Very shortly, the general took Easton's arm and escorted him to a more private room within the house, where he shut the door quietly behind them. "What you've told me thus far has indeed captured my attention, Mr. Easton," General Hoffmann began, seating himself comfortably in Colonel Hill's dark leather chair. "You say your client is prepared to provide us with documents to back up your accusations, as well as a list of names, all of which are verifiable by signed correspondence!"
"Correct."
"In exchange for safe passage out of the country, and five thousand dollars in gold for the informant?"
Easton nodded confirmation.
"At least sixty documented names, you say?"
"At least."
"Most impressive. Hardly an offer I could turn down. What are your client's estimates of the force of men available to this conspiracy?"
"I believe they compare favorably with your own estimates, General. At most forty-five thousand men."
General Hoffmann stroked his silver mustache thoughtfully, and stared at Easton silently for several minutes. Easton sat still, staring back at his inquisitor with unwavering eyes. His demeanor was one of poise and detachment: the barrister offering a bargain to the court. And it was obvious his was an offer impossible to resist.
"If your client's evidence is worthwhile, Mr. Easton, I am prepared to agree to your terms."
"I will be in touch with you very shortly, sir," William said, extending his hand to the general, then departed the room leaving General Hoffmann sitting in the dim golden light of the brown-feather-filled study. For several long minutes, he sat swirling brandy' in a delicate crystal snifter, considering the slight but self-assured man who had approached him with precisely the kind of evidence that brought him to this assignment only weeks before. If he managed to obtain the information he'd been sent to uncover, his efforts would not be forgotten. Lincoln's favor would assuredly be his, and he could name his position in the conflict at hand. History would not forget him.
His slight smile was one of obvious self-pleasure, and Marguerite did not fail to notice it when she quietly opened the double doors to the study. "General Hoffmann," she chided sweetly. "You're one of my favored guests this evening, and you mustn't seclude yourself. Why you'll damage my reputation as a hostess by doing so!" She reached for his arm, and he stood at her direction.
"No one could tarnish your reputation as a hostess, Mrs. Hill."
"Thank you," she smiled graciously. "But weren't you speaking with William Easton?" she said, looking around the study.
"In fact, I was."
"Where did he disappear, would you know?" The general shrugged. "It's not like him to take his leave without comment," she added as if she were puzzled.
"Perhaps he had a great deal on his mind."
Marguerite gazed sharply at Hoffmann. "Perhaps you're right, General. It would be just like him," she added softly, ushering him into the midst of the partygoers. "But for now, General, I order you to think of nothing but me and my reputation." And as if to keep her happy, General Hoffmann danced with her into the morning.
Chapter Ninety-six
IN the predawn very shortly after the revelers at the Hill house left for their own homes, William Easton and Arabella Melville were comfortably ensconced in their staterooms sailing for Monterey. Easton was quite satisfied with his encounter with General Hoffmann. He would have his way. The last scene might not be the one Easton had originally expected, but he would have the satisfaction of seeing the last act played according to his direction. He might not have what he dreamed would be his place in a new society, but he would see the other schemers brought to their knees; humbled just as they had humiliated him by placing Senator Taylor above him in their designs. Their crimes, he noted with an odd sense of pleasure, were matters of treason.
Fantasies of hanging men drifted through Easton's head, even in daylight. His head had ached with greater intensity in the last few days, and he was driven to increase the dosage of the powders he took to relieve the pain. At times his hands and limbs shook and at night he did not sleep normally, but lapsed into unconsciousness. His nightmare visions were distorted yet remembered as pleasurable. Melville's swollen and grotesque face encircled by a hangman's noose obsessed him. But the sweetest satisfaction was Easton's notion of Marshall Hudson's death. It was not the physical taking of Marshall's life that pleased Easton as much as what he willed the outcome would be. There would be a young and beautiful widow to console: one who had declined an advance made to her in the past, declined sweetly, as Easton recalled the incident. Probably only the time had not been right. Now, Easton was certain his time with Louisa was coming. He combined his memories of her with the enticing stories he'd heard, seemingly a long time ago, from her own father, and his eager anticipation invigorated him.
William Easton appeared to have been restored by his trip to San Francisco. Franklin Carson noticed the man's agitation had decreased, and his acceptance of a diminished role in Melville's designs appeared complete. "So Easton is a realist, after all," muttered Carson to himself. By Carson's thinking, the point itself was becoming increasingly moot. On the very day Easton and Mrs. Melville returned to Monterey, California's legislature passed a resolution pledging the state's loyalty to the Constitution and the Union, in spite of the fact that many of those assembled to vote had strong Southern leanings. But, pass it did, and Melville's next decisions followed suit.
Aaron arrived in Monterey two days after Easton, and in two more days he was dispatched to collect a cargo of pirated munitions to be taken directly to Santa Catalina. With Easton's knowledge, definite but unobtrusive packing was being done for the principals at Crane's Nest. The Melvilles and Carson were soon to be on their way for another visit to Herman Brockheim's household. Senator Taylor was not in residence, but messengers kept him informed of all that went on.
