by Linda Ladd
"Luke's going to put me in jail if I stay here, Petie. He's already sent for the sheriff. I have to try to find Captain Hosie. I know you're tired-"
"Don't leave me here with him. Don't leave me!" Peeto clutched her neck in a stranglehold, and Bethany squeezed him tight.
"I won't, I promise, but we have to hurry before Luke finds out. Do you want me to carry you?"
Peeto shook his head, and she hugged him again before taking his hand and tiptoeing down the gallery. Behind the next set of French doors was the room to which they had taken Michelle. Bethany could see several servants hovering around the girl's bed, and she was relieved to see that Michelle was being cared for.
They slipped past silently, then hurried down the stone steps she found at the rear of the mansion. She and Peeto immediately ran out among the dark, eerie trees. When they reached the levee, there was enough moonlight to give them a shadowy path to follow.
Bethany hurried along, her heart beating with the dreadful fear that Luke would discover them gone and ring the alarm bell. After ten minutes of swift walking, Peeto began to lag, and Bethany picked him up.
"Just a little farther, sweetie. I know you're tired. Lay your head on my shoulder and rest."
Bethany trudged on, her arms aching from Peeto's weight, and she sighed in relief when she saw the first house on the outskirts of town. She set Peeto down, at the first streetlamp, looking back down the river the way they had come. The imagined vision of the look on Luke's face when he found out she had taken his son again struck terror into her heart. She hurried along the wooden sidewalk beneath the levee, her goal the crowded wharves and the Mariette.
Tall lamps of lacy hand-wrought iron cast circles of yellow light that chased away the dark along their path. A knot of young men stood laughing and drinking ale from tankards in front of the open entrance to one brightly lit waterfront dive. They were boatmen, Bethany could tell by their grimy leather pants and red flannel shirts. Captain Hosie was well known and well liked among the river men who plied the mighty Mississippi, and it was likely that one of these men drinking toasts to the river might know where she could find him.
"Your pardon, sir," she said loudly, stepping into the light to address the young man nearest her, "but I'm looking for a friend, a Captain Hosea Richmond of the Mariette. Do you know where I might find him?"
The man she had spoken to was barely older than Bethany herself, and more than a little intoxicated, but he endeavored to answer her query in a gentlemanly fashion, and the others in his boisterous group interrupted their conversation to stare at her and Peeto.
"I don't rightly recollect knowin' the bloke, missy, but-" The tipsy fellow scowled and muttered an oath as one of his companions jostled him aside.
Bethany gasped as the newcomer grabbed her by the arm, his other hand clamping under her chin and forcing her face toward the wall lamp.
"By God, boys, it be her! Lookee here, just lookee at her face!"
Bethany struggled to free herself as another man held a piece of parchment up alongside her face.
"See thar, it be her all right. And lookee thar, lookee, thar's the kid!"
The speaker grabbed Peeto by the waist, and although the boy put up a fight, screaming Bethany's name at the top of his lungs, he could not break free. Bethany increased her own struggles and managed to strike the toe of her boot against the shin of the man holding her. It connected with a crack, eliciting a shriek of pain, but before she could land another blow, her feet were held tight, and she found herself being carried down the street amid the laughing, shouting men, while several others dragged Peeto along after them.
An hour after Luke's arrival at his Louisiana plantation, he still sat in the book-lined library, finishing his supper and going over with Andrew the accounts of the last year's sugarcane crop. Both he and Andrew looked up when there was a tap on the door, followed by the waddling entrance of Tante Chloe, the huge Negress in charge of the household staff.
"Excusez-moi, messieurs, bud men bez here. 'Bout de reward."
"Show them in," Andrew told her, then turned to Luke in explanation. "Hugh sent me a pencil etching of the girl, and I had it posted all over the city. I've already had a half a dozen false leads like this one. Now that you've found her, I'll have the posters taken down."
Luke nodded absently, glancing down at the figures on the paper in front of him as three men were ushered into the library.
"They took Beth! They took her!" Peeto screamed at first sight of Luke. Luke's head jerked up, then he shot to his feet at the sight of the three strangers restraining his son.
