The Creole Princess

by Beth White

  “We certainly wouldn’t want that to happen.” But she settled beside him on the steps, tucking her skirts around her legs. There was an uncomfortable silence. “Mr. Chaz is in the gaol . . . ,” she prompted.

  “Yes. He is.” Niall ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “That Willing fellow was holding forth in Burelle’s last night—”

  “Burelle’s! Was Lyse there?”

  “I think so. There was such a commotion, I’m not sure exactly who was there.”

  Daisy gritted her teeth. “All right. Keep going.”

  “Anyway, Willing was handing out copies of that cockeyed declaration of independence, and then he stood up on a chair and started reading it out loud. There were a few Frenchies egging him on, but a couple of Loyalist citizens staying in the inn took offense, so pretty soon a row boiled up. Guillory sent Zander running here for help. I was on duty, me and a couple other fellows, so we took off. By the time we got there, Willing was in a fistfight with one of the Loyalists, and Antoine Lanier had the other one in a headlock. We broke it up and brought Willing and Lanier here to stay overnight.”

  “But Mr. Chaz—”

  “I’m getting to that.” Niall sighed. “Early this morning, Mr. Chaz showed up at the gates, asking to see the major. The major let him in, but shortly Mr. Chaz came out, calm as you please, and told me to put him in the guardhouse with Mr. Antoine.”

  “What?”

  “I know—that’s what I said, but then the major stuck his head out the door and told me to go ahead and lock up Mr. Chaz. He slammed the door so hard I thought the building might fall down.” Niall shook his head, reluctant admiration settling in his expression. “Craziest thing I ever saw. But Mr. Chaz said when things get to where a man can’t express an honest opinion or have a serious debate in a public place without being beat up or locked up, then it’s time for a change. He said his son had finally stood for something worthwhile and he was going to stand with him—even if it had to be in gaol.”

  Daisy stared at Niall with her mouth ajar for a moment—then started to laugh. “Mr. Chaz arrested himself?” She propped her elbows on her knees, doubled over and laughed until she cried. “Oh, my Lord, wait until I tell Lyse about this!”

  13

  MOBILE

  MAY 1778

  With dragging steps Rafa climbed the stairs onto the front porch of the tavern. The trip from New Orleans to Mobile had taken roughly twenty-four hours. Despite the rocking of the ship, which generally sent him to sleep like a baby, he’d been unable to shut his brain down. He’d found himself reviewing Gálvez’s orders and the plans he and Pollock had made for eliciting information from the British and disseminating supplies to the Americans. He’d also wasted time in useless conjecture about what James Willing had been up to since he’d absconded from New Orleans—in spite of Gálvez’s explicit request to stay put. Willing was the worst sort of ally, unpredictable and dangerous as a loose cannon.

  Still, he couldn’t wait to tell Lyse that Scarlet was in New Orleans, safe in his mother’s care. And that she was expecting a baby. In truth he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  He paused to glance at the swing hanging at the end of the porch, and a smile crossed his lips. He had kissed her there and promised to find Scarlet—an insane claim, no doubt, but in the providence of God he had done so against all odds. Would she be glad to see him?

  His step faltered. Or would she be so disgusted that he’d left without saying goodbye that she would refuse to see him? Worse yet, what if she’d promised herself to the red-haired Ensign McLeod? What if she was already wed?

  Dread clamped the pit of his stomach. He had always been a resilient sort, able to recover from the disappointments of life in full assurance that he was loved by parents and siblings and God Almighty—and what else could be more important? But this young lady, his Creole princess, had wedged herself into his life in quick bursts of time, until she filled his thoughts and prayers with a yearning he couldn’t dispel.

  Shaking off anxiety, which, as his mother often reminded him, would add nary a hair to his head, he opened the heavy front door of the tavern. He must not waste his time borrowing trouble.

