Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  She was ushered into the governor’s private quarters in the Cabildo and then was obliged to wait nearly two hours, cooling her heels in the anteroom. Her fingers clasped and unclasped in her lap, and she jumped when William Claiborne walked in, his plain face heavy with concern and sopping with perspiration.

  “Mrs. St. Claire, I am sorry to keep you waiting, but we’ve been busy preparing for the general’s arrival. I take it your husband does not know of your visit?”

  “No, governor. It is a matter of the greatest importance and I did not wish for him to interfere.” She hesitated. “Could we sit and talk in private?”

  The governor, looking a bit flustered, complied. “Through my husband I’ve learned that you are in dire need of arms for our soldiers. I’ve also learned that you have received various communications from Jean Lafitte, hinting at a store of guns and ammunitions which he would exchange for a full pardon.”

  “That is so, madame, but how this concerns you—”

  “Governor, I know that I can count on your discretion in this. What I am about to tell you must be held strictly in confidence.” She took a deep breath. “I—I was captured by Lafitte aboard a ship bound from France for the West Indies. I became his mistress.” She held up her hand as Claiborne was about to intervene. “Please let me finish. I became his mistress for reasons that may or may not be called justifiable. Let us say, he served as a protector and I was alone in this new land. I lived with him on Barataria for two years, and during that time I believe that he came to care for me. I know that he is in hiding now, and I hoped to go to him and persuade him to give you arms in exchange for his freedom. I realize that you don’t know whether you can trust him or not, and I thought—I thought perhaps I could obtain his word on it. If he would tell me where the arms are being stored—” Claiborne had risen from his chair and his face was bright red. “Madame! You must forgive me, but I believe you have lost your reason! Of course you can count on my silence where your confession is concerned, but I cannot—I simply cannot follow the course you have outlined. It would be sheer madness! Do you think for one moment that, supposing he even remembers you—that he wouldn’t have you killed on sight? This man is not some fine gentleman, as you seem to suppose. He is a criminal, a fugitive from justice. What is even worse, he is a desperate criminal! No, madame, I thank you for your good intentions, but it is impossible!”

  “Governor, please! I am willing to risk my life to do this. You would be losing nothing by it. And what if he would tell me where the guns are hidden? Think what it would mean for you!”

  For a moment, the governor’s eyes were greedy, then he swept the feeling aside. “No, madame, I’m afraid I will have to remain firm. You’d be taking your life into your hands, and I would be responsible. If anything were to happen to you, I would hate to have to face your husband.” He mopped his brow and prepared to take his leave.

  “Wait, governor! Please, let me try! I realize that the plan is not foolproof, but I have an idea. Let me go to Marie Villars’ house with an armed escort—disguised, of course. Let me talk to Marie and see what she will tell me. I knew her during my time on Barataria, and I think I could persuade her to listen to me. Very soon the British are going to begin their attack, and we need more guns! If I can help you get them, let me try. Lafitte will grow tired of waiting soon. I’m sure you find it hard to believe that he has waited this long. When he leaves, your hopes for more arms go with him.”

  The governor reseated himself and thought about her words for what seemed an eternity. “And what if you find he has already left, madame? You will be endangering yourself for nothing.”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “I do not think he has gone, governor. Please let me go to the house of Marie Villars, and let me at least attempt to reach Lafitte. You could give me a paper, signed by your own hand. A paper granting him full pardon.”

  Claiborne shook his head. “I cannot do that, but I could give you something informing him that proceedings will be slowed if he will tell where the guns are. If he gives us their whereabouts, then I will issue the pardon, but not before.”

  Gabrielle sighed. Lord, men were stubborn, when so much else was at stake besides their damned pride! She nodded. “Then you will let me go to Marie?”

  “I’ll never understand your reasons for doing this, madame. You need not have told me about your past life, and yet you risked it, to do something that holds no gain for you.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “If I can take some of the worry from my husband’s face, it is gain enough for me.”

