The Topaz Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  The thought made her cringe, and she sucked in a quick breath, swamped with grief at knowing she’d never feel safe in a man’s arms again.

  She closed the doors. It was time to get the hell out of Barataria before something else happened to her. But first, she needed clothes. While she considered her few options, someone knocked on the door. Crap! She rushed to the fireplace for the poker, gripping the brass handle while adrenaline surged through her bloodstream.

  As calmly as she could manage, she said, “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a girl in her late teens entered carrying two buckets of steaming water. “Dominique sent me to tend to you. I have water for a bath.”

  Billie moaned. A hot bath would jumpstart her focus, and she could wash the blood and gore out of her hair. “Great. Let’s do it.”

  The girl emptied the buckets before returning to the hall to collect two more. “Come. Get in while the water’s hot. I have more buckets to haul in.” She returned for the others. “And Boss said to be sure to wash your hair.”

  Billie shivered. He was a toxic man, dusting her with his poison, and she hated him for the harm he’d caused. Sending hot water wasn’t going to earn him any points or lessen her disdain. Once she testified against him in court, and the state of Louisiana locked him up where he couldn’t hurt anyone else, then she’d stop hating him. Holding onto negative emotions would only harm her, and he didn’t care what she thought of him anyway. She’d long ago stopped hating the colonel, but she still wanted retribution.

  Billie stripped off the gown, and the girl gasped. Billie hugged the fabric to her chest. She shouldn’t have let the girl see all the scratches and bruises. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

  The girl gave Billie a sad smile before taking her hand. “Nothin’ I ain’t seen before. Come on now and get in the water. The heat will ease some of the pain. After you bathe, I’ll rub healing cream on your breasts and legs. You’ll feel much better.” She sprinkled a yellow powder into the water, and the peppery scent of ginger permeated the air.

  “Ginger?”

  “My mère says it purges whatever ails you.”

  Billie sighed as she sank into the water. The herb was the perfect detox. Soaking in a ginger bath would raise her body temperature and sweat out toxins. If she ever needed to sweat that much, it was this morning…or was it afternoon? She’d completely lost track of time.

  “What’s your name?” Billie asked.

  “Estelle,” the girl said, studying the bruises on Billie’s arms.

  Billie glanced up at her. “Do you know what happened to me?”

  “Oh, yes, mademoiselle. The whole island knows what Mr. Hebert did to ya, and that Boss shot him dead.” She poured water from a pitcher onto a cloth and covered Billie’s forehead, then gave her a cube of green soap. “Mr. Hebert was an evil man. Boss should have shot him long ago, but he was Boss’s best artillerist. That’s why Boss sent him to ya first, as a prize for capturing a ship last week.”

  “You know, don’t you, that shooting people is against the law? So is rape.”

  “There’s only one law at Barataria, and that’s whatever Boss says it is. If he needs to shoot somebody, then they deserve shooting.”

  Billie pinched the bridge of her nose. This was too much to deal with right now. Lafitte had only to ask, and the entire community would drink the Kool-Aid for him. She had to get out of this nightmare. “Boss Man rules with an iron, Napoleonic hand.”

  “He’s fair with his men. If he wasn’t, he couldn’t keep the peace.”

  Billie couldn’t make the connection between being fair with his men and killing a man who opposed him. Instead, she gave her brain a break and sniffed the fragrant and fruity soap, smelling olive oil. “Is this Marseille soap?”

  “Yes. Savon de Marseille. Boss asked the general to get it from the warehouse for you. Boss never distributes gifts from the warehouse. Everything there is sold at market in New Orleans. That’s how everyone knows you’re special. He also had clothes and jewels brought up. My mère is altering dresses for you.”

  “Not that it matters, but how does she know what size I wear?”

  “She has your jacket and torn shirt and trousers. The two small garments, the one with cups for your breasts, she’s trying to repair. The other lacy one she washed and ironed, even though she didn’t understand the purpose of wearing a strip of lace and silk. Boss didn’t either.”

