Deceive Not My Heart

by Shirlee Busbee

  Wilkinson's appearance at the Spanish governor's residence here in New Orleans and the obvious air of intimacy between the two men—in view of Gayoso's outspoken hostility towards Phillip Nolan, Wilkinson's reputed protégé—only increased Morgan's suspicions that Wilkinson was up to no good. Or was it Gayoso who was up to no good? Morgan couldn't quite decide, but behind the deceptively lazy gaze of those vivid blue eyes his keen brain was effectively weighing up the situation, trapping every movement, every look, every nuance of the conversation for later consideration.

  Gayoso had given the distinct impression that Wilkinson's arrival at his home this evening had been entirely unexpected, and yet Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that the meeting between the two men had been prearranged. And if it had been, why were the two of them acting as if it hadn't?

  Despite the general's presence, the evening was passing pleasantly for Morgan. Wilkinson did have an easy manner about him, Gayoso was always good company, and even drunk and occasionally surly Claude Saint-Andre proved to be enjoyable company. But as midnight came and went, if Morgan could have politely ended the evening, he would have. All three of his companions were several years his senior and he had little, if anything, in common with them.

  Ruefully, Morgan admitted that it would have been wiser to have called upon his friend Jason Savage first, rather than the governor. Jason's brand of entertainment was far more to his liking. There was hardly a year's difference in ages between Jason and himself, and they had attended school together at Harrow; consequently Morgan would have been much more at ease in Jason's company. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would diplomatically thank the governor for his hospitality and then efficiently remove himself to the Beauvais Plantation to stay with Jason, as he had originally planned.

  The conversation among the four men playing cards was light and inconsequential, the sort of polite, aimless discourse that takes place between people who are not well-acquainted, and Morgan discreetly swallowed a yawn as the tall clock of marquetry in the corner of the room struck the hour of two. Claude Saint-Andre, by now almost too drunk to function, was nodding over his cards, and Morgan felt pity stir within himself.

  Throwing down an indifferent hand of cards, Morgan rose to his feet and said, "I hate to be the one to end what has been a pleasant evening, but I think I shall seek out my bed." Casting a considering eye towards the befuddled Saint-Andre, Morgan added, "I think that Monsieur Saint-Andre wishes to retire to his bed also."

  Claude jerked up at mention of his name and blearily regarded the tall young man across the table from him. His brain moving in an alcoholic daze, the thought occurred to him that there had been something important he had wished to discuss with this young man, but what it had been temporarily escaped him. Staggering to his feet, Claude clutched the table for support and mumbled something about an enjoyable evening, thinking incoherently that tomorrow he must talk with this Monsieur Slade. It was important, that much he knew.

  Gayoso, smiling as blandly as ever, rang for a servant and when the man arrived, requested that Monsieur Saint-Andre's servants be informed that their master was now ready to return home. There was idle conversation among the four men until Claude's servants were ushered in. Almost immediately Claude departed, his uncertain steps guided by the two Negro men who had done this task many a night in the past.

  Wilkinson, his pale blue eyes contemptuous, said, "I wonder at you, Manuel—keeping such company? Surely you could have found someone more worthy of our intellect than that poor specimen."

  Gayoso's smile widened. "Perhaps, amigo, perhaps. But Monsieur Saint-Andre was once an extremely clever gambler, and I enjoy pitting myself against him." Almost smirking with satisfaction, one hand caressing the pile of vouchers, he added, "Sometimes he even wins, but"—with a laugh—"this is infrequent."

  Wilkinson nodded his head knowingly and Morgan's lips twisted in distaste. Hiding his emotion, he said, "Well, gentlemen, I must bid you good night." Then cocking his head in the direction of Wilkinson, he continued, "It was a pleasure meeting you again, sir." And lying even further, he finished, "I hope we shall meet again during my stay here in New Orleans."

  "No doubt we shall, my boy!" Wilkinson returned jovially. "Some other time you can tell me about the latest happenings in Natchez."

  Morgan gave a polite smile and turning once more to Gayoso, said, "Good evening, sir."