  The dining room, where he had breakfasted with Lyse on that bright morning after he first met her, was oddly empty. Despite the early-summer warmth which had made him remove his coat this morning, a stale coldness sat upon the tables and chairs lined up with the precision of a military review. The windows stood open, but foot traffic on the street outside was light, and no breeze disturbed the sheer curtains.

  “Señor Guillory? Madame? Is anyone here?” Halfway expecting Zander to pop up from behind the registry desk, he crossed the room and peered over it.

  No one there.

  Puzzled, he turned and leaned back with his elbows on the desk. He was tired and hungry and wanted something to drink. Where was everybody? Perhaps he should give up and walk down to Lafleur’s down the street. Or he could wander down to the Emporium—

  “M’sieur Rafael? What you be doin’ here all by yo’self? Why you ain’t ring the bell?”

  Rafa wheeled to find the ageless Joony standing in the kitchen doorway, dusting flour off her hands with a clean rag. Her red kerchief was wrapped round her head like the turban of a sultana, and a matching apron covered her neat gray dress.

  When he failed to answer in a timely fashion, she frowned. “You get a touch of the sun this morning? Lose your hearing?”

  Rafa laughed and went to kiss her hand. “My hearing is perfectly fine. It’s my wits have gone begging. In fact, I was just wishing some magical genie would produce a pile of beignets and some chicory coffee.”

  “Ain’t no genies hereabouts, you young rapscallion, just me and Zander and—” She sucked in a sudden breath. “But I can find you a beignet if you’ll give me a minute to look. Here.” She marched over to the closest table, yanked out a chair, and flicked her rag at the seat to clear it of some invisible dust. “Sit yourself down, sir. I’ll be right back.”

  She was gone before Rafa could reply. Amused, he lowered himself into the chair and tipped his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes. Someone had found him. Beignets were coming.

  Sometime later he jerked awake to a touch on his shoulder. He blinked up into a pair of sparkling golden eyes. “Lyse!” Leaping to his feet, he kissed her cheek and almost kissed her lips. But some warning in her expression stopped him. Instead he caught her hands in his and smiled down at her. “I am so happy to see you! Joony didn’t tell me you were here.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen. “She’s doing your beignets, wouldn’t let me help. She says I overcook them.” She laughed. “She’s the one who taught me, and I’m actually quite good at it.”

  There was something . . . odd about this conversation, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “What is the matter, mi corazón?”

  She stepped back, pulling her hands away. “Don’t call me that.”

  “But you are my heart. Which is why . . . eh, the words fail me when it most matters. All is not well with you—but I have the most excellent news, and you have almost made me forget to tell you!”

  Her expression remained wary. “What is it?”

  “I do not understand why you mistrust me so.” More puzzled than alarmed, he took another quick look around the room. Was someone out of sight watching and listening? “Come with me.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

  “But the beignets—”

  “Later.” He marched her out onto the porch, then all but pushed her onto the swing. “I have found your cousin,” he said baldly, flinging himself down beside her. “Now tell me what daring exploit I must next accomplish in order to win my lady’s hand and heart.”

  “Scarlet? You found her?” The joy in her face was blinding. “Where? Is she well? You didn’t leave her, did you?” She took him by the arm and shook him. “Rafa, where?”

  “Such vehemence.” He tr
ied not to grin. “I left her with my mother, God help her, and in quite blooming health. Mama will undoubtedly make her fat as a whale by the time the baby comes—”

  “Baby? What baby?”

  Rafa winced. His darling had quite a strong grip for such a little thing. “Please, you are creasing my shirt.” When she released him, he straightened his waistcoat and smoothed his wrinkled sleeves. “Yes, there is the little one coming, sometime in the summer, if my mama is to be believed.”

  “A baby . . .” Lyse blinked misty eyes and smiled at Rafa so beatifically that he barely contained the urge to kiss her. “That is good, I think. But tell me how you found her.”

  Rafa had anticipated this question and determined to shield her from the harshest facts of her cousin’s mistreatment. On the other hand, tenderhearted though she might be, Lyse wasn’t the sheltered innocent his sister Sofía was. “She had been picked up as contraband,” he said carefully, “in a raid of a British plantation near Natchez. I bought her at auction in New Orleans. She was tired and sad, but otherwise not too badly off.”

