort through a large wardrobe, opening drawers and shoving aside uniforms and civilian suits.
ʺWhat are we looking for?ʺ
ʺI wish I could be certain he had time to write and hide anything before . . .ʺ
ʺIt couldʹve been an accident, Elise. Just because his body wasnʹt found donʹt mean he was murdered,ʺ Coombs said, his scratchy voice gentle.
Ignoring his comment, she continued her search, then exclaimed, ʺAh, it is here. I feared some soldiers might have stolen it, even if unaware of its true value.ʺ She extracted a flat silver box approximately twelve inches square from the last drawer of the chest. Tarnished and dented, it was a manʹs jewelry case with the initial SSS engraved on the lid.
ʹʹSamuel Sheridan Shelby,ʺ she murmured softly, then opened the lid. Her lips curled in contempt. ʺSomeone did take the ruby stickpin Father gave him for his sixteenth birthday, and several other heirlooms of some value,ʺ she adde
d, rummaging through the pieces lying on the soft old velvet. ʺNow, let me see,ʺ
she said, chewing her lip in concentration as she pressed her fingertips against the inside of the latch. Suddenly there was a sharp ping as a spring was freed and the inside lid dropped open, revealing a sheaf of papers swathed in more thick velvet.
Coombs watched her read, then gasp in amazement.
ʺSamuel is not dead, Elijah!ʺ She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment and clutched the letter to her breast, breathing a prayer of gratitude. Then she continued to read Samuelʹs incredible message.
My Dearest Liza:
I know of no way to ask your forgiveness for the cruel ruse that led you to believe me drowned. If any other means of getting this information to President Jefferson had presented itself to me, I would never have resorted to this desperate expedient. But you see, I know you well, beloved sister, and I am assured that you will be able to present this information to the president. There is no one here in St. Louis whom I can trust and there is no time for me to waste searching for a messenger. News of my death received from General Wilkinson is the only means I have of guaranteeing that you will come to St. Louis and search my effects. I only pray the case in which these papers are concealed will not be stolen.
Immediately after my arrival at Fort Belle Fontaine, I inadvertently overheard a conversation between General Wilkinson and one Lieutenant Zebulon Pike.
When you visited me in New Orleans last year, you heard rumors about the generalʹs involvement with Spain. I now know he is actively and immediately planning to provoke an international incident with the hope of a resultant war between Spain and the United States. Please read the documents enclosed with this letter for more details.
I felt constrained to take matters into my own hands. I shall appear to die in such a manner as to relieve General Wilkinson of suspicion about me and bring you and your companion, Mr. Coorobs, to investigate.
My demise will allow me to catch up with Lieutenant Pikeʹs slow‐moving expedition in a few days. I shall present myself as a down‐at‐the‐heels adventurer who is fluent in Spanish and inveigle a job as an interpreter. I have every reason to hope the unsuspecting fool will hire me. When we enter Spanish territory, I shall slip away to Santa Fe and attempt to persuade the Spanish governor that Pikeʹs expedition is not an enterprise countenanced by President Jefferson, but an ill‐conceived provocation on the part of General Wilkinson.
I shall be deemed a deserter from duty and court martialed if the president does not intervene in my behalf, Liza, but under the circumstances, I feel I can do nothing else. Honor demands the sacrifice of me. I only pray it is not in vain. God bless you and the United States of America!
With love,
Samuel ʺThe young fool!ʺ Elise cursed stridently in a peculiar mixture of French and English. ʺHeʹs playing at being a spy, and itʹs likely to cost him his life out in that wilderness. Even if Pike and his men donʹt learn who he is, the Spanish governor in Santa Fe will probably stand him against a wall and shoot himor at best let him languish in a filthy jail cell.ʺ But at least heʹs alive!
She began to peruse the other notes and papers regarding Pikeʹs expedition, which had received meager funding for an exploration to the headwaters of the Red River. Secretary of War Dearborn had approved it as a covert means of learning about Spanish troop movements near the border of Louisiana Territory, but the gullible cabinet member had been deceived.
Pike was actually planning to allow himself to be captured by the Spanish, so he would be taken to Santa Fe. Samuel had hastily scrawled a note detailing the instructions Wilkinson had given Pike that fateful night when her brother had eavesdropped on them.
ʺOne spy in a family is more than sufficient,ʺ Elijah said sourly as he, too, read the documents Elise handed him. ʺSamuel is as naive as Pike, I fear, even if his motives are nobler.ʺ
Elise sighed and rubbed her temples, then began to pace. ʺWilkinson has convinced Pike that inciting a war with Spain will bring him military glory and rapid promotion. What it will bring him in all likelihood is imprisonment in a Spanish jail somewhere between Santa Fe and Chihuahua City!ʺ
ʺIt doesnʹt seem likely Pike would hire Samuel on. What ever made yer brother think he could pose as an interpreter?ʺ
ʺHis Spanish is as fluent as mine, Elijah. Our father lived in the Floridas for several years and brought home a Spanish cook. My brother and I picked up the language as children. I only wish he would leave off acting as irresponsibly as a child!ʺ She gathered the papers and stood up. ʺWe must make arrangements, Elijah.ʺ
ʺFer what?ʺ
ʺWhy, our journey to Santa Fe, of course! Weʹll need an experienced guide and provisions. You can handle that while I study this information and see what I can learn from the general and his friends.ʺ
ʺGo to Santa Fe!ʺ Coombs roared, towering over her. ʺDo ye realize it is near a thousand miles through mountains and deserts filled with bloodthirsty red savages?ʺ
ʺMy brother is with Lieutenant Pike. My God, Elijah, if Pike finds out how heʹs been deceived, he could shoot Samuel!ʺ
He recognized her tone, which was as near pleading as Elise Louvois ever came.
