by Jo Goodman
“A hard day?” Lafitte asked when Cloud collapsed into a chair.
“A very hard day. We’re making progress. We might even be done ahead of schedule.”
“Bien. Travers is not pleased with my evasions. I think he wants to leave here as soon as possible.”
“Don’t let that happen,” Cloud said earnestly.
Lafitte smiled. “I will do everything in my power to prevent it, mon ami, though it is torture to have him under my roof.”
“I could take him off your hands.”
“No. You will have your chance later—when he is far from Barataría. Rest now and do not join us for breakfast. Travers returned to his ship this evening, mentioning some unfinished business he had to attend to, but he will be here in the morning. I only hope Pierre will join us. I have not seen him take such an instant dislike to someone before. He dreads tomorrow’s meeting.”
“As I am sure you must.”
“I would not endure it a moment longer if your ship was ready. He is a cruel man. He talks lightly of disciplining his men with harsh floggings as if that will endear him to me.” He sighed. “What a lot of fanciful notions others have about pirates.” He joined Cloud’s laughter, thankful the man retained that capacity, and then he went to his room.
The following evening the news was much the same.
“He is growing very impatient,” Lafitte said.
“Our repairs will be completed tomorrow evening. Can you keep him one more day?”
“Can the crew work without you?”
“Of course. Mr. Jordan will supervise.”
“Bien. I want you to meet Travers.”
“What on earth for, Jean? I don’t think I could tolerate being in the same room with him. Why do you ask it?”
“I persuaded him to stay an extra day because I said I received a lucrative offer from the Americans. I told him I expected the arrival of their representative tomorrow. You must not make me out to be a liar.”
“All right,” Cloud agreed reluctantly. “When do you want me to come?”
“In time for dinner, naturellement. Jeannine is preparing the most delicious ham. You will enjoy it.”
“I doubt I will eat a bite.”
While Travers was in his third afternoon meeting with Lafitte, Hugh Jackson decided it was time to check on the condition of Alexis. He was careful to make sure no one saw him go in the direction of her quarters. Travers had a few men who were loyal to him and the doctor feared his captain’s reprisal as much as anyone.
He listened at the door for some sign of life inside before he dared enter. When he caught the sound of tiny whimpering he unbolted the door. Holding the lantern high, he stepped inside. He had barely taken three steps into the cabin when he was attacked from behind and knocked on the floor. The lantern dropped and rolled but it did not go out, so Alexis had enough light to see it was not Travers she had gone after, but one of the two men who had shown her some kindness.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she apologized wearily. “I thought you were the captain.”
Jackson got to his feet and brushed himself off. “You seem to have a habit of making that mistake. I wouldn’t mind if your intent wasn’t to kill.” He bent over for the lantern and lifted it high, inspecting her in the flickering light. “My God! What happened to you?” Her right eye was bruised and discolored and her jaw was swollen. Her once-white shirt and fawn trousers were spotted with blood and he could see slight scars in the material that had been rendered by a whip.
She dismissed her appearance with a wave of her hand but she faltered unsteadily on her feet. “Please, Doctor. Captain Travers would not tell me. How is Mr. Smith?”
“He is much better. Stubborn man. Wanted to come down here himself, but I told him I would look in on you. You are lucky he is alive. You would be hanging from the crosstrees otherwise.”
“I am aware of that.” She released her breath slowly. Relief that Smith was alive and recovering made her relax. The pain she had been trying to hide from the doctor gripped her in a dozen different places. She moaned and started to fall to the deck.
Jackson caught her and eased her down, placing the lantern on the deck. The fetid air in the room was turning his stomach but he managed to fight the nausea while he held her head in his lap and stroked her hair. He had no medicines with him and he was undecided whether he should risk going back for them.
“I want to help you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“It’s all right. You should not be here. If the captain finds out he will have you punished.”
“Did he do this to you?”
She nodded. “That first night…after I hurt Smith…he came down here. He said he did not want to punish me in front of everyone.”
“Shh. Don’t talk. Have you had anything to eat? No, don’t talk. Just shake your head.” She shook her head. “Water?” Again she shook her head. “God almighty! What does he want from you?”
“He wants me to b-b-beg.” She was shivering now so Jackson took off his jacket and covered her.
“I’ll be back,” he said, easing her head onto the floor. “I’ll get my medicines and—”
“No, you mustn’t. The captain—”
“I don’t care about that. You can’t survive down here without some treatment.”
“No!”
“Hush! You don’t have the right to an opinion now. I’m taking the risks.”
“P-p-please don’t!” She reached for his hand and held it in a vise grip. “I don’t want you hurt because of me.”
“What makes you so sure the captain will have me flogged? I’m the ship’s physician. He needs a doctor.”
“A man like him doesn’t care. He whipped me, didn’t he?”
Jackson examined the half dozen or so tears in her shirt and trousers. The skin beneath was broken in only a few places. Travers wielded the whip not to scar her, only to frighten her and cause pain. “These are nothing,” he replied. “I know they hurt a great deal but they won’t leave marks. Just let me treat them so they don’t become infected.”
