The Pride of the King
Amanda Hughes
Copyright © 2011 Amanda Hughes
All rights reserved.
ISBN:10 1463589123
ISBN-13:978-1463589127
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my children who never lost their faith in me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Ronnell Porter for cover art and design and Amy Nord for her editing skills.
New Orleans 1748
Chapter 1
Lauren De Beauville needed a hurricane. She was never satisfied with gentle rainfall or a passing shower. To feel alive, Lauren always needed a tempest, and that is what she received on her wedding day.
* * *
A crack of thunder greeted Lauren as she emerged from the chapel door. At fifteen, she was now a married woman. Before she could pull up her hood, old Monsieur Heathstone, her husband, hustled her out into the horizontal rain. It was practically impossible for her to keep her eyes open as the drops pelted her in the face. Her garments were a poor match for the downpour, and she was soaked within minutes, her skirt hanging heavy with mud.
Street vendors were frantically packing up their wares, seeking shelter from the intensifying storm. Even the colorful peppers and apples looked drab and dreary today. Only the catfish and oysters seemed to enjoy the deluge.
Heathstone rounded a corner, pulling Lauren along behind him and entered L'hotel de la Marine. Lauren had seen it once when Sister Giselle had taken her to the docks to pick up a shipment of silk worms. It was large and well kept. The logs stood vertically; the posts set directly onto the earth. It was two stories in the back with a small dining room addition in the front.
Although the dining room was empty when Lauren entered, it was not cold. Monsieur Berne, the proprietor, had taken great pains to make the inn cozy. There was a fire crackling and several tables were set with candles and high-back chairs awaiting customers. The interior walls were plastered and whitewashed, and a massive cherry cupboard stood in the corner. Pewter plates and tankards filled the shelves, and the drawers in the bottom held Madame Berne’s fine table linen.
Monsieur Berne was bending over these drawers as Heathstone and Lauren burst in, the wind banging the door. He was a stout, jovial fellow and greeted them heartily. Heathstone had chosen this inn because the proprietor spoke English, a rarity in the province of Louisiana.
"Come in! Come in!” he roared in English. His large stomach preceded him as he advanced, arms outstretched. “You have returned with the lovely bride! The weather--is it not severe?"
In spite of the owner’s jovial demeanor, Monsieur Heathstone did not smile. He sat down in front of the fire indicating the same to Lauren. The smile dropped from the innkeeper’s face. The French did not like the English in New Orleans and Heathstone's attitude did not help relations.
Monsieur Berne continued, "If it's food you want, I have only three eggs and a half a loaf of bread. No one is getting through in this storm, so I have nothing to cook." He wiped his brow and looked out the window. The wind was now blowing branches off the trees and unsecured items tumbled wildly down the street. "May the Virgin Mary protect us all!” prayed the innkeeper as he turned toward the kitchen.
Heathstone grumbled something, sinking down into his chair. Lauren arranged her soaked skirts and looked across the table at him. His appearance and surly attitude disgusted her, and she was grateful he had shown little interest in her so far. Nevertheless, the thought of bedding him tonight terrified her.
The nuns had shared nothing with the girls regarding procreation. Her twin sister, Simone had made it her business to learn about the facts of life early and passed what she learned on to Lauren.
She watched Heathstone pull a hankie out of his waistcoat and blow his nose. Her heart began to pound furiously. Where will he take me? What will he do to me?
Suddenly, there was a loud crash outside and water started streaming down the plaster behind the massive cupboard. "Oh Mon Dieu!" cried Monsieur Berne rushing into the room. A tree had fallen on the dining room addition. Too unsympathetic to help the worried innkeeper, Heathstone shrugged and turned back to the fire.