  “Then she’s still . . .” Lyse opened her hands, unable to voice the word slave.

  “Yes, to free a slave is a complicated matter, I’m afraid. Not to mention expensive.” When she just stared at him, he hurried to explain. “But she is safe! While she is with my mother, no one will mistreat or abuse her. When I have time, I will deal with the legalities of setting her free.”

  Lyse looked away. “You must think I’m ungrateful. I’m not—it’s just that I’ve been so worried about her, and now there’s my grandfather, in prison with that dreadful James Willing—”

  “What? I knew there was something wrong! Explain, please.”

  “It is the stupidest thing! My father must always stir up trouble. That man, that Patriot, as he calls himself, was reading and distributing their declaration of independence here in the tavern, about two weeks ago. When people naturally got upset, what must my father do but take his side! Major Redmond had no choice but to lock them up. So—so the next day, my grandfather tried to convince the major to release them, and when the major refused, Grandpére insisted on putting himself in with them!”

  The hair stood up on the back of Rafa’s neck. James Willing had done the Patriot cause no favor with his raids of the British plantations along the Mississippi River. The British had tightened patrols of the Mississippi River, and people who might otherwise have been persuaded to remain neutral were now so antagonized by Willing’s perfidy that King George had gained some powerful Loyalists. And now it appeared Willing had stuck his neck in Redmond’s noose. Brave, yes. But also, as Lyse said, very stupid.

  And now it appeared at least two members of Lyse’s family had openly aligned themselves with the rebels. This put Lyse in a precarious position indeed.

  He pursed his lips. “And . . . has Miss Redmond intervened on your behalf? Surely she spoke up for you.”

  “I haven’t seen Daisy for nearly two weeks. Her father made her move into the fort with him. As you can see, feelings are . . . strained here. People are taking sides, and it’s hard to know who to trust.”

  He had known this was coming. He was under orders to keep his activities on behalf of the Patriot cause secret, at least until there was an official declaration of war from Madrid. But he had not counted on losing his heart so completely and irrevocably.

  He sighed. “Yes, I know. Lyse, I have to ask—have you taken an oath of loyalty to the British crown?”

  Unnamed emotions flitted across her face. “My grandfather said I could trust you.” The whispered words dragged from her, as if leaving her soul-naked to whatever he might do or say in response. “I hope he’s right.”

  Much later, Rafa would look upon that moment as his coming of age. The adventure of skulking about, pretending to be an idiot and a dandy in a game of cozening the British out of information, had been a form of grand entertainment. Suddenly the responsibility of the lives in his hands weighed upon him so that, if he’d been a bit older and perhaps less hubristic, he might have run very fast, very far away.

  He did not touch Lyse, for her decision must be rational, untainted by persuasion. “Your grandfather is correct,” he said carefully, “but I have to know why you are living here at the tavern, and not inside the fort with your friends. Surely the good Ensign McLeod has petitioned for your protection?”

  Lyse bit her lip. “He did. But unless I marry him, he has no say in what becomes of me. I’m still my father’s property—”

  “Are you going to marry McLeod, Lyse?” He had to know, now, before he committed some irredeemable folly.

  “No!” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I told him I don’t love him that way—only as a brother—but he won’t listen to me.”

  His relief was so great, his body all but slid off the swing. But he must be careful still.

  “So you are lumped with the rebels because of your father and grandfather?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She dropped her hands to her lap and faced him.

  The full impact of her beautiful eyes, somehow courageous and frightened all at once, filled him with pride and respect. This woman was his love. His. Though he couldn’t claim her yet.

