Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  Immediately, Gabrielle’s muscles tightened. This was dangerous ground, and Rafe’s lids drooped over his eyes to cover the menace in their green depths.

  “As you say, the profit was large, and part of it helped to finance this house—the hospitality of which you are now enjoying,” he put in pointedly. “May I remind you, de Chevalier, that it was your father who came to me and asked me to help him in that particular venture.”

  “With the money procured from the very same woman who is now your wife, m’sieur!” Charles cried involuntarily.

  “I didn’t even know your father had taken the money!” Gabrielle was standing up now, determined to defend herself, but, at a scowl from Rafe, she resumed her seat.

  “It doesn’t matter where your father received the money,” Rafe went on smoothly. “The fact remains that your father had conceived the plan some time before. The smuggling was profitable, as has already been established, but, as I am sure you will agree, it did not put a stranglehold on the commerce of France, nor did it endanger the people to whom it was shipped in the West Indies. It was Napoleon, himself, who diminished his own trade by putting up the blockade.”

  It was obvious that Charles was struggling within himself, and, for a moment Gabrielle saw the gleam in Rafe’s eyes as he anticipated a fight. But Charles recovered himself and poured another drink calmly enough, carried his glass across the room and resumed his seat. “Well, admittedly, all this is in the past,” he got out.

  “We are not discussing the legality of smuggling, assuredly,” Rafe went on, “but the effect Lafitte’s tactics have had on the business growth of the city. He has got to be stopped before it’s too late!”

  “And what has Claiborne decided to do about his letter?” Gabrielle asked quickly, her curiosity overcoming her.

  Rafe glanced speculatively at her, and she knew he was thinking of a time past. “The governor has decided to give him no answer but wait it out for as long as possible. He hopes the British will get tired of waiting and be moved to action.”

  Charles studied his fingernails thoughtfully. “The British have greater manpower and armament strength—why don’t you surrender before people are needlessly killed?” He glanced meaningfully at Gabrielle and Isabel.

  “As a soldier, de Chevalier, I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Rafe answered him quietly, and a dull flush crept over Charles’ face.

  He was about to say something, then thought better of it.

  “I—I think I should go back to bed and rest awhile,” Isabel said to break the silence.

  “I’ll escort you, my dear,” Charles returned, falsely solicitous, and Gabrielle perceived the shrinking movement Isabel made at his approach.

  He hates her, she thought to herself, and Isabel is afraid for herself and the baby. The thought strengthened her resolve to help Isabel in any way she could, and after they had gone upstairs, she turned to Rafe, who was eyeing her wickedly.

  “You’ve invited a hornet’s nest into our happy little home,” he mocked her. His expression turned grim. “I only hope your friend produces her offspring as soon as possible and that I’m able to get a post for her husband, although with his attitude, I’m not sure I want to.” He came over to her and bent to kiss her lips. There was no trace of his tender mood of the night before, and Gabrielle’s heart sank.

  “I’m off to the Governor’s House, kitten, but I should be home for dinner.”

  He was out the door and mounting his saddled horse before Gabrielle quite realized he was gone. She glanced toward the upper story and wondered if, perhaps, it had been unwise to invite Charles back into her life.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Events were taking place so rapidly that Gabrielle found little time to wonder about Charles or his strange behavior. Isabel was nearing her time and was so tired these hot days of September that she could hardly move from her bed. She slept restlessly, and Gabrielle stayed up many a night soothing her hot flesh with cool compresses.

  “Oh, I hate it! I hate it!” Isabel would moan, glaring at the mound of belly that was making her so uncomfortably hot.

  “Hush, Isabel. I know how you feel, but it will be over soon enough.”

  Rafe was busy most days at the Cabildo, and he spent many nights away from Fairview, a situation hardly to Gabrielle’s liking, with Charles continuing to baffle her with his actions—he drank himself to sleep many nights, and she kept her door locked.

  In mid-September, Pierre Lafitte escaped from his cell, although how he could have done so was hard to explain, considering his ill health and the tight security. There was more money to grease more palms, the governor declared. Mad Lafitte actually accepted the British offer?

