"This hasn't been one of my better days," Lucille sighed, putting on a martyred expression. "The shop was closed for .so long, and now everyone wants everything at once. I only have two hands and no one I can depend on. Slop sniveling, Marie! You can meet him tonight, and he'll appreciate you all the more for waiting."
"He's not a butcher! He's a fine young man and his father just happens to sell meat and—"
"Where's Camille?" Lucille interrupted.
"She's in the fitting room, getting out Miss Danver's gown and pinning up the hem."
"Stop her at once! I'll do Miss Danver's hem. Camille knows this is a very special order! I never had problems like these when I was sewing for Pompadour." she confided. "Jeanne gave me my own apartment in Versailles to work in, such gilt, such crystal chandeliers! A far cry from what I had at the Devereaux plantation. I can assure you."
"Oh?" I said patiently.
"Can you believe it, my dear, they expected me to stay in the attic! A horrible, stuffy little room not fit for a scullery maid. They begged me to come, and I went through hell in that wretched rowboat, going through swamps you wouldn't believe, and I expected to be treated like a guest. I was stuck up there like a common servant, sewing by the light of a single candle till all hours of the morning. I had no choice, my dear, but when it was finally safe to leave I gave them all a piece of my mind!"
I shook my head in pretended sympathy. Lucille sighed wearily.
"Everyone's giving balls now that the fever's over. I've never had so many orders—the city's gone pleasure mad, and all the women expect me to dress them. I've given you top priority, my dear. It's been quite an ordeal, but I think everything will be ready on time. I've been working night and day, and. I must say, my dear, I think I've outdone myself."
I gave her an appreciative smile. Lucille might go on and on about giving me such preferential treatment, but in fact, I was paying her three times what I would ordinarily have paid in order to have the new wardrobe prepared in such a short time. At those prices the engaging old fraud could afford to work night and day.
"Come on into the fitting room, my dear. You're going to be enchanted when you see the gown. We'll have some champagne, and I'll do up the hem and make a few adjustments—I'm still not satisfied with the bodice. You must tell me all about that devilishly handsome Jeremy Bond. I've never been as surprised as I was when I learned you were living with him."
Groaning inwardly, I followed her into the fitting room and, stepping behind the screen, began to undress. I had been extremely guarded in what I had told Lucille, merely informing her that Derek and I had been separated, that I was sharing an apartment with Jeremy prior to leaving for England. She was an inveterate gossip, voraciously consuming any scrap of information about the private lives of her customers and embellishing lavishly in the retelling. I knew better than to give her any but the sketchiest details.
Lucille handed me the exquisite pale gold tulle petticoat, and I slipped it on, stepping from behind the screen just as the much put-upon Marie entered with a bottle of chilled champagne and two elegant crystal glasses. Camille, an unfortunately pudgy girl with large, rough hands opened the bottle and poured the sparkling beverage, and then Lucille shooed them both out of the room. I took a sip and set the glass down.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with those girls," Lucille complained. "Marie thinks of nothing but bedrooms, and Camille, alas, stumbles about like a dimwit. I suppose I'm lucky to have anyone working for me in this wretchedly backward city. Things just aren't the way they were in Paris."
She picked up the shimmering golden-brown brocade gown embroidered all over with gold and brown flowers and helped me into it. When she had finished fastening it in back, I stepped up onto the round ivory footstool. The gown had narrow, off-the-shoulder sleeves, a low, clinging bodice and a very full skirt that belled out gorgeously. Lucille finished her champagne and, grabbing a packet of pins, got down on her knees to work with the hem.
"Any other customer would have insisted on rows, of ruffles and fussy gold velvet bows, but you, my dear, have unerring taste. Simple, flowing lines, absolutely uncluttered. With cloth like this you don't need anything else. I'm not going to tell you what I paid for it, but you're getting it at a discount, my dear."
"I'm extremely grateful."
