Lady Vixen (25 page)

And
when he awoke the next morning, wondering with disgust at his maudlin mood of
the night before, he deliberately shoved all thoughts of the future away from
him and threw himself into an orgy of activity. During the week that preceded
Christmas he was seen at every party or
soirée
held in the elegant homes
of New Orleans. Finding every minute filled with pleasurable commitment, he
convinced himself that this was precisely what he wanted. This restless
racketing to and fro might have continued indefinitely except for two incidents
that occurred the night of the Governor's Christmas Ball. Christopher, along
with a few hundred prominent members of Louisiana society, attended the affair,
and it was there, about halfway through the evening, that he encountered a
surprising specter from his past.

She
was a small birdlike woman of about sixty-five with bright blue eyes and fluffy
white hair; she was neatly but plainly dressed, clearly a governess. He didn't
notice her at first, for who paid any attention to those drab individuals?

He
was never sure why he noticed her. It may have been the way she held her head,
or the quick movements of her body that struck a cord of memory. From across
the crowded ballroom he found himself watching her, a frown of puzzlement
creasing his brow.

He
was sure that he must know the woman, and finally he inveigled an introduction
to Miss Leala Dumas, who appeared to be her charge. He then learned the
governess's name—Mrs. Eggleston!

When
he heard that name the years vanished, and he was twelve again and wheedling a
sugar plum from the colonel's lady. She had changed little in the intervening
years, although the soft blue eyes were not as brimful with ready laughter, and
her face, though still smooth, had acquired a faintly harassed air.

He
was stunned when, having heard his name, she looked into his face and said,
"Why, Christopher, how very nice to see you after all this time!"

He
gave her a rueful smile and murmured, "And you, madame. But tell me, how
is it that you are here?"

She
hesitated and he didn't miss the uneasy glance sent her charge, the haughty
Miss Dumas, whose expression clearly revealed her displeasure that the elusive
Monsieur Saxon was paying more attention to her lowly governess than her own
beautiful self. And so he wasn't surprised when Mrs. Eggleston twittered
nervously, "Oh, it is much too long a story to bore you with. Did you wish
to ask Miss Dumas for the next country dance? I believe one is forming
now."

Gracefully
Christopher followed her unspoken plea and led the now-beaming Miss Dumas out
onto the ballroom floor. But he was not to be sidetracked, and he deftly
extracted the information he wanted from his smug dancing partner.

Mrs.
Eggleston was reduced to earning a meager living at the beck and call of
whomever needed her services. Not content with what he gleaned from his
partner, at the end of the dance he returned her to Mrs. Eggleston and waited
in the vicinity until Miss Dumas was claimed for a dance by a handsome young
Creole gentleman. Under the cover of polite conversation he convinced Mrs.
Eggleston to meet him privately in two days. She looked doubtful, but had not
been able to resist his blandishments. His aim accomplished, he drifted off in
the direction of the card room.

He
was frowning as he entered the room. Mrs. Eggleston had always been a favorite
of his, and he was revolted at the idea that she should be at the mercy of a
creature as demanding and conceited as Miss Dumas appeared to be. Ordinarily he
would not have given the matter another thought, but he had liked Mrs.
Eggleston! She had been kind to him when he was a youngster, and he was
astonished to find that he cherished certain almost-forgotten memories of
enjoyable afternoons spent at her home. But then his habitual sardonic self
took over and he deliberately dismissed her from his mind. If he wasn't careful
he'd find himself actually being concerned about another person. That, he
decided, smiling harshly, would never do!

Mrs.
Eggleston receded from his thoughts, and a second later he had joined a group
of friends at one of the many tables scattered about the room. Many of the
older men, happy to have escaped their wives' watchful gazes, were now enjoying
a quiet rubber or two of whist. Most of the younger men were on the ballroom
floor, but Christopher had little trouble finding three acquaintances who
needed a fourth for a game in a secluded corner. It was only after he had
played a number of hands that he became aware of a conversation taking place
practically at his elbow.

Mention
of Lafitte's name caught his attention, and idly his gaze shifted from the
indifferent cards in his hand to the group of men at his left. Three of them he
recognized vaguely, but he was much more familiar with the other two—Daniel Patterson
and Jason Savage.

Patterson
was in charge of the naval forces stationed in New Orleans, and it had been to
him that he had anonymously sent the code books. Naturally Christopher had
little to do with him, but because he was the master commandant, Christopher
had considered it prudent to make his acquaintance. It never hurt to cultivate
those who could harm one—and Patterson was an outspoken opponent of Jean
Lafitte.

His
knowledge of Jason Savage was not based upon any personal relationship. What he
knew had been gleaned from gossip and drawing-room conversations, and he was
well aware that Savage was not one to cross or ignore. He appeared to be deep
in Governor Claiborne's confidence and was highly thought of by both the
American faction and the Creoles. Christopher had been introduced to Savage's
beautiful wife, Catherine, at a ball some years ago and agreed with those who
said she was one of the loveliest women to grace New Orleans in years. But his
beautiful wife aside, Christopher's interest in Jason Savage had been prompted
by the knowledge that Savage was a man around whom things revolved. Though he
seemed aloof and detached from circumstances, he was rumored to have his hand
firmly on the life-beat of the entire state of Louisiana. And so Christopher
took more than just polite interest in Savage's dealings. But it was
Patterson's words that were arousing his interest at the moment.

"I
tell you, I just don't understand it! Neither how they got into my office, nor
why one of Lafitte's cutthroats would do such a thing."

In
his drawling manner Jason murmured, "Perhaps he thought to gain something
by it—a reward, or maybe even a pardon. Who knows?" His voice implied,
"Who cares?"

