Nor could he forget Helena.
His voyages had been highly successful, the profits enormous. On the last voyage he had bought gold from Skayeut.
He had written Rob Walker a long letter after returning from his first trip to Sitka, and had received some months later a very serious reply, which said in part:
Your letter is here beside me, and if you were to see it you would find those passages concerning Russian America, which you call Alaska, underlined in red ink. You would be even more surprised to find that you are very much quoted in the cloakrooms of both House and Senate. You have told me much of the wealth and size of Alaska, and of its proximity to Siberia. Nowhere else is the United States so close to the troubles of the old world as there, and, as long as Russia is on the continent of America, there is danger. I know … our two governments are now friendly, and I trust this may be ever so, but, should Russia and the United States ever have a falling out, it would be well that they have no foothold upon this continent. Jean, we must buy Alaska! March of another year was drawing to a close when Jean, wearing a carefully tailored suit of dark gray, stopped by Winn’s Branch for dinner. Part of the afternoon and most of the evening he had spent in the office of the rebuilt warehouse, planning a new trip to the northwest. The Branch was a large salon furnished in a manner both tasteful and elegant, standing at the corner of Washington and Montgomery Streets. It had become almost immediately after its opening a gathering place for the wealthy and successful of San Francisco. Seating four hundred and fifty, it was crowded most of the time. Pausing in the entrance, Jean let his eyes move over the crowd, seeking familiar faces. His own table, reserved each evening at this hour, was empty. Captain Hutchins had not yet arrived.
At a table not for from his, Royle Weber sat with Charley Duane. Jean was quite sure Duane had at least protected the arsonists after the burning of the warehouse, and possibly had instigated the burning or served as a go-between. He started for his table, but Royle Weber called out to him and motioned for him to join them. Hestitating, LaBarge remembered suddenly that Weber was agent for the Sitka people, and walked to the table. “You want something?” Weber’s face flushed at the tone. “Look, LaBarge, I have news for you.”
“What news?”
“Sit down. We’ll talk.”
“I can stand, or you can come to my office. I won’t sit down because I don’t like the company you keep.”
Duane’s face went white and he started to rise but Weber put a hand on his arm.
“Forget it, Charley. LaBarge is joking.”
Duane stared up at LaBarge, his hatred evident. “He’s not joking,” he said, “and I like neither the words nor the tone.”
“With your associations, Duane, I shouldn’t think you’d mind.” Duane wanted desperately to rise and smash LaBarge’s face, but his memory of what had happened to Bart Freel and Yankee Sullivan was still ripe. He had himself seen the finish of the Sullivan fight, and knew he was in no such class. He shrugged. “Have your fun.”
LaBarge turned to Weber. “Whatever it is, I’ll listen, but make it quick.”
“You’ll be interested to hear that Count Rotcheff has been ordered back to St. Petersburg immediately, and he has suggested a desire to be taken to Siberia in the Susquehanna, and by you.”
“The order is signed by Roteheff?”
“Yes. He wishes you to bring another cargo of wheat to Sitka, and you will be permitted to take a cargo of furs from there.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You don’t understand. You must go at once.”
Jean LaBarge crossed to his table and dropped into his chair facing the room. This could very well be a trap, a means of drawing him into Alaskan waters where he might be taken at will. On the other hand, the last thing Russia would want would be trouble in the Far East or Alaska. If the signature on the request from Count Rotcheff was genuine, he would go. Obviously, the Count did not trust himself on any ship under the command of Baron Zinnovy or subject to his supervision. … A cargo of wheat would bring a good price in Sitka, and with the furs he could make a substantial profit … and he would see Helena again. Or would he? Weber had said nothing about the Princess. She might have already preceded Rotcheff to St. Petersburg. Jean chewed his lower lip, considering the situation … but there was no reason to consider … he was going.
Sitka lay warm in the morning sunshine when Jean LaBarge walked along the passage through the log warehouse. Much had changed. The equipment was worn, the clothing shabby, and it was apparent that few ships were arriving from the homeland.
Duncan Pope was in command of the schooner, and Kohl had accompanied Jean ashore. There were many men standing idle about the streets, most of them the hard-bitten promyshleniki, the same crowd who had brutalized the natives and fought the Tlingits. Many were former convicts, criminals shipped over from Siberia; others were renegades from various countries. Leaving Kohl in the town, Jean started up the street alone. The booths of the merchants lined the way and the Tlingit women looked at him with interest. Two Tlingit men watched him approach, and one inclined his head as if to nod. LaBarge acknowledged the greeting, if greeting it was. Baranof Castle was just before him. At the thought of seeing Helena his heart began to race. He was a fool to think of her, yet the fact remained that he could think of no one else. And as long as Rotcheffi lived she would make no move nor allow him to make one.
The door opened as he crossed the porch and a servant bowed. “Captain LaBarge?
Count Rotcheff is expecting you!”
Crossing the foyer, his heart pounding, he went through the door and saw Rotcheff rise from behind his desk, hand outstretched. He looked older, more tired.
“My friendl My very good friend!” His sincerity was obvious. “Captain, there have been times when I did not expect to see you again, but it is good! Believe me, it is good!”
The warmth of the greeting found him responding in kind, and he realized anew how much he liked this fine old man with his scholar’s face and ready smile. “It is good to be here,” he said simply.
“You brought the wheat?”
“Yes, and other things as well.” He hesitated. “The Princess? She is well?”
“Waiting to see you. You will join us now?”
Helena turned quickly from the table where she was arranging tea, and he saw the sudden way her breath caught, the quick lift of her breasts, then a glad, lovely smile.
“Jean! At last you’ve come to us!”
Over tea Rotcheff explained. Zinnovy was in charge, the director no more than a figurehead. Rotcheff’s messages were intercepted, and although they were treated with bland respect, it was obvious they were prisoners. His demands for a passage to Russia were shunted aside with the excuse that there were no ships. “I am sure the only reason we are alive is a fear of repercussions. But,” he smiled, “please believe me, our greeting is for you, not your ship, relieved as we are to see it. We have missed you, and we have missed outsiders. Even the beauty of Sitka can become dull for lack of new faces.” He went on to explain that after Zinnovy’s failure to capture LaBarge, the Baron had returned and begun all at once to make changes. At first it seemed an effort to increase the efficiency of the operating force on the patrol ships, but soon it became apparent that one safe man after another had been taken from the Castle and replaced by someone obedient only to Zinnovy. Letters from St. Petersburg had convinced Rudakof that Zinnovy was in the driver’s seat, and whatever Count Rotcheff might report would be discounted. Rotcheff and his wife were practically prisoners, and all ships coming to or leaving Sitka were checked by Zinnovy’s men. At first none of this had been apparent. Zinnovy had either avoided them or been carefully respectful, but he had built carefully to the point where he would have the situation in hand. “The people of Sitka?”
“Frightened, most of them, but they hate him. Right now the Baron is worried, I believe. When orders arrived recalling me to St. Petersburg he became very friendly and extremely polite.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“He was furious … but even he will be glad to see the wheat this time, and I’ve told him there was not a ship I’d trust myself in … not in Sitka harbor.” Later, Rotcheff returned to his desk and left them alone. When the door closed they stood for a long time looking into each other’s eyes. “Jean, Jean,” Helena said, at last, “you’ve no idea how we’ve missed you!”