15
NEW ORLEANS
MAY 12, 1778
“Sofía! Where are you, child?” Doña Gonzales’s voice floated down the curving iron staircase and found Scarlet kneeling at the feet of the diminutive Sofía, who stood upon a wooden step constructed just for Scarlet’s use in the sewing room.
“Down here, Mama! Scarlet is pinning the hem of my new dress. You must come see! The drape through the hips is just so—ah, Scarlet, I’m sorry, I’ll be still, I promise. It’s just that you do such beautiful work, and I shall be very sorry when you have to go back to my brother.”
Pins in her mouth, Scarlet glanced up and smiled at her bright-eyed and excitable young mistress. She, too, would be sorry to leave Miss Sofía—though nothing could be worse than service to Isabelle Dussouy or picking cotton.
After purchasing her from the slave market, Don Rafael had taken her first to the governor’s wife, Madame Gálvez. Madame had exclaimed over Scarlet’s pitiful physical condition, then gave her a long bath in lye soap, fed her, and made her rest for two whole days—for the sake of the babe, said Madame. Scarlet meekly complied, too exhausted and grateful for her redemption to even care what might befall her next. But when Madame called her into her private parlor the next day and bade her sit in the only other chair in the room, a finely upholstered blue voile, her confusion twisted in on itself.
“Madame, I’m happy to stand,” Scarlet said, laying her hands protectively across the bulge of her stomach.
“Yes, I’m sure you would be,” said Madame with a smile, “but I’ve no desire to crane my neck whilst we talk, so sit down, if you please.”
Flustered, Scarlet sat. “Yes, Madame.”
“Now, Scarlet, Rafael says you are a seamstress.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“And your baby will be coming . . . maybe in July?”
Scarlet nodded, wary now. “I think so.” Was having a baby a bad thing?
Madame’s eyes softened. She was very beautiful. It was said that her Spanish husband was crazy for her. Perhaps as much as Don Rafael was for Lyse. “I’m sorry you had to leave your baby’s father,” Madame said gently. “We’ll try to find him, but in the meantime, there will be plenty of work for you here. How would you like to go to Rafael’s mama until the baby comes?”
Scarlet picked through the words, trying to make sense of them. What difference did it make what she would like or not like? If this were Madame Dussouy, there would be some trap hidden in the question. Scarlet did not know Rafael’s mama and didn’t particularly want to go elsewhere, but neither did she want to offend this kind Creole lady. She shrugged helplessly. “Whatever you say, Madame.”
So Madame Gálvez had given Scarlet one of her old dresses and materials to let it out in the waist, and then examined her stitches with a critical eye. Pronouncing it “exquisite work” with an approving smile, Madame had one of the houseboys walk her down the street to the Gonzales mansion. He left her in the kitchen in the care of a cook who reminded her very much of Cain’s mother.
By the time Doña Gonzales sent for her, she had been fed most of a loaf of crusty French bread, along with a chunk of sausage, and she was so full she could barely stay awake long enough to waddle to the second-best salon.
Dear God, she thought, blinking at the two well-dressed ladies—one middle-aged, with Don Rafael’s exquisite bone structure, the other young and possessed of her brother’s mischievous brown eyes—what sort of heaven have I landed in?
It had taken Scarlet over a month to learn to answer direct questions without flinching or looking for hidden meanings. Eventually she realized that her talent with a needle was valued and appreciated. She was fed well and allowed to rest, and as her body grew bulkier with the baby, she was even assigned a small slave girl of her own to fetch and carry for her.
Little Dina, who had apparently never known an unkind word, chattered like a mockingbird from the moment she arose in the morning to the minute she fell asleep at Scarlet’s feet at night. Scarlet found her maternal feelings wrenched at the thought of her charge having been removed from her mother’s care at such a young age, until she discovered that the child actually belonged to the poker-faced cook. She resolved to be as kind a mistress as Madame Gálvez.
Now, one by one she removed the pins from her mouth and secured the dress’s hem as Miss Sofía slowly turned atop the little platform. Finally she sat back on her heels and looked up at Sofía. “Check it in the mirror, miss,” she said. “Does it look straight to you?”
Sofía turned and preened, smoothing her slender, well-manicured hands over her hips. The dress draped, as she had said, with perfection. “I love it,” she said, beaming at Scarlet’s reflection in the mirror. “I can’t wait for Lieutenant Torres to see me in it.”
“Lieutenant Torres had better look out for parson’s mousetrap,” Scarlet said without thinking.
