Shadowbrook Part 38

A third step. A fourth. Lorene did not turn around to see if the slaves were doing what they were told. She had reached her son and she knelt beside him and lifted his head onto her lap. Such a sweet baby, he'd been. Who would believe, knowing the man he'd grown to be, that she had so rejoiced in his survival? Her dear boy. At least that's what he'd been then. With one hand she pressed the edges of John's wound tightly together, and with the other used the skirt of her pink and white calico frock to begin sopping up the blood.

Clemency came in and bent down and gathered Taba into her arms and Lorene allowed herself a small, soundless sigh of relief. It would be fine now. As long as she had the Washerwoman on her side the others would surely follow. Clemency, Lorene knew, was the keeper of their souls.

Jeremiah and Six-Finger Sam came into the room and began dealing with the body. Lorene watched them, saying nothing, her thoughts a jumble of questions without answers. Hamish Stewart, almost a quarter century after he'd spent three weeks with them dead in her house, dead in her house at the hands of a Patent slave. Dear Lord, why? What had brought him here in the first place? What possible quarrel could he have with John? "Runsabout, those papers by the fireplace. Get them for me."

The girl did as she was told. Lorene looked up and smiled when she took the papers from Runsabout's hands, pleased by the slave's unquestioning obedience. Her heart was beating less furiously now. John was flushed and feverish, but he too was breathing easier and the bleeding had stopped. He would live and Sally Robin would know what to do for his arm. No more questions. Everything would be fine.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 19, 1757.

MONTReAL.

"SO, MA SOEUR, you have waited a long time for me, I am told."

"Not so long, mon General. Four days only."

Nicole sat with her hands folded in her lap. Her veil was thrown back as it was worn inside the monastery. Mother Abbess had said she was not to cover her face. "You are, for these few days-a week perhaps, however long it is until you return to us-dispensed from your vows, Soeur Stephane. You will wear your habit because it will protect you, but you are, en effet, no longer ..." She stopped, as if she could not bear to speak The abbess had already explained that while she was away from the monastery Nicole's vow of enclosure would exist only in her heart. "Pere Antoine says you must ..." Finally Marie Marie Rose found the strength to ask the question that most tormented her. "Ma pet.i.te, after you do this thing that is, I am absolutely certain, the will of G.o.d, you will return to us?"

"Bien sur, ma Mere!" Nicole had been astounded. "I have sworn. I would never break my word to Almighty G.o.d, or to you. Never. Jamais, jamais, jamais."

"Jamais," the abbess repeated Then, for the first time, she touched Nicole's cheek.

The little nun looked lost in her own thoughts. Montcalm cleared his throat to gain her attention. "The Grey Nuns have been treating you well?"

"Oui, mon General. They have been entirely too kind." The sisters of Notre Dame had a home for foundlings and the dest.i.tute in the Hopital General of Montreal. It was a short walk from this grand house where for the past four days, since the marquis de Montcalm's return to the city, she had sat and waited for him to find time to see her. It had been arranged-by Pere Antoine, she presumed, since he had arranged everything else-that the Grey Nuns would give her hospitality as long as she was in Montreal. The room they gave her was one reserved for visits from their benefactors, who, they a.s.sured her, were the finest families in New France. It was no doubt so. The guest room of the Grey Nuns had a featherbed, and numerous quilts piled high on a shelf within arm's reach. It was summer, she did not need the quilts, but she had slept under one each night. Just to remember how it felt. Mon Dieu, I am a wretched sinner. When I am back in my cloister I will beg for permission to take the discipline every night.

"I regret that you have been kept waiting, nonetheless. Now, Soeur Stephane, what have you brought me that was so urgent it could not be put in the hands of anyone else?" His aide had tried a number of times to take whatever it was she wanted to give the marquis, but the little nun was adamant.

The aide had reported her exact words. "I have sworn to Almighty G.o.d, monsieur. From my hand to that of Monsieur le General."

Now that it was no longer necessary Nicole was embarra.s.sed by her obstinacy. "I apologize, Monsieur le General, but-"

Montcalm waved aside her words. "I understand, ma Soeur. You are a soldier under orders, no? And your General is indeed the most high command to which we must all answer."