  Gayoso, a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes, murmured, "It has been a dull evening for you, I think." And at Morgan's courteous denial, he added slyly, "But I can arrange for the remainder of it to be most enjoyable. A woman to warm your bed, perhaps...?"

  Morgan, intent upon leaving the room, made some noncommittal reply and the governor laughed and said, "You are very diplomatic, amigo. But I think, nonetheless, that I shall... later send along a little something to enliven the night for you, si?"

  Morgan was smiling as he left the room, uncertain whether to accept the governor's offer or not. Stifling a yawn and thinking of the comfortable bed that awaited him, he decided he would let events take their course. The way he felt at the moment, when the woman did arrive, if she did, she would probably find him sound asleep, but one never knew....

  In the room that Morgan had just vacated a curiously hostile silence fell, and with a deliberate movement Gayoso took a sip of his brandy and then said, "Well, amigo, now that my guests have departed, it is time you and I had a serious discussion, si?"

  Wilkinson, a wary expression in his eyes, muttered, "Do we have something serious to discuss?"

  Gayoso's polite mask slipped, and making no effort to hide his displeasure, one fist smashed down on the table with a loud bang. "Yes, we do, amigo, as you well know! I think you forget that my country pays you very handsomely for the information you give us, and you have been attempting to cheat us... sending your own protégé, that Nolan, into our territory to spy on us! Explain yourself!"

  The sound of Gayoso's fist on the table woke Leonie from her fitful doze outside the window, and with a jerk she came wide awake, the great cat eyes blinking in the darkness. Realizing with dismay that she had fallen asleep, she took a quick, surreptitious glance through the window. With relief she found that Gayoso and only one guest still remained—her grandfather and the other man must have departed while she slept. Anxiously she searched for the much-desired vouchers and the sight of them still in an untidy heap in front of the governor caused her heart to race uncomfortably. Soon, now, she must find a way into the governor's house and steal that pile of papers.

  Inside the room, the Governor and Wilkinson eyed each other across the table. Gayoso's swarthy face was flushed with temper as well as with the effects of the enormous quantities of liquor that had been consumed through the course of the evening, and there was a slight slur to his voice as he questioned harshly, "Well? Do you deny that Nolan is spying for you? And will you protest that Nolan's horse-hunting is really so that he can explore the country for you? To map it so that you might invade us?"

  Fury flashed across Wilkinson's face, but he veiled the telltale emotion so swiftly that Gayoso never saw it. Forcing himself to display an amicability that he didn't feel, Wilkinson leaned his large bulk back in his chair and said smoothly, "Come now, Manuel, you can't possibly believe that. I have been a good friend to Spain for years. Why would I want to jeopardize the gold your government so generously pays me? Think, man!"

  Thoughtfully Gayoso viewed the other's ruddy features. Wilkinson had been a good friend to Spain in the past—he had passed on valuable information concerning the capabilities of various American forts along the borders between American and Spanish territory, he offered much advice on American politics, and he had even tried to break Kentucky away from the United States to have the state unite with Spain. Oh, Wilkinson had indeed been a good friend! But was he now? Gayoso wondered.

  Reflectively, Gayoso admitted, "It is true you have aided my country for a number of years, but I think only if it is to your advantage."

&nb
sp; Wilkinson bristled. "Upon my honor, Gayoso! What sort of man do you take me for? My word is my bond and I have sworn to serve Spain! How can you doubt me?"

  There was a note of sincerity in Wilkinson's voice and Gayoso was torn with indecision. Perhaps Wilkinson was innocent of any plotting; perhaps Nolan was the only culprit. His mistrust still obvious, Gayoso asked, "Do you deny that Nolan has been sending you information? Information that could be used to guide a large force of men through our lands? Information that a person interested in wresting huge tracts of land from Spain might find useful?"

  Hiding his alarm and rage at the amount of information Gayoso seemed to have acquired, his jowly face the picture of outraged innocence, Wilkinson roared dramatically, "What a dastardly plot! Who dares to connect my name with such infamy? I tell you, Gayoso, I will not have it! My honor is well-known... and I will defend it with my life! Let me know the name of the blackguard who dares to besmirch not only my name but my honor as well and I shall prove to you who is really the villain!"

