by DeVa Gantt
Charmaine was glad to climb into the Brownings’ carriage. “Is it always so hot here?” she complained, dabbing at her brow.
“There’s normally a breeze,” Harold replied, “but you get used to it.”
“Not if she wears her hair that way,” Caroline countered.
Charmaine lifted the tresses off her neck. “I was trying to wrap it in a bun—”
“Charmaine,” Loretta interrupted, squeezing her hand, “it’s lovely.”
Caroline raised her nose, but quickly turned her attention to the road. “Look—over there!” she exclaimed, pointing across the thoroughfare, motioning for her sister to shift to her side of the coach. “That’s Dulcie’s. Oh, the goings-on at that establishment! But men will be men. Isn’t that right, Harold?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he mumbled, talking to his lap.
“What did you say?”
This time he answered clearly. “I said, only you would know.”
She eyed him suspiciously, then ignored him altogether as the town continued to roll by. “And over there is the mercantile. It carries a wide variety of goods, nearly as fine a selection as any general store you’ll find in the States. But you don’t want to shop there on the weekends. That’s when the bondsmen make their purchases. What a filthy lot they are!”
“Caroline,” the man reprimanded, offended, “many of them are good men.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded, every bit as offended as he. “Murderers—that’s what they are!”
“They’re not murderers. They wouldn’t be working here if they were. You know that. Most are poor men paying the price of a minor offense.”
“Oh, don’t be so addle-brained!” she accused, insulted by his contradictions. “They’re common criminals. Why must you always make excuses for them?”
“I know them, or have you forgotten I oversee most of their work?”
“Ssh!” she hissed, her indignation and revulsion surpassed by her shame. “Do you want everyone to know you associate with those people?”
“I’m not going to hide what I do for a living on this island,” he replied in exasperation, “or worse still, lie about it, as you do.”
“Harry, please,” she protested, her nervous eyes flitting over those in the coach, “not in front of my family!”
When her bottom lip stopped quivering, she peered out the window and complained anew. “Now look what you’ve done! We’re on the outskirts of town and have missed all the sights!”
She remained petulant for all of a minute, then warmed to a new topic. “It’s a shame you missed meeting Paul Duvoisin, Loretta. Quite a fine specimen of a man he is, but a rogue, if you know what I mean, with an eye for the ladies. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Following in his father’s footst—”
“Caroline!” Harold objected again, appalled by her audacity.
“Well, it’s true!” she returned in kind, annoyed that her husband dared to quash the bit of gossip that begged telling. “Imagine, remaining a widower for all those years—sampling his fill—only to up and marry a girl young enough to be his daughter! And to think that Colette—”
“Caroline!” Harold exploded. “Hold your tongue!”
“But Harold!” the virago mewled, shaken by his uncharacteristic outrage.
His ire cooled as swiftly as it had spiked, and he pulled at his shirt collar in evident distress. “I’m sorry,” he apologized lamely. “But my wife shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”
Caroline clicked her tongue, muttering, “They’re not rumors, they’re facts.”
The remainder of the trip was passed in silence, leaving Charmaine to wonder over the woman’s temperament, so unlike that of her sister. Beyond that, Charmaine’s thoughts traveled to Colette Duvoisin, the same questions resurfacing, no less troubling. Was the young woman content bound to a man old enough to be her father? What revelations would the next few days bare?
When they arrived at the Browning cottage, a girl of perhaps fifteen emerged from within. Like her mother, she was plump, but she had a charming smile and rushed forward to greet them. “Aunt Loretta? Uncle Joshua?”
“Gwendolyn?” Loretta queried. “My, how you’ve grown!”
As embraces were exchanged, Harold drew his wife aside and whispered to her in heated tones. “If I hear so much as another syllable concerning Frederic and Colette, I swear I will send you packing.” When Caroline’s mouth dropped open, he rushed on. “Do you want me to lose my position here? Would it please you to see me banished like Clayton Jones? Remember what happened to him?”
