Usually busy, the huge room that ran almost the entire length of the boiler deck was nearly deserted, a quiet oasis aboard the bustling boat. For an instant, the serenity was intruded upon by rapid, jarring notes as an adventurous tot swiped at the keyboard of the piano beside a small bandstand. Before the sound had died, the child was gone, pursued by a long-suffering older sister.
The chords faded, leaving only the buzzing of flies around the lazy ceiling fan and muted voices coming from the bar. Planters discussed the price of cotton and cane, their quiet conversation punctuated by the staccato sound of dice thrown at the end of the bar. None of it seemed to disturb the old men who catnapped in wicker armchairs in shady comers.
“They say that, behind her mask, Mademoiselle Emeraude is the most beautiful woman on the river.” The youthful male voice caught Tom’s attention.
“I thought you said no one had ever seen her face,” a girl challenged, speaking very low.
Tom glanced around for the source of the conversation, his eyes falling on four girls and a pair of young men huddled around a table. Not far away sat two Creole women, obviously the girls’ mothers, each with an eye on her daughters as they chatted.
“No one has seen her face, except perhaps the capitaine of this boat or her huge black slave,” the second young man explained.
“Wouldn’t it be romantic if the capitaine and Mademoiselle Emeraude were in love?” One of the girls sighed.
“Romantic, but unlikely,” the first Creole snorted.
“Why?” she asked. “He’s handsome and very charming.”
“Emeraude has broken hearts from New Orleans to St. Louis. She spurns all admirers.” “What good is being scandalous if you are not also fickle?” another girl reasoned.
“Quiet, Minette,” cautioned the others in unison. “You don’t want your maman to hear.”
Unnoticed by the group, Tom left the Grand Salon. Pausing at the railing, he stared out at the rugged shoreline. The Emerald Queen had made the run to fur-rich St. Louis more than a dozen times now. Since their second trip upriver, they had had to turn way passengers, and he had to admit, much of their success was due to Simone. Travelers enjoyed the grandeur of the majestic paddlewheeler, but it was Carnival with its gambling, its Mardi Gras ambience, and its beautiful masked hostess, that truly drew them.
Simone seemed to thrive as the enigmatic Mademoiselle Emeraude. She had been given the nickname by a lovesick Creole swain, and it had stayed with her. She cultivated a shroud of secrecy, recognizing that it was as valuable to their endeavor as Tom’s easy charm. Besides making her popular, the mystery surrounding her kept her safe. Known only to the Emerald Queen’s trusted officers, she did not mingle with the customers. And passengers were not permitted on the hurricane deck.
Going to Simone’s cabin, Tom found her sipping a glass of lemonade, still clad in the boy’s pants she wore when fencing. Turning to Gisèle, her new maid, he drawled, “You got another glass of that lemonade, Dimples?”
“Oui.” The girl giggled and scurried to get some for him. The daughter of a gambler, her father’s death had left her destitute and unable to pay his IOUs. Reminded of her own situation, Simone had rescued the girl and been rewarded with a loyal servant and friend. Gisèle also adored the captain and fervently wished her mistress would marry him.
“You and Batiste been practicing again?” Tom asked unnecessarily as he sat down across from Simone.
“The casino was not in use.”
“I can’t understand how a gal so little and soft and sweet got to be such a hellion with a blade.”
“I can’t understand why a man from a fine Southern family does not understand the Code Duello,” she retorted genially. When she had tried to explain it to him, he had asked quite reasonably why the duelists couldn’t simply flip a coin.
“What about their honor?” she had countered, aghast.
He had shrugged. “Either you have honor or you don’t. What good does it do to fight over it?”
Even now, she shook her head at the memory.
“Thanks, Gisèle.” Tom accepted a frosty glass from the maid. “You know, I just came from the Grand Salon, where your mistress was the topic of the day.”
“Mam’selle is always the topic,” Gisèle bantered.
“Was I tragically deformed at birth or tragically disfigured by small pox today?” Simone asked with a wry smile.
