The Tiger Lily (55 page)

A
note from Leonie inviting them for a visit during the first week of August
pushed aside thoughts of war. Sabrina looked forward to strengthening the
feeling of friendship she had experienced upon meeting Leonie. The news that
another couple, Jason and Catherine Savage, would also be visiting and were
looking forward to meeting Brett and Sabrina had her impatient for the journey
to Chateau Saint-Andre.

Chateau
Saint-Andre was situated near a bend in the Mississippi River, some miles below
New Orleans, and Sabrina thought the immaculate, stately house was absolutely
lovely. An elegant horseshoe-shaped staircase swept gracefully up to the second
floor of the house, and Brett and Sabrina's little cavalcade—the gig in which
they were riding and the small wagon occupied by Ollie and Lupe and the various
necessities for a stay of several days—had hardly reached the beginning of the
circular driveway when Morgan, Leonie, and the Savages appeared, coming down
the stairs to greet them.

The
next few minutes passed in a flurry of greetings and introductions. Shyly
Sabrina acknowledged the Savages, slightly in awe of the tall, emerald-eyed
gentleman with the hawk-like features and the flawlessly beautiful black-haired
woman who was his wife. But Catherine's warm smile and sweet nature soon
disarmed her completely, and Jason's utterly charming manner had her relaxed
and laughing within seconds.

The
remainder of the day passed by pleasurably. Brett and Sabrina were shown
through the house and over the grounds. And then, of course, there were the
children. . . .

Just
before changing for dinner, the women gathered upstairs in the airy nursery
that had only recently been constructed, and Sabrina was completely enchanted
by the children. She fell helplessly in love with Justin Slade on sight. At six
years of age, he looked very much like his father, Morgan, except he had
Leonie's great sea-green eyes, and Sabrina suspected that in another dozen
years or less he would be breaking hearts. If Justin looked very much like his
father, young Nicholas Savage, approaching two and half years of age, was a
miniature of Jason. Except when he smiled. When he smiled, his entire little
face changed and there was no doubt that Catherine was his mother. That fact
was especially true in the case of the younger Savage son, Randall, just over a
year old. Randall had smoky purple eyes, not quite the clear shade of violet of
his mother's, but the generous curve of his baby mouth and the stubborn line of
his small chin were definitely inherited from Catherine.

Almost
with envy, Sabrina watched the three boys play on the floor with some wooden
soldiers, and she was aware of a sudden fierce hunger for a child of her own.
Catherine caught the unguarded expression and said softly, "Next year, my
dear, you will probably be proudly showing us your offspring."

"Oh,
I do hope so!" Sabrina breathed, and it suddenly occurred to her that
since she'd married Brett, she hadn't ... A look of delighted wonder crossed
her face. Was it possible? That already?

Leonie,
with the baby, Suzette, in her arms, laughed and murmured, "Ah, but which
shall it be—a handsome son, or a beautiful daughter? Now come and see my petite
Suzette."

Suzette
Slade was the most exquisite little thing Sabrina had ever seen—fine, delicate
features, a rosebud mouth, petal-soft skin, and a tiny head covered with wispy
black curls. Nearing three months of age, Suzette was undeniably adorable, and
Sabrina sighed with longing. Oh, if only her sudden suspicion were true!

Dinner
that evening was thoroughly enjoyable, and afterward, the gentlemen remained in
the dining room savoring their cigars and brandy while the ladies retired to
the front salon to discuss the plans for the morrow. It was then that Brett was
able to have his long-awaited conversation with Jason.

The
three men talked aimlessly for several minutes, but eventually Morgan, seated
at the head of the long linen-covered table, observed forthrightly, "This
is a very friendly, pleasant conversation we're having, but shouldn't we be
talking about the one thing that interests us the most—the current state of
affairs between our country and Spain?"

Jason
grimaced, and Brett smiled ruefully. "I suppose," Brett said slowly,
"we've simply been putting off the inevitable—not wishing to spoil a
lovely day."

