Someone moved slowly out of the shadows in the far comer, and Ethan turned quickly to see the young strumpet, whose presence he had completely forgotten for the moment. Her rouged lips were parted, and she sidled up to him, her dissipated but still pretty eyes shining. "You were wonderful," she breathed.
"And you were stupid. The next time you try to rob someone, make sure he's travelling alone." He paused, but saw that his words had no effect; she continued to smile up at him. "Get out," he said sharply, slapping her hard on the rump to emphasize the meaning of his words.
She spat at him and flounced out, her dignity and her backside smarting. Ethan turned to the chief clerk of Courtney and Wade. "Now, Jed—I'll have that money belt, if you please. Then we'll both know that it's quite safe."
The little man opened his mouth but found nothing to say. Sheepishly he unbuttoned his tunic and shirt, removed the heavy contraption containing two thousand pounds in gold and watched in silence as Ethan strapped it around his own waist. Suddenly he sighed. "You know, Ethan," he said wistfully, "I thought she was kind of nice-looking. Anyway, she was the first pretty girl who ever smiled at me." He nudged the proprietor's limp body absently with his toe.
Ethan looked at him in new sympathy and understanding. "What you need is a drink. Just one," he added firmly, "and in a respectable tavern."
"Do you think so?" The idea obviously appealed to Jed.
"I certainly do! You've committed an act of violence and you've discovered there are women in this world—all in one day. That calls for a celebration!" Ethan wondered why he had ever despised this little man who had just saved his life. He clasped Jed's hand, the money belt around his middle shifted slightly, and he felt a degree of contentment he had not known in a long time. To a limited extent, at least, he was once again his own master, and, as he and Jed started off together down the street, even Port Royal took on a more pleasant glow.
Six
ST. PIERRE, the principal city of Martinique, liked to call itself the Paris of the West, and in virtually every respect it lived up to its boast. Nowhere else in the New-World was the atmosphere so cosmopolitan, nowhere else were the people so cultured and polished. Other communities, even those which had been established for as long as a hundred years, gave visitors the impression that they were raw fortresses hewn out of the wilderness and that their chief function was to provide the settlers with a stronghold. But in St. Pierre there was no harshness, no indication that civilized man was engaged in a ceaseless struggle with the elements and savages. Residents claimed that they were living in a bit of France transplanted in a new hemisphere, but there were subtle differences: St. Pierre was Paris mellowed and softened by the tropics.
Her cobbled streets were broad, her warehouses were trim, her offices were large and neat, and her luxurious inns, which catered to their guests' every comfort, were as pleasant as the best in Europe. The homes of her wealthy citizens were magnificent structures with broad verandas, sculptured lawns and colonnades. The merchandise offered for sale in the shops was suitable for people who knew quality when they saw it and were determined to have only the best. The Governor, Comte Felix de Glaun-ville, who ruled in the name of the boy King, Louis XV, entertained lavishly, and a ball or an assembly was given at his pink and white palace at least once each fortnight. There were two theatres in St. Pierre, too, more than in all of the other towns of the New World combined—one specialized in comedies and other frivolous entertainments, and the other was devoted to more serious plays.
Men and women dressed in splendid clothes and carried themselves with a dignity that was rare in the Americas. The slave trade was heavy, but few Africans other than domestics were to be seen on the poinciana-and magnolia-lined streets of St. Pierre, for the majority of slaves were herded off to the plantations of the interior. The harsher aspects of colonial life were hidden beneath a gracious veneer.
Ethan and Jed engaged a room at the Fleur-de-Lis, a hostelry recommended to them by Captain Humphrey, and, although the inn was modest by St. Pierre standards, neither had ever seen such opulence. Coverlets of raw silk were spread over the canopied beds, a table delicately inlaid with mosaics dominated the chamber and on the walls were tapestries and paintings that New York's most prominent citizens would have been proud to own. The shuttered windows opened onto the harbor on one side and the high hills behind the town on another.
