Tender Fury

by Connie Mason

  Gabby struggled into consciousness, disoriented and bewildered. Glancing around she saw that the room she was in, though small and sparsely furnished, was warm and cozy and she snuggled more deeply beneath the comforter covering her. A male voice startled her and she looked around for the owner of the low, pleasant tones.

  “I see you are awake, my dear,” Gabby gazed into a pair of deepset, brown eyes in a long, rather ascetic face. Then it all came rushing back to her. The man smiling down on her was the same man who had rescued her from the clutches of Big Jake. Beneath the covers Gabby shuddered.

  “Are you cold, my dear?” asked the man kindly.

  “No,” answered Gabby hesitantly. “I was just thinking about what had nearly happened to me.” Then she focused her huge, violet eyes full on the man, studying him with intent interest. For some unknown reason he shrank back from her guileless stare. “ Merci, Monsieur, I don’t know how to thank you, but I will trouble you no longer.” She made to get out of bed but started violently when she discovered she was nude beneath the covers. “Monsieur!” Gabby gasped in outrage, quickly pulling the quilt to her chin. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Now, honey,” the man soothed in a placating tone, “don’t get your feathers ruffled. Your clothes were wet and I figured you would catch your death if I didn’t get them off you. I assure you I did not molest you in any way,” he added quickly at her wary look. His assurances did nothing to relieve Gabby’s embarrassment or still her fears.

  “If you will be good enough to return my clothing and leave the room I will dress and be on my way.”

  “Where will you go? I found no money on your person.”

  “ Mon dieu!” cried Gabby in genuine distress, “my reticule, my money! Big Jake stole my money!” She began to cry, huge sobs racking her small body. What would she do? Where could she go without money?

  “Do you have any relatives in Norfolk?”

  Gabby shook her head.

  “What about friends?”

  Again the negative shake.

  “You obviously are not an American. Where did you come from? I think you owe me an explanation seeing as how I saved you from rape, or worse.”

  Of course he was right but Gabby had no intention of telling him the truth. She knew nothing about the man and though he seemed kind and had done her a great service she had no idea what his intentions toward her were.

  “Let’s start with your name,” the man suggested gently.

  “My name? It’s… Lisa,” lied Gabby. “Lisa La Farge.”

  “That’s a good start, Lisa. Where are you from. Your accent is obviously French.”

  “ Oui, I am French,” admitted Gabby. “I arrived in Norfolk from… France only today.”

  “If you have no friends or relatives in Norfolk how do you intend to live? Why did you, a woman alone, choose to leave France in the beginning? And how did you come to meet a man like Big Jake?” His questions seemed endless.

  “I was on my way to find lodgings for the night when I was accosted by that… that… Big Jake.” She shuddered when she spoke his name. “He mistook me for a… a…”

  “Lady of the night?” interjected the stranger whose name she had yet to learn.

  “ Oui,” whispered Gabby in a low voice, a becoming tinge staining her pale cheeks. “As for earning a living,” she continued quickly to cover her embarrassment, “I had hoped to find employment as a governess or perhaps a dressmaker’s assistant. I am not without education, Monsieur.”

  “I can see you have breeding, my dear, which makes your situation all the more desperate. You don’t seem the type to be on your own.” Suddenly he became aware of Gabby’s pale face and the lavender shadows marring the delicate skin beneath her eyes. “But you are exhausted!” he exclaimed with obvious concern. “And here I am questioning you when what you need is a good night’s sleep. This has all been too much for you. You must spend the night here.”

  “No, I cannot!” Gabby cried with growing pain. “Why, I don’t even know your name, or anything about you, Monsieur… Monsieur…”

  “Mike, my dear. Mike Renfro. And now that the introductions are over I insist you get some rest.”

  “I cannot stay here, Monsieur Ren…”

  “Mike,” he insisted.

  “ Oui, Mike. It would not be right for me to stay here. This is your room.”

  “Would it be right for you to return to the streets and be mistaken again for a whore?” His blunt language shocked Gabby but also made her aware of her plight. Wavering, she thought on the alternative to spending the night in Mike’s room. Lack of funds would force her to return to the Windward and Philippe. Did she want that?

