by Beth White
“He’s fine, but I’m not supposed to say anything else.” He offered his elbow, which she ignored, then followed her down the schoolhouse steps like a puppy. “I don’t know why you’re angry with me. I didn’t do anything.”
“That is true.” She scalded him with a look over her shoulder. “You don’t do anything but follow orders.” And the same could be said of me, she thought with a pang of conscience. “I’m not angry with you, Niall, I’m just worried. Doesn’t it bother you when honest citizens are arrested for speaking their minds in a public place?”
“James Willing is an officer in the rebel army. Your father—I’m sorry, Lyse, but he’s a drunkard and rabble-rouser, just like your uncle Guillaume was.”
She could hardly believe her ears. “Uncle Guillaume was executed by the Spanish, a long time ago, under very different circumstances. Do you think my papa should be hung as a traitor?”
“Of course not, but—but—now, I told you I can’t speak to you about this, and you made me—” Niall grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stop. When she stared at him in resentful silence, he blundered on. “Lyse, I’m going to say one more thing, and then we’re going on to the fort. My feelings for you have nothing to do with my duty to the king’s guard. I love you, but if you won’t let me protect you, then you’ll have to take the consequences.”
Lyse thought her head might explode. “Is that right? Well, let me tell you something, you pompous r-rooster! It is not your place to give me ultimatums or blackmail me with your stupid threats! You can’t tell me what to believe, you can’t make me turn my back on my father—drunkard or not—and you can’t make me marry you!” She wheeled and charged for the gates of the fort.
“Wait, Lyse, that’s not what I meant!”
By now she was holding back angry tears, banging with the heel of her fist on the gates. “Let me in!” she shouted at the sentry in the gatehouse. “Major Redmond wants to see me!”
“Lyse, stop it!” Niall took her by the shoulders.
She wrenched away from him. “Leave me alone!” The gate swung open, and she rushed inside, nearly colliding with a Negro laundress carrying a loaded basket. Dodging the woman, Lyse headed straight for the admin offices. She could hear Niall stomping along behind her.
At the last minute, he ran around her to reach the major’s office first. Barely stopping to knock, he flung the door open. “Miss Lanier here on the major’s orders,” he panted.
Corporal Tully produced his patented lugubrious scowl. “It’s about time. Bring her in.”
The situation wasn’t funny anymore. Daisy stormed across the drill ground in the center of the fort, as upset as she’d ever been in her life. How could Papa so mistreat Lyse’s father and grandfather? She had just seen for herself that they had been held in the guardhouse for over two weeks, most of that time on short rations. Poor old Mr. Chaz was weak from hunger, and Mr. Antoine had apparently also been beaten, probably for information. His once-handsome face was now gaunt, livid bruises marring the sharply defined cheekbones. Raw cuts oozed at the corners of his mouth.
For a week or so she hadn’t known. But eventually the soldiers began to talk about the prisoners in her hearing. When she asked questions, Papa at first answered with the vagueness of one putting off an annoying child. Then he’d resorted to ordering her to stay away from the guardhouse, had even threatened to lock her in her room if she disobeyed.
Well, today she had disobeyed.
She had found the Lanier men together in a narrow barred cell, at the low-lying end of the building that had flooded in last week’s three-day spate of torrential rain. They had apparently been sleeping on the bare, wet floor. James Willing, the American who had started the whole episode, was confined as well, but as an officer, he was comparatively well fed and housed in the officers’ quarters, comfortable in a room with a bed, a chair, and a writing desk.
“The Laniers are traitors,” the guard on duty said, as though that justified such barbaric injustice, “worse than enemy soldiers in uniform.”
She slapped the man’s smug, astonished face and demanded that he move Mr. Chaz to a dry cell and give him something to eat. When he refused—unless her father gave the order—she had wheeled and headed for her father’s office. Papa would give the order! She would make him, somehow.
Her whole body trembled as she rapped upon the door. “Corporal Tully! It’s me, Daisy. I must speak with my father immediately. It’s—it’s important!”