  It was an impressive speech and Wilkinson did it well, his blue eyes sparkling with righteous indignation, his full cheeks bright red with the force of moral wrath, but Gayoso was not particularly awed. He had seen Wilkinson do the same thing on many another occasion, occasions when the good general had been lying through his teeth.

  Outside, still propped against the wall, Leonie gave a mighty yawn and then sighed impatiently. Mon Dieu! Would those two never stop babbling and leave? The conversation came to Leonie as a low murmur of voices, except when she was actually looking in the window or when the voices of the two men inside were raised in anger, but it meant little to her. And as time passed, she grew more and more restless and disappointed. It was beginning to appear that her vigil had been in vain.

  She had just taken another quick look and was almost on the point of admitting defeat when Gayoso picked up the pile of vouchers and his brandy snifter and, followed by the other man, disappeared through a doorway to Leonie's left. Galvanized into action, she swiftly ran along the side of the house until she came to the next window, and to her relief, once again had Gayoso and the vowels in view. Apparently this was his office at home; a huge, kneehole desk was placed near the wall farthest from Leonie, and from the litter of papers on the desk, it was obviously where the governor did a great deal of work. The room was attractively furnished with a thick carpet in tones of russet and olive-green covering the floor, and tall, channel-backed chairs in Spanish leather arranged here and there. The walls of the room were broken by the window, through which Leonie risked an occasional peek; the door near her, through which the men had entered from the card room, and another door next to the governor's desk that must lead to the main part of the house.

  As Leonie dared another look, she saw the Governor lay the vowels on the corner of his desk and then pick up a nearby piece of paper. Almost contemptuously Gayoso thrust the paper at Wilkinson.

  His eyes hard and unyielding, he demanded, "Will you deny that this was intended for you?"

  Wilkinson glanced at it and then carelessly tossed it on the pile of vowels. "Absolutely! I don't even know what it means! I think it's you, Gayoso, who should do some explaining!" Wilkinson returned aggressively. "I am an honorable friend of Spain, and you have made some vile implications... implications, I think, you should either prove or apologize for!"

  Gayoso stiffened, and his voice hard with anger he snapped, "I do not apologize!" Controlling himself with an effort he said tightly, "Very recently, we have intercepted a messenger from Nolan and have discovered that he has been sending out information to someone in the United States." That Gayoso was certain Wilkinson was the person receiving Nolan's information was quite clear.

  Glaring at the impassive Gayoso, Wilkinson's face was livid. Stuttering with outrage, he finally got out, "A-and y-you believe that I am the man he is sending this information to? Impossible! I will not have it!"

  Gayoso looked at Wilkinson and asked mildly, "You are sure you do not recognize the map I just handed you?"

  Wilkinson appeared to glance at the paper indifferently. Blustering he said, "It may be Nolan's work, but it has nothing to do with me!" And turning the attack he demanded, "What makes you think it was intended for me?"

  Gayoso smiled thinly. "Everything, my dear General. Your fondness for Nolan is well-known, even if of late you have claimed differently."

  Wilkinson continued to look outraged, and deciding it was time to let the general know just how much they knew of Nolan's activities, Gayoso murmured softly, "I think you should be aware of the fact that for the last three months I have had a spy in Nolan's midst." At Wilkinson's start, Gayoso continued dulcetly, "And my spy had informed me that he has seen Nolan making maps and that Nolan has spoken often of his important friend, General Wilkinson. He has even boasted that Wilkinson will decide the fate of Spanish land west of the Sabine River."

  Wilkinson looked as if he were about to burst, his chest swelling out the front of his blue, gold-trimmed jacket, the buttons of his striped Marseilles waistcoat straining against the threads. His face was bright red and his voice trembled with fury as he snarled, "Ridiculous! This is all a pack of lies! It is the most errant nonsense I have heard in my life!" Staring hard at Gayoso he demanded, "You can't believe this farrago! My God, man, it is beyond belief!"

