A Matter of Honor (Dusty Fog Civil War Book 6) Page 7

  ‘You will not be disappointed, mon cher General,’ Francoise promised, showing no such signs of intoxication. Slipping from the grasp of the burly officer, she made for the dressing-table and continued, ‘But first, although as I have told you, I do not usually drink the hard liquor, let me join you in our own private toast to the gas which burns like the acid and will bring you the victory in Arkansas.’

  ‘S—Sure, let’sh do that!’ Buller authorized, reeling on far from steady legs to collapse rather than sit on the bed. ‘You pour-sh the son-of-a-bitch out ’n’ you ’n’ me’sh’ll drink her down. Only don’t go taking too long-sh to be doing it, Fren-chie-gal. I’m all-sh hot ’n’ ready for what you’sh been promising me all-sh night!’

  Although he had been most impressed by what he had seen in the laboratory, the comment made by the redhead had served to warn the General that he might be premature in believing his military problems were solved. Therefore, instead of having accepted the demonstration as conclusive proof, he had sought enlightenment on the point she had raised. What he had heard was satisfactory. According to David Aaranovitch, there would be no great difficulty in employing the liquid and the resultant gasses against the Confederate soldiers. This could be done either by means of the kind of artillery shell used to deliver incendiary compounds, or by allowing the gasses to be blown to them on the wind.

  In the latter case, the chemist had asserted, this could be done without danger to the dispatchers provided the precautions he outlined were adhered to.

  Prompted further by the redhead, who had claimed her sole interest was in ascertaining whether it would be safe for her to accompany him to Arkansas, Buller had asked whether an adequate supply of the fluid could be prepared in the vicinity of his headquarters. He was assured by Aaranovitch that, in addition to four carboys made ready for use, the ingredients for more were available and all the equipment required to mix them had been obtained. In fact, the chemist had stated, it was possible to leave and recommence manufacture the following morning if necessary. On being asked if she was satisfied, Francoise had said she was and would now be willing to accept the offer of sponsorship made by the General.

  Delighted by having discovered both aspects of his affairs were apparently progressing in the manner he desired, Buller had announced he was in the mood for a celebration. Nor had he been willing to wait until returning to his hotel in Washington, District of Columbia. Instead, accompanied by Francoise and Aaranovitch he had returned to the entrance hall of the mansion. Finding it empty, he had been led by the chemist to the comfortably furnished quarters of Major Saul Montreigen on the second floor. Finding his two lieutenants were there, he had demanded rather than requested liquor to toast the result of Aaranovitch’s efforts, making what he had clearly considered the witty comment that he did not doubt the liquor had been purchased with his money. Nor, such was the state of his exhilaration, had he raised any objections when the redhead declined to drink on the grounds that she found doing so had an adverse effect upon her physical condition. Praising her desire to keep in trim, he had not shown a similar abstinence.

  After having darted a lascivious glance at Francoise, Montreigen had set about getting his superior drunk in the hope of producing a stupor which would leave her unattended for the night. It seemed that the ploy would succeed, Buller soon proving to be unable to carry his liquor. What was more, due to his ebullient frame of mind, the whiskey he had consumed did not arouse the truculence his subordinates had seen it produce on previous occasions. Instead, he had described the display he had seen in the former kitchen and had grown heavily jocular with the lieutenants over his having saved them from watching the gruesome end of the rats.

  Unfortunately for the major, his designs upon the redhead failed to materialize. Giving no indication of suspecting what he had in mind, she had remarked pointedly to the General that she had been promised ‘dinner’ and was ready to indulge in it. Taking the hint, Buller had announced they would be leaving. He had also given orders for Montreigen to make everything ready to set out for Arkansas by noon the following day. Then, carrying along an unopened bottle of whiskey, he had escorted her to the waiting Concord coach. Ordering the same mode of travel, he and she had gone inside while the lieutenants rode on the box.

