Iron Lace
Page 8
“I’d hoped to win her over little by little, but I’m beginning to see now just how deep-seated her resentment against me really is, and sometimes I wonder whether I’ll ever be able to surmount it.”
“I know it’s difficult for you, Miguel,” agreed Aimee Chausson with a sigh, “but please try to be patient with the girl. Her mother was a good, pious woman, but she was obsessed with her hatred for the Spaniards. That mercenary O’Reilly really did cause a tremendous amount of ill feeling here toward the Spanish when he took over the colony. He used trickery to capture the French rebels, and once they fell into his hands, instead of being generous and perhaps winning over the populace by being lenient with their misguided patriots, O’Reilly executed six of them and imprisoned the others. At least Monique’s grandfather wasn’t one of those who was shot, but he might as well have been, for he returned from the dungeons of Havana a broken man and died only a few weeks after his release. Eugenie, my son’s wife, adored her father, and it made a lasting impression on her. She never forgave the Spaniards and never let the girls forget what their grandfather had suffered, either. They grew up hearing the story over and over again, and every tale of Spanish cruelty was repeated to them.”
“Monique, being older than Celeste, understood and remembered better what her mother said than her sister did, and sometimes the poor child used to wake up crying in the middle of the night after Eugenie had been exaggeratedly vivid about some gory detail. But no matter how I begged my daughter-in-law to stop frightening the children like that, she was too obsessed with the subject to let it rest.”
“Of course, after Eugenie died and the girls grew older, they didn’t seem to think much about those old tales anymore, but I guess the resentment was always there, although I confess I never suspected how deep-rooted it was with Monique until now. But give her time, Miguel. Frankly, I suspect that much of her hostility simply stems from the fact that you’re pulling the reins in more tightly on her. Unfortunately, she’s been spoiled and is headstrong— accustomed to saying and doing as she pleases—so I’m afraid she would resist anyone who tried to discipline her, although the fact that you happen to be a Spaniard has probably resurrected some of those old childhood memories that her mother seeded in her. But believe me, Miguel, Monique is basically a good-hearted girl. I’m sure she’ll come around. You’ll see.”
Vidal was pensive. He wanted so much to believe that Aimee Chausson was right.
“God knows I hope it’ll be as you say,” he replied. “But if you could have seen her the other night singing that revolutionary song in the theater! She was so carried away.”
Grandmother Chausson smiled and shook her white-capped head. “I can well imagine,” she agreed. “Monique has a tendency to be overly romantic sometimes. This unpopular war between Spain and France has awakened all the girl’s patriotism. Despite Spanish rule here, Monique is typical of the way most of the people of New Orleans feel. She still considers herself French and has deluded herself into thinking that France can do no wrong. The girl doesn’t realize, of course, that if we were living in that unfortunate country right now, we’d be going to the guillotine ourselves!” She shook her head. “Our young people are so easily inflamed. Take Monique’s friend Maurice. He’s not really a bad boy. I’m sure he’s fired by the noblest of sentiments, but he’s being influenced by those Jacobin agents who have been filtering into town. I’d hate to see the boy get in trouble.”
“Rest easy,” Vidal assured her. “I mean the boy no harm, but I do intend to remove Monique from his questionable influence. If you permit me to make a suggestion, I think it might be advisable to take up summer residence at the plantation a little early this year.”
Aimee Chausson sighed resignedly. “I really prefer living in the town house,” she confessed, “but if it’s best for the girls, I’ll go, of course.”
“I really think it might be wiser, especially where Monique is concerned,” he assured her. “A change of scene for a while, away from the temptations and unrest of the city, might do her some good. By the time September comes and you’re ready to return to New Orleans for the social season, she may see things in an entirely different light. Monique is at a transitory age right now… a period where a few months could make a great deal of difference.”
Chapter Twelve
When the plans to take up immediate residence at the Chausson plantation were announced, Vidal’s wards received the news with more protests. Monique, already smarting from the episode of the confiscated leaflets, was especially furious over what she called her guardian’s “arbitrary manipulating of her life” and became more petulant than ever. The fact that Miguel showed her an article in the Moniteur that the governor was threatening to close the theater if the performances continued to be so disorderly didn’t seem to impress her, nor did she feel especially eager to obey when Vidal asked her to leave her packing for a moment to have a few words with him.
He began with a conciliatory approach.
“Monica…” he said cautiously, but when he saw the way she immediately glared at him, he quickly corrected himself. “Monique, I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I truly regret having had to order your room searched. I can understand you resented having Mlle. Baudier go through your things that way, and I’m truly sorry it was necessary.”
“You had no right to invade my privacy,” she reproached him, her fleshy little lips in more of a pout than ever.
“It wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d have been more cooperative,” he reminded her. “All considered, it was far better that it was someone like me or your governess who searched your room than an officer of the law. Don’t you realize that those leaflets are treasonable, inciting rebellion against the Spanish Crown? You should tell that foolish Foucher boy to watch his step, or he’ll find himself in a pack of trouble one of these days.”