Morgan
snorted. "It won't be a lovely day for any of us if war comes!"

Thoughtfully
Jason toyed with his brandy snifter. "It is going to be very interesting
when Wilkinson confronts the Spanish, I'll wager you that. The Secretary of
War, Dearborn, ordered him posthaste to the Sabine River area weeks ago, but
our good General seems intent upon taking his own sweet time leaving his
headquarters at St. Louis." He glanced across the table at Brett.
"What's your opinion? Morgan told me about your letter from Eaton."
He smiled wryly and added, "And about Jefferson—remind me to tell you one
day of the 'mission' the President sent me on to England a few years ago."

Brett
grinned back at him. "I'd like to hear of it—at least you went to a
civilized place!" But his grin faded a little, and he said heavily,
"If you gentlemen will indulge me a bit, I'd like to present a theory to
you." He shot Morgan a slightly mocking look. "Morgan has heard part
of it before, but I'm certain he would like to again, just so he can point out
how ridiculous it is."

Morgan
raised his snifter and murmured, "Go ahead—fairy tales have always
enchanted me!"

Ignoring
Morgan's comment, Brett glanced at Jason, who was watching him intently.
Briefly, keeping events in as much of a sequence as he could, Brett told of the
conversation between himself, Wilkinson, and Hugh on that stormy night in
November of 1799. "That," he admitted with a little smile, "was
when my interest was first aroused." Taking a deep breath, he plunged on,
telling about Jefferson's request last year that he keep an eye on Burr and
Wilkinson; of the conversation with Burr the night of Stephen Minor's ball in
Natchez; and lastly, of the persistent rumors that circulated in dark places
that Wilkinson had murdered Gayoso and that an important piece of paper had
disappeared the night the Governor had died. . . .

Apologetically,
Brett looked at the other two. "Having bored you with all that, I'll now
present my theory, and you'll see the connection with the events on the Sabine
River."

"Before
you do," Morgan said with a frown, "I'd like a word with Leonie—it
could have some bearing on what you have told us so far." He walked from
the room, and finding Leonie with the other women, he smiled politely to
Catherine and Sabrina and asked, "May I steal my wife for a few
minutes?"

In
the foyer, Morgan turned to Leonie and asked softly, "Would you mind
telling Brett and Jason about being at the governor's mansion the night Gayoso
died?" He smiled at her warmly, a teasing glint in the dark blue eyes.
"You don't have to tell them about us!"

Leonie
frowned for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. Love shining in her gaze,
she murmured, "If it pleases you."

Leonie's
tale of sneaking into the Governor's mansion all those years before held Brett
and Jason spellbound. An embarrassed flush staining her cheeks, she said
fiercely, "You do understand that it was only to get my grandpere's gaming
vowels? I am no thief!" Both men nodded instantly, neither wishing to
insult her, and once the tale was told, Brett asked eagerly, "Leonie, when
you were watching through the window, did you see the fat man, Wilkinson, take
anything from the Governor's desk?"

Leonie's
forehead creased in thought, trying to remember an event that had happened
almost seven years before. "They were angry with each other ..." Her
face suddenly cleared, and she added excitedly, "Oh! I never saw Wilkinson
take anything, but at one point, the Governor had a piece of paper in his hand
and he thrust it toward the General. The General seemed fascinated by that
paper and frightened by it at the same time, too, I think."

"Anything
else?" Morgan prompted gently.

"There
was something about a report to the Viceroy . . ." Her lip drooped.
"I didn't see or hear very much because I was so terrified of being
seen," she admitted forlornly.

Brett
smiled encouragingly at her and asked curiously, "But in what you did see,
was there anything that struck you as strange, anything that made you
wonder?"

