A Matter of Principle (27 page)

Leif slipped in the door and dropped his coat over a chair. He grabbed the last three venison pastries while Sydney poured him a mug of ale.

“
The United States of America is an unformed country, as yet,” Nicolas stated, suddenly subdued. “She will continue to grow toward the west and south. As Missourians, we need to take hold of our special part in that expansion. We should be proud of our contribution.”

Vincent lifted his ale in toast. “To the Santa Fe Trail!”

“
To showing Beckerman what a ‘country bumpkin’ is truly made of!” Sydney added.

“
To winning the election!” Leif squeaked.

Nicolas turned in surprise to face the boy. “You’re back!” He grinned at the earnest youth and looked over the sideboard. “Where did all the venison pies get off to?”



Nicolas helped Sydney undress, his hands never leaving her. “
Min presang
, I am embarrassed to confess it, but I’m so aroused by this night.”

“
There is no mistaking that, husband.” Sydney turned around; his fingertips on her skin raised gooseflesh. “You’re hard as bone.”

“
What an experience!” Nicolas brushed her forehead with his lips. “It’s intoxicating.”

“
Might it be the ale?” Sydney teased. She gripped his hips, anticipation building.

Nicolas tangled his hand in her hair, pulling it loose, pins raining to the floor. “I’m not so very drunk, wife.”

Sydney tilted her head back, offering her mouth. He accepted, his tongue teasing hers. She tasted the ale, the venison, and him. She smelled the soap he used to shave with. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. He dropped his trousers next, kicking them aside.

He was truly quite aroused. Sydney could not help but take him in her hand, feeling the silk of his skin and the iron beneath. Nicolas inhaled through clenched teeth.

“
Have a care,” he whispered.

“
Then take me,” she replied.

Nicolas slid rough hands under her arms and lifted her. She looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. She slid over him. He pushed deeper.

“
Oh, Nick!” she gasped.

He turned and laid her on the edge of the tall bed, still standing, still deep inside her. His hands circled her waist and he held her down. She tried to move, but he would not allow it.

“
No,
min presang
. This one is for you.”

Sydney was pinned to the mattress as Nicolas leaned on her hips. He was forceful, commanding, untiring. He dominated her, and she was swept into oblivion by his strength. He followed, trying not to cry out and betray their lusty activity to Vincent and Leif as they prepared for bed in the next room.

When he finished, he melted over her, gasping.

Sydney, inexplicably, began to cry.

“
Did I hurt you?” His low voice was husky, raw.

“
No. Never,” she assured him. “Never, my love.”

“
Then why?”

Sydney didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t know the reason herself. Because she loved him. Because he gave her such pleasure. Because he was following his convictions. Because he was in danger. Because maybe there was another child.

Because he was so much more than she ever expected.

“
I’m simply happy,” she managed. “And I love you.”

“
I love you,
min presang
. My gift.” Nicolas pushed her hair back from her face. “My life.”

Sydney held him close for a very long time.

Chapter Twenty

February 22, 1822

The day had dawned gray and grizzled when word came concerning one of the likely apartments. Vincent insisted that they go see it right after breakfast and make a decision before they left for home.

That particular apartment did not meet their needs; it was far too grand for the temporary role it would play in their lives. But in the building next door, a vacancy sign tempted an impromptu visit. Leif stepped back from the leaded glass door and tugged at Nicolas’s sleeve.

“
When do you wish to hear about Stafford?” Leif asked, eyes jumping to the door and back.

“
Not here, there are too many ears.” Nicolas eyed the city’s foot traffic along the sidewalk. “Tell me on the ride to Cheltenham.”

The landlord, once sent for, was half-an-hour in arriving. One glance at his prospective tenants resulted in profuse apologies and offers of flexible rental fees.

“
I had no idea it was
you
that was waiting, sir,” he explained. “Had I known a man of your position was stopping, I would have left my previous meeting posthaste, I assure you!”

“
Do you know me?” Nicolas asked.

“
Why yes, Mister Hansen. You are running for the legislature, are you not?”

“
I am.”

The man smiled and bobbed his head. “It would be an honor to serve you, sir.”

Vincent spoke up, “Might we actually see the apartment in question?”

“
Oh! Yes! Of course!” He pulled a ring of keys from his greatcoat. “The key is here, somewhere.”

The second-floor door was finally opened to reveal a cozy drawing room with a dining table at one end. A door off each side led to a bedroom, one much larger than the other. Another panel opened to a small kitchen containing a Franklin stove, a tall cabinet, and thick wooden counters. Leif lifted a sliding cover in one wall. Ropes for a dumbwaiter hung at the ready.

“
This is quite modern!” Sydney exclaimed, approving. “I would prefer a larger drawing room, but this kitchen may serve us better.”

“
In truth, if my bedchamber is comfortable then I am comfortable,” Nicolas confessed. “And if you are satisfied, I am satisfied.”

“
I like the shelf on the pulley!” Leif injected. “I wonder if I can lift myself in it?”

Vincent turned to the beaming landlord. “Shall we discuss terms?”

“
Yes, sir!” He led the party back downstairs and into another apartment, presumably his. A Negro woman served them tea and cakes while the rental agreement was drawn up and signed. This business complete, attention turned to lunch.

“
It’s noon and I am starving!” Nicolas stated. “Who wants fried catfish?”

Sydney’s stomach clenched. She was feeling a little light-headed and did not want to face the smell of the fish place, just in case. “That’s so far away… Might we find someplace closer?”

