Merline Lovelace (20 page)

They also reported Wilkinson’s many dealings with Spanish officials, including a meeting right in New Orleans between the general and the governor of Spanish-held Florida, the same governor who later sold Wilkinson Dauphine Island, off the coast of Mobile, for a paltry sum. Reward, the newspapers asked in blazing headlines, for the general’s role in the scheme to return the vast Louisiana Territory to its former Spanish masters? Or for betraying Burr and thus keeping him from invading Texas and Mexico?

With each inflammatory article, James became more agitated. Pleading a nervous disorder, he begged to be excused from his military duties and took to his bed. To Louise’s profound relief, he couldn’t bear to have anyone near him except his batman. She had a small trundle bed moved into his quarters and spent her days and nights alternately wondering whether she’d done right or wrong by Daniel and waiting for the general’s reply to his son’s letter.

In the midst of the agonizing wait, she received a visit from Bernard Thibodeaux. A ship had arrived with letters from France. Henri’s first wife had died two years before he married Louise. His fortune was hers to claim. When she advised James of the news, he nodded weakly and said he’d send another letter to his father immediately.

He could send what additional letters he wanted. Louise cared only about the answer to his first.

The reply arrived on the last day of June. James dragged himself from his sickbed to advise her of its contents. Gray faced and sweating, the lieutenant relayed that the general recognized Sergeant Major Morgan’s long and faithful service to his country and could personally attest to Morgan’s devotion to his wife.

Daniel would not hang, but neither would he escape punishment for the negligence that led to his wife’s death and the devastating fire. He was to receive one hundred lashes. If he survived the whip, he would be dismissed forthwith from the United States Army.

The sentence was carried out two days later in the public square fronting the
cabildo.
James professed himself too unwell to attend, but Louise stood among the spectators who’d gathered for the show.

She didn’t look away when Daniel was stripped to the waist and chained to the whipping post. She didn’t flinch when the first stripes were laid across his back. She didn’t count the strokes along with the noisy, boisterous crowd.

But with each lash of the whip, she bit down harder on her lower lip. By the fiftieth stroke, it was a raw, pulpy mass. By the eightieth, she’d chewed through her own flesh. Blood ran down her chin, dripped onto the bodice of her dress. Drawn by the feast, flies swarmed about her face and neck. She blinked them away and stood unmoving as the attending physician checked the unconscious prisoner
and declared him hale enough to take the final twenty strokes.

After the last stroke, the physician stepped forward again and examined the prisoner. When he signaled that Daniel was still alive, a disappointed howl went up from the crowd. Ignoring a chorus of shouts and hisses, a uniformed officer came forward and read the order dismissing Sergeant Major Morgan from the Second Regiment of Infantry, United States Army. The chains were removed and the former soldier was left to lie in the pool of his own blood.

As Louise had begged him to, Bernard Thibodeaux claimed Daniel’s lacerated body. She watched, stony eyed, while the merchant’s servants wrapped the unconscious man in blankets and lifted him onto the wagon bed. The wagon drove off, its wheels rattling on the cobbles, and the crowd drifted away from the plaza.

Louise stood unmoving until the last rattle died away, then turned and made her way back to the Royal Arms.

P
ressing a bloodstained handkerchief to her mouth, Louise let herself into Wilkinson’s quarters. The curtains were drawn despite the heat. The smothering gloom, along with the rise and fall of voices in the other room, told her the lieutenant still lay abed.

She was too sick at heart to speak to him right now. Closing the door behind her with a quiet
click,
she sought refuge in a chair wedged into a dim corner beside the fireplace and laid her head back to staunch the blood still trickling from her lip. She squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn’t block the horrific image of Daniel’s back laid open to expose weeping muscles and glistening bone.

How could she have done this to him? Had she known what punishment the general would prescribe, would she have stood back? Let Daniel face the tribunal? Mount the steps to the gallows? She didn’t doubt he would wish himself dead when he regained his senses.

If he regained his senses.

Louise had seen far less grievously injured animals lie down in the snow and wait for death. Daniel might well succumb to his wounds, and her bargain with James would have been for naught.

With a tiny whimper, she fought hot, stinging tears and paid no attention to the voices in the next room, until one grew sharp with anger.

“I tell you, Lieutenant, I won’t let your father make a scapegoat of me the way he did Burr!”

She didn’t recognize the speaker. It wasn’t the valet, Simons. But she had no difficulty identifying the one who mumbled a reply. James’s petulant whine had come to rasp on her nerves like the bone scraper she’d once used to clean deer and beaver pelts. Whatever he said didn’t seem to satisfy his visitor.

“Hogwash! I received a letter from Daniel Clark. He says the general suggested in his testimony to the grand jury that Clark and I were in collusion with Burr.”

James roused himself enough to answer more clearly. “You and Clark
were
in collusion with Burr.”

“At your father’s specific behest! He sent Burr to me with letters of introduction. He gave coded instructions for funds to be deposited to the man’s account. He exhorted me to recruit others to our cause.”

Their cause, she thought wearily. Always they speak of this cause.

“I have a bill drawn on Daniel Clark in favor of
P. V. Ogden. If necessary, I will produce it in court and show it was your father who masterminded this whole scheme.”