  Billie almost laughed as an image of Lafitte holding her thong, puzzling over it, plastered itself at the forefront of her mind. She slid the cloth down over her eyes, but the image wouldn’t go away.

  Estelle gathered her hair and held it over the lip of the tub to wash.

  “I don’t need anything fancy,” Billie said. “Just a shirt to wear with my pants and jacket. I also need a ride back to NOLA. I could call an Uber, but I haven’t seen a phone. Do you have a cell phone I could use?”

  Estelle massaged Billie’s head. “I don’t know what you’re asking. Maybe the general can answer your questions. But I wouldn’t worry about your clothes. By the time my mère finishes the alterations, you’ll have a beautiful wardrobe.”

  Estelle moved the pads of her fingers over Billie’s scalp in circular motions, and Billie moaned. “The general? Do you mean Dominique Youx?”

  “Of course. I can tell he’s fond of you.”

  Between the hot water and the head massage, Billie somehow found her sense of humor. “I hope you mean Dominique is fond of me and not Boss Man.”

  Estelle giggled. “Yes. He’s such a sweet man. But Boss is fond of you too.”

  Great. Just great. Something was telling Billie she’d never get out of here. If she could get outside and look around, she could figure out which way she needed to go. She used the cloth on her forehead to wipe away the sweat collecting on her face.

  “You have beautiful hair. You should grow it out longer,” Estelle said.

  Between the hot ginger bath and the head massage, Billie relaxed and was able to start visualizing her next steps to get the hell out of there. But every time Estelle’s fingers dug into her scalp, Billie let more and more of her anxiety wash away. And that was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to lose her edge.

  “Where do you live?” Billie was startled by the listlessness in her voice.

  Estelle poured water over Billie’s hair to rinse out the soap. “Behind the manor with my mère. She works here in the house, taking care of Boss and cooking his meals. I help her and also do the cleaning.”

  “Have you always lived here?”

  “Always.” Estelle towel-dried Billie’s hair. “Are you ready to get out, or do you want more hot water?”

  Billie instinctively reached for the faucet with her toes but quickly realized this wasn’t a modern tub with running water. “How much trouble is it to get more?”

  “It will only take a few minutes to go to the kitchen and fill the buckets.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll get out now.” Billie stood up in the tub, and Estelle wrapped a towel around her, but she suddenly got dizzy and grabbed Estelle’s shoulder for support.

  “Here, let me help you.” Estelle wrapped her arm around Billie’s waist as she climbed out of the tub. “Sit here.” Estelle guided her to a chair, and Billie sat and put her head in her hands, breathing deeply. She was sweating like she’d run a 10K in the summer heat.

  “I need a glass of water.”

  “Water?”

  “With ice and lemon.” Then she remembered there was no running water. “Where do you get your drinking water?”

  “There’s a spring behind the house.” Estelle held up the pitcher she used to wet the cloth for Billie’s forehead. “This is from the spring. I filled it this morning.”

  Billie had no memory of Estelle coming into the room. “Would you mind handing me a glass?” Estelle grabbed a glass from the silver tray holding a decanter filled with port or wine and filled it with water. Billie held it up to the light. The water had n
o color. She sniffed. It had no odor. She took a little sip, and it had no taste or aftertaste. Satisfied with the clean, refreshing taste, she took a long drink, emptying the glass, and held it out for a refill.

  While Billie sat in the chair, drank water, and wiped the sweat off her forehead, Estelle left and returned with a handful of clothes. She carried a white silk robe over to Billie.

  “If you’ll put this on, I’ll dry your hair.”

  “I’d rather take a nap.”

  “There’s no time. Boss has requested your presence at dinner.”

  “Dinner? What time is it?”

  “Almost six, and it will take a while to get you ready.”

  Another day. She’d lost count of how long she’d been there. “He doesn’t care. I could wear my robe.”

  “Boss has several dinner guests, and he’d be honored to have you join him.”

  Billie sighed. “Does this have anything to do with what was happening on the beach earlier?”