He had some charm, this man of war. But then, they always did. Papa had been charming as well. Before the barbarities of the battle and after it. It was only during battle that he, that all these soldiers, gave in to their animal nature. And how the crowds cheered them for it. The marquis de Montcalm had returned to Montreal in triumph. The entire populace stood in the street to welcome him with shouts of approval. Women threw flowers at his feet. As for the bloodshed and the desolation ... War was always the same.

Nicole reached into the deep pocket of her brown habit and withdrew a narrow tube of black oilcloth no longer than the span of her two hands, and as thick as three of her fingers. It had been pinned inside so there was no danger of it being lost. Nicole had no idea what it was, only that she was charged to literally guard it with her life. For the sake of a million souls, Soeur Stephane. For the glory of Almighty G.o.d and Holy Church and our Seraphic Order. Of what value the life of one young woman compared to such a vast responsibility? None.

"I present you this on behalf of Pere Antoine Rubin de Montaigne, the Delegate to New France of the Minister General of the Order of Friars Minor. Pere Antoine begs to inform His Excellency that what is contained herein is of the utmost importance to the defense of New France." Every word exactly as she had been instructed. Nicole breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The important part of this trial was over. She would deal with the many wounds to her conscience once she was back in her monastery.

"So, the defense of the whole empire? Nothing less? That is surely a heavy charge for such a young nun." Montcalm started to untie the ribbons that secured both ends of the tube of oilcloth.

"Not as heavy as yours, Monsieur le General. I will pray every day for your success. And that this war might soon end." Nicole stood up. "If you will excuse me, it is time I returned to-"

"Sit down, ma soeur. I insist. I must show you at least some hospitality in return for your patience. And for your bringing me something so important it bears on the defense of all New France." The marquis rang the bell on his desk.

A footman appeared, so quickly she knew he had been waiting right outside the door. Nicole had no choice but to sit down.

"Bring some wine," Montcalm instructed. "And some of the biscuits we had yesterday. And some of those sugared almonds. Vitement, s'il vous plait We have kept the little nun waiting with no refreshments. She will wonder if we are all peasants here in Mont-"

"Monsieur le General, please, I a.s.sure you, nothing is necessary. I must return to the Grey Nuns. They are expecting me."

"Of course. I will send you in my private carriage. And you will bring the good sisters some gifts as well. Two extra bottles of wine," Montcalm told the footman. "The Lafite of 1749. And biscuits and almonds for the Grey Nuns as well as for us. Vite, vite! What are you waiting for?"

The presence of the little nun calmed him. It was absurd. She was probably the age of his youngest daughter. But there was something about her. Something ... Montcalm searched for the word. Gracious, he decided. She has a natural grace. And mon Dieu, I have seen little enough of grace these past days.

The house Montcalm had chosen as his headquarters overlooked the Champ-de-Mars. Today no soldiers drilled there. The parade ground was fidl of Indians, the Potawatomi and Nip.i.s.sing and Ottawa and Huron who had been with him at Fort William Henry. And whatever captives remained. Some of the savages had ignored the bargain he'd offered before they left the killing ground they had made of his battlefield of honor.

The general rose from his chair and walked to the window, peering down at the activity below. Nicole watched him. He was not as tall as Papa had been, and his belly was round and stuck out too far. Not as impressive in his uniform as Papa had been in his. What would the marquis think if he knew she was the daughter of an English officer?

"Do you know what it is they are doing out there, ma Soeur?"

"I am told that on your instructions the government of New France is paying ransom to the Indians for the English captives. So that they may be retumed to their homes."

"Oui. You are told correctly, ma Soeur."

"It is a wonderful act of Christian charity, mon General. You will be given a great reward in heaven."

"It is a pitifid gesture," Montcalm whispered. "An attempt to salve my conscience for what I must do in this barbaric place where my allies are savages without whom I cannot do my duty to my king."