"What the devil's going on here?" he demanded sharply. "Let him go."
Peeto ran to Luke when they released him, and Luke picked him up, realizing as the boy wrapped both arms around his neck that it was the first time his son had come willingly to him.
"It's all right, Pete. What happened? Where's Beth?"
"They took her away, they took her away," Peeto repeated over and over, until Luke raised chilling green eyes to the men in front of him.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"They got her locked up down at the calaboose," said one of the men, "but we's the ones who saw her first, so we gets the reward money. We ain't leavin' here until we gets it," he added with a wary look at the big, black-bearded man.
"That's impossible. Beth's upstairs."
"No, she ain't. We found her down on the wharf with the boy there."
"Is that true, Pete?" Luke asked, holding the boy out so he could look at him. Peeto nodded, tears running down his face, and Luke knew immediately what had happened.
"Pay them, Andy," he said, setting Peeto down on the edge of the desk, then squatting in front of him. "Beth took you into town tonight, didn't she, Pete?"
Fat tears filled Peeto's big eyes, and Luke pulled his son close.
"Don't worry about Beth anymore. I'm going to get her right now and bring her back here. You go with Tante Chloe. She'll put you to bed, and when you wake up, Beth will be here."
Peeto hesitated.
"I promise," Luke added, and Peeto reluctantly let the big Negress lead him out of the library, just as Andrew reappeared from an adjoining room.
"I paid them, but you'd better hurry. They said the girl put up one hell of a fight when they took Pete away from her. And, believe me, the calaboose is no place for a young girl like her."
Luke shook his head angrily. "That little fool! If it wasn't for Pete, I'd let her spend the night in jail, just to teach her a lesson."
Andrew heard the anger in Luke's voice and shook his head as Luke left to order the carriage. If being thrown in the calaboose wasn't enough, the poor girl was also going to have to face a good-sized dose of his older brother's formidable wrath.
At half past midnight, Luke was pacing the cold stone floor in the granite auspices of the Cabildo. He had been ushered into the small, ground-floor office almost three hours before, and if the damned police commissionaire didn't show up soon, he was furious enough to take the keys from the ignorant jailers outside and find Bethany's cell himself.
A black frown rode his brow as he prowled back and forth, a muscle twitching in his cheek at the thought of what she had done. Damn the girl! Didn't she have any sense at all? Getting herself thrown in prison! Not to mention endangering Peeto the way she had! By God, he'd damn well better lock her up in a barred room at Cantigny to keep her out of trouble!
"Ah, le sauvage, it's been a long time, eh?"
Luke stiffened at the derogatory name and spun around to find Monsieur Maurice Rachene behind him. He hadn't seen the rotund police commissionaire in ten years, but he looked the same, with his balding head and gray-streaked goatee. They had not liked each other then, and Luke didn't like the man now.
"That's right, Rachene," Luke answered showing no sign of that dislike.
"And already trouble has begun," Rachene stated as he carefully folded his black velvet cloak, and hung it on a brass coat tree. He
studied Luke as he tugged off his spotless white gloves and placed them on the desktop. "I assure you, my wife, Adelaine, was sorely vexed when I was summoned from the opera and could not escort her home."
Luke had almost forgotten how pompous and self-important Rachene could be, but he swallowed his ire, remembering from his past dealings with the man that he would have to use diplomacy to free Bethany.
"I apologize for the inconvenience," Luke said, "but it is of the utmost importance that one of your prisoners be released. She is hardly more than a child, and her arrest was a misunderstanding."
"Indeed? Perhaps, you should let me be the judge of that," the policeman said, lifting the back of his formal evening jacket before he sat down behind his desk. "Would you join me in a glass of wine?"
Luke gritted his teeth to hide his growing impatience, but he said nothing as the Creole took a great deal of time pouring two tumblers of brandy. Luke accepted the glass offered to him, and-to his further annoyance-it took twenty minutes more to convince the stupid fool that Bethany should be released into his custody. Even then, Monsieur Rachene was not particularly cooperative.
