by Day Taylor
Beau leaped from his seat, bounding over to his sister to embrace her. "Sweetheart, I'll be here if I have to swim the blockade. You can count on it. Come spring. Beau LeClerc is gonna dance at his sister's weddin'. Morgan," he said, taking the younger man's hand, "I'm truly honored to be your best man."
They left LeClerc's house with Beau still eager to taste the fruits of New Orleans' peculiar pleasures. Like a bee in a blooming clover field, he leaped from suggestion to suggestion, talking of his sister between times. "Did you see her face, Adam? She loves him! They'll be happy— don't you agree? He's a good man. What did you think?'*
Adam said thoughtfully, "They seem to love each other very much."
"Yeah." Beau sighed. "Makes me wonder what you and I are missin' out on. No one ever looked at me the way Barbara looks at him."
Adam mumbled his agreement, his mind in a fluttery turmoil as he remembered the soft vulnerability in Dulcie's eyes after he had kissed her.
"And seein' them ... I don't know. Sure gave me a powerful yearnin' for someone nice and soft—"
"We sure as hell aren't goin' to find anyone like that, walkin' the streets with you chatterin' like a magpie. Where do you want to go?"
"Orleans Ballroom." Beau turned on Chartres Street "Let's take a look."
"What do you want to go to a Quadroon Ball for? Those girls won't come with us. Their mamas are makin' permanent arrangements for them.'*
"We can look."
"Looking isn't exactly what I had in mind."
They paid the two-dollar admission and entered what was considered the finest ballroom in America. Here, under lofty ceilings lit by brilliant crystal chandeliers, on romantic balconies overlooking the gardens of Saint Louis Cathedral, were the famous beauties of New Orleans, flamboyantly gowned in silks and satins, arrayed in plumes and flashing jewels. Schooled in the subtle arts of pleasing men, they were women whose sole aim was to become the
faithful mistress of a wealthy white patron in return for financial security and one of the small white houses that sat in a neat row on Rampart Street.
Here, too, were the elegant men who had come to select a quadroon woman and, having made the choice, enter into artful negotiations with her mother so that he might pay court to his chosen beauty. It was an elaborate and dangerous ritual: Frequently more than one man desired the same girl, and the Quadroon Balls were renowned for duels precipitated by a fit of jealousy or a fancied insult.
Adam grumbled at Beau as they walked with slow nonchalance to the wine table in the flagstoned courtyard. "You realize all we can accomplish is to have some dandy hot to put a buUet in us if we touch the wrong girl." He surveyed the room as he spoke, eyes lingering on the lush feminine forms all around him. It was enough to make a man wonder if fighting a duel wasn't small price to pay for an evening in such a paradise. He hesitated, watching Beau, with his ready smile and gregarious nature, thrust himself into the midst of conversations private or otherwise. Somehow he managed it without calling disaster upon himself, Adam noticed with a twinge of envy.
Adam stood near the balcony, enjoying the playful breeze that gusted erratically through the open doors. He had been standing there for about fifteen minutes when a statuesque woman in her forties approached him. "Well, Captain," she said, fingering his lapel, "you already spoken for, or are you more selective than most?"
"A little of each, Madame." He introduced himself and offered to fetch her some wine.
They walked together to the seat she had vacated. "You'd make the perfect man fo' mah baby. Captain Tre-main."
"If she's your daughter, Madame, I'd find her irresistible. But I'm not in the market I sail day after repairs are made on my ship."
"What? So sure. Captain? Cannot a man be made to change his mind once, as a woman wisely does a dozen times in an hour?"
"Perhaps ... on rare occasions."
**This will be such an occasion. No man can look upon Solange Plafond and resist her, Captain. Not even a man with so determined a jaw as yours." In one graceful movement Madame Plafond rose from her seat and crossed the
room, disappearing onto the balcony. Moments later she returned, leading to Adam a young woman of breathtaking beauty. He noted her lushly sensuous mouth, her charmingly direct gaze. Her flame-red silk gown, artfully draped to reveal her full breasts and long slim waist, was adorned with a large diamond clip. An expensive woman—and worth every penny.