  A few days later, the question was answered in grand fashion. The British destroyed Barataria, bombarding it with the big guns on their ships. Word came that Lafitte had died in the foray. Other rumors maintained that he had escaped and was already on his way south. Still other stories circulated saying that he was in hiding somewhere in the city.

  A close watch was posted on the house of Marie Villars, who was the avowed mistress of Pierre Lafitte, and all the comings and goings there were carefully observed. Marie lodged formal complaints at the Cabildo, stating that her right to privacy had been breached—all in words too formal for anyone to doubt that they had been written by Grymes or Livingston. So, the watch was increased, and the complaints were filed away to be forgotten.

  Gabrielle could imagine the fear and worry that must engross Marie. She had only recently been delivered of another daughter, and her lover, father of her two children, ill and defeated as he was, was still being hounded by the authorities.

  “Lafitte is in quicksand up to his neck now,” the governor informed his aides confidently. “With the destruction of his base of operations and his men scattered, his hand has been played out. We only have to wait for him to make a false move, and we’ll haul him in with our own net, gentlemen.”

  The citizens of New Orleans were relieved, but it seemed sad that such an ignominious end must come to the romantic pirate. Still, Jean Lafitte had not been captured yet, and who could tell what might happen with the British vessels arriving, new ones daily? The poorly equipped Americans watched with slowly descending hope, noticing that the seasoned men of the enemy were beginning to outnumber them three to one.

  Gabrielle waited impatiently for the coming of Isabel’s baby, and she sensed her friend’s growing fear. The heat hung heavy in the city, but the atmosphere was not nearly so bad at Fairview, where there was a breeze off the river at twilight that served to cool the nights somewhat. Rafe had been chosen to do some surveillance work off the Louisiana coast with two or three volunteers, and Gabrielle clung to him anxiously, wishing he didn’t have to leave her. He would be gone on this mission nearly five days, and the thought of enduring the heat, Isabel’s pleas, and Charles’ strange looks weighed nearly unbearably on her shoulders.

  Rafe, sensing his wife’s dread but not realizing the cause of it, kissed her affectionately and caressed her hair, assuring her that everything would be all right. “I’ll be back on Monday, kitten. I’m sure you’ll do your best while I’m gone.”

  “Oh, but I will miss you,” she said wistfully. “I’m sure you’re right, but it’s just this horrible heat. If it would only rain—everyone’s on edge.” Through misty eyes, she watched him leave, straddling his stallion and riding off down the road.

  She went to Paul’s room and played with him until lunch, dreading the inevitable meeting with Charles at table. As she had expected, Charles was his usual taciturn self.

  “So, the brave warrior has gone riding off to save the whole city,” was his first ugly comment.

  “Hardly, Charles,” she began in exasperation. “He has merely gone to try and find out how great the British strength actually is.”

  “Rather unnecessary, don’t you think? After all, it’s common knowledge that they outnumber us ridiculously, and our arms are sadly in need of r
eplenishment.”

  “You sound so smug about it,” Gabrielle returned hotly. “It seems that you are only too glad to run again from a confrontation.” She regretted the words instantly.

  Charles’ face turned white, then red. “A low blow, madame, but worthy of your kind,” he finally managed between his teeth.

  “Charles, I—”

  “Please don’t say anything more, madame. I believe I follow your drift—you suppose, and correctly too, that I am a disgrace as a soldier, that I am a coward, hardly fit to tarnish the name of your brave husband with my tainted barbs.” He shrugged. “At least cowardice has its rewards, something I was unaware of during my days of honor and glory. You see, your husband has gone off to the heat and dust and mosquitoes, while I can bask in the coolness of the veranda, enjoying female company and sleeping in a comfortable bed.” He leaned towards her, his eyes gleaming. “Of course, that bed does get lonely at times due to the—incapacity—of my dear wife. I can only hope, madame, that you, too, feel something is lacking while your husband’s mind is so busy with martial affairs?”

