Richard Mannion’s mouth twisted at Hugh’s bald question. “My daughter, Vanessa, is a remarkable woman. She has intellect, wit, charm, and grace. Most women with her qualities would be married by now.” He puffed on his cigar, his expression one of sad irony.
Hugh straightened in his chair and set aside his cigar as he studied the older man.
“Though I am loath to admit it, Vanessa has always been my favored daughter. In her interest, I have done seemingly incomprehensible things. Heretofore, I have manipulated matters to keep her free from suitors. I have also endeavored to keep her innocent of business and political matters.” He laughed mirthlessly, bitterly. “In this, I have failed miserably. In all, however, what actions I have taken have been to protect her.”
Hugh stirred restlessly in his chair, for a miasma of despair filled the room. He didn’t want to hear Mannion’s revelations, but he knew he must. Intuitively, he began to realize his flippant description of himself as cannon fodder could be more valid than either he or Trevor realized.
“Four years ago,” Mannion continued, “I arranged dowries for my daughters. I did this at the same time I drew up my will. At that time, I did something unheard of; I drew up documents to give half of my business to Vanessa. She was my bright star, and I intended to train her in the business.” He held up his hand to forestall an exclamation of shocked protest from Hugh. “I know, I know,” he said sadly, “it was a foolish idea. Though she is capable of such intelligent endeavors, it would not be accepted in the realities of business. I was not, thankfully, so totally lost to all reason that I didn’t make other provisions. First, I maintain control of her half of the business until her marriage. At that time, control devolves on to her, not a husband. Of course, there are ways for an enterprising gentleman to get around this."
"Sir, why are you telling me this?”
“Have patience, Mr. Talverton.” Richard scratched the side of his nose thoughtfully for a moment.
“To my other daughters, I have bestowed property and money. These were all investments I made four years ago. At that time, the Chaumondes were not my lawyers. Another gentleman, an American actually, was handling my papers. I soon discovered this gentleman was in Jean Laffite's pay, and my careful, secret plans were a secret no more. That damned pirate,” he said slowly, fairly spitting the words out. “He found the situation humorous, but he kept those papers and showed me cleverly forged documents that implicated me in his piratical dealings. Me!”
Mannion exploded out of his chair to pace the room. Hugh Talverton stroked his chin in thought. “I gather he used those documents to prevent you from changing your settlements on your daughters?”
“Precisely.” His agitated pacing slowed as he wearily continued his tale. “Vanessa was barely sixteen at the time. I told Laffite I was planning for the future and did not intend to betroth her for at least two years. He agreed easily enough but told me the choice of a groom would be his, and if any gentleman not of his choosing came sniffing around, he would see to his removal.”
Hugh felt the skin at the back of his neck crawl and his muscles tighten at Mannion’s bald words, but he remained silent. He would hear the man out-- he had to.
Richard Mannion stopped by his chair, sighing heavily. He reached down for his port glass and tossed off its contents. “It was then I began to deny my daughter any information on business and politics and carefully kept her immured in our household to the extent I was able. I did not want her to draw attention from either Laffite or some innocent worthy gentleman. She has chafed mightily at my restrictions, as well she might, but I was playing for time.
“Though Laffite is a favorite among many Creoles, public sentiment for him has been declining, and government action to end his business has increased. During the war he saw this was the case and, for expediency, offered to ally himself with the Americans.”
Hugh nodded his understanding. “In England, it is now thought that Captain Lockyer’s failure to win him over to the British cause back in September of ’14 cost us our victory at the Battle of New Orleans.”
Mannion smiled sardonically. “At the time, Laffite had more to fear from the United States than Britain. His headquarters, Grande Terre at the Bay of Barataria, was more defensible by sea than land, and there was a plan by the United States to attack and disperse his Baratarian organization. Also, his brother Pierre was in prison in New Orleans. When Commodore Patterson and Colonel Ross destroyed his headquarters, some eighty of his men were taken prisoner, and all the goods and ships there taken as spoils of war. Because of prior knowledge of the planned attack through friends in influential positions, Laffite had already removed himself, all the stored ammunition, and the lion’s share of his men to safety.”
“Yes, and with those circumstances, many in England wonder why he did not throw in his lot with us.”
“First, he liked his autonomy, but aside from that, you British had too many strings attached to your offer. He would have faced losing his privateers, and it would have forced him into an alliance with Spain, a hated enemy of his family’s for he held them responsible for his father’s death. Though he is a shifty and untrustworthy character, no one can fault his intelligence. He offered General Jackson his cooperation in defense of the city in the hopes of gaining a general pardon for himself and his men, along with restitution of property. His actions aided General Jackson greatly, though it galled many to be beholden to a pirate. All the Baratarians have received pardons, but that’s all. Laffite’s filed court cases for the restitution of his property, but so far, that’s been useless.”