“You were tragically in love with me.” Tom grinned. “Another in a long list of calamities.” He sipped his lemonade, then said seriously, “Thought you’d like to know, Simone, a couple of your old favorites came aboard in Helena.”
“Garth and Stoddard,” she guessed at once, her green eyes darkening ominously.
“The ‘Colonel’ and his capper,” the captain acknowledged. “Figured you’d want to keep an eye on them.”
“How I hate sure-thing players.” She expelled her breath in a puff. “These two are skillful cheats. Do you think I can catch them this time?”
“Yep, and when you do, I’ll be ready.”
The night was hot, even on the river. Simone’s head throbbed when she emerged from the office with Batiste. Her headache was not helped when Carnival’s band began to play a noisy polka, the latest rage. She spied the obese Garth and his scruffy shill, Stoddard, at one of the poker tables. The dealer caught her attention, looking relieved when she positioned herself inconspicuously to watch the game. After a few moments, she nodded, and Tom, who stood near the door, disappeared into the darkness outside.
With expansive goodwill, Garth placed the deck of cards he had shuffled in front of Stoddard to be cut.
“No need, Colonel.” The scrawny man pushed the deck back toward him. “No need whatsoever, sir. Just run ‘em.”
But before Garth could pick up the deck, Simone placed her hand over it.
“Bonsoir, gentlemen,” she greeted them amiably. “You do not mind if I take a look at this deck of cards, do you?”
“What seems to be the problem?” Garth blustered. “There’s nothing wrong with those cards.”
“‘They do not seem to be nailed or marked in any way,” Simone conceded mildly, “but I could have sworn I heard a riffle shuffle.”
“‘You’re outta your mind.” Stoddard objected.
“Shall we see how the next deal would have gone?” Leaving the deck on the table, she dealt the top four cards to each of the other players. The fifth, a king, she placed in front of Garth. She dealt four more to the other players and the fifth, another king, to the squirming Garth. When the cards were dealt, a full house—three kings and two aces—lay in front of him.
“That doesn’t prove anything!” he bellowed.
“Does this?” she asked, swooping forward to pull an ace from Stoddard’s vest pocket.
The room, which had grown silent, erupted into angry shouts. Batiste gripped Garth by the nape of his neck, and the dealer grabbed the other. Followed by an irate crowd, they hustled the crooked players out of the casino to the stern. In the wheelhouse, Tom had already slowed the Emerald Queen’s engines. The paddlewheels bit into the current to hang close to shore.
Some captains marooned cheats on sandbars in the middle of the river, but sure-thing players found aboard the Emerald Queen received a dunking in the muddy water of the Mississippi and were left behind, near shore but sometimes miles from any town.
When Garth and Stoddard were thrown into the river, the fat card shark dived underwater to avoid the hail of bullets that followed such an ejection on most boats. Cursing, Stoddard found his footing and slogged ashore.
“‘Tis sure I’ll not be wanting to get on the wrong side of ye. Mam’selle Emeraude, is it?”
Simone turned. Tall and broad-shouldered, a man lounged against the railing, watching the unscrupulous duo haul themselves onto the river bank. By the dim light from inside, she could see his chiseled profile . . .which looked so very familiar.
“‘Lain?” she whispered, her face paling behind her mask
.
Suddenly the paddlewheels increased their speed, causing the boat to lurch forward, bucking against the current. Simone stumbled, reaching for the rail and missing. The man lunged to catch her, stepping into the light that poured through the doorway to the casino. Sinewy arms wrapped around her waist and held her against a powerful body.
The eyes observing her so closely were hazel, not brown like Alain’s. Glints of auburn shone in his wavy hair, and he wore a carefully trimmed moustache above a devilish smile.
Making no attempt to release her, he laughed. “Though I’ve always been something of a ladies’ man, I can’t recall ever having this particular effect on a woman.”
Planting her hands against his chest, Simone straightened and pushed away from him. “Merci, Monsieur . . .”
“Hennessey. Devlin Hennessey,” he introduced himself. “Dev to me friends.”
