Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “I take it you didn’t hit him.”

  “Unfortunately, no.” It was difficult to tell if he accepted her explanation at face value. She almost wished he would not, for she did not like abusing his trust.

  “I didn’t realize you kept a gun about your person. I would have been more careful how I conducted myself!”

  She managed a smile for his sally. “It was a … recent acquisition, but I don’t take it everywhere.”

  That much was certainly so. She still had the small weapon secreted in the drawer of the washstand. It gave her confidence to have it there; why, she could not have said. She had watched her uncle fire a much larger pistol once, watched him load and unload it, but had never handled one herself until the previous night.

  “Did you get a look at the man?” he asked, the expression in his dark blue eyes serious.

  She had been over this with the very correct police constable who had been called in the night before. It had been unpleasant, that crisp interrogation, and she was not certain the man had believed her tale, but he had had no choice but to accept it. Similar questions now could not surprise her.

  “I’m afraid not. It was a dark night.”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Sometimes, if you know a person well, a great deal can be told from a mere outline.”

  “It was not anyone I knew well.”

  He nodded. After a moment he said, “Does this … incident have anything to do with your sudden need for other lodgings?”

  “My what?”

  “I had meant to wait until I had plied you with food and wine at dinner this evening to do my prying, but I’m a great believer in grasping opportunities. You have been making inquiries about town for another place to stay. I wondered if you … if there was someone who has been annoying you at the Royal Victoria.”

  There was, of course, but she had no wish to have him feel responsible for remedying the situation. She had a vague feeling that there might have been something more he had wished to ask of her. Had he considered making her some kind of proposal? She was relieved that he had apparently, thought better of it, but could spare little thought for the form it might have taken. “No, no. It’s just that the expense—”

  There was no need to say more. “Ah, yes, money. Everything is becoming hellishly high as the money pours in from Nassau’s newest form of piracy. I’m sure your uncle didn’t expect it when he handed over funds for your stay. Who could?”

  “Yes,” she echoed stiffly, “who could?” How distasteful was all this subterfuge, these lies.

  “I don’t see the problem, however. Surely Ramon will stand as your banker; Lord knows he has enough of the ready. You need not feel in his debt; your uncle will certainly want to repay him.”

  She sent him a sharp glance, afraid of the whip end of sarcasm in his light words. It was not there. “Possibly,” she agreed, “but I dislike being indebted in any way. And there is no need to pay the toll for the most luxurious accommodation in the city.”

  “It’s where a woman like you belongs,” he said simply.

  “You don’t stay there,” she pointed out.

  “I’m thinking of moving.”

  The smile he gave her was warm, leaving little doubt as to his reasons for contemplating the change. She said sharply, “Not for my sake.”

  “There you go again,” he complained. “Was there ever a more self-centered female? Have you had breakfast?”

  “No, but—”

  “I have a notion to try out the service and cuisine of this hostelry before I give them my custom. Come along.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “But, I am. You may have the great felicity of watching me gorge myself.”

  She went with him because he would have it no other way. In the same manner, in the next few days, he coaxed and bullied her into taking not only dinner with him every night, but the midday meal as well. She was dragged up and down the Queen’s Staircase, the great flight of stairs cut from solid limestone by slaves some seventy-odd years before as a means of access between Fort Fincastle and the town. They explored the fort also, laughing over its walls constructed in the form, though not deliberately of course, of a blockade steamer; the fort’s flagstaff was even in the shape of a mast. Because Fort Fincastle was built on the highest point on the island, it was possible to see far out over the sea, to the North West Channel and the reefs and islands that lined it. For this reason, it was used these days as the location for a signal tower.

  Another day, they visited Fort Charlotte, too, on the west end of town, strolling around its massive walls and staring at its obelisk while a carriage waited. Nothing would do then, except that they also see Fort Montagu on the east end of the island, though it was something of a disappointment after the other two, being little more than a massive ruin. The main pleasure of the outing was that they were able to hire horses and ride a part of the distance along the beach, with the hooves of their mounts kicking up sand and spattering sea spray, and the trade wind in their faces.

