The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (25 page)

       “What about Sir John, Your Grace?”

       “Briefed him already. Burrell’s a sharper tack. Picked up the gist of it immediately.”
       It was on the short carriage ride to the Liaison Office that Bratton briefed the Duke on his new Russian acquaintance, Andre.

___________

    As the social aide to the Governor-General, it had fallen to Lieutenant Wilder to personally deliver the Calhouns’ their last-minute invitation to the state dinner. He had done so the previous afternoon, telling the South Carolinian that The Residency had only learned over the weekend of his arrival in Georgetown. Now Tom was in Scott’s office, describing the scene to the General.
     “I never met Mr. Calhoun before, Sir. Sort of reminds me of one of those Old Testament prophets, always calling fire and brimstone down on the Israelites or their enemies…”
      “It’s that long hair, Lieutenant. Quite an affection, wouldn’t you say?”
      “Yes Sir. But he actually looked thunderstruck when I handed him the invitation. Didn’t say anything, but I got the impression he hadn’t anticipated walking up the Main Portico again any time soon.”
        “No Lieutenant,” said Scott, “and it will be interesting to see the reactions when he and the G-G first meet face-to-face tomorrow night. However, I’m more interested in making sure Calhoun is properly introduced to Wellington. Damn Jackson for refusing to have a formal greeting line! If I’m not available for some reason when Calhoun arrives, you take him over to the Duke. Since you’re the one who delivered the personal invitation, it won’t seem out-of-the-ordinary. And, after all, you
are
The Residency social aide! Anything else to report from across the park?”      

         “Yes General. Captain Bratton rode in as I was leaving The Residency shortly after noon. Looked like he’d been in the saddle quite awhile. That’s eight days he was gone.”
      Scott nodded but made no comment. To himself, however, he noted: eight days. Enough time to reach New York, find Burr and ride back. And it’ll be a week or more before Wilder hears from his father.
Damn old Hook Nose. You’re still ahead of me on this one…
     “Now Lieutenant Wilder, to the real reason the Dominion pays us so well. Get Lieutenant Beaufort in here with the Portsmouth file. We’ve got important matters to consider…”

___________

    Ignatieff had known his arrival would throw the Consulate into an uproar; he had counted on it. Upon arriving at the K Street gate, he had barked clear, crisp Russian, in military tones, demanding the Cossacks admit him. Acting on instinct born of their severe training, they had immediately done so. The Count was up the steps and through the front door before the guards could turn his horse toward the stables. An indignant aide to the Consul-General was silenced by a single look from the wolf-face, the right eye still patch-covered. “I wish to see the Consul-General immediately. Is he on the premises?”
     The shaking aide nodded and gulped: “And who shall I say is calling?”
     “A visitor from the Court of the Czar is all you need to know. Now bring me to him!”
     The Consulate was simply two homes bridged by a ground-level addition of offices. Count Renkowiitz was leaving his private quarters in the ‘western’ building when the aide escorted Ignatieff down the corridor centering the offices and leading to the private quarters.
       “Excellency, we have a visitor from St. Petersburg who wishes to see you.” The white-faced aide indicated Nicholas, who pushed past him to step directly in Renkowiitz’s path.
    The towering C-G looked down at the intruder, his face reddening. “What is the meaning of this? Rossevich, call for the guards!”
      Ignatieff caught the aide’s arm in an iron grip of his left hand, looked up at Renkowiitz and again flashed the wolf’s leer. “A thousand pardons, my dear Count,” he said, bowing formally after pushing Rossevich against the wall as if the aide were a doll. “Did you not get the word from Nesselrode to expect me? I see that must be the case. Damn the slowness of the Imperial mail service. I see I will have to introduce myself.”
        He raised his face to look straight up at the C-G and, with a sudden lightening movement of his right hand and arm, removed the eye patch.
       The aide’s gasp of anticipated horror still echoed in the corridor as the C-G’s angry red face turned pink on its way to whiteness.
      “You see now, my dear Count Karl, why I presented no formal card or credential.  You do know who I am?”
      Count Renkowiitz stared at his visitor for another long moment as if assessing the implications of the appearance of this apparition. Even though they had never met, like everyone else in the Czar’s diplomatic and secret services (which were, for all practical purposes, one-and-the-same) he knew of the legendary Count Nicholas Ignatieff whose right eye was half-blue and half-brown. He nodded his head affirmatively and turned slowly to the open-mouthed Rossevich.
       “Escort our most distinguished visitor to the largest guest bedroom and assign servants to help him recover from his journey with a hot bath, massage, refreshments and anything else he requires.” Turning back to Ignatieff, he bowed formally.
      “Welcome to the Imperial Consulate, Count Nicholas. I place the staff, our resources and myself at your service.”
       The wolf’s leer was replaced by a look of Imperial formality. “Thank you Count Karl. You are most gracious. I have been in the saddle for the better part of four days. I have looked forward to a bath and shave at journey’s end. However, we have much to discuss. I wish to begin quickly.”
        Renkowiitz, whose immediate thought was to ply this unwanted visitor with whatever he required and to see him on his way as quickly as possible, bowed again. “Certainly my dear Count. I will have a special dinner prepared. Would 4 p.m. give you enough time to refresh and relax? If so, the servants will escort you to the formal dining room in two hours.”
         “That will be fine, Counsel-General. Restrict the place settings to two. I will divulge my rationale for being here, as well as my plans, to you alone.
       “Now you,” he commanded, flicking his head imperiously at Rossevich, “you will escort me to my quarters.”

