by James Devine
The Latoure family had made its original fortune as merchants in the budding town of Alexandria during Lucille’s great-grandfather’s time. He had purchased the core of what had evolved into Cranford Plantation, though her father had made Cranford what it was today. What percentage of Latoure income came from the plantation and what came from Alexandria Import-Export Co. was a subject Tom had never raised with Lucille; he doubted she knew the figures herself. It was her sister, Jaine, who seemed to have a head for the business side of things, though Mrs. Latouree had always struck him as a wise woman.
Somehow, he had to get back into Lucille’s good graces so he could help them if-and-when trouble broke out. But he was at a loss as to how to begin. Should he be forceful…or remorseful? Sternly business-like or caring? And would she read the damn note anyway? Or was she committed to that SOB Joe Johnston, his old friend from the Point who, thankfully, was back out West with the 4th Artillery guarding against a resumption of the Black Hawk troubles?
And what of Jaine? Who was that brilliant but independent young lady---she had actually attended a “Female Seminary” in Ipswich, Massachusetts---showing favor to these days? Had she resumed her off-and-on relationship with Lt. Luke Beaufort, General Scott’s secretary? (Due to a scuffle at Bennie Haven’s during their days at the Point, the relationship between Wilder and Beaufort was correct, but no more.) The answer was important, as the wrong word from the Mississippian or one of these Virginia cavaliers and the Latoures could end up on the rebel side of the struggle Scott was gloomily predicting might actually come…
Thomas had taken stock of his emotions since learning of Bratton’s previous dalliance with Candice. He had spent a long Thursday evening debating with himself at the Indian Queen bar and had resumed the argument last night.
The result: while he still wanted a future with Lucille above all things---that singular smile and what lay behind still drove him to distraction and always would---he had come to the conclusion that Harps was right. Being the master of Twin Peaks was not a bad consolation prize. Candice had at least a decade left---if her insatiable sexual appetite didn’t put him in the grave first---and the Samples fortune would grow even in a war. After all, the Army would need mounts; and everyone knew Twin Peaks produced the finest stock in Maryland! Yes, not a bad consolation prize indeed…
Yet, he had to try to make contact with Lucille. He owed it to her…and himself.
___________
Lieutenant Wilder wasn’t the only Georgetown bachelor whose mind was focused on problems and/or opportunities with the fair sex this weekend.
A disgusted Harry Bratton had reluctantly accompanied the Duke to Silver Spring after a disastrous interview with Joanne the previous evening. One look had told him that the inn/brothel-keeper was at least temporarily off the market; this Andre had definitely swept her off her feet. He had stormed out of the Eagle and had found a nondescript tavern several blocks away in which to drown his sorrows; the attentions of an earthly Portuguese-born waitress had helped. This morning he had dashed off a quick note to Candice’s townhouse. She was not in residence, damn it all, it had been reported back. So he was off to the Maryland countryside to visit the Blairs. Perhaps he’d make an excuse and return to the Portuguese woman’s tavern, The Wagon Wheel, later this evening.
The irrepressible Harper had taken his demotion in Mrs. Casgrave’s affections in stride. The Interior Department official simply moved his base of operations to The Deerhead, another of Georgetown’s numerous taverns, where he resided and was already well known. More importantly, David had another riding date scheduled for tomorrow with Countless Caroline; that would be the highlight of his weekend--and he hoped her’s as well.
The Countess had been relieved that Count Ignatieff had made no further calls on her time since their Thursday conference. She, of course, did not know of his rendezvous’ with the tavern-keeper; she knew only that he was frequently absent from the Consulate. And, she looked forward to her date with the handsome, witty young American…
Her father did know that Ignatieff had apparently found a mistress at the Golden Eagle. His relief overwhelmed his good judgment, however: Renkowiitz should have realized that a man did not rise to Ignatieff’s position by falling victim to the charms of a colonial barmaid…
___________
Count Ignatieff had already decided that the Golden Eagle might be an even better place to plan and implement his hoped-for havoc than the Consulate. Government officials came and went at all hours; he simply needed to observe and then mold his observations into a plan to assist any potential rebels once emancipation was announced.
