Louisbourg

A novella by Thomas Hurtt

Part Seven
Incredulity swept rapidly through the room, a low guttural rumbling, as the impact
of Prevost’s shocking declaration staggered them all.
“Mon Dieu!” Coueret bewail, covering his mouth with his hand. “This is terrible!
This is…you’re talking about murder!”
Larcher stood up violently and it appeared to Morin for a brief instant as if he
might hurl his wine crystal at the abhorrent Jean Larborde.
“You imbecile!” he shouted in distress, “this time you have gone too far!”
No one present knew what he might do next. But then the moment passed, and
the merchant began to pace the room nervously instead, mutely contemplating the
implications of this disaster.
Michel Dacarrette, the newest member of this association, had not been party to
much of their past; he looked about the gathering in bewilderment.
“Would someone please tell me who this Morjuet is? And who is Boularderie?
Why don’t I know any of this?”
“Now’s not the time for a history lesson,” Larcher began caustically. “We have
got to figure out how we are going to deal with the crisis at hand…”
“Oh, on the contrary,” the Commissary countered. “I think a recitation of our past
missteps may help illuminate the present trouble for everyone. For we are in a great deal
of trouble, let no one mistake that.”
Prevost took a long swallow from his glass before he began.
“The last official governor before Drucour was Jean-Louis de Raymond. He
wasn’t even Department of Marine; he was a general officer from the army, foisted upon
us over my objections. This Raymond turned out to be impossible to deal with. He had
absolutely no idea how the government of New France functioned. He cared even less
about the division of authority between the governor and the commissary. The general
tried to rule Isle Royale as if it were his own personal fiefdom.”
“Not only was he vain, domineering and headstrong…”
Several of those listening had to bite their lips at the irony, for these descriptors
applied to the present speaker just as well.
“…but he also had the most unlikely schemes for ‘improving’ the colony. Some
were simply a waste of money, like the government farm he established on the most
infertile land imaginable. Others were downright dangerous, like the road that he had
built linking Louisbourg to Port Toulouse. The security problems that brainstorm created
haunt us up to this day.”
“As you can imagine, he and I clashed on almost everything. I determined to
resist him at every possible turn. Relations got so bad between us that he tried to have
me discredited in the eyes of the home government! Raymond even had the gall to
prepare a memorandum claiming that I inflated the colonial accounts and pocketed the
balance! For my part, I began a more clever campaign to undermine him. I wrote
incessantly to the Ministry, complained in the strongest terms of his highhandedness and
incompetence. And in my capacity of controller the purse strings, I rewarded his very
own military officers with extra supplies. Provided that they sided with me in our
disputes, of course.”
“And it worked. After a year, I had worn him completely out. He begged for the
king to recall him. And when Raymond returned to France, he was in the direst of
financial straits. He had been left almost without a coin to his name!” Prevost could not
help but grin broadly at the remembrance of the completeness of this triumph. “My
contacts within the Ministry tell me that he remains in much the same condition, even
now.”
Dacarrette, who had been listening intently up until this point, found his patience
finally give way.
“I crave you pardon, Commissary,” he intoned carefully, “but does any of this
have a bearing upon our present troubles?”
The actual words in his mind were not so servile, and certainly not gentile. It was
fortunate for them both that Prevost took the prodding with good grace; he moved on to
the heart of his story.
“D’Ailleboust took Raymond’s place as acting governor, until a suitable
replacement could be found. He was dull, unimaginative man, which was the perfect
antidote for the past turmoil. But even so, there were some loose ends to tie up. Not
every trouble left onboard ship with Jean-Louis de Raymond.”
“I moved swiftly at this moment to complete a long term project of mine. The
timing would never be so opportune again. I had been placing my own people into key
official positions. Many of you present are the direct beneficiaries of this wise policy. I
was creating a bulwark against meddling from any future governor. One crucial position
that had not yet been secured was the Keeper of the Kings Storehouse. Pierre-Jerome
Lartigue had that vital office, and he was definitely one from Raymond’s circle. I had
him ousted, rather abruptly, in favor of someone more reliable. It was then that a new and
more serious opposition began to surface.”
“A couple of interfering officials, Seguin and Boularderie, were allies of this
Lartigue, and they objected in the strongest terms. When I wouldn’t relent, they began a
letter writing campaign of their own. Against me, this time! They began showering the
home ministry with strange inventions of alleged financial mismanagement. Eventually
Seguin even sailed for France, to deliver his appeals to the Minister in person.”
“It was at this time that the Treasurer of Marine,” Prevost gestured toward Jean
Laborde, “approached me with an idea to quiet things on this side of the ocean, before
they got completely out of hand again.”
“He had some prior dealings with a very low sort of person, a Monsieur Arsène
Morjuet. Jean contracted him to persuade Boularderie to put down his vitriolic pen.”
“Who exactly was this Morjuet?” Dacarrette interrupted. “A soldier? A marine?”
Jean Laborde, who had sat silent and pensive through the entire explanation, now
lifted his head and offered the sought for clarification.
“No, not at all. Monsieur Morjuet is a private individual, a troubleshooter of
sorts. On occasion, I used him for keeping things in check, down quayside. You know
how rough these privateers can be - some of them are little better than pirates. Dealings
can quite easily get out of hand. I found it useful to employ someone more callous than
they are. Fewer things get broken; it’s good for business…”
“This Mojuet,” Prevost continued, “interpreted his assignment quite
loosely. Instead of just putting a little scare into Boularderie, he attempted to murder
him. But somehow, even that plan went wrong. And when it did, things turned very ugly
in a hurry. Boularderie survived the attack, and Morjuet managed to get himself
apprehended. And then, we were faced with a dilemma. We either had to silence
Morjuet, or help him escape. Since as Commissary, I am not in the business of killing
people…” Prevost looked sharply at Laborde. “…and I do have control over the civil
justice system, I chose the latter.”
“You know that Morjuet was acting outside my direction…” Laborde protested.
The Commissary ignored the outburst, and merely muse aloud to himself , “I
wonder, in hindsight, if I made the right decision.”
Laborde simply glared at him, which Prevost ignored as well.
“Anyhow, once he was out of prison, he was put aboard a privateer and sent off to
parts unknown. And there he was to remain. It was a dangerous episode for us all, and
very, very expensive to repair.”
“Please, Jean, tell me that I am wrong. Tell me that Morjuet has not returned to
Louisbourg…”

