Yes, and sometimes it seems I am the only one with any sense at all! Charite Angelette de Guilleri smugly thought as she gave her elder brother a hug for his praise.
"A young woman who would make any fortunate man a most formidable and sensible wife," Don Rubio Monaster dared to say, colouring at once to blurt out his dearest desire.
"Why, thank you, Rubio, aren't you so sweet?" Charite brightly, "sugarly," replied, batting her lashes and acting the guileless Creole coquette for a moment.
A nice boy! she deemed him, though; Good puppy… sit up, beg! But so slavish, mon Dieu! Oh, quel dommage… he has his uses, too.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ah, well," Mr. Gideon Pollock said with a heavy sigh of disappointment, once Lewrie had related the results of his hours spent "shopping" and comparing prices. "I suppose I must delve into things myself."
"Sorry, Mister Pollock," Lewrie replied with a whimsical shrug. "But I fear my forte ain't in Commerce. Without making notes, which'd have got me thrown out on my ear, I couldn't keep track of it. Whereas you know to the farthing what's a fair price. No scribblin' necessary with you, d'ye see. It's all up here," he said as he tapped his forehead.
"Um, yayss… ahem," Pollock said with a somewhat dubious expression, and another of his cough-twitch-whinnies; questioning, perhaps, whether Lewrie possessed anything inside his skull.
"At least Jugg and I did meet with that Ellison fellow, him and his reeky gang," Lewrie pointed out. "Seemed quite the 'Captain Sharp' to me. He admitted he was tied up in that state of Franklin affair."
"Well, that would depend on who are his employers," Mr. Pollock grudgingly allowed, fretting round the super-cargo's spacious cabin on the Azucena del Oeste, transferring possessions from his sea chests to a leather valise, "tut-tutting" and "ha-humming" to himself as he sorted out clean shirts, stockings, neck-stocks, underdrawers, and his slim wardrobe of waist-coats and trousers. "I would expect that Ellison most likely is an agent for richer men, as he baldly stated to you. In what capacity, however… ahem. After he left your ken, though, Mister James Hawk Ellison came aboard our emporium hulk."
"As I suggested," Lewrie reminded the man, hoping that his day's work had borne some fruit, "that he look at the air-rifles and-"
"Which he and his fellows did," Pollock said with a crafty grin, interrupting his packing long enough to turn and smile at Lewrie. "And they were all most desirous of arms and ammuniton. Not merely muskets or pistols, but heavier ordnance, as well, hmm! Mister Ellison asked of the availability of brass four-pounders, or old regimental guns… brass six-pounders, or 'grasshopper' guns, Coehorn mortars and such."
"Aha! I knew the man wasn't straight!" Lewrie boasted, since it looked like he might be the only one to do so over his covert delvings. "So, he's the vanguard of a Yankee invasion?"
"His service during the Revolution, which Ellison revealed to me as quickly as he did to you," Pollock smugly said as he carefully folded a pair of white silk stockings, "does worry me a bit. Oh, that he's involved with some sort of filibustering expedition, I have no doubt. I fear, though, that is our Mister Ellison still a serving officer in the American Army, he just might have been sent to New Orleans by an incredibly aspiring man by name of General James Wilkinson, Lewrie. An aspiring man, indeed, ahem."
And damn all spies, Foreign Office, amateur, or otherwise! Lewrie sourly thought; Twigg, Pelham, Peel, this clod, they're all the same… smug when they know something you don't, and damn' near pissin' themselves for you t 'beg 'em t'tell it to you!
"And who is James Wilkinson when he's up and dressed?" he asked finally, in almost a rote monotone, which lack of enthusiasm stopped Pollock dead in his tracks and made him turn, twitch-whinny, and glare.
"Wilkinson is the senior officer in charge of the American Army, which garrisons the states of Tennessee and Kentucky, Lewrie," Pollock archly cooed, "which is rather ironic, since before Kentucky became an established state in the Union in 1792, Wilkinson was scheming to seize the whole damned thing and make it a personal fief! He might have done the same for Tennessee, had he not been opposed by a set of politicians, lawyers, and planters even richer and more influential than he could ever hope to be. General Wilkinson came down to New Orleans himself in 1787, when the former Captain-General of Louisiana recruited him as a secret agent. He's known to the Dons as Agent Thirteen… bad luck for someone, hey? Wilkinson's well thought of by many in the Congress and just may end up the Commanding General of the United States Army in a new administration! He's rumoured to be close to Mister Thomas Jefferson and his faction, and Jefferson 's rumoured to be planning to oppose their current president, John Adams.
"Horrid idea, that," Pollock quibbled, looking disgusted with Democracy's machinations. "Set terms for public office keep bad men in place too long, and depose good'uns… when our way lets us call a by-election if one of ours proves himself a criminal or a fool."
"They're an odd people, our Yankee Doodles." Lewrie snickered. "The way that fellow Ellison just blurted out his whole life story to me in the first ten minutes… prosed on worse than a jobless Irish poet! You think Ellison and his crew were sent here to spy out things for Wilkinson? If he can't have Kentucky or Tennessee, he still hopes to strike out on his own and take Louisiana… for the United States, or himself?"
"A very good possibility, given his past proclivities, Lewrie." Mr. Pollock sagaciously leered before returning to his packing. "If Ellison reports on how weak the Spanish garrisons are, Wilkinson may invade the Muscle Shoals, Yazoo, or Alabama River country right off. The Spanish have very little control there. Acting on Jefferson 's behest, he would raise his political prospects to the top of the heap with such a land-grab… and eclipse any of his potential opponents."
"If the Americans start a war with Spain, it wouldn't be much of one," Lewrie surmised. "Not with re-enforcements so distant. Not as long as we're at war with 'em, and the Royal Navy in the way. And the American Navy to guard the approaches to the Gulf…"
"Unless we side with Spain against the Yankees, Lewrie. So we gain concessions in Louisiana and Florida to buttress the Dons. Then we also tear them away from France 's embrace," Mr. Pollock dreamily speculated, head cocked to one side. "Didn't think o' that'un, did ye, hey? Ahem."
"My word, I-"
"Cheaper than mounting an expedition from Jamaica, and another all the way downriver from Canada," Pollock wheezed with merriment at the possibility. "My firm with an exclusive franchise from the Crown in these lands for good service… Ah!" Pollock took a long moment to savour that outcome, then suddenly sobered. "Unless," he grumped, "Ellison's been sicced on me to catch me selling arms, acting on suspicions inside the Cabildo… or General Wilkinson's way of eliminating a British firm he suspects. Or, is in competition with commerical cronies backing his secret plans. Either way, avoid Ellison and his men like the plague, Lewrie. You've bigger fish to fry, heh heh! You've our mysterious pirates to smoak out… Lanxade and Balfa need running to earth. For now, those Yankees are an idle distraction. For my part, I shan't sell them more than a few trade muskets… profitable though such a transaction would be. There's too much risk from exposure, and a very public trial for spying. Quickly followed a public garotting," Pollock warned, involuntarily massaging his own neck.