The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (8 page)

    “We haven’t seen enough of each other this fall, Thomas. It’s my fault, as I’ve been staying home at Twin Peaks too much of the time.”
      I can see plenty of you now,
Thomas thought. 
I swear, those things look bigger every
time I see them
. “Candice, as the General says, duty calls. I’ll deposit you with the Scotts. When the party’s over, however, I’m free ‘till day after Christmas…”
    “Not any more you’re not. We can decide tomorrow whether to stay here in Georgetown or go back to Twin Peaks. I’ll make my rounds. I do want to wish Andy a Merry Christmas; he does look poorly.
    “But we’ll leave together. I have my carriage…”

__________

      M. Jean-Claude, or, rather, his beautiful wife, Jacqueline, was at the center of an international circle that included Sir John Burrell of the Liaison Office and the Russian CG. Count Renkowiitz’s daughter was not in sight. “I am so glad you gentlemen have agreed to put politics aside and come to our townhouse for Christmas,” she was saying in a sonorous, upper-class French. “Even in frontier outposts, we must try to bring some culture and civilization. Though in this place…”
    Wilder bit his lip to keep from smiling as he walked past the diplomats on his way to General Jackson.
You’d be amazed, my dear Jacqueline, to discover how many British
Americans would agree with you…
   The G-G was still talking to the tall, sloop-shouldered old man outfitted in the style at least 20 years out-of-date. At first glance, the ancient looked like someone dressed up to impersonate George Washington. But then Thomas overheard Congressman Polk’s comment to the man identified by the Scotts as Sam Houston.
     “Those old Virginians stuck together politically of course. That’s why they ruled us for more than a quarter century,” Polk was saying. “That doesn’t mean they particularly liked each other, however. Take Monroe, here. Madison told me last year that Washington detested him personally. And that the feeling was mutual. Now look at him. He’s Washington’s spitting image!”
    Thus did Wilder discover that the old man was former Governor-General James Monroe.

___________

     Wilder always thought of Jackson as a volcano minutes away from eruption.

   
Tonight,
Vesuvius seems calm.
With enough Tennesseans around him, he usually is
.
Between the
Polks and this man Houston---must find out why General Scott’s eyes and ears pricked up at the recognition of him---the G-G’s a good bet to weather the reception without adding any fodder for the various diplomatic pouches. Unless
he signals me, I’ll let him be.

___________

   Trying to keep from making eye contact with Lucille, who was now dazzling “The Little Magician” with her singular smile while holding tightly to that SOB Joe’s arm, the Lieutenant was suddenly and uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t seen Harps in sometime. Nor was the Russian girl visible in the milling groups that continued to eat, drink and dance as if Lent, rather than Christmas, was just hours away. Not that many of the British Americans assembled in The Residency tonight were Catholic…
though Lucille
is or was one
…but Wilder was still surprised at how many of the ancient traditions of his religion were still practiced in varying forms by the numerous Protestant sects which dominated the USBA.
    Harper and the Renkowiitz girl had apparently made contact after all. Thomas could now see them on the dance floor over by the bar in the far corner of the room.
I guess the girl is fluent in English, because I know Harps doesn’t know any Russian
, he thought, grinning
.
I do recall him bragging that he knew enough French, though, “to make things exciting
.”  Things
could
get exciting, damn it all, if Harps holds her any tighter and the Count sees them.
I’d better get over there...before a squad of Cossacks shows up to drag him away.
    But the music was ending and Harper was reluctantly unhanding the Countess while the Lieutenant made his way across the room. If Maria Scott looked doll-like next to her imposing husband, Caroline Renkowiitz looked doll-like next to any man. Even with her bright blond hair made up and in a formal gown and jewels---
how wealthy is the Count?
Thomas thought curiously---the girl was so slender as to have virtually no curves at all.
Yet David has the look of a man who has struck gold
…
    “Well, Lieutenant Wilder, have you met the Countess Caroline Renkowiitz yet? Countess, the Lieutenant is the real brains of the War Department—when he’s not on duty here advising our Governor-General.”
     Wilder shook his head in disgust. “Don’t believe anything this ‘gentleman’ tells you, Countess. I’m just an errand boy for the two Generals.”
      The Countess smiled but it was another young---American---female voice that answered him.
    “Now Lieutenant, don’t mislead our visitor. We don’t want the diplomatic corps to think General Jackson invites just any old poor white trash to The Residency, now do we?”
      Thomas didn’t need to turn around to know Lucille had joined the group, Joe Johnston firmly in tow. A grinning Joe, impeccable in his finely-cut uniform, stuck out his hand. “Merry Christmas, Tom. You remember Lucille Latoure, don’t you?” In a low cut gown that matched her auburn hair, Lucille looked the most desirable…and frustrating…woman on earth to the War Department aide.
       Tom gritted his teeth. “Of course I do, Joe. Good evening, Lucille. A pleasure to see you again. It’s been a while, since…”
      “Why since the Lee baby’s Baptism, I believe. Darlin’ little Custis. Lieutenant Johnston was at Arlington House that day, too. But enough of that! Forgive Tom’s manners, for not introducing us,” she said brightly, turning to Caroline. “I’m Lucille Latoure of Cranford Plantation and this is Lt. Joe Johnston of the 4th Artillery. You must be Countess Caroline, of the Russian Consulate. And, Joe, this is Mr. Harper, of the…what Department was that again?”
      “Interior,” said Thomas grimly. “David is a high Interior Department official,” he added, looking at the Countess.
      “Glad to meet you, Lieutenant,” said Harps, warily reaching out his hand to Johnston, who shook it enthusiastically.
     “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Harper. I believe I’ve seen you in the building the few times I’ve been there.” Johnston was stationed at the 4
^th
’s headquarters just outside Georgetown. “It is also a pleasure to meet you, Countess Caroline.”
     