Nicole did not think she must comment. He was looking out the window and he did not seem to speak to her. His French, she noted, had the lilt of Provence about it. Grandmere had once had a cook from that part of France. She too spoke in that singsong way, ending each word with what Nicole thought of as a little upturned breath. But the dishes that came from her kitchen ... A confit de canard to which had been added cloves and garlic, and a thin bread topped with onions and tiny salted fish. Nicole sighed. More culpas to confess when she was again in Quebec. Memories of such food were not appropriate for a Poor Clare.

Montcalm turned away from the bustle on the Champs-de-Mars. Nothing to be gained by watching. Or reproaching himself still further. Attend to the little nun. "So where is that footman with our gouter? Ah, he arrives just as I mention him. Excellent. Leave everything. I will serve the good sister myself."

The servant set the tray on a gilt side table and left the room. The general busied himself with pouring wine into two small goblets of exquisite crystal. "It is from my private cellar, ma Soeur. I cannot say from my very own vineyards. At Candiac-that is my home in Provence-I have magnificent olives and almonds, but not great grapes. Our soil and our climate are not the friends of wine that one finds in Bordeaux. Try this, ma Soeur. You will enjoy it, I'm sure."

She could not refuse the wine the marquis de Montcalm had himself poured for her. One sip only. A little one. Then she would find a way to dispose of what was left. A small penance, because-Mon Dieu. How long since she had tasted such a wine. "It is truly delicious, Monsieur le General. Truly."

"Yes, it is. These almonds, as well. We grow them at Candiac, then we send them to Montargis to be sugar-coated. Do you know them?"

"When I was a girl, my Grandmere" ... No, she must not speak of such things. She had made her choices. "The abbess of my monastery, Mere Marie Rose, she is from a place not far from Montargis. She entered the Poor Clares there. Before she came to Quebec to make our foundation. Do you know our monastery, Monsieur le General? We are very small and poor, but-"

"I am told you are very holy women, you Poor Clares." Montcalm's mood suddenly changed. He almost whispered the next words. "I require your prayers, Soeur Stephane."

"We pray for our brave soldiers every day, Monsieur le General. You can rely on that."

"And for me personally. Will you be my personal emissary to le bon Dieu, ma Soeur?"

"Absolument, mon General."

"Bon." Montcalm returned to his desk. He shot another quick glance toward the parade ground where the conclusion to the filthy business that had ended the battle of Fort William Henry was taking place. At least as much of a conclusion as he could arrange. He could not restore to life dead women and children, or unarmed soldiers ma.s.sacred in cold blood after he had given his word they would depart unharmed. "The prayers of a Poor Clare. I shall sleep better for knowing I have them. Now, you have not finished your wine, ma Soeur. Come, we will drink a toast. Vive le roi. Vive la France."

She could not refuse to drink a toast to the king and to France. Nicole drained her gla.s.s.

"Now, let me see what you have brought me." Montcalm sounded again like a commander-in-chief. He opened the tube of oilcloth and spread the paper it contained on his desk and leaned forward, studying it. After some moments he reached for a magnifying gla.s.s. "Then I will myself take you in a carriage back to the convent of the good Grey Sisters. And we will bring them two bottles of this excellent Bordeaux as well as some of-"

Nicole could see that what she had brought the general was a drawing, but from where she sat, not what kind. Nor could she imagine why any drawing would be the key to the salvation of a million souls. She did not wish to know. It was not her place or her responsibility. Mon Dieu, I wish only to return to my cloister. But did she? Sitting here with the taste of that exquisite wine still in her mouth, was she not so tempted never to return that the temptation, even if resisted, was itself a sin?

General Montcalm rang the bell on his desk. The footman arrived. Something had changed. Nicole knew it. She could tell that the footman did as well, simply by the way he stood as he waited for instructions. "Take the good nun downstairs and put her in a carriage. Send my compliments to the Grey Nuns, along with two bottles of the Lafite. Adieu, ma Soeur. Merci."

He did not look at her when he said goodbye. And he had forgotten about the sugared Montargis almonds for the Grey Nuns, or that he was going to go with her to their convent. Nicole knew how thrilled the sisters would have been to have such a visit. Too bad. "Adieu, mon General Je vous remercie."