  Not all of her time was spent with Peter. She managed finally to speak to Mrs. Carstairs. The woman seemed as doubtful of her need of employment as Peter had been of her need to economize on her place of lodging. She had flatly refused to allow Lorna to work in the shop and wait on customers, but was persuaded, finally, that the men crowding the city had need of shirts. If Lorna would make up a few samples, she would supply the material and arrange to sell them through a tailor she knew. It was plain to see, however, that the dressmaker expected her desire for employment to end when Ramon returned.

  The sewing did not prove difficult. It scarcely occupied half Lorna’s attention, though many of her free hours. She acquired the habit of taking a basket filled with cut-out pieces up to the belvedere on the roof of the hotel, where the light was good and the view of the sea exceptional. Because of the height, she was seldom disturbed, and then not for any length of time. She looked up often from setting stitches to stare out over the ever-changing waters of the ocean, straining her eyes down the North West Channel in the direction from which Ramon must return.

  She heard nothing from the Lansings. It was as if she were no longer alive, so completely did they drop her from their guest list. She had thought at first it was because Ramon had not insisted upon her inclusion, but as the days passed she began to wonder if it were not more than that. Once, as she crossed the lobby of the hotel, she saw the large woman in the arms of whose husband she had fainted on the night of the excitement speaking behind her hand to another lady, her eyes malevolent as they followed her. Another time, she was aware of women whispering behind her as she left the dining room. More than once, she glanced at a man to find him watching her, a speculative gleam in his eyes as he inspected her with obnoxious familiarity.

  She no longer had time for the gatherings on the piazza; it was too difficult to concentrate on her sewing while being plied with offers of drinks and, also, invitations. The peculiar thing was that most of the requests for her company seemed to be for events that would occur in the late evening. More than one night, in the late hours between midnight and dawn, she had awakened to the sound of raised voices remonstrating with her guard in the hall outside her room. They were always male. Still, she did not spend much time worrying over it. She had no desire to go out, except now and then with Peter; no need for other company or the gaiety of the social whirl. Mrs. Carstairs had approved the work she had done and given her more, and that was all that mattered.

  Her main source of news of the war at this time came from the English papers brought in on the transport ships. Peter shared his supply of them when a new bundle arrived. The things she read concerning New Orleans filled her with pity and impotent rage.

  Farragut had turned the city over to the army commander, General Benjamin Butler. The general’s first act had been to hang a boy still in his teens who, in the flush of anger and frustrated patriotism immediately after the fall of the city, before its official surrender, had t
orn down the federal flag. His second had been to require the signing of an oath of loyalty to the Union. The property of those who would not sign had been confiscated. They themselves had been loaded into wagons and herded across the state line into Confederate Mississippi.

  The threat of search and seizure was constant, with much wanton destruction attending it. The belongings of Rebel sympathizers, the silver and china, books, bric-a-brac, jewelry, clothing of lace, silk, and velvet, the carriages and horses, all were impounded and sold at auction, often for less than a tenth of their value.

  No one was immune to arrest. More than sixty men had been rounded up and arbitrarily sentenced to hard labor at various federal forts. Clergymen were dragged from their pulpits and brought before Butler for refusing to pray for the defeat of the South; editors faced him for daring to print news of southern victories, druggists for selling medicines to the men being smuggled out to join the Confederate army, storekeepers for refusing to open their stores, and even a bookseller for displaying a skeleton tagged with the name of a well-known northern defeat.

  A woman was taken up for laughing as a federal funeral procession passed her home, another for refusing to walk under the federal flag, and yet another for having Confederate literature in her armoire. Several young girls were hustled before the military commander under guard for daring to sing “Dixie” and “The Bonnie Blue Flag.”