___________

             
    The meeting at the Liaison Office with Major Layne had taken little more than an hour. Layne, a tall, lanky man whose build brought to Bratton’s mind the USBA Army captain who had met
Irresistible
at the Baltimore dock, had of course been stunned when the Duke outlined the true purpose of his visit. But Harry could see that the chance for   action---and possible promotion---fired his enthusiasm.
     At Wellington’s direction, Bratton had also briefed Layne on his encounter with Karlhamanov. The Liaison man agreed that the Russian ‘dissident’ should be quietly followed to determine the validity of his identity. It was agreed that a Liaison agent would be at the Golden Eagle when the Captain and Andre met in two nights. An around-the-clock watch would be placed on the Consulate beginning this evening in case anyone resembling the ‘dissident’s’ description entered or left.
      Wellington was dining across Pennsylvania Avenue at Frank Blair’s home this evening. Among the other guests were to be Joseph Kent, the newly-elected Senator from Maryland and Cabell Rives, the junior Senator from Virginia.

     “So the menu will consist once again of tariffs, nullification, this damnable Bank business and who should pay for the ‘internal improvements’ these colonials all so incessantly demand or oppose,” the Duke had sighed on the way back to The Residency. (Jackson was dining at Congressman Polk’s home, as he apparently did at least once a week.)
    “I begin to see, however, that the Southerners apparently have balled themselves into a fist on this issue of states rights. You and Quincy Adams may be correct. I question whether anything short of brute force will compel them to seriously consider emancipation now or anytime in the foreseeable future. They never mention the political consequences of emancipation in their screeches---just the economic---but its obvious: they are even more intent on retaining their power here in Georgetown than they are of retaining mastery of other human beings. 
    “They also apparently view the Compact in different terms than the Crown and the Northerners. They don’t seem to consider it anything more than a bloody convenience, a road map, that they can follow or ignore at will.” The Duke sighed once more. “Well, let us see if this Maryland chap, Kent, is any different. Though I would suppose, after what I’ve seen so far, that he too is a planter. By God, Bratton,” he exploded, “Southern planters and Northern lawyers! Is that all their damn bloody government is composed of?”