Tully opened the door a crack but did not move aside. “Not now, miss. He told me not to disturb him for any reason.”
Daisy stepped back, took a deep breath, and raised her voice to a shout. “Papa! I have to talk to you! Please tell Corporal Tully to—”
Tully opened the door, grabbed her elbow, and hauled her inside the room. “Miss Daisy, have you lost your mind?” he hissed, shoving her none too gently into the only available chair. “Tell me what’s wrong—and I’ll see if I can help you.”
She bounced to her feet. “Unless you can countermand my father’s order to mistreat the prisoners, I would speak with him.”
“You know I can’t—”
“That’s what I thought.” She raised her voice again. “Papa! I want to talk to—”
“What is the meaning of this commotion?” Her father jerked open his office door and stood glaring at her. “Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?”
“No, but you apparently have. I wish to know why you have treated two of your oldest friends like murderers!” Please, God, she thought, don’t let my voice quaver. “Mr. Chaz is—is sick and hungry—”
“Daisy, go to your quarters immediately or, I assure you, you will regret it. Corporal, escort my daughter to her room and make sure she stays. That is an order.” He started to shut the door in her face.
She slipped her arm through the opening to take hold of his sleeve. “Papa! What has happened to you? I cannot believe you would do this to me!”
“Daisy? Did you say my grandfather is ill?”
That was Lyse’s voice, in Papa’s office. Panic shook Daisy. Her father’s face was stony, though a spasm of something like anguish passed through his eyes.
“Papa, please let me in. I’m not a child, and you can’t protect me from the truth. I know there’s something terrible going on.”
He pressed his lips together, glanced at Corporal Tully behind her, and reluctantly nodded, moving aside so that she could enter the office.
Lyse was sitting in one of the chairs Papa kept for visitors, twisting her hands in her apron, her eyes large and shining with tears. She lunged to her feet and reached for Daisy, hugging her fiercely.
Daisy returned the embrace, rocked with emotions she couldn’t have named. “Lyse, oh, Lyse. I’ve missed you so!”
“And I you.” The words sounded choked.
Daisy pulled back to search her friend’s face. “Are you well?”
“I’m frightened for my grandfather. You’ve seen him?”
“Yes, I—”
“Daisy, that’s enough.” Papa’s voice was a douse of cold water. “Sit down, both of you—and stop being such maudlin little ninnies.”
Daisy flinched. She released Lyse but squeezed her hands before taking the other chair as Lyse returned to her seat. “Papa, Lyse has reason to be worried—”
“I said that’s enough!” Papa smacked his hand hard upon the desk. “This is a military installation, and I am its commander, at least until Colonel Durnford arrives. I insist that everything you hear within these walls be treated with the utmost discretion. I am responsible for ensuring the safety and integrity of the fort and the inhabitants of the city, as I always have been. But now that we are at war, every word uttered, every visitor admitted, takes on extraordinary tactical significance.” He glared at them, as though waiting for an answer.
Lyse said nothing, but Daisy could feel her anxiety. She nodded warily.
“Good,” Papa said, as if they had both agreed with him. “As I
was just explaining to Lyse, before you burst in here like a hoyden, her father committed an act of grave misconduct by supporting Captain Willing’s seditious attempt to seduce the citizenry of His Majesty’s colony of West Florida. However, Antoine did me somewhat of a favor by coming out into the open. For some time now, we have been searching for an agent who has been passing information from Pensacola, through here and on to New Orleans, where intelligence has proceeded to the American high command at Fort Pitt.”
Lyse gasped. “You think my father is a spy?”
Daisy’s father leaned in. “I am aware of the contempt in which your whole family—with, perhaps, the exception of Simon—holds the British nation. Antoine himself hardly seemed a threat, as he is drunk a good portion of the time. But lately it occurred to me that very drunkenness might be a clever act, put on to get my enlisted men to talk. Then, when he couldn’t resist backing up Captain Willing’s effrontery . . .” Papa looked away, perhaps abashed by the incredulity in Lyse’s expression.
Daisy herself could hardly contain her disgust and disbelief. “Yes, Papa?”