“N-n-no. You don’t understand. I didn’t mean what he did recently. My b-back. You’ve seen those scars?” Jackson nodded. “Who do you think put them there?”
Before the doctor could utter a response he heard a sound in the companionway. Quickly he doused the lantern and took his jacket. “I will be back later with something for you,” he whispered. He peered out the door and left, locking it behind him and successfully avoiding a confrontation with the approaching guard.
When the door opened again, Alexis cringed at the sight of the towering figure in the doorway. The man said nothing as he lifted her less than gently and carried her out of the room.
“Gawd, you smell,” he said when he deposited her in the captain’s cabin.
She wanted to retort that he would smell the same after being locked in a room for three days, but she was too weak to do anything but nod abjectly.
“Bath’s ready for you,” he said, pointing to the copper tub on the far side of the room. “Captain sent word you are to join him soon. He said you’re to clean up and make yourself presentable. I put what you’re to wear on the bunk.”
Alexis glanced in the direction of the bunk. On it lay a simple cotton day dress. It had short puffed sleeves edged with lace and a rounded bodice. She stared at the sugary yellow confection and wondered who Travers had purchased if for.
“A sister, or cousin, I think,” the guard answered, reading her thought. “You can be sure it wasn’t for his mistress.” He thought that seemed to please Alexis. He took another look at her matted hair, dirty face, and the blood splattered at intervals on her trousers. “I’ll be back in two hours. You should be able to do something with yourself by then.”
Alexis found her voice. “May I have something to eat or drink?”
“Captain didn’t say anything about that.”
Alexis refused to plead. She eyed the bath water, hoping it was not b
rackish. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the captain.”
“I know. But where is he? Where are we?”
The man chuckled humorlessly. “That is the captain’s surprise.”
As Lafitte predicted the spiced ham was excellent, but Cloud, also true to his word, found eating it a tedious chore. He concentrated on the mechanical procedures of lifting the fork to his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. It was easier to concern himself with procedure than to be drawn into the conversation with the man seated across from him.
Cloud offered nothing to the topic when it centered on women but he listened with interest to the banter between Pierre and the captain of the Follansbee. It kept his mind off the impending negotiations.
“And while you were in New Orleans,” Pierre was asking “did you have an opportunity to attend a quadroon ball?”
“No. But I have heard a great deal of the beautiful women who can be purchased there. Is it a common practice?”
“Common in New Orleans.”
“And the women? They do not object to being sold?”
“On the contrary,” Pierre answered. “These women have it better than most. They will be purchased by men who desire them as a mistress and probably treated better than most wives. Their mothers supervise the bidding, and I assure you it is discreet.”
“The women are of mixed blood, then?”
“Quadroons or octoroons. Skin the color of café au lait a dusty gold,” Pierre said dreamily “They are indeed beautiful.”
“You would be interested in such a woman?” asked Travers. He hid his anxiousness. The young woman was getting ready to join him shortly and he wanted to make sure his instinct about the Lafittes were correct—that they would not turn down such a gift as he could offer them. He almost regretted hitting her, but that could easily be explained.
“Pierre already has a mistress,” Jean broke in. “What is the point, Captain? I would hardly expect you to produce such a woman.”
Travers laughed. “I hardly expected to be able to myself but as it happens, I have a very attractive stowaway on board my vessel.”
“A stowaway?” Lafitte asked, astonished.
“That’s right. She hid aboard Follansbee in New Orleans. We discovered her in the hold after the storm. She was badly bruised from being tossed around. I can’t take her with me, and I thought I would be able to leave her here. She would have a better life than with her former owner.”
“Former owner?” asked Cloud, unable to remain silent any longer. He wondered at the concern Travers seemed to have for the girl. If only he had shown that much compassion for Alexis. “The girl is a Negress?”
“Yes. A light-skinned one. An octoroon, I believe.”
“Did she tell you that herself?” Pierre asked.
“No. She has talked very little. We were able to discern that much from her ramblings while she was ill. As I mentioned, she was badly bruised and I instructed the ship’s surgeon to treat her. She has the mark of a whip and what little she said convinced us she was fleeing an abusive owner.”
“And you want me to take her off your hands?” Lafitte said.
“I would appreciate it,” Travers answered smoothly. “I do not want to send her back to New Orleans and I cannot keep her on the ship. It is too dangerous and she does present a problem for my men.”
“All right,” Jean agreed. “I will take her. She can help Jeannine in the kitchen.”
“Once you see her, I doubt if you will want to relegate her to cutting vegetables.”
“That will be my decision,” Lafitte said sharply. “Pierre, go with the captain and bring the girl to the drawing room. Captain Cloud and I will wait for you there.”
“She should be waiting outside. I told one of my men to bring her here.”
“You were so sure I would take her?”
“I thought you might want some proof of her beauty first.”
Lafitte sighed, hating the British commander a little more with each passing moment. “Since she is outside, you will come to the drawing room with us. Pierre, see to the girl. Have André prepare a room for her. If she is ill from her voyage have her rest. I will talk with her in the morning.”