___________

    With the Duke seen safely across Pennsylvania Avenue to the Blair house, Harry suddenly found himself free for the first time since his arrival night in Georgetown. And with his afternoon and evening cut out for him tomorrow due to the state dinner, he decided that tonight he would visit the Golden Eagle.
    Cleaned up and attired in a freshly-laundered Coldstream Guards uniform, dress sword attached, he made his way the several blocks to the Eagle a bit past 6:30 p.m. Pausing at the door, he wondered how he would find Joanne after the passage of some four years: would she have missed him, or had too much time---and too many men---erased him from her mind?
     He strode into the taproom and shook his head at the sight of the same tall, emaciated bartender. A boisterous crowd of what appeared to be young government officials had taken over the bar area and most of the room, while the obligatory lobbyists sat aloof with their clients nearer the fires and in the alcoves. Joanne was nowhere to be seen, but the tawdry buxom blond waitress he remembered as the heavy-handed Kathy spotted him as he shouldered his way through the crowd. He had already ordered Claret when Kathy put down her tray next to him. After yelling her order to the bartender, she turned to Harry and ventured a crooked-toothed smile.

     “The proprietress is making her rounds in the back dining room, Sir Galahad. Shall I tell ‘Mi Lady’ you’re here?”
      Bratton shook his head and eased sideways. The woman’s breathe, even at this early hour, smelled of cheap liquor and tobacco.  “That will not be necessary. I plan on dining here tonight. I’m sure Mrs. Casgrave will be out at some point.”
     “Ah, you can be sure of that, Colonel. Especially when she hears there’s a fine example of British nobility all alone here at the bar.” Gathering up her orders, Kathy fought her way back through the crowd.
     Even without a word from her waitress, it did not take Joanne long to emerge. Leaning against the bar and looking towards the back dining room, Harry caught sight of her as she pushed her way through the swinging doors. The petite, long-haired brunette---Harry could see that she hadn’t gained an ounce in four years---looked out over the crowded taproom before glancing at the bar. Her black eyes began to glow and the charming little-girl smile he had loved---even after he had realized how fraudulent it could be---suddenly blossomed on her lean, dark face dominated by high, Indian-style cheekbones.
      Joanne made her procession across the room, stopping at the occasional table and to listen to a whispered comment or two by standing patrons, but steadily working her way towards Harry.
      “Well, Captain Bratton, a long time…”
      “Hello, Joanne. Yes, 46 months and 43 days, to be precise.”
      The innkeeper’s smile turned pouty. “I was referring, Captain, to the 11 days since you rode into Georgetown with the Duke of Wellington…”
       “But my dear, I left town Monday a week ago and returned just this afternoon. I did call the night I arrived but you were, ah, otherwise occupied.”
        Joanne cast her eyes down and came up with her fabled look of innocence. “Hm, well, if that’s the case, I forgive you. Now, I have to mingle with my customers, dear Harry, but you and I will share a late supper after the backroom clears out a bit.” She paused and again cast her eyes demurely down before continuing. “Unless you have other plans?”
        
Well, this looks to be an evening to remember
, he thought. “Not at all. I’ll be right here when you’re finished with your guests.”
       She reached up on her toes and kissed his check, her lips sliding over towards his right ear. “We’ll make the extra 10 day wait worthwhile, won’t we?” She then broke the embrace and turned back into the crowd of on-lookers, more than one of whom had realized his plans for the evening would not come to fruition.

