Louisiana History Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  No. It was not possible. The man she knew, the man who had held her in his arms and bathed her body while she was desperately ill, could not have caused the violent and degrading deaths by poison of three people. If she was going to concoct games of secrets and blackmail, then any one of the people who had left Saint-Domingue aboard the Sea Spirit might be guilty, from poor middle-aged Claude Tusard to girlish Flora Mazent. So might any of the people they had met since then in New Orleans, an acquaintance such as Rachel Pitot, a servant, a vengeful citizen who did not like islanders, any madman with access to poison.

  She must stop such thoughts. They did not help, served no purpose except to distract her from what she should be doing.

  She must decide where she was going and what she was going to do. That was it. Nothing else mattered right this minute. Nothing.

  But suppose Ryan had killed no one, had only spoken of marriage to Mazent? When would these negotiations have taken place, before he asked her to marry him, or after she had refused, perhaps out of pique for that rejection? He had made his abrupt proposal on the same afternoon that he had told her about the vauxhall party planned by Mazent; she remembered it well. The party had been held three days later, and it was then that the first mention had been made of Flora’s betrothal.

  Still, there had been nothing on that evening to indicate that Flora was any more aware than usual of Ryan. Her attention had been centered on Durant, her escort by default since neither had a partner. How long ago that night seemed, with its scent of orange blossoms and its laughter. And afterward, in the courtyard—

  She would not think of that.

  She must leave, she really must. But how was she to make her way? She had been given a better education than most due to her lengthy sojourn in a French boarding school; it should be possible for her to hire herself out as a governess. However, she had discovered that schooling was not considered a great advantage here, certainly not a necessity for the enjoyment of life. The one public school maintained by the Spanish king, along with a handful of private establishments, was considered adequate for the education of boys. Girls were schooled by the Ursuline nuns to the age of twelve or so, after which additional learning was thought to be a detriment to the making of a good wife and mother.

  What else was there? The menial jobs of house maid, nurse, laundress, or cook were held by slaves or free women of color. Free women of color also made up the majority of the vendors of trifles on the streets, the candies and cakes, nosegays and sunshades. There might be employment to be had with a milliner or seamstress, but it would most likely be on a piecework basis. Elene’s talent with a needle was adequate; still, she lacked the speed and polish required to make enough to keep herself and Devota, even with Devota’s help.

  There was a single possibility, and that was the perfume. If there were no special powers in it, then all her efforts to retrieve the little that had been sold, her staunch attempt to destroy the rest, were for nothing. She still had the empty bottles and a few of the ingredients to make a scent of some kind. Why should she not return to the original, if the money could be found? Or would the effort be wasted since she had given out the stories of a rash caused by the perfume? Would it take so long to build sales that she and Devota would starve amidst their wondrous scent?

  No matter, she would not give up.

  She still had her earrings. She would sell them, take the small amount they might bring, and buy minute amounts of the flower essences, enough to make no more than two or three bottles of perfume. By selling these, she should then have the means to make five or six more. It would be a weak beginning, much more so than she had planned, but it would suffice. Eventually, perhaps even before Ryan returned, she would make the money to afford Devota and herself a small room somewhere, a place of their own.

  It occurred to her, fleetingly, that she would have ample funds to proceed if she sold Devota. She could as easily have bartered away her own mother, of course, on top of which was the fact that Devota held the secret of the final ingredient of the perfume. The idea was dismissed almost before it was born. She and her maid would make their way together. The sooner they started, the better.

  It took nearly a week to arrange the best price for the earrings, six days of tramping from jeweler to milliner and back again. They were bought, finally, by a grande dame with kindly eyes who heard Elene haggling with a goldsmith. That evening, Elene and Devota counted the money with care, and made an even more careful list of what they would need to recreate the perfume.

  Morning brought a caller, Durant. Elene met the news with impatience, since she was on the point of going out with Devota. Taking off her bonnet again, smoothing her tightly braided coronet of hair, she went out onto the gallery to greet him.

  Durant bowed over her hand. She murmured something polite. It was a beautiful day, cool and pleasant with the poignant blue of the autumn sky arching overhead, so she indicated with a nod to Benedict that refreshments were to be served overlooking the courtyard. Leading Durant to a pair of chairs on either side of a small table, she sat down.

  In the bright light, she noticed that he had grown thinner since leaving Saint-Domingue, as if the heat of a New Orleans summer and the loss of his mistress had shrunk his body and his features. His air of dissipation was gone, and in its place was an impression of self-discipline. There was still arrogance in his bearing, however, and a covetous look in his eyes as they rested on her.

  “I understand Bayard is away,” he said.

  “Yes, a matter of business.”

  “Business for Laussat? We must hope the trip to Washington City doesn’t prove too dangerous.”

  “Is it common knowledge then, Ryan’s mission? I thought it a secret.”

  “I have no idea how common it may be, though I heard it myself at the Café des Réfugiés. Perhaps Bayard was merely giving himself airs? After all, how secret need a mere courier’s journey be?”