Sofía burst out laughing. “Scarlet! You made a joke!”
Scarlet gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, miss!”
But Sofía leapt down from the stool, crouched and took Scarlet’s hands. “Don’t be sorry! It’s wonderful to have someone to laugh with. Mama is always so very—” she looked over her shoulder and whispered, “strict!”
“I heard that!” came Madame Gonzales’s voice from the hallway just before she appeared, hands on hips. “Someone has to be strict around here, or the place would fall to pieces.” But her eyes twinkled. “Sofía, change out of that dress and run out to the garden for some flowers, so Scarlet can hem it in peace.”
Madame stood tapping her foot until her daughter complied, then shut the sewing room door behind her and turned to Scarlet. “How are you feeling today?”
Scarlet had risen, a hand braced to support her back. Still shy around the matron of the house, she looked at the dress in her hands. “I feel fine, Doña Gonzales. Everyone is kind to me here.”
“Good.” The older woman nodded. “It is good to stay busy, but do not put too much strain on your back. Where is Dina? She is supposed to stay close by in case you need anything.”
“She—I sent her outside to play so I could give your daughter some privacy.” Scarlet bit her lip. “I’m sorry if—”
“No, for heaven’s sake, girl, use your common sense. That is fine. I’m only concerned for you.”
Scarlet risked a look at her mistress. “Madame . . . I wanted to ask . . .” When Doña Gonzales waited, brows lifted, Scarlet blurted, “Why are you so kind to me? I’m a slave in your house. Surely you don’t treat all your servants this way.”
Doña Gonzales looked faintly embarrassed. “Of course I don’t abuse my servants. But you are something of a special case.”
Scarlet took a step back. “What do you mean?”
“Madame Gálvez bade me care for you and make sure your babe arrives safely. What Madame Gálvez asks me to do—I do.”
Scarlet stared at the other woman, but could divine nothing beyond the bare meaning of the words. Madame Gálvez had interceded for her. Because of her name and position, Scarlet was given favor, almost as a daughter of the house. Perhaps Don Rafael had something to do with that, perhaps not. It was a puzzle she could not unlock without more information.
“All—all right. Thank you, madame,” she said and lifted Sofía’s dress. “I’ll finish the hem now, if you don’t need anything else.”
“You do that,” Doña Gonzales said with a smile. “Sofía has the trap to set.”
ABOARD THE VALIENTE
MAY 12, 1778
Lyse had once dreamed of flying off a cliff. She had spent two days in her grandpére’s library, reading a book of travel in the mountains of Europe. There were no drawings, but the author’s descriptions had taken her to the south of France, where her great-grandmother’s people had lived before the Huguenot persecution drove them to the New World. She could imagine the snowy peaks, green valleys, sharp precipices, in such vivid detail that dizziness almost overtook her when she rose to go home. That night, as she slept, she found herself atop the highest of heights, looking down at a herd of wild horses grazing below. She wanted to ride one. And all she had to do was step off, fly down.
Arms wide, she did.
And awoke screaming so that Justine shook her until her teeth rattled.
It was an experience she hadn’t wanted to repeat. But standing at the prow of the Spanish merchant ship Valiente with Rafa, sailing away from Mobile, she felt something of the same sensation.
“Are you cold? We can go into my cabin.” Rafa’s hands, big and warm, cupped her shoulders.
She looked up at him and shook her head. “I’m a little . . . I don’t know how to say it.” She wouldn’t say afraid.
He seemed to understand, for a smile lightened his eyes. “There is nothing my Creole lady cannot conquer. The little village of New Orleans will be that to you!” He snapped his fingers.
“Even I know New Orleans is not a little village.” But she laughed at his nonsense. “There will be singing and guitar playing on every street corner, and I shall be the veriest bumpkin.” She turned to put her back to the water, and his hands came to brace against the rail on either side of her. Her hair blew wild in the ocean breeze, and she grabbed a handful of it. “Rafa, you have been the most gallant of rescuers, and I am grateful, but you don’t have to—No one will ever know if you don’t want—”
“If you say something like that even one more time, Miss Lanier, I may be forced to hold you down and tickle you until you scream for mercy. I never make offers I don’t mean to keep.” An uncertain tone crept into his deep voice. “Though I’m beginning to think it is you who has second thoughts.”
