Pride of the King, The (47 page)

“Follow me,” he said.

With one sentry in front and the other in back, Lauren and Isi guided the wagon toward the French encampment. The soldiers escorted them into a huge clearing littered with brush and debris from fallen trees. A breeze picked up lifting the fog to reveal a panoramic view of Lake Champlain. The area was alive with men at work as they toiled on a sloping hillside not far from a clear rushing stream. There was a thick smell of sawdust and pine tar punctuated by fresh lake breezes. Everywhere French regulars moved like ants, chopping and dragging logs and brush, digging trenches, mixing mud and stacking logs while officers barked orders at crews.

“They build a fort?” Lauren asked the
bas officier
as they wound past the workmen.

“They do. It is Fort Carillion.”

“It is large,” Lauren said running her eyes over the spectacle. Then turning to Isi, she dropped her voice and murmured, “This is hard work. They will need much alcohol and tobacco at the end of the day.”

Isi raised her eyebrows and nodded.   

The sentries took them to a large canvas tent, and the young officer disappeared inside. After a few moments he threw back the flap, poked his head out and said to Lauren, “He will see you now.” The women exchanged looks as Lauren climbed down off the cart.

The first thing she saw as she entered the tent was a large desk littered with maps. In the shadows was a tall man in a powdered wig and uniform standing with his back turned. He had thrown his gray top coat onto a chair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up at the elbows revealing graying hair on his arms. The room smelled of stale tobacco and perspiration. He turned around to address Lauren, and she felt her throat constrict.

“I am Lieutenant Brobriant. What is your business here, Madame?”

Lauren recognized the man, but she struggled to remember where she had seen him.

He sighed impatiently and said, “I am a busy man. What is it?”

Suddenly it came back to her in a rush. Brobriant was the commanding officer of Fort de Chartres in Kaskaskia many years ago. This was the man to whom she had reported the suspicious nature of Madame Aberjon’s demise a long time ago. It was apparent that he did not recognize her.

Lauren babbled, “Lieutenant, I apologize. The journey has been arduous and I am slow to speak.” She reached inside her bodice and withdrew the letter of introduction from Georgiana.

Brobriant took it, noting that it was still warm from the skin on her breast. He ran his eyes over her figure, broke the seal on the letter and read it. “You have a wagon?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you bring?”

“Tobacco, wine,” she shrugged. “Some rum, brandy, pipes, food.”

He sighed and turned away.

Lauren felt her palms start to perspire.

“Well,” he warned pursing his lips. “I will not tolerate you gouging my men with high prices.”

“We will only ask fair market value, Lieutenant.”

“We? Who is we?” he said his brow furrowing.

“My slave woman and I.”

He sighed again and circled around his desk leaning on the front of it. “My men need diversion. They work hard. Do you sell your services as well?”

“No sir. We do not.”

There was a pause and he said, “That is just as well. It causes problems.”

Lauren felt her stomach jump; he seemed to be considering the offer. The sooner he consented, the sooner she could go before he remembered her. “That Cavendish woman used to obtain her supplies from a smuggler in the English Colonies by the name of--” he rubbed his brow. “His name escapes me.”

“If you are thinking of the organization called The Pride of the King
,
they exist no longer.”

“I don’t want to know where you obtain your supplies or who brings them, just get them here promptly, and don’t bother me with anything,” he said handing the letter back to her.

“Very good, Lieutenant,” Lauren said with a curtsy.

“You may use the abandoned shack by the stream. If you cause any problems you will be out on your ear. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, Thank you, sir,” said Lauren leaving the tent.

*               *               *

Business was brisk for the new sutlers at the French encampment. The women cleaned and repaired the abandoned shack and white washed the interior. Using her charms Lauren approached several of the soldiers to cut a large window in the shack so the women could erect a counter and sell their wares. This shop window could be bolted tightly with shutters at night since they would also sleep there. Their quarters were Spartan and cramped with wooden crates and barrels, but Lauren and Isi slept soundly working furiously throughout the day to fill orders.

The French regulars and the officers were anxious for alcohol and tobacco and consumed large quantities returning regularly to the sutler shack when they were off duty. Initially they assumed Lauren and Isi were whores but the women soon established boundaries rebuffing their overtures. Nevertheless, females were a novelty on Lake Champlain, and the men returned to the store regularly for the female companionship.

Lauren was in her element once more, encouraging snappy repartee and good-natured flirtation. She worked the men as if she was a courtesan of the Sun King, flattering and teasing, laughing and cajoling each one of them. Then gradually, without their knowledge, she manipulated the conversation to local politics and gossip to gather information about the French officers and local inhabitants of New France.

Isi had her own strategy for obtaining information. The young woman used her status as a slave to eavesdrop on the soldiers as she sold them alcohol and tobacco, silently mixing among them, listening to gossip. They believed her incapable of understanding the white man’s language, and even if she did speak French they cared little what she heard. They believed women, especially Indian females, were either too stupid or too lazy to be a threat.

Weeks passed and the timber walls of the fort were starting to outline a massive fortress. It was approaching mid-summer and the troops now turned their attention to erecting barracks, officer’s quarters, storehouses and a powder magazine as well. The spring had been extraordinarily dry and because of the lack of rain great progress had been made on the construction. The hot, dry winds of summer gave the men a great thirst and drove them back continually to the sutlers for libation.

Lauren was growing impatient, and she was beginning to wonder if it had been prudent to come to Lake Champlain after all. It was already the end of June, and they had gathered no information of importance. She missed James terribly and felt cheated. They had only just found each other and now were driven apart once more. She was angry that she may have traveled from the warmth and security of his love on a futile mission fraught with danger. Nevertheless a nagging suspicion held her there.