That the Countess
could follow the banter is impressive enough
, thought Thomas,
but she
actually seems to have picked up on the undercurrents
.
There may be more here
than it first looks. Ol’ Harps may have his hands full…
     
“Well, Thomas, will we see you tomorrow evening at Arlington House? Robert is due home in the afternoon and Mary has invited us for a late Christmas Eve supper.” Lucille smiled sweetly and innocently.
     That does it
, thought Thomas.
Candice Samples it is for the holiday. I’m not going to
ruin my Christmas watching Lucille prance around with my ‘old friend’ Joe
.
      “Unfortunately not, Lucille, though I was looking forward to it. General Scott has other plans for me.”
Well, ‘Old Fuss and Feathers’ did push Candice
on me tonight
. “I hope to see Robert before he goes back to Fortress Monroe, though.”
      “Oh my, that’s too bad, Tom. I was so looking forward to us all being together.”
     
Yeah, right
, Wilder thought.
The two-and-one-half happy couples.  You know
something, Lucille? I was born at night. Only, not last night….
       “Well, I’d love to spend the remainder of the evening with the four of you, but duty once again calls. Have a Merry Christmas, everyone.” He stared quickly at Lucille and moved back into the crowd. Her usual amused smirk was back in place.
      Candice Samples had a smirk of a different sort on her face as she watched her prey work the room in what she considered his ‘official’ capacity. Secure in her own sexual allure, she was unaware of Thomas’ infatuation with and frustration over the Latoure girl; who, anyway, seemed quite content with her own Lieutenant.
I’ll bet yours gets
more sleep than mine will tonight, sweetie…In fact, your Lieutenant will get more sleep
tonight than Thomas will get right through Christmas…
     
I wish I could order up my carriage right now
….

CHAPTER SIX

St. Petersburg, Russia
December 23, 1832:
   Nicholas I, Czar of All the Russias, looked out the window of the opulent Winter Palace conference room. Last night’s snow was blindingly bright as the sun’s rays bounced off to light up the huge square in front of the Palace. The onion turrents of the nearby churches and cathedrals also shone brilliantly in the clear, cold morning’s light.
I
wonder what the long-dead Czar Peter would say if he could see how his city has grown
, he thought idly: the wide, splendid boulevards, the mansions, the museums.
    I believe I do know what he’d say: ‘Now build an empire to match its capital!’ Well, that’s what we are sworn to do. Day by
day, year by year until Mother Russia is
invincible and unchallengeable! The decisions made at this conference, once carried out,
are simply more small steps down the road toward that inevitable day
.
    Nicholas was still deep in thought as his Foreign Minister, Count Karl Nesselrode, hurried into the room, carrying the agenda for the third and final day of the planning conference. Like the high-level meeting scheduled for early next month in London, this conference had been months in the planning. Unlike the London meeting, this conference was an annual affair.
     “Well my dear Count, what is left on the agenda? I am tired of conferences. I don’t wish to spend a third full day in this room.” Already such major issues as the proposed meetings with the Emperor Francis II of Austria and his First Minister Prince Metternich in April at Munschengratz and with the Prussians later in the year at Berlin to formalize the three-nation autocratic alliance against the democratic monarchies of the West had been reviewed. Plans to end the irritating insurgency by the bandit Shamil in the Caucasus had been finalized. What new concessions could be squeezed out of the Persians to follow up on the recent annexation of that kingdom’s former provinces of Nakhickevan and Erivan had also been discussed during the previous two days.
     “Majesty, the major agenda item is the request by the Sultan for assistance against the forces of Pasha Mehemet Ali in Palestine. The Egyptians are moving on Syria and Constantinople seems helpless to stop them. This is a golden opportunity. Especially as none of the other Powers can object, as the Turks have actually invited us in.”
      “Yes, the Sultan’s request is a wonderful Christmas gift. We’ll discuss this ‘golden opportunity’ with my other ministers. Is that all that remains?”
     “No, Your Majesty. Prince Lieven has received a letter from the Princess in London. He has urged that the information it offers be added to the agenda.”
     The Czar smiled slightly. “If it was not from Princess Dorothea, I would not consider it. But as my late brother often said, ‘It is a pity the Princess wears skirts. She would have made an excellent diplomat.’ ” Czar Alexander I had in fact entrusted the Princess with a secret overture to the British government in 1825 that bypassed her husband, the longtime Czarist ambassador to the Court of St. James. Since that time, she had played astonishing diplomatic roles in the rebirth of Greece and the creation of Belgium.
      “Well, if the Princess has some information for us, perhaps we will consider it. Has Prince Lieven discussed it with you?”
      “Princess Dorothea has learned that the British may be considering the abolition of slavery throughout their Empire.”
      The Czar smiled. “I fail to see how such a possible edict belongs on the agenda of this conference, Count Karl. Unless you are implying that I should follow their apparent example…”
       “Surely not, Your Majesty. It appears Lord Grey’s government is concerned about  possible reaction in the British American province. Count Nicholas Ignatieff has also picked up similar rumblings from his English sources.” Ignatieff, a childhood friend of the Czar’s, was a chief in Russia’s informal secret intelligence services. A broad-shouldered yet wiry, strikingly handsome black-haired man in his mid 30s, he was renowned for the half blue/half brown coloring of his right eye, a trait that went back several generations in his family. It was one he had also passed on to his newly-born son.
       “Well, since Count Nicholas will undoubtedly bring it up anyway, put it on the agenda.” The Czar sighed. “But the Ottoman opportunity has priority. Obtaining a warm weather port is vital to Russia’s long-term goals. The Persian war gave us naval access to the Caspian Sea. Perhaps this Egyptian uprising against the Ottomans will give us access through the Bosporus Straits!”
       At the Czar’s signal, the veteran Foreign Minister—he had been in office since 1814—moved to admit the other ministers and high-ranking generals to the room.