Ethan's first task, in which Jed heartily concurred, was to find a reliable goldsmith and to lodge Courtney and Wade's small fortune in his strongboxes. It was safer, both felt, to put the gold guineas out of harm's way, where they could not be stolen nor squandered. The personal funds Uncle Robert had provided were ample for living expenses. They even permitted Jed, who was slowly emerging from his shell under Ethan's tutelage, to discard his somber wardrobe and to order new clothes from a tailor.
The next task was to meet Marinus Boline. But this seemingly simple step proved to be impossible to accomplish. Ethan learned on making inquiries that St. Pierre's most prominant man had no office, but conducted his business from his home, which was located in one of the city's more fashionable residential districts. And so, renting an open carriage, Ethan and Jed drove there, not dreaming that their mission would fail. The estate was surrounded by a high stone wall, and not until the carriage halted before a grilled iron gate could Ethan see that the main building, a gleaming three-story structure of white sandstone and marble, was as big as a palace. There were numerous smaller buildings off to one side, presumably the kitchens, servants' quarters and stables.
What struck Ethan most forcibly was the presence of two hard-faced men armed with muskets just inside the gate, and it occurred to him that someone of Boline's eminence and wealth had to take extraordinary precautions to protect himself. He briefly explained the purpose of his visit. The men listened carefully but made no comment until he had finished. Then one, holding his musket carelessly in the crook of his arm, moved closer to the grill.
"Monsieur Boline receives visitors only by special appointment and only at his pleasure. So we can't give you admittance. And, since he's seeing no visitors at all these days, I advise you to go back to wherever you've come from."
"But we've traveled thousands of miles for the sole purpose of seeing Master Boline," Jed said indignantly. "And we were given assurances that he'd receive us."
The guards glanced at each other and smiled cynically. "Who could have given you such assurances when only Monsieur Boline himself decides whom he'll see?"
"Assurance is perhaps too strong a word," Ethan said. "But I do carry a letter of introduction to Monsieur Boline from a close associate of his, Jacques Gomez." He paused, but neither of the men indicated by as much as a flicker that they had ever heard of Gomez. He decided to try another approach. "As you can imagine, we're in a most embarrassing position, and I must appeal to you for help. What would you suggest?"
The shorter of the guards shrugged. "You could let us have the letter, I suppose, and we'll see that he gets it. Not that it will do you any good."
Ethan took the document from his pocket and reluctantly passed it between the bars. "Maybe you'd be good enough to take it to him now."
"Loitering isn't permitted in front of this house," the guard replied peevishly, raising his musket. "Stop bothering us and go away!"
A surge of anger welled up in Ethan, but he controlled it. "But Monsieur Boline doesn't even know where we're staying, or—"
"If he wants to find you, he'll know where to look," the man interrupted. "He knows everything that happens in St. Pierre—when he wants to know it And I'm not going to warn you again."
There was no alternative but to retreat, and Ethan and Jed rode back to the inn in a discouraged silence. During the next few days they visited several molasses exporting companies with whom the firm of Courtney and Wade had done business in the past and who were therefore somewhat sympathetic to their plight, but everywhere they heard the same story—Marinus Boline was a law unto himself. He live
d in feudal seclusion, never entertained or accepted social invitations and admitted into his presence only those persons whom it suited his whim and convenience to see. Ethan was therefore repeatedly advised to wait and to hope for the best.
In the next two weeks he accomplished nothing. His hands seemed to be tied. He wished that he could insist on pushing his way into the presence of the elusive Marinus Boline, but such conduct befitted a soldier, not a man of business, and Ethan realized more keenly than ever before that he was swimming in unfamiliar waters. Jed cursed Jacques Gomez in his new and rapidly expanding vocabularly, but he was of little help.
Finally, in desperation, Ethan called on Governor de Glaunville one morning and solicited his help. The Comte received him politely, but made it clear that he could not intervene in the private affairs of a citizen. He indicated that Boline was virtually a stranger to him, and that, although they were the two most prominent men in Martinique, their paths rarely crossed. He could offer no suggestions.
