Hugh stared off into space, considering the situation. New Orleans, he was aware, was already being deserted by those who could afford to leave, and by next week most Creoles and anybody else with any sense would have left the city and would not be returning until October or November. Which did not mean his culprits would not strike if a tempting shipment arrived during the next few months. Which was another reason for him to remain in the city.
It would be difficult for him to strike swiftly if he were to remove himself from New Orleans. It was also likely that whoever was behind the thefts would not be in the city either. Someone would have to alert them to any prospective arrivals. And if Hugh were already in the city, not only would he be able to lay a trap to catch them in the act, he would also have a good idea who was supplying them with information.
Hugh grimaced. He was certain he already knew who was alerting the thieves—Etienne Gras. He liked the young man and hated to think of him involved in the situation, but it seemed evident. Etienne's position in the firm made him the obvious culprit, and, coupled with his gambling habits, the fact that he had been in debt to Alain Husson once made him even more suspect. Nor was Hugh forgetting the young man's nervousness when questioned about any early notice of the arrival of Le Lys Bleu.
Etienne could have been merely uneasy at being called before his employer, but Hugh did not think so. He had been a little too nervous under the circumstances. A grim smile crossed his face. Perhaps it might be revealing to spend more time in the company of young Gras?
Hugh rose to his feet and, with the inventory of Le Lys Bleu in one hand, left his office. He stopped long enough to request that Etienne accompany him to the firm's warehouses. It was a good walk to the warehouses on Tchoupitoulas Street, but the hour was early and the humid heat had not yet reached its zenith.
As they walked, Hugh made small talk. While wary to begin with, by the time the company warehouses came into sight, Etienne had relaxed and was animatedly telling Hugh about the latest cockfight he had attended. His face full of pleasure, Etienne exclaimed, "And the black cock, he was most ferocious, monsieur! The red fought very hard, but he was no match for the black cock. It was a very, very good fight and I am happy that I had put my money on the black. It was an exciting fight and to win... ah, that makes it even more thrilling."
"Indeed," Hugh returned. "Do you win often?"
Etienne's face fell. Reluctantly, he admitted, "Non. Sometimes I-I-I lose more than I should. I have tried to curb my gambling—it worries Maman, but it is something in the blood, oui! A man cannot help himself." Risking a quick look at Hugh's features, he added hastily, "But I have always paid my debts."
"Excellent!" Hugh answered, wondering if helping Husson steal from the company was one of the ways in which Etienne paid his debts. Having concluded that Etienne was the most likely person to be feeding information about shipments and arrivals to the thief, it was an easy step to name Husson as the receiver of that information. Hugh had no trouble picturing Husson as the person behind the thefts and probably behind the attack on him several months ago, too. It seemed the sort of spiteful act that would appeal to Alain.
Etienne took Hugh to the area in the sprawling building where the shipment from Le Lys Bleu had been placed. Glancing around at the murky interior of the warehouse, the concealing shadows and rabbitlike warrens which interspersed the piles and stacks of crates, barrels, bales and boxes scattered about, Hugh sighed. Who would notice if anything went missing?
Several brawny, half-naked men labored in the stifling heat inside the warehouse, laughing and talking, cursing and shouting, as they carted various bulky objects from one location to another. There seemed to be a constant flow of traffic inside the building, crates coming in; barrels and boxes leaving. The air was redolent with odors; the smell of the Mississippi River itself; the scent of spices and herbs. Cloves, ginger, cinnamon, and sandalwood mingled with the lingering odor of tobacco, indigo, and cotton, and that faint musty smell endemic to all buildings near the river. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of hot, yellow sunlight which poured in through the cavernous doors and from outside came the rattle and bang of horse-drawn vehicles and the cries of street vendors, hawking their wares—dewberries, strawberries, sweets, fish, and figs.
Shutting out the sights and sounds and smells which accosted him, Hugh turned his attention to the huge sprawling pile of crates and barrels which Etienne indicated had come from Le Lys Bleu. Observing it, Hugh asked, "And you compared what we received with the inventory which accompanied it?"
Etienne swallowed. "Oui, monsieur. That is the first thing I do once it has been unloaded."
"I see. And, to your knowledge, has anything been taken from this shipment since you completed the inventory? You mentioned, did you not, that you had just finished tallying it up yesterday?"
Etienne nodded. "Oui, monsieur, yesterday."
"And does it look the same? Nothing that at first glance appears missing?"
"N-n-non—nothing that I can see without further investigation. There are customers waiting for their orders, but it will be another few days before we start dispersing items."
Hugh's gray eyes suddenly met Etienne's. "Tell me, Etienne, are you happy with your position at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree?"
"H-h-happy, monsieur?" he repeated uncertainly and at Hugh's nod, exclaimed, "Oh, oui! My maman is very proud of me, and many of my friends are envious."
"Then you would not wish to lose your position, would you?"
"Non, I would not," Etienne replied, appalled at the idea.
Hugh nodded again, and said, "Well, then you are going to have to help me, young man, because if something is not done and done swiftly, there may not be a Galland, Lancaster and Dupree to employ you much longer. We have a thief, a clever one, to be sure, but a thief nonetheless. I need you to help me catch him."
