The Scent of Betrayal Read online

  ‘Mr McGillivray,’ said James, ‘if I may be allowed to put your mind at rest: my brother is devious in the extreme, but he is not dishonest and neither does he normally indulge in extortion. I would also add, if our situation was not so bad he would hand over your property without asking for anything in return.’

  ‘Thank you, James,’ said Harry, eyebrows raised.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘THAT WAS exceedingly astute of you, Harry,’ said James. They were out in the bustling streets again, having made an appointment to meet McGillivray at a time of his choosing. ‘Not that it was a bad idea. A fictitious endangered daughter is so much more telling than mere compromising correspondence. Having said that, one wonders at the nature of the man to concoct such a tale. Personally I put it down to the Scottish blood in his veins.’

  ‘I am grateful to you, James,’ said Harry, quickly, not wishing to get drawn onto the subject of Caledonians and their perceived faults. ‘I think that intervention of yours set his mind at rest.’

  In fact he believed it to be true. By insisting that Harry was honest, a claim no man could rightly put for himself, James had gone a long way to putting aside the Creek chieftain’s concerns. Not that he had much choice. McGillivray didn’t know Harry well enough to be aware that the mere idea of his passing information on to authority, knowledge that would endanger an innocent party, was risible. Having finally decided to cooperate with the Ludlows he’d relaxed a great deal, adding a wealth of information about the city and its inhabitants to the knowledge he’d already imparted. Responding to Harry’s evident impatience he had hinted that something might be achieved by a visit to the swamp area north of the city wall. There numerous taverns satisfied the needs of those who lived in New Orleans, as well as those that visited the city. Without giving away his source, Harry asked about the Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans, alluded to by de Coburrabias, only to be informed that the soldier owned it. The hotel was the biggest bawdy-house in Spanish America, impossible to miss, since it stood in full majesty, the only gas-lit building outside the north gate of the city walls.

  Harry stopped suddenly and looked hard at James. ‘Do you think me devious?’

  ‘I know you to be, brother. Here I am, if anything your closest confidant, without the faintest idea of your true intentions. All I know is that you have coerced another man into helping us, without having the faintest idea why.’

  Harry grinned, then started walking again. ‘I’m either going to get that treasure back from de Carondelet, or recover his ingots.’

  ‘I suspected as much. Does it occur to you that the Governor might be the thief?’

  ‘Carondelet couldn’t have stolen the money himself, James.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Remember he’s both Governor and Intendant. If he was going to rob the treasury all he had to do was pocket it and concoct a tale to cover the loss. Instead he set up an elaborate method to smuggle it out of the colony. He tried to keep the whole thing a secret, certainly. But look at the number of people who knew. Now why go to those lengths? It can only be because he wanted to ensure that if anything went wrong he wouldn’t bear sole responsibility.’

  ‘Please do carry on, brother,’ said James, when Harry paused.

  ‘De Carondelet is not as clever as he’d like to think. Either that or he truly expects us to find it, which I don’t believe for a second. He lets slip things that he should keep to himself. Remember he said that the money was for the security of Louisiana; that its loss was nothing short of a disaster. But he didn’t tell us the destination, which really rendered such a statement meaningless. But now we know that it was en route to New York, which alters the case considerably. Why? Given his position, the secrecy, and the method, it can only mean that the bullion was intended to protect the colony from some threat.’

  ‘The source of which lay in New York?’

  ‘The solution lay there, certainly. I doubt that the danger comes from somewhere so distant, unless it’s from the government of the United States.’

  ‘McGillivray didn’t think that likely?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s not right about everything, James. If the frontier states are causing trouble the one way to bind them to the Union is for the American government to take control of the delta.’

  ‘He’s certainly right about one thing.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That the task we face is impossible. We don’t know where to start looking.’

  ‘Nonsense, brother. We have at least one place we can look, right away.’

  ‘De Coburrabias’s tavern?’ Harry nodded. ‘And what if that produces nothing? We can’t sit here for ever, taking the risk that war might break out at any moment.’

  ‘Right now we are trapped,’ Harry replied, ‘not only by Spanish guns, but by our own parole.’

  ‘Does it occur to you, Harry, that regardless of your own inclinations, you may be forced to leave that chest in de Carondelet’s possession just to gain enough freedom to save our skins?’

  Harry was suddenly angry and the note in his voice was bitter.

  ‘It does. And should that happen I can assure you that I’ll sit off Fort Balize and search every ship that exits the Mississippi, war or no war. If that first consignment was bound for New York then he intends to use the Frenchmen’s money to replace it. When he does, we’ll be waiting. I don’t care how we get it back, James, but get it back we will.’

  James patted his brother on the shoulder.

  ‘Of course, Harry. But it occurs to me that we have, for the first time this evening, actually referred to the true owners of the treasure. It’s not really up to us to decide if we are willing to accept de Carondelet’s terms. It’s up to our passengers. Since they’re planning to stay in Louisiana, they may be very willing to take up the offer we refused.’

  ‘I’d feel safer giving them back hard cash.’