  “I promise I will remain a perfect gentleman and in the morning I personally will help you find suitable employment.”

  Gabby had to admit the offer was enticing. She was exhausted beyond endurance and Mike did seem trustworthy. He treated her far more gently than Philippe would if she returned to the ship. “Where will you sleep?” she asked, turning her violet gaze on him.

  “Right here on a pallet, my dear,” Mike replied without hesitation, “in case Big Jake takes it into his head to return. You heard his threat.” Almost absently he crossed over to the bureau and removed a bottle from a cubbyhole. “Now, my dear Lisa, I think a small brandy is in order, to relax you and help you sleep.”

  “No, Monsieur Mike,” protested Gabby, “I don’t think…”

  “You are too beautiful to think,” replied Mike smoothly, pouring a small amount of the amber liquid into a glass. Turning his back on Gabby he was occupied a few moments over the glass before handing it to her. “Drink up,” he ordered, sounding like a stern father.

  Dutifully Gabby lifted the glass to her lips and drained it, coughing at the unaccustomed burning in her throat. Almost immediately she was suffused with a warmth that started at her toes and continued to the roots of her silvery hair. She blinked as Mike’s thin frame began to recede from view, and her feathery lashes sank lower and lower until they rested on her pale cheeks.

  “Tired,” she muttered drowsily, “so tired.”

  “Sleep, my lovely Lisa, sleep,” crooned Mike softly.

  Nearly an hour passed while Mike kept guard over Gabby, his eyes glued to the steady rise and fall of her full breasts beneath the quilt. He felt remorse for what he was about to do to her but there was no help for it. She wasn’t the first innocent to be taken advantage of nor likely to be the last. He nearly jumped out of his chair when a soft rapping noise interrupted his thoughts.

  Moving quietly, he opened the door to admit a woman whose flamboyant beauty and dazzling figure demanded immediate respect. Flaming red hair surrounded a face with small, finely defined features and bright eyes whose strange color reminded one of pieces of amber. Of medium height, her figure was voluptuous. Though past the first blush of youth her full blown beauty was totally arresting.

  “Glad you could come so quickly, Daisy,” said Mike by way of greeting.

  “Where is this paragon of beauty?” Daisy asked, casting a delicate, raised eyebrow around the darkened room.

  “Drugged,” grunted Mike pointing to the bed.

  “Well, let’s see the merchandise,” replied Daisy crudely as she moved to the bed. With one graceful motion she flung aside the quilt covering Gabby’s nude form. The soft lamp glow clothed her perfect figure in a golden shroud, revealing it in all its glory.

  Daisy drew in her breath sharply, then let it out slowly. “My God!” she exclaimed, “you’ve really outdone yourself this time, Mike. That body,” she whistled appreciatively, “small, but all woman.” Then she weighed several strands of pale hair in her well-shaped hands. “Breathtaking! You’ve earned yourself a bonus for this one, Mike. Enough to feed your habit for a good long time.”

  “I don’t know,” shrugged Mike skeptically. “You won’t find this one so willing. An innocent! Truly an innocent!”

  “Are you turning soft?” quipped Daisy, her voi
ce calculating.

  “Nothing like that. It’s just that she isn’t like the others.”

  “Don’t worry about her. I’ll take good care of her. French, did you say?”

  “Yes, French.”

  “Good! Good!” Daisy’s luminous eyes glittered like jewels as she rubbed her hands together, hardly able to believe her good fortune. She’d never employed a French woman before, but if she knew anything about men, and her knowledge was considerable, they would go crazy over her. “Wrap her in a quilt and carry her down the back stairs,” ordered Daisy, becoming brisk and businesslike. “My carriage is waiting at the rear entrance.” Within a short time Gabby’s fate was settled without her knowledge by two perfect strangers.