"I find this strange, I must say, monsieur," Rachene said, "but perhaps if you could assume the costs of her incarceration, we might be able to arrange something."
So, bribery was still alive and well in the Vieux Carré, Luke thought in cold contempt.
"How much, Rachene?"
"Five hundred francs, perhaps, but Monsieur Younger must personally drop the charges against her. Will he be willing to make the journey downriver to do that?"
"Of course. Andrew will arrange everything. He will issue you a bank draft from the Banque de la Louisiane in the morning."
Monsieur Rachene still took his time. "I must have your signature on the custody agreement. We do want to ensure the legality of this transaction, do we not?"
Luke nodded, trying not to show how close he was to losing his temper as the Creole penned the agreement in a slow, careful hand. When Rachene had put the last flourishing touches upon it, Luke skimmed it quickly, then signed, eager to be done with the business.
"The jailers tell me the girl was distraught when they brought her here. They were forced to restrain her, you understand."
Luke wasn't surprised that Bethany had resisted her capture, especially with Peeto's safety in question. He remembered clearly the fight she had put up on the day they met. He was glad when Rachene finally led him from the office, then up a narrow staircase at the back of the building. After climbing more stone steps and traipsing down several long, dark corridors lined with prison doors, Luke lost patience.
"Where the devil is she?" he demanded acidly.
"Not far," Rachene told him calmly, and a moment later, the jailer on duty in front of a heavy wooden door with a barred grate at eye level inserted a metal key in the black iron lock. Luke felt a wave of satisfaction when he saw the dried blood caked around the guard's hawkish nose. Bethany Cole had a hell of a right hook. The door swung inward with a scrape, and the guard bent forward to send the light of his lantern into the dark cell.
Bethany was in one corner, on her knees on the cold, dank floor. Her arms were stretched up over her head, her wrists manacled to an iron ring fastened to the wall. She looked small and helpless, and as Luke went to her, fury such as he had rarely experienced shot through him.
Bethany turned to look at him, fighting her tears. "I guess you had to come and see me in chains for yourself," she said hoarsely. "I guess it makes you feel real good."
Luke ignored her words, turning glittering eyes on the jailer. "Damn you, get those irons off her."
The guard hurriedly unlocked the heavy bands on her wrists, and the chain clattered to the stones.
"Come on, Beth, I'm taking you home," Luke muttered. But, as soon as Bethany's hands were free, her fingers caught at the fringe of his tunic.
"They took Petie, Luke! No one would tell me where he is!"
"He's safe with Andy at Cantigny. Now, come on, let's get out of here."
Bethany let him help her up, but her legs were too numb to hold her weight. When they crumbled beneath her, Luke put an arm under her and swept her up in his arms, carrying her out without another word to Rachene or his guards. She felt like a forlorn child in his arms, he thought, tired and weak and defenseless. He was glad when he was able to step out into the cool night air. Once in the dark confines of the carriage, Bethany huddled in the corner farthest from him. Luke stared at her, realizing that for all the courage and bravado she had displayed since they had met, she was scarcely more than a small, frightened girl.
"It's all over now," he murmured. "Just try to forget it."
"I'll never forget it," she answered in a low voice as she laid her cheek against the cushioned seat, fighting her exhaustion and emotions that were tattered after spending long hours in the cold, dark cell.
As the coach rocked along the road to Cantigny, she fell into a weary sleep. A short time later, when the coach drew up beneath the river portico, Luke took her in his arms. She didn't awaken as he carried her across the gallery to where Tante Chloe waited with a candle, then into the hall where a single candelabra burned on the newel post at the bottom of the grand staircase. He was halfway up the stairs before he saw Peeto, dressed in a small white nightdress and standing on the top step, his eyes huge with fear.
"Did they kill her?" he asked with horror, his bottom lip trembling.
"No, son, she's just asleep," Luke answered softly. "She's very tired. Run and pull down the covers on her bed."