"Pompadour would have gone mad over this material, but then, of course, she couldn't wear brown, even as rich a golden brown as this. Such magnificent embroidery! Jeanne could only wear the palest colors, you know, mauve, pale blue, light mint green. Anything more dramatic would have washed her out completely, and with her complexion—"
Bending over, I reached for the glass of champagne I had set aside. I had the feeling I was going to need it. As Lucille continued to chatter about her most famous customer, I studied the gown in the full-length mirror on the wall across the room. It was indeed a sumptuous creation, the embroidered gold and dark brown silk flowers gleaming against the golden brown.
"—such a delicious man!" Lucille was saying. "Every woman in New Orleans was after him, and you end up sharing his apartment, I do hope he's quite recovered."
"He's much better, Lucille."
"So fortunate you were there to nurse him! It must have been a dreadful ordeal for you, my dear."
"It wasn't pleasant," I said. "If Mandy hadn't come along when she did, I couldn't have saved him."
"Oh yes, that Negro woman. I believe you told me about her."
"She made mustard plasters and made medicine from roots and herbs, forced him to drink it. It was perfectly vile-smelling."
"I can imagine!"
"She also made medicine from lemons and honey and vinegar. It was touch and go for a while, but—ills over now."
"Turn to the left a bit, my dear. And now?"
"Now I'm going to England to join Derek."
"Ah, the magnetic, brooding Mr. Hawke. I never understood exactly what happened, my dear. The two of you were going to England to be married, and then you show up back in New Orleans with Jeremy Bond."
"I told you, Lucille. We were separated."
"I see. I see. A lovers' quarrel."
"Something like that."
"And the dashing Jeremy Bond provided comfort and solace."
"I suppose you could say that."
"A little to the right now," she directed, moving around on her knees. "He knows you're still in love with Derek Hawke?"
"He's known from the first. I made no secret of it. Derek is the only man in the world I'll ever love that way. The bond between us is stronger than time, stronger than distance. I love him with all my heart and soul, and he loves me. The day of our reunion will be the happiest day of my life, and we'll never be separated again."
Lucille finished pinning up the hem and got to her feet, moving back to examine her handiwork. I finished my champagne and set the glass down. She tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed, thin lips tight, and then she told me to turn around slowly.
"Perfect!" she declared. "I'll sew it up at once. I want to let out a couple of tucks in the bodice—how does it fit under the arms?"
"It feels fine."
Lucille examined the bodice, frowned, nodded briskly and then moved back and poured herself another glass of champagne. I stepped behind the screen and removed the gown and petticoat. Lucille clapped for Camille and, when the girl appeared, told her to take the garments into the sewing room. I put on the violet and blue striped silk.
"Love," Lucille sighed. "It's glorious, and you've certainly had your share, my dear. So many adventures! Women commit suicide over men like Jeremy Bond."
"The world is full of idiots."
"And you blithely abandon him to cross the ocean for another man."
"I'm not abandoning him," I informed her, fastening up the dress. "He and I are merely—" I hesitated. "There's nothing between us, Lucille. He came to my aid when I needed help. He's being paid nicely."
Lucille's shrewd eyes gleamed knowingly. "There's noth
ing between you, yet you risk your life nursing him back to health.''
"I had no choice. He needed me."
"And he doesn't need you now?" she asked as I stepped over to the mirror to adjust my sleeves.
"The only thing Jeremy Bond needs at the moment is a swift kick."
"Ah! Something is there. I knew it!"
"You're quite mistaken," I said haughtily, irritated by her persistence. "When shall I return for the next fittings?"
"All the other things should be ready for final fittings day after tomorrow, and, my dear, you know the black and white striped taffeta? I've found a pair of long red velvet gloves to go with it, and I'm making a hat as well, an enormous brim covered with black taffeta, lined with white, dripping with magnificent black and white plumes. One red velvet ribbon. My gift to you."
