Behind her, she heard a movement. It was Devota, turning down the bed. Elene lingered another moment more, then moved back into the room.
Devota looked up from where she was lighting a candle against the gathering darkness. Elene met her gaze for a moment, then said abruptly, “Well, what do you think? Should we stay?”
“Where else would we go?”
“I don’t mean tonight. But what about tomorrow?”
“There is a small matter of money.”
“I have my earrings Durant gave me, and my mother’s necklace. We should get something for them.”
“Yes, but would it be wise to risk losing them? Is it wise to go, when here you have what you need, food, a bed, safety.”
“And a position as Ryan’s mistress. What good is that?”
“Women have used such positions before to gain money and power.”
“Women such as La Pompadour, and Josephine before the First Consul persuaded her to marry him? Maybe, but they have also been called parasites. And worse.”
Devota frowned. “Yes, though why a man is allowed to sell his strength while women may not sell their power to solace is more than I understand. Still, it would be foolish to scorn what you have here for the sake of pride.”
“There’s nothing wrong with pride,” Elene protested.
“By no means, but you must think. Ryan can introduce you to people, and he has the means to produce the precious oils and essences that go into perfume, either by bringing them to you or asking his friends among the other privateers and ships’ captains to do it. Here you will have leisure and space, and who knows, even a shop if M’sieur Bayard can be persuaded to forgo a part of his storeroom downstairs.”
“Why should he do anything of the sort? He has no interest in me beyond my presence in his bed.”
“You underestimate him, I think.”
“Do I? I expect he prefers to keep me dependent on him. It’s what Papa would have wished in his place, or Durant.”
“All men are not alike.”
“No, indeed,” Elene said in irony. “Only you must think about what I am expected to do to live under his protection here in New Orleans.”
“Is it such a hardship? Is it entirely his fault? The truth, chère.”
Elene swung away without answering. After a moment, she said almost to herself, “I dislike using Ryan.”
“It is a complicated question just who is using whom.”
“Yes.” Again Elene fell silent. Putting her hands to her hair, she began to remove the pins that held it.
“We stay then?” Devota asked softly.
Elene’s movement stilled. She gave a soft sigh. Over her shoulder, she said, “We stay.”
It was sometime later when Elene woke from a deep sleep. The room was dark, with only a faint glow from the street lantern along the way coming through the open door. The night breeze lifted the soft muslin curtain that was pulled back from the glass panes, stirring the hem gently, as if someone had just passed. Elene lay still, waiting with every nerve tightly drawn to see what had roused her.
There came a soft, sliding sound of cloth on cloth. A floorboard creaked. She whipped over in bed. There beyond the mosquito netting was a dark shape, the form of a man. She drew in her breath to scream.
The netting was batted aside. The man threw himself across her, clamping a hand to her mouth, catching her in the hard circle of his arm. His chest was bare and warm against her breast, the smell of him, mixed with wine, was familiar, pleasantly so. As his hand closed over her breast, cupping its fullness, she knew.
“Ryan—”
His hand that had muffled the word was lifted. He laughed, a rich, satisfied sound, then swooped to press his lips to hers in a quick, hard greeting that changed in mid kiss to something deeper, more searching, infinitely promising. They both breathed in swift heaves of their chests when he released her lips.
“I thought you could not come back.” The thudding of her heart made Elene’s voice shake. He had not visited another woman. He had returned, to her.
“There are always ways.”
“Bribing a guard, I suppose.”
He shook his head, a faint movement in the dark. “They were too sound asleep to hear the offer.”
“Then how—”
“The palisade isn’t in the best condition, particularly along the back rampart. I crawled through it.”
“You might have been caught!”
“I thought of you here all soft and warm in my bed and decided it was worth the risk of a night or two in the calabozo.”
“Very flattering,” she said, trying, not too successfully, for the sound of disbelief.
“And what else?” he asked as with tantalizing slowness he began to peel away the open neckline of her nightgown from over the globe of her breast.
“Frightening. You frightened me,” she gasped.
“Forgive me. And what else?” His warm breath feathered over her naked skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake, causing the peak of her breast to tighten into a succulent berry.
“Disturbing. I was asleep.” She fought the urge to lift her breast toward his lips. Dear God, how wanton she was.
“Pauvre petite. I will soothe you back to sleep. And what else?”
She caught her breath as the heated and wet suction of his mouth closed over her nipple. “I … refuse to gratify you further by … saying.”
“Then I will gratify you by word and deed and with every wile I possess until you are persuaded,” he murmured against her skin. “Until you learn exactly how glad you are that I am here. Though it can never equal my joy.”
10
THE MEN OF THEIR GROUP dispersed immediately after breakfast the next morning, including Ryan who had to set about picking up the threads of his business affairs neglected during his time at sea. The women lingered until their men should find a place for them to stay. They gathered on the gallery overlooking the courtyard, talking in fits and starts about the surprising luxury of Ryan’s house. They spoke of the amenities that New Orleans might have for their comfort and amusement, and about the steps they must take, from learning the name of a good physician to finding a source for lip rouge, before they could settle into this new life. In spite of their familiarity, there was a feeling of constraint among them, one not unlike that of guests left waiting on the doorstep for their carriage when the party is over.
