Dominique looked at him with one eyebrow raised and a slow smile beginning on his face. “You mean…?”
“Exactly! The governor’s own lawyer and District Attorney, Livingston and Grymes. We’ll hire them away from him!”
“Ho! Ho! Give the old fart something to yell about, non?”
“Claiborne can yell or whimper, it makes no difference to me, as long as we get Pierre out of that hell hole. Nikki, how fast can you pack? We’re leaving for New Orleans. Now!”
New Orleans was buzzing with rumors when Laffite and Nicolette arrived a few days later—The Seminoles from Florida were banding with runaway slaves to attack New Orleans, but General Andrew Jackson was devising a plan to head them off. A British sloop of war had been sighted in the river near the Balize. A plot was afoot to send a ship from New Orleans to rescue Napoleon. Jean Laffite and his Baratarians were making plans to storm the Cabildo and free Pierre. Perhaps they would even murder Governor Claiborne in the bargain!
Laffite dismissed most of the outlandish talk they heard along the levee. But one terrifying tale was based in fact. Yellow fever, it was whispered behind nervous hands, had been brought into port on a merchant ship from South America. The numbers who had died already varied with each telling: a dozen, fifty, over a hundred. But they were all foreigners, the New Orleanians were quick to point out, sailors off other ships. No native had caught the fever yet.
“Bronze John!” Laffite grumbled as they stood on the levee, waiting for Gator-Bait to collect Nicolette’s bags from their barge. “I should have thought of the fever season being upon us before I let you come along, Nikki.”
“I would have come anyway,” she insisted.
He looked down at Nicolette, admiring the flattering cut of her pale muslin gown. Though, he thought, her figure needs no flattery!
He smiled at the petulant expression on her face. “Well, that’s not a subject for debate at this point. You’re here. And I have to admit, I’m glad you are. But I want you to stay indoors while we’re in the city. The less you’re exposed to the swamp vapors, the safer you’ll be.”
“And what about you?” she demanded.
“Oh, I had the fever when I was no bigger than Gator-Bait and recovered. It won’t strike again. Besides,” he added, his voice going deadly serious, “I have business to attend to.”
Nicolette watched his gaze shift across the Place d’Armes to the Cabildo. His eyes changed to cold, obsidian green, and she could imagine that he was visualizing his brother—a helpless prisoner in the place, suffering under the weight of his chains and the stifling July heat.
She touched his hand. “You’ll get him out, Jean. He knows you will.”
“I wish I were as sure of that as you.”
“Hey, Boss, me, and Gator-Bait got everything,” Xavier called. “You want I should hire a trap?”
Laffite looked down at Nicolette, questioningly.
“It’s only a short way. Let’s walk,” she said with a smile. “I want New Orleans to see that I’m still your woman.”
He kissed her cheek. “My wife! And a brave girl at that!”
They formed a curious entourage, walking down St. Peter Street to Bourbon. Laffite and Nicolette in the lead, followed by the two small blacks, one a child and the other a middle-aged man, but both the same size and both struggling to handle the baggage and to keep up on short legs with Laffite’s long strides. Nicolette hurried along, not complaining of Laffite’s quick pace. She had never seen the inside of his mansion and was anxious to get there and inspect her new home.
The place was far more luxurious than she had ever dreamed. Laffite had filled it with the best of his take: Brussels lace, Persian carpets, gilt furniture from France, and mirrors everywhere, doubling and quadrupling all the opulence.
She stood in the grand salon, turning slowly, her eyes wide and bright with wonder.
“Jean, it’s like a palace! I’ve never seen anything this gorgeous!”
He came to her and hugged her. “I have. You!”
He gave her a lingering kiss which almost made her forget her excitement over the house.
“I’d like to tell you that I had the place decorated especially for you, Nikki, but that’s not true. Actually, all this show is for business purposes. I am, after all, first and last a businessman. My clients, the other merchants in town, expect to be entertained. By the show of wealth I put on with this house and the things in it, I’ve impressed them with my taste and know-how. They’re quick to envy and quicker to buy! Most men, I’m sad to say, are greedy beyond belief.”