“You must pardon me, Monsieur Hennessey. I think perhaps I’ve had too much excitement this evening.”
“Maybe a promenade under a moonlit sky would calm ye?” he asked, offering his arm with a charming smile.
“Non, merci.”
“Would ye walk with me if I told ye I’d wanted to meet ye since I first saw ye this evening?” he asked, his voice serious.
Acutely aware of his nearness, Simone retreated a step. She was reassured to hear whistling and footsteps on the companionway. Tom was returning from the pilothouse. As he stepped into the light, he frowned toward the couple on the dark deck.
“Capitaine,” she hailed him gladly, “I want you to meet—”
“Hello, Hennessey,” he greeted the other man flatly.
“Evening, Franklin,” Devlin Hennessey responded with a cool nod.
Simone looked back and forth between the men, who regarded each other with obvious dislike. “You know each other?”
“We met once over a poker table,” Devlin explained.
“Remember when I lost the money to finish the Emerald Queen?” Tom asked.
“‘Twas a fair game,” the Irishman absolved himself. “And ye still managed to build the finest boat on the river.”
“Got myself a partner,” Tom answered, looping a proprietary arm around Simone’s waist.
The other man’s eyebrow’s rose, and he smiled ruefully. “So she’s rich as well as beautiful. Yer a lucky fellow indeed to have such a ‘partner.’” Bowing, he said, “Ye’ll excuse me, mam’selle. ‘Twas a pleasure to meet ye.”
When he went inside, Simone removed Tom’s hand from her waist and wheeled on him. “What was that all about?”
He seemed surprised by her annoyance. “I didn’t want Hennessey to bother you. Unless you want him to,” he concluded accusingly.
Simone massaged her temples in an attempt to relieve her aching head and snapped, “I don’t want anyone to bother me.”
“Are you all right, darlin’?” he asked with a concerned frown.
“My head aches,” she muttered. “I’m going up to my cabin.”
When Gisèle had helped her undress, Simone threw herself across her bed and buried her head in her pillows, trying to block out the music from below, but she could not sleep.
It was not only her head that hurt, she discovered despairingly. Her heart ached . . .at the memory of Alain.
How careful she had been not to think of him. And no wonder. The pain was too great, even after all this time. She remembered his kiss and the feel of his hands on her body as if they had been together only yesterday. She remembered their promises, and their hopes. She remembered a lifetime of loving him. She had thought she had put the past behind her. But deep inside she knew it was the memory of Alain that kept her from giving wholly herself to Tom . . . or to any man.
Simone finally slept and did not awaken until the boat whistled, signaling its arrival in Memphis. Rising sluggishly, she bathed and dressed. In the light of morning, she examined her feelings of the night before. The handsome gambler had caught her eye only because of his resemblance to Alain. Now that she realized that, she would have no further problem with him.
There was a light rap at the door, and Tom stepped into the suite, holding out a bouquet of flowers. “You look beautiful this morning, darlin’. Are you feeling any better?”
“Much better, merci.”
“I came to see about you last night, but you had gone to bed. I’m sorry about that little scene with Hennessey,” he said hesitantly. “I acted like the cock of the walk. I . . .I don’t know what got into me.”
“I know what got into you. You were jealous. But you didn’t need to be.”
A relieved smile lit his face, and he bent to kiss her cheek. “I love you, Simone. Get some rest, and if you’d rather not come down tonight--”
“Don’t worry. By tonight, I will be—how do you say it?—as fit as a fiddle.”
“I’m going to make a Kaintock out of you yet.” Tom grinned and ducked out the door.
That evening, Simone descended the spiral staircase to the office, pausing to speak to Virgil, her right-hand man in the casino. When she stepped out, she saw Dev Hennessey. His broad back was to her as he leaned over the roulette wheel to place his bet. She had not been mistaken last night, she thought, drawing a quick breath. In profile, he looked very much like Alain.
As if he knew she were there, he glanced over his shoulder, and his hazel eyes met hers. Nodding casually, Simone veered across the dance floor in the opposite direction. But before she had taken two steps, Dev was at her side.