  But, in the British press, the greatest outrage was expressed for Butler’s Order Number 28, which stated simply that any female who insulted a member of the federal army by word or deed would be treated as a woman of the streets plying her trade.

  Lorna thought often of New Orleans and of what her situation might now be in that city if Ramon had not taken her from it. Would it have been better or worse? There was, of course, no way to tell.

  Late one evening as she descended the rather steep stairs that led from the belvedere, she looked up to see Nate Bacon blocking her way. She had not seen him alone since that night in her room; he had merely bowed to her, his mouth twisted sardonically, across the width of the dining room several times, but had made no attempt to come close to her again. There had been a rumor circulating about the docks that he had bought a ship, a former merchantman, and was fitting her out, with no expense spared, as a blockade runner. Lorna had hardly been able to credit such a rumor. Now, he stood with his hands behind his back and his feet spread, a cold smile in his blue eyes.

  She made as if to step around him, and he shifted to prevent it. Her voice sharp, she said, “Let me pass.”

  “After finding you alone for once? Don’t be foolish, my dear.”

  That superior, patronizing tone grated on her nerves, though she refused to allow him to see it, or the apprehension he roused in her. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “But, I have a great deal to say to you. There will be no one to interrupt us this time, I think. This is not a popular spot, and most of the other guests are dressing for dinner.”

  “After the last time, I would think you would be embarrassed to face me.”

  If she had hoped to disconcert him by her plain speaking, she was forced to accept disappointment. “I will admit the meeting gave me no … satisfaction, but I don’t hold it against you.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Oh no. You see, I know that you will come crawling to me in the end. I intend to see to that.”

  Lorna gave him a look of purest contempt. “I can think of nothing more unlikely.”

  “Oh, but you will. When you haven’t a shred of reputation left, when your friends desert you and your lovers are driven away, then I will be there, waiting. I will take you in and dress you in silk and lace and diamonds when we go out in public. But at home, I will keep you naked, at my mercy. I will teach you every whore’s trick and you will perform them at my command. Your body will be mine, every inch, every curve and orifice, and I will use you until I tire of the pleasure.”

  A shred of reputation. She should have known it was Nate who had started the whispered innuendos, the echoes of which she had caught around her. She gave him a cold look.

  “What of you? Does it make no difference that I am the woman who killed your son.”

  “My son, and also his invalid mother, my wife, who did not live five days after I gave her the terrible news of Franklin’s death. But, no matter. I care nothing for what people here think of my predilection for you. It will be a fitting punishment, I think. You will hate it more than anything I could do. And if thoughts of Franklin intrude, I can always beat you — at least until the urge passes and others take its place.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” The ugliness of what he was saying made her feel unclean. She had to stop him somehow.

  “Cazenave? I have plans for him.”

  “You had plans once before, if memory serves, but they never came to pass.”

  “Next time there will be no mistake; that’s if he makes it back, of course.”

  “He will!” she cried.

  “Who can say? It’s a dangerous business he’s in, mighty dangerous. When he’s gone there’ll be no one to protect you. No one to keep me from doing … this.”

  He reached for her as she stood on the step above him. His beefy arm circled her waist and the sewing basket she held fell, tumbling downward. But, she had been afraid he would try some assault and the piece of shirt collar she had been stitching was clasped in her stiff fingers.

  His thick, formless lips were wet and hot as they sought her mouth. She turned her head, feeling them smearing over her cheek, while his stubby fingers with their wiry black hairs fumbled for and found the curves of her breasts. He squeezed one so hard she gasped with the bruising pain, and he lifted her against him, her upper hoop pressing into his groin. Blindly, she sought a place on his body not padded by material. There was a small space between his waistcoat and the top of his trousers at his side that she could reach with the hand that was clamped to her side. Making certain of it, she grasped the needle that was woven into the collar and thrust it into him with all her strength.

