Lauren was growing impatient, and she was beginning to wonder if it had been prudent to come to Lake Champlain after all. It was already the end of June, and they had gathered no information of importance. She missed James terribly and felt cheated. They had only just found each other and now were driven apart once more. She was angry that she may have traveled from the warmth and security of his love on a futile mission fraught with danger. Nevertheless a nagging suspicion held her there.
Over the weeks, the heat became oppressive, and the men grew short tempered and irritable. Lauren scoffed at them. Summer in the north was nothing compared to June in New Orleans, and she wearied of their incessant complaining.
“The men are surly and unpredictable, Lauren,” Isi said one evening after a regular had grabbed her wrist in a rage when she had dropped his bottle of brandy.
“Yes,” nodded Lauren her lips pursed. “Beware; it is good weather for raping.”
Her lips softened into a smile as a red haired, sunburned regular approached the cottage. Isi marveled at Lauren’s ability to shed her skin like a snake transforming herself from a cool, calculating business woman into a sassy seductive coquette that the troops adored.
“Oh, my little friend, your eye, it is bruised,” she said, pulling her lips down into a pout. “How did it happen?”
The boy scowled. “It was Maintenon. He turned suddenly and hit me with the log he had on his shoulder. I was the one who was hurt and Lieutenant Brobriant cursed me for being careless. I need something strong to kill the pain.”
Isi wiped her hands on her apron and turned to find the boy some brandy.
“Brobriant was actually out of his quarters?” quizzed Lauren. She had been reticent until now to ask about the Lieutenant. She did want anyone to suspect that she knew him, but she was curious why he was so far from Kaskaskia.
“Yes. It is not often we see him. He buries himself in his tent, longing for his fat cow of a wife back in the Illinois Country.”
“He did not ask for this assignment?”
“No, he was transferred. Everyone knows it is because he accused a powerful man of murdering his wife.”
Isi dropped the bottle of brandy.
Lauren covered with a reprimand. “That is two broken bottles now! You clumsy fool. Pick it up.”
The women exchanged looks as they bent down to retrieve the shards of green glass.
“Murder is a very serious accusation,” said Lauren to the young man. She remembered Brobriant saying those same words to her a long time ago.
“Especially when you accuse an Aberjon of two murders. Brobriant ignored the death of Aberjon’s first wife, but when his second wife died suddenly, he began to ask questions.”
Isi replaced the bottle, and the young regular picked it up.
Before he left Lauren asked, “How do you know these things my young friend?”
“I am from Pays des Illinois, Madame. I was born in the town of Cahokia near Kaskaskia.”
* * *
“I must talk with him,” said Lauren as she bolted the shutters in place for the night.
“It is in the past, Lauren. It can serve no purpose.” Isi touched her face remembering the muzzle. The memory was still red hot.
“You heard what that boy said. Brobriant finally believed me,” Lauren argued.
“We are not here to bring Aberjon to justice. It can only end badly. You are losing sight of our purpose. Erase it from your mind, Lauren and get some sleep.”
Isi continued with their bedtime routine. The women would straighten their inventory, shed their heavy outer garments, kill mosquitoes and drop onto their cots, sleeping heavily until morning, but that night Lauren did not rest well. She confused dreams with reality. She thought she was back in Kaskaskia, sleeping in the Aberjon household then she thought she was in the Captain’s quarters on The Pride of the King, but with each dream came a growing anxiety which woke her with a start before dawn.
Sitting bolt upright in bed, Lauren pushed the damp locks from her face and pulled the drenched shift away from her body. She looked over at Isi who continued to sleep soundly. Lauren unbolted the shutters of the shack for a breath of fresh air and leaned on the counter looking out at the vast lake. Her constant worries prevented her from appreciating the placid beauty of the water outlined with deep, green pines. She did notice the sun’s orange and gold rays on the glassy surface of the water and a loon gliding gracefully past. Lauren sighed and rubbed her forehead. She was weary and confused.