Caroline’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Yes—but no—of course not.”
“Or perhaps you’d like to be the next Alma Banks? That would really give the townspeople something to talk about.”
Caroline’s expression bordered on the horrific.
“Yes.” Harold nodded with a satisfied grin. “You’d best think about that the next time you feel like wagging your tongue. Frederic might be ill, but I have it on good authority he’s not as incapacitated as everyone seems to believe. Beyond that, I respect Colette, as much as I do her husband. If not for them, who knows where we would be today? Therefore, you will cease your prattling!”
She nodded meekly, took a moment to compose herself, and finally beckoned everyone inside.
Chapter 2
Wednesday, September 14, 1836
Les Charmantes
SUNLIGHT poured into the bedroom Charmaine shared with Gwendolyn Browning. Her eyes opened and she stretched, enjoying the gentle breezes that whispered through the windows. In just a few hours, the coolness of the early morning would yield to the intense rays of the Caribbean sun. This was summer on Charmantes, but according to the Brownings, the other seasons were not much different, just a bit milder.
Crawling from the small double bed, Charmaine looked down at her slumbering friend. Yes, she could call Gwendolyn her friend. The girl was talkative and bubbly, her gaiety infectious.
Yesterday, they had toured the town with Caroline. Today, Gwendolyn wanted to show Charmaine the other, more beautiful spots Charmantes had to offer. Charmaine was looking forward to it. She didn’t relish Mrs. Browning’s company and was happy to leave the woman with her sister for the day.
As she sat at the dressing table and unbraided her hair, Gwendolyn stirred. “Good morning,” she greeted with a yawn. “Why are you up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep. So, what do you have in store for me today?”
“The beaches. They’re lovely compared to the ugly town.”
Charmaine brushed out the riotous locks. “I didn’t think it was ugly.” In truth, she had been quite impressed by it. Even with Captain Wilkinson’s description aboard the Raven, she had not been prepared for the self-sufficiency she’d witnessed yesterday. Besides the mercantile, saloon, meetinghouse, and bank, the town had a skilled cooper at the cooperage, a farrier and blacksmith at the livery, a tanner, potter, and cobbler sharing space in one of the three large warehouses, and a lumberyard of sorts, which supplied various building materials for all the cottages being erected. According to Mrs. Browning, most of the wood came from the northern pine forests and was milled right there. Additional hardwoods were transported from Virginia. Jonah Wilkinson had been correct; many families intended to make Charmantes their permanent home. Construction was visible everywhere, and only the sea stood as a reminder that this bustling “city” was on an island and not part of a greater country.
Gwendolyn watched Charmaine coif her thick tresses into a respectable bun. “Your hair is so unusual, Charmaine. How ever did it get so curly?”
“I don’t know. My parents had straight hair, and I curse my misfortune.”
“But it’s beautiful! If I had your hair, I’d set my sights for Paul Duvoisin!”
“Oh, Gwendolyn, you do have high aspirations!”
“Maybe I’d have to lose a bit of flesh around my middle,” the girl sulked, looking down at her plump figure.
“But after that—well—there’d be no stopping me!” When Charmaine shook her head, she pressed on. “If you saw him, you’d understand what I mean!”
“I have seen him, and I know what you mean.”
“You have?” Gwendolyn asked, jumping from the bed. “When? Where?”
“The day we arrived, on the ship.”
“Oh…isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” she declared dreamily. “I could just swoon every time he looks my way. Only, when he does look my way, he’s never looking at me.” She pouted until struck by a new thought. “If I had your curves and hair, I’d have a chance, a real chance!”
“A chance at what?”
“A marriage proposal, of course! And I’d accept immediately, before he could change his mind!”
Charmaine smiled at the juvenile declaration. Her friend babbled on.
“I know I’m only romancing. But look at you. You have all those things a man looks at, especially your lovely figure and beautiful hair.”
“I’m sorry to say you are wrong, Gwendolyn. I was wearing my hair like this when Mr. Duvoisin and I first met, and he wasn’t interested in introductions.”
