IT WON’T SURPRISE YOU TO LEARN, AS I LATER DID, THAT AARON Burr never did conquer the Floridas, or march on Mexico and found his great empire. Thomas Jefferson saw to that. His soldiers caught Burr down near Mobile Bay, alone, and rode him all the way back to Virginia to stand trial for his life. Which was a mistake: if Jefferson wanted to be rid of Burr, he should have put a bullet in his back out in the pine barrens of the Tombigbee and had done, for there was never a courtroom built that Burr couldn’t sway. I sometimes think he would have had Vera Cruz and all the treasures of Mexico if he’d only issued a writ against the Spaniards, instead of prancing around like George Washington playing at rebellion. As to what became of his sorry army, Harman Blennerhassett and Comfort Tyler and the few dozen simpletons who thought they’d make their fortunes in Mexico, I never did discover. Doubtless theirs was an unhappy fate.
All of which was far in the future and far from my thoughts as we poled our way down the Mississippi on a sunny February morning. The snow had melted, and we had emerged from the wilderness at last. Below Natchez, the riverbanks had been entirely cleared of timber to produce a belt of open farmland punctuated every mile or so by grand plantation houses. It was as though the river had taken us out of America altogether and swept us off to the West Indies, for the fields now grew tall with shivering walls of sugar cane, which armies of negro slaves besieged with billhooks, hoes and knives. After so long in a wretched, lifeless land, we had been borne into a garden of delights. Even the river eased its hostility, for the current was now so strong that all snags and sawyers were swept before it. Each day, the towns and villages we passed grew more numerous, and the traffic on the river increased until, five days after leaving Burr, we rounded a bend in the river and came in sight of New Orleans.
I may say ‘in sight’, but in fact there was precious little to see. The front of the city had been embanked with a vast earthwork, a levee to stem the depredations of the river, and that in turn was obscured by the horde of ships, flatboats, wherries and barges moored three-deep in front of it. We had to float past almost the entire mile-long waterfront before we at last found a spot to put ashore.
‘Wait here,’ I told the men. ‘Miss Lyell and I must make enquiries. We will return presently.’
‘Where’re you going?’ demanded one of the crew – the same who had questioned my right to take the boat at Cole’s Creek. He pointed to the top of the levee, where a file of soldiers was parading along with fixed bayonets. ‘I figure there’s a price on our heads, an’ I’d not want you stealin’ away to claim it.’
‘Don’t be absurd. If any of us merits a reward it is me. Even if I wanted to betray you – which, I assure you, I do not – I could not, for they would clap me in gaol straight away.’ I regretted saying this as soon as it was out, for my companions had spoken volubly of the money they were owed during our five-day voyage, and I did not wish to sow further thoughts of profit among them. ‘Allow me one hour, and then we will settle our debts and have done,’ I promised the men.
Catherine and I stepped ashore, though we were off it again almost immediately, for the boats were so numerous and so closely moored that it was easier to move between them than around them. Race-boards and gangways had been laid between the vessels, becoming the streets and avenues of a thriving, floating city whose colonnades were rows of masts, its roofs the sheets of canvas drying in the sun, its citizens the sailors of a hundred nations. Ships recently arrived from the West Indies made markets of their wares – tobacco, calicoes, sugar and rum – while on the open decks seamen danced jigs and hornpipes. Every stratum of society was present: white-gloved, dark-eyed ladies with parasols who watched the sailors with discreet admiration; merchants in handsome suits bartering for the latest cargoes; jet-black negroes, some dressed in the full livery of footmen, others in humbler attire. And all about me gabbled the sounds of a dozen different languages – Spanish, French, English, Portuguese, African, and some which appeared to have borrowed equally from all the others. The ever-present murmur of the Mississippi, lapping between the shackled hulls, seemed the only common tongue.