Then suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw someone move toward shore. It appeared to be one of the officers enjoying the sunrise. She watched the man walk slowly by the lake, stopping to sit on a boulder, one arm on his knee. When he turned his profile to Lauren, she realized it was Lieutenant Brobriant.
Dropping a gown over her shift, Lauren tied her hair into a knot and quietly stepped outside. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and started down to shore. When he heard her footsteps, Brobriant stood up. “Good morning, Madame,” he said cordially. “I was just enjoying the sunrise.”
“Indeed, Lieutenant. It is most beautiful.”
They said nothing for a moment, standing side by side watching the loon dive for his breakfast. Lauren said finally, “It is quiet and peaceful, but it does not have the majesty and power of the Mississippi.”
The lieutenant turned and looked at her. “You know of this river?”
“Yes, I was raised on it,” Lauren replied still looking out at the lake.
“I too, Madame. Where were you born?”
“In New Orleans but I lived several years in the Illinois Country in the town of Kaskaskia.”
“Mon Dieu! I too lived there. In fact my wife and children are still in Kaskaskia.”
“Yes, I know,” admitted Lauren, looking down as if ashamed of her deception. “I know more about you than you realize, Lieutenant. We have met, but you do not remember me.”
He stared at Lauren trying to remember her, and for the first time she noticed the heavy lines in his tanned face. He smiled and shook his head. “I am sorry, Madame but--”
“Many years back at Fort De Chartres. I came to you about the suspicious nature of my mistress’s death, Madame Aberjon.”
Brobriant’s smile dropped. He gasped, “You! You are the girl?” Stepping back he looked Lauren up and down. “Where did you go? I searched for you, but you had disappeared.”
“The Aberjons made sure I was far away, Lieutenant.”
He scowled and said, “They made sure I was sent far away as well. I would like nothing more that to expose those scoundrels.”
“I agree, Lieutenant.”
“Do you know the son is here, Madame?”
Lauren’s heart lurched in her chest. Her mouth went dry, and she struggled to speak but no words would come.
Brobriant watched her and nodded.
Finally she gasped, “Claude? Claude Aberjon is here?”
“Not here at the fort but nearby in Montreal, I have learned that New France is a much smaller place than I had ever realized.”
Lauren shook her head in disbelief. “Why is he here?”
Brobriant shrugged and said, “He lives with his cousin, Julien Gautier.”
Chapter 50
The trapper watched the woman named Lauren walk from the shoreline alongside the commanding officer of the fort. He was told she would be easy to find. “Look for the woman with hair the color of a fox,” they said.
This animal would be easy to track, thought the trapper. Females like that standout and are easy to cut out from the herd. He hated her already. In the world of man, females like that rebuffed him, scorned his thick features, bushy dark hair and low forehead. His size intimidated them, and somehow they sensed he could crush them with one hand if he chose. He ran his eyes over the woman’s figure, and his loins tightened. He reminded himself he was not to touch her in that way. They had made that perfectly clear.
The trapper watched her close the door
on the little shack. Soon she would open the shutters and sell her wares to the soldiers. He would mix among his French comrades talking of the price of hides or the next rendezvous, but all time he would be watching and waiting.
* * *
Lieutenant Brobriant and Lauren agreed to meet that night over supper. Lauren woke Isi that morning with the news of Claude being in Quebec with his cousin, Julien Gautier. The women spoke in low tones for almost an hour, trying to sort out the implications of their old enemy being in this part of New France. It was not until there was a knock on the shutters that they realized it was time to open for business.
It was another dry sultry day in the North Country. The sun scorched the earth and leeched water from Lake Champlain as the men bent their backs to the burning rays, chopping and framing a fortification which would guard the passage to a continent.
Business was slow during the daylight hours but at nightfall, when the men were off duty, they beat a steady path to the sutler window. Lauren asked Brobriant to send a regular to stand guard by the shack to make sure Isi was safe during the final hours of business that night when she was gone.