Lauren watched the innkeeper push a ladder in front of the cupboard, climbing up to inspect the damage. "It is not good,” he moaned in French. “I don't know how--”
Suddenly, he screamed, and the cupboard toppled over on him. A torrent of water had smashed through the walls of the inn, and it turned Lauren and Heathstone over in their chairs It slammed Lauren against the opposite wall, pinning her against the plaster. She choked and sputtered, her lungs filling with water. The pain was excruciating as the furnishings trapped her against the wall, her ribs snapping. Heathstone was swept away under the water. The innkeeper was caught behind the huge cherry cupboard, screaming in pain as the floodwaters rushed into the room.
Suddenly, the logs of the inn began to crack like toothpicks as water filled the room pushing the cupboard and the innkeeper through the timber frame of the house. Monsieur Berne was killed instantly. His body, limp as a rag doll, bumped and banged into debris as it washed away.
Lauren spilled out of the hole too, into the street, the current carrying her away in the storm. Struggling desperately in the black water she gasped for air, the wind raging all around her as debris flew past her head. Her heavy woolen skirt began to tangle around her legs. Suddenly, a maelstrom sucked her under, and the roar of the water filled her ears. Her lungs felt as if they would burst. A branch caught her skirt, trapping her underwater. She struggled frantically, pulling and tugging on the material trying to free herself and surface for air, when someone grabbed her hair and dragged her up. It was Heathstone.
"Grab my hand!" he shouted, reaching for Lauren. He was clinging to a floating log. She caught his hand, but it was slippery, and her heavy skirts dragged her out of his grasp and under again. As the waters pulled her down a second time she thought, “If I swim away, I will be free. If I take his hand--"
She made her decision. It was worth the risk. Lauren stayed under as long as her lungs would allow, riding the ravaging current. When she finally burst to the surface, he was gone. She grabbed a log that sailed past, pulling herself on top of it. Suddenly, she realized that this was no log at all, but a decomposing corpse. Lauren stared at the shriveled face in horror, then hurtled it away. Dead bodies were everywhere; surfacing from the St. Peter cemetery, worm-eaten children, decrepit adults, skeletons and coffins rushing by on the torrent.
Swiftly, she grabbed a casket and tipped the box, looking inside. It held a corpse about her size, and without hesitation she dumped the body into the water. It was painful and grotesque pulling herself into a coffin, but she knew that now she would survive. Bruised and battered, she put her head down on the soaked wood of the coffin and fell into a swoon.
Lauren fell in and out of consciousness, confusing dreams with reality. The storm swept the casket down the torrent slamming it against uprooted trees and debris, tipping and bumping it madly. In a fog of delirium, Lauren tried to recall where she was and why she felt pain. Try as she might, she could not remember the events of the day, and she fell back into a swoon.
Chapter 2
Only yesterday Lauren was sitting contentedly in a large oak tree in the convent courtyard watching the people on Le Rue Conde. She loved watching the townspeople as they passed on their way to market.
She wasn’t expecting Sister Gertrude to call her name. When she heard the nun, Lauren jumped, and began to tumble out of the tree. Frantically, she grabbed for branches falling down through the tree, slamming onto the earth below with a thud. The air expelled so abruptly from her lungs that she could not breathe until the nun pulled her uprig
ht.
"My dear, my little one, are you hurt?"
Coughing and sputtering, Lauren pushed tangled volumes of hair from her face. "I think I’m alright, Sister," she said breathlessly. She rose to her feet, and brushed off her apron. "Oh please, don't tell anyone, Sister Gertrude. I promise I won't climb--" Lauren caught herself. She was about to lie to a nun and that would mean damage to her immortal soul. She did not intend to stop climbing trees and to say otherwise was a falsehood.
Sister Gertrude smiled. At the same age, she would have been in that tree. She liked the tall willowy girl with copper-colored tresses.
Lauren returned her smile.
She has a reckless smile, thought Sister Gertrude. It is the smile of a pirate.
"The abbess would like to see you in an hour," she said.
Lauren's tawny eyes grew wide. Everyone knew the abbess only talked with the girls when it was a very important matter. Maybe this was it, Lauren thought, maybe they had found a placement for her. She was old enough to leave these walls, to find her true home and make her way into the world as a lady of distinction and education.