She started to follow the footman out of the room. Montcalm's voice stopped her. "Soeur Stephane, a moment longer." Nicole turned to look at him. "S'il vous plait, ma Soeur ..." he added in a whisper.

She had to go closer to the desk to hear him. "Oui, mon General?"

He was staring not at her but at the thing she had brought him. It was a map, a nautical chart of some sort. She could not help but recognize such things; she was a child of the military, after all. Nicole wanted to squeeze her eyes shut. I do not wish to know what it is that has so changed the mood of this powerful man, mon Dieu, Or why it is so important that Pere Antoine and Mother Abbess sent me out of the cloister and away from my Vows. Do not ask me to know such things.

"You will not forget to pray for me, Soeur Stephane?"

"Never. You have my word."

Montcalm nodded and made a gesture of dismissal, and Nicole followed the footman out the door. In the carriage she busied herself telling her beads. She refused to think about the fact that for some reason best known to himself, Pere Antoine had sent to General Montcalm as a matter of the greatest urgency a chart of the waters around Quebec Lower Town.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 31, 1757.

THE HALIFAX CITADEL IN NOVA SCOTIA.

Much had changed in l'Acadie. Most of the Acadians were gone; English land was no longer crawling with French spies and sympathizers. But much was the same. The blasted infernal miserable weather was as dreadful as Lord Loudoun had been told while still in London. "The weather might play you havoc, John. But we're quite sure you'll prevail."

John Campbell, earl of Loudoun, the man sent to replace General Braddock and take charge of the war, was less sure. Fog for the entire month he'd been here, and before that his great invasion fleet, more than a hundred s.h.i.+ps under sail and carrying six thousand troops, had sat in New York Harbor waiting for its naval escort. He'd left without the escort in the end, though the s.h.i.+ps had caught up with them when they were halfway to Halifax, and they'd arrived without incident. Didn't make any difference. More b.l.o.o.d.y waiting, that's all; this time for the navy reconnaissance s.h.i.+ps that were to tell him what exactly he faced farther north at Louisbourg.

Sweet Christ, not more than he could handle, he hoped. Louisbourg was the object of the exercise, the first stone that must fall if Canada was to be taken. A hundred nights running he'd studied the situation-more, if he counted the time in London doing the planning. Built on a tongue of land between Cape Breton and the open Atlantic, Louisbourg faced a sea that boiled like a cauldron where it met an iron coast, continually white with foam and shooting jets of spray that disappeared into a mist that never entirely went away. And if the natural conditions weren't miserable enough, there was the wall. More than five leagues of wall. Surrounding a town that housed four thousand people and was garrisoned with three battalions of French regulars, one of the poxed Volontaires Etrangers-the formidable Canadian troops-two companies of artillery, and a varying number of woodsmen.

"In all, some three thousand troops," Admiral Holburne said. "Besides officers, of course." Holburne and Loudoun sat across from each other at the dining table in the governor's mansion, which Loudoun had commandeered on his arrival.

"Of course." Loudoun's stomach growled. Sweet Christ, he hadn't waited this long only to be told what he already knew: the size of the garrison had not changed. Another, louder protest from his belly. Had to be the beef at lunch. Tough as hide. And the delay, of course. More than a month lost to foul weather would turn any man's stomach. But however long the news had taken to get here, it wasn't bad. No major reinforcements at Louisbourg meant his force outnumbered the enemy two to one. "And in the harbor?" he asked.

Admiral Holburne did not look at him. The better part of a second bottle of Rhenish wine was gone. At the moment the naval man's gla.s.s was empty. They were ash.o.r.e in the governor's mansion. Loudon had commandeered it upon his arrival, and in these circ.u.mstances Loudoun outranked Holburne and was host; he leaned forward and poured a refill for the admiral. "Come on, man. Might as well tell me. What's waiting for us in the harbor?"

"Eighteen French s.h.i.+ps of the line, fully armed. And five frigates."

Loudoun set down the wine and stared at his guest. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He'd been told to expect three s.h.i.+ps, maybe four, no frigates. Eighteen fully armed s.h.i.+ps of the line. Jesus b.l.o.o.d.y Christ.