“I don’t care!” she said, laughing with glee. “It makes no difference what your motives were in creating this showplace. I wouldn’t change a thing!”
“Now, my lady,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the stairs. “To the boudoir with you!”
“Jean! In the middle of the day… in New Orleans?”
Laffite turned to Gator-Bait, who had just entered with a tray and two glasses of wine, and said, “Your mistress thinks of only one thing!” Then frowning at Nikki in mock disapproval, he explained, “I would certainly not sully your reputation by suggesting anything more serious in the bedroom at this hour than perusing the gowns in your armoire.”
“Gowns?” she asked, dumbfounded and a bit disappointed.
He led her up the carpeted stairs. “For this evening, I want you to look dazzling… as if nothing is wrong. We have two guests coming, Messieurs Edward Livingston, the best legal counsel in New Orleans, and John Randolph Grymes, Claiborne’s own District Attorney. I know them both, and I believe they will see things my way. But, forgive me if this sounds like I’m using you, I’ve always found a handsome woman in an exquisitely cut gown to be an aid to difficult negotiations.”
Nicolette started to object, not sure what she would be called on to do during the evening. But the expression deep in Laffite’s eyes pleaded with her to cooperate. His bantering since they reached the house had only been camouflage, she realized, to cover his true concern. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to…
“I’ll do whatever I can to help free Pierre,” she said quickly, cutting off her thoughts.
He kissed her ever so tenderly, then said, “I was certain you would, darling.”
Nicolette stared at herself in the long dressing-room mirror and decided she didn’t mind being used in this fashion. As Laffite had decorated his mansion to impress, so had he adorned his lover.
The gown he chose for her was of midnight-blue silk, cut lower than anything Nicolette had ever seen worn by a decent woman in New Orleans. A cloud of flowing silk fell from the high waist to the toes of her silver kid slippers. The entire skirt was hand stitched with silver threads, forming an intricate, allover pattern of dainty flowers. The slightest move caught the candlelight, making the dress shimmer and gleam.
And for the first time in her life, Nicolette wore diamonds—a parure of necklace, earrings, and bracelets with a matching tiara crowning her blue-black hair.
She let her fingers caress the web of white fire at her throat, wondering what wonderful, terrible tales the brilliant stones might tell if they could speak.
Jean had told her earlier, “These jewels belonged to the seven wives of Ivan the Terrible, the first tsar of Russia. Each wife, from Anastasia on down the line, wore them until the last of Ivan’s tsarinas died in the late fourteenth century. They disappeared then. Some say they were stolen away from Moscow by a Jesuit priest sent by the Pope from Rome to unite the Russian churches. A half-century later, the gems resurfaced in Venice to adorn a Doge’s wife and then his mistress. Again they vanished, only to turn up in Spain when my grandmother, Zora, was a young woman. Many times I’ve listened to her tell tales of the tsarinas’ diamonds. The jewels were in my family for a time, owned by a wealthy ancestor on Zora’s side of the family. I felt it only fair that they return to their most recent rightful owners.”
“You bought them?” Nicolette had asked.
“Con
fiscated stolen property, my dear,” he answered with a wickedly charming smile.
Nicolette frowned at her image as she pondered the diamonds’ troubled history. But a knock at the door revived her drooping spirits. “Jean!” she cried, pulling it open.
But, to her surprise, a strange woman stood in the hallway—a woman with copper-gold skin and a green satin tignon about her head. She was a servant, obviously, though she didn’t bow to Nicolette in the normal obeisant manner. Instead, she stood tall and straight, staring at Nicolette’s face with warm brown eyes.
“Madame Boss, I am Marie Louis, placée to Pierre Laffite.”
Nicolette took a step back, shocked by the woman’s open admission to being Pierre’s mistress.
She recovered and said, “Yes. I’ve often heard Jean and Pierre speak fondly of you, Marie Louise.”
“As they both speak of you, madame,” the lovely octoroon said with a gentle smile. “It is of this very fondness that I come to speak to you. With your permission?”
