Texas Killers (4 page)

Whatever Mark's misgivings might be with regard to the young woman, they were not shared by the crew of the
Nantucket.
When the scuttlebutt
²
had passed around that a for-real, genuine English Lady—there had soon come to be a heavy emphasis on the capital “L”—and her maid were to be part of the Crown Prince's entourage, there had been diverging views on the subject.

Ever conservative, the older foc's'le hands had been convinced that no good would come of the arrangement. It had been predicted gloomily by them that, even if bad luck failed to develop, there would be so many restrictions—such as smoking, chewing tobacco, spitting and the use of profanity all being prohibited—that life on board would not be worth living. Captain McKie had warned all hands to watch their language, state of dress and
general behavior, but she had demonstrated a satisfying tolerance when a slip was made in her presence. Without letting it be considered that she was interfering with the ship's discipline, the Lady had managed each time to intercede on the offender's behalf and save him from punishment.

Like the Crown Prince, the Lady had soon become a universal favorite. She had the rare quality of being able to associate with men, yet avoid raising hopes which could never reach fulfillment. Even the most barnacle-encrusted seadogs, officers and enlisted men alike, were willing to concede she made a better shipmate than they had anticipated. For all that, her exact status in the entourage remained a mystery. If it was for the purpose which came most readily to mind, there had been no evidence during the voyage. The marine sentries who were in a position to know claimed no clandestine meetings had taken place after nightfall. Nor were the foreign servants any more informative. They had insisted that the Lady was merely an acquaintance of their master, well connected in British society, to whom he had offered passage when learning she wished to visit the United States. Such was her popularity that it went hard on the few who had dared cast doubts upon her virtue.

In spite of various hopes expressed by some of
the younger, more imaginative and lecherous of the foc's'le hands, the Lady's maid had proved as unattainable as her mistress. About the same age as the Lady, Florence Drakefield was some three inches shorter and had a buxom figure from which no formal black and white uniform could detract. Shortish red-blonde hair formed a curly halo to a pretty face bubbling with merriment. Yet, while friendly enough, she had never mingled with any section of the crew unless the circumstances were completely decorous. According to the entourage's male servants, she was well able to ensure her wishes were respected regarding the avoidance of physical contact.

“Charmed, Mr. Counter,” the Lady responded, studying the blond giant as they were shaking hands. “But you seem surprised and puzzled.”

“Like I told His Highness, ma'am,” Mark replied. “I wasn't expecting a lady along.”

“I hope my being here won't make things too difficult?” the Lady said, still watching the Texan quizzically. “But when I heard the rest of the party were being landed, I couldn't resist the chance of setting foot on dry land again. Of course, if my presence is inconvenient, I can always go back on board—”

“There's no need for that, as long as you don't
mind riding in a chuck wagon instead of a carriage,” Mark drawled, glancing to where the launch's crew and four men in military uniforms were unloading a small amount of baggage. “I'll tell you why we asked for you to bring that from the ship while we're walking to the wagon, sir.”

“I had wondered about it,” the Crown Prince admitted. “Shall we go?”

“Any time you're ready,” Mark agreed.

“Mr. Counter,” Liebenfrau put in. “I will be sending Captain von Farlenheim and three men as an advance guard.”

“Do whatever you reckon's best, Colonel,” Mark replied, showing no resentment. “Go through that gap and there's a clear trail to the Coast Road.”

“Send your three best men with Captain von Farlenheim, Mr. Richie,” Liebenfrau ordered. “Tell them to keep their eyes open. Have the rest help our servants with the baggage.”

“You must excuse the Colonel,” Rudolph remarked, as he accompanied Mark and the Lady along the path a few yards behind the advance party. “His manner is abrupt, but he acts always with my best interests at heart.”

“Why sure,” the blond giant replied, watching as von Farlenheim led the three sailors over a fair-
sized tree trunk which had fallen across the trail. “He strikes me as being a right good man to have at your back.”

“He's all of that,” Rudolph declared, glancing over his shoulder to where Liebenfrau was following with Baron von Goeringwald. Then he indicated the dense woodland on either side of the trail. “Is this the kind of country we'll be hunting in?”

“Nope,” Mark answered. “We'll be taking you to more open woods further inland, the sport'll be better there.”

“Did you select the landing place, Mr. Counter?” the Lady inquired.