The names meant nothing to Louise, but she grasped well enough the import of what she’d just heard. According to James’s visitor, the rumors were true. General Wilkinson was as deep in the plot to set up a separate nation west of the Mississippi as Burr.

She couldn’t bring herself to care. She was long past the point of pretending any interest in James or his father. Sucking on a slow trickle of blood, she tried to close her ears to the exchange, but James had become as agitated as his visitor and would not be shut out.

“You will not be called on to produce anything, I promise you. I’ve received letters, too. My father assures me these rumors are absolutely untrue. He didn’t speak against you or Clark. He’s too much in your debt.”

“He’d best not forget that.”

“He won’t. He can’t.”

Louise could picture James in bed, nightcap askew, his face streaked with sweat, as he tried desperately to placate his visitor.

“You must know the debts you incurred will be repaid many times over. When this business with Burr is finished, the general will regroup and press forward once again. He has the Spanish squarely behind him. Once I’m wed, he’ll use my wife to sway the French and the Osage to our side.”

Louise jerked upright. With the red-stained handkerchief pressed against her lip, she listened while James made clear the plans he’d hinted at to her.

“My father will use my wife’s inheritance, as well,” he was saying. “It will more than pay to replace the arms and boats that were seized in Ohio. He’ll have his empire yet, and you’ll be part of it.”

His impassioned speech evidently calmed his visitor’s fears. Their voices dropped to muted murmurs. Some moments later, the man showed himself out. He didn’t notice Louise tucked in her dim corner and she saw only his profile. He was a stranger, a wealthy banker or merchant judging by his cutaway frock coat and snowy white linens.

When the door shut behind him, she let her head drop back against the chair once more. She couldn’t summon any concern over the general’s plans for her or for her inheritance. The general, like his son, would learn that what Louise had, she held.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind take her back to a hot, jammed square and the vicious
crack
of a lash.

Daniel lay facedown on cool sheets, wrapped in a sheath of pain. He told the passage of hours by the number of times he swam in and out of consciousness, the passage of days by the number of times he endured the agony of having his wounds dressed.

Helene Thibodeaux tended to him. Her hands were gentle and skilled, but her lightest touch set his back afire. Gritting his teeth, he thought of what Elizabeth
must have suffered and welcomed the pain. Thoughts of what Louise was now enduring kept him alive.

Three days passed before he could draw in a full breath. Six, before he could pull on his clothes. A servant found him clinging to the bedpost, one leg in the pair of trousers Bernard had purchased for him, and scurried out calling for Helene.

The mistress of the house bustled in a moment later. She’d put off her silks and lace caps while she nursed him. Clad now in a sensible broadcloth skirt and calico blouse, she looked more like a drayman’s wife than the cherished spouse of a wealthy merchant.

“Daniel! What can you be thinking of? Your back is still a mass of welts. You must return to bed immediately and let the scars heal over.”

“They’ve healed enough.”

The effort of pulling up the trousers caused waves of blinding pain. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and sweat dampened his temples, but he got the damned things up and buttoned.

“If you break open those cuts and bleed all over my carpets,” Helene warned tartly, “I shall be quite annoyed with you!”

“I’ll try to spare your carpets.” Unclenching his jaw, he forced a smile. “Someday I’ll repay the kindness you and Bernard have shown me. If you’ll help me with that shirt, I’ll stand even more in your debt.”

“Daniel—”

“Please, Helene.”

Lips pursed, she gave him grudging assistance. By the time he had the shirt over his head and both arms in the sleeves, sweat drenched his whole upper torso and burned like the fires of hell in his wounds.

“This is absurd,” she protested when he grabbed for the bedpost with both hands to keep from toppling over. “You’re so weak you can scarcely stand.”

“Two turns about the room and I’ll have my feet under me.”

“Two turns about the room and you’ll be flat on your face again!”

“All I need is a strong shoulder to lean on. Call Thomas, if you would.”

Grumbling, she picked up her skirts and left. She returned not with the sturdy house servant, but with her husband. Bernard took one look at Daniel’s determined face and swallowed whatever admonishments he’d been instructed to deliver.

“Fetch Thomas, Helene. Between us, we should provide sufficient support for your patient.”

Sheer will kept Daniel on his feet. Every muscle in his body screamed and sweat poured down his face, but he made two turns around the room with assistance, two more without. Despite Helene’s insistence that he return to bed, he lowered himself into a chair.

He shook all over. Each tremor pulled at the half-healed welts. Ignoring the nausea that rose in his
throat with every breath, he begged some beef and ale.

“You’re not ready for beef
or
ale,” Helene protested. “Gruel, perhaps. Or soup. Cook has fixed a tasty ratatouille and—”

Bernard stilled her with a pat on her shoulder. “He knows what he needs, wife.”

Scowling, she muttered something about the pigheadedness of all men. Thomas left the room with her to assist in the preparation of a tray.

When the door closed behind them, Daniel blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked to Bernard. “I would beg something of you, too.”

His face grave, the merchant cocked his head. “A pistol?”

“Yes.”

“Should you not wait until you’re stronger to go after her?”