When that would be Ignatieff was unsure; the political talk around the bar and dining rooms centered on Jackson’s Monday speech on some monetary issue. But Wellington had already been here some weeks; surely he would begin to inform the Dominion officials of London’s intent soon. Once that word was out, it would spread quickly. Ignatieff planned to quietly watch and listen before pouncing…
At the same time, he needed to begin talking to this man Calhoun. From all indications, he was the acknowledged leader of the pro-slavery forces. A dinner for the leading Southerners at the Consulate might be in order, therefore. He’d have Renkowiitz make the arrangements for early in the week; he himself would attend…whether as Count Ignatieff or as Karlhamanov would be decided later.
Joanne herself was a bonus he hadn’t reckoned on: a tigress in bed, she was already his emotional slave out of it. And she ruled the Eagle with an iron fist; both the inn staff and the ‘upstairs girls’ were terrified of her. Nicholas could not quite understand the reasons why---physically she was dwarfed by most of them---but intended to capitalize on this oddity for his own benefit. Included among those under her thumb was this man Lawrence, the gangly bartender. The fellow was clearly not right in the head: ‘King of England,’ indeed! Yet, he might just come in handy…
The British agent, on the other hand, was clearly not under her thumb: the Captain had walked out on Friday evening after catching the two of them together at the bar. Joanne had already confessed that she and Bratton had been lovers years ago…and that the Brit had come to see her earlier in the week. Whatever the Captain’s intentions had been, Ignatieff doubted whether he’d be seen inside the Eagle again any time soon!
All in all, an auspicious beginning. Now if only this damn Wellington would let slip about abolition! Then the game would really kick into play…
I wonder how the preparations for the Syrian landing are coming. I just hope the Czar has put someone competent in charge…opportunities like this come along just once in a lifetime!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Residency
Georgetown, D.C.
February 18, 1833:
Andrew Jackson was basking in the praise of his admirers in the aftermath of his apparently successful speech to the special joint session of Congress concerning the upcoming demise of the Second Bank of the USBA.
The G-G had made it clear that he would veto any legislation to extend the Bank’s charter. And, he bluntly challenged its supporters, they did not have the votes to override. So the only reason for this special session’s being, he had declared, was to come up with an acceptable alternative plan. As the Congress was set to permanently adjourn on March 3, they had less than two weeks to do so. Or else the new Congress---not scheduled to meet until December---would have to deal after-the-fact with remedies of his own choosing.
At the small reception that followed the speech back here at The Residency, Jackson’s allies were overwhelmingly enthusiastic that he had finally put the hated Bank away for good.
Watching and observing, Wellington frankly could not understand what the hoopla was all about. It had always been his vague impression---economics were not his strong point--that the Bank of England was one of the pillars of the Empire. However, if these colonials didn’t want a strong central banking system, he really didn’t care.
What he did care about was Saturday, March 2. For
that was the date he and Jackson had agreed upon for his own speech to the Congress, though the G-G was still unaware of the subject matter. Everyone expected Congress to have virtually wrapped up its business by then; his speech, it was generally perceived, would be a valedictory of Dominion-Empire loyalty and cooperation. Little did they realize, he thought with a grim smile…
___________
The Duke had decided, after informal talks with Scott and Frank Blair at Silver Spring, he definitely needed a flavor of Northern thinking before delivering his address. (Blair was still under the impression that London was about to impose some sort of tax on slaves.) For that reason, the aides had this morning finalized the swing up to Harrisburg, the Pennsylvania state capitol, then moving east to Philadelphia and Trenton in New Jersey. He would cap his journey in Delaware and be back by the 26th or 27th, leaving two or three days to put his explosive speech together.