Shelby was her only kin, save for some distant cousins in Kentucky. He knew she doted on the young fool. With a sigh, he said, ʺAfter following the Ohio River filled with Indians and pirates, I suppose this canʹt be any more dangerous. Iʹll make some inquiries at the riverfront taverns.ʺ
ʺWe must also find someone we can trust to deliver this information safely to President Jefferson.ʺ Her mind was already leaping ahead.
Jedediah Scudder sat in the noisy tavern, his greasy buckskins and grizzled face allowing him to blend in perfectly with the Kentucky farmers and mountain men who frequented the place. A slovenly barmaid with lank hair and two front teeth missing smiled boldly at him as she swished her tatty calico skirts in invitation.
He ordered another mug of ale and ignored her ample curves, at least for the present. The men he had arranged to meet had just entered the door.
He had employed Bouchet before. The small, wiry French Canadian and his tall, muscular companion slid onto the splintery log bench. After the two thugs had received their whiskey, the conspirators got down to business.
ʺWho is this man we are to kill?ʺ Bouchet asked, scratching his lice‐infested head.
ʺNot a man, a woman,ʺ Scudder replied, ʺA most dangerous wench.ʺ
ʺA woman! Sacre bleu! I do not kill women,ʺ Bouchet hissed.
His partner, a half‐caste Iroquois renegade, said impassively, ʺTwo times the moneySpanish silver.
ʺNon,ʺ Bouchet interjected.
Scudder spat on the filthy floor and grinned lewdly. ʺSheʹs a real beauty, my friend. If ye donʹt wish to kill her, ye could find uses for hertake her as yer squaw on yer next journey upriver to trap beaver. When ye tire of her . . .ʺ He shrugged negligently. ʺSell her to yer Pawnee friends. She must never appear in civilization again. If itʹs of any consolation, thereʹs a man, tooher servant. A big brute with yellow hair named Elijah Coombs. Him ye can kill, quick and clean.ʺ
ʺOne hundred in Spanish silver,ʺ the half‐caste said, and Bouchet subsided in agreement.
ʺYe drive a hard bargain,ʺ Scudder replied. ʺHalf now and half when theyʹre taken care of.ʺ
ʺDone,ʺ Bouchet said, glancing at the Iroquois.
ʺHer name is Elise Louvois. Sheʹs tall for a female, with queer‐colored purple eyes and black hair, lots of soft white skina fancy lady, half French.ʺ
Bouchet finally caught the elusive louse he had been digging for. Popping the bug between two blackened fingernails, he grinned. ʺI will speak French to her on our journey north.ʺ
Santiago and Spybuck discussed their new trading venture as they strolled down Main Street, moving from an area of prosperous shops and trading companies toward the raucous noise of taverns and bawdy houses near the intersection of Locust. St. Louis was one of the roughest river towns on the vast
water system that stretched from British Canada all the way to the Gulf.
ʺDo you trust this Spaniard, Manuel Lisa?ʺ Spybuck asked, knowing how much his friend disliked most of his own countrymen.
Santiagoʹs eyes narrowed and he grinned mirthlessly. ʺNo, but heʹs in competition with the Chouteau family for the Osage fur trade.ʺ
The Creek grunted. ʺAnd you hate New Orleans Frenchmen even more than you do your own Spanish countrymen.ʺ
ʺMore to the point, Lisa has made contact with the plains tribes. He speaks their language, has lived among them.ʺ
ʺAs have you.ʺ
ʺYes. Iʹd do business with them through friendship rather than by building forts and forcing them to deal, as Chouteau and his new American friends do.ʺ
They were passing by the White Horse Tavern when the sounds of a scuffle and a womanʹs loud scream interrupted their conversation. With catlike agility, both men spun around and peered into the alley. Twilight was thickening, but they could see a female struggling between two buckskin‐clad men.
Elise felt the thin silk of her summer cape rip as she twisted free of her attackers.
I must reach my muff pistol, she thought desperately, praying the small Belgian gun would fire. She clawed into her reticule for it while kicking the Frenchman sharply in the shin with her pointy‐toed slipper. He cursed and hopped away, but the big half‐caste brute now had a hold on her dress and tore it free of one shoulder.
ʺWhite as cream,ʺ the white man murmured. His lust‐crazed eyes stared at her bared shoulder and breast.
ʺMy servant will be searching for me any moment. I am no whore, but a ladya friend of Governor‐General Wilkinson,ʺ she said in French as she backed away from him, clutching the reticule and reaching inside it as she spoke.
The two men only laughed as they closed on her from opposite sides. She feigned a swoon as she dug the gun free. Only one shot, but perhaps it would bring help. Where was Elijah! She pointed the pistolʹs three‐inch barrel and pulled the trigger. Nothing! The smaller man landed against her with a solid thud, causing her to lose her weapon before she could attempt to fire it again.