“Ah, me dance partner. I’ve been looking for ye, mam’selle.” He swept her into a waltz before she could protest.
Seeing Batiste move to come to her aid, Simone motioned him to stay. She glanced around with dread, unable to spot Tom. She hoped he, too, would stay wherever he was. She would handle the presumptuous Devlin Hennessey. Attempting in vain to step out of his grip, she said, “I am sorry, but I don’t dance with customers.”
“Careful, love, ye’ll make me tread on ye with me big feet.”
She smiled in spite of herself, for he was an excellent dancer. But she insisted, “Monsieur Hennessey, you must release me. I meant what I said, I do not dance with customers.”
“I think ye dance quite nicely with customers,” he disagreed unconcernedly. “And ye should, with good customers.”
“What exactly makes a good customer?” she could not refrain from asking,
“A good customer loses, of course,” he said promptly. “And I’ve a mind to lose a great deal tonight. Maybe even me heart.”
“Monsieur Hennessey--”
“Dev, me sweet, Dev.” Skillfully, he danced her onto the dark deck. Releasing her, he led her to the rail, where they could look out over the moonlit river.
“I must go inside,” Simone glanced uneasily toward the door.
“If yer looking for yer ‘partner,’” Dev’s voice was heavy with irony. “I think I saw him go down to the boiler deck some time ago, like the trustworthy captain he is, to see to his passengers in the Grand Salon.”
“All the more reason I should return to the casino,” she said firmly, turning to leave.
Dev caught her arm and drew her closer to him. “Why’d ye try to avoid me, Emeraude?”
“I was not trying to avoid you.” Her protest seemed loud, and she realized the orchestra had taken a break. Sweet mandolin music drifted up from the main deck, where the steerage passengers were gathered on the bow.
“If ye don’t mind me saying so, yer a terrible liar,” Dev murmured, his face close to hers. “Do ye belong to Franklin?”
Glaring up at him, she pried at his fingers. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Good.” He released her abruptly. “That means there’s a chance for me.”
“What it means, m’sieur,” she said, drawing herself up, “is that I am my own woman.”
“And a fine one, too.” Devlin chuckled as he followed Simone back into the casino.
Tom stepped from the shadows at the head of the companion
way and stared after them. Climbing to the hurricane deck, he stood at the stern, grappling with unaccustomed, unpleasant jealousy as he stared at the Emerald Queen’s wake in the moonlight. He loved Simone and knew, though she never said it, that she loved him, too. He had been patient since that night at Paradis. Over the past two years he had watched her blossom from girlhood to womanhood, and he had loved every step of that development. But, damn it, how much longer was he supposed to wait?
Other men had flirted with Emeraude, but for the first time the captain was apprehensive. He sensed the gambler was different. Maybe he had been wrong to make no claim on her, Tom brooded. He did not share her bed, except when invited. He had not even proposed for months. What good was this waiting?
“Get a hold on yourself, boy,” he muttered. It was only a matter of time before Simone realized she loved him. In a few days they would reach St. Louis, and Hennessey would leave the Emerald Queen. Then Tom could forget this hateful emotion gnawing at him.
Wearing a rare expression of resignation, the captain returned to his passengers, bypassing the casino with Simon—and Devlin Hennessey—within.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Awash in spring sunshine, Simone and Tom stood in front of their New Orleans office, a squat wooden building, and surveyed their freight yard as mule-drawn drays came and went. At their dock, the Creole Queen was being loaded. They could hear the creak of her winch over the clamor in the yard.
Tom gazed around with satisfaction. Franklin Steamboats now had offices in New Orleans, Memphis, and St. Louis. Their three packets plied the bayous. Last May, a second mammoth steamboat, the Queen of Hearts, had been christened, and another, Fortune’s Queen, was being built.
His partnership with Simone was more profitable than he had imagined. What was even better was that she seemed content with her life on the river and with him. And Tom was delighted with her—his partner, his lover, his best friend . . .everything but his wife.
The Emerald Queen (A Vieux Carré Romance) Page 25