“No, ma'am,” the blond giant admitted. “Why?”

“Nobody in the steam-sloop knew about it,” the young woman explained, gazing into the big Texan's handsome face as if trying to read the thoughts behind it. “But I have the feeling that this isn't the first time people—or goods—have been landed here.”

“It isn't,” Mark conceded. “Way I heard it, cargoes used to be dropped off here after they'd been run through the Yankee blockade during the war.”

“Only during the war?” the Lady challenged, with a smile.

“There'd be no call to run a blockade when one
wasn't being imposed,” Mark pointed out, also with a smile.

“It would be a jolly useful place for smugglers to land contraband, though,” the Lady commented. “If you have such things in America, that is.”

“I've heard tell of them,” Mark drawled, but had no intention of betraying a confidence by telling who had selected the landing place.

“The reef looks to be unbroken from out at sea,” the Lady continued, hoping to satisfy more than a casual interest by keeping the blond giant talking. She sensed that he had misgivings where she was concerned and waited to learn what was causing them. “Unless one knew the secret—”

While the discussion had been taking place, Rudolph had drawn slightly ahead of the Lady and the blond giant. Reaching the fallen tree, he noticed that the advance guard were turning a bend and had gained almost thirty yards lead on them. Then, as he stepped on to the fallen tree's trunk, a figure erupted from among the bushes and alighted, drawing two long-barrelled Colt 1860 Army revolvers in a lightning fast motion, not twenty feet in front of him.

“S
IX HUNDRED DOLLARS
!” A
LEX VON FARLENHEIM
barked in explosive German, glaring across the table at his companion and speaking loudly enough to make the other dozen occupants of the Portside Hotel's dining room look in their direction. “You gave ‘Breakast'
six hundred dollars
as an advance payment?”

Despite realizing that the successful outcome of the assassination plot depended upon working in close conjunction with the young Bosgravnian, but yet ever intolerant when her actions were questioned by somebody she regarded as being of inferior status, a frown briefly creased the beautiful
features of Charlene,
Comtesse de
Petain. Coming and going swiftly, but not unnoticed, it served as a warning—although he needed none—of the hardness that lay beneath the expression of the somehow seductive innocence which returned and supplied a clue to her true, ruthless nature.

Slightly over five foot seven in height, Charlene's creamy-skinned face and the firm-fleshed “hourglass” contours of her statuesque figure made her seem considerably younger than her actual age of thirty-five. Nor could the “walking-out day dress” she had on conceal the eye-catching, voluptuous curves. Not that it was intended to do so. Despite being more decorous in lines, the tight cream jacket-bodice—its long
basque
forming an overskirt—displayed the mound of her bosom and slender mid-section as effectively as a ball gown with an extreme décolleté. The primrose-yellow waistcoat-front's V-neckline had no chemisette to form a high ruffle collar. Fitting snugly at the elbows, the three-quarter-length sleeves opened out to end in large frilled cuffs and long suede gloves emerged from them. Caught up at the sides, the long-trained overskirt had its front falls taken into pleated draperies. Worn low over the forehead in a frizzy fringe, her brunette hair was brushed back into a chignon which left her ears uncovered. The
straw hat perched on it had a wide, brim and small crown with ribbon trimmings which passed beneath the chignon and formed a shawl-shape around her neck. Lying on the table were her folded primrose and blue parasol and a large matching fan.

Apart from his attire being civilian and the scars on his cheeks forming a slightly different pattern, von Farlenheim's physical appearance was almost identical to that of his cousin Fritz—two years his senior—who was accompanying Crown Prince Rudolph. A white straw “planter's” hat, bought in Brownsville as being better suited to the local climate, was on the table in front of him. He had on a tight-fitting, waist-long brown jacket, frilly bosomed white silk shirt and a dark blue cravat of the same material. Figure-hugging, his tan-colored riding breeches disappeared into well-polished black Hessian boots. His weapon belt was of the Bosgravnian Army's pattern, carrying a Colt Cavalry Peacemaker in its holster, but without a saber attached to its slings. All in all, his garments emphasized a masculine virility as effectively as the
Comtesse
's costume proclaimed her feminine pulchritude. Like her, he made use of his physical attributes as a means of attaining his ends with members of the opposite sex.