  He threw up his hands. “All right then, I agree to your plan.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  As Gabrielle walked down the street toward the house that she vaguely remembered, she found herself, much to her own self-contempt, feeling a strong inclination to turn around and run. She knew she was no martyr, and certainly she had no wish to consciously put herself in any real danger. Her fingers were shaking, and she experienced a bit of difficulty smoothing her skirt and straightening her bonnet. She could feel, she was sure, several pairs of eyes on her, peeking curiously through the windows, and her feet moved less quickly as she neared the house that belonged to Pierre Lafitte’s mistress.

  Dear God, let me be doing the right thing, she thought for the hundredth time. Let him not have forgotten me!

  Her steps slowed in front of the trim, neat little cottage that faced her with a frightening silence. Hesitantly, her lingers curved against the wooden door, and, with swift finality, she knocked. No answer came from within, and die waited, still fighting the urge to run away. A second time she knocked, and the response was the same. She was beginning to feel a little ridiculous, standing there on the porch, facing a closed and silent house, when she caught a movement at the window. Someone was home, that was certain—refusing callers, no doubt. She knocked harder.

  “What do you want?” The voice was soft and husky, and it took all her strength to stay on the porch and answer.

  “I want to see Jean Lafitte.”

  Silence. Then the voice came again with a perceptible hardening. “We here have no idea of Lafitte’s whereabouts. Leave us alone and go back to the governor from whom you came. Tell him that we have done nothing wrong.”

  “Then why do you keep your shutters barred and your door locked against callers in the night?” Gabrielle asked, knowing for certain that she was not speaking to Marie Villars.

  “That is none of your business. Good night.”

  “No, wait! I have not come from the governor,” she lied. “I am Gabrielle St. Claire. I—I knew Lafitte a long lime ago. I visited this very house when Marie’s first child was born.”

  Her voice was desperate. Was she not even to see Marie because of some spiteful woman refusing her entrance? A sudden hush seemed to settle inside the house, and now the female voice held a note of jealous hostility.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, or who you are. I am telling you to go away—now.”

  Gabrielle ground her teeth in frustration at having to deal with such an impertinent individual. “All right, then,” she said quickly. “If you don’t want to hear what I have to say—if you don’t care what happens to Lafitte, then I am certainly not going to stand here and make a fool of myself.” She had turned to go when the sound of a latch being drawn caused her to pause.

  A different voice called, “Come in then, Gabrielle, if you truly want to help us.”

  “Marie!” Gabrielle stared at the girl. The soft glowing skin was blotched and mottled from constant crying and worry. The deep, liquid eyes were ringed in circles. “Marie!” Gabrielle said again. Involuntarily, she swept up the steps and hugged her.

  “Gabrielle! You—here! What has happened? After all these years—why have you come here?” Marie ushered her into the house and closed the door.

  “Marie, I must speak to Lafitte. I want to get a message to him. If I could meet him somewhere else, perhaps?”

  “Gabrielle, listen to me. We
are watched constantly here, and there is little doubt that you have been observed. Lafitte is coming here tonight with Pierre and Dominique. He will—”

  “No! Marie, don’t be a fool! Can we trust this woman?” Gabrielle turned and saw the woman whose voice she had heard from behind the door—hardly a woman, really, a girl of perhaps seventeen years.

  “Catherine, I’m sure Gabrielle has no wish to bring harm to Lafitte,” Marie soothed her.

  Catherine—the little sister! The one who had adored Lafitte even then and had hated Gabrielle because she was his mistress—a girl no longer, and, by the protests she was making, still faithful to Lafitte. Was she, perhaps, his mistress now?

  “But how can you be sure she hasn’t been sent to trap Jean?” Catherine was arguing vehemently.

  Gabrielle saw the shadow of doubt cross Marie’s face. “On my word, Marie, because of everything we once shared, I swear to you that I only want to help!”

  Catherine’s pretty face was still suspicious, but Marie sighed. “We need help now, Cathy. Lafitte can’t go on like a hunted animal forever.”