  Once again respecting the disinclination of the slender girl to be the recipient of his attentions until they arrived at their destination, the General had instead contrived to empty the bottle during the return journey. Such was his state of intoxication, he had required the assistance of the lieutenants to ascend to the third floor of the luxurious hotel. It said much for the sturdy condition of the building that, despite the hour being well past midnight, the noise he made had not disturbed anybody while this had been taking place. On reaching his suite, he had told the pair that he could manage. Leaving them to go to the second bedroom they were sharing and, assisted by Francoise, he entered his own sleeping quarters.

  On reaching the dressing table, the redhead placed her parasol and reticule on it. Without removing her hat or turning the light of the lamp hanging from a hook above it any higher, she took and removed the stopper from a crystal decanter on a tray. A sniff informed her the contents were brandy and, glancing over her shoulder to where the General sat swaying on the edge of the bed and fumbling at the buttons of his, tunic, she poured a generous quantity into the glasses which were also supplied by the hotel. However, she did not turn immediately. Instead, her right forefinger pressed at the side of the bulky gold ring she wore on her left hand. The top flipped up to reveal a cavity from which she poured the white powder it held into one of the glasses. Closing the cover of the ring, she shook the glass gently until the additive had dissolved without in any way leaving evidence of its presence in the liquor.

  ‘Here you are, mon cher General,’ Francoise said, crossing to the bed and offering the glass to which she had added the powder. ‘To the success you deserve!’

  ‘T—To the shuck-shess I desh-erve!’ Buller repeated, grasping the glass and peering at it owlishly.

  ‘Such a toast must be drunk to the very bottom of the glass,’ the redhead asserted and made as if to carry out her instructions.

  Nodding and using both hands to do so, the General raised and tilted the entire contents into his mouth. Gagging and spitting some of it out, he nevertheless contrived to send the greater part down his throat. Then, throwing the glass aside, he once more began to fumble at the buttons. His mouth slobbered, making what were supposed to be profanities, as he found his fingers were failing to obey the dictates of his mind. Snarling with rage, he made as if to rise.

  ‘Let me help!’ Francoise offered, throwing the contents of her glass on to the floor and setting it upon the bedside table.

  Although it was unlikely the General understood what was said, he made no attempt to resist as the redhead reached for the front of his tunic. Instead, he began to sway forward and his head flopped involuntarily from side to side. Shoving him backwards across the bed, where he sprawled breathing torturously, she straightened and looked down with an expression of loathing.

  ‘I should kill you for what you’re planning to do!’ the beautiful young woman hissed, picking up a pillow and holding it over the porcine face of the burly man. ‘It would be so easy and I’d like nothing better after what I saw tonight, but that isn’t the way to do what needs doing!’

  Buller would never know how close he had been to death at that moment!

  The words were spoken with heartfelt bitterness, but no longer after the fashion of a person employing a language other than that of her birth!

  Instead, the voice was that of a well-educated Southron!

  Montreigen had been closer to the truth than he realized when asking if the girl who had been introduced as ‘Francoise, from Sault-Sainte-Marie, Ontario, Canada’ was from New Orleans. While this was not the case, she had been born and raised in Louisiana and frequently visited that city before the War. Her name was Belle Boyd and, seeking vengea
nce upon the men who caused the murder of her parents, she had acquired such fame as a member of the Confederate States’ Secret Service that she had been awarded the sobriquet ‘the Rebel Spy’, among friends arid foes alike. xiii

  Delivering dispatches to Mrs. Amy Cutler, who operated an efficient spy ring based in Washington, Belle had been asked for assistance. Although it was generally accepted by the authorities that Aaranovitch was trying to create a new system of preserving foodstuffs under the sponsorship of Buller, whose fortune was made by producing such commodities, the madam had been suspicious. However, she had so far failed to satisfy her curiosity. So excellent was the system of guarding developed by Montreigen, she had been unable to have an examination of the mansion carried out. Nor had any of the soldiers employed there known more than that some kind of ‘scientifical’ experimentation was being performed by the chemist.