"Don't be late!" said the Sister cheerfully and she turned, leaving Lauren alone in the garden.
She sat down on a stone bench as if reeling from a blow. She had been waiting so long for this day and news about her future. Over the past weeks, she had felt it coming. She had grown restless and irritable, snapping without reason at her sister, and it had been harder than usual to attend to her studies.
Lauren had always been a restless, impulsive girl. She approached everything at breakneck speed, embracing new experiences with enthusiasm and delight until the inevitable boredom struck, and she yearned for a different adventure.
Lauren and her twin sister Simone had called the Ursuline Academy for Girls, home for ten years. They had only dim memories of the rice plantation and their French-born parents lost to them long ago. The gentle Ursulines raised the orphaned twins tutoring them in religion, academics and social graces. Lauren would miss her home at the convent, but she and Simone had to go. The time for seclusion and sanctuary was over.
Waking from her thoughts, she jumped from the bench and raced into the dormitory, slowing her pace when Sister Bona came around the corner. Lauren threw the door open of her room and found Simone with her chin on her arms, looking out the window. Her brown eyes were bloodshot and her blonde hair was falling out of the knot at the back of her neck.
"What's wrong?" Lauren asked.
Her sister shrugged.
Lauren rolled her eyes. "Oh, I see we are taken with melancholia again."
"I don't want to fight with you today, Lauren," Simone said, without looking up.
"I don’t either,” said Lauren. “I bring good news. Mother Marie Margarite wants to see me today. I’m sure it’s about a placement. I wonder where it will be. Of course, she will place us together. What do you think, Simone?"
Simone turned away. She was in no mood to talk. Lauren suspected she was having trouble with her young man, Joffrey. Twice a week, boys came to the school to do repairs at the convent and immediately Joffrey noticed Simone. Young men frequently noticed Simone. Her face resembled the angels painted on the wall of the sanctuary, sweet and ethereal, but her full curved body was unmistakably of this world.
Although twins, it was hard to tell that Simone and Lauren were sisters. They bore little physical resemblance to one another and their personalities differed as well. Simone was pensive and sultry given to frequent brooding and melancholy, whereas Lauren was carefree and impulsive. Simone agonized over beaus; Lauren had no time for boys. In spite of all their differences, the girls were best friends.
"Did you hear me? What do you think Simone? Will they keep us together?"
Simone did not answer. She looked up at the sky, "The clouds have an odd turn to them today. I wonder if there will be a storm."
"Oh, don't be foolish. The sky is blue," barked Lauren as she marched to the window and thrust her head out. The clouds did look strange, Lauren had to admit, but it was nothing more than a curiosity. Leave it to Simone to overreact.
There was a sharp rap at the door and the girls knew that their rest period was over, and it was time to help with the evening meal. "I'll meet you right after I talk to Mother Marie Margarite," said Lauren. She bit her lip, hesitating a moment before going on, "I'm sorry if you are having trouble with Joffrey. I'm not very good at listening."
Simone looked surprised, "What are you talking about? Joffrey? He's a thing of the past," she said, dismissing the subject. She turned and walked out of the room.
Lauren reported to the convent kitchen to dice potatoes. The room was bustling with activity, but she was in a world of her own full of anticipation and excitement about her new life. She stared out the window dreaming of her future. Of course, they would send her to France. The nuns always sent young ladies of breeding to France. They never stayed in New Orleans. It was too backward. At the very worst, Lauren thought, she would go to a plantation to serve as a governess, but even this held appeal. She would be free of the convent walls.
Suddenly, someone barked, "Lauren, the potatoes!" It was Sister Therese.