I fear we spent more than an hour in that company, breathing in the exotic smells and gaping at the sights. Eventually, after some investigation, we learned of a brig bound for Philadelphia the next morning, and by and by found ourselves on her deck. Her captain was a gruff man, a New Englander from Nantucket he told us, but proved willing to give us passage on his vessel.
‘I guess that’ll be forty dollars for each of you,’ he said.
Out of habit, I had dropped my hand into my pocket and was searching for my purse before I realized how little money I had. Having travelled first with Lyell and then with Burr, I had neither gathered nor needed funds of my own. I had a few coins, but they only amounted to four dollars.
‘Of course, I will be able to obtain a draft on my bank when we reach Philadelphia,’ I said.
The captain scowled. ‘I’m sure you can, sir. But if your bank doesn’t oblige, I can’t very well sail back here just to make it square between us. So I’ll thank you to settle with me now, or else find another voyage.’
He set his hands on his hips and stared at us impassively. A knot of seamen gathered behind him, ready to unload unwanted cargo.
‘I can obtain the money here in New Orleans,’ I muttered, thinking of the flatboat. ‘When do you sail?’
‘Noon tomorrow.’
‘We will be here.’
‘And you’ll need to call at the Customs House first,’ the captain added. He pointed back along the levee, towards where our flatboat was moored. ‘Get your boxes examined.’
‘Surely that will be unnecessary? Perhaps for an extra consideration you would overlook it if we lacked the time …’ With Burr’s nemesis General Wilkinson in command of New Orleans, presenting myself at the Customs House seemed the height of folly.
The captain would have none of it. ‘Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me. I’m no Havana smuggler or Baratarian pirate. I’m an honest man with an honest ship, and I’ll carry honest passengers who pay up before we sail. Now, if you’ve a dislike to my terms you can find another berth, before I get to wondering why I shouldn’t report you to the governor. There’s strange doings been happening here of late, much talk of rebels and traitors, and I’m sure General Wilkinson’d be curious to hear of a couple of foreigners trying to sneak out of the city. What did you say your names were?’
‘Beauchamp.’ I stepped back towards the rail. ‘Mr and Mrs Beauchamp. We meant no insult, Captain – we are merely in a hurry to be home. We will see you tomorrow morning, and I assure you all our affairs will be in order.’
For a moment I feared we had lost our chance, that the captain would succumb to his obvious misgivings and refuse us altogether. But his business was commerce, and he would not lightly surrender the prospect of eighty dollars. He gave an ill-tempered nod.
‘And make sure you bring your passports,’ he called as we departed. ‘There’s a Spanish garrison at Plaquemines who’ll want to see them before they let us pass.’
We abandoned the archipelago of ships and hurried back on the road which ran along the crest of the levee. I had already broken my promise to return within the hour, and I did not want to try the crew’s patience too far. Citrus trees studded the wayside, and our height afforded a fine vantage over the city. We could see the streets laid out in a regular grid, the handsome brick houses which lined the nearer streets and the cruder wooden buildings beyond. It was easily the largest and most substantial city I had seen since New York, yet it did not sit easily on its situation: by comparison with the water on the opposite side of the dyke, it seemed to lie at some depth below the river level. It would be typical of my luck, I thought, if the levee broke and washed it away during my brief sojourn there.
‘This is impossible,’ I declared. ‘Even if we sell the flatboat we will barely have the money for our passage; we cannot visit the Customs House for fear of discovery; and should the captain overlook those facts and take us aboard, we will promptly have to present ourselves to a Spanish garrison. I do not see how we can escape.’
‘Oh! Do not carp and cavil so.’ There was more heat than warmth in Catherine’s words, and her narrow eyes glistened with tears. ‘You were at Trafalgar – surely you can surmise some means of escape?’
‘We could hide in the hold until we were past the Spanish garrison. If it were only a matter of escaping their attentions, perhaps the captain would indulge us. And if we abandoned our baggage, we could avoid the Customs House quite honestly.’
‘Abandoned our baggage? But how long is the voyage to Philadelphia?’