Lauren had no clothing suitable to be dining with a ranking officer. She searched her trunk finally pulling out an old pink gown with a cream-colored stomacher. After sponging off the perspiration and grime of the day, Lauren slipped on the gown, placed combs in her hair, and then smudged some charcoal on her eyelids and berry stain on her lips. These ministrations would lead the men to believe she was paying an amorous visit to the commanding officer. She was escorted to Lieutenant Brobriant’s tent by one of the minor officers and played the coquette while the young man was in attendance. She flattered Brobriant’s physique insisting he leave his topcoat off during supper, cooed over the rich food being served and flashed her pirate smile seductively at both males. The moment the young officer left the tent, she dropped her ruse and was all business.
“Please tell me what you know about the Aberjons, Lieutenant.”
Brobriant leaned back in his chair studying Lauren. He took his fist away from his mouth and said, “No, Madame. Suppose you tell me first about who you are. You are no sutler.”
Lauren raised an eyebrow and murmured, “I am not.”
He sipped some wine and stated, “I want more information about you before I go on.”
Lauren chose her words carefully. “After I left Kaskaskia, I lived for a time in the English Colonies. Not by choice. I hated the Aberjons for banishing me from Kaskaskia and separating me from those I loved in the Illinois Country, but I buried my rage and carried on, much like you.”
“You carried on in what profession, Madame?” he pressed.
“I spent some years as a courtesan,” she shrugged. “Some years as a cook and innkeeper.”
“But you never forgot,” he added.
Lauren shook her head.
“I too never forgot,” Brobriant said leaning forward. “I remembered when you came to me years ago, and it was because of you that I suspected Aberjon of murder several years later when his second wife died suddenly. Jean-Baptiste and his son Claude had exhausted this woman’s funds and needed to make yet another prosperous marriage. I started asking questions about her death, and they did not like it. With this second murder they had grown smug and complaisant and careless. They did not even bother to find a scapegoat to take the blame for the second treachery. They shrugged and said, ‘Such is life and death, Lieutenant.’ ”
Lauren closed her eyes trying to control the memories flooding her mind; Jean-Baptist drinking in the sitting room, the sound of Madame’s music box, the red blood on the snow the day she broke Claude’s nose. She opened her eyes and looked at Lieutenant Brobriant.
“I conducted an investigation,” he continued. “And found poison in Claude Aberjon’s possession. The poison that most likely killed the first Madame Aberjon, but it was too late. My orders came, and I was immediately transferred to Montreal where I learned I would work under the Marquis de Lotbiniere in the building of Fort Carillion. They had sealed my fate.”
“And your family could not accompany you?”
His expression grew dark. “No, my daughter was not strong enough to make the journey. She had consumption. That was the last time I saw her. She died several months later. She was only twelve.”
Lauren's jaw tightened. There seemed to be no end to the lives the Aberjon’s had ruined. She murmured, “My most heartfelt condolences.”
Collecting himself Brobriant took a deep breath and continued, “And that is why having Claude Aberjon nearby in Montreal is opening old wounds again.”
“Indeed it is, Lieutenant. Please tell me. Claude’s cousin is Julien Gautier?”
“Yes, Jean Baptiste is the brother of Gautier’s mother.”
“Why is Claude here?”
“It seems Claude and his father are destitute once more. Claude lost the lead mine in a card game early last autumn in New Orleans. He encountered the infamous Adair Heathstone, a renowned card shark from the English Colonies. In a last minute attempt to make good, he lost the family business.”
Lauren’s body went rigid. Her mind began to race and her heart pound. Before she could speak Brobriant continued. “This Heathstone character gambles for a smuggler by the name of--,” he shook his head. “It always escapes me.”
“James St. Clare,” she whispered.