Mannion circled the room again. “I calculated that with his star on the wane, he’d have little time, if any, to chase the fortune of one American woman. Truthfully, it is a small pittance in comparison to his properties. To a great extent, I have been correct.” He paused and turned to face Hugh Talverton.
Hugh sat forward in his chair, for he realized that his host was now approaching the heart of the matter.
“This spring, I made several substantial loans to cotton growers. With the wars ended everywhere, trade is expected to increase dramatically. I wanted to be in on grabbing a lucrative part of this business, so I overextended myself. But in my eager calculations for success this year, I failed to consider increased warehousing and cotton press demand. What I currently own will be lamentably inadequate. Earlier this year, I began courting Mr. Wilmot for warehouse space. As is my habit, I brought him home for business dinners. Here he met Vanessa and seemed captivated by her. Later, he came to me and formally asked permission to pay her his address. Feeling Laffite powerless now and concerned with other matters, I agreed. Shortly thereafter, it was subtly made known to me that he was aware of the terms of my will and bride dowry. Imagine my surprise, for I thought that threat ended.
“At first, Wilmot also seemed content to play his own game and legitimately woo Vanessa. I figured he would have to win her on his own merits, and therefore it was a safe agreement to enter into. After all, no mention was made of the forged documents that would have labeled me a traitor, and now that we are at peace, they no longer have the threat they once bore. Knowing this, I saw no harm in the man; in fact, Wilmot at times has a chilling formality and politeness. I certainly did not hold a grudge for him using his information to set himself up as a suitor. I even found it comical, for it displayed an uncertainty on his part of his acceptability in New Orleans society. I thought the man to be grossly underestimating himself. Though he has been in the city a relatively short time, he is popular.”
Mannion stood by the window, staring blindly out. He sighed deeply, like a man wresting with some deep, unfathomable pain. “Then somehow, last Friday night, things started to fall apart. I don’t know why unless he finally saw Trevor Danielson as a rival for Vanessa’s hand. I admit I’ve been encouraging Mr. Danielson merely to give Mr. Wilmot competition, though I certainly would not be averse to welcoming Trevor as a son-in-law. I believe Wilmot’s recognition of rivals for Vanessa’s hand has spurred his activity to claim what he feels is his. Thus the possessive actions toward Vanessa. But I do feel he generally likes her; he just doesn’t understand her. Damned if I don’t at times, and I’ve lived with her these twenty odd years!”
He turned back to face Hugh. “Anyway, it seems Wilmot’s got me over a damned whiskey barrel. I need his cooperation in business, but I don’t want to force Vanessa into anything that will not work for her. I also get a mite restive when someone tries to force my hand. I figure if I can keep my daughter unencumbered until the summer and we leave New Orleans for the country, I can start to see my way clear of my debts and obligations. After that, Vanessa can make her choice freely, even if she chooses Wilmot, which at this juncture I doubt. Whatever devil inspired him to try to force intimacy with her worked greatly to his disadvantage."
"I’m afraid I don’t understand. If the forged documents are no longer a threat, how can he coerce you or Vanessa?"
"I told you I’ve overextended myself to finance some planters. I’ve also had to take out some loans myself, with half my business as collateral.”
Hugh’s mind raced ahead of his host’s words, and a chilling scenario occurred to him. “Wilmot has purchased your notes,” he said softly, each word falling distinctly like pebbles into a still pond.
Richard Mannion’s face looked gray and ravaged. He nodded.
Hugh whistled silently through his teeth. “And I take it the half of your business you used as collateral was your own, not Vanessa’s? So, if you cannot meet your obligations, and Wilmot weds Vanessa, then he gets the entire business.”
Mannion nodded again, then turned once more to stare out the window. He looked as if he’d aged twenty years since Hugh entered the room. Hugh pursed his lips, touching his fingertips together in steeple formation. He tried to think, to puzzle a way out of this new dimension to the maze, but his emotions kept rushing in. His rage at Wilmot’s duplicity was at the man’s callous use of Vanessa, merely a means to an end, for he did not believe, as Richard wanted to, that Wilmot truly cared for Vanessa. He had to will the violent emotions to ebb. They would serve no purpose and only cloud his reasoning.
The library door opened, and the figure of a woman in a white cotton gown printed with delicate floral trails backed stealthily into the room, her head still peeking out the door into the hall.