“He was probably busy,” the girl reasoned. “He’s always like that when a ship comes into port. All work, all business. But wait until you’re living under his roof, seeing him every day, perhaps taking meals with him. Things are bound to change, aren’t they? And then you will be the envy of every girl on this island, because you’ll have that once in a lifetime chance we’ve all been pining for. You mark my words if Paul doesn’t notice you then!”
Paul Duvoisin’s house…living under his roof…taking meals with him…seeing him every day! The full import of working for the Duvoisins took hold. Why hadn’t she thought of him living there? It was his home! Charmaine felt giddy, seized by a host of paradoxical emotions: apprehension and expectation, dread and elation.
They left the bedroom some time later, dressed and ready for a day’s excursion. Loretta sat at the kitchen table, finishing a letter of introduction she would send off to the Duvoisin manor. In it, she had requested an audience with Madame Colette Duvoisin, stating that her companion, Charmaine Ryan, had traveled to Les Charmantes from Richmond in order to apply for the position of governess.
“That should do it,” she said, patting the folded missive. She set her hand to another, informing her housekeeper they had arrived and would spend no more than a month abroad. By the time the girls had eaten, she was finished and asked Gwendolyn to post the letter. “Here is some money,” she added. “Caroline tells me there will be a fee to have it shipped to the Richmond post office.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “What about the other one to Mrs. Duvoisin?”
“Your father said he will deliver it today,” Loretta replied.
The waterfront town wilted in the morning sun, but it did not seem to impede any of the islanders. Charmaine and Gwendolyn ambled toward the general store, and still Charmaine felt faint, reaching the shade of the mercantile porch none too soon. The heat had not affected her companion.
“Come, Charmaine,” she encouraged, “I see Rebecca Remmen. Her brother doesn’t generally allow her to walk about town on her own.”
“You go,” Charmaine said. “I have to rest a minute. Why don’t you give me your aunt’s letter and I’ll post it while you talk with your friend?”
“Very well. I’ll meet you inside in a few minutes.”
Charmaine entered the general store and was surprised to find it empty, save its proprietress, Madeline Thompson, the comely widow introduced to her yesterday. “May I help you?” the woman asked, her sultry voice laced with a mild, Southern accent.
“Yes, please,” Charmaine replied. “I have a letter I’d like to post.”
Madeline scrutinized the item she handed over. “Richmond…Hmm…It’s a shame you didn’t get this to me sooner. The post was carted off yesterday. But I suppose I could deliver it to the Raven myself, after I close up my shop.”
Charmaine nodded gratefully and began fishing in her reticule for the coins Gwendolyn had passed to her. She was oblivious to the mercantile bell. “Now if you’ll just tell me how much—”
“Excuse me one moment,” Madeline said, moving around the corner of the counter. “May I be of some service?” she inquired of her newest patron.
“No thanks, Maddy—”
Charmaine’s stomach lurched as she recognized the voice of Paul Duvoisin.
“—I can find the things I need. But if you’d like,” and he removed a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, “you could gather the items on this list. Miss Colette requested them this morning.”
Madeline smiled and slipped the paper from his fingers, her hand lingering a bit longer than necessary near his. “And may I ask a favor of you?” she queried coquettishly. “That is, if you’re headed to the Raven today?”
“I am. What would you have me do?”
The woman looked down at the correspondence she held in her other hand. “I’ve just received a letter intended for Virginia, but Gunther took the post already. Could you possibly give this to the captain? I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Eternally, Maddy? You’re not using your feminine wiles on me, are you?”
“If only they would work!”
“All right, Maddy,” he chuckled, pocketing the letter. “I’ll deliver this if you’ll have Miss Colette’s items ready by the end of the day.”
“Perfect,” she purred. “I’ll have the pleasure of your company not once, but twice today.”