She hugged me impulsively, and it was impossible to stay irritated with her. She was a shrewd, mercenary, gossipy old fraud who probably had never so much as set eyes on Madame de Pompadour, but beneath that brittle, avaricious exterior was a genuine heart. Pompadour or no, Lucille was a superb artist, and I was grateful for all she'd done for me over the years. I returned her hug, had another glass of champagne with her and left the shop.
Taking a shortcut through the market, I was pleased to see the thronging, bustling crowd, the vitality and color stronger than ever as housewives picked over mounds of bright red apples, vivid oranges, pale green pears and bargained over bins of shrimp and eels and silvery fish. Carts of (lowers made splashes of vibrant color, and the smell of freshly baked bread and a hundred different spices perfumed the air. A strange, melancholy mood hung over me nevertheless, increasing as, leaving the market, I passed the building that once had housed Rawlins' Place, the glittering gambling house where so many changes had taken place in my life. Memories of Jeff stirred as I moved on, the old grief returning. The past seemed to haunt me now that I was about to leave this city I had grown to love.
I thought about Derek, something I hadn't allowed myself to do during the past weeks. I had firmly put all thought of him out of my mind, concentrating on Jeremy, on making him well again, but now that that had been accomplished, I felt the impatience and anguish that had plagued me ever since I had learned he was still alive. I saw again that beloved face with perfectly chiseled features, wide pink mouth set in a stern line, cheekbones broad and strong, gray eyes grim as he contemplated a life of bitter disappointments. He had at last claimed the inheritance that had been wrested from him, at last he was living at Hawkehouse, but his victory was a hollow one, I knew, and little consolation for the loss of the woman he loved. Soon, my darling, I promised him silently, soon we will be together again and joy will fill those eyes and happiness will be ours after all these years.
Opening the gate and crossing the courtyard, I banished the image from my mind, determined to concentrate on the present. That was the only way I could maintain my sanity. I would take each day at a time, and each day would bring me closer to that moment when his eyes met mine and his arms enfolded me and a flood of joy swept over us both. I opened the front door that still bore signs of the white cross, jagged marks where the paint had been scraped away. As I stepped into the foyer a wonderful smell wafted on the air. Mandy was baking another spice cake.
She was taking it out of the oven as I entered the kitchen. Setting it on the drainboard to cool, she sighed wearily and ran a hand across her wrinkled brow, her back to me. Unaware of my presence, she reached into the cabinet and took down a jar of plum preserves.
"Really, Mandy," I said. "Another cake? You're spoiling him dreadfully."
She turned around, startled.
"Miz—Miz Marietta. I didn't hear you come in. Did you get them pretty new dresses done?"
"They'll be finished in a few days. The cake looks delicious. You make all these things for Jeremy and I' m the one putting on weight."
"That ain't so, Miz Marietta. You'se much too skinny."
She seemed nervous for some reason, and I noticed a worried look in her eyes. I asked her if something was wrong, and she hesitated, wiping her hands on her apron and looking anxiously about the room as though searching for something else to do that would allow her to avoid answering my question.
"You—you'se goin' to be real upset, Miz Marietta."
"He's gone out, hasn't he?"
"I tried to stop him. 'You ain't strong enough yet. Mister Jeremy,' I told him. 'You ain't got no business gallivantin' around, get back in that bed.' He grinned at me an' said I was bein' silly, said not to fuss over him like he was a baby."
"Did he say where he was going?"
Mandy shook her head. "He just chucked me under the chin and sashayed out like he wudn't ever sick a day in his life. I been worried somethin' awful. Weak as that boy is, he's likely to pass out on the street."
"I hope he does," I said acidly.
"You don't mean that, Miz Marietta," she protested.
"If he insists on acting like an imbecile, he deserves anything that happens to him. I don't care to discuss it any more, Mandy. It's almost time to start dinner. I'll help you fry the chicken."
"You ain't doin' nothin' in this kitchen in that fancy silk
dress," she informed me. "If you'se goin' to help me, you go change."
