THEY TOOK MY ARMS AND DRAGGED ME THROUGH THE EMPTY streets. I did not resist them or attempt to run, for what would have been the use? I had fled from Lyell only to fall quite literally into Hook’s hands; who knew what other enemies I would meet if I escaped again. Besides, though they treated me roughly they did not seem to want to kill me.
I had thought they would take me to the fortress by the levee, but instead we kept away from the river and quickly came to a tall town-house. I could see little of it save that the lamps were still lit behind the first-floor shutters; then I passed under the looming arch of the carriageway into a dark tunnel. There seemed to be a courtyard beyond, but just before we reached it we turned again up an open stair, climbed it, and came through a hallway into a warm, brightly lit room.
It was the most elegant, opulent home I had set foot in since Blennerhassett’s mansion. Candles and crystal sparkled in a lofty chandelier, while two opposing gilt-framed mirrors reflected back the shimmering light. The walls were papered a deep, warm yellow, and a good fire burned in the grate. Yet none of that could keep the chill from my heart as I saw the two men who awaited me. One I did not recognize – a portly, red-faced man of about fifty who sat behind a mahogany desk strewn with papers and an empty decanter. He appeared to be in an advanced state of dissipation: numerous chins sagged down over his throat where the stiff, upright collar of his coat could not contain them, and his wine-stained lips were pursed with the lascivious satisfaction of a man peeping into a lady’s dressing room. His eyes were dark and feminine, his white hair pulled back in a severe widow’s peak. Yet he had clearly found time to make something of his life, for the blue uniform coat he wore was festooned with gold: gold epaulettes dripping golden tassels over his fat shoulders; gold braid blazed across his lapels; gold buttons; and a great gold buckle stamped with a golden eagle on the sword-belt across his chest. He could not have ranked less than a general, though even a field marshal might have felt shabby beside him. Unless there were two generals in New Orleans so eager for my acquaintance that they would abduct me in the middle of the night, it could only be one man. General Wilkinson.
But the general was not alone. Standing in the corner, leaning against the wall and rolling a cigarillo, was a man I knew immediately. I had sat opposite him on the coach to Princeton, chased him through the frozen forest above Bayou Pierre, and felt the touch of his lead. Now Vidal’s path had crossed my own once again, and I was helpless before him. He smiled, baring a familiar row of bone-white teeth.
‘Good evening, Señor Jerrold.’ He waved to the two soldiers who held me. ‘Wait outside the door.’
They loosened their grip and retreated out of the room.
‘What do you want of me?’ I asked Vidal.
He ignored my question and bowed towards the general. ‘Do you know General Wilkinson, Señor Jerrold?’
‘Only by reputation.’
Vidal chuckled. ‘And what is this reputation you have heard?’
‘That he conspired with Burr to betray his country and invade your own. That he then suffered a change of heart and betrayed Burr’s scheme to President Jefferson.’
‘You think the general has betrayed everyone.’ There was a wry amusement in Vidal’s voice. ‘You are mistaken. The general is a true patriot. In fact, he is more patriotic than most men, for he is a patriot of two countries: Spain and the United States both. Is that not so, General?’
Wilkinson stirred, his cascading chins wobbling between the wings of his collar. ‘For two thousand dollars a year, I’d be a patriot to anyone.’
His words were slurred and bloated, in marked contrast to Vidal’s precise humour.
‘The general gains no profit from a war between his paymasters,’ said Vidal.
‘But Burr said—’
Vidal sighed. ‘Colonel Burr – such a mistaken man. He thinks General Wilkinson will start a war and take him to Vera Cruz and all the gold of Mexico. He thinks the English will control Orleans and the Mississippi. Instead, he has nothing.’
I looked around me. ‘Has Burr been captured?’
‘Not yet,’ grunted Wilkinson. ‘But he will be. All the country knows his crimes. It will only be a matter of days before we snare him.’
‘Burr thinks he has many friends, but he is wrong,’ said Vidal. ‘He has instead many enemies. Spain is his enemy. Jefferson is his enemy. Wilkinson is his enemy. All of these, they know what he is doing and they permit him to continue. They see him crawling down the cannon’s mouth and they do nothing. They wait until he comes to the end and is trapped. Then they give the spark, and …’ He balled his fingers into fists, then flicked them apart. ‘Boom.’
‘What will you do to him?’
‘General Wilkinson will send him to Washington to be tried for treason. He will be found guilty, and he will hang.’
‘Colonel Burr has been tried for treason twice already, and acquitted both times,’ I pointed out. ‘I was in court myself. Even the prosecutor admitted there was no evidence to convict.’
I had hoped to dent their confidence. Instead, to my consternation, I only seemed to have added lustre to their polished assurance. Wilkinson leaned across his desk and licked his crimson lips.
‘One fact seems to have escaped you, Lieutenant. When it comes to the courtroom in Washington, the jury will find that a material witness has come forth, one who was not present at the last two trials. Someone who’ll put more rope around Burr’s neck than the hangman himself. Someone who’ll testify that Burr not only planned treason against the United States, but conspired with a foreign power, our oldest enemy, to overthrow the republic.’
By the way he and Vidal were staring at me, I did not struggle to guess the identity of this damning witness. A familiar nausea started to rise in my stomach.
‘But what if I testify that Burr was not the only man in league with a foreign power – that you were a partisan of the Spanish all along?’
Vidal gave an elegant shrug. ‘It does not matter. You are a prisoner and a foreign spy: of course you will say anything against your enemies.’