  “Did you see the men?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t tell what was going on.”

  “Come sit at the dressing table and let me dry your hair.”

  For the next hour, Estelle brushed and pinned while Billie drank several more glasses of water and sweated out the rest of the toxins.

  When Estelle finished, she left the room and returned with an ebony box and set it in front of Billie. “This is for you, along with Boss’s sincere apologies.”

  Billie opened the lid, gasping. “My God. I’ve never seen anything so exquisite except in a museum.”

  Estelle picked up the lover’s knot tiara with sapphires, diamonds, and pearls and turned to place it on Billie’s head.

  Billie jerked back. “I can’t wear that. I’m a soldier, not a princess. I’m not a tiara kind of girl.” This expression of wealth caught her off guard, and she looked up to meet Estelle’s eyes, exposing her flushed cheeks in the mirror. “I’m not used to this kind of extravagance.”

  Estelle placed the tiara on Billie’s head. “Boss is expecting you to wear it. He even selected your dinner gown to match the jewels. And no one turns down his gifts.” Estelle pulled open a small drawer at the bottom of the box.

  “Earrings, too?” Billie held up her hands. “Whoa. That’s way too much. I’ll look silly and pretentious. I’ll wear the headgear, but not the earrings.”

  Estelle ignored her and screwed the dangling sapphires to the backs of Billie’s ears. When Billie turned her head, they glittered in the lamplight. Ohhh-kay. The jewels were beautiful, and they made her feel beautiful too, even though her body ached from being twisted into a pretzel, groped, beaten, and bitten.

  Was it so wrong to play at being a princess for one night?

  Hell, yes, it’s wrong.

  The men were rapists and killers. And she hated the fake Lafitte so much that she ground her hatred into her molars as she flexed and unflexed her fists. Why would she even consider socializing with him?

  Because if she didn’t show up for dinner, Lafitte would drag her there. Or she could walk into the room with her head held high. She had firsthand experience with what he was capable of doing when he made wrong assumptions or was pissed off. So it was her choice whether to fraternize with the enemy—or not.

  Was it fraternizing? Was she hurting her country? No. Then what was she compromising if she did what he asked?

  Bottom line the situation, Billie…

  It was simple. She was a kidnap victim trying to survive. And if it increased her chances of getting out of here alive, she’d develop a psychological alliance with him and sign herself up for extensive therapy later to recover from Stockholm Syndrome.

  Estelle pulled four items out of her pocket. “Boss thought you’d want these for your preparations.” She held out Billie’s compact, a tube of lipstick, mascara, and a lip pencil.

  Billie took the items, wondering if MacGyver knew how to make explosives out of makeup essentials. If it was possible, she could blast her way out of Barataria. She swiped the puff across the powder in the compact then patted powder all over her face and neck, covering the bruises and scratches as best she could.

  “What was happening on the beach this morning? You never said.”

  “Boss was watching the wild ducks flying south when a sloop-of-war flying the Union Jack appeared.”

  Billie put the compact aside and pulled the mascara wand from the tube. “Does it have a name?”

  “The Sophie. Boss had driven her away before, but she came back flying a white flag on her mast, signaling a peaceful mission.”

  Billie coated the lashes on her right eye and moved to her left. “What was Lafitte’s response?”

  Estelle crossed the room to the bed and unfolded pieces of white linen and what looked like stays. Do I really have to wear those?

  “Boss commandeered a pirogue to take him to the British vessel. But the British ship lowered a gig with sailors rowing three uniformed officers toward shore.”

  Billie finished her eyes then outlined her lips with the pencil. “Let me guess. One of the officers was Captain Nicholas Lockyer of His Majesty’s Navy?”

  Estelle gasped. “Yes, mademoiselle. How’d you know?”

  Because I’ve read the book.

  “He’s the captain of the Sophie. And what did he want?” Not that she didn’t already know, but she wanted to hear what Estelle had gleaned from the excitement.

  “I don’t know. But Boss has asked you to join him for dinner with the British captain.”

