his wine, wishing to God that this was a private conversation, with none of his seamen present to hear him proved a gullible cully… again.
'Very rich, distinguished, longtime French Creoles who've resided in New Orleans fifty years or better,' Mr. Pollock informed him, looking as if he was manfully trying to stifle a look of sympathy for just how easily beguiled and 'bamboozled' Capt. Lewrie could be. 'Ah!' Pollock exclaimed, snapping his fingers before turning to his ledgers in a bookcase. He leafed through one mumbling to himself, then 'Hah!' escaped his lips.
' Thought the name was familiar! Two years ago, the de Guilleri family placed an order with us for a china service, made in Paris, settings sufficient for twenty guests, ah ha… well, who am I to quibble with legitimate goods first sent to Holland for trans-shipment, hmmm? Delivered to, ahem! number twenty-six Rue Dauphine, ah ha! Devil of a row with Madame de Guilleri, had to unpack it all to assure her none were broken, all were there, um-hmm… They live on the second storey. Does that comport with what you observed, sir?'
'Well, I didn't act'lly …' Lewrie had to fuddle. 'Didn't get that close. Peekin' round barrels, corners, and such.'
'Final payment referred to the, aha!… Henri Maurepas bank, damn my eyes!' Pollock chortled, whacking the ledger shut in triumph. 'And where have we heard that name, hey, Lewrie? Agent for your prize ship, cross the river? Factor for the de Guilleri plantations up by the Saint Gabriel settlements, and… chief factor for that swindler Bistineau's store as well! Intriguing, how all these names cluster together,' Mr. Pollock asked with a parrot-like cock of his head and a lop-sided, ghastly smile. 'Ain't it?'
'So she could steer me to the people who back the pirates, as she claimed, ' Lewrie further intuited, taking what comfort he could from being 'played' like a fiddle. 'So I must see her again, after she gets back from her Easter visit to her parents…'
'Leaving town, are they?' Pollock said, wincing in thought.
'For a few weeks, at least. I told her I was going upcountry on your behalf, and we should get together once we're both returned,' Lewrie explained. 'Though, given all you've learned for us, we might be able to strike out before…'
'A disturbing information, though, Lewrie,' Pollock said with a 'shushing' hand raised once more. 'An oyster shucker and a swabber at the Pigeon Coop, spoken to by my… domestics, further told them that the younger de Guillens, and an impoverished cousin of theirs by name of Rancour-Jean Rancour-seem to have come into some money of late and are spending very freely. More so than they did when on their absentee parents' allowances at any rate. And that the cousin, who hasn't had two farthings t'rub together since his family escaped Saint-Domingue, has been gambling very deep and doesn't seem to mind his losses all that much. Far be it from me to decide for you on this matter, but were I in your position, I might begin to… '
Whatever it was that Pollock wished to impart was interrupted by a soft and hesitant tapping on the glass panes of the office door.
'Come!' Pollock cried, whipping out his pocket watch as if his head clerk had been fetched in record time for a row cross the river's fierce currents. 'Hah!' he cried, though, once the door had opened.
Damme, what a vixen! Lewrie instantly thought, seeing a woman enter, her beauty and the richness of her ensemble half-concealed by a light, hooded cloak against the misty night airs. For a second, he could espy a stout older Black who remained outside, one who held his lanthorn on a pole in one hand, and a cudgel in the other.
Bright… 'Fancy, ' an Octoroon or better, Lewrie appraised to himself, nigh to uttering 'Woof!' and ruing that he hadn't 'sampled' the town's more exotic females after all. What a stunner! he further thought as the woman tossed back her hood, put in mind of the half-European, half-Hindoo bints he'd seen in the Far East, with her eyes so almond-shaped and a teaspoon away from Chinese, or something…
'Gideon!' the young woman happily cried out, stepping close to him, her exotically alluring eyes alight with mischief, or a victory; certainly with affection, which made Lewrie think Aha! to discover Mr. Pollock's close-held secret at last. 'Mon cher, you must hear…'
'Colette, ah… ahem! You shouldn't, ah… ' Pollock flummoxed, blushing hot as a farrier's forge. 'Mean t'say…'
'Madame Pollock, I presume?' Lewrie brightly intruded from the other side, stepping forward quickly. 'Allow me to name myself to you… Alan Willoughby, one of your husband's associates. Enchante, madame!'
The young woman inclined her head, preening-pleased to be named 'Madame Pollock' whether it was a thin fiction or not. She offered her hand French-style, which Lewrie dashingly took, sketching a kiss on the back of it. Mr. Pollock actually growled as she dropped him a curtsy.
'Er, um, yess,' Pollock hissed. 'My dear, this is men's…'
'We 'ave found the girl who meets with Monsieur… Willoughby!' Colette Pollock gushed, all but bouncing on her toes with excitement. 'Maman … pardon, my maid, messieurs… finds she is a de Guilleri. I and Scipio, our man, find where she live, oui? A Bayou Saint John boy on 'is produce cart show us. And as we watch, you never guess, Gideon!'
'We know, dear, so… ' Pollock patronisingly tried to say.
'The de Guilleris, they decamp!' Colette protested. 'A washerwoman who work for the D'Ablemonts in the downstairs, she say Charite come home after dusk, dress-ed tres fine. Then, full dark come, both her brothers come home, tres rapidement. That, Scipio and I are there to see! They have hide guns under their cloaks, and we have heard the shooting noises somewhere in town while we wait, before-
Christ shit on a biscuit! Lewrie thought, his innards chilling as the implications of that struck him; She?… No, it couldn't be!
'Soon, come two more young gentilshommes, with guns aussi, with a country coach,' Colette breathlessly imparted, almost gulping at her own daring. 'Dress-ed mos' rough, comme des Acadiens? Like Acadians I mean, the huntsmen, comprenez I ask Scipio to go talk with coachman, apres young men enter, oui? And I see them in the upstairs windows, Gideon! Et, coachman tell Scipio they hire him to take ferry over river to the Bois Gervais road, only pay for short trip, n'est-ce pas? Tell him, they will take boat down bayous there. Ensuite … pardon, then, few minute later, all come down, and enter the coach, and la jeune fille, Mademoiselle Charite I am thinking, is dress-ed a la rustique, Acadian, aussi! Carmagnole, bonnet, skirted, avec the boots? All 'ave long and heavy canvas bag, same as sailors? The coachman whip away tres rapidement, comme un fou … like the mad!'
'Ho-ly… God!' Lewrie slowly breathed, realising the guilty import of all that Pollock's 'wife' had seen. 'Damme, I've been…'
'It would, ah… so appear, sir,' Mr. Pollock sadly commiserated, sounding so earnestly sympathetic Lewrie could have gut-shot him on the spot if he didn't have a pack of witnesses!
My God, I've been had! Lewrie scathed himself, just about ready to reel off his feet and plunk himself down in a chair; How big a fool have I been? She was in on it all along. She was laughing up her damn sleeve, they all were, playing me like a piccolo from the-
'You are pale, m'sieur Willoughby?' Colette Pollock solicitously enquired of his pallor, his febrile, anxious look; his silent lip-mumbles and scowl, too, it must here be noted.