“It would be advisable to keep your voice down, Alex,” Charlene suggested, forcing herself to speak in something milder than the tone she wished to employ. Her German was fluent, but with a noticeable French accent. “Somebody might be able to understand you. I would have consulted you if there had been time, although the Council have given
me
their authority to act as I see best for our Cause. But when ‘Breakast' told me that the man ‘Clint' would accept no other terms, I had to agree to make sure that we secured his services.”

“Why do we need him?” von Farlenheim demanded, but in a much lower voice.

Sitting ramrod straight in his chair, the young Bosgravnian showed little sign of having been mollified by the
Comtesse
's explanation. To one of his upbringing and mentality, the suggestion that a member of the “weaker sex” should be other than subservient and in a subordinate capacity was practically heresy. So he had never been enamored of the knowledge that, as she had just reminded him, to all intents and purposes their fellow conspirators had appointed her—a
Frenchwoman
—as his superior in the attempt to assassinate their country's hereditary ruler. He was aware that she had not hesitated to make major decisions without consulting him in the past. Fur
thermore, he suspected that on this occasion she had deliberately delayed contacting him until after she had made her arrangements with the man they knew as “Gustav Breakast.”

Up until the matter which had elicited von Farlenheim's indignant comment, despite neither of them having any liking for the other, his first meeting with Charlene since his arrival in Corpus Christie had been progressing amicably. Nor had the condition been brought about entirely by a mutual remembrance that they would have to work in better harmony than had been the case of late.

Various events in Brownsville had produced unsatisfactory results. While the blame for some of the mishaps could be laid upon the
Comtesse,
von Farlenheim was aware that on one occasion at least he too had failed to show in a good light. When he had been rendered
hors de combat
by a trio of drunken cowhands, it had fallen upon Mark Counter to save Charlene from being molested by them. Claiming that doing so would offer an opportunity to gather information, she had used the incident to make the blond giant's closer acquaintance and had travelled to Corpus Christie in his company. Declining an invitation to go with him to collect the horses for use on the hunting expedition, she had taken advantage of his absence
to meet and bring von Farlenheim up to date on what had happened since their separation in Brownsville.

The young Bosgravnian's improved humor prior to being told of the advance payment had stemmed from it having become obvious that the
Comtesse
had failed to learn anything worthwhile from the big Texan, or his companions. While he appreciated that her association with members of the Crown Prince's escort could prove beneficial to their purposes, he had found a certain satisfaction in discovering that it had not yet produced any positive results.

“For two excellent reasons,” Charlene answered, still contriving to sound much less irritated than she was feeling, but she could not prevent the fingers of her right hand from drumming on the table near the fan. “Firstly, ‘Breakast' assures me that there is no better man than ‘Clint' available in Corpus Christie. Secondly, which is even more important, some of those anarchist scum are here and have already offered to hire him. Not only must we prevent that from happening, we can use him to find out if they have anybody working among us and to get rid of them for us.”

“How do you know
they
have offered to hire him?” von Farlenheim challenged, in spite of ap
preciating that the second point made by the
Comtesse
would be particularly advantageous.

“He told ‘Breakast' as much when they were discussing terms,” Charlene explained, clearly struggling to retain her friendly tone and drumming her fingers more sharply. “And ‘Breakast' is convinced he wasn't just making it up to get a higher price. Don't forget that the Council said we could rely implicitly upon his advice when hiring any assistants we require.”

“I remember,” the young Bosgravnian conceded, watching the movements of her fingers. He was aware that she had a violent temper and a proclivity for lashing out at anybody who antagonized her, but felt reasonably confident that she would have sufficient self-control to behave sensibly in a public place. “However, I can't recollect hearing you were authorized to pay for a task before it was completed satisfactorily.”

“The decision is
mine!
” Charlene gritted out, barely able to control her asperity. Then, making an obvious effort of will, she raised the right hand in a placatory gesture and adopted a demeanor which she felt would attain the result she desired. “If necessary, when we return to report to the Council I will absolve you of all blame and take the full responsibility.”

“If it becomes necessary, I wouldn't advise you to return and report,” von Farlenheim answered, taking note of the woman's changed attitude and puzzled by it. Having come to know her well during their acquaintance, he realized that only something of importance could have produced such meek and conciliatory behavior. “So I hope, for
your
sake, this man ‘Clint' justifies the high opinion of his abilities.”