  “So that’s what this getup is all about. He wants to impress the British with his own American mon Capitaine. If it gets me out of here, I’ll play along.” It must be some competition among reenactors.

  “You misunderstand, mademoiselle.”

  How many times had Billie heard that lately?

  “Boss doesn’t intend to tell the British who you are. He’ll introduce you as Mademoiselle Malone from New York City.”

  There must be spy holes in the walls. Billie couldn’t imagine Lafitte sharing his business with the hired help. But she was curious how Lafitte got the impression she was from New York City. She had her father’s business card, but all of her identification listed Napa as her residence.

  “Mademoiselle is so Frenchy and Malone is so Irish. Maybe he should call me Miss Malone or Miss Wilhelmina.”

  After applying lipstick, Billie picked the brass telescope up off the chest, extended the eyepiece, and adjusted it until she had a sharp focus. The Sophie was larger than The Pride. It looked like a convention of early nineteenth-century reenactors out there. But all the reenactors she’d heard of were friendly people—not rapists and murderers.

  A formal dinner with a table full of crazy people would be a challenge to manage, but if her participation would get her back to New Orleans sooner, she’d do it. Did she dare try to negotiate with Lafitte?

  Someone knocked on the door. Estelle hurried to open it, and Lafitte sidled in. “Leave us.” Estelle scurried from the room. He stood there a moment and cleared his throat. Then he crossed over to Billie. “A piece of jewelry was left out of the box.”

  “I don’t need anything else,” she said. “I feel like a walking jewelry store as it is.”

  He held up a strand of diamonds with a large sapphire in the center. “Turn so I can latch it around your neck.”

  “Do I hear a please in that command?” She seasoned the question with irritation.

  The corners of his mouth quirked. When he poured on the charm, he was irresistible. And he looked like he walked off the page of a movie promo, not at all flashy, but impeccably dressed in a white linen shirt, tight-fitting pantaloons, intricately tied white linen neckcloth, and a blue, short-fronted tailcoat, which shifted the hue of his eyes to match the color of the jacket. He didn’t look at all like the pimp and murderer he was.

  “I’ll wear your jewelry and the gown you selected. And I’ll be polite to your company. But in return, I want to go to New Orleans tomorrow.”


  “You’re in no position to negotiate, mon Capitaine.”

  “You’re wrong about that. You want to introduce me to the British to show them you aren’t a barbarian but an educated, wealthy privateer. Am I right?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “I can do that without you.”

  She squared herself, prepared to take a risk. “But I’m an American. I’m educated and dressed like a princess. That gives me some negotiating rights.”

  His brows bit together as his stare focused on her. She didn’t like the look. But even though her pulse thumped in her neck, she didn’t back down. Nothing in this rabbit hole was real—at least the whole pirate/British navy part—but this fake Lafitte was a violent and unpredictable man.

  “After the British present their proposal, I’ll consider your request.”

  “Come on, Boss. You’ve read the history books. You know what the British want. They want you to side with them against the Americans, but you won’t do that. You’ll have to take their offer to Governor Claiborne. That means you’re going to New Orleans. I’ll play along, but tomorrow you’re taking me to the city. I’m done with this whole make-believe gig.” She tugged on her ear. “These are probably imitation gems anyway. But I’ll wear them and smile.”

  He clapped his hand to his chest. “You insult me, mon Capitaine. I’d never give a lady such as yourself jewels made of paste. This matched set came from a Spanish galleon. And I assure you they are real diamonds, sapphires, and pearls.”

  He turned her toward the mirror and clasped the necklace around her neck. Then he stood there for a moment, his hands on her shoulders, gazing at her in the mirror. And surprisingly, his hands were a comfort, not a threat. His short beard accentuated his chiseled jaw, and his dark eyes were pools of emotion she couldn’t interpret.

  “You are a beautiful woman. I am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.” His husky voice stroked over her, and her breath hitched. “These jewels”—he lightly flicked one of the dangling sapphires—“are yours to keep.”