  Learning that the General was on his way to the capital, ostensibly for discussion with his superiors, Mrs. Cutler had deduced the experiments had been concluded successfully. Knowing of his hobby of watching women fight, and having been told of the dinner party to which he was to be invited, she had decided his erotic taste in entertainment could be made to serve her purpose. Arranging for George Wigg to be told how he might best ingratiate himself with Buller, she had been asked to supply the means. Lotte was a frequent contender in such events, although not a member of the spy ring and unaware of its existence. Therefore, knowing of Belle’s ability at savate and other forms of unarmed combat, the madam had suggested she act as opponent for the blonde. Accepting the proposition, the Rebel Spy had dyed her always short-cropped black hair to the violent shade of red and stained her skin to the appropriate hue to become the ‘French-Canadian Francoise’.

  As originally envisaged, wishing to avoid the chance of her sustaining injuries which reduced her ability to defend herself should anything go wrong, Belle was merely to make a pretense of fighting with Lotte. Having done so on previous occasions, the blonde would not have been suspicious about such instructions. When the bout had ended, with her as the ‘loser’, the ‘redhead’ would then have complained to Buller that she was under orders which had precluded her from doing her utmost and winning. Then, employing her considerable histrionic ability, she was to try and win his confidence by stressing her alleged enjoyment of engaging in serious combat against members of her sex. On learning of this, it had been hoped he would extend an invitation for her to accompany him to Arkansas.

  Circumstances had offered another way of bringing about the invitation!

  On arriving at the mansion, Mrs. Cutler had been informed that Mary Wilkinson was present as a guest. Mrs. Cutler had taken advantage of Lotte being absent to answer the call of nature and alerted Belle to her background and attitudes. Neither had envisaged her participation in the way it had happened, but had decided she might issue a challenge on seeing the poor display being given by the supposedly bitter rivals. Therefore, the madam had kept a surreptitious watch on the audience. Despite having been unable to overhear what was being said, she had drawn the correct conclusions from the sight of the brunette starting to disrobe after concluding her conversation with Buller. In what had passed as a signal for her ‘young ladies’ to give a more convincing performance, she had warned Belle of the possibility of an unannounced intervention. By suggesting they should get to their feet, Belle had been ready to defend herself when the attack by the brunette was launched. While she would have preferred to deal with Mary unaided and had taken the earliest opportunity with which she was presented to render the blonde hors de combat, remembering what she had been told, she had felt not the slightest compunction over the punishment she had inflicted upon the brunette. She had drawn consolation by knowing Lotte would be well compensated for the way in which the affair had turned out.

  Granted the opportunity to exhibit her skill, instead of merely having to imply its existence verbally, Belle had succeeded in arousing the interest of the General. Then, reverting to the original plan, she had persuaded him to let her join him in seeing the result of the work carried out by Aaranovitch. However, regardless of the way in which she had flaunted her half-naked body before his lascivious gaze at the conclusion of the fight, she had had no intention of allowing him to achieve his intentions so far as she was concerned when they reached the hotel. She had been prepared to prevent this happening, and was assisted by the way he had behaved in his delight over what he had seen and learned about the use of the liquid.

  Tossing aside the pillow with a gesture redolent of regret, Belle glanced around the room. Secure in the knowledge that it would be several hours before Buller recovered from the effects of the opiate she had administered, she decided to find out if he was carrying or had with him any documents which might be of use to the Confederate States’ Secret Service and High Command. Apart from a thick wad of bank notes, which she made no attempt to remove, his wallet held nothing. Returning it to the inside pocket of his tunic, she went to check the contents of the dressing table’s drawers.

  These yielded only a bulky leather dispatch case, the fastening strap of which was locked. Raising the hem of her skirt, she pulled from its place of concealment in the leg of the right high buttoned shoe a small piece of metal shaped like a modern golfer’s ‘iron’ club. A few manipulations with the curved ‘head’ of the device caused the lock’s mechanism to operate and freed the strap. However, on examination of the documents, she discovered they were merely concerned with routine matters of no special significance or importance.