By noon they were all gone, however, the Mazents to the best inn New Orleans had to offer, where Durant would also be staying; Morven’s troupe to a room over a tavern on the north end of Bourbon Street; and the Tusards to the home of a friend of M’sieur Tusard’s who was a former member of the French colonial service gone into retirement in New Orleans.
Elene was left alone. She sat on the shady side of the gallery, watching the splash of the water in the fountain and the play of sunlight through the leaves of the big live oak on the flagstones of the courtyard below. There was a soft footstep behind her. She looked around to see Ryan’s majordomo approaching. The man bowed with deference.
“Your pardon if I disturb you, mam’zelle. M’sieur Ryan left orders that you are to be treated as the lady of the house. If there is anything you wish done, any preference you have as to your bedchamber or for luncheon, you have only to tell me.”
It was a most artful speech, informative, couched in tones of respect, and yet it gave unmistakable notice that, while willing to follow his master’s orders, Benedict considered himself in charge. The direction of the household, if she wished to burden herself with a pretense of the undertaking, would be carried out through him, as no doubt it had been for some years. He would naturally temper that direction as he saw fit.
Devota emerged from the bedchamber just behind where Elene sat at the sound of the majordomo’s voice. She bristled as the implication of his words reached her. “Mam’zelle Elene,” the maid said with terrible clarity, “has had the ordering of an establishment far more grand than this hovel since well before sh
e put up her hair. She had no need of anyone to carry her orders. Nor does she require suggestions as to what those orders might be, I do assure you!”
The battle lines were drawn between the two servants at that moment. Elene knew it and rose to her feet, cutting short any answer Benedict might have made. She faced the majordomo and her maid who were staring at each other with set mouths and hard eyes. With a warning glance at Devota, she turned to Benedict. Her voice calm, as if she saw nothing wrong whatever, she said, “I am a stranger to New Orleans, to your ways here, and to what might be available in the market in the way of foodstuffs for meals. I will leave all that in your hands for the moment, Benedict. It would give me pleasure to have you show me over the house, however, and perhaps tell me something of how you manage things.”
The maid and the manservant gave each other triumphant looks, Devota because her mistress had quietly assumed her proper position by issuing an order to the majordomo couched as a request, Benedict because his position and its importance had been reaffirmed. Elene turned from them and stood waiting for the majordomo to join her.
He glanced at her, obviously reluctant to leave so promising a quarrel. “Now, mam’zelle?”
“If you please.” The answer was pleasant but firm.
They started in the salon, the largest and most formal room of the house. Though enveloped in dimness at this time of day, while the shutters were closed to keep the lingering coolness of the night in and the sun’s hot rays out, it was a room of some elegance. Like the main bedchamber, it was furnished with the best of English settees and secretaries, but with French tables, mirrors, chandelier, and wall fabric, the last a lively white and red toile de jouy. The dining room that adjoined it, as well as the various other bedchambers in the main building and the wings of garçonnières which enclosed the courtyard on both sides, were set out in similar style.
There were, by Elene’s count, thirty rooms in the house and its garçonnières, the side buildings usually used for young boys in large families. Beyond the salon, the dining room plus butler’s pantry, and Ryan’s bedchamber which were on the upper floor of the main building, there were six other bedchambers in the upstairs portions of each of the garçonnières. Downstairs, there were the storerooms facing the street and, around the courtyard, the kitchen, laundry, billiard room, and quarters for house servants. All of the rooms on each floor opened into each other on the inside, while outside they were connected by the gallery which acted as a hallway. The courtyard in the center offered coolness and quiet, an oasis away from the busy street outside. The arrangement, sharing many features with the houses of the islands that had been constructed to temper a tropical climate, did much to make living in a city pleasant.
Because Elene showed no sign of taking a high hand, the majordomo grew more forthcoming as the tour progressed, explaining the times and arrangements for meals and shopping, for cleaning and for repairs. He assembled the house’s complement of maids and footmen in the courtyard for introduction by name, though the cook, being a person of major importance as well as extremely busy with luncheon, was visited in her kitchen. Elene was shown the linens and napery and the stocks of soap and tooth powder and hair pomade. The storerooms were opened for inspection, even though they were empty. With great pride, Benedict listed for her the items Ryan sometimes stockpiled for his own use and that of others, the boxes of candles, kegs of Malaga, Bordeaux, and Madeira wine and the liqueurs, the clay bottles of olive oil, brandied fruit, boxes of raisins and prunes, the vinegars and nuts and cheese; the barrels of flour and unground corn, the hogsheads of tobacco and tea, coffee and cocoa, plus the bundles of muslin and rough broadcloth for household use.
Elene showed a suitable interest, but her attention was caught by a small room at one end of the main building, one that fronted on the street. Long and narrow, it had a low wooden counter on one side and shelves ranged on the other wall, while at the back was a small alcove. Though it was redolent of tea and coffee at the moment, it would make an excellent perfume shop.