“Oh, forgive me! Do come in so we can talk in private.”
Without preamble, Marie Louise explained, “I am carrying Pierre’s child. I do not want my baby’s father to be in jail when my time comes. I do not want him there at all. Pierre is not a well man.”
“Jean told me of Pierre’s illness. We all want him out of that place.”
“Then you will excuse me for coming here to beg you to help get my man back, madame?”
Though Nicolette could see tears shining in Marie Louise’s eyes, the woman held herself erect, a look of deep pride on her face. She refused to allow her emotions to get the better of her.
Nicolette felt a sudden kinship to Pierre Laffite’s lover. She reached out a comforting hand.
“You need say no more, Marie Louise. I’ve promised Jean that I would help, if I can. For you and for the child, I will make a special effort.”
“Merci, Madame Boss. You are most kind,” Marie Louise answered in a whisper.
Because of Laffite’s long absence from New Orleans, the house was not staffed with a full contingent of servants. Marie Louise, anxious to hear what went on at dinner, begged Laffite to allow her to serve the guests.
Laffite’s chef, Andre, who lived at the house and was always on call to create a banquet for any number of guests, prepared a feast of green turtle soup, filet de boeuf with truffles, a seafood platter of pink shrimp, red crawfish, and oysters on the half-shell, a salad of crisp greens and tomato wedges seasoned with tarragon, and for dessert, fresh strawberry tortes topped with whipped cream and almond liqueur.
Gator-Bait served as “whistling boy.” As he carried steaming platters and tureens from the kitchen across the courtyard, he chirped away to let Marie Louise in the pantry know that he wasn’t sampling the dishes along the way.
Xavier, dressed as formally as Laffite himself and, with a large key on a chain around his neck, played the role of wine steward expertly for the evening.
Everything was perfect, Nicolette observed.
Their two guests, Edward Livingston, a man already graying into his fifties, and John Randolph Grymes, a slightly younger and heavier man with a shock of sandy hair, arrived promptly at the appointed time. Nicolette’s initial nervousness at having to entertain Americains for the first time in her life dissolved when the men began lavishing compliments upon her. She was soon blushing, but enjoying herself.
Through dinner, the men talked of everything but Pierre Laffite’s imprisonment. It seemed to Nicolette that though Livingston and Grymes understood full well what the main topic of the evening would be, some unspoken agreement delayed their broaching the subject until after the final course.
When Xavier brought out the brandy and cigars, Nicolette awaited her signal from Laffite to retire, hoping she had played her part toward a successful climax to the negotiations. But Laffite gave her no sign.
Finally, Livingston, who had toyed with his unlighted Havana for a full five minutes, trying to decide what to do, asked, “Ma’am, do you mind if we light up?”
Nicolette smiled nervously and glanced at Laffite as she started to rise. “Perhaps you will excuse me…”
Laffite reached for her hand. “We’d like you to stay, Nikki,” he said. “And I’m sure you won’t mind if our guests smoke.”
“Oh, of course not! Do enjoy your cigars, messieurs.”
A pause followed as tinders were struck and Xavier scurried about the table, refilling silver goblets.
“Now, gentlemen,” Laffite said. “I hope you have been mellowed by this superb meal from Andre’s kitchen, because I’m about to make an offer which I want you to accept.” He paused, squinting one eye at the two men, who waited in silence. “You know my brother is in the Cabildo.” They nodded. “You also know he’s done nothing illegal—other than keep a few dollars that the customs officials in New Orleans would have pocketed anyway.”
The two men squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, knowing that Laffite spoke God’s own truth. The only crime Claiborne could pin on either of the Laffite brothers was that of failing to pay customs taxes on some—not all—of the merchandise they brought into the city for sale. Had the customs officials been able to collect, they would have reported nonpayment of tariff anyway, then priced the goods so that the citizens paid enough to cover the loss.
“What I’m proposing is this: a fee of twenty thousand dollars in gold to each of you, if you’ll give up your present positions and come to work for me!”