  Suddenly the younger girl’s face crumpled into a half-sob. “All right, then, but if anything happens to Jean—I’ll—I’ll kill myself, I swear it!” she wailed.

  Marie drew Gabrielle inside and led her to the main living area, where a little girl, no more than three, was playing with a corn husk doll. A fat, calico-clad black woman hovered protectively over her while holding a tiny infant, who was sleeping peacefully.

  “Now listen carefully. Jean and Pierre will both be here tonight to meet with Mr. Grymes,” Marie began.

  “Grymes must not know of this,” Gabrielle interjected quickly.

  Marie nodded. “They will meet around eight o’clock for about an hour. After Mr. Grymes has gone, I will ask Lafitte if he wants to see you—and, if he agrees, I will send Cathy for you, but you must not wait at your home. It is too far away.”

  “You know where I live?” Gabrielle asked helplessly.

  Marie smiled. “You are a woman married to a man often in the public eye. You, yourself, draw much attention, my friend. It has not been hard keeping track of you.”

  Gabrielle blushed, realizing that all this time, she had barely spared a thought for this woman. Marie’s dark eyes shone with understanding.

  “Where will I come for her?” Catherine prodded. “That is—if Lafitte will see her.”

  Marie’s face grew blank.

  “Renée’s. Madame Renée’s,” Gabrielle said quickly. “It’s not too far, and Catherine can come around back. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”

  The three women stood, and Marie led Gabrielle to the door. “I can only pray that your efforts will bring about good news for us, Gabrielle,” she said, waving farewell.

  Gabrielle hurried to the waiting carriage. “Drive to Madame Renée’s,” she ordered.

  The driver shook his head. “No, ma’am. The governor gave me express orders to bring you straight back to his quarters when your task was finished.”

  “But it’s not finished! Now, please!” Gabrielle said, cursing Claiborne for thinking of everything.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll just have to bring that up with the governor.”

  Gabrielle was silent as she sat in the coach. It would not take long before she was once more facing Claiborne. And she had no news for him—yet! But he would get angry and think he had been duped—and that would be the end to all her hopes! The carriage turned into Toulouse Street, and then the driver was holding the door for her.

  “Through that door, ma’am. The governor is in conference now, but he will be with you as soon as he can.” Gabrielle thanked him stiffly and watched him as he led the carriage back to the stables. She eyed the soldier guarding the pass gate and wondered if she could persuade him to let her through. Boldly, she sauntered over towards him.

  “Good evening, soldier,” she laughed, forcing her voice to be gay.

  He started and turned around suspiciously. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, myself. You see, the governor sent for me, but he didn’t have time to see me.” She cocked her head and came closer to him. “What business would he have with you?”

  Gabrielle was delighted at the response, for at least the soldier did not suspect her to be Mrs. Rafe St. Claire, but some hussy. “Don’t know,” she grinned. Then, shrugging her shoulders, “Oh, well, if the governor decided he has no further use for me, I suppose I’ll have to make up the night’s coin elsewhere.”

  She started to go through the gate, holding her breath. The soldier’s hand detained her.

  “Say, honey, I get off my shift in another hour. Would you care to wait for me?” His hand fumbled over her breast. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Oh, sir—I don’t know. You—you say an hour?” she said breathlessly.

  “Yes. Wait for me down the street, sweetheart, and we’ll have ourselves a real good time.” He winked, then released her.

  Once outside the gate, Gabrielle breathed easier, and, when she was out of the soldier’s sight, she broke into a run for Renée’s house. It wasn’t too far, but the dark streets scared her, and she kept thinking of reports of murders and robberies. Her feet barely touched the ground as she ran, not stopping when a voice called drunkenly to her or a man stepped out of the shadows, a whiskey bottle in his hand.