___________

      As he had sworn he would, Lieutenant Wilder had found other places---notably the Indian Queen’s own taproom---to relax and enjoy his late meals recently. Tonight, however, he had agreed to meet David Harper at the Eagle. With Wellington in town and the Congress shuffling back in for the special session, they had not been able to coordinate their schedules for any daytime meals…or nocturnal adventures.
      Harps had managed to go riding with the Countess Caroline Sunday afternoon as planned. Tom was eager to hear about it; and relieved it had apparently produced no international repercussions after all. But as he walked in and saw the female innkeeper holding on to Captain Bratton, Tom immediately realized the evening held the promise of   degenerating into a farce, in which he, for once, would be only a happy spectator.
      Tom quickly saw that the Captain, whose embrace with the proprietress was just breaking up, had no way of seeing him in the crowd. The Lieutenant moved quietly to the  end of the bar nearest the front doors and ordered a cold beer, then waited for the final actor in tonight’s comedy to make his appearance.
      Dave Harper strode in minutes later and, glancing around quickly, spotted Lieutenant Wilder. He fought his way next to him. “Well, Tom, I see you’re still on your feet. What happened? Did the Mistress of Twin Peaks stay in the Maryland horse country all weekend? Or did General Scott keep you too busy to add a new chapter to your legend?”
        Tom grinned contentedly and allowed himself another pass on his beer mug before answering: “Not at all, Harps. Candice arrived Friday afternoon and we spent the majority of the weekend cozily camped out at her townhouse… Of course, I had to hit the pillow very early last evening to restore my strength. But it’s your weekend that we’re here to discuss.” He gestured at the bartender, who was sullenly refilling order after order. “What will you have?”
       Harps, surprisingly, ordered a beer and then turned to his friend. “Well, Lieutenant, aside from the fact that one of the damn Cossacks seemed to be in the saddle along with me and the other rode between us, my Sunday afternoon with the Countess went well. She’s a fascinating person…”
      Wilder nearly choked on his beer as his eyebrows went up in imitation of his commanding officer: “Of course. It’s her inquisitive mind with its superior Russian education that attracts you…”
       Harps was indignant: “Hell, Tom, she speaks four languages. That’s damn near as many as you. And she does have an inquisitive mind. She has a fair grasp on the workings of our government and the political situation here.” He grinned at his friend. “And, she wondered how you’re making out with the, as she called her, ‘formidable Miss Latoure.’”
     “She didn’t really call Lucille
formidable
?”
      “Actually, she used a Russian adjective that I understand might best not be translated precisely in polite society.” They both grinned.
       “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I got the feeling at the Christmas reception that Caroline had a pretty good idea of what was going on. So what’s her background? And how come she’s sticking it out here? They say her mother lasted less than a month. This must seem like an Indian village compared to St. Petersburg.”
       Dave was beginning to tell the Lieutenant that the Renkowiitzs were poor and very minor Russian nobility, despite Caroline’s mother’s pretensions, to whom any diplomatic post was a Godsend. But then he spotted the imposing British officer standing near the center of the bar in the now slowly-clearing taproom.
      “That tall Brit over there, Tom. Have you seen him before?”
     “Of course, Dave. Rode down from Baltimore with him last week.  That’s your American Office contact, Harry Bratton. Though this month he’s obviously using his military title.”
        “Huh. So that’s Bratton. Looks like he’s waiting for someone. Couldn’t guess who that might be, now…”
         The two friends grinned at each other again. “What’s the matter, Harps? Aren’t you going to do battle for your lady’s hand?” Tom was pleased with himself for once being the one to insert the needle.
         Harps was having none of it, however. “When and if I find a lady, I’ll let you know, Lieutenant Wilder. If you’re referring to Mrs. Casgrave, if I were willing to ‘do battle’ for that
lady’s
hand, the dead would already be littering this taproom…”
        The two laughed aloud. Tom was relieved that his suspicions concerning David’s feelings for the brothel madam had proven correct.
      “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Dave. I had a feeling you were none too serious. Glad to have that confirmed.”
       “Don’t get me wrong, Tom. She’s actually a lot of fun---if you don’t cross her---and great in the sack; in fact, she’s even taught me a few new tricks. But nothing to get emotional about.” Harper drained his beer and signaled Richard for another round. “Course, if she owned a plantation that takes up half of Maryland, it might be a different story…”
        Tom laughed as Dave’s eyebrows, which had risen halfway up his forehead, retreated to their normal position. “Hey, it’s your love life we’re here to discuss tonight, Mr. Harper, not mine.”
        “True enough, Lieutenant, but just remember: being the squire of Twin Peaks isn’t the worst way to go through life.” It was the second time Harps had gently reminded his friend of his once-in-a-lifetime chance to court a millionairess…a sex-crazed one at that.