“I didn’t say Maurice gave them to me,” she immediately protested. “I found them on the street.”
Vidal sighed. He was sure she was lying to defend her friend, yet he couldn’t help admiring her loyalty.
“I won’t pursue that point with you now,” he conceded, “except to say that I don’t want you to see that young man anymore. At least not for the time being, until he proves himself to be more prudent. He’s headed for trouble, and I wouldn’t want to see you mixed up in it. Governor Carondelet tells me that, when the news of Louis XVI’s execution reached New Orleans, there were such open manifestations and signs of rebellion around the city that he was forced to arrest six of the ringleaders and imprison them in Havana for a year. But, under the circumstances, I think the government has been extremely lenient until now. Everything has its limits, however, and you and your hotheaded friends like Foucher don’t seem to realize the dangerous ground you’re treading when you persist in so openly expressing your misplaced patriotism. After all, no government can ignore open rebellion in its streets.”
Monique lifted big doleful eyes toward him, and for a moment there was more fear in them than anger. Memories of her grandfather’s fate had come flooding back to her.
“Oh, please, Cousin Miguel, don’t say anything to the authorities!” she pleaded. “I wouldn’t want Maurice to die in one of those horrid dungeons of Havana because of me!”
Vidal tried not to smile. At that moment she was just a frightened child. “Don’t worry,” he said a little more gently. “I have no intention of publicizing your rebellious inclinations to anyone, and if you obey me in the future and avoid associating with gentlemen of such dubious political leanings, there should be no need for me ever to concern myself over that young man’s affairs, either.”
Hostility flared up in her eyes once more, and the gray tinged with the reflection of her green-striped cotton suddenly became a stormy sea. “In other words, you’re threatening me—chantaje is the word in Spanish for blackmail, isn’t it? You’re saying that either I bend to your will, or you’ll have my friend, and perhaps even me, put in prison!”
“I don’t know… After all, you’re Spanish…”
Miguel ran his hand exasperatedly through the waves of his thick black hair, nearly pulling the ends loose from where he had neatly tied them back with a black velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck.
“Dios mio! But why do you hate us so much? I know the story about your grandfather, but how can you continue to hold so much rancor for something that happened a quarter of a century ago, before you were even born? It seems to me that at least some of the anger you French feel toward us Spaniards should be directed toward your so-called mother country, as well. After all, France was the one who rejected you. Spain didn’t especially want this colony, you know, but, for the most part, I’d say we’ve been trying to make the best of an unwanted gift. In many ways, Louisiana has been more of a costly headache for us than a boon.”
“Indeed? Then why did Spain accept us and go to so much trouble to keep us, even after patriots like my grandfather made it clear we didn’t want to belong to you?”
Vidal sighed but tried to keep the impatience out of his voice as he replied. “I see where Mlle. Baudier is going to have to give you another history lesson. Unfortunately, you are still sadly lacking in knowledge of world history. Tomorrow please ask your governess to tell you about the Treaty of Paris in 1763. You see, my dear cousin, Spain didn’t take you away from France. We didn’t conquer Louisiana, you know, despite what your Jacobin friends would like you to believe. My country was given this colony to help compensate us for the territory we lost while fighting on the side of France during the Seven Years’ War back in the middle of this century. Actually, Spain has been as much the victim of an unfortunate set of circumstances as you have been. I can assure you Spain would have liked nothing better than to have gotten back the territory that had originally belonged to it, rather than getting a rebellious colony of Frenchmen in its stead!”
“If your country and mine have always been such good allies, why, then, did you go to war against France last year? Technically that makes us enemies, you know.”
Her guardian laughed, finding her attitude more humorous than exasperating at this point. “When will you ever face the fact that you are no longer a colony of France but of Spain? Do you realize that, like it or not, you are really a Spanish citizen, since you were born here in a Spanish colony? As for this ridiculous war between Spain and France, you can thank your French revolutionaries for that. Traditionally, Spain and France have been more allies than enemies, but when rabble rule took over in Paris and they began beheading everyone in sight, including even their anointed king and queen, our King Carlos had little choice except to go to war against the ones in power now. After all, Spain is a monarchy. It could hardly condone the destruction of another monarchy. But the war is with the new political regime—the leaders of that reign of terror they are calling a revolution—not with the real French nation.”
Monique gave a disdainful toss of her head. “Some blood must always be spilled when old evils have to be uprooted,” she replied, “but once the new government settles down, things will be better, you’ll see. Then perhaps France will want us back. It was a king who gave us away, but now that the old regime has been overthrown, perhaps the wrong that was done us will be righted by the new ones in power and we here in Louisiana will be accepted again by our mother country.”
Vidal smiled patiently. “Now you’re just repeating things you’ve read in those leaflets. Louisiana was given to Spain in an honorable treaty as payment of a debt that could hardly be ignored. It’s wishful thinking on the part of your people to go on dreaming of belonging to France once more. Even if Louisiana were ever to return to French rule, I’m willing to bet that France would be using the colony to barter for something else before too long. I hate to disillusion you, but unfortunately the country you people here so passionately persist in clinging to doesn’t really give a fig for you. That’s a fact all you hotheaded young rebels will have to face sooner or later.”