‘A fortnight,’ I hazarded.
‘We cannot pass a fortnight on that ship with nothing but the clothes we wear. Why, even the lowest Jack tar takes his sea-chest with him.’
‘The lowest Jack tar probably has a passport, and is not usually chased after by the armies of two nations.’ I spoke brusquely, for I was beginning to find her objections tedious. ‘What other choice do we have? You sought adventures; now you see that they do not always allow dressing for dinner, or a train of porters to carry your boxes. You have been living on riverboats these past two months –surely you are used to it?’
She stopped walking, snatched her arm away from my own and stamped her foot down hard on the levee. ‘Yes I am, Martin, and I have grown tired of it. Besides, the adventure was perfectly agreeable when I was with Colonel Burr. He gave me his cabin, attended my wardrobe, and invited me to balls and dinners. It is only when I am with you that I must suffer these hardships. I think you are a very mean sort of adventurer indeed!’
Well, I couldn’t care a sixpence about my adventuring prowess –drinking and fleeing have always been my chief accomplishments – but I rebelled at the comparison with Burr. Liars, libertines, frauds and fantasists we both might be, but at least I did not casually ruin others in pursuit of my folly.
‘If you prefer Colonel Burr’s company, then I am sure you can find a horse to take you to West Florida, and discover whether it was the Spanish or the Americans who hanged him first. I will happily surrender you your share of the flatboat’s price. For my part, I am going back to England even if I must stow myself in a sugar box to get there.’
Instantly, Catherine was all contrition. ‘Forgive me, Martin. I spoke rashly. Of course you are right.’ She hugged me close, her thin body trembling with emotion. ‘But you are so brave and resourceful, and I so weak, that sometimes you must make allowances for my foolishness.’
The tears flowed down her cheeks. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped them away. Being with Catherine in such inconstant humour was not unlike standing on deck in a roaring gale: the sensations produced in my stomach were near identical.
‘There, there,’ I murmured. ‘I know you meant no injury. Perhaps I am too bold in setting our course.’ That did not seem likely. ‘I have over-stepped myself. We will sell the boat, see how much we profit, and then choose our best line of escape.’
We had started walking again, and were now at the edge of the city where the houses gave way to forests and cane fields. We were also alarmingly close to the pentagonal fort which guarded the river. I turned my back on it, and looked down the embankment to the water.
Our flatboat was gone.
My first thought, as ever, was panic. General Wilkinson must have heard of our arrival: the boat was captured, the crew imprisoned, and it would be only a matter of minutes before we joined them. I stared around, looking for the soldiers who were surely behind me ready to plunge a bayonet in my back. To my surprise, there was no-one save a girl with a basket of oranges.
Reason asserted itself. ‘They have probably moved the boat downstream a little. Perhaps they took fright when we did not reappear promptly and sought a less conspicuous mooring.’
Catherine looked doubtful – as well she might, for in truth the only moorings downstream were the plantation landings. Before she could voice her thoughts, I spied a negro boatman swabbing the deck on a neighbouring scow and hailed him.
‘The boat which was here this morning – did you see it depart?’
He leaned on his mop and looked up at me, though contriving to keep his eyes fixed somewhere about my feet. ‘Yes, suh.’
‘Where did she go?’
He pointed a sleeveless arm across the river, to the far bank almost a mile distant. ‘Tha’way.’
‘And was there anything irregular in her departure?’
He did not seem to understand the question. ‘Irreg’lar, suh?’
‘Unusual.’
‘No, suh. They paid up an’ jes’ took her off to the yard.’
Perhaps it was his accent, but it seemed there was something I had misunderstood. ‘Whom did they pay? The harbourmaster?’
‘No, suh. The men from the yard.’
‘Which men? Which yard? What were they paid for?’
We gazed on each other, each of our faces plainly speaking the belief that we conversed with a halfwit. It was one of the strictures of his race that he could not say so openly.