Leonie
stiffened as if just suddenly remembering something. Her eyes widening, she
muttered,
''Mon Dieu, oui!
I had nearly forgotten—when I had to slip
past the doorway that separated the two rooms, I risked a glance inside. The
Governor was acting strangely—his face was all contorted as if in pain, but the
General didn't seem to be concerned. If anything he seemed pleased. . . ."

They
all looked at each other, and Morgan said hastily, "Thank you, my love.
I'll explain all," he promised with smile, "later. But for now, would
you mind if we continued our speculations in private?"

Leonie
made a little face. "For now," she agreed reluctantly.

There
was silence in the room for a second after Leonie left. Then Brett said aloud
the thought that was in each of their minds. "Poison! The bastard poisoned
Gayoso! It had to be!"

The
other two nodded their heads in agreement, Jason saying slowly, "It
certainly sounds that way."

It
was Morgan, however, who asked dryly, "But what does all that ancient
history have to do with today?"

"Since
I can postpone the evil moment no longer, I'll tell you," Brett said
grimly. "I believe that there was a map drawn by Nolan and meant for
Wilkinson's eyes alone, only somehow it ended up in Gayoso's hands, and
Wilkinson murdered him for it." He looked at the other two, and seeing
their interest, he continued, "Let's say that the map led to a
treasure," and when Morgan snorted, Brett added warningly, "You have
to remember Wilkinson's reactions to my father's idle comment about Aztec
treasure —he nearly jumped out of his skin! He and Nolan were going to go after
the treasure, but before their plans were fully realized, the Spanish killed
Nolan."

Vaguely
Brett was aware of the muscles tightening in Jason's face, and he had the
definite impression that speaking of Nolan's death brought the other man pain.
He hesitated, but Jason sent him a twisted smile and said, "Nolan was a
good friend to me—a mentor in my misspent youth. But go on with your
tale."

"Theory,
"
Morgan said with affection.

Brett
sent him a look of friendly exasperation, but not to be sidetracked, said
doggedly, "After Nolan's death in the spring of 1801, the Spanish were
especially skittish—they didn't want any foreigners in their territory, and it
would have been impossible, with the way they were watching the borders, for
anybody to get into Spanish Texas to retrieve the treasure. Besides, if
Wilkinson is in the pay of Spain, he'd have to be willing to completely sever a
profitable association. He could afford no mistakes. And with Nolan dead—Nolan,
his most trusted tool and, incidentally, the only man who really knew the
country they would have to travel through—I think Wilkinson got cold feet and
decided not to risk it . . . until now."

"Why
now?" Morgan asked, his interest piqued.

"Because
now and for the past year or so, the threat of a war with Spain has been in the
air. . . . And then there is Aaron Burr and the rumors that he means to invade
Mexico. Burr and Wilkinson, an unholy pair if there ever was one."

Jason
nodded his head. "I think I begin to see what you're getting at—Wilkinson
is never out in the open with his schemes; there is always someone for him to
hide behind, first Nolan and now Burr. He'll let Burr be the figurehead, let
Burr make his plans, appear to totally support whatever Burr says, but behind
Burr's back, Wilkinson will be weaving his own plans. . . ."

Thoughtfully
Morgan mused, "By letting Burr be the figurehead, the good General also
has the option of deserting Burr at any time things look too risky."

"Precisely!"
Brett said harshly. "If Burr can gather the men and arms he really needs
to make a successful invasion of Mexico, then Wilkinson will throw his lot in
with him—and seek out the treasure in the wake left behind. Or even if Burr
fails in his scheme, then there is the current situation—war with Spain and the
invasion of Spanish territory by United States troops. All Wilkinson has to
decide is which way will benefit him the most. I think the reason he is
lingering in St. Louis is simply that he's waiting to see which way to jump.
Once he positions his troops along the Sabine River, he'll have no choice but
to attack the Spanish, and he probably doesn't want to do that until he is
absolutely certain that he can get his hands on the treasure. Then whatever
relationship he has with Spain won't matter anymore."