Lauren mumbled her apologies and went back to work. The nuns expected every girl, regardless of her background, to work at the Academy. There were twenty girls in residence at the convent; eighteen French girls, and two Natchez Indians. Each had a job to do and they bustled around the kitchen clattering pots and pans, rolling out dough and chopping vegetables. The nuns made certain that the students were proficient in everything, practical as well as scholarly. The Ursulines were the first religious order in the history of the Catholic Church to educate girls. Society had always viewed the female mind as inferior, but the Order took exception and began opening academies in spite of the criticism.
The Ursuline Order arrived in the Colony of New Orleans in 1727 and in a short time built a convent, hospital and an academy for girls. Now, two decades later, the good nuns educated not only French girls of wealth and privilege but slave girls and local Indians. They believed that all young women were entitled to an academic and spiritual education, not just the wealthy.
Most of the girls would marry shortly after leaving the academy but some would need to provide for themselves, so the Ursuline's instructed them in the care and breeding of the profitable silk worm. Many went on to lead independent, productive lives working on silkworm plantations.
The large stone building with shuttered windows was home to nuns and students in residence. The convent housed not only the academy but an orphanage as well. Lauren and Simone fell into this category. Born to wealthy French immigrants who came to New Orleans during the formation of the Mississippi Company, the twin girls never knew their mother. She died giving birth to them leaving a shattered and depressed Monsieur De Beauville to raise two youngsters alone. He descended into drink and debauchery, dying penniless and riddled with disease. The good sisters took in the girls shortly thereafter.
The hour had finally come. Lauren asked to be excused from her work in the kitchen. Her palms were perspiring as she knocked on the door of the office of the abbess.
"Come in," said a gentle voice.
It was stuffy inside the small office of Mother Marie Margarite. Because of the wind, the abbess had closed the window, and the smell of candle wax and lavender hung heavily on the air. The old woman sat behind a gargantuan oak desk. She folded her hands and smiled at Lauren. Although Mother Marie Margarite was a tiny woman, there was nothing small about her supervision of the convent and the academy. Her wizened face had endured years of hardship in the Old World and the New World, and because of these tribulations; she had become a strong and capable servant of the academy and of the Lord.
The abbess could see from her flushed cheeks that Lauren was excited. She felt more assured than ever that this placement was suitable. As Lauren entered the room, an older man stood up to greet her, holding out his hand.
"Lauren De Bea
uville, may I introduce Monsieur Adair Heathstone. He has traveled a long way to meet you, my dear, and we are very grateful to him for coming.”
The gentleman stepped forward kissed Lauren's hand and stepped back casting his eyes down respectfully. The girl's heart bumped in her chest. Here at last was her employer ready to apprentice her to her new engagement. Her mind raced with possibilities about the future and the new experiences she would embrace. It was all very thrilling. Swallowing back her excitement, Lauren managed to calm her nerves long enough to examine the man more closely. He was of later years, clean-shaven and neat. His clothing appeared well cut but austere. Except for a few gray hairs combed over his head and a small pigtail at his neck, he was completely bald. She noted that he was very thin, almost gaunt as he murmured something in another language.
"Monsieur Heathstone does not speak French," explained Mother Marie Margarite. "He is from the English Colonies."
"I see," said Lauren. Another world, she thought. I shall be seeing new lands, meeting new people, Protestants even. What a delightful adventure!
"As you know Lauren, we here at the academy want only the best for all of our girls. We have been searching long and hard for a placement for you. Because of your somewhat depleted financial condition, your prospects have been few. But our prayers were answered with Monsieur Adair Heathstone."
Mother Marie Margarite reached out to Lauren and took her hand. The abbess said joyfully, "Monsieur Heathstone is here to marry you."
Chapter 3
Lauren could not breathe. She pulled the office door shut behind her and struggled for air. The shocking news, the closeness of the room and the sight of that hideous man choked her to death. She could think of nothing but getting outside, outside to the garden where she could clear her mind and cleanse herself of this blasphemy. Could the sisters not see what a mockery they made of the sacrament of marriage? The false vows she had to take? The whole thing was unthinkable!
The Pride of the King Page 1