  Elene gave him a level stare. “It’s more than that, I believe.”

  Durant shrugged his disinterest and changed the subject to ask after her health. As she answered, Benedict arrived with the wine. While the manservant was present, they continued in that innocuous vein, commenting on the fever cases reported of late, the numbers of which were declining as the cooler fall weather continued. Durant told her which families had returned from their visits in the country in response to the return of salubrity, and of the amusements being planned for the fall and winter, many of them centered around celebrations of the expected change in government.

  When Benedict had gone away, they spoke of the retreat of the French before the British on Saint-Domingue, and the growing power of the black general, Dessalines.

  “It begins to look as if there is no hope of the French ever returning,” Elene said. “Have you decided what you will do if nothing can be regained from what you own?”

  “Do?” he inquired with a lift of his brows.

  “What activities you will pursue, whether you will buy land and raise sugar cane like everyone else, or perhaps read law or delve into commerce?”

  “I have no intention of soiling my hands with commerce, that much is a certainty. And the law is for pettifogging types who love disputation.”

  “You will be a planter again, then.”

  “We shall see,” he said, taking a careful sip of his wine, “though I am flattered by your concern. But what of you? I have expected at any time to hear of your marriage.”

  “My marriage?”

  “To Bayard. Serephine had it from your maid some time ago that he had proposed, though she only mentioned it to me just before she died.”

  There was no need to explain herself to Durant. “I don’t care to marry, as I told you on the ship.”

  “That may prove to be a mistake.”

  “What do you mean?” There was a tone in his voice she did not like.

  “I am assuming you enjoy your position here, as a wealthy man’s kept woman. It appears to me that Ryan is loo
king to the future in his quest for a wife.”

  “The future?”

  “The Americans who will be coming to power are not as forgiving of irregular living arrangements as the French, or even the Spanish. They will frown most sternly upon a man openly keeping a mistress. To keep one secretly is, naturally, a peccadillo to earn a wink and a slap on the back.”

  “I doubt Ryan is concerned with what the Americans think.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. He has been doing business with them in a small way for years, and no doubt expects to increase the commerce greatly when they come to power. Unlike us, who make distinctions between business and social acquaintances, the Americans will expect to be entertained in his home. This he cannot do without a wife.”

  Elene gave him a straight look. “Are you trying to say that I will hinder his prospects with the Americans?”

  “Oh, I doubt Bayard will allow that. I’m trying to hint that the betrothal you were so obliging as to lay at my door the other day may have been contracted by him.”

  “You mean with Flora Mazent?” Her voice was blank.

  “Is it so shocking?”

  “Not exactly. The possibility was mentioned by someone else.”

  “These things have a way of becoming known.”

  “I didn’t say I believe it.”

  “Only consider, there was her father, a man of means ready to invest in Bayard’s operation, and a young and impressionable girl who could be expected to do as she was told and not make a fuss if he chose to set up his inamorata in a separate establishment, or even keep her under the same roof. What could be better?”

  “He wouldn’t.” She could not quite keep her voice steady.

  “No? He is a privateer, remember, used to arranging matters to suit himself, bending the rules here and there.”

  Was it possible? The blood drummed in Elene’s ears as she tried to decide. There was logic in what Durant said. Ryan’s trading interests were important to him, consuming much of his time and a great deal of his thoughts. He was also vocal in his opinions of the benefits to be gained by coming under the American flag. He had, after all, undertaken this arduous ride to Washington City for that reason.

  That did not mean he would allow the Americans to dictate his way of life; still, he might enjoy appearing to conform while adjusting his household for his own pleasure. If he had intended to marry Flora instead, the plans had gone awry. It was just as well, for Elene could never have consented to being a part of a ménage à trois. She could hardly blame him for the attempt, however. He had asked her to marry him first, after all.

  The idea that she might be harming Ryan’s interests by living in his house without benefit of marriage was also abhorrent to her. It would be a poor return for the way he had saved her life twice over. He had never mentioned the problem to her, but then he wouldn’t; it was not his way. Madame Tusard had tried to warn her for her own sake, but she would not listen then. Now, coupled with the painful knowledge of the muddle she had made of their liaison and the fact that he was holding her without love, it served to strengthen the resolve she had already taken.

  She drew a deep breath. “You need not darken Ryan’s character to me. I already intend to leave him.”

  The words hung in the air, stark, resonant with finality. For a panicked instant, Elene wished them unsaid. That was impossible, and unwise.

  Durant’s brows went up. “You mean — what will you do?”

  “Find a room somewhere,” she said with deliberate vagueness.

  “And do what?”

  “Begin again with my perfume. I must have something of my own to make the money to earn my way. Otherwise I will always be a kept woman, dependent on some man for every bit of food and rag of clothing I wear. I can’t bear that.”

  “Your perfume? Are you sure?”

  She gave a hard nod. “I’m sure.”

  He tilted his head to give her a doubtful look, but went on. “Bayard would come after you the instant he returns.”