"My daughter, Solange, Captain Tremain." Madame Plafond stepped back, assessing the look on Adam's face as she translated bewitchment into dollars. She gave Solange just enough time to entice, then spoke precisely. "Solange has already received a preliminary offer from another gentleman, a very rich gentleman of old New Orleans lineage. But my daughter's wishes are as important to me as financial considerations. Captain. Within reason, of course. I can see she is taken with you."
Behind them the lilting sound of the orchestra beckoned. Solange lifted her slender, perfectly shaped arms to Adam. Madame Plafond's gloved hand came down on her daughter's arm. "We will negotiate first."
"Oh, Mama!" Solange frowned with an ineffectual severity that merely accentuated her well-bred beauty. "If my Adam is the man I wish him to be, he will return to your negotiations. What would a man be worth who had no honor? That would not be my Adam, Mama." She gazed at him, her exotic beauty radiating the exhilaration that coursed through her,
Adam took her in his arms, guiding her onto the dance floor without thought of the implications of his action. Aside from a small, fiery auburn-haired girl, no woman had fitted into his arms with the ease and comfort of Solange Plafond. But tonight there was no room for thoughts of Dulcie Moran. Solange's soft pliability had relieved him of such unexpected and unwanted visions. And should he ever need it again, he'd know that the cure for one woman was another, a woman like Solange.
Madame Plafond gazed after them, satisfied, and went in search of her daughter's other gentleman. She had observed Solange's moment of choice when she had defended Adam, as well as the captain's surrender to her dark, liquid gaze. Now she had only to curtail previous arrangements before there was trouble.
Having a duel fought over one was high flattery yet it had distinct disadvantages. There was always the possi-
bility that the wrong man would wm. Even in victory, a paramour with a pistol wound or rapier puncture was incapacitated, sometimes for weeks.
Her daugher's patron fancied himself a master with the sword. Somehow, Madame Plafond did not envision the dashing young captain a virtuoso of the rapier.
Edmund Revanche was enjoying himself immensely. He had selected a woman who appealed to him with a thoroughness he had believed impossible. Solange, however, had the power to obliterate comparisons. She was unique and total. A woman who filled a man's eyes and blood. Had she been white, he was not certain that he could not learn to love her. As it was, he was proud he owned her.
With preliminary arrangements already made to the satisfaction of Madame Plafond and himself, he had turned Solange over to her mother without suspicion or misgiving when she had said she wanted Solange to meet someone, while he remained with the friendly, high-spirited people Solange had introduced him to. With perfect grace the women flirted mildly, flattering and complimenting Edmund's urbane charm. He was in his glory with an appreciative audience, who hung on every bon mot he chose to utter.
He drew deeply on his thin cigarillo, glancing over the dance floor. Abruptly he excused himself, hastily threading his way through the dancers.
Adam and Solange, lost in the music and one another's eyes, started as Edmund clasped Adam's shoulder roughly, bringing them to a halt. Adam turned to look into the cold fury of Edmund Revanche's artistocratic face.
"Edmund . . ." Solange breathed, placing her hand over her heart. "You have given me such a fright! I shall expect an apology at once. This is truly inhospitable behavior, unworthy of you."
Edmund's eyes remained on Adam. "Perhaps you are ignorant of our customs, sir, so I shal
l enlighten you. In New Orleans a man does not prostitute another man's woman by makin' love to her, in public or in private."
Adam's eyes turned the cold blue of ice. Edmund had changed little in the past eight years. The gray at his temples had grown whiter, giving his handsome face an added dignity. But the hardness in his eyes was xmaltered.
His lips remained unchanged, so ready to curl into the grim smile that betrayed the cruelty of which he was capable.
"I know the customs of New Orleans, Mr. Revanche.'*
Edmund's eyes narrowed. "You know me?"
Adam's smile was tight. "I know you quite well. Better than most."
"Pray enlighten me, sir. You have the advantage in that respect."
"Shall we leave it that I was and still am a close friend of Tom Pierson," Adam said coldly, taking perverse pleasure in the smoldering hostility that flared in Edmund's eyes.
Edmund couldn't recall Adam's name, but he remembered the unsheathed hatred of the boy in Zoe's house. Shaking in fury, he slowly and dramatically drew off his white kid glove, prelude to the ancient act of tossing it in challenge at Adam's feet.