***

Even in the half light of the rain spattered dawn, Veronique could tell that her
companion was awake. That he was awake and yet still here was a good sign. Maybe
this assignment wouldn’t be as difficult as she had imagined. After all, to beguile a man
into bed was simple. She possessed a certain allure, her very own blend of coquetry and
enticement. But to keep him interested afterward, well, that was always the tricky part,
wasn’t it?
To complicate things, she knew that she wasn’t shown to her best advantage just
now. Her dark tresses were tousled and unwashed. And she couldn’t recall how recently
she had bathed, either. Had it been last week or before then?
None of this could have been helped; there simply hadn’t been enough time. And
besides, it didn’t seem to matter. The gentleman obviously found her appealing, and that
was the important thing right now. Later, if there was to be a later, she could amuse him
with how well she cleaned up.
She turned in towards him, nestling her head on the corded muscle of his
shoulder. What’s the best way to play this? she wondered to herself.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” he murmured softy, and ran his fingers through her
thick dark hair. “Forgive me, but I can’t recall your name…”
It was an honest admission, and it gave the woman the cue that she was searching
for. This was a game that she liked, a game that she could play along with.
“It is Veronique, Monsieur. Veronique Devere. And you will pardon me as well
for asking,” she laughed prettily. “For you are who, may I inquire?” She knew very well
who he was; he had been specifically pointed out to her, the night before.
She knew, but that wasn’t playing the game at all.
“Bouchard,” came his reply. “Lieutenant Bouchard.”
 He leaned into her, brushed the hair from her face, and kissed her upon both
cheeks.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Devere.”
“Only Bouchard?” she giggled. “Usually the king’s officers come complete with
a whole string of names, sometimes as many as four or five.”
“Perhaps there are others,” he admitted. “And maybe you will even learn what
they are, if I get to know you better…”
“I can’t imagine that there are too many mysteries left between us, Monsieur,” she
responded playfully. “Not after last night.”
This banter was all for the good, she mused, but not, perhaps, enough. If she was
to keep his interest, she was going to need to be more the just charming. It wouldn’t do
to be mistaken for a harlot – that was a dead end, as far as her real agenda was
concerned.
She got up abruptly and wrapped a heavy cloak about her thin chemise.
“Here, give me some money,” she demanded.
It was perhaps a bit too abrupt, for he gave her a questioning look. He reached for
his coin purse, just the same. She laughed as she tucked her lank hair beneath her bonnet
and slipped her dirty feet into sabot.
“Come on. A couple coins will do,” she insisted. “I’ll get us some breakfast.
The shops must be open by now.”

The street was damp, misty and rather quiet. Veronique was reassured, however,
by the muffled candlelight that glinted from some windows. She could at least get fresh
rolls and a pot of chocolate. Her wooden shoes clattered on the smooth cobbles, marking
her progress down the foggy lane. She pulled her cloak tightly about her, to ward off the
clammy chill. It is still only April, she remonstrated with herself. She was beginning to
question the wisdom of not dressing before venturing out of doors.
As she passed La Mouette Noire, Veronique glanced up at the second story corner
room. She would have to go up there today, after Lt. Bouchard had taken his leave of
her. She needed to report on the successful beginning she had made. To overlook that
detail of her instructions would be to court trouble unnecessarily.
For everyone on this street knew that directives given by Arsène Morjuet were to
be followed strictly to the letter.