  ‘But you will give them the option, I take it?’

  There was a cunning look in Harry’s eye when he nodded in reply, one that James had seen before. ‘Yes. But I am also determined to see if we can find anything out in the taverns of New Orleans. You’d be amazed at what you can glean from a drunken sailor.’

  ‘Why, if we are going to scour these taverns, are we heading back to the ship?’

  ‘Well, firstly it’s to talk to our passengers. But more importantly, if we’re going tavern crawling I want to collect Pender. You don’t think I’d venture into such places without him at my back, do you?’

  Before he returned to the ship, Harry took the opportunity to have a close look at the defences. He particularly wanted to examine them in darkness since any attempt at escape would very likely be undertaken at night. The galleys, illuminated, were still in place. But from his position on top of the levee he noticed immediately that the gunners had been stood down, the first indication that the Spanish were dropping their guard. Not that they were really required while a watch was on duty in the great stone bastion: even in darkness there was no place to hide from the guards on the parapet. Standing at the base of the angled walls Harry was in clear view. Though he had little time to spare, he walked all the way down the elevated track to examine the approaches to the octagonal downriver fortress.

  ‘This is the fellow that really counts, James. With luck we could either get out of range of the one we’re berthed by or so entangle ourselves with the shipping surrounding us that accurate fire would be impossible.’ Harry shook his head slowly, as he examined the wide, slow-moving river. ‘But to get past this fellow in what would be clear water …’

  Since the levee formed the defensive barrier on the riverside the entire exterior of the gatehouse bastion was observable. The gate itself was a heavy set of double wooden doors, guarded by two sentries who stood under constant observation from their counterparts on the fire-step. And the exterior was formidable. Though not actually designed by Vauban, it was a testimony to the ideas of the greatest designer of fortresses the world had ev
er known. Sloping heavy stone walls, interlocked so that they would deflect shot rather than try to absorb its impact; grass footing with the rest of the walls coated in a moss that made climbing impossible; a dip on the western side that would take any attacker down into an area criss-crossed by deadly fields of fire right in front of the canal which acted as a moat. These killing grounds extended so that men climbing ladders to assault the wooden palisades would never be out of the sights of several dozen muskets.

  But they’d gone for decor too, as if in a desire to emphasise the majesty of their works – a simple embrasure of smooth stone was insufficient. Each one was decorated with the royal crest of Spain, and the gateway was crowned with several sets of armorial shields. The garrison on duty was wide awake, not yet bored by the need to keep watch in case Bucephalas should try to slip her moorings. The side of the levee practically abutted the bastion. Looking over to where the earth sloped into the muddy waters of the Mississippi, it was possible to detect the high-water mark which reflected the surging spring floods. Millions of gallons of melting snow turned the river into a dangerous torrent, and the delta itself into something approaching a lake. But what interested Harry was the idea that the river had yet to descend completely to its summertime level.

  Here was a weakness that had been either overlooked or forced by the exigencies of the landscape. Swampy grounds made the building of high stone structures difficult, while the height of the levee was necessary to hold back the flood waters of the river. So, if the river was low enough, there was a point at which the guns of the fortress couldn’t be properly brought to bear. The angle of fire left, close to the actual shore, a passage that could, at the right time, provide security for a ship’s hull. It would do nothing to protect masts and rigging, but they were a far harder target to hit than solid wood.

  Harry looked at the base of the fortress. Watched by a curious sentry, he squelched around by the bottom of the walls. Even with the river low it was swampy. In a land where people had to be buried under ballast so that their bodies didn’t float to the surface the Spanish had built a fortress from a design suited to dry land. Perhaps, under any pressure from flooding, the walls of the whole perimeter could become unstable. He didn’t envy the man who’d designed this defensive structure, given the various demands that must have been made upon his talents. Wood, like that used in the connecting palisades, was the best material in soft ground, being lighter than stone, but that risked fire. It also lacked the majesty of stone, an important consideration in a land where power was held as much by perception as by actual force.

  Finally worried about what he was up to, the sentry shouted down. Harry just waved in reply, then made his way back to the top of the levee.

  ‘Come along, James. I think we’ve seen enough.’

  He needed Pender at his back when he faced the Frenchmen for the second time. The number of decisions they were required to consider had multiplied and with that the degree of fractiousness. Should they go ashore at all, with or without their money? Was it possible for them to accept the proffered methods of repayment? Should Harry Ludlow still be held responsible for the loss? Was it best, with the possibility of war in the offing, to depart from the ship regardless? No more than half a dozen souls could be brought to subscribe to any theory, with the mood becoming uglier by the minute. He had to shout himself hoarse to get any attention at all.

  ‘We have no way of knowing if the Governor is being truthful about repayment. Let us put that to the test. If he is I would recommend that you go ashore.’

  ‘As paupers.’

  ‘Meanwhile, we will see what we can do to recover some of the loss. I have no intention of sitting idly by and doing nothing. I fully intend, this very night, to seek information.’

  ‘It’s a mite late, Harry.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s near dawn, James. I’d do anything rather than stay aboard and listen to this.’