  Slowly Gabby untangled herself from the web of sleep, surprised to see bright sunlight streaming through the window. Her last conscious thought was of drinking the brandy Mike had given her. She must have fallen asleep almost immediately, she reasoned, for her sleep was complete and undisturbed. With catlike grace she stretched luxuriously under the satin sheets. Satin! When had the sheets been changed from the coarse linen that adorned Mike’s bed? Panic-stricken, Gabby studied her surroundings. The room was large and gaudy with imported French furniture. The walls were painted a vivid pink and hung with pictures depicting young, nude women in sexual poses, most of them embarrassingly explicit. Gabby made a rise but gave up when pains in her head caused her to fall back against the soft pillow. That’s when she discovered she was still naked and glanced around furtively in search of her clothes which seemed to be missing. Confusion reigned and her head seemed to explode in a million tiny fragments.

  At that moment the door opened and a flame-haired woman entered carrying a tray. To Gabby the lady appeared very beautiful and sophisticated, being tastefully dressed in the latest fashion.

  “Good morning, honey,” she said in a broad American twang, unlike the soft southern drawl of New Orleans. “I am Daisy Wilson and you are a guest in my home.”

  “How did I get here?” questioned Gabby uneasily.

  “Mike brought you, honey.”

  “Mike? Where is he?”

  “Gone about his business, I suppose,” replied Daisy blandly.

  Gabby closed her eyes, massaging her aching temples with her fingertips. It was all so perplexing.

  “You seem confused, honey,” smiled Daisy. “Maybe I’d better explain. Here,” she said, placing the tray across Gabby’s lap, “drink your coffee while I tell you how you came to be in my home.”

  When Gabby sat up, the sheet covering her fell away baring her breasts. Daisy’s eyes glittered at the sight of the perfect creamy globes tilting deliciously upward, already calculating the money Gabby would earn for her. Flustered, Gabby pulled the sheet up to her neck and began sipping the coffee to cover her embarrassment.

  Tearing her eyes away from Gabby’s enticing body, Daisy began her explanation. “Mike is a friend and… uh… business associate. After you fell asleep last night he sent a message to me asking if I would give shelter to a young woman in distress. Of course I could not refuse.”

  “Why can’t I remember leaving the inn?” Gabby asked, her eyes troubled.

  “You were exhausted, honey. And it’s no wonder. Mike told me about your… uh… ordeal with Big Jake. He’s a bad one all right. Mike thought you would be safer in my home as well as more comfortable. He just picked you up, quilt and all, and brought you here in a carriage.”

  “ Merci, Daisy,” said Gabby gratefully. “I owe you a great deal and I don’t know how I shall ever repay you.”

  “Perhaps we’ll find a way,” murmured Daisy, arching a curved eyebrow. At Gabby’s questioning stare, she continued. “What do you intend to do, honey? Mike tells me you have no relatives or friends in Norfolk. A girl like you can’t go roaming the streets alone.”

  “I intend to seek employment,” announced Gabby firmly as she made to rise from the bed. With a cry of dismay she fell back against the pillow, clutching her temples with shaking hands as a sharp pain pierced her brain.

  “Here now, honey,” clucked Daisy, all worry and concern, “there’s no need to rush off. It’s obvious you aren’t well. Just you lay back and rest.”

  “But I cannot pay you for my room and board,” persisted Gabby, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Did I ask for payment?” asked Daisy huffily. “Don’t fret, we’ll figure something out. Right now I think it’s time we had a woman to woman talk. What Mike told me about you was sketchy at best. You might as well tell me the truth, honey. Who are you running from and why?” Daisy’s brittle gaze seemed to penetrate her very soul. “You can begin by telling me your real name.”

  “My real name is Lisa La Farge,” lied Gabby, lowering her eyes. There was no reason for Daisy Wilson to know her real name.

  “All right, honey, I’ll accept that because it makes no real difference anyway. And you obviously are French so that part of your story is believable. Who are you running from? The law? Your parents? Your husband?”

  Gabby had no recourse but to tell Daisy the truth. Part of the truth, that is. “To understand my situation I must begin at the beginning,” Gabby replied in a soft voice, reliving that day in her mind when she first saw Philippe.

  “I’m all ears, honey.”

  “I was placed in a convent by my parents at the age of eight and remained with the nuns until I was eighteen.”

  “My God!” interrupted Daisy. “With that face and body! A nun! My God!” Then she looked sheepishly at Gabby. “All right, all right, I promise to keep quiet until you are finished.”