Laffite puffed on his cigar, letting the phenomenal figure sink in. His head was wreathed in blue-white smoke by the time Grymes finally recovered enough composure to say, “By God, I’ll do it!”
Livingston said nothing, but nodded his head slowly, up and down.
“You understand that my brother must be freed before you get the money?”
“Livingston and I could get you out of hell, if necessary!” Grymes enthused. “I’m sure we’ll have no trouble securing Pierre’s release.”
Laffite wouldn’t let them accept so quickly. “Claiborne’s not going to like it. None of them are. They’ll say that you’ve sold your birthrights for the usual mess of pottage and that you’ve been seduced off the path of honor and duty by the bloodstained gold of a pirate!” Laffite finished with a snarl.
“What is this, Laffite?” Livingston asked. “Are you trying to talk us out of it?”
Nicolette spoke for the first time. “No, Monsieur Livingston. I believe Jean understands the problems you will be facing and wishes to point them out to you so that you won’t say afterward that you weren’t warned. Pierre’s freedom means too much to all of us to have an offer of assistance made lightly or without proper consideration.”
Nicolette, embarrassed by her own impassioned words, looked quickly down at the white tablecloth when she finished. Laffite’s hand found hers in her lap. He gave her trembling fingers an approving squeeze.
“Grymes, here, may be speaking out on impulse, madame, but I’ve turned over all the possibilities in my mind. I’m sick to death of seeing this kind of injustice and Claiborne’s persecution of these two men. We’ll do it! Agreed, Grymes?”
“Agreed!” the District Attorney answered enthusiastically.
“Xavier!” Laffite called, and the servant was instantly at his elbow. “I believe you can bring out the champagne now.”
Livingston and Grymes lingered only a short time, discussing their ideas with Laffite and Nicolette. She slipped out of the salon long enough to go to the pantry and give the good news to Marie Louise. This time Pierre’s mistress allowed her tears to flow.
When the two men left, Laffite and Nicolette sat alone on the gold brocade love seat. He didn’t kiss her, but held her hands and stared at her so lovingly and intently that Nicolette felt a flush of self-consciousness creeping out of the low sweep of her bodice.
She laughed nervously. “Do I have crumbs on my chin? Has my hair come loose from the combs? Have I broken out in spots?”
He
let his fingers trace her lips. “None of those things, my darling. I was only staring because I have never known a woman so beautiful who also has such a magnificent brain. And to think that this lovely wizard is all mine. Ah, it’s nearly more than I can comprehend.”
Xavier strolled into the room at that moment, just as Laffite bent to kiss her. He carried a violin under his arm.
“Pardon, Boss, but I thought perhaps some music?”
Laffite nodded, stood, and took Nicolette’s hand. “A waltz, madame?”
“Merci, monsieur,” she answered, melting into his arms.
They clung to each other and Nicolette felt as if she were floating about the room. If she had ever wanted Jean Laffite to make love to her—and she had, many times—right now she wanted it more than life itself. She felt almost faint, her need was so great. Still, the music went on and she endured the thrill of this intimacy in his arms, knowing all the while that even more wondrous things were to come.
Nestling his lips against her right ear, he whispered, “Madame, you objected to my talk of the boudoir earlier, but now the lamplighter has already made his rounds, and I don’t think I can wait
“Now, Jean, please!” she said, cutting off his words.
He gathered her in his arms and started for the stairs. Sweet notes followed them up and lingered in the air about the bed all the while that they touched, caressed, and finally surrendered to the sweetest passion Nicolette had ever known.
When she lay in his arms afterward, still feeling new thrills as he kissed her erect nipples and stroked her trembling thighs, she felt totally at peace.
Had she seen the shadowy figure lurking outside the house all evening, that euphoria would have shattered. Even after they extinguished the lamp, the man waited… watching the dark house… scheming… planning his twisted revenge.
Chapter Twenty
The rains that normally turned New Orleans into a swamp in midsummer came, but lingered only briefly. Mosquitoes swarmed over the city, breeding in the murky canals that had previously been Bourbon Street, Royal Street, and the other byways before they were flooded.
Tainted Lilies Page 22