Around them the ballroom grew quiet. The laughter and talk died away, to be replaced by murmuring and whispers. The space around them emptied. People formed a circle for the challenge.
Solange called frantically for her mother, truly alarmed as she recognized the hatred that existed between the two men.
Madame Plafond hurried forward. Beau, startled by the sudden contretemps, peered over the obstructing shoulder of the man in front of him. "Mother of God!" he breathed. Heedless of the outraged cries, he pushed his way to Adam through the wall of people.
He arrived at nearly the same instant as Madame Plafond. "Adarh, there you are!" he cried with false heartiness. "I've been lookin' for you. We've got to leave right away. We'll be late—Barbara's soiree—"
"Shut up, Beau," Adam said through his teeth.
"Mr. Revanche," Madame Plafond gasped, "please, dear sir, this is a terrible mistake. Solange and Captain Tre-main—"
Edmund grinned. "Ah, yes, Tremain. Now I recall . . . Adam, isn't it? Well, Tremain, I shall never forget again.'*
"No, you won't," Adam said. "I'll see that you don't.**
Edmund laughed, relaxing. His outward manner became as smooth as it would have been had Adam been a
welcome acquaintance. Cunning to the last, he would assess Adam's strengths and weaknesses before he decided how to handle him and with what weapon.
"Mr. Revanche," Madame Plafond said with greater authority, "I insist you end this ridiculous posturin'. Captain Tremain is a . . . dear friend of my former mistress. It is expected he meet my Solange."
"I shall handle this situation, Madame Plafond, without instruction from you," Edmund said coldly.
"No, sir, you will not. At least not in this fashion. I am not without powers of my own."
"Adam, come on—diet's get out of here. Back down,'* Beau whispered.
"If you persist, Mr. Revanche, our arrangement shall be at an end. My daughter would never consent to being courted by a barbarian!"
"It's true, Edmund, I could never forgive you or forget this night," Solange said softly. "Do you think so little of me that you would threaten the dear friend of my mother?"
"Have you made up your mind, Revanche? Will you meet me one to one?" Adam asked, smirking.
Madame Plafond stirred restlessly, then fixed Edmund with a surprisingly ferine stare. "Mr. Revanche, should you persevere ... ah, but it would be such a pity, were you to be the subject of idle gossip—"
"Dare you threaten me?" Edmund gasped.
Madame Plafond smiled. 'There are no threats here tonight, Mr. Revanche. There are only threats of threats. Shall we keep it that way? Solange, I believe your gentleman would like some refreshment."
Edmund stood indecisive, weighing his desire to lay waste to Adam against the risk to his own reputation. As an adversary Adam would be direct, relying on his enormous strength. Edmund could overcome that. But Madame Plafond—there was an adversary more to his own mold, a torturer, an exquisite tormentor who would take delight in ruining his good name.
Jauntily, as though he had never had other intentions, Edmund smiled, placing Solange's hand on his arm. "I am yours, dear one." He thrust his hand into his glove. 'This has been an interesting renewal of our acquaintance. Captain Tremain. Be assured we shall meet again."
"You can count on that, Revanche. Perhaps then you won't have the skirts of two women to protect you."
Edmund laughed easily. "How strange, Captain, that you should utter the thought I was thinking about you. The skirts seem to be fluttering in your direction, do they not?"
Adam watched as Edmund with unflawed poise strolled with Solange to the balcony.
"Adam, for the love of God, let's get out of here before he changes his mind and comes back."
"Such malignance between you! He is a very bad man in your opinion?" Madame Plafond asked.
Adam said fervently, "He shouldn't be permitted to touch the hem of Solange's gown. You did her no favor in preventing this duel."
Madame Plafond was silent for a time. Then she said, "The arrangement will be voided. I saw the look in my Solange's eyes as she danced with you. Captain. For all her femininity, my daughter is no fool. She is a good judge of men. She trusted you. I do too. I will see Mr. Revanche never comes near her again, but alas . . . the same must be true of you. With such enmity between you, agreement over my daughter with either of you is impossible."
"My loss and regret, Madame," Adam said with sincerity. He took her hand and kissed it, then kissed her on either cheek. "For Solange," he whispered, then tapped a goggle-eyed Beau. "Shall we leave? It would be a pity to be late for your sister's soiree," he said sarcastically.