Jackson had been pleased to hear that Wellington was off to tour the MidAtlantic States. (The G-G was just happy that his old commander was getting out of Georgetown, if truth be told.) It was Jackson who had suggested that the Duke schedule his first stop at Harrisburg to see his close ally, Pennsylvania’s Governor George Wolf. In fact, he had arranged a stopover at a western Maryland plantation owned by the widow of an old Louisiana campaign comrade, as the riders would not be able to make Harrisburg in one day. So Wellington and Bratton would be off to Westminster, Md. in the morning.
It was Bratton who, with a strange smile, had explained to the Duke the travel arrangements orchestrated by Donelson.
The Captain seems most eager to begin the swing; perhaps this miserable, boring little village is depressing him, Wellington thought. Well, the pace will now start picking up…
There is one last piece of business to set in motion before we leave on the trip, however. Major Layne will be sent by Royal Navy sloop to New York City later in the week. Once there, he will make contact with Aaron Burr, slip the old man the formal summons Bratton has prepared for my signature and accompany Burr back to Georgetown. Burrell, meanwhile, will make a discreet call on Martin Van Buren. It is essential that Burr be kept out-of-sight until I have informed Jackson about the Government’s emancipation decision. I will take Burr and the Vice G-G into my confidence at some point before March 2. Until then, what better place to stash him, once the Navy deposits him in Georgetown, than at his own son’s house.
___________
Twin Peaks Plantation
Westminster, Maryland
February 19, 1833:
It took quite a bit to get Candice Samples flustered, but Jackson’s note requesting that she host the “Duke of Wellington and his aide Tuesday evening to break up their journey to Harrisburg” had come close to doing the trick.
Candice was used to entertaining distinguished visitors---Charles had brought them home on many an occasion---but a world-renown soldier/statesman? One she had, of course, never met? She had flown into action, ordering an immediate, if unnecessary, freshening of the already-sparkling mansion. Candice also wondered about her own attire; there was no protocol, she thought amusedly, for such an occasion. Well, it was her home. She would dress as she always did when receiving male visitors…
Candice had known Wellington was in Georgetown and had been highly miffed that she had not been invited to last week’s state dinner. A note from Maria Scott reminding her of Thursday’s monthly luncheon had calmed her down somewhat, however; Maria had written that Jackson himself had limited the guest list to government, military and diplomatic figures and their wives. No other planters or locals had attended, Maria had emphasized. Even Frank Blair, she added, the laughter coming through the lines, had had to pull strings to make the list!
So Candice considered her home and herself ready when, in late afternoon, servants reported riders coming up the long driveway leading from the Taneytown Road. It was only when they drew close that she realized that the taller of the horsemen cut a vaguely familiar figure outlined against the blue-gray sky. Her gasp of recognition was echoed by the stifled giggle of her maid and confidante, Melissa. “Why Miss Candice, I do believe that be Captain Bratton! You mean he Duke Bratton now?”
Though stunned into momentary silence, Candice still had the presence of mind to shoot her lifelong friend a withering look. (Melissa and she were the same age and had played together as young girls at Annapolis, where Candice’s family lived while her father, Commodore Mansfield, had run the Coastal Guard’s main squadron in the ‘10s.) It was a look Melissa promptly countered with a second round of giggles.
Two waiting house servants quickly gathered up the horses’ reins as the impressively uniformed British officers dismounted. In the best tradition of the stiff British upper lip, Captain Bratton formally introduced the Duke, though the laughter was evident in his eyes.
“Ah, Mrs. Samples, I presume? Good evening. May I assume that you have received the Governor-General’s note concerning our arrival? If so, may I present to you His Grace, the Duke of Wellington…”
The Duke was at his most gracious: “It is an honor and a privilege to be here, Mrs. Samples. I trust we are not upsetting your plans for the evening, barging in, so to speak, on you like this?”