"A-a-a thief, monsieur? How can you be certain?"
It was an interesting question, and not the one Hugh would have expected—from an innocent man. Etienne did not seem to be surprised by the revelation of thievery. His only interest was in how the thievery had been discovered.
"The inventory," Hugh said gently. "I am convinced that someone has altered it. I need you to tell me if you remember what was on the pages that have been changed."
With all the pleasure of reaching for a deadly viper, Etienne took the inventory Hugh held out to him. Clasping it gingerly, he looked at Hugh. "What do you want me to do, monsieur?"
"Go over the inventory again. See if it agrees with what is stacked here and try to remember if you notice anything missing."
Etienne nodded, his face pale in the murky light of the warehouse. "I will do it, monsieur."
"I am sure you will," Hugh said quietly. "Just as I am sure there is an easy explanation for what has been going on." Hugh's gaze rested on Etienne's unhappy features. "I am not a vindictive man, you know. If someone who had helped, or who had been forced to help, steal from the company were to come forward and confess, I would treat him generously. And if he were to assist in the capture of the thieves, there is much that I would be willing to overlook. I am a discreet man—no one who came to me with the information I need would ever need to fear reprisals. I would be quite, quite grateful to them. However, if no one comes forward..."
Hugh's gaze hardened. "Then I am afraid when the thieves are exposed—and they will be exposed—he will suffer right along with the others. Do you understand me?"
Etienne swallowed with difficulty. "Oui, monsieur—I understand."
Hugh looked at Etienne for a long moment. "Starting tomorrow," he said finally, "and for the next few days, I may be out of the city, but after Thursday I will be home most evenings, should someone care to speak privately with me."
Feeling he had done what he could for the moment, Hugh left Etienne to begin work on the inventory and walked from the warehouse. Revealing to young Gras that he knew of the theft and suspected how it was being done had been a gamble.
Would Etienne break and try to save his own neck, or would he run straight to his cohorts and pour out all he had learned? Hugh hoped it was the former.
The day was growing oppressively hot and muggy, and Hugh was glad to reach the cool comfort of his own home. He joined his wife in the courtyard, where she was seated in the shade of an arched trellis covered with scarlet bougainvillea. It was pleasant in the courtyard and Hugh was beginning to understand the Creole love of their secluded courtyards. Palm and banana trees, attractively scattered about, gave the place a tropical air, and the relaxing sound of bubbling water came from a double-tiered fountain positioned in the center of the area. The courtyard was private and intimate, completely shut off from the rest of the world. Covered walkways, with balconies above, adjoined the house and formed two of the enclosing arms of the courtyard, festooned with vines and sweetly scented flowers. The perfume of yellow roses and white jasmine filled the air. Honeysuckle and purple bougainvillea draped the other two walls, softening their stark outlines; flagstones the color of faded charcoal paved the floor.
Micaela greeted him with a smile, her heart leaping as it always did when she caught sight of his tall form. Dropping her gaze to hide the pleasure she felt in his company, she offered him a tall glass of the ever-present lemonade. Seated across from her with a black wrought-iron table separating them, Hugh took a long swallow of the cool liquid.
Putting the half-empty glass down, he looked across at her and asked abruptly, "Have you thought any more about the Justine place?"
She nodded, and admitted, "I have thought of little else. May I see it before we move into the place?"
Hugh grinned at her. "I was planning on taking you there tomorrow if you were agreeable—we could leave early in the morning and probably be back in the city just after nightfall. It would be a swift trip, but it would give you time to make note of any supplies or furnishings you might want to have sent out from the city."
Micaela smiled ruefully. "I will be honest. We have barely settled into this house and now to face another... It is somewhat daunting, hein?"
"I suppose it is, but again we are fortunate in the fact that Madame Justine was willing to sell the house with many of its furnishings. At least you will not be presented with empty rooms and bare floors."
* * *
Despite her initial dismay at the news of the purchase of the Justine plantation, Micaela fell in love with it at first sight. They had left New Orleans just an hour after dawn that morning. Seated beside Hugh in a well-sprung gig pulled by a pair of spanking bays as they traveled along the River Road, Micaela had enjoyed the trip. Sunlight sparkled like splashes of pure silver off the waters of the wide Mississippi, and the vivid green of the swamp and forests and fields which meandered along the road provided an ever-changing scenery.
Micaela was almost sorry when, a few hours later, he finally slowed the horses and guided them away from the river, toward an impressive alley lined with magnificent live oaks. Shaded by the huge limbs of the trees which met overhead, Micaela sat up straighter, eager for the first glimpse of her new home. A quarter mile later the road curved and suddenly, there before her, was the Justine house.
It was not more than a decade old, having been built on the site of the original home, which had been destroyed by fire after having stood in this spot for over seventy-five years. The new house was a charming affair, built in the raised-cottage style, with wide covered galleries extending around three sides of the large structure. The turned wooden colonnades of the second story were supported by heavier brick and plaster pillars below, and delicate balustrades lined the upper gallery. In the sunlight the house gleamed whitely, and the narrow shutters which hung at the long windows were painted dark blue. The roof was slightly hipped and dormered, the cypress shingles a pleasing shade of silvery gray. A pair of octagonal garçonnières flanked either side of the house, giving it an impressive air.