***

It was late when Mariette was at last able to leave the kitchens. Madame
Vienneau had taken a petty revenge and given her the duty of supervising the scullery
girls and ensuring all was ready for the morning’s service. In the aftermath of the day’s
turmoil, this made for a long evening indeed.
Mariette had managed to get her quick warning to Claudette, not that it had
mattered much. The girl had withdrawn inside herself and had hardly spoken more than
two words to anyone the remainder of the day. And there had been no opportunity to
converse with her further. The unanswered questions, the incomplete narrative from the
cold storage pantry, gnawed at Mariette with each passing hour, until she was fairly ready
to burst.
 Already full dark when she left the Governor’s residence, she headed straight to
the house on the Rue de l’Etang where the Guyons rented a small living space. She
ducked around to the back garden, where entry was more discrete. She told herself that
she did not want disturb the proprietor’s evening leisure. In truth, she was avoiding
Madame Lafleur. She had no wish to be forestalled by gossipy prattle, not now.
Her eye caught something shadowy in the gloom, illuminated briefly by a dim
glow. It startled her, and for an irrational instant she thought it the spitting, leering face
of Fantine Chaubert. And then she saw it aright and her heart quieted. It was merely
Monsieur Lafleur, under the eave, long clay pipe in hand. She curtseyed a greeting, for
which she received a noncommittal grunt as a reply. She ducked swiftly through the low
doorway.
A rap on the door brought no immediate response, save for a scuffling noise from
within.
“Lise? Are you at home?”
“Mariette?” a low voice whispered. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. May I come in…?”
The key was turned in the latch before she finished the question and Mariette was
ushered hurriedly inside.
“Thank you for coming, my dear friend,” Lise hugged her tightly. She kissed her
warmly upon both cold cheeks, too. “I was hoping you would. It was getting late,
though, and I was beginning to doubt…”
Mariette shed her heavy cloak. “I got detained; I’ve had quite the day myself.”
They settled themselves down, the vistor in a chair and Lise on the bed. It was a
small room, and the low fire in the hearth was ample to ward off the chill.
“Your girls are asleep early? Lucky you.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it will last. Nicolette-Hélène is cutting a tooth and she has
been fussy. It was really hard to get her down. I just hope she sleeps all the way through.
It’s bad enough that the baby gets me up at least once during the witching hours.”
Mariette assessed her friend with a careful eye.
“Well, you don’t appear sick.” So much for Madame Vienneau’s explanation,
she thought. “Are you? Because if you’re contagious, I shall have to become quite cross
with you, you know.” She wiped at her cheeks in feigned vexation.
“No, indeed I am not,” Lise smiled slightly. “And you shall not dare to be cross
with me tonight, for I will have to ignore you completely. I have weightier matters upon
my mind and I fear I will not give your annoyance the proper attention it deserves.”
Marriette looked deeply into her companion’s countenance. Lise was attempting
a lightheartedness that she didn’t really feel.
“Tell me what troubles you. Did something happen today…”
Lise sighed audibly, got up and poured them both a glass of spirits. It was
something that she rarely drank, preferring the much milder spruce beer to this harsh
distilment of Jean-Martin’s. She felt, however, that something strong would be necessary
if she were to get all the way through her tale. Mariette accepted her ample glass as a
matter of course, a sign that something very serious was to come.
Lise took a long swallow, grimaced involuntarily, and then began.
“Somehow, even after all my precautions to have someone accompany me; I
wound up alone in an office with Monsieur Morin de Fonfay.”
 She hesitated for a long while, and Mariette’s face became drawn in real concern.
“Did he...” she coaxed, “…attempt to kiss you?”
“Oh, it is far worse than that,” Lise laughed. It was a brittle sound, with no mirth
in it at all. It grated the air, like broken glass.
“He made me to comprehend that he would have me for his mistress.”
Marriette tried very hard to process Lise’s words, her exact words.
“You mean that he would like to have you for his mistress,” she interpreted.
“No. You do not yet understand. I will be his mistress. The only thing I have the
ability to decide is how much I am willing to lose before I agree…”

Author’s note:
Please be aware that the above is a piece of fiction, and does not portray actual historical events. That
said, not all of the characters that appear are a product of the Author’s imagination. Some did
genuinely live and reside in the fortress town of Louisbourg in 1757. I have been guided historical
research in reconstructing their relationships and to some extent, their nature. Fact and fiction have
woven together to make this tale more dramatic and, I hope, more entertaining. If you would like to
learn more about the fascinating people who inhabit these pages, I recommend you consult the
Dictionary of Canadian Biography Online http://www.biographi.ca/index-e.html

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