Prisoner of Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

agreed. Not only had she spoken to her father, but later, when Samson and Elijah opened their own blacksmith shop, she had told everyone she knew of the delicate and intricate patterns of wrought iron for gates and railings and cornices created by the big men. They had prospered, and they had not forgotten.
    It troubled Anya that she must ask them to risk so much now. It could not be helped, however, She would protect them insofar as she was able, no matter what happened.
    A short time later, with Samson an Elijah clinging to the rear of the carriage like footmen, the driver turned the vehicle back toward the center of town.
    It was growing late, still with everything that had happened, it was only just after midnight. The gas streetlamps on Canal Street and St. Charles Street were burning brightly, and the mule-drawn omnibuses that rattled up and down the thoroughfares were most of them more than half-full. Many of the balls held that night were only just now ending, and the carriage traffic was thick as the guests made their way homeward.
    On a street corner Anya saw a Charley, or constable of the city police, in his painted and numbered leather cap. He stood slapping his short club, known as a spontoon, into the palm of his hand as he talked to a pair of men dressed in the flamboyant fashion favored by most professional gamblers. As Anya watched, one of the gamblers thrust what looked like a wad of bills into the pocket of the constable’s coat.
    She looked away, her lips curled in disgust, though she was not surprised. New Orleans, one of the richest cities in the United States for many years, had always attracted its share of political scavengers. The current crop of government officials, however, was the most corrupt and venal in living memory. The party in power was the Native American party, known derisively as the Know-Nothing party for the constant refrain of its officials when accused of wrongdoing. So blatantly irregular were the methods they used to come to power and keep themselves there, hiring thugs to attack registered voters of the opposition party and registering names from tombstones for their own party, that people had begun to despair of a political solution.
    Some said that behind the Know-Nothing party was a cabal of powerful men who had made themselves rich by manipulating the situation. These men never sullied their hands with the foul business of running the city, nor were their identities known to more than a few, but they had installed as their tool a New Yorker named Chris Lillie who had brought with him a whole new bag of dirty tricks from Tammany Hall.
    The situation had grown so bad that something had to be done. There were persistent rumors of men gathering in quiet places to organize a citizens’ group, calling themselves a Vigilance Committee. It was said they were arming themselves, and that there was a strong possibility of a general uprising to enforce fair elections when next they fell due, in early summer.
    The police force was the tool of the Know-Nothings. Their laxity, their habit of spending their time on duty in the nearest barroom, was also a byword. At that moment it was something for which Anya was grateful, another factor she had taken into her careful calculations.
    As the carriage reached Dauphine Street, the bright lights and homeward-bound revelers were left behind. The gaslight streetlamps did not extend this far. The houses were shuttered and dark except for a vagrant gleam of lamplight in some upper room. The shops were closed. Quiet blanketed the buildings, broken only by the occasional barking of a dog or howling of a cat. The carriage lanterns made strange patterns of shadow and light on plastered walls as they gleamed through graceful designs of iron railings and window grills, shifting as the carriage moved. The beams probed into the gateways of dark courtyards, searching out the dark leathery leaves of palms and banana trees in the shadowed recesses.
    Anya leaned