When Nicolas looked at her in a suspicious manner, she added, “I fear I am even hungrier than you, husband!”

Vincent pointed through the window toward a tavern across the street. “If you are going to live in the area, you might as well frequent the nearby establishments!”

“
Very well.” Nicolas’s tone betrayed his disappointment, but he took Sydney by the arm and escorted her downstairs and across the street. The aromas of baking bread and coffee welcomed them inside.

“
It smells like home!” Sydney said, smiling.

Leif plopped on a chair. “I feel like barbeque.”

“
You always feel like barbeque!” Nicolas laughed.

“
What’s wrong with that?” Leif retorted.

A plump woman nearing fifty, with gray streaks in her light brown hair, bustled through the dining room and showed them to a table. Conversation buzzed around them as men discussed business over luncheon.

“
We have a lovely fish stew today,” she offered. “Very fresh!”

“
Do you have fried catfish?” Nicolas asked.

“
The best in St. Louis!” the woman bragged.

Nicolas raised one brow. “The best, you say? I shall have to judge that on my own.”

“
Very good, sir. You shan’t be disappointed, I’ll wager.”

“
I’ll have the fish stew,” said Vincent.

“
Do you have barbeque?” Leif asked.

“
It’s beef today.”

“
Give me that, please!” Leif beamed.

“
I’ll have that as well,” Sydney added. Barbeque was safe, as long as she didn’t overeat. “And bread with butter.”

“
And a pitcher of ale,” Nicolas added. “Four glasses.”

“
Very good, sir!”

The meal was taken at a leisurely pace, betraying a universal reluctance to journey in the glowering day. As the crowd thinned, Nicolas struck up a conversation with their cheerful hostess. She pulled her husband from the kitchen, and they sat down to discuss politics in general, and the neighborhood specifically.

“
I believe you’ll be glad to take up residence here. Even if it is temporary,” the proprietor opined.

“
Oh, yes!” his wife added. “And there is another political man living on the second floor—what’s his name dear? Samuel something, isn’t it?”

“
Stafford?” Leif offered. Nicolas shot him a look.

“
No, but it’s like that…” She tapped her temple. “Falstaff? Fordham? I’m so bad at names.”

The husband rolled his eyes. “I believe we should let these folks go. They have a long ride ahead of them, and the day isn’t lightening.”

“
Of course, dear.” She stood and cleared the platters. Nicolas paid for the meal, and added a handsome tip.

“
Thank you, sir. Safe journey. Do come back soon.”

Nicolas bowed a little. “We shall. Thank you, madam.”

They had turned toward the door when she called out, “How was the catfish?”

Nicolas paused, pulled a deep breath, and slid his navy eyes first to Sydney’s and then to the woman’s. “Well, I have eaten a grip of catfish in my day. And I have never tasted anything better.”

A broad smile split the woman’s face, revealing a missing canine under cheeks flushing red. “Thank you, sir.”

“
No, madam, thank you. Rest assured, I shall return. And often!”



It was late afternoon before the Hansen party was ready to head for Cheltenham. Satchels packed and loaded, Sydney and Vincent sat inside the carriage, while Leif drove under Nicolas’s watchful eye. The sullen gray sky threw sporadic moisture at them, some frozen, some not. Leif encouraged the horses to trot, keeping them warm. It made for a bumpy, but hopefully abbreviated, journey.

“
Why did you mention Sam Stafford to the tavern owner?” Nicolas asked.

“
May I tell you about last night now?” Leif countered.

“
Go on then,” Nicolas’s curiosity nudged.

Leif told about following Sam into the night, how the man seemed to be trying to avoid being followed. “He was not successful,” Leif bragged.

Nicolas chuckled. “So it appears.”

“
He went into the same building where you just let the apartment. And to the second floor.”

Leif’s mouth twisted and pinched. The color in his cheeks heightened. His eyes remained fixed on the road. “He met a man there.”

“
Oh?” Nicolas frowned, puzzled by the boy’s discomfort. “Did you recognize him? This Falstaff? Or Fordham?”

Leif shook his head.

“
Might you recognize him were you to see him again?”

The nod was jerky.

“
Leif, what is amiss?”

Leif glanced at Nicolas, then turned back to their path. “I listened at the door.”

“
As would any good spy worth his salt,” Nicolas commended.

Leif was silent.

Foreboding pressed Nicolas’s chest. “Tell me, son,” he whispered.

“
There were sounds. Grunts and moans. Bouncing sounds. The kinds of sounds I used to hear in the stable, when the stable hands brought whores.”

Nicolas swallowed his disgust and draped his arm around the boy’s bony shoulders. “So Sam Stafford is a sodomite, is he? I wonder if Beckermann knows.”

Leif cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t think so, Sir.”

“
No, you are most likely right.”

They drove in silence as the carriage moved down the road at a steady pace. The matched bays trotted easily; they could go for miles in their shared rhythm. The lazy winter sun never made an appearance and the cloudy sky grew darker by increments.

When they were only two miles from Cheltenham, a movement off the road caught Nicolas’s attention. Before he had time to think, two men stepped in front of the carriage and blocked its path. Leif jerked back on the reins. The horses stumbled to a halt, their snorted breath clouding around them. In the colorless twilight, Nicolas could not make out either man’s features.

“
Is something amiss?” he called out, keeping his tone light.

“
That depends. Are you in the mood for a fight?” The voice was rough like gravel.

“
Not particularly,” he answered.

“
Well, what if we are?” the second man taunted. “Are you man enough for the challenge?”