Papa harrumphed. “Well, I took the opportunity to question him.” His mouth hardened as he returned his gaze to Lyse. “And your grandfather as well, once he insisted on aligning himself with his wretched son. Neither has admitted anything as of yet. I’m willing to believe, Lyse, that you had no notion of your father’s duplicity, since I was taken in myself. But despite my affection for you, I cannot take my responsibilities lightly. I insist that you denounce your father and take the oath of loyalty to the king—or I’m afraid I must deport you.”
14
With his guitar across his lap, Rafa sat in a rickety chair propped against the tavern wall, entertaining the early customers with an impromptu concert of noisy and frankly bawdy drinking songs. Once Lyse had gone to the schoolhouse for the day, he had composed a message to Major Redmond, requesting an audience at his earliest convenience, and sent it by a young off-duty soldier lounging at the bar. While waiting for the response, he had whiled away the time in conversation with those who entered the tavern for a drink, sifting through gossip about weather, trade, and the progress of the war, hoping for tidbits of information that might help Governor Gálvez assess the likelihood of a British attack on New Orleans, which was rumored for execution sometime during the spring of 1779.
“Another! One more!” came a chorus of shouts as he strummed the last jangling chord of “Juice of Barley.”
He shook his head, grinning, and let the chair drop to the floor. “I swear, friends, after such a long song about drinking, my throat is parched! Barkeep, another round of the real juice of barley, if you please!”
“Barley won’t grow here, man, only corn!”
The men roared with laughter. One slapped Rafa on the back, and offered to buy his drink.
Before he could accept, the door opened, and the young soldier Rafa had sent to the major entered the tavern. He stood near the door, twisting his hat.
Rafa rose, leaned the guitar against the wall, and casually worked his way through the crowd. He took the boy’s shoulder in a friendly grip and said quietly, “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
The boy looked relieved to see him. “Don Rafael, come with me—Corporal Tully sent me to get you.”
“Tully?” Rafa couldn’t think who that might be.
“He’s Major Redmond’s adjutant. I gave him your message for the major.”
“Ah, yes, the excellent violinist. I met him last fall.”
“Yes, sir. He looked relieved to hear from you. Said to come get you as quick as possible, because Miss Daisy and Miss Lyse are in trouble. But he said don’t make a big to-do if you can help it.”
Not make a to-do? When Daisy and Lyse were in trouble?
All sorts of possibilities chased through Rafa’s brain as he hurried beside the young enlisted man. What had they done? Had he waited too long to pursue the prisoner’s release? He should have gone straight to Major Redmond, as soon as he arrived in Mobile.
Calm yourself, Rafa, he thought. Panic strangled the brain and froze the instincts, as he knew all too well.
The short walk to the fort seemed to take an hour, though it was probably no more than a couple of minutes. The messenger saluted the guard, who opened the gate to admit both men.
“This way,” his young friend said, leading the way directly across the drilling ground.
Headquarters was the largest of the interior buildings, built a foot or so off the ground on pilings and marked by a new door. The shutters at the windows had been thrown open, and curtains fluttered in the mild spring breeze. Peripherally Rafa noted several other improvements to the fort since he’d first visited in the fall of 1776. Gálvez would want to know that the English were investing in refurbishing the southern garrisons.
The door opened before they reached the shallow porch, revealing a tall, burly officer with balding pate and bristling mustache. Tully had evidently been watching for their return.
The young soldier saluted, then scurried away before he could be drafted for further uncomfortable errands.
Rafa bowed. “Corporal Tully, well met.”
Tully nodded. “Don Rafael.” He stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door, then said quietly, “I remember you being something of a diplomat, which is what we are in sore need of at the moment.” He paused, tugged at his mustache. “I also remember you being a friend to our Miss Daisy and her friend Miss Lyse.”
Rafa studied the man for a moment and found earnest kindness housed in the stiff-rumped British military man. “I am deeply admiring of both young ladies,” he admitted, “which makes me anxious to discover what has transpired since I breakfasted with Miss Lanier this morning.”