The three men retired to the drawing room to begin the business at hand while Pierre went to the entrance hall. He opened the massive front door and stepped out onto the portico. He saw the woman immediately. She was huddled in an oversized cloak and leaning against one of the columns in a manner that suggested she needed it for support. The man at her side saw Pierre and offered the woman his arm. Pierre noticed she grasped it heavily.
“I will take her,” Pierre said, rushing to her side. “You can return to your ship. She will be staying here.” The man nodded and left hastily. “Mademoiselle, can you walk?” Alexis tossed the hood of her cape back and eyed the man who held her warily. Pierre caught his breath. Whatever else he thought of Travers he could not deny the commander had an eye for beautiful women. The strength of her grip on his arm did not seem consistent with her fragile appearance. He brushed back tendrils of golden hair from her cheeks, careful not to touch her bruised eye or jaw. When she was better he decided he would have to discover more about her. It was doubtful she was an octoroon, not with those yellow eyes and hair.
“Come, chérie. You will not have to return to New Orleans. You are safe now.”
Safe? Alexis wanted to scream. Where was she safe? With some man Travers had convinced she was a runaway slave. What was the use of trying to explain the truth now? Travers had probably anticipated everything she would say. There was no one to believe her. Holding Pierre tightly she followed him into the house.
“Wait here, mademoiselle. I will find André and have him prepare a room for you. I will be back in a few moments.”
“Merci,” Alexis whispered, and then Pierre was gone. She stood alone in the foyer for several minutes and still he did not return. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her and she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes on the luxury surrounding her. Wherever Travers had brought her it was obviously a place of some wealth. Unable to stand much longer Alexis ventured forward to the closed double doors on her left, seeking a place where she could sit.
She thought she heard voices but it was too late to stop her entry into the room. She had already turned the handle and leaned forward.
Deep in heated discussion it was some time before the three men noted the entry of the caped figure. Alexis, however, had heard and seen enough to decide she had gone insane. It was Travers who saw her first.
Uneasily he got to his feet. “Ah, gentlemen. Here she is. The woman I was telling you about. Come here, girl.”
Alexis recognized the command in his voice, the warning nature of his tone but she could only stare helplessly from Cloud to Lafitte and back to Cloud again. They appeared to have no better a grip on the situation than she did. She felt hands on her waist behind her and realized it must be Jean’s brother who had brought her in.
“I am sorry, Jean. She must have wandered in here. She really is not well. What’s wrong? You look as if you have seen a ghost?”
Pierre’s fluid voice was all Cloud and Lafitte needed to bring them to their senses.
“Alex!” Cloud cried, rushing forward to take her from Pierre. She fell into his arms. He held her close, allowing her to know he was real, then he carried her trembling form to the sofa.
“Alex?” Pierre looked at his brother questioningly. “Captain Cloud knows her?”
“Pierre, Captain Travers, I have the very great pleasure to introduce Captain Alex Danty.” Lafitte said the words calmly enough, but Pierre sensed the rage burning beneath. He glanced at Travers who was only capable of mouthing the “Danty.” He now realized the kind of trick in which the commander had been trying to involve them. Pierre was not surprised when he saw his brother take down two of the rapiers mounted on the wall above the mantle and toss one of them to Travers. Pierre knew that anything he might say now to Jean to stop hi
m from killing the captain would fall on deaf ears, so he busied himself moving furniture out of the way to widen the arena. He paused in his work once to look at the woman known as Captain Danty and suddenly he knew how she commanded men, even in her absence.
Cloud turned from Alexis the moment he heard the slash of Lafitte’s rapier. “No, Jean,” he said, looking at Travers. “It is my right.”
Lafitte eyed Cloud, then Travers. The British officer was preparing to duel and seemed unconcerned as to who his opponent was. “As you wish,” Lafitte replied, tossing Cloud his rapier. “I will not hold you to your word under these circumstances.”
“No, Cloud!” Alexis cried out. She tried to get up as Cloud stepped away from her and moved panther-like to the center of the room.
Lafitte quickly took Cloud’s place at her side, placing his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to remain still. “You must not stop him. He would not have stopped you, Captain Danty.”
Travers faced Cloud. “Why do you call her Captain? And why Danty?”
“Because it’s her name, Travers. The name she took for herself after you visited her island.” Cloud spoke in a deceptively soft voice. He motioned Pierre to move to the far side of the room. Now there was nothing blocking his advance toward Travers.
“But her name was Quinton.”
“So you do remember! Good! I won’t have to do much explaining then. I can concentrate on other matters.” Cloud took his stance. “I have been waiting for this.”
Travers’s rapier cut through space in a fluid, silky motion. The sound it made punctuated Cloud’s demand. He stepped forward, thrusting as he did so. It was not a stroke designed to kill. Travers was only testing the balance of his weapon as well as the strength and agility of his opponent. Cloud’s subsequent movements warned the captain they were evenly matched. Youth was on the side of the American. Experience on his own.
“You’re a liar.” Cloud taunted Travers. He sidestepped Travers’s next move easily and began to advance, forcing the captain toward the fireplace. “She didn’t hide aboard your ship. She was thrown off her own during the storm. Tell me, Captain, how did she come by those bruises on her face?”