When Jed learned that the conference had not produced any results, he argued that the only sensible thing to do was to return home at once. Although Ethan stubbornly refused to give up, Jed set out for the waterfront in the hopes of learning of a merchant ship sailing for New York in the near future. Ethan remained in their room at the Fleur-de-Lis. Unable to read, he threw himself on his bed and tried to sleep.
He was aroused by a tap at the door, and a frightened chambermaid handed him a square of stiff parchment. It was not sealed, Ethan noted, and his first thought was that it was a bill from the owner of the Fleur-de-Lis. He had paid only yesterday for the previous week's lodging, and he felt a trace of resentment as he unfolded the parchment.
His eyes widened as he glanced at the inside of the paper, and he read it twice before it made sense to him. The message was simple and to the point: "Monsieur Wade will he received at two o'clock this afternoon," it said in a bold hand, and was signed, "Marinus Boline."
It was almost time for the appointment now, so Ethan hastily donned his coat and dashed out after scribbling a brief note to Jed. No carriage was available at the stables of the Fleur-de-Lis, so he rented a horse and started out He was so elated that he could not think clearly; all that mattered now was that he would be given an opportunity to make the deal that had brought him so far from home. Perhaps he would return to New York as a person of some stature rather than as a discredited soldier.
The same two guards were stationed at the gate as Ethan rode up. He greeted them cordially, but they pretended not to recognize him, and only admitted him inside the entrance after first carefully scrutinizing the parchment. But at last the heavy gate swung open, and the men permitted him to ride to the house alone. The broad path that led to the marble columns of the front portico was lined with stately acacia trees, and in the gardens beyond were beds of flowers so deep and extensive that the whole lawn seemed to be in bloom.
Two more armed guards were loitering near the house. It seemed peculiar that a businessman, no matter how important or wealthy, would need so many guards, but there was no time to ponder over the matter. A slave in black livery came to the entrance, bowed low and took Ethan's horse away, and another servant led him into the house.
He had expected grandeur, but the furnishings were plain, almost severe. There were no rugs on the marble tile floors, and the chairs that stood around the walls of the large entrance hall were straight and unadorned. Beyond stood a large drawing room, and Ethan's first impression of it, too, was that it was simply furnished and reflected a rather Spartan taste. The slave paused at the threshold and bowed the visitor into the room; Ethan stepped inside and forgot everything else as he caught sight of a girl, the most ravishingly lovely creature he had ever seen.
She was arranging a bowl of cut flowers that stood on a table and was not aware of his presence, so he had a chance to study her for a moment. It had not occurred to him that he would find a young lady here, but judging from her bearing and her clothes, she was either Boline's wife or his daughter. In any case, she was bewitching. She was of medium height, and while her features seemed delicate at first glance, something subtle in her violet eyes, something in the way her full lips pursed indicated that she was no shy thing but a fiery daughter of the tropics. Her hair, long and slightly wavy, was the color of ripened wheat. It hung in loose, graceful folds to a point midway between her slender shoulders, and was pinned back on one side by an orchid.
The girl's violet bodice was molded to her perfectly proportioned body. A gauzy emerald green silk scarf was tucked under the lacing of the bodice, and two smaller green scarves tied at her elbows finished the sleeves. Her close-fitting violet skirt, accenting as it did the long but softly feminine line of her thighs and legs, would have been considered shocking in New York, but every lady of fashion in St. Pierre was similarly dressed. When she walked around the table Ethan thought he had never seen any woman move with such voluptuous, sinuous grace.
He coughed politely, and she looked up, startled. Then she smiled, and the late afternoon sunlight that filtered in through the open French doors seemed even brighter. "I'm sorry," Ethan apologized. "I'm afraid I crept up on you."
"The fault was mine," she said, a faint trace of a French accent in her voice. "You see, I was expecting you, but from your expression you certainly didn't plan to find me here." She laughed, and the sound was pure silver. "Please come in. Monsieur Wade."
Ethan bowed and entered the room. "You know me."
"Of course." She offered no further explanation.