  “A week before I was to take my vows my parents appeared with a man they said I was to marry in three days time. You can imagine how I felt! To be torn from the only home I had ever known, from people who loved me to become the wife of a man who frightened me was like a death sentence. But in the end there was no way to avoid it. I became the bride of Philippe St… La Farge,” she amended.

  So, she wasn’t a virgin, Daisy thought. No matter, being French made up for her lack of virginity.

  “I remained with my husband nearly two years but in the end I could no longer bear his unbending nature or his cruelty so I left him and took the first ship bound for America. He has no idea where I am and I shall never return to him.”

  “I cannot believe your husband, or any man for that matter, could be indifferent to your charms let alone treat you in the manner you have just described. Is that the whole of it?” asked Daisy suspiciously. “Or do you have a lover waiting someplace for you?”

  “I have no lover!” denied Gabby with such conviction that Daisy was inclined to believe her.

  After her long recitation Gabby was perspiring profusely and her face grew pale. The drug she had been given the night before still plagued her although she thought her weakness was due to her pregnancy and her ordeal with Big Jake.

  Gabby’s state of near collapse did not go unnoticed by Daisy. “I can see that you are not yourself yet and here I am pestering you with all kinds of questions. Tell you what,” she said, flashing Gabby a huge smile, “I’ll have breakfast sent to your room and then I’ll see that no one disturbs you so you can have a nice long rest. How’s that sound, honey? We can talk further when you feel better.”

  “You are very kind, Daisy. Merci. Somehow I will find a way to repay you.”

  “I’m sure you will, honey. I’m sure you will.”

  Gabby only picked at the tempting array of food one of the servants carried in to her a little while later. Her eyes grew heavy as she nibbled at a roll and drank coffee. Finally, unable to keep her eyes open a moment longer, she set the tray aside, awoke purple shadows flitted about the room but the warm glow from the fireplace dispelled the gloom as well as the cold. Her head no longer throbbed and she felt almost normal again. She was also ravenously hungry. Spying a wrapper lying at the foot of the bed, Gabby arose, put it on and tied the belt securely around her waist. Then she walked somewhat unsteadily to the win
dow and stared in awe at the breathtaking sight that met her eyes. The world before her lay covered with a mantle of purest white, nearly unblemished by human trespassers. Paying more attention now to her surroundings, Gabby saw that the room she occupied was on the second floor and that the street below appeared to be quiet and well kept. She became so engrossed in studying the scene outside that she failed to hear the door to her room open and close. It was the mouthwatering aroma of food that finally alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. She turned just in time to see a small, pretty black woman in a maid’s crisp uniform set a heavily laden tray on the table by the fireplace.

  “Miz Wilson sent this,” the girl announced, running dark eyes over Gabby in swift appraisal. “She said for you to eat and she’ll be in to see you later.”

  Gabby needed no further urging. She took her place at the table while the maid silently ladled a rich, savory soup into a bowl. She gobbled it down embarrassingly fast but the maid seemed not to notice as she whisked away the empty bowl and replaced it with a meat pie filled with succulent chunks of beef and several kinds of root vegetables, which she washed down with hot tea. The maid departed while Gabby ate greedily, only to return a short time later with an apple cobbler rich with the smell of cinnamon and topped with generous spoonfuls of clotted cream. The maid watched wide eyed while Gabby made short work of it. Then she gathered up the dirty dishes and quietly left shaking her head in awe, unable to believe the French woman’s voracious appetite.

  Pleasantly stuffed, Gabby took her place before the window again, a puzzled frown creasing her smooth brow when she saw three men approach the front door followed a few minutes later by two more men. Vague stirrings of misgiving gathered in her breast like a hard knot, the reason for which Gabby did not know. A soft rap on the door to her bedroom brought her musings to an end and she turned just as Daisy entered.

  Gabby’s mouth fell open in admiration when she beheld the older woman. Never had she seen anyone more startlingly dressed. The cobalt blue of her lowcut, satin gown contrasted vividly with her amber eyes. At intervals the full skirt was drawn up with black lace bows revealing a scarlet underskirt. The bodice was sleeveless and drawn tight to push the tops of her white breasts upward, nearly baring them to their pink nipples. She carried a black lace fan and had pearls woven skillfully into her flaming locks.