  Closing and relocking the case, Belle replaced it and continued her search. Satisfied that her efforts were not worthwhile, she returned the lock pick to its hiding place and went to the bed. Showing her repugnance of the task, she removed Buller’s boots and pungently smelling socks. Raising his no more aromatic bare feet on to the quilt, she laid him comfortably. Then, collecting the reticule and parasol, she went to the second of the room’s doors. Unlocking and opening it, she closed it behind her and walked along the dimly lit passage towards the stairs leading to the lower floors.

  Setting off to rendezvous with a waiting member of the spy ring and tell of her discovery, the Rebel Spy thought with satisfaction of how she had been helped in her assignment by Buller’s choice of temporary accommodation. Being aware that many of the clientele might wish secrecy in the comings and goings from their rooms, particularly during the night, the hotel had built up a well-deserved reputation for the privacy it offered. Not only were the rooms practically sound proof, the thick carpets allowed guests to arrive or leave with little noise. A further aid to this was provided by having the locks and hinges of every door kept well oiled to eliminate squeaking. Although there was a small staff available from midnight, they remained in the kitchen at the rear and only went upstairs in response to a signal from the bell with which each room was equipped.

  Even as Belle was drawing her conclusions, she learned the efforts at securing privacy for the guests also had disadvantages!

  Continuing to refrain from mentioning his suspicions, being unwilling to share any praise if they should prove correct and feeling sure Cryer would report him to Buller as a means of gaining approval in the event of him being wrong, Flannery had made preparations to keep the ‘redhead’ under surveillance. Removing his colpack busby hat, dolman jacket and boots on entering the second bedroom, he had waited a few minutes without undressing any further until his companion had fallen asleep. Then he had reached and looked through the keyhole of the sitting room’s connecting door while ‘Francoise’ was picking the lock on the dispatch case.

  Wanting to be able to present as strong a case as possible, realizing his superior would be far from pleased to hear what had happened, Flannery had allowed his intended victim to go into the passage instead of entering and capturing her by the bed. Then, taking advantage of the well-oiled hinges, he left the suite by the door of the sitting room. Following silently across the thick carpet which—unbeknown to him— the girl
was admiring for its sound-muffling qualities, he had decided how he would deal with her. The method he had selected was to offer even greater benefits than he envisaged.

  Coming into range without his presence being detected, Flannery caught Belle by the right wrist and bicep to twist the arm behind her back in a hammerlock. Taken with the pain of the hold, surprise caused her to drop her parasol and reticule. Apart from containing a piece of possibly incriminating evidence, in the form of a key for Mrs. Cutler’s private entrance to the brothel, the loss of the latter was of no special consequence. However, having a powerful spring loaded billy telescoped in the detachable handle, the former would have offered her a readily accessible weapon. What was more, the way in which she was grasped prevented her from employing another protective device she had on her person.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Flannery demanded, bringing his captive to a halt.

  ‘I—I am searching for the—lavatory, do you call it?’ Belle answered, retaining sufficient presence of mind to employ her “Francoise” manner of speaking.

  ‘There’s a chamberpot under the bed,’ the lieutenant pointed out.

  ‘Oui, m'sieur,’ the “redhead” conceded. ‘But I thought M’sieur le General would need to vomit when he wakes up and would not wish to put his face close to the shit to do it.’

  ‘I might have believed you if I hadn’t seen you going through his dispatch case,’ Flannery claimed. ‘As it is, I’m going to take you into the basement and make you talk!’

  With that, the lieutenant gave a push intended to start the girl moving. Giving a gasp, she let her body relax and leaned backwards. Shifting her weight on to the right foot while doing so, she swung her left arm upwards. Passing it rapidly around his right arm, she caught hold of his left wrist with her hand. A startled exclamation burst from him as he found his arms locked. Swinging her left leg in front of his, she pivoted her slender body to the right and, by applying pressure on his right arm, caused him to flip over in a half somersault.