“I have the strength for what I must do.”

“You escaped the gallows once, Daniel. If you put a bullet through young Wilkinson, you’ll not escape the rope again.”

“Dueling is still legal in New Orleans.”

Thibodeaux’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to challenge the lieutenant to a duel? Damnation, man, you can scarce hold yourself upright. How do you expect to march twenty paces, turn and hit your target?”

“You forget I’m an army—” He stopped. His jaw working, he corrected himself. “I
was
an army sharpshooter. I’ve brought down many a deer and
wild turkey at a hundred yards. I won’t miss at twenty paces. Will you act as my second?”

It was the merchant’s turn to sweat. Dragging out a handkerchief, he mopped his forehead.

“I know nothing of duels. I trade in beeswax and beaver pelts, for God’s sake!”

“All I require of you is to provide the pistols. And,” Daniel added with a grimace, “accompany me to the Royal Arms this night.”

He found Wilkinson in the luxuriously appointed taproom. The lieutenant had joined a group of his fellow officers to bend an elbow and share the latest barracks gossip over ale and wine.

The lively conversation flagged, then died away completely when Daniel and Bernard walked in. Most of the officers recognized the former sergeant major instantly. Those who did not were quickly apprised of his identity.

Daniel faced the sea of blue coats and for the first time really knew himself to be an outsider. Men who had once treated him with respect now regarded him with mingled contempt and scorn. The army to which he’d given most of his life had completely, unequivocally shut him out.

Willing his tortured body not to fail him, he wove a path through the tables and stopped at Wilkinson’s. The lieutenant drew courage from his brothers in arms. Raising his flagon, he took a long, deliberate swallow before addressing the man standing before him.

“What do you want, Morgan?”

“I’ve come for my woman.”

His tankard hit the oak boards with a
clank.
“
Your
woman, as I recall, died of burns.”

A cold rage curled around Daniel’s heart.

With a sneer, Wilkinson dug the knife in deeper. “If you refer to Madame Chartier, she’s soon to be my wife.
My
wife, Morgan.”

“Not unless I sell her to you.”

“The devil you say! She’s no slave to be bought and sold on the auction block.”

“No, she is not. But Osage blood runs in her veins. I paid her uncle a bride price, which she agreed to. According to the laws of her tribe, she’s mine.”

“See here, man!” a mustached captain protested indignantly. “You’re not in the wilds of Osage Country now. You can’t hold to the customs of those savages.”

“Then, I’ll hold to the customs of our society.” His eyes flat and cold, he turned back to his prey. “Name your second, Wilkinson. Bernard Thibodeaux will act as mine. We’ll settle this here and now. Swords, pistols, knives or tomahawks. You choose.”

Every vestige of color drained from the lieutenant’s face. He’d shared months in the wilderness with Daniel, was all too familiar with his skills. Wildly, he looked to his brother officers and found no relief there. They were bound by a gentleman’s code of honor that demanded retribution for even the
slightest insult. Shoving back his chair, Wilkinson tried to bluster his way out of the situation.

“I won’t lower myself to duel with a common criminal. Get out of here before I lay a whip to you.”

He knew before the words were out of his mouth that he’d said exactly the wrong thing. He stared into Daniel’s eyes and saw death smiling back at him.

“I’ve already had a whip laid to me, you puling little prick. I’ve taken a hundred lashes and will take a hundred more if necessary. Before I do, I’ll have what’s mine. Name your second.”

The captain standing at Wilkinson’s elbow snorted. “He’s weak as a kitten, man. Shaking where he stands. Choose a weapon and be done with this.”

“I think—” Gulping, Wilkinson hooked a finger in his neck cloth. “I, uh, think we should let Madame Chartier decide this.”

With a little hiss of disgust, the captain turned away. The lieutenant flushed but stood his ground.

“We both want the lady, but neither of us would force her into our bed against her will. Let’s go upstairs and settle the matter once and for all.”

Daniel wanted it settled right there. Images of Louise in this man’s bed, opening herself to him, had tortured him far worse than the cuts on his back. Only the bitter knowledge that she’d gone to Wilkinson voluntarily kept him from shoving a pistol barrel in the bastard’s mouth.

“You stay here,” he growled at the whey-faced coward. “I’ll bring her down so she can speak her piece in front of these witnesses. Bernard will stay,
as well. Not that I think you would put a bullet in my back, mind you. Just to keep you company.”

The damnable truth was that he didn’t want the lieutenant to see the sweat it took for him to mount the stairs. If Wilkinson knew how weak he really was, the bastard might decide to go for swords, after all. At this point, Daniel wasn’t sure he could lift a sword, much less swing it.

His torn muscles screamed with agony by the time he reached the second floor. Blood seeped through the bandages onto his shirt, plastering the linen to his back. He paused outside Wilkinson’s rooms to suck in a deep breath.

As he had the last time Daniel hammered on the door, the batman answered. He looked surprised when he recognized the man on the threshold.

“The lieutenant’s not in quarters.”

“I know. I just spoke with him down in the taproom. It’s Madame Chartier I’ve come to see.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Maj— Uh, sir. Madame Chartier is not receiving visitors.”