She looked away from the hurt in his eyes. “I just wish—I wish you hadn’t been forced to offer for me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe one day I may find a way to convince you that I am serious. Until then . . .” He sighed. “Well, until then, we take one step at a time. And the first step is taking you home to meet my family.”
At that, she smiled. “Which, I confess, has me terrified. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard you say that your mama beats you daily.”
“Ah, but then I am a particularly incorrigible case, as you well know.” He grinned. “My mama will love you. And Sofía is already your best friend.”
“But she doesn’t even know me!”
“But I have told her all about you.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘There is a girl in Mobile who threatens me with a knife if I don’t give her exactly what she wants. And she kisses like an angel.’ And Sofía said, ‘Then she is exactly the girl you should marry.’ And I quite agree.”
Lyse gave a gasp of laughter. “You did not say that!” Shaking her head, she put a tentative hand upon his chest, and he covered it with his. “Rafa, you must know how grateful I am that your intervention kept me and my grandpére from harm. But we don’t know each other well enough to make such a lifetime commitment. You have a whole other . . . life in New Orleans that I know nothing about. We have completely skipped over courtship, which is for learning such important things as religious faith. Education. Family history.”
“You are right, and there will be time for all that. Lyse, I won’t ask you to marry me right away. There are things I cannot tell you, because they are not my secrets. But I hope you will trust me to put your safety and well-being above all my obligations.”
His eyes were deep and soft, so tender that her heart twisted. Trust him? She was on a Spanish ship with him, traveling away from her home and family and everything familiar, toward she knew not what. It was a little like trusting God, whom her grandmother had taught her was great and fearful and secretive but tender as a hen with her chicks.
Maybe trusting Rafa was a way of trusting God, after all.
The governor was at home this afternoon, which worked well for Rafa’s plan to surprise Lyse. He wanted to take her to meet his mama and Sofía later, but seeing Scarlet would perhaps relieve some of the tension between them. He loved Lyse’s independence, understood her self-protection, but couldn’t reconcile the two without betraying his assigned mission. He hoped that once Gálvez met Lyse, she would be cleared for at least some level of information.
He held her elbow as they mounted the stairs up to the first-floor entry. They were both weary, a bit short-tempered, and hungry, as the journey from Mobile had been beset by contrary winds, stormy seas, and general bad luck. Half his crew had been struck by a bout of food poison, which he himself had avoided only because he’d been too busy writing reports to eat for the last twenty-four hours.
Lyse’s lack of appetite came, he suspected, from sheer anxiety. She’d asked once about a bath before meeting anyone, and he’d had to explain that there was no time. After that, she’d kept her lips buttoned tightly, responding to his attempts at cheering her with monosyllabic replies and veiled expression.
Not good.
He had to admit, there was a small lump of dread in the pit of his own stomach. His mama would not be happy that Lyse had traveled for two days with no chaperone. He’d been able to give her a berth in a little cabin of her own aboard the Valiente, but Mama would not consider that proper at all.
He gave the door knocker a rap and, as they waited, studied Lyse’s pinched mouth. She looked beautiful as always to him, but she kept tugging at the long, thick plait of wavy hair hanging over her shoulder, and brushing at the stains she’d been unable to remove from her skirt. Women were built for mystery and delight, but no man could navigate the labyrinths of propriety.
The Gálvezes’ houseman answered the door before Rafa had time to talk himself into leaving. “Don Rafael! The governor was just about to send a man to find you. We heard the Valiente arrived this morning.”
Rafa swallowed against a dry throat. “Yes, I stopped at the Cabildo first. They told me he’s here. Does he have time to see me?”
“’Course, sir.” The man’s eyes flicked to Lyse. “Should I announce the young lady as well?”
“Ah. No. That is, I’ll announce her myself.”
“Very well, sir. This way.” The houseman turned to lead the way past the grand front salons, where guests of state were received, then up the curving staircase to the family rooms.
Rafa followed with Lyse on his arm, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. By the time he stood before Gálvez and the new Doña Gálvez, he felt as though a cyclone had torn through his brain, stripping away every logical and coherent thought.
Before he could do more than bow, Doña Gálvez said, “Really, Rafael, another one?”
His mouth opened and shut. Finally he said stupidly, “Señora?”
But Doña Gálvez was inspecting Lyse with interest and a good deal of amusement. “This one is a deal prettier than the other, and at least she isn’t with child.”
“Feliciana,” the governor said mildly, “the boy has only just arrived, and clearly is not up to your teasing.” He rose, took Lyse’s hand, and lifted it to his lips. “Welcome, señorita. You are Miss Lanier, I presume.”