Peeto hurried away, and Luke followed, gently lowering Bethany to the sheet as Peeto climbed onto the blue-and-gold embroidered bed stool. Luke watched from the foot of the four-poster as Peeto carefully tucked the soft pink comforter around Bethany's shoulders, then lay down as close as he could get to her. Two pair of identical jade green eyes met for a long moment.
"Do you remember me at all, Pete?"
Peeto closed his eyes without answering, settling his dark curls close to Bethany's blond ones.
Long after the boy slept, Luke stood leaning against the bedpost, watching them. They were such children, both of them. It was frightening to consider all they had gone through in order to remain together. Bethany Cole treated Peeto like a son of her own womb. She could never have had any ill motives toward him, no matter what Hugh had said.
Luke sighed with a great weariness of his own, then sank down in a velvet wing chair beside the bed. As he watched the two figures sleeping so peacefully in the bed, a thought came unbidden to his mind. He promptly pushed the idea aside considering it absurd, but it returned with unequaled persistence, again and again, until he was forced to give it closer scrutiny.
At dawn, when the faraway bell clanged in the slave's quarters, summoning the field-workers to breakfast, he was still sitting there, turning the thought over and over in his mind.
Chapter 5
Bethany's eyes fluttered open the moment Elise tugged the curtains back, flooding the large bedchamber with bright sunlight. She peered groggily at her surroundings before she realized that Peeto was sitting close beside her. As she struggled to sit up, he wrapped his arms around her neck.
"I was scared you wouldn't ever wake up," he whispered.
All the terror of the night before, when she had cowered alone in the horrible prison cell, came hurtling back, making her shudder. She fought the memories, patting Peeto's back.
"I'm all right now. Luke got me out."
It occurred to her then how little she could remember about the ride home, other than that Luke had been very kind. The whole series of events was like a strange, hazy memory, and the tender understanding he had shown her was such as she would never have thought possible from a man as hard as Luke Randall.
"Marster say dad zou be wantin' a bath, mamzelle," said Elise from the foot of the bed. "Jemsy, he brode it up for zou, and he make one for lil' boy. Marster say dad you no wantin' doze clothes zou wear. He say to burn them."<
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Bethany looked down at the filthy shirt in which she had slept. "Yes, please, burn them," she agreed with a shiver.
"Tante Chloe done cleaned zou udder things. They be hangin' in the chiffonier dere, if zou pliz. I take de lil' Marster for his toilette?"
Bethany stared at the maid, wondering at the respectful title she had given Peeto. She hugged the boy's shoulders. "It's all right, Petie. Go have your bath. It'll make you feel better. Then, we'll see about Michelle. Have you seen her this morning, Elise?"
"Le docteur say she bez dreadful sick and dad we muss teg kyah of her."
As Peeto followed Elise out onto the gallery, Bethany stepped down from the bed, examining her bruised wrists. There were dark blue marks on her arms and legs, too, where the men had gripped her hard. She swallowed, remembering again the terror of those long hours she'd spent in the dark. She never, never wanted to be alone in the dark like that, not ever again.
Suddenly anxious to wash away all remnants of the prison from her body, she entered the bathing alcove, slipping out of her soiled shift and breeches and stepping into the hip bath. The warm, scented water felt like a silky caress against her skin as she eased down until submerged to her neck. She had not often experienced the luxury of a long, relaxing bath, and never in a porcelain hip bath like the one in which she now sat. A wooden washtub in front of the kitchen fire was more like what she was used to, without the lovely scent of roses rising from the warm mist.
Memories of the calaboose came back, and she felt slightly ill as she remembered the way the guard had jerked her around, laughing as he chained her to the wall. She took the small bar of soap shaped like a little rosebud and lathered it up to scrub every inch of her skin and hair.
She lay back then, wishing she could soak all the haunting memories from her mind as easily as she was soaking the dirt from her body. After a time, when the water began to cool, she got out and dried herself on the thick, soft towels. As she donned her clean breeches and shirt, her foremost thought was what Luke had in store for her now. He could have left her to rot in prison. Why hadn't he? He had threatened her earlier with that fate more than once.