There was a broad expanse of lawn in front of the house. Live oaks and magnolia trees were scattered around and behind the house. Micaela caught sight of the outbuildings—the slave cabins; the barns and stables; kitchen and overseer's home. The driveway made a graceful curving swath through the grounds, and Hugh brought his horses to a stop in front of the wide steps at the front of the house.
A pair of young black boys appeared out of nowhere to hold the horses' heads, and, after dismounting, Hugh came around the other side of the gig and lifted Micaela down. Looking toward the boys, Hugh said, "See that they are cooled down before turning them out We won't need them until five o'clock this evening."
"Did the widow Justine sell you her servants, too?" Micaela asked tartly.
Hugh grinned. "Yes, those that I wanted, and the four thousand acres of land that goes with the house. Less than half is under cultivation—cotton, a little sugar and corn—the majority is swamp and forest."
It was a considerable plantation, even by Louisiana standards, although Micaela knew that there were several larger estates in the Territory, but she was impressed nonetheless. "Do you intend to become a planter, too?"
"My stepfather and I," Hugh said, "have always been planters. We raised cotton in Natchez, but I am considering trying my hand at growing sugar cane here in Louisiana."
A little frown wrinkled Micaela's forehead. "But what about the company? To become a sugar-cane planter will require much of your time. Will you abandon the company?"
"No, I have no intention of turning my back on it But once I have affairs there under control, it will not be necessary for me to keep such a tight rein on the day-to-day running of the business. I intend eventually to hire a competent manager to handle the company."
Micaela was aghast. Hardly aware of being escorted up the broad steps and across the wide gallery to the massive twin doors of the house, she exclaimed, "A manager! But that is preposterous! A member of the family has always managed the company."
"Yes, and look where it has gotten us," he replied, pushing open the doors and ushering her into the cool interior.
"You, monsieur, are insulting my family!"
Micaela might have argued more, but Hugh suddenly pulled her close and pressed a hard kiss on her half-open mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said huskily, "I do not want to talk about the blasted business right now. Right now, I want to show my bride her new home. May we, please, for the present forget about Galland, Lancaster and Dupree?"
Micaela's dark eyes met his. Something in the gray depths of his gaze stirred a powerful response within her, and for a long moment their gazes clung. Barely aware of what she was doing, too aware of his lean, warm body next to hers, Micaela nodded. "Oui. Let us forget the company for the time being."
The following hours were some of the most memorable and enjoyable they had spent in each other's company. Micaela was delighted with the house, and she was excited at the prospect of buying all the new furnishings that would be needed—rugs, curtains, linens, beds, and tables. A lazily contented smile on his face, Hugh followed her about from room to room, thinking his bride had never looked lovelier—her cheeks were as rosily flushed as her lips, and her magnificent dark eyes were glistening with pleasure.
They enjoyed a light repast in the gazebo overlooking the man-made lake, which had also been constructed about the same time as the house. It was a charming place. Cedars, chinaberry trees and magnolias dotted the area; shrubs and fragrant flowers and vines had been skillfully planted about the edge of the lake to enhance the effect of a natural setting.
Pushing aside her half-empty plate, Micaela stared dreamily out over the placid waters. The scent of magnolias, water lilies and honeysuckle gently perfumed the air. She was going to enjoy living here with her husband.
She glanced across at him. He was seated on the other side of the table, with a lock of thick, dark hair fallen across his forehead, his gaze on the water. There was so much about him that she did not understand. And while she wished that their marriage had come about in a normal fashion, she discovered that she
did not regret their union. How could she? He had been everything that was kind and generous and she was a fool to wish for more. But the knowledge that Hugh had stated that he'd had no intention of marrying her and that he believed that she had trapped him into marriage kept her from feeling confident in her marriage. And she could not banish, though she tried, that unpleasant and painful exchange with Alice Summerfield. Telling herself that the other woman had been upset and hurt did not lessen the impact of what she had said. Alice's words still lay like a canker on her heart.
She glanced at her husband, wishing she knew him better, wishing she had the courage to speak her doubts aloud. But he was, in so many ways, a stranger to her, an alien being with ways very different from her own. They seemed to exist on two different levels—the exciting intimacy of the bedroom and the pleasant, domestic day-to-day living, but they never talked about the unacknowledged gulf that lay between them. They never, she realized unhappily, talked about the matters closest to their hearts. She knew she avoided subjects that might cause dissension between them—did he?
And if she found the courage to ask him about Alice, did she really want confirmation? Did she really want to hear that he had been in love with another woman and that he had planned to marry her? Did she really want to risk destroying the fragile facade of tranquility they had erected? Micaela tried to tell herself that none of it mattered now, but deep down inside she knew that it did matter, it mattered a great deal.
"What are you thinking about?" Hugh asked abruptly, startling her.
She looked across at him and was uneasy to find his eyes fixed on her face. It was apparent that he had been watching her for some time. "Why, nothing," she said quickly, her eyes averted from his searching gaze.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 17