“But enough of politics. I want to talk to you about the plantation. I understand that you and Celeste aren’t too happy over our going there to spend a few months. It will probably only be until the fall—just a month or so more than what you’ve been accustomed to spending at Le Rêve every year. Is that so terrible? I’d hoped you might welcome the change for a little while.”
“But there’s nothing going on there,” she lamented tragically. “I’ve always found the summers at the plantation rather boring.”
“Well, I hope this year will be different,” ventured Vidal. “For one thing, I think it’s time you become a little more familiar with the operation of the plantation itself. Since it will pass into your and Celeste’s hands when you become of age, I think it’d be wise for you to start learning something about running it so that you’ll be more prepared when that time comes.”
Monique shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Oh, I doubt I’ll have to worry about such things,” she quipped. “I’ll probably entrust the management of the property and crops to a good administrator, or, more than likely, my husband.”
“Of course,” agreed Vidal. “I’m sure you will, but it still wouldn’t hurt for you to know at least enough about such things to be able to know whether your affairs are being handled wisely or not. After all, you wouldn’t want to be cheated.”
Monique tossed her pale gold ringlets flippantly. “But if you are to be both my teacher and my administrator, with what criterion should I judge you, then?”
The color heightened in Vidal’s cheeks. “As your guardian, I’m answerable to the courts,” he replied, a sharp edge cutting into his usually well modulated voice. “If you think I’m being wasteful or dishonest with your inheritance, you and your grandmother have a right to press charges against me.”
It was her turn to blush now. She lowered her eyes quickly, already regretting her taunt. Her cousin was a proud man, and she knew she had gone too far this time. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” she assured him hastily. “But sometimes you can be so maddeningly pedantic!”
“And you, my ill-mannered child, can be so maddeningly impertinent!” he retorted angrily. “You should learn to curb that rattle you have for a tongue. If you had been a man, I’d have taken my sword to you for questioning my honor as you just did. You should weigh your words more carefully before you speak.”
“You and your arrogant Spanish ways!” she fumed, all the more vehemently because she felt the need to cover up the fact that she knew she had overstepped herself. “You take offense too easily.”
“Perhaps, but being courteous and controlling that spiteful temper of yours would certainly do you no harm. I’m afraid that impulsive nature of yours will get you into trouble someday, and, as your guardian, I feel it’s my duty to insist that you mend your manners. You might keep in mind that, although I may not be able to use my sword on you, I most certainly wouldn’t be above using the palm of my hand if you continue to be so incorrigible.”
She paled. “You… you wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed in tremulous defiance. “You… the epitome of Spanish manhood… you’d hit a woman?”
“No, I wouldn’t dream of hitting a woman,” he assured her dryly, “but I most certainly would feel no qualms about spanking a spoiled brat!”
Monique drew herself up indignantly. “You’re being impertinent!” she sputtered.
“I’m afraid the impertinence is yours,” he contested. “I’ve been trying to be patient with you, for I realize it’s not your fault if your father and grandmother haven’t disciplined you better. I know you look on me as an intruder, but I can assure you I didn’t leave my comfortable life in Madrid to come to this sweltering pesthole just to wrestle with a failing plantation and two wayward brats!”
“Then perhaps the best solution would be for me to marry a
s soon as possible,” she retorted angrily, “and put an end to a situation that’s intolerable for both of us.”
“Don’t count on it,” he snapped. “I doubt I’ll give my consent for you to marry anyone for quite a while. Matrimony is for a woman, not a child.”
“I’ll be eighteen in January of next year,” she reminded him. “That ought to be old enough for me to do as I please.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until you’re at least twenty-one. Of course, if you’re not satisfied with the way I’m managing your affairs, you’re free to go to the courts and ask them to appoint someone else as your curator.”
“I don’t see why I couldn’t run things myself. With the help of an experienced overseer like Roselle, things should go smoothly enough.”
“The management of a plantation is much more complicated than you think, young lady, especially now that we’re converting to sugarcane. The truth is, it’s even a struggle for Roselle and me to learn all there is to know. I’ll have to teach you a lot before you’re ready to take over for yourself. Meantime, it seems we’re stuck with each other, my little ward, so we may as well make the best of things while we’re at it!”
Chapter Thirteen
Life soon settled down to a leisurely pace at Le Rêve as the weeks wore on. Lifted high on eight-foot brick piers, which were walled in now for storage space, the large whitewashed plantation with its overhanging gallery looked out toward the river through a lane of whispering trees. It offered a serene haven for Vidal and his adopted family. He continued to make frequent trips into New Orleans, where he often stayed for the weekend or overnight at the town house. Monique and Celeste remained undisturbed in their routine of daily classes with Mlle. Baudier and sewing and cooking sessions with Grandmother Chausson.