There was no mention made of Easton's future. He was very obviously being overlooked. He'd not been evicted from the grand estate, but no plans for him were mentioned. So, unobserved, he decided his own future, and, he hoped, the future of several others.
"Loo Kim," Easton said sternly, "I have an errand of the greatest urgency for you. If you perform as I expect, I will forgive a year of servitude from your contract. "
Loo Kim could scarcely believe her ears, and she could not believe the simplicity of the task required of her. He merely planned to send her unescorted to San Francisco with a letter she could not read. She was instructed to hand the letter to a General Hoffmann at the city's garrison headquarters and wait for his reply. Then she was to return immediately to Crane's Nest.
Loo Kim made her way to San Francisco with remarkable ease considering her astonishing beauty, but she had a purpose well worth her while, and nothing, especially uncouth jostling, could distract her.
When Easton's unusual but able messenger sat silently before General Hoffmann, he alternately eyed Easton's correspondence and his agent. Loo Kim also watched the man she had been sent to see, awed by his presence, certain she sat before a person of considerable power. But she did not blanch when he gruffly demanded more information from her, and it was soon apparent she had nothing more to offer.
"I come only to deliver my master's letters, and to await your replies," she said over and over again. Finally she was ushered to another cold, starkly furnished room where it seemed she waited an interminable amount of time, and when a young sergeant called for her, it was quite dark outside.
"My reply is ready," General Hoffmann said when the door to his office was closed behind her. He handed her a large leather pouch. "Give this to Mr. Easton. Tell him I agree to his terms."
These were the exact words Loo Kim repeated to Easton when she returned to Crane's Nest. Easton accepted the pouch from her hands with no indication of his vast excitement, and although she expected no thank you from the man, she expected some acknowledgement of her conduct in the affair.
But no words were forthcoming, and Loo Kim bowed, leavi
ng the strangely silent man sitting and staring at what she had traveled some distance to obtain. Easton's heart pounded, and when he was left alone, a broad smile of self-satisfaction settled on his face. At first he did not open the pouch, but leaned back thoughtfully into his chair. In exchange for a short listing of unverified names, and the promise of details about an upcoming raid on one of the army's arsenals and of correspondence to verify the names he gave, as well as others, General Hoffmann had advanced Easton's client one thousand dollars in gold. The unverified list alone was extremely tantalizing, just as William had expected.
It seemed hardly necessary to confirm what he knew, but Easton counted the payment to the last coin. There was no stopping him now.
As he had agreed, he wrote Hoffmann what he knew of the details of plans to pirate munitions. He knew who would be receiving the crates and barrels, but, he cautioned, he did not know who among the general's men had conspired with those he named to deplete the army of these supplies. Gladly, he gave the name and a thorough description of the man to be seized first in this operation―the one who could answer any unanswered questions. His letter was dispatched as soon as he finished it, with no one the wiser. And he waited for the outcome of his actions.
But the nights that followed were longer than Easton anticipated. Franklin Carson and the Melvilles went south as planned. Samuel Davis went with them. Fielder was with Taylor at the capitol, and Easton remained to haunt the estate, diminished in size from his already small stature by his medications that took away his appetite, as well as his pain.
The Oriental servants became apparitions in the corridors; the plants cast eerie shadows on the walls sometimes reaching out to him as he passed. The paintings stared back at him; the ornaments whose positions had never varied from month to month appeared in new locations. At times the furniture seemed to rock and reel at him. But the worst was the hideous whispering from behind the walls. Yet all the odd events he'd noticed helped him decide what he had to do. In fact, he was grateful for these extraordinary signs. They gave him much-needed counsel when the hours of the day seemed far too long.
Loo Kim had faithfully done what he'd told her, and she was now waiting for him aboard a small but comfort able ship. In less than an hour they would begin it sea journey. He would stop for Louisa Boyd Hudson in San Diego, for by then she would have received sad news of her husband. By then she would badly need a man by her side to comfort and revive her.
At length Easton imagined how wonderful it would be to assuage the young widow's grief. He could see Louisa beside him, and together they would pursue his revised, more realistic plans. The fame, the fortune, the empire Easton had foreseen with the likes of Simon Hudson and Peter Melville more reasonably lay in Mexico's yet to be reopened silver mines, the very ones Senator Taylor had so glowingly described. All that had been necessary, Easton acknowledged to himself now, was for him to see this reality of his destiny clearly. And in spite of the thick smoke that drifted in his direction as he went to meet Loo Kim, Easton was certain of his destiny. Burning Crane's Nest and all of the evidence he'd promised General Hoffmann gave Easton enormous satisfaction. None of the priceless treasures belonged to him, though on numerous occasions his imagination had claimed title to most of what filled the house.
Easton now sat a short distance from the conflagration, watching the interior flames spread rapidly, the window coverings evaporating to reveal orange bonfires behind glassed windows. He imagined the rich, not-tobe-duplicated furnishings, paintings, books, and art objects turning to ashes. How quickly the trappings of wealth could be reduced to insignificance! But, he also considered, how easily these refinements of life could be replaced if one had the means. Easton clutched a satchel containing General Hoffmann's advance payment and suddenly urged his horse toward the bay.