The Duke, Bratton could see even in the gathering darkness, had been taken back in astonishment by the sheer size of Candice’s most prominently displayed attributes. The only emancipation on the Old Man’s mind tonight is those ridiculous rudders, he thought, chuckling to himself. Is it possible the bloody things have actually grown? How the devil does she remain upright?
The usual satisfying feeling of sexual invincibility Candice experienced when men gaped at her overcame any initial nervousness as well as her shock at unexpectedly meeting an old lover presumed to be some 3000 miles away.
“Welcome to Twin Peaks, Your Grace,” she said in a dignified, lady-like tone that gave the double entendre added emphasis. As she intended, the greeting left both Britons biting their tongues, while Melissa was fortunate to disguise an outright laugh as a sudden fit of coughing. “Why, it is an honor to have you both. It is not often that country folk such as ourselves have such distinguished visitors ‘barge in,’ even at Andy’s request. Please do come in.”
___________
It was indeed fortunate, Candice thought, that the second largest bedroom at Twin Peaks was situated on the far side of the second floor from her own private suite. (Candice had remodeled after Charles’ death, knocking down the wall that had given them adjoining bedrooms to create the apartment).
The Duke, of course, had been led immediately to that second bedroom, while his aide, sight-unseen, had been assigned a room off the connecting hallway. Harry shouldn’t have any trouble finding my apartment, she thought archly; after all, it’s not like he’s never been here before…
She and the Captain had found time for a few private moments before the Duke came down for dinner. Harry had quickly explained the circumstances that had brought him back to America, as well as his frustration in being unable to contact her.
“I was very much afraid, dear Candice, that you might have married again. You can imagine my relief when a young Residency military aide informed me last week that you were still the Widow Samples…”
Candice was relieved her soon-to-be bed partner did not catch the sudden twitch when he mentioned “young…military aide.” But the Captain had turned at the sound of the Duke’s approach. I wonder just what Thomas told him, she thought with amusement. I shall have to find out sometime later tonight. Yes, this is turning into a most enjoyable evening…
___________
Drumthwacket
Princeton, New Jersey
February 23, 1833:
The talks with Gov. Samuel Southard and the New Jersey political leadership had been as depressingly dull as those with Pennsylvania’s Governor Wolf. Wellington’s depression had been compounded by the like attitude of Philadelphia’s elite.
To a man, the policy and influence-makers of the t
wo states had declared continuance of the Dominion’s current economic boom their major concern. Here in the MidAtlantic States, there was none of the righteous indignation over abolition that marked the views of both New Englanders like Webster and Adams and the Southern fire-eaters. Governor Southard, who, it turned out, was resigning his office in a few days after having been elected to the USBA Senate, had made the MidAtlantic States’ position perfectly clear:
“Live and let live,” Southard told Wellington during tonight’s reception in his honor here at the Governor’s mansion in this college town. “If the Southern economy requires slave labor to produce the crops, especially cotton, which we require in the North---and thus provide the capitol to purchase the manufactured goods we in turn produce---then the USBA will have to live with this damnable situation for the moment. Until such time as progress offers a more ah, ‘modern,’ labor system down there.”
It was the Bank issue that had the leaders here worried, the Duke had been repeatedly told in terms he could at last grasp. A single, well-capitalized Dominion bank provided the credit necessary for business expansion. The MidAtlantic businessmen were worried that Jackson’s cherished idea of hundreds of small---undoubtedly under-financed---banks might overextend credit and lead to an economic crash. And if they were worried, their bought-and-paid-for statesmen were thus equally concerned!
“Jackson won the support of the North primarily because of his tough stand on nullification,” Governor Southard had pointed out, “not over this damn Bank issue. Obviously we’d have chaos if any state legislature could arbitrarily decide to ignore laws passed by the Congress and signed by the Dominion executive. That’s why we voted for him.
“I understand Jackson has challenged Congress to come up with a plan by next week…or be forced to live with his strategy. That kind of aggressiveness may be good politics; but it is bad economic policy. And the chance to prosper under good economic conditions is all we ask of the Dominion government.”