___________

    Count Nicholas Ignatieff knew what his department’s role in response to the Sultan’s request would be. Even before Russian troops were landed in Syria to block the Egyptian advance on the Anatolian Peninsula, his agents would be on the ground, both in Syria and in Palestine. This in addition to the agents he normally maintained in and around Constantinople.
   That he would do so before a decision was finalized was indicative of the man: headstrong, confident to the point---some would argue far past that point---of arrogance…and deadly. The Count was a crack shot with both pistol and rifle and excelled with the saber; he had ended duels with at least two unfortunate Russian noblemen with well-aimed pistol shots and another with an overmatched Polish noble with the saber. All three, of course, had been over women; two wives and one sister. How many others he had terminated in the line of duty was debated within the Russian secret services; most observers credited him with seven-to-eight ‘official’ killings over the past decade.
    The intelligence coming from London had Ignatieff concerned…as well as fascinated. For that reason, he was only half listening as the Czar and his advisors agreed to land 10,000 troops---sent through the Bosporus, for the first time ever to be opened to the Russian Navy---on the Syrian coast. The force would move inland to confront the Egyptian army under Ibrahim Pasha and force him, preferably without a battle, to retreat to Egypt.
     That the Turks were so weak that they needed assistance to put down the revolt did not surprise Ignatieff. The Count was well aware of Constantinople’s helplessness. He and the Czar had thoroughly discussed the possibility of an invasion, but had reluctantly discarded the idea. The other Powers would simply not sit still while Russia got its paws on Constantinople and the Straits
. But that the Sultan
would actually request us to intervene militarily is almost too amazing. Meanwhile, I already have my Ottoman operation in motion.
  
He was still turning the news from London, both Princess Dorothea’s letter and his own intelligence reports, over in his head. The long-range goal of Romanov foreign policy had always been to supersede the British in India.  A later Russian autocrat, Lenin, would call India the ‘depot of the world.’ It was one of the few times the two Nicholases, Czar and Count, would have agreed with him.  The British had pushed aside the Portuguese and Dutch and were merrily looting the subcontinent. With the riches of India flowing to St. Petersburg instead of London, Russia would supplant Great Britain as the world’s foremost Power.
   But how to accomplish such a gigantic feat?
   Even by the most optimistic estimates, it will take our forces another 10-to-15 years to arrive at India’s borders utilizing the overland route through Central Asia. Waging the successful Persian War in 1827 and annexing those two provinces was a start, but all those khanates in the wild Central Asian plain still block the way, even before the specter of Afghanistan can be confronted.  But what if the British were to be distracted elsewhere? Perhaps by a rebellion in North America? A rebellion that Lord Grey’s government in London apparently considers more than a remote possibility?
    If the British were tied up in a long-term war in North America, would they have the strength to resist a Russian Army sent through Persia, bypassing the khanates and Afghanistan? Surely the Persian War has shown that Teheran can not stop such an Army.
Perhaps the Shah could be bribed into allowing our forces free transit, especially if we agreed to look the other way while he moved into the Valley of the Euphrates toward Baghdad. The dream in Teheran, after all, is to reassemble the ancient Persian Empire. Why not allow them mastery of all that sand and dust?
    This must be brought to His Majesty’s attention immediately…
    The Count’s musings were suddenly interrupted by a savage pounding that literally rocked the conference table. The red-faced Czar had risen from his seat and was barely able to choke back his anger as he glared at Prince Alexander Chernyshyov.