‘The men from the yard – they came fo’ the boat an’ bought it, an’ took it over the river.’
A horrible suspicion began to build in my mind. ‘These men came and bought the boat from the crew?’
The negro rewarded my comprehension with a benevolent smile, his teeth as white as pipe-clay. ‘Sho’ly did. Paid eighty dollahs.’
I sank my head in my hands, cursing the crew for a gang of thieving, dishonest, mercenary villains. All our plans were in vain, our hopes lost. We might as well present ourselves to Wilkinson and be done.
Catherine, though, remained composed. ‘That is not so bad. We will cross the river and inform these men that they have been deceived. If they are honest men, they will return the boat to us at once.’
The negro chuckled, then remembered himself and bowed his head. ‘I don’ think they will, ma’am.’
‘Why not?’
‘Unless you wants some sawdust an’ half a side of a house.’
‘What?’
Again that brilliant smile. ‘They was from the breaker’s yard, ma’am. They bought your boat for timber. Right now, she nothin’ but a heap o’ planks.’
I would have sat down on the levee and wept, careless of what Catherine might think, but at that moment I saw another file of soldiers marching towards us along the road. We climbed over the embankment and hastened into the city, moderating our pace just enough that we did not look to be fleeing. We added to the disguise by linking arms, trying to pass ourselves as a respectable couple, though there was no affection in Catherine’s taut grip.
I did not care for New Orleans. For one, there was the constant fear of discovery by Wilkinson’s men, the sidled glances checking for his soldiers and the stabbing fear when I saw them. There seemed to be a great many on duty. For another, there was an abiding awareness of our low situation – geographically, I mean – that we were one earthwork away from inundation by the Mississippi. But even beyond those fears, New Orleans was an unsettling, mysterious place. Some of the houses had no front doors, only looming carriage arches leading into shaded courtyards; others, by contrast, seemed to be all doors, yet these were often closed by painted shutters. Behind the houses, gardens overflowed with fruit trees – oranges, citrons, pomegranates, figs – casting dappled shade, while balconies and galleries looked down on us, trailing vines from their latticed railings. Every so often I would hear a peal of laughter, or snatches of a melody from a pianoforte, or the soft groan of a creaking bed, but all these sounds were muted and distant, as though perceived through the wrong end of a telescope. Everywhere I felt the sense of imminent activity, of dealings being done and amusements taken, yet all concealed from me behind high walls and shuttered windows. It was the middle of the afternoon, yet the streets were almost empty save for a few slaves and servants on errands. It was far from the drunkards’ paradise I had heard extolled so often by the boatmen on the Mississippi, yet there was something undeniably permissive in the air, implicit pleasures ripe for the picking.
Destitute and homeless though we were, we could not stay on the street. We were already beginning to draw searching looks from the soldiers, and with so few people abroad we were all too conspicuous. Hailing a passing servant, we quickly established that there were no good inns to be had, but that the custom among visitors was to stay in boarding houses. There were many nearby, he informed us, but the most convenient was kept by Madam Shaboo.
‘And who is Madam Shaboo?’ I asked. ‘She sounds like the offspring of a gypsy and a Mahometan.’
On the contrary, the servant assured us, she was a most respectable lady. And so she proved, after some knocking on her front door. Despite her outlandish name she was no more than an Irishwoman – her hair a little too red, her cheeks a little too powdered, her bosoms a little too pronounced, but otherwise quite ordinary. We introduced ourselves as Mr and Mrs Beauchamp.
‘You’re from England, are you?’
‘Once upon a time,’ I said, noncommittally. It seemed an impossible age since I had left Falmouth on the Adventure.
‘I had a gentleman here just yesterday asking me if I’d any Englishmen here. “None at the moment,” I told him. And now here you are on my doorstep. What name did you give again?’
‘Beauchamp.’
‘Ah, that’s not it then. He was wanting a Mr Jerrold.’