Lyse managed a confused smile. “Yes, sir. I am Lyse Lanier.” She curtseyed and looked at Doña Gálvez. “Madame, I apologize for appearing without proper courtesies. I have been rather . . . rushed.”
“I can well imagine.” The señora gave Rafa a disapproving frown. “Could you not give the poor girl a chance to sit down for a cup of tea at least, before you dragged her in to be interviewed by strangers?”
Rafa felt his ship go upside down once more. “Señora, my orders—” He looked to Gálvez for rescue. “I assumed I should report at once.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Gálvez said. “We’ll get to that. Here, the two of you sit on the settee there, and Eduardo will bring tea—wait, Eduardo, chicory for Don Rafael and me as well. Yes? Thank you. Now—” he turned to Rafa—“my wife’s jesting aside, you will please explain what has transpired during this last jaunt into West Florida, particularly the unexpected appearance of your lovely companion.”
Rafa had told the governor a bit about the Lanier family, but this invitation to speak his mind in Lyse’s presence gave him pause. As he and Lyse sat down, he mentally picked through several ways to start the story. “Well, sir, as you know, Captain Willing created a bit of difficulty for us, by haring off to Mobile without leave. By the time I got there, he had already started a riot in the town’s largest tavern—an establishment in which I have sojourned on many occasions.”
Gálvez sighed. “I see. Go on.”
Rafa looked at Lyse. “And . . . Miss Lanier’s father and grandfather, apparently being sympathizers, got embroiled. Major Redmond arrested them both, and then brought Miss Lanier in for questioning. Perhaps, Lyse, you should give your side of the story.” He wanted to hear her tell Gálvez that she was a rebel. Then, he would be free to—
He could hardly think past that.
But just then the ever efficient Eduardo returned with the tea cart, and the conversation shifted to mundane topics such as the weather, the quality of the seafood available in the Gulf, and the constant threat of flooding near the fort at Bayou St. John. By the time the butler bowed himself out of the room, Rafa had relaxed somewhat.
“And now, Miss Lanier,” Gálvez said, “if you are suitably refreshed, I would hear your version of recent events.”
Rafa’s every hair stood on end. The reprieve was over.
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Lyse met his eyes.
The governor continued, “But please know that anything you say will stay in this room. Spain remains a neutral party in England’s conflict with her citizens, and I have pledged no harm to those who respect King Carlos’s interests inside our own borders. You may speak freely, without fear of reprisal.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lyse said softly. She paused, gently swirling the tea in her cup. “For a long time, the conflict didn’t seem to apply to me. I’ve only ever known British sovereignty, though my family remains French in language and culture. Perhaps you know that my father’s older brother was involved in the Rebellion of ’68. Then I met Rafa—Don Rafael—and I began to see that perhaps my view of the world had been very small. My grandfather is a great reader, and he encouraged me to take advantage of his library.” She looked at Rafa, eyes suddenly fiery. “So it wasn’t so great a leap, when my friend Daisy gave me books written by the instigators of the current revolution, to sympathize with their desire for freedom and independence.”
“Daisy gave you those books?” If she had slapped him, Rafa couldn’t have been more surprised.
“Yes. And that’s the reason I agreed to—that I couldn’t—”
Suddenly he saw it. She had been about to refuse his precipitate offer of marriage until she realized that Daisy would implicate herself to save Lyse. A red wave of chagrin climbed from his chest to his ears and over his scalp.
She had been trying to tell him that she didn’t return his regard. In fact, she had never admitted any affection for him beyond friendship.
“So you are a rebel sympathizer?”
The governor’s calm voice brought Rafa back from the verge of rushing from the room like the fool he was. He forced himself to lean back in his chair, cross one knee over the other, as if he got his heart smashed into a thousand pieces every day.
Lyse raised her chin and said steadily, “Yes, sir. I am.”
MOBILE
MAY 24, 1778
Daisy waited patiently, the empty basket propped against her hip, as Tully unlocked the gate with a clanking of keys. She had been given special permission to leave the fort, as long as the adjutant accompanied her during his off-duty hours.
Papa had not backed down from his pledge to keep Antoine Lanier imprisoned until he recanted his public support for the American rebels. Daisy had argued in vain that no one cared what a confirmed drunk thought. And her pleading that the little Lanier children needed their father had gone no further. Antoine in gaol was no harder on his family than Antoine lying under a table three sheets to the wind, and probably a lot less embarrassing.