Patterson
became ruffled at the cool words and burst out, "No, damnit, Jason, it
wasn't that! The books were spirited into my office. There was nothing with
them— no letter, no identification, nothing! Just the books themselves. I've
questioned my men closely and no one knows how they got there. If the person
who left them were after money, surely there would have been some message with
the damned books."

"Are
you certain that they're genuine? It would be clever of the British to plant
useless ones on you. They would, I'm certain, see to it that you received only
those dispatches they wished you to know about."

One
of the other men offered a ribald suggestion that appeared to annoy Patterson,
and Christopher, eavesdropping shamelessly, smiled to himself. With a good
degree of hauteur, Patterson snapped, "This is no funning matter—and yes,
the books are genuine, we are not novices at our jobs!" The conversation
shifted, and just about the time Christopher had become bored and was about to
depart, Patterson again said something that captured his wandering interest.

".
. . attack on New Orleans."

"Oh,
come now, Daniel! The British aren't about to deploy more troops and naval
ships for an assault on us. They're much too busy along the Canadian border and
in the Great Lakes region to bother New Orleans," retorted one
businessman.

Patterson
said nothing, as if realizing he had been a little indiscreet, and shrugged his
shoulders. It was Jason, though, who continued the subject. Lazily he drawled,
"I wouldn't say that, John. Attacking and conquering New Orleans would be
a very strategic move on England's part. She needs a victory to bolster her
continuance of the war, and possession of the city would give her a decided
advantage at the peace talks in St. Petersburg. While I realize the British
have refused the Czar's offer to mediate, they have expressed a desire for
direct negotiations. And the reason they may not have pushed rather strongly on
direct negotiations could be that they wanted a decisive victory to strengthen
their power when they actually settle down to talking. Right now I think it is
simply as I said—they want a firm hand to sit at the peace table with. Don't
dismiss an attack on New Orleans so easily." Jason's green eyes left his
discomfitted companion's and swung to Patterson. "Is an attack on the city
definitely planned? Have you proof-or are you just speculating?"

Uneasily,
Patterson muttered, "There isn't any positive knowledge, you should know
that. There's just been hints, and one of the dispatches captured recently
mentioned a southern campaign."

"Daniel,
do you mean to tell me that the governor is aware of this, and is doing nothing
to verify it?" cried one of the men.

Patterson
squirmed uncomfortably, wishing that he had never introduced the subject. He
said a few words that Christopher couldn't hear, but the words seemed to put
the other three men to rest, although one of them turned eagerly to Jason and
said, "Your uncle is high in English government circles. Do you think that
you could learn anything from him?"

Jason
smiled sardonically, and in that moment his eyes met Christopher's across the
space between them. Their gazes held, and Christopher had the curious
conviction that Jason knew very well that his was more than just an idle
interest. For perhaps a full sixty seconds green eyes locked with gold, and
then as if having taken his measure, Jason's glance moved slowly from
Christopher. With a hint of boredom in his voice Jason answered. "Roxbury
is old and all his loyalty lies with England. If I were to be mad enough to
travel to Britain in search of more definite proof, my uncle, a very astute
man, would know the instant that I set foot on English soil why I was there.
Not only would I be unable to learn anything of value, but
mon oncle
would
see to it that my visit was exceedingly short and very unpleasant! Find another
fool to run after your fairy thoughts!" And suddenly Jason's eyes flashed
almost in challenge to Christopher's. Again Christopher was subjected to that
emerald gaze, the bright eyes narrowed in speculation. With great effort
Christopher ignored the compelling stare and gave no hint that he was aware of
Jason's look. But as he left the card room a short while later, he was sure
that those green eyes followed him and that a few blunt and searching questions
would be asked about him in the very near future.

Actually,
there was very little Jason Savage didn't already know about Saxon. For several
long seconds following Christopher's departure, Jason stared thoughtfully after
him, until a question repeated for the second time by Patterson recalled his
wandering thoughts. With the appearance of being completely absorbed, he
rejoined the conversation.

Presently
Jason excused himself and strolled outside. To anyone watching it would appear
he had escaped the noisy card room for a quiet breath of fresh air. Once
outside and out of sight of any curious onlookers, his aimless pace quickened
as he went past the governor's spectacular garden, now gloomy and damp from the
persistent rain that had fallen for some days, and came to a lacy iron-work
gate. Opening it he stepped gingerly across the quagmire that constituted a New
Orleans street in winter and slipped quietly into a small carriage house.

"Jake?"
he called softly.

"Over
here," came a voice gruffly from a pile of straw in one corner.

A
grin replacing the faint look of tenseness on his dark face, Jason relaxed
slightly as Jake, a small untidily dressed man with sandy ill-cut hair and a
scraggly beard, rose from the straw. Jake could have been any age between
thirty and fifty. A large plug of tobacco, and a stream of brown liquid, spat
carelessly over his shoulder a moment later, confirmed the impression of a
rough-mannered fellow.

Jason's
tall figure, elegant in evening dress of black velvet jacket and snowy white
waistcoat, couldn't have been more in contrast with the other man's appearance.

"You
see him?" Jake asked bluntly.

Jason
nodded. "Just now. He is rather hard to overlook. Jake, you're certain we
can trust him? I'd hate like hell for the British to know how worried Claiborne
is about an attack on the city—or how undermanned New Orleans is."

"For
Chrissake, Jason! Ain't I practically lived with the ruddy rakehell for the
past four months?" Pausing only to shoot another stream of tobacco juice
off to one side, Jake continued, "Saxon might be a bloody pirate, calling
hisself Captain Saber, but he don't hold no love for the British. I was there
when he took those code books. If'n he wasn't American to the bottom of his
black heart, he'd never have sent Higgins with the books to Patterson. Besides,
if you're spying, you don't attack your own kind. He sure don't hold no love
for the British!"