‘Besides,’ added Wilkinson, ‘by then my co-operation with Mr Vidal will simply seem foresighted. Spain and America will be allies, at war against our common foe.’ A cruel smile etched itself across Wilkinson’s face.
‘If you think Britain will go to war on my account—’
Vidal cut me short. ‘Of course not. They will go to war because President Jefferson will declare war on them. When the country hears that England joined with Burr to steal the Mississippi lands, they will demand it.’
‘But there was no English plot to support Burr,’ I pleaded. ‘The ships were a figment, a fantasy, nothing more.’ The letter in the lining of my coat suddenly weighed heavier than ever.
Vidal tutted. ‘I do not think you came all this way to tell him nothing. But it does not matter. By the time you are in Washington you will know what to say.’ He smiled at me with unalloyed menace. ‘We will teach it to you.’
Vidal crossed to the door and opened it to call in the guards. I turned to Wilkinson.
‘For God’s sake, General, there is no need for you to do this. If you wanted to destroy Burr, then very well – he is lost. If you want me to swear that he is a villain, a liar and a traitor then I will happily oblige you. I myself only came here to thwart his conspiracy. But do not drag me into your courthouse, or make me the pretext for a war between our nations.’
Of course I did not care a whit for my country, but if war came on my account I guessed I would not likely survive it. That was no concern of Wilkinson’s.
‘Of course you disown him now, but a court will decide the truth of it. We will put you on a boat for Washington tomorrow. My duties keep me in New Orleans at present, mopping up the remnant of Burr’s partisans, but I will follow shortly. I will certainly be there in time to see you on the gallows.’
Hook and his men took me back downstairs and into a small courtyard behind the house. I saw the shadows of palm fronds and ferns, and smelled the scent of jasmine in the air, together with the staler smells of horses and men. On one side of the courtyard rose a high, windowless wall; on the other, adjoining the main house, a two-storey outbuilding. I took it to be the stables or the carriage house, but when my captors led me in I found a clean, whitewashed store room piled with sacks of meal and flour. They did not bind me, but contented themselves with bolting the door. There was no furniture in the room, but by rearranging the sacks I made myself a tolerable bed. Outside, the monotone tread of the sentry in the gallery above was the only sound.
However I considered it, it had been a ghastly night. Every one of my enemies, and a few I had not known before, had descended on me in concert, and the best that could be said was that I had exchanged Lyell, who would have killed me immediately, for Wilkinson, who would kill me presently. Catherine, who had professed to love me, had betrayed me, and now it seemed that I was destined to start a war which would surely be the ruin of England. Even by my lamentable standards, that was poor work.
A rare anger possessed me. I flailed about the room kicking at the sacks and pounding on the walls. A white floury cloud filled the air – it was like being back in the forest on the Mississippi, battling Vidal as the snow fell. Outside, I could hear the sentries laughing at my blundering madness, and that spurred me to a greater rage. I had to escape. The wooden door shivered under my blows, and I could hear the clang of the bolt knocking against its shank, but it did not give. I even tried scrabbling at the earthen floor, and soon my hands were stained with a grey paste of mud and flour.
At last, exhausted, I lay back on my bed of sacks. Ever wilder schemes of escape raced through my thoughts, each ending inevitably with visions of Hook and Vidal shooting me down with pistols, or running me through with their swords. I broke into a torrent of uncontrolled sobbing, then fitful convulsions, and eventually settled into blessed sleep. Astonishingly, given what I had endured, I had no nightmares.
I suppose a noise from outside must have woken me, though I was not aware of it. The air was clammy, and though it was not cold I found myself shivering in my damp clothes. A bar of grey light seeped under the door, heralding the dawn; the foreign songs of unknown birds had replaced the tramp of the sentry’s boots. I stood, rubbing my stiff neck.
Iron rasped on the far side of the door as someone drew back the bolt. Even the thought of meeting my enemies again was too much, and I sat back down. I would not resist them, but neither would I oblige them.
The door opened. Outside, the dawn was not so far progressed as I had thought – the night still had a little time to run – and I struggled to recognize the silhouette on the threshold. He seemed too tall for Hook, too thin for Wilkinson and too stooped for Vidal. Whether by a trick of the light or the fashion of his dress, I could see not a patch of white on him, not even his shirt. A low hat covered his eyes, and for a moment I wondered if he might not be the devil himself, come to claim me.
He beckoned me forward. ‘Hurry.’
I was too fuddled to obey. With an anxious glance back into the courtyard, the figure crossed the room and hauled me to my feet. The wide-open door behind him admitted enough of the pre-dawn light that his features became apparent. The ghostly-white skin of his face, the eyes sunk deep in their sockets, the slight stoop brought on by too many weeks serving passengers in the mess room below decks.
It was Mr Fothergill.
Had he not been holding me by my collar, I would have collapsed back onto my sackcloth bed. In some distant region of eternity I could almost hear the gleeful laughter of the malevolent fates who mastered me. First Lyell, then Vidal, now Fothergill: truly all my enemies had conspired to visit me this night. It would not have surprised me to see my uncle loitering in the doorway.
‘Which party sent you?’ I asked wearily. ‘Are you a friend of Lyell’s, an ally of Spain, or some newly manifested enemy?’
Fothergill had already started dragging me towards the door. ‘I am a friend,’ he declared.
I gave a short laugh of disbelief.
‘Or perhaps I should say, the friend of a friend.’
‘I was not aware that I had any left.’
He chuckled. ‘Don’t say that, sir. He’d be sorely affronted to hear it.’
‘Who would be?’
Fothergill poked his head into the courtyard, peered around, then tugged me forward.
‘Why, Mr Nevell, of course.’