"You are—Madame Boline?"
"Good heavens, no!" She laughed again. "Marinus has no wife. I'm his ward, Melanie Leclerc." In spite of the narrowness of her skirt she managed an easy curtsy and then walked to a divan in front of the French windows. "Won't you join me?"
"Your servant, Mademoiselle Leclerc."
"Marinus is presiding over a meeting of some of his associates, and he's asked me to entertain you for a few minutes, until he's free. That is, if you have no objection." She smiled, and he noticed a dimple in her left cheek.
"I'm highly flattered." He was conscious of her nearness, and the elusive fragrance of the scent she wore made him want to draw still closer to her.
Melanie's smile deepened, and her violet eyes, provocative yet demure, were faintly mocking. "Are you always so solemn. Monsieur le Capitaine?"
"You know I was in the army, then." It pleased Ethan that she had heard he had been a soldier; feeling little respect for men of business himself, he believed that she would think more highly of him.
"Naturally. I, too, read the letter from Jacques Gomez." Her small, delicate hand touched his sleeve for a second, then darted away. "And I was dying to meet you. Jacques is not one to exaggerate, and his account of your gallantry left me breathless. Are you always so brave?"
Ethan's face reddened, much to his disgust, and when he tried to reply he found that he was tongue-tied. He was behaving like a stupid adolescent, he knew, but Melanie took pity on him and came to his rescue. Swiftly and subtly she shifted the subject to a description of the scenic beauties of Martinique. From there the talk veered to London, which she had once visited briefly, and to Paris, where she had I'ved for several years. She was a witty and charming conversationalist, and Ethan was unaware of the passage of time until several young, hard-muscled men filed out of an inner room. Suddenly he realized he had spent more than three-quarters of an hour with the girl.
The departing men bowed to her, and she hurried off into the inner chamber for a moment; returning, she indicated in pantomime that Ethan was to go in. Adjusting his stock, he walked into a bare, high-ceilinged room furnished only with a long oak table, around which were scattered a number of chairs. In a comer, on a pedestal, stood a bronze bust of Julius Caesar.
Seated in a chair at the head of the table was a middle-aged man of compact, medium build with sharply chiseled features and very pale blue eyes. His expression was bland, and he did not bother to rise as he took Etha
n's hand in a strong grip. "Sit down. Master Wade," he commanded, his English faintly but unidentifiably accented.
"Thank you. I imagine you know why I'm here. Master Boline—"
"Naturally. I also know that you saw the Governor this morning in the hopes of persuading him to arrange an appointment with me. That was very unwise of you, Wade." Boline's expression and tone were unchanged as he administered the rebuke. "The Governor and I live in very different worlds. It's my policy to have nothing whatsoever to do with him or his administration."
"I'm very sorry." Ethan thought the interview had begun on a dismal note.
"And well you should be. Your impetuous nature has done you harm in the past, and it is no aid to you now." Boline studied his guest intently for a moment, then he nodded abruptly. "Your offer is under consideration. You'll be notified of my decision in due course." He reached out for a pile of papers and began to leaf through them, indicating plainly that the discussion was at an end.
Ethan struggled to keep his voice civil as he rose to his feet. "Thank you for your trouble. Master Boline. I'll await further word from you." Bowing slightly, he withdrew and closed the door behind him.
Melanie Leclerc was still in the drawing room, and one look at Ethan's face told her of his disappointment. She came to him quickly, her violet eyes warm and sympathetic. "Marinus often seems difficult," she whispered. "But please don't worry. Everything will be all right, I'll help you, Monsieur le Capitaine. I know I can. I'll keep you informed of the progress I make." She reached out, squeezed his hand reassuringly, and then left the room, her hips swaying as she walked.
In spite of the promised assistance of so ravishing a creature, Ethan was plunged in gloom when he returned to the Fleur-de-Lis, and Jed's reaction to his story of what had happened did little to improve his spirits. The clerk listened carefully, making clucking noises from time to time, and when Ethan finished he shook his head.
Devil's Prize Page 7