  By the time she reached Renée’s, she was thoroughly rattled and took a moment to compose herself. She remembered that she had told the driver of the carriage where she wanted him to go, and it was very likely he would remember it when they realized she had got away. They were sure to come to Renée’s house, but there was nothing else to do but hope the governor would be detained a long time in his meeting, so that her escape would not be discovered too soon.

  In a few minutes she was sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and babbling her story to a shocked Renée, who kept shaking her head in amazement.

  “If I had an ounce of sense in me, I’d march you right back to the governor’s quarters, Gabrielle,” she said sternly. “Why don’t you go back there, child? I’m sure he’d listen to you.”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “He won’t, Renée. He was very firm in saying that he wouldn’t allow a second chance. I had to lie to Marie, for I really don’t think she would have told me anything if I had said I came from the governor. But now is my chance—don’t you see? Lafitte will be there tonight, and I can speak with him—persuade him to—”

  “Gabrielle, do you have any idea of the danger you’re putting yourself through?” Renée interrupted. She grasped the girl by the shoulders and shook her slightly. “I remember the day when Lafitte brought you to me. I could see in his eyes that you were special to him. Gabrielle, Gabrielle, the man was in love with you—in his own way, he loved you! And now you’re throwing yourself in his path again. You might as well be jumping into his bed! A man like Lafitte is not a man easily given to loving a woman. I’ve never heard him to care for any female! Do you realize what you may be stirring up again by putting yourself in his hands?”

  Gabrielle shook her head stubbornly. “It doesn’t matter, Renée! You must understand. I'm doing this for Rafe and the governor and everyone in this city! If jumping into Lafitte’s bed would get those guns for us, I’d do it ten times over!”

  Renée looked at her sadly. “Gabrielle, think of Rafe! Would he want you to do this? Could he forgive you if he learned of it?”

  “He won’t learn of it, Renée. Claiborne gave me his word!”

  “And you gave him your word to abide by what he said—and you didn’t! Do you think Claiborne will keep his promise? Perhaps not intentionally, but still Rafe is bound to find out!”

  “Renée, please let me do what I have to do! Please don’t give me away now!”

  “Still a child you are, my dear, despite the fact that you’ve borne a babe. You won’t listen but must go your own way. All right. If the officials
come, I’ll not say a word, but if Rafe finds out you’ve gone to Lafitte, he’ll not rest until he tears this place apart!”

  “Thank you, Renée, and—don’t worry.”

  Gabrielle watched the clock run Its course with agonizing slowness. Nine chimes struck, and still Catherine did not make an appearance. She grew fitful and began to pace the kitchen restlessly, each minute that passed feeling her resolve slowly begin to crumble. In the rear distance, she could hear a lone horse moving close to the house, and her heart quickened, but it was only another customer.

  Ten o’clock! Surely the governor knew of the deception by now!

  “Gabrielle St. Claire?”

  Gabrielle turned quickly, making out Catherine’s face pressed to the window.

  “I’m ready!”

  Gabrielle slipped out the door, and together they crept around the house and out into the street. Catherine’s mood seemed gloomy, and Gabrielle kept silent as they hurried through the streets of New Orleans. A small company of soldiers passed them, and Gabrielle wondered if they were on their way to Renée’s house to find her. Certainly the police would not expect the wife of Rafe St. Claire to be jaunting about in the dark with a quadroon girl, on her way to see Lafitte! She almost giggled at the look of disbelief on their faces should they catch her, but instantly sobered, thinking of the consequences.

  Catherine was going away from Rampart Street, and Gabrielle touched her tentatively on the shoulder. “Are you going the right way?”

  “Yes. We must avoid being stopped,” she hissed back, not breaking her stride.

  Gabrielle was breathless before long, and she gazed doubtfully at the fence that Catherine was urging her to slip through—the girl took malicious pleasure when Gabrielle tore her skirt on a nail. They hopped over a water trough and slid around the brightness of open windows. Gabrielle felt as though this obstacle course was hardly necessary, until, when Catherine pressed her into a crouch, she caught a glimpse of a city guard quietly patrolling the street.