‘Was he an American, this gentleman?’ I asked, my most artificial smile stitched across my face. Had Wilkinson had word that I was in the city? If so, a pseudonym and an Irish landlady would hardly suffice to protect me.
‘Oh no – an Englishman, like yourself. I suppose he wanted some company of his own sort. Perhaps you would like to call on him? I’m sure he would be very grateful. One can become quite melancholy so far from home and kin, as I’m sure you know, though I manage happily enough.’
I did not know who this man might be, but I was determined to avoid him at any cost. ‘Did he say where he might be found?’
‘At Madam Reillard’s house on Rue Royale.’
‘And did he give his name?’
Madam Shaboo frowned. ‘He said that if his friend Mr Jerrold arrived, I was to be sure to tell him at once, as he so very much hoped to see him. They’d met on their travels somewhere in the north, you see, and agreed that if they reached New Orleans they would seek each other out. But, do you know, I don’t remember that he left his name.’
There were any number of men I had met in the north of the country – Mr Ogden the banker, Mr Vidal the spy, Mr Merry the ambassador – and none I wished to meet again.
‘Still, there’s no call to worry,’ added Madam Shaboo with a smile. ‘It was Mr Jerrold he wanted, not you.’
We repaired to our bedroom. Madam Shaboo took four dollars for it – the entire sum of our remaining coins – but at that moment I would have paid almost any price for solitude. I pulled the wooden shutters over the window and peered through the slats for any sign of watchers on the streets below.
‘Who could it have been, I wonder?’ said Catherine.
‘No-one who means us well.’ I had been chasing the same question myself, though to no gain. As every possible answer spoke danger, I preferred to ignore it. ‘Whoever he may be, our best course is undoubtedly to board the ship to Philadelphia and flee.’
Catherine sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her stockinged feet back and forth. She scowled at me. ‘But how will we get aboard the ship? We have no money.’
‘I am a sailor. I could work my passage home.’ A fairly dismal sailor, admittedly, but with luck we would be far out to sea before they discovered it.
‘What of me?’
‘I’m sure we could find you a berth in the fo’c’sle. Perhaps in lieu of my pay.’
I could see by Catherine’s face that the suggestion did not suit her. She leaned forward. ‘Do you love me, Martin?’
I started in surprise. That seemed quite beside the point. ‘Of course.’
‘Then do not ask me to spend three months confined in seamen’s quarters with neither comfort nor society.’
‘Would you rather spend the time in gaol?’
‘I do not see there would be much difference.’
‘You would see the difference soon enough. I have been in gaols, Catherine, and I would rather a year as a fo’c’sle hand than a day in captivity.’
‘I would rather neither!’ Her voice had risen, and she stood up from the bed. ‘Ever since I followed you I have suffered every manner of indignity and discomfort. Now we are sunk to penury as well – a disgrace I never in my life expected. If you cannot bring me home as befits a lady, if all you offer are the humble circumstances of a sailor’s woman, then I will arrange matters for myself.’
‘How?’ I asked. ‘Whore yourself on the docks until you have saved forty dollars?’
‘You insolent …’ She slapped me hard against the cheek. Her white gloves did nothing to cushion the sting of the blow. ‘How dare you?’ She strode to the door clutching her reticule. I watched it carefully, remembering the fate Mr Harris had suffered from its contents. ‘I will find a gentleman who requires a companion for the long voyage and attach myself to him. Or perhaps I will obtain the money some other way. Evidently you do not care what becomes of me. Goodbye.’
She stepped out of the door and slammed it shut. By the time I had opened it and peered into the corridor, the echo of feet stamping down the stairs was all that remained.
I did not pursue her. I doubted further conversation could improve matters, and I feared to be abroad in New Orleans. If she relented her anger she would find me. If she did not, then, as my bruised cheek attested, I was safer alone.