  He bellowed, releasing her, thrusting her from him, so that she fell backward on the stairs. Twisting, he found the cloth and embedded needle. He grabbed them and, cursing, pulled the sharp instrument from his flesh. He stared at it, then looked down at her. Flinging it away over the stair rail, he reached to grab her by the material of her gown between her breasts. Jerking her toward him, he slapped her viciously.

  “Stick a needle in me, will you, you bitch,” he said, and brought his hand back again, catching her on the other cheek.

  “Lorna!” Someone called out.

  Nate yanked her to her feet, then pulled down his waistcoat and straightened his cuffs. He was bending to pick up her basket, all solicitousness, when Peter rounded the turn of the stairs.

  “I knew you were up here when I saw this floating down,” he began as he caught sight of her. In his hand was the collar piece, still holding its bloodstained needle. It dropped to his side as his gaze fell on her face where the livid prints of Nate’s fingers stood out against the paleness of her skin. His tone entirely different, he said, “Is something wrong?”

  “Now, now, don’t get in a pelter,” Nate said, at his most unctuous. “We had a little run-in here on the stairs. I’m afraid, me being the heftier of the two, that Lorna got the worst of it.”

  “Is that right, Lorna?”

  What she would not have given to be able to say no, to loose the rage and horror she felt for Nate Bacon. But to do so might well involve Peter in a problem that had nothing to do with him. She nodded, reaching for the collar, taking the basket Nate proffered. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I feel a little shaken. I think I will go to my room.”

  “Why, Lorna, I’m so sorry,” Nate said. “I never meant to do so much damage, I swear. But, I don’t know what this gentleman must be thinking about your manners. Permit me to introduce myself, sir. I’m Nate Bacon, this young lady’s father-in-law.”

>   The Englishman’s aplomb was perfect. Not a muscle in his face moved as he inclined his head in a bow so shallow as to be an affront, ignoring the hand Nate offered. “How odd that you should be here,” he said. “You must be the father of the man she killed.” Turning to Lorna, he said, “I came to tell you, love, that a message has come from Fort Fincastle. There are steamships in the channel, heading toward Nassau. The runners are back.”

  17

  The Lorelei was not among the ships that steamed slowly up the channel and dropped anchor in the harbor during the night, nor was she one of the two that arrived just before daybreak. She had left Wilmington on the same night, but had not been sighted since. It had been a rough trip, with a gale encountered just before they reached the Gulf Stream. The federal cruisers had been out in force, as thick as fleas on a dog.

  The salient fact that Ramon had not returned had been evident as soon as the ships hove-to in the harbor. The remainder of the information came the following morning as the captains gathered on the piazza, throwing themselves into chairs with the bonelessness of exhaustion and shouting for drinks with the vigor of men who had met danger and given it a nod before sailing past. The money and liquor flowed, the goombay music played, and the trade winds blew. None wanted to think of Ramon for long. Instead, they proposed a party.

  The plans were drawn up then and there. There would be a ball held in the hotel dining room as soon after dinner as the place could be cleared. A cold collation could be set up somewhere, perhaps in the ladies’ parlor, for supper. Musicians would be rounded up. Everyone would ride in a different direction to deliver the invitations. The only question that remained was whether the champagne should be served by itself, in a cocktail, or as a punch. Where was the difficulty the ladies always complained of in the arranging of a ball? Let the hotel manager be called and given his orders.

  Lorna was present because, seeing her passing by, the captains had insisted. The last thing she felt like doing was entering into the preparations for an impromptu party; still, she could not get out of it. Before she knew where she was, she had agreed to supervise the preparations; to see to it that flowers and greenery were brought in and that the fruit punch for the elder ladies was mixed and set to chill, and to inspect the food for the supper. It crossed her mind to wonder if they were trying to distract her from dwelling on Ramon’s absence. But no, they could not know how disturbed she was, not even if she did get up and move to the railing, staring out over the sea, a dozen times in the hour.