“Yes that’s it. The Aberjons were not concerned about the loss of the family business to St. Clare because Englishmen cannot own French property, particularly in time of war, but the man surprised them. This St. Clare sent a vessel this spring up the Mississippi blockading all convoys coming up or down the river. When St. Clare’s men encounter a bateaux they confiscate the lead, supplies or whatever booty they can find and keep it for their own.”
Lauren swallowed and said with a shaky voice, “He sounds like a pirate.”
Brobriant chuckled, “Well, call him what you will; I enjoy his creative debt collection.”
* * *
Lauren felt as taut as the hemp on a bow. She thought she would snap as she followed the guard back to the shack. Not only had the information from Brobriant been unnerving, but she had the distinct feeling she was being watched. She wanted nothing more than to bolt and run from this web of treachery.
She decided not to tell Isi what she had learned. The girl had not been well since she heard of the close proximity of the Aberjons. Since then she had been sleeping little and eating even less, and Lauren knew that all the horrifying memories haunted her once more.
Lauren spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying to sort through all she had heard from Brobriant and struggling to make sense of the dangerous game James St. Clare was playing in the Illinois Country. She suspected that her husband taunted the Aberjons because of the pain they had caused Isi and herself, and she knew that she was the only one who could put an end to this perilous game of chess.
St. Clare had already made an enemy of Gautier, threatening to steal his merchant monopoly in New France, but now she realized he ruined Jean-Baptiste and Claude Aberjon as well, the most powerful French merchants in the west. There was no doubt in her mind that they were responsible for the extensive attacks on The Pride of the King.
The next day she told Isi that she had learned nothing of importance. Then that afternoon, Lauren pinned her indigo skirt to the clothesline along with the rest of the laundry in back of the shack. Isi did not notice the signal, and when Gunnar brought supplies the next day Lauren spoke privately with him.
“Isi is not well, and she is in danger here,” she whispered to the boy. “The only way she will leave my side is if she believes her husband is ill. I want you to take her back to Cavendish Ferry then return to the Claus homestead and check every few days for my signal. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” the boy murmured.
“Now take her and leave immediately,” Lauren ordered.
Gunnar replaced his floppy hat and unloaded the donk
ey cart. Lauren wiped her hands on her apron and went back to work feeling confident that Gunnar would deliver her friend to safety.
The boy had Isi on the donkey cart that afternoon. Isi’s face was pinched with fear and anxiety. “I am so scared, Lauren. I don’t want to leave you, but I must. Something feels wrong here.”
Lauren assured her that she had a new and powerful friend in Lieutenant Brobriant and that he would post a guard near the shack for her. She would be quite safe here at Fort Carillion. This didn’t seem to comfort Isi. She continued to look back from the cart, watching Lauren until the thick pines swallowed them up.
Lauren on the other hand felt relieved. She knew that a reunion with her husband would quell Isi’s anxieties and that distance would ease the burden of her memories of Kaskaskia.
That night she requested a meeting with Brobriant. When she arrived at his tent she suggested they take a walk. He lit a lantern, and they walked down to the lake. There was no moon that night, and the lieutenant held the lantern high to light their way.
“Why so clandestine, Madame?” he asked stopping by the shore. The candlelight flickered over him throwing his face into angular shadows.
“Because I believe your tent may have ears, Lieutenant. What I am about to propose will cause great repercussions.”
He sat down on a boulder and set the lantern beside him.
Lauren remained standing. “I will be completely frank with you,” she said. “I am the wife of James St. Clare, the leader of the organization The Pride of the King.”
He straightened up and said, “What!”
“Please, Lieutenant. I beg you to let me finish.”
Lauren could see his eyes narrow in the lantern light. He was suspicious of her now. “I have come to Lake Champlain to end the bloodshed in the settlements just south of here. I now realize that Gautier and the Aberjons are behind it. They have been trying to kill my husband and me over the past month and cripple our organization. In the process many innocents have died or been displaced. I am here, without my husband’s knowledge, to try to identify the men behind these machinations and to undo them.” Lauren paused and looked at Brobriant.
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