In fact, as she and Tully slipped through the open gate and saw Justine Lanier, baby Rémy propped on her hip, waiting for her in the narrow shade provided by the stockade, Daisy had to admit Antoine’s incarceration might just be the salvation of his family. Justine’s blonde hair gleamed with health, her dress was neat and pretty, and the baby was fatter and cleaner than Daisy had ever seen him.
Justine’s face lit as Daisy approached, and Rémy clapped his little hands. Justine set the squirming toddler down so that he could stagger toward Daisy.
Daisy crouched, setting the basket aside, and caught him just before he tripped. “Give me kisses, sweet boy,” she cooed, burying her nose in his sweaty little neck.
He giggled and grabbed fistfuls of her hair, mashing his face into her cheek. “Day-day!”
Daisy looked up in surprise. “Goodness, is he talking already?”
Justine flushed with pleasure. “I’ve been teaching him your name. The other children wanted to come, but I couldn’t manage them all by myself. Grandpére took them fishing,” she added, at Daisy’s inquiring look.
“I’m so happy you brought Rémy,” Daisy said, rising with the baby in her arms. “Corporal Tully, isn’t he handsome?”
Tully cleared his throat in noncommittal fashion. “Ma’am.” He retreated a yard or so away, to give the women some privacy.
Smiling, Daisy scanned Justine’s face. “You look wonderful. How is Mr. Chaz? Recovered, I hope, from his not-so-felicitous stay with us.”
“Yes, he’s well.” Justine bent to pick up the lumpy satchel she’d brought. “Sorry this is a bit smelly. He insisted on sending a cheese and some sausage. The blackberries are ripe, so I made a tart too.”
“All right. Just put it in my basket. I’m going to the market to buy some oranges and a few other things to put in too. Corporal Tully won’t tell.”
“Is Antoine well? No one believes this, but I miss him.” Justine looked down, her cheeks flushed.
Daisy, to her chagrin, felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. No one understood why she still missed Simon, either—least of all herself. Did that make her as pathetic as Justine? At least she hadn’t made babies with the man who deserted her. On the other hand, Antoine had finally stood up for something more important than a bottle of rum. She had no idea what Simon had run off for.
She pulled herself together by rubbing noses with the baby. “Yes, he’s in remarkably good spirits. Tully and Niall McLeod keep the other men from abusing him, and now that he’s sober . . .” She shrugged. “He’s a Lanier. As you know, he can be quite charming.”
“Yes, I know.” Justine sighed. “Have you heard from Simon?”
“Daisy, he’ll come back. Simon is the most stubborn man in West Florida, and he loved you. Loves you, I mean.”
“He told me to wait a year.” She felt her eyes drown as she held onto Rémy so tightly that he squealed. “I don’t even know what that means, Justine.”
Justine put her arms around both Daisy and Rémy. “It means he’s coming back.”
Daisy let herself melt into the other woman’s motherly embrace. Oh, how she missed Lyse. How she missed the closeness she’d had with her father. “Thank you, Justine,” she whispered. “I’ll take good care of Antoine.”
“I know you will.” Justine sniffed.
“Are you crying too?” Daisy grinned through her tears. “Corporal Tully is going to refuse ever to come with me anywhere again.”
“I can’t help it. I think I’m pregnant again.”
“Oh, Justine!” Daisy laughed. “I’m not telling Antoine that. You’ll have to tell him yourself.”
“Daisy, what’s going to happen?” Justine stepped back, wiping her eyes, and took the baby. “Is your father ever going to come to his senses and let my husband go? What possible difference can it make for one Frenchman to be kept locked up?”
Daisy shook her head as she picked up the basket. “I don’t know.” She looked to make sure Tully wasn’t paying attention, but lowered her voice anyway. “I’m worried that the war may be coming our way. There are letters flying back and forth between Mobile and Pensacola, more and more frequently. I hear that the French are making raids into the Gulf and the Spanish don’t do anything about it. I know Papa is anxious.”
Justine hugged Rémy. “Can you—will you let me know if there’s anything I can do? Maybe your father will let me come in to see Antoine sometime?”
“I doubt it. But I’ll try.” It was the best she could do. “Let’s go to the market, so I can buy those oranges. Maybe Rémy would like one too.” She turned and called to Tully, “Corporal, would you carry this basket while Justine and I visit the market?”
With a resigned sigh, Tully complied. “Just what I wanted to do on my afternoon off.”