  “It will do him no good.” She lifted her chin.

  He got to his feet and moved to the railing. Over his shoulder, he said, “There was a time when I came very near to having the right to take care of you.”

  “I somehow doubt that in those days you would have given your consent to my becoming a perfumer.”

  “Very true,” he said in dry tones. “Nor do I approve of it now. According to Serephine, it’s not just perfume but a witch’s potion you make with that woman of yours.”

  “You believe it, of course?”

  He shifted, as if uncomfortable. “I’ve seen and heard of stranger things on the island. I threw out the bottle Serephine had the minute she told me.”

  “Just in case.” She had not known he believed in the Voudou. Serephine must have told him of the perfume after her visit trying to get it back.

  “As you say.”

  “I suppose you know your disapproval makes no difference to me.”

  He shrugged, his gaze on the gently moving leaves of the oak tree. “Anyway, I hope, for old times’ sake, that you will permit me to be of assistance in this move.”

  Surprise held her silent for a moment. “If you are offering money, it’s very generous of you, but I prefer to manage myself.”

  “My God, Elene,” he cried, swinging on her, “must you be so proud? I don’t expect anything of you in return!”

  “I never thought you did.”

  “Didn’t you? All right, I said some things on the ship coming from the island that I shouldn’t have, that I didn’t mean.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his face dark. “But now I have this need to turn back the clock, to have everything as it used to be, for it to be as it once was between us.”

  “You must know that’s impossible.”

  “Is it? Suppose I said to you, come live with me?”

  “I never lived with you before.” The objection was instinctive, without force as she searched for a way to refuse him without hurting his pride.

  “A small matter. We were so much together we may as well have been under the same roof.”

  “It isn’t my purpose to exchange one man for another. Besides, you must know that I … that my affections are elsewhere.”

  “I expect you think you are in love with Bayard. That’s of little importance.”

  A flush not entirely of anger heated her cheekbones. “It may be to you, but it isn’t to me. Anyway, I don’t need a protector.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” he said, his jaw muscles tightening, “but I won’t argue about it. If you won’t come to me, where will you go? Have you found a place?”

  “Not yet.” She had not looked, though she would not tell him so.

  “There is a room available where I live.”

  “I feel sure it would be more than I can pay.”

  “Not so. In fact, the rental is paid for more than a month, until the first of December.”

  “Let me guess,” she said in tight suspicion, “the room belonged to Serephine?”

  “What an opinion you have of me. As a matter of fact, it’s a servant’s room, one I took because I was looking for a maid for Serephine. It’s small, but comfortably furnished, and has the advantage of being safer than some rat-infested hovel on the edge of town.”

  “Because you will be near?”

  He made a sound of exasperation. “Because it’s on a decent street, one lighted at night. Come, don’t be foolish. Say yes, and I will speak to my landlady and have her save it for you.”

  As she stared at him without reply, he went on. “I’m not an ogre, Elene. Our fathers were friends and neighbors, you have known me forever. I only want what is best for you.”

  Put that way, it seemed childish to insist on finding her own accommodations. Still, she hesitated.

  “Think,” he said, his tone cajoling, “if you don’t have to pay for your room and board, you will be able to advance with your perfume that much faster.”

  “I d
on’t care to stay in a room paid for with your money.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “It may be, but it’s the way I feel.”

  “Then you can pay me for it, if it makes you feel better, but only after you have begun to sell.”

  Her lips tightened. “It seems odd of you to be so intent on aiding me. I thought you scorned commerce.”

  “I feel sure you will grow tired of it,” he answered with a smile. “Then I hope to persuade you to listen to my proposal after all.”

  “At least you’re honest, even if you’re wrong.”

  “Prove it.” The challenge was quiet. He stood straight and tall against the morning light.

  If she agreed, it would mean she could leave Ryan’s house now, without having to wait to earn the money. It would be taking action at once, before she could weaken and sit supinely waiting for him to come back.

  “Show me I’m wrong,” Durant urged again, his eyes narrowing as he watched the expressions on her face.

  A decision must be made. She gave an abrupt nod. “Very well. I will.”

  “If anyone can, chère, I don’t doubt it’s you.”

  The words were satin smooth, the expression in his eyes clear, but the clasp of his hand on hers when he took his leave was held a shade too long, and the kiss he placed on its back was fervid.

  18

  “I’M NOT GOING.”

  Elene was almost packed. She had decided to remove to her new lodging immediately; delaying would only make it harder. Gathering her belongings together had not taken long since they were so few, hardly enough to fill a small trunk. She had hesitated over the gowns, but since the materials for them had been purchased with the money from her mother’s necklace, her right to them seemed clear enough.

  She had never considered that Devota would not wish to go. Her maid was a woman of strong opinions, Elene knew, but the will of her mistress had been her own for so long that it had not occurred to Elene it could be otherwise. She had not expected Devota to like what she was doing, and had even thought she might have to persuade her, but she had certainly not thought to hear a flat refusal to leave Bayard’s house.