“It appears that he does,” Charlene replied, knowing the young Bosgravnian was expressing her own thoughts on the subject. However, she had another reason for trying to win him over in addition to her awareness of the price of failure. “‘Breakast' says that he not only escaped from the kind of snake in a box trap which was used to kill Walter Scargill in Brownsville, but he also survived being ambushed on the street one night. There were three men against him. He killed two and the third ran away. That suggests he is a competent gun-fighter.”

“Or that he was lucky,” von Farlenheim sniffed.

“
Very
lucky, if it was luck alone kept him alive,” the
Comtesse
answered, refusing to be goaded. “There are few who have survived when Beguinage set out to kill them—And I've
never
heard of anybody doing it
twice
.”

“Twice?”
von Farlenheim repeated.

“Twice,” Charlene confirmed. “Leaving a snake in a box to be opened by his victim was how Beguinage killed Scargill and, according to what ‘Breakast' has heard, it was Beguinage who hired the three men who tried and failed to kill ‘Clint.'”

“Beguinage,” the Bosgravnian said pensively, disturbed by what he had been told. Then, adopting what he hoped would be an off-hand manner, he went on, “So he's here in Corpus Christie now, is he?”

“He is,” Charlene declared.

Shrewdly assessing the real emotion behind von Farlenheim's attempt to sound indifferent, the
Comtesse
felt a sense of elation. It was what she had hoped to hear and she was now convinced that she could win him over to her way of thinking. Much as she hated to admit the necessity, she accepted that she must have his wholehearted support and might even have need of his protection.

Being a very good judge of character, especially where members of the opposite sex were concerned, Charlene had been compelled to revise the opinions she had formed before sailing from Europe. It had been upon her advice that the proposed assassination of Crown Prince Rudolph was
left until he arrived in the United States. She had assumed that, apart from his small retinue, his escort would consist of poorly disciplined soldiers under the command of uncouth and far from efficient officers. So the killing could be more safely and easily accomplished here than while he remained in the Old World. She was now aware that such was not the case.

Already impressed by Dusty Fog's intelligence, the
Comtesse
had found that Mark Counter and his companions were far from being the dull-witted, easily led country bumpkins she anticipated and required. None of them had struck her as potential dupes to be manipulated for her ends. So she wanted to make sure of having at least one willing ally. No matter how little regard she might have for von Farlenheim's tact and acumen, she knew him to be a man of courage and considerable skill in the use of weapons. What was more, he shared her determination to succeed in their nefarious enterprise. In fact, she was willing to concede that he had as much to gain and even more to lose from the outcome.

Although Charlene was not a native of Bosgravnia, she stood to make a considerable financial gain from the assassination. That, rather than a desire to retain near feudal rights, was her motiva
tion. So she was ready to use any means to bring about the desired result.

A woman of great ambition, Charlene was also a realist. Knowing how much she depended upon her physical charms to make men do her bidding, she was equally aware that the attraction would not remain indefinitely. Of late, she had become increasingly aware that her skin was growing coarser. It was only slight as yet, but needed more and more attention to hide. What was more, only by being careful in her eating habits and carrying out a daily routine of exercises could she retain the magnificent figure which formed her major asset. So she was determined to establish her fortune before she lost the means to acquire it. That was why she had become an agent for the Council of Noble Birth. The reward she had been offered would be sufficient to set her up for life. Provided that she was able to earn it, of course.

The latter point was the reason for Charlene's desire to win over von Farlenheim. Beguinage's involvement was jeopardizing her chances, but it could be to the young Bosgravnian's advantage. He could achieve his own ends without danger to himself by allowing the assassin to kill the Crown Prince, but the same did not apply to her.

“Alex!” the
Comtesse
gasped, having paused to
convey the impression that a thought was just occurring to her. “Who is Beguinage working for?”

“The anarchists, of course,” von Farlenheim answered. “We haven't hired him.”

“
You
and I
haven't,
” Charlene agreed, looking straight into the young man's face and speaking in tones of great earnest. “But if he
was
hired by the anarchists, why did he kill Scargill, who was one of them?”

“Gott in himmel!”
von Farlenheim ejaculated, giving thought for the first time to the reason Scargill had been killed. Although not overburdened with imagination, he began to appreciate the implication behind the
Comtesse
's question. “Do you mean that he has been hired by the Council?”