  Gabrielle blushed to her hairline, aware of the complete lack of propriety that Charles had just exhibited. “M-my husband is more versatile than you suppose, then, Charles,” she responded with spirit.

  He laughed, amused by her retort “Bravo! I shall look forward to another excellent repast at dinner,” he said, getting up from the table. He came to stand next to her and bowed so close that his lips brushed her forehead.

  Gabrielle started back, and he smiled cruelly. “I have waited a long time.”

  Then he was gone, and Gabrielle sat in her chair, shocked at his behavior and supremely nervous because Rafe would be so far away tonight. Well, she would eat dinner in her own room. At least she would spare herself the ordeal of Charles.

  The heat was all-powerful now, and everyone prayed for rain. Sitting in the library, trying to concentrate on her reading, Gabrielle felt a drop of perspiration roll down her neck. Rafe would be back tomorrow, and she would be so happy to see him.

  Isabel was acutely miserable and this morning had been groaning softly, complaining of pains and a backache, which signaled the coming of labor.

  “Mistress, come quickly—Miss Isabel—come quickly!” It was Milly, her eyes white and round in her dark face, and Gabrielle hurried upstairs to Isabel’s room.

  A shriek of pain erupted from that tormented face, and Gabrielle realized that the pains this morning had been actual labor and that Isabel’s baby would be arriving this very night.

  “Stay with her, Milly, and give her sips of water if she asks for them. Rub her back if she complains about it.” Isabel’s hand grasped hers. “Don’t leave me, Gabrielle, please don’t leave me. I’m—I’m not very brave right now.”

  Gabrielle patted her hand. “There’s nothing to having a baby,” she assured her. “It just takes a little time, and I'm going to find Charles to ride over to the city to fetch the midwife. I’ll be right back.”

  Isabel nodded, trying to smile, but a fresh pain seized tier, and she twisted away.

  Gabrielle, with a warning glance to Milly, hurried to Charles’ room. He was not there, and she ran downstairs, calling him, but he did not appear. She looked out a window and saw the black storm clouds building up in the distance. She took a moment to thank God for the promised rain and then hurried to the stable.

  “Good afternoon, madame.” It was Charles, an empty bottle in his hand and a drunken smile on his lips. “How goes it with my sweet wife?”

  “Charles, get up and throw some cold water on your face,” she said angrily. “Isabel is ready to deliver, and you must fetch the midwife. Oh, I knew I should have had her stay with us this last week!”

  “. . . no condition to ride, I’m afraid,” Charles was mumbling stupidly, eyeing the empty bottle pathetically.

  “Dear Lord!” Gabrielle exclaimed, feeling the urge to smash the bottle over his head. She would have to go herself.

  Leaving Charles propped up against a stack of hay, she called for the stableboy to hitch up the light gig. After one last glance over her shoulder, she was out the door and urging the horse to greater speed. She had prayed for rain for weeks, and now it looked as though the floodgates were going to let loose at any moment! She eyed the storm clouds warily.

  It took her nearly an hour to get to Mistress Lila’s house, and she jumped from the wagon seat just as the first drops of rain began to fall. Breathlessly, she told the woman that Isabel was in labor and needed her immediately.

  “All right, all right. I’m sure she’ll be fine until we can get there. Just calm down, Mrs. St. Claire, before you stir yourself into a lather.”

  Gabrielle waited in a chair as patiently as she could while Lila gathered up her things and tied on her bonnet.

  “Mighty wind beginning to blow,” the midwife said. “I hope you can get me there—and yourself—in one piece, Mrs. St. Claire.”

  Gabrielle nodded and helped Lila into the seat, then climbed up herself and grasped the reins. The rain began pelting down now, steaming as it hit the sun-baked earth. Then, all at once it seemed they were running through a curtain of rain. Gabrielle peered through the water, trying to avoid trees and holes in the road. It seemed hours before she barely made out the yellow lights in the windows of Fairview, just ahead. A few more minutes, and she was helping Lila Brown into the house, guiding her to the stairs and into Isabel’s room from which there issued screeches and yells of pain that made her shiver.