Ryan returned to the house to take the midday meal with her. They ate on the gallery where a small table was placed for them in the shade beside a wrought iron post on which was twined a lush yellow jasmine vine. Its blooms, appearing in February, were long gone, but the foliage was the home of a pair of chameleons that watched the progress of Elene and Ryan’s meal with avid beady eyes while waiting for their own to appear on the wing.
At breakfast earlier, Ryan had relayed the news of the city gathered the night before at the colonial prefect’s dinner. It seemed that the American president, Jefferson, along with the congress and their countrymen, had expressed such wrath over the rescinding of the right of deposit at New Orleans and the resulting embarrassment to American commerce that the Spanish cabinet at Madrid had taken fright. Fearing that the United States would march on New Orleans and seize the city, they had given the order for the city’s reestablishment as a duty-free storage port for American shippers. A proclamation stating that fact had been posted in New Orleans while Ryan was away. There was now no bar to trade, a great relief. Ryan could return to his principal occupation, being a merchant rather than a privateer.
There had also been confirmation of the rumors of the outbreak of hostilities once more between Britain and France. Britain had declared war the month before, so that the ship Ryan had seized during their voyage to New Orleans was confirmed as his legal prize of war.
The other great stir in the city in his absence had been caused by the arrival of a vessel in early June, just over a week before, bringing rumors that Napoleon had ceded Louisiana to the United States for some fabulous sum. Colonial Prefect Laussat had scoffed at the idea, declaring that he had received no hint of such a transaction.
Elene and Ryan ate in silence for a few moments, enjoying a savory dish made with rice and herbs with bits of seafood and ham. At last Elene said, “Did you hear anything more this morning about the cession of the colony?”
“Nothing definite, though the Americans are already celebrating it as a fact. I understand they have been holding parties with pyrotechnics and toasts to the newest piece of America. They certainly swagger down the streets as if they owned them. A pair of drunken Kentuckians nearly forced me off the banquette.”
The banquette was the planking, like a raised walkway, that extended alongside the streets to keep the pedestrians out of the mud. Elene could imagine that Ryan would be difficult to dislodge. She wondered if the other two men had wound up in the muddy street, but did not care to ask. “I thought you were pleased at the possibility of becoming a good American.”
He grimaced. “It would be a great deal better if it could be done without the Kaintucks.”
She knew what he meant. She had seen a pair of these men from the Kentucky country that morning from the balcony over the street. Huge men, dressed in cured skins and with long, unkempt hair covered by brimless hats that still had animal hair on them and animal tails hanging down the back, they had been drunk and rowdy, falling over themselves, singing profane ditties, and calling up insults couched as compliments when they caught sight of her. She had gone inside the house and shut the door.
“Surely they aren’t all like that in the United States?”
“No. Some are gentlemen in appearance and speech, but extremely sharp traders, too sharp. There are some of more noble sentiments among them — there has to be since the country has produced men such as Washington and Jefferson, but few of them are attracted to New Orleans. No matter. Whatever the Americans may be, they are better than the Spanish.”
“I still can’t believe Napoleon would sell.”
“The reason, so he has said, is to provide the British with a future enemy by making a giant of the young United States.”
“That’s rather a long-term bit of planning, isn’t it?” Elene made no secret of her skepticism.
“Napoleon is a man who thinks far ahead. But the truth is probably that he saw no way to hold it, given the distance i
nvolved, the loss of so many of his soldiers in Saint-Domingue, and the outrageous expense incurred there. It’s more likely that instead of merely creating an enemy for Britain, he hoped to sway the United States to become an ally for France, as France allied themselves with the Americans against Britain in their revolution.”
“I wonder how the Spanish will react?” Elene said.
“No doubt there will be protests, if it’s true. To cede Louisiana was expressly prohibited in the Treaty of San Ildefonso. The Spanish ministers thought to keep it as a huge land buffer between the United States and their holdings in Mexico and Central America while ridding themselves of the expense of governing it. Napoleon, I fear, has also made problems for Spain.”
“How can that be if it’s prohibited?”
“The First Consul of France doesn’t take much notice of prohibitions.”
“You speak as if you believe the cession is a fact. Surely Colonial Prefect Laussat would know if it were so?”
“Not necessarily. The notice will have to be official before it can be recognized, and officialdom moves very slowly. There would be much legal work to be done, many papers to be studied and copied, shifted and signed. It takes time.”
“In the meantime we all sit here, guessing, not knowing. It’s so frustrating!”
Ryan agreed, then changed the subject by asking what she had done during the morning. She told him, making a droll tale of the friction between Devota and Benedict, and the exhausting thoroughness of the majordomo’s presentation of the house.
Ryan sat watching her. He had brought a copy of the latest issue of La Moniteur de la Louisiane, the newsletter published in New Orleans, but it lay forgotten beside his plate. There was such grace in the movements of the woman before him, in the way she lifted her fork, the way she moved her head. The fragility of her blue-veined wrists caused an odd pain inside him. The amusement that came and went in her eyes was fascinating, as was the way the light reflecting from the courtyard below lay across her cheek and glowed with a soft gold sheen in the wing of hair at her temple.
Louisiana History Collection - Part 2 Page 53