I stayed in that room for the rest of the afternoon, and all through the evening. They were dismal hours, perhaps the worst of the whole venture. My fears had populated New Orleans with such a cast of enemies that I dared not even sit in the parlour; a brief expedition downstairs to borrow one of Madam Shaboo’s books was enough to set my heart racing, and I quickly retired. I lay on the bed, staring at the book without reading, and tensing at every sound which penetrated the room. Outside, the city was beginning to rouse itself from its afternoon slumber: I could hear the music of fifes and fiddles, hawkers calling out their wares and friends greeting each other. It sounded very gay. Worse, though, were the noises within the house. Every tread on the stair or creak in the corridor had me sitting bolt upright, mangled between the fear of capture and the hope that Catherine had returned. Madam Shaboo’s guests were both numerous and active. After an hour listening to their comings and goings my nerves were ruined; after three hours, even the click of billiard balls from the tavern across the road had me quailing on my bed. When the maid knocked to bring my supper, my heart almost failed, and as soon as I had eaten the food I only wanted to be rid of it.
At length, when I was wrung so dry I had no more hopes to fear for, I fell asleep.
Some time later, I woke. I had not undressed, had not even pulled off my boots, and I felt the soiled feeling which attends sleeping in one’s clothes. Even in February the room had become stuffy and airless. I crossed to the window and pulled it open, then unlatched the shutters and stepped out onto the balcony. The cool night was a tonic to my cares; I breathed it in, savouring the rare tranquillity. I must have slept some hours, for the street below was deserted, though I could still hear faint sounds of merriment from within the neighbouring houses. Perhaps the Mississippi boatmen had been right: it seemed that pleasure never slept in New Orleans.
A movement in the gloom under the opposite balcony caught my eye, and in an instant all thoughts of peace and pleasure were forgotten. It was difficult to be sure – life in New Orleans was forever half obscured behind shutters and wrought-iron railings – but I thought I had seen a shadow move. Was I being watched? It was probably nothing, but I pressed myself back against the wall and stared hard at the darkness. Nothing stirred.
I had almost persuaded myself to forget it when a new danger threatened – the thud of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Holding my breath, I waited for them to die away or turn into one of the adjacent rooms. They did not. They drew ever nearer, marching down the corridor with a measured, inexorable tread until it seemed they must be outside my very door. Even then I tried to reason away their presence, until a booming knock dispelled all doubt. Fear seized my tongue, and I did not answer.
‘Martin? It is Catherine. You must let me in. I know I have been a wanton, horrid companion, but I have learned something you must know.’
It was the voice I had ached to hear every minute of that long evening. Forsaking caution, I crossed to the door and unbolted it. She must have been as eager as I, for at the sound of the lifting latch she pushed open the door so hastily I was forced back into the room.
An enormous figure filled the doorway, all but blocking out the flickering light in the hall. He was nothing more than a silhouette, yet his menacing shape was unmistakable.
It was not Catherine; it was her father.
*
He stepped through the doorway, bearing down on me so hard that I was forced to retreat. Over his shoulder, I saw Catherine follow him in with a candle. She wore a grey pelisse, and her face was cold and pale as marble.
‘Mr Lyell,’ I stammered. ‘I confess you are the last man I expected to see.’ Or wanted to see – though I might overlook that in hope of affording the passage home. ‘Did you follow us down the river?’
Lyell grunted. ‘I preferred a more comfortable route. From Blennerhassett Island I returned to Pittsburgh, thence to Philadelphia, and at length by sea to New Orleans. I have been waiting here this past week.’
‘But how did you know where to find us?’
‘Catherine and I arranged our rendezvous before we parted on Blennerhassett Island. I presumed the Mississippi would eventually flush you out.’
‘Arranged it?’ I glanced at Catherine. ‘But you told me you had come in defiance of your father, alone.’
Her face was unmoving, fixed with the same intensity I had seen when she shot Harris. ‘Can you be so blind, Martin? How could I have come with you if not by my father’s instruction?’