I obeyed, angrily removing the dress in the bedroom and putting on the sprigged tan cotton Mandy had skillfully mended and laundered. I assured myself that I didn't give a damn what happened to him, I certainly wasn't going to waste time worrying about him. He'd love that, the bastard. He'd love to think I was fretting and wringing my hands and imagining all sorts of disasters. He could go straight to hell and stay there. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, I was going down to the booking office and buy passage on the very first ship leaving for England, and Jeremy Bond could rot in hell. I had put it off much too long as it was, fretting over him, rubbing his bloody back, waiting on him like a servant. I should have booked passage as soon as the quarantine was lifted.
My mood hadn't improved much when I returned to the kitchen. Mandy looked apprehensive as I cut the chicken into pieces, attacking it vigorously with the butcher knife. I dipped the pieces into flour and egg batter and dropped them into the pot of hot grease on the stove, taking great satisfaction as they began to pop and sizzle noisily. I washed broccoli and put it on to cook and then began to mix up batter for popovers. Mandy turned the chicken over with a long fork, watching me knead the dough.
"He'll be back, Miz Marietta," she said quietly.
"I couldn't care less," I retorted.
"You—Miz Marietta, you ain't really gonna go off to England and leave him, are you? You ain't gonna go off and many that other man?"
"Of course I am."
"But—" She hesitated, frowning. "You loves Mister Jeremy."
"I detest him!"
"That ain't so. I know it ain't. I seen the way you nursed him, the way you looked at him, all tender an' concerned, so worried he wudn't goin' to make it. Then, when he started gettin' better, t seen how pleased you were when he started teasin' you, how much you enjoyed it."
"Nonsense!"
"This other man—I don't know nothin' about him, Miz Marietta, but I know you can't really love him, not t'eelin' the way you do about Mister Jeremy. You might think you do, but—"
"It's none of your concern, Mandy!" I snapped.
I was immediately sorry, of course. Mandy meant well, and I shouldn't have snapped that way. My anger evaporated. I set the bowl of dough aside to rise and sighed, suddenly weary. Mandy turned the chicken over again and dropped pats of butter into the broccoli. I owed her so much, so very much. Freed by her master just before his death three years ago, she had been rummaging about the city ever since, struggling to survive, absolutely alone. She had no family, no friends. The money Jeremy had given her had enabled her to set up her stall in the flea market, but selling broken pots and discarded lamps and other odds and ends brought in barely enough to live on. That was all going to change. I inte
nded to see to it. Before I left for England I was going to open an account for her in one of the banks in the Quarter that welcomed people of color, and Mandy would never have to worry about money again.
"I think that's dough's ready now," she said. "I'll just get them popovers ready for the oven
"I'll set the table in the dining room. If he's well enough to gad about the city he's well enough to eat at the dinner table. I'm sorry I snapped at you, Mandy. I didn't mean it."
" 'Course you didn't. You wuz just upset."
Jeremy came sauntering in twenty minutes later, looking infuriatingly chipper. His rich brown hair was windblown, tumbling over his brow. He was wearing dark blue breeches and frock coat, a maroon brocade waistcoat and a neckcloth of sky-blue silk. Although the coat hung rather loosely, he presented an undeniably dapper picture, and his new thinness matte him seem even taller. If his mysterious outing had wearied him, he showed no signs of it. He seemed to be bursting with vitality.
"I'm famished!" he declared,
I ignored him. He seemed to find that amusing. I maintained a stony silence during dinner, and he chattered merrily with Mandy, complimenting her on the meal. When Mandy set a piece of spice cake in front of him and spread plum preserves over it, I gave an exasperated sigh, threw down my napkin and left the table. Going into the parlor, I lighted a lamp, took a book from the shelf and tried to read. Jeremy came in a short while later. I didn't bother to look up from my book,
"Fantastic meal," he observed. "You should've stayed for dessert. Mandy's spice cake was sheer heaven,"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said stiffly.
"You sound more like you wished I'd choked on it."
I made no comment. He grinned. I slammed the book shut and put it down, His grin widened.
"I'd better go help Mandy clear the table," I said, getting to my feet.
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