  The road that ran out through the northern wall of New Orleans was slightly elevated, and for good reason, since the whole area seemed to be part of another swamp. Before making his planned visit to the Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans, Harry determined to look over the area, a prospect that produced a groan from James. Clearly de Coburrabias’s property was the best establishment. It stood right by the roadside, a wooden structure of some permanence, the substantial windows well lit and inviting. The whole building was raised on poles above the muddy ground, which was true of a number of the taverns that lay by the main thorough-fare. But the further away they got from the road, the less salubrious became both the tiendas and the state of the ground. At several points they were up to their ankles in mud, and confronted with lean-to shacks that catered for nothing but Negroes. By the roadway the whores had shown some evidence of beauty in their features and their dress. Here there were nothing but skinny slatterns in threadbare garments, who, when they tried to smile, exposed few teeth in their grime-covered mouths. The level of suspicion they were exposed to also seemed to relate to the nature of their surroundings.

  ‘What do you think, Pender?’ asked Harry, trying to shake some of the glutinous mud off his boots.

  ‘I don’t see no point in these here gin bins, your honour. If anyone was carrying the kind of money you’ve been on about they’d be up on the road.’ He jerked a thumb towards a lean-to shack that was close to collapse, the wood so rotted that the faint candlelight from the interior glowed through a dozen holes. ‘Nowt but a beggar would come to a place like this.’

  ‘There are certainly enough places to choose from,’ said James, kicking one boot against a live oak tree.

  ‘Too many,’ said Harry, looking back towards the roadway. ‘We could be here for days and not see inside them all.’

  ‘Well, my sentiments are those of Pender,’ James added bitterly. ‘We’ve already been pointed towards the very best place. Let’s start there. If that proves to be a blank we can work our way down.’

  There was quite a crowd outside the Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans, some carrying flagons of drink, others trying to negotiate terms with the numerous multi-hued whores who were plying their trade. Various articles, from bales of cloth to wads of tobacco, were on offer as payment. Two men, who by their speech and dress came from one of the riverboats, were shaping up to fight over the favours of one girl: she, indifferent to their dispute, was looking over their shoulders for another catch. Harry noticed that once agreement had been reached, the girls and their customers headed down the darkened side of the two-storey building, presumably to a staircase that took them to the first floor.

  ‘Well, brother,’ said Harry, pointing to one particularly fine mulatto girl, ‘this seems to be your sort of place. Shall we go in?’

  Pender eased a long-bladed knife in the sheath on his belt.

  ‘After you, your honour.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE WALL of warm smoky air hit them as they walked through the door, with the sound of music barely discernible above the numerous voices. A tall grey-haired black man, dressed in a striped silk coat and tight black breeches, came from behind a desk, his approach slow and measured. Harry could see his eyes ranging over these new arrivals, sorting them out with a professional eye. Pender had dropped back slightly, but the reaction he produced when he saw their exceedingly muddy boots owed nothing to heirarchy. Harry asked him for a table, in French, and was a touch put out when the man addressed them in flawless English.

  ‘Welcome to the Hôtel de la Porte d’Orléans, gentlemen. Might I be allowed to send you someone to clean your footwear before you enter the public area?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said James, having looked down at his feet for the first time. He’d been aware that his shoes were dirty, but not the extent. ‘I’m afraid we got rather lost.’

  ‘So easy to do, sir, on such a well-illuminated road.’ James looked up to see the full white smile of the elderly Negro. The man was pointing to a long bench which stood off to one side. ‘If you care to take a seat, g
entlemen, I will send a boy to attend to you.’

  Harry nodded absent-mindedly. His attention was taken up with scanning the room. They could be in this one tavern for days given the warren-like nature of the place and the number of customers crammed inside its walls. The tables on the ground floor were arranged around an open space with a great gas flame in the centre, smack in the middle of a fountain. Several people, again a mixture of races, were dancing lively reels. Other small rooms seemed to serve different groups of serious drinkers. The balcony, apart from that section occupied by the musicians, was full also, with people of every colour in groups of various size, drinking, eating, and talking at the top of their voices. There was a separate section towards the back of the building, nearly as large as the main ballroom. Through the heavy smoke Harry could see a long crowded bar, full of oddly dressed men, noisily swigging drinks.

  ‘I see our host caters for all tastes,’ said James, pointing in that direction. ‘He even provided a facility for the roughest portion of the populace.’

  Harry looked closer, noticing the mode of dress, and straining to hear he picked up the sound of what he took to be frontier English.

  ‘I think they are the riverboat men, brother. And from what we’ve heard from both Pollock and McGillivray, separation would appear to be sound common sense.’

  Having given his instructions to another servant, the silk-clad Negro returned. ‘I must ask you, sirs, to deposit any weapons you may be carrying with me. If you lay them on the desk, I will label them with your name and return them to you when you depart.’

  Harry took off his sword and Pender surrendered both his club and the long-bladed knife. James, who’d only bought a stick, shook his head.

  ‘Is that really all you carry, gentlemen? No knives tucked in boots, for instance?’