  "We shall see," Gayoso replied.

  Genuinely frightened and disturbed, Wilkinson leaned over Gayoso's desk and exhorted him. "Believe me, Manuel, I know nothing of this! You must believe me!"

  Gayoso looked pensive. "I really don't know what to believe," he said at last. "You are a devious man, I think."

  Leonie taking a swift peek through the window was cheered to see that the conversation seemed to be ending. Bon! Surely they would part now? And oh, please, dear God, let the governor leave the vowels precisely where they are, she prayed fervently.

  Her prayers were answered. Gayoso stood up from his desk and began to walk towards the door near Leonie. She crouched down again, her blood beginning to race.

  Gayoso stopped at the doorway and said to Wilkinson, "I shall have to consider all the facts before I make my report to the viceroy. But at this moment, I should warn you that I do not think it will be favorable to you." Gayoso continued into the card room, his voice drifting back to the infuriated Wilkinson.

  Wilkinson stood silently by the desk for a moment, his face twisted by hate and fear. Covertly he eyed the map near the vowels and, unable to prevent himself, he swiftly reached out and grabbed it, stuffing the map hastily into his vest pocket as Gayoso stuck his head through the doorway and asked, "Bring me my brandy, will you? It is there on the desk, and then come here and explain to me further why I should believe you."

  The direction of Wilkinson's hand changed slightly and almost viciously he grabbed the delicate snifter of brandy. For a second he stared at the brandy swirling in the bottom of the glass, and then, with an ugly smile twitching his small mouth, he reached inside his vest pocket and stealthily brought out a little white packet. He threw a quick glance to the doorway where Gayoso had disappeared and then emptied the contents of the packet into the brandy. Giving the snifter a few twirls he walked slowly towards the doorway. Write the viceroy, would he? Destroy his reputation with Spain, would he? Wilkinson smiled. No. The governor was about to learn that no one crossed Wilkinson!

  Hearing no more sounds from the room, Leonie took another look and seeing the empty room, felt her spirits rise. At last, her moment had come! Grand-pere's gaming losses for tonight were as good as hers!

  Holding her breath, she cautiously tested the window and to her delight discovered that it was unlocked. Slowly she pushed it open and then silently, her heart pounding in her breast, she nimbly climbed into the room.

  She let out her breath in a small gasp as she realized she had to walk past the open doorway where she could see the governor and the general still talking. For a minute she stared at the two men. The governor acting strangely, his fac
e contorting as if in great pain, but the fat man seemed unconcerned.

  Tearing her eyes away from the scene in the next room, she crossed her fingers and quick as a cat she slipped passed the doorway. No cry of discovery followed her and with legs that trembled she hurried to the governor's desk. With fingers shaking so badly she could barely control them, she snatched up the pile of papers and stuffed them into her reticule.

  Elation shot through her body. She had the vouchers! A grin beginning to curve her mouth, she had just started towards the window when, to her horror, she heard someone approaching the door that was between her and her avenue of escape.

  Terrified she looked around for a place to hide. There was nothing to hide behind, and giving into sheer panic, she bolted out the door by the governor's desk into the main hallway of the house.

  Her eyes wide with apprehension, her heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, and the reticule clutched tightly in her hands, Leonie glanced wildly about, seeking either escape or a hiding place. Neither appeared immediately at hand.

  Being in a long corridor and afraid to stay there, she took off in what she hoped was the direction that would lead her to the rear of the house. Her feet made no sound as she scampered down the carpeted hallway; the light from the candles in the carved and painted wall sconces guided her way. The hallway seemed to go on forever with turnings this way and that, until Leonie was thoroughly disoriented.

  Mon Dieu! I am lost inside the governor's residence, she thought with a nervous, frightened giggle. She finally stopped her headlong rush, some modicum of common sense returning.

  Think, Leonie, think! she told herself. How are you to get out? She had passed several shut doors but was reluctant to see what was on the other side, for obvious reasons. And yet she dared not stay forever in the middle of the governor's hall.