He had lingered at the fire until he was positive nothing of value remained, viewing his destructive act as his revenge against his enemies. He was proud of having tricked a clever general into financing his new Mexican venture and smiled with satisfaction over his insane act. He would have all that he wanted now.
As he approached the waterfront, William Easton thought of Louisa Boyd Hudson again, and smiled to think of her. She was someone who knew, just as he did, how to purge herself of her enemies. She would understand his actions this afternoon. She would know and applaud the means he had chosen to cleanse his spirit for her.
Chapter Ninety-seven
THE weather favored them and they arrived in San Francisco two days early. They lay off the coast one night, then landed, confining almost all crew aboard ship for the additional night. But Aaron went ashore, a privilege of his position, for a change. Many times in the past, he had been penalized just as the crew of the Crystal Mae now were, but, happily, tonight there had been little grumbling from the men. Captain Hansen was not injudicious, and his crew had relative ease compared to Aaron's memories. It simply would not be wise to let the men loose on the town the night before they would load a considerable quantity of stolen arms and munitions. These days it would be too easy for rumors to fly in this city. There was far too much temptation here, and the city was more ripe than usual.
Dressed as a seaman, Aaron drifted aimlessly along the waterfront, and eventually into the saloon district, remembering his last excursions there. He wanted a woman tonight, and though he was in no mood for self-denial, the girls who willingly offered themselves for a price from the doors of innumerable canteens had little allure, and he kept walking. Eventually he passed Elena's, where he'd been a frequent customer of the much-touted Rita, but Elena had her standards to maintain. He would not be permitted upstairs dressed as he was now. She fancied her merchandise above the common customer.
Not much later he passed Melville's stone house, noting it was lighted, but for no one but the servants these days. He wondered what brought him as far as he'd come in his meanderings. He'd been very restless lately, and tonight it seemed especially good to get off the confining ship and walk. Why was he now thinking a ship confined him? What had this damned assignment done to him, he wondered. All he could think of lately was returning to his former existence. What alternative did he have? After all, before Russell snatched him off the coast, he was living the life of his choosing, was he not? In any event the only life he was likely to know. "
In his wanderings, he came to Marguerite's darkened house, stopping before it. There was faint light in her bedroom―the one place in the house with which Aaron was well acquainted! She'd soothe him for the night at least, he thought. The question was, where was Colonel Hill? And if he was absent, was she alone? Aaron smiled to himself, knowing the lady's; appetites. Was she discreet enough to not question his sudden appearance or his manner of dress? His temper was such that he really didn't care whether his actions created a stir. Daily the whole California affair was going more sour. Risk was not alien to his nature, nor to this assignment, after all.
He might have gone to the front door, but the idea of scaling the Hills' fence, and breaking into the house, in addition to the pleasure of contemplating the probable rewards, were enough to make his decision easy. Within seconds he was over the locked ironwork fence, and, in a few minutes, easily climbing the carved porch pillars to a second-floor balcony. The window was another matter. It was locked securely. The French doors were also secured against intrusion, but a thick carpet running the length of a hallway to the very edge of the doors would silence any broken glass.
Aaron pressed the small pane of glass nearest the handle with the heel of his boot until it shattered almost silently, smoothing the edge of the window frame so he could reach his hand safely through to the door's handle. Perhaps he had another calling ahead of him, If, in fact, he found life at sea too confining. He smiled as he let himself into the house with relative ease. The hallway was dark, but once he maneuvered to the stairs, it would not be difficult to find his way to Marguerite's room. He'd found it in the dark many times before. Indeed, he could find her room on the
third floor with his eyes closed, if necessary.
But was the lady alone and unoccupied tonight? He listened outside her door for several minutes, not hearing a sound, reluctant to try the door.
Then suddenly the light in Marguerite's room went out, and he heard what sounded like someone getting into bed. Aaron waited several long minutes, hearing no other sound. He smiled to himself. If the lady were not alone, there would not be so much silence.
He waited a few more minutes, then entered the room noiselessly, watching the small dark figure beneath a satin down comforter. He listened to her sigh and turn over, and before another moment passed the flash and fire of a pistol, the first bullet passing within inches of his face. Instinctively, he fell to the floor.
"Marguerite!" he shouted. There was another shot, this time well out of his range. She was firing blindly, and he lunged at her, struggling with her silently, at last covering her mouth with his hand, choking the breath from her, until she heard his voice and at last relaxed in his grip.
"For God's sake, woman!"
"For God's sake, nothing!" she retorted, kneeing him gently but pointedly. "Get under the bed, without another word!" she ordered. And he scrambled for the hiding place just as her door flew open. Three servants, two with lamps, and all in a very excited state burst into the room.
"Madam!" a middle-aged man cried when he saw her calmly sitting in the middle of her bed, her small revolver dangling casually from the index finger of her upraised right hand.
"I believe my imagination got the best of me, Harrison. There's entirely too much tension in the city these days. I thought I heard someone. It was nothing. Go away now."
Ford, Jessie Page 49