Holburne mopped his face with a linen pocket cloth. The man perspired in visible showers. Repulsive and fascinating at the same time. "We tried to prevent them getting through," he said. "We could not. Most arrived in the past fortnight. The weather ..."

Loudoun got to his feet and walked to the window. Nearly the entire French fleet had come to bulwark Louisbourg while he'd sat waiting for the British navy to pull their thumbs from their own a.r.s.es. There was bright sun now. And the sky as blue as a tart's best cloak, not a cloud to be seen. He'd been here well before the reinforcements and it availed him nothing. The weather had defeated-Perhaps not. Perhaps he was being an old woman. He spun around. "Holburne, as one military man to another, tell me what you think about the situation."

Before today Holburne had known Loudoun only by reputation. A Scot by birth, but a Campbell, a clan that frequently sided with the crown. And look what it got them. Those the other Highlanders didn't slaughter became earls and commanded his majesty's forces in America. "It's entirely your decision, milord The fleet will support you in whatever plan you follow."

Loudoun returned to the table and leaned on it with both arms, forcing the other man to look straight at him. "Don't mouth porridge at me, Admiral. I asked what you think. For the love of G.o.d, man, there's no one here but the pair of us. Express yourself."

The Scot's face was as white as the ruffled stock below his chin. For his part Holburne knew he was the color of raw beef. d.a.m.ned wine always made him hot as a wh.o.r.e's t.i.t.

"I see you're not going to answer me, Admiral." Loudoun straightened and reached for the bottle. Only one gla.s.s remained and he poured it for himself. "I can't compel you. I just thought it might help to hear your-"

"There's no hope of succeeding, milord. Not at any attempt on Louisbourg at this late season of the year." The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was going to speak them. Cowardice, failing to do one's utmost against the enemy, was a capital offense. It meant a firing squad. Holburne poured sweat.

Loudoun didn't speak for long seconds; when he did, his voice was low and even. "Very well. Let me ask another question. What about Quebec?"

"What about it, milord?"

"Could we take it? Bypa.s.s Louisbourg, where they expect the battle, and go straight to the heart of the matter. One devastating blow that will bring New France to its knees." He had been toying with the idea for the last couple of days. Probably the wine talking, and his frustration at the long delay. "What about it, man? Could we take Quebec?"

The admiral mopped his face. He could feel beads of sweat dripping from his nose and his chin. "Not without taking Louisbourg first, milord. And even then ..."

"Yes."

"My honest opinion, sir, as a man of the sea, is that we can never take Quebec with wars.h.i.+ps. We can't get through La Traverse, the channel that lies off-"

"I know where the b.l.o.o.d.y pa.s.sage lies, Admiral." There was a real edge to his voice now. Does the thought of any battle turn your britches brown Holburne? "But if we are never to take Quebec, how are we to win this war?"

"By containing them up there, milord. By making the French withdraw to their fortress city and leave everything else to us. To do that we must take Louisbourg."

Sensible advice and what Loudoun's better judgment also told him. Quebec was forever out of reach. Louisbourg was indispensable to victory. But nothing could change the fact that the entire campaign season had been lost to him. He pulled a square of linen from his sleeve. "Here man, use this. Your own is sodden. And thank you for your honest advice. I value it."

"Milord, I don't mean that I won't-"

"Do your duty. I know that. What's at issue here is my duty, Admiral, not yours. Thanks to your intelligence I learn that I must attempt to bring ash.o.r.e on one of the most dangerous coasts on this continent nearly His Majesty's entire regular army in America. And I must do it facing a naval force superior to that you can provide me, under constant threat of the worst weather Almighty G.o.d has sent to plague Christendom, at a time of year when it can be counted upon to deteriorate from whatever parlous state we find it in when we arrive. It becomes rather clear put that way, doesn't it, Admiral?"

Holburne nodded.

Loudoun drank the last of the Rhenish and went to the door. Two heavily armed marines waited in the hall. "You there, find Captain James and tell him I want him. Immediately."

When the door was again closed, Holburne asked: "May I know your decision, mord?"