“The major does not always include me in his dealings, but things have gotten a bit, er, loud this morning. I understand that there has been pressure from the governor to clamp down on possible seditious activity—tighten security and all that. So when Captain Willing took it in his head to come over here, bust in with that declaration of independence the rebels are so het up over—” Tully shook his head. “All hell broke loose, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
Rafa merely raised his brows. Nothing he didn’t already know.
Tully continued, “And yesterday one of the little Guillory girls showed her mama a paper she found under Lyse’s pillow and asked her to read it.”
Rafa felt sick. “What was the child doing in Lyse’s room?”
“What little ones do. Poking around in places they shouldn’t be. Then Mistress Guillory went looking and found some books pushed up under the bed, books no proper British lady ought to be reading. So Guillory brought it all to the major this morning, and he hauled Lyse in here for questioning. Major Redmond thinks he’s being generous by giving her a chance to repeat the oath of loyalty. But in the meantime, Miss Daisy found out about the shape the two prisoners is in—”
“Prisoners?” Rafa knew he’d better be careful how much he let on he knew.
“The Lanier men, Antoine and old Mr. Chaz.”
“I see. I take it Miss Daisy objected.”
“Loudly.” Tully pulled on his mustache again. “Then when she realized her papa was about to deport her best friend for treason, she—well, let’s just say she wasn’t happy.”
Rafa could imagine. He could also imagine how well Major Redmond would have received his daughter’s disrespect.
His original mission had just gone from difficult to all but impossible.
It was a good thing God had gifted him with a good set of brains and a hefty dose of self-confidence.
Lyse thought her heart might thunder right out of her chest. “Oath of loyalty?” The words tasted like chalk in her mouth. As a ward of Major Redmond, she had never been required to make such a profession. Until two weeks ago, if she had been asked to do so, she probably would have shrugged and said the words without thinking.
But something about that sheet of paper under her pillo
w had changed the way she looked at the world around her. Ultimately, it changed every relationship in her life.
Before she could voice her thoughts, Daisy lunged to her feet. She moved in front of Lyse, as though guarding her from attack. “Papa, how can you ask such an absurd thing? Lyse has nothing to do with her father’s political nonsense—how could she? She hasn’t lived at home since last summer!”
Major Redmond came from behind his desk. “Daughter, this kind of ‘nonsense,’ as you call it, begins at an early age. Lyse has grown up in a French household. You know the story of her uncle Guillaume’s rabble-rousing when the Spanish took New Orleans. The whole family is steeped in sedition.” He fixed Lyse with his light-gray eyes, and she was surprised to see veiled sorrow there. “Tell Daisy what you have hidden under your bed, Lyse.”
Daisy gasped, whirled around, and stared horrified at Lyse.
Lyse’s heart hammered in her ears.
Silence hummed.
Then the faint sound of a birdlike whistle came from outside the office door. “Love in a Village”?
The latch rattled and the door opened. Rafa stuck his head in. “Major Redmond! Well met, señor! I have the message that you are ready to see me. Oh, hello, young ladies! Miss Lanier, you are hiding from me, I think—I have been searching the town high and low for you—only just look at you, wasting this beautiful face on old men like—” His eyes widened as he took in the major’s stern expression. “Caray, I have stepped in it indeed, have I not?” He laughed.
“Don Rafael, this is an inopportune time for a visit.” Major Redmond’s voice was strained but civil. “I beg you to step outside and wait until I finish with my daughters.”
“Oh, but what I have to say will take but a moment.” Rafa’s affable smile remained undimmed. He came inside, shut the door with a flourish, and seated himself upon the corner of the major’s spotless desk, whereupon he set one well-shaped leg to swinging. “It is to do with that ridiculous American captain, James Willing, who I believe has escaped Spanish custody and run, who knows why, over here to make a pest of himself in West Florida. Governor Gálvez, knowing that I was coming this way on business, has bid me apprehend Captain Willing and bring him back to New Orleans. And today I find out from the good Corporal Tully that you have been so kind as to apprehend him for us!”