On the street once more, Beau followed Adam's long strides without thought to where he was leading. "My God, Adam! Of all the women in the room, you have to end up with his quadroon!"
Adam turned down Ursuline Street then onto Gallatin Street, an avenue reknowned and reviled for the underworld of harlots, garroters, footpads and thieves that existed there, alive by night, hidden by day. Adam grabbed Beau's sleeve, pulling him abruptly through the open door of the Green Tree dance hall. He was spoiling for a fight, and the Green Tree was one of the most likely places to find one.
"Jesus Christ, Adam, you're goin' to get us killed yet tonight!"
"You wanted to see the town. Beer!" he shouted to the bartender. He leaned against the fender, waiting with easy anticipation for the slatternly woman across from him to leave her companion in answer to the invitation in his eyes. She smiled at him. He beckoned to her. She got up from her perch on her man's knee and walked unsteadily to Adam, then lay back in his arms, wanting his probing hands to stroke and caress her. , The man hit him before he could release the woman. She sprawled to the floor as the brawl sprang full force into being. Chairs overturned, glasses shattered. Adam swung indiscriminately at all comers. The mirror behind the bar splintered as a chair flew over his head. Pickpockets rununaged through the clothing of the fallen, making off with money, rings, and watches as the dance hall became a tumult of flailing arms, enraged cries, strangulations and pain, and sour breath.
Having had his fill and still on his feet, Adam disentangled Beau from his three adversaries and plunged into the street laughing as he wiped the trickle of blood from his mouth. His hands were scraped and bruised. There was a long, thin line along his jaw where someone's ring had caught him in a glancing blow. It would be purple by morning.
"Now where?" Beau asked glumly, his hands against his midriff. "How about Archie Murphy's place? He's good for at least one murder a night."
"Not me," Adam said, stretching luxuriously. Suddenly he spun around, letting out a tremendous bellow, frightening a skinny juvenile footpad out of a dedicated life of crime. Adam halfheartedly chased the boy for a block, then returned to Beau.
"Remind me never to go out with you again,"
Beau moaned.
"What's the matter with you? You're game for a fight now and then."
"Yeah . . . now and then. Just not now"
Adam laughed, his eyes teasing as they walked past the ten-dollar bordellos and the fifteen-cent Negro cribs that lined Gallatin Street. "How about some gentler sport?"
"Damn, Adam, don't you ever get tired? Some bastard back in the Green Tree kicked me in the gut, I'm not gonna straighten up for a week."
"Awww . . . want me to go back and hit him for you?"
Bean glared at him. Ignoring him, Adam stopped in front of a house where two young girls stood leaning suggestively against the doorjambs. "How many . . . customers in a night?"
She shrugged, *Two, mebbe three. Tends effen Ah likes 'em or not."
Before their avaricious eyes, he lined three silver dollars on his palm. "Him and me." He indicated Beau.
The girl smiled. "C'mon in!"
"No. My place."
"You ain't gwine do nothin' funny, is you?"
"Damn right I am. You're gonna get a bath like you never had before."
"You crazy man! It ain't Satiddy."
He began to walk away. The two girls followed. "Ain*t you gwine take us wiff you? Doan you wan' us?"
"Not much. You're too damned young." He handed the larger girl the three dollars. "Go home to your mamas where you belong."
The girl bit the dollar, then giggled. "Yo' crazy, man."
Beau smirked. "Adam, you're all bluster."
"Aaah, they were still children. And dirty at that."
Rurming the blockade out of New Orleans was easier than entering. One had only to anchor at the Head of Passes. From there one could watch all four passes. As soon as the Brooklyn left her post, Adam shouted orders, and the Ullah steamed out into the Gulf.
The short voyage across the stretch of Atlantic was uneventful. Two days after they left New Orleans the Ullah approached the limestone and sand islands of the Bahamas. The waters around the islands were unfamiliar to Adam. He studied the strodg tidal currents, making notes to himself on the complicated navigational problems of the area: partially submerged cays, crosscurrents, and eddies. Though these waters were British domain forbidden to Federal ships, the cruisers often chased a blockade runner right into port. With the many reefs and peculiarities of the area, he needed to know these waters as well as he did the Southern coast. His life might well depend on it.