Over the weeks, the heat became oppressive, and the men grew short tempered and irritable. Lauren scoffed at them. Summer in the north was nothing compared to June in New Orleans, and she wearied of their incessant complaining.

“The men are surly and unpredictable, Lauren,” Isi said one evening after a regular had grabbed her wrist in a rage when she had dropped his bottle of brandy.

“Yes,” nodded Lauren her lips pursed. “Beware; it is good weather for raping.”

Her lips softened into a smile as a red haired, sunburned regular approached the cottage. Isi marveled at Lauren’s ability to shed her skin like a snake transforming herself from a cool, calculating business woman into a sassy seductive coquette that the troops adored.

“Oh, my little friend, your eye, it is bruised,” she said, pulling her lips down into a pout. “How did it happen?”

The boy scowled. “It was Maintenon. He turned suddenly and hit me with the log he had on his shoulder. I was the one who was hurt and Lieutenant Brobriant cursed
me
for being careless. I need something strong to kill the pain.”

Isi wiped her hands on her apron and turned to find the boy some brandy.

“Brobriant was actually out of his quarters?” quizzed Lauren. She had been reticent until now to ask about the Lieutenant. She did want anyone to suspect that she knew him, but she was curious why he was so far from Kaskaskia.

“Yes. It is not often we see him. He buries himself in his tent, longing for his fat cow of a wife back in the Illinois Country.”

“He did not ask for this assignment?”

“No, he was transferred. Everyone knows it is because he accused a powerful man of murdering his wife.”

Isi dropped the bottle of brandy.

Lauren covered with a reprimand. “That is two broken bottles now! You clumsy fool. Pick it up.”

The women exchanged looks as they bent down to retrieve the shards of green glass.

“Murder is a very serious accusation,” said Lauren to the young man. She remembered Brobriant saying those same words to her a long time ago.

“Especially when you accuse an Aberjon of
two
murders. Brobriant ignored the death of Aberjon’s first wife, but when his second wife died suddenly, he began to ask questions.”

Isi replaced the bottle, and the young regular picked it up.

Before he left Lauren asked, “How do you know these things my young friend?”

“I am from
Pays des Illinois
, Madame. I was born in the town of Cahokia near Kaskaskia.”

*                *             *

“I must talk with him,” said Lauren as she bolted the shutters in place for the night.

“It is in the past, Lauren. It can serve no purpose.” Isi touched her face remembering the muzzle. The memory was still red hot.

“You heard what that boy said. Brobriant finally believed me,” Lauren argued.

“We are not here to bring Aberjon to justice. It can only end badly. You are losing sight of our purpose. Erase it from your mind, Lauren and get some sleep.”

Isi continued with their bedtime routine. The women would straighten their inventory, shed their heavy outer garments, kill mosquitoes and drop onto their cots, sleeping heavily until morning, but that night Lauren did not rest well. She confused dreams with reality. She thought she was back in Kaskaskia, sleeping in the Aberjon household then she thought she was in the Captain’s quarters on
The
Pride of the King,
but with each dream came a growing anxiety which woke her with a start before dawn.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, Lauren pushed the damp locks from her face and pulled the drenched shift away from her body. She looked over at Isi who continued to sleep soundly. Lauren unbolted the shutters of the shack for a breath of fresh air and leaned on the counter looking out at the vast lake. Her constant worries prevented her from appreciating the placid beauty of the water outlined with deep, green pines. She did notice the sun’s orange and gold rays on the glassy surface of the water and a loon gliding gracefully past. Lauren sighed and rubbed her forehead. She was weary and confused.

Then suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw someone move toward shore. It appeared to be one of the officers enjoying the sunrise. She watched the man walk slowly by the lake, stopping to sit on a boulder, one arm on his knee. When he turned his profile to Lauren, she realized it was Lieutenant Brobriant.

Dropping a gown over her shift, Lauren tied her hair into a knot and quietly stepped outside. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and started down to shore. When he heard her footsteps, Brobriant stood up. “Good morning, Madame,” he said cordially. “I was just enjoying the sunrise.”

“Indeed, Lieutenant. It is most beautiful.”

They said nothing for a moment, standing side by side watching the loon dive for his breakfast. Lauren said finally, “It is quiet and peaceful, but it does not have the majesty and power of the Mississippi.”

The lieutenant turned and looked at her. “You know of this river?”

“Yes, I was raised on it,” Lauren replied still looking out at the lake.

“I too, Madame. Where were you born?”

“In New Orleans but I lived several years in the Illinois Country in the town of Kaskaskia.”

“
Mon Dieu
! I too lived there. In fact my wife and children are still in Kaskaskia.”

“Yes, I know,” admitted Lauren, looking down as if ashamed of her deception. “I know more about you than you realize, Lieutenant. We have met, but you do not remember me.”

He stared at Lauren trying to remember her, and for the first time she noticed the heavy lines in his tanned face. He smiled and shook his head. “I am sorry, Madame but--”

“Many years back at
Fort De Chartres
. I came to you about the suspicious nature of my mistress’s death, Madame Aberjon.”

   Brobriant’s smile dropped. He gasped, “You! You are the girl?” Stepping back he looked Lauren up and down. “Where did you go? I searched for you, but you had disappeared.”

“The Aberjons made sure I was far away, Lieutenant.”

He scowled and said, “They made sure I was sent far away as well. I would like nothing more than to expose those scoundrels.”