Paul winked at her, then stepped away. Charmaine looked on. He seemed to have enjoyed the woman’s coy overtures. He glanced in Charmaine’s direction, and her heart missed a beat. At that moment, she fervently wished she were as adept at conversation as Madeline Thompson, flirtatious as it might be. She shook her head, knowing such thoughts could only lead to trouble. Suddenly, he was standing next to her, depositing a handful of items on the counter. Charmaine realized how foolish she looked just lingering there. “I believe I owe you money for the postage on my letter, Mrs. Thompson.” He was staring down at her, but she didn’t look up, her bonnet concealing her face.
“That will be two cents,” Madeline said as she moved behind the counter.
Charmaine quickly produced the coins, but before the proprietress could take the money, Paul was asking if she could add his items to those he would retrieve later that afternoon. With her nod, he bade them a good day. To Charmaine’s relief and disappointment, he walked out the door and into the blazing sun.
She stepped out of the mercantile a few minutes later, but there was no sign of him. Gwendolyn waddled over to her, exuberant. “Charmaine, you’ve just missed Paul Duvoisin! And he even spoke to me! ’Course, he rushed right off, but Rebecca was ecstatic. If you think I’m bad, you should hear her talk. She’s so in love with him…” And so it went. Gwendolyn’s happiness was contagious, and despite the heat, Charmaine had to smile and enjoy herself.
“This last week has been unusually warm,” Gwendolyn confided. “Our weather is normally beautiful all year long. Wait, you’ll see, and I know you’ll come to love it here!”
They headed southwest and within an hour were walking along white beaches where it was quiet, the town a distant memory. They collected seashells while Gwendolyn chatted away. Charmaine found it amazing so many people inhabited Les Charmantes, yet no one bothered to enjoy its most wondrous spots, for they were alone on the long expanse of sand, save the gulls that scattered with their approach, caterwauling in objection, soaring high on extended wings, then landing moments later in the wake of their steps.
When the searing sun of midday became too intense, they found refuge among the many overhanging boughs of the palm trees. They rested in their shade, their low voices the only indication they were there. Charmaine smiled as a pair of flamingos walked along the water’s edge, but seeing the young women, turned direction and disappeared into the shaded wood.
“Now,�
� Gwendolyn breathed, “where would you like to go next?”
“I don’t know,” Charmaine answered, looking up at the girl who had stood to brush away the moss and sand that clung to her skirts.
“It’s your choice,” Gwendolyn continued. “We’re close enough to walk to the Duvoisin mansion. It’s probably only a half-hour away from here. Of course, we won’t be allowed on the grounds. It’s fenced off. But you could get a good look at where you’ll be working.”
“Where I’ll be working?” Charmaine queried with raised brow. “I haven’t even gone on an interview yet, Gwendolyn. You sound so sure I’ll get the governess’s position.”
“You will. Your name alone guarantees it.”
Charmaine frowned bemusedly. “What do you mean?”
“Charmaine…Charmantes…It’s destiny, don’t you think? How many other girls have a name so similar? It’s as if the island were calling you home.”
Charmaine shook her head with a laugh. “I hope you are right, because I think I will enjoy living here, especially with you as a friend.”
She declined the visit to the Duvoisin mansion, fearing someone important might see her. They were getting hungry, and Gwendolyn suggested they go back to town and eat at Dulcie’s. “I brought some money.”
“The saloon?” Charmaine asked, aghast.
“It’s not that bad, not during the day, anyway, and the food is very good.”
Charmaine disagreed. “It’s a gaming establishment and worse.”
“Only at night, Charmaine, and mostly on weekends. During the day, we’ll be fine. None of the indentured servants or freed slaves are allowed in there.”
“Freed slaves?” Charmaine queried, finding the statement strange. She had noticed quite a few Negroes walking the streets without restriction, but just now wondered about it, for such sights were uncommon in Richmond.
“All the islands in this area of the West Indies are under British rule,” Gwendolyn explained as they meandered back the way they had come, “and a few years ago, slavery was abolished both in England and on the islands.”