  “Get hot water and towels—and a fresh nightgown for her to change into afterwards,” Lila ordered briskly.

  Isabel was nearly beyond recognizing them, and her hands and feet were pounding the mattress, seeking a way to make the pain leave her.

  Gabrielle dispatched Milly to the kitchen for the hot water and towels while she rummaged through Isabel’s armoire for a nightgown.

  In a few minutes, Milly was coming in, holding a steaming kettle in one hand and a large basin in the other, with a stack of towels laid over one arm. Gabrielle took one and positioned it as Lila instructed under Isabel’s thighs “This one’s going to be easy,” Lila assured her as she leaned over and wiped Isabel’s face with a wet cloth. “Ah, that’s a good girl,” she praised Isabel when the latter pushed again. “Yes, I can see the little skull now. Harder, my dear, and we’ll get a look at the angel’s face.”

  Isabel, eager now, realizing the ordeal was nearly over, pushed again, and Gabrielle watched with a kind of awe as the wrinkled red face appeared in Lila’s hands, remembering how she had beheld her son’s face in those same hands not too long before. Then the shoulders appeared, followed by the narrow trunk and the fat little legs.

  “Give me a towel dipped in water,” Lila ordered. She used it to wipe the baby’s face and mouth, and immediately a shrill wail issued in the room.

  “Oh, Isabel!” Gabrielle declared, laughing and crying ill the same time. “You have a little daughter!”

  Isabel smiled weakly. “After all that waiting—and only a girl,” she murmured. “I’ll call her Henrietta, after mama.”

  Lila sponged Isabel’s body after performing the necessary ministrations, while Gabrielle wiped little Henrietta, who was now letting out a veritable squawling.

  “Hush, little one,” Gabrielle murmured, “or you’ll be waking Paul, and I don’t think I could put up with that right at the moment.”

  When Isabel had been dressed in a fresh nightgown and was resting comfortably, she held out her arms for her daughter and pressed the baby to her breast.

  “The milk will come in a few days,” Lila assured her. "You have big breasts, and your daughter will grow fat and pink.”

  Gabrielle showed their guest to a room where she could spend the night, then went downstairs to inform the servants of the new arrival. She hesitated over whether or not to tell Charles. Outside the wind had become fiercer, and the rain was driving furiously. She hurried out to the stable, glad of the warmth inside.

/>   The stableboy had already taken the horse out of the gig and had put her in her stall. Gabrielle measured out two cups of oats and poured them into the animal’s feed-bag. “You’re a good girl, Vanity,” she said, rubbing the sopping flank.

  “Madame?” A hand on her arm made her spring about in panic, but she breathed easier at sight of Charles’ face. "You’re quite soaked,” he said, his voice less drunk than she had anticipated.

  “Of course I’m soaked! You would be, too, if you had been able to ride for the midwife!” she snapped back irritably. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go in and look in on your wife and daughter once more before retiring. I only came out to tell you that they are both in good health.”

  “A daughter? Ah, Isabel will like that. She can mold her into the image of herself.”

  Gabrielle wasn’t sure she caught his meaning, but she made to leave him. His hand detained her.

  “Don’t go in yet, my dear. Can’t you share a drink with the new stepfather?”

  Gabrielle gazed at him narrowly. “I doubt you need another drink,” she said, “and I have better things to do.”

  “Not before I’m finished with you,” he said softly and pulled on her arm so that she stumbled against him.

  “Charles, you’re drunk, and I’m tired. Now, if you don’t mind—”

  “I told you before, I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said ignoring her, pulling her along behind him into the farthest recesses of the barn.

  Gabrielle tried to pull away from him, but his strength was much the greater. The wind was howling outside, rising in a crescendo to crash with a sudden shudder against the walls. Her cry of alarm was easily lost. Charles was pushing her into a carpet of new hay, pressing his hands to her shoulders to pin her down.

  “Charles, Charles, you don’t know what you’re doing! Let me up instantly! Isabel will be wondering where I am!”

  He laughed mockingly. “Isabel has just had a baby. I doubt that she will be wondering about anything else.”