‘Burr’s plan was doomed to fail,’ said Lyell. ‘So much was clear the moment we stepped ashore at Blennerhassett Island. From then on, my only imperative was to see that its demise did not redound against us and drag us all into a disastrous war. I sent my daughter with you to see that did not happen. To ensure that no Englishman would be taken alive with Burr.’
His every word seemed spiked with malice, and I noticed his right hand had delved into his coat pocket. I tried to ignore it – and the implication of what enormity Catherine might have perpetrated on me had the need arisen.
‘But all that is now moot,’ I said. ‘Burr’s tilt at treason is finished, and Catherine and I have escaped. There is nothing now to prove an English connection, though the sooner we are gone from America the better.’
Lyell ignored me. ‘Burr’s catastrophic exploits were not all the news I had on my travels. Another packet had arrived from England when I reached Philadelphia, bringing a letter from my associates in London. Can you imagine what it contained?’
He spat those last words at me like bullets. A feeble shake of my head was all the reply I could manage.
‘It brought a most alarming report – that Lieutenant Beauchamp, our original envoy from the Admiralty, had been maliciously waylaid in Falmouth and robbed. That his papers had been stolen, and entrusted to a government spy who was to mimic Beauchamp’s purpose and insinuate himself into our confidence, with the express aim of thwarting our schemes and exposing us to justice. Can you guess who this traitor might have been?’
I could, though at that moment my mouth was too dry to name him.
‘You followed me to worm your way into my secrets. You stole my papers. Do you deny it?’
He had begun advancing towards me again, pushing me back almost to the threshold of the open window. I could see the burnished walnut grip of his pistol emerging from his pocket. I looked to Catherine, still standing behind her father and watching me without expression.
‘Will you let him murder me? All the attachment you showed me, is that forgotten?’
She did not reply.
‘I love you,’ I said.
‘That cannot be helped.’
Everything thereafter happened in an instant. Lyell had the pistol out of his pocket and was raising it towards me. I did not have time to turn, let alone to run, but my body could not stay still in the face of danger. With no other choice I lunged towards Lyell, conscious even as I sprang that I was too slow and too far away. Lyell’s Manton could kill a man at a hundred paces, and its hair-trigger needed only the breath of a touch to fire. Perversely, that was my salvation. The master gunsmith had not made his graceful weapon for a man of Lyell’s lumbering bulk: he twitched with surprise in the face of my unlikely attack, and the movement in his clumsy hand was enough. The pistol erupted in a shower of sparks, deafening me, and the ball ploughed harmlessly into the floorboards. A hail of splinters scratched and tore at my legs but I did not feel them. Still moving, I cannoned into Lyell, and though his weight kept him upright the momentum drove him back a few steps. He collided with his daughter; the candle was knocked from her hand, fell to the floor and went out. The room was in darkness.
The gunshot still rang in my ears and my eyes wept from the smoke; I had neither wit nor time to think. Mercifully, my instincts were enough. With Lyell still blocking the door, I turned and ran onto the balcony, vaulted over the wrought-iron balustrade and dropped down to the street below. My knees gave way under the jarring impact and I rolled sideways, stirring up a cloud of dust. As I picked myself up, bruised but unbroken, I saw three men standing at Madam Shaboo’s front door, watching me in surprise. Doubtless they did not expect to see a gentleman falling from the skies in the middle of the night, still less one who peered anxiously up at the balcony for signs of pursuit, and stepped quickly into its shadow. Forgetting their business with Madam Shaboo, the three men moved towards me. White crossbelts and steel gleamed in the moonlight.
‘Leff-tenant Jerrold. I was about to come up and fetch you, but it seems you’ve saved me the bother.’
The coarse shirt and high-crowned hat were gone, replaced by an army captain’s uniform, but the threat in his voice was unchanged from our encounter at King’s Tavern in Natchez. The evil-looking pistol in his hand seemed equally familiar.
‘I figured you’d be meeting Moses Hook again.’