  “I have come to understand the principles they stand for,” she said slowly. “And as much as I detest this Mr. Willing’s methods of pursuing his convictions, the declaration of independence he brought and read to us is a remarkable and sacred document. If I thought it would do any good, I’d go to prison with my father and my grandfather. But with my brother Simon gone—God knows where—somebody has to help take care of my stepmother and my little brothers and sister. So I stay here in the inn with the Guillorys, cooking and waiting tables, and I teach the children—and keep quiet about my hopes and dreams of a free nation.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m a coward. So now you know, and I don’t know why I told you, except something—maybe God—convinces me you might help me and my family.”

  “You are not a coward,” he said fiercely, “and you are right to trust no one. As a representative of a neutral party, all I can say to you is that I will do everything in my power to bring you safely through this contretemps between the British and American factions. Your father is perhaps in the safest place, but I will see if there is anything I can do to negotiate for your grandfather’s release.”

  “You found Scarlet when I thought she was gone forever, and I sincerely thank you.” She looked away. “If there was something I could do in return—”

  “There is. Keep this conversation between us only. When the time is right, I will come for you. In the meantime, watch and listen, be the brave girl you are.” He lifted both her hands to his mouth and kissed one, then the other. “Now let us go inside and partake of Joony’s so-excellent beignets and chicory. I find I am more hungry than ever.” He gave her a smile intended to make her blush, and grinned at his success.

  Lyse sat on the schoolroom floor with the children circled around her, one arm around little Genny, who shivered in delicious terror as Suzanne Boutin read aloud a story she had written to entertain the younger children. It was an outlandish tale—something about a red-haired princess, a Turkish ogre, and a fairy with tiny swords for fingernails—but Lyse couldn’t have said who wanted what, nor why.

  Her mind was far more occupied in wondering how Rafa had fared in effecting her grandfather’s release from prison. He had fulfilled his promise of rescuing Scarlet—at least, he claimed to have done so. When the time is right, I will come for you. The words, oddly echoing Grandpére’s mysterious stricture on Mardi Gras, promised so little and so much. What did he mean? There had been no mention of marriage.

  On the other hand, when he asked her if she had given the oath of loyalty to England, she hadn’t answered in so many words. And why would he ask her such a question? What if he was a spy?

  He had adjured her to trust no one. If she were wise, that would even include Rafa himself.

  “Miss Lanier! I s
aid do you want me to leave the story on your desk?”

  Lyse blinked and focused on Suzanne’s perplexed face. “Oh! Yes, indeed! I will read it for grammar and spelling and return it to you tomorrow.” She smiled at Suzanne warmly. “What a beautiful story. I know you worked very hard to make it descriptive and clear.”

  Suzanne shrugged. “I was trying to make it scary, not beautiful. But thank you—I suppose.”

  “In any case, your creativity is commendable.” Lyse scrambled to her feet and extended a hand to Genny. “Come, children, back to your desks. It’s time to start our mathematics lesson. Who can recite the ‘times four’ multiplication table?”

  There was a general groan as the children moved back to their double desks. She had just gotten them settled when a knock sounded upon the door.

  “Miss Lanier! Lyse! Open up!” It was a familiar male voice.

  She hurried to open the door. “Niall!” With an effort she restrained her surprise and irritation. “Ensign McLeod, we are busy with lessons. What can I do for you?”

  “Send them home for lunch early. I need you to come with me.”

  She stiffened. “Why?”

  “Major Redmond asked for you.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “Lyse, don’t make me—”

  “What? Are you going to arrest me too?”

  He looked aggrieved. “The children are listening.”

  “So they are.” She stood there a long moment, just to make him squirm. “All right. Children, put your things away for lunch. We’ll recess for an hour—”

  “It might be longer than that,” Niall interrupted. “Miss Lanier will ring the bell when it’s time for you to come back.”

  She stared at him in outrage, but there was little she could do. “Let me get my shawl. Wait for me outside.” She shut the door in his face, then supervised the children as they put away books, dropped pencils, and slammed desk lids. Finally she opened the door so they could file out ahead of her. After locking the door, she turned, gathering her shawl and her dignity. “What is this about, Niall? Is my grandfather all right?”