5
FÉLICITÉ WAS GIVEN LESS than seven hours to consider the colonel’s proposition. She spent the time in agitated reflection, going over the scene between herself and the Irish mercenary again and again. Half the time she was assailed by the fear that she might have harmed her father’s case instead of aiding it, by the wish that she had spoken more diplomatically. The other half, she paced the floor in flaming outrage at his confident manner, railing that she had not given him a final refusal in virulent and emphatic words. Ashanti, when she had listened to the tale of the colonel’s perfidy, counseled cautious accommodation up to a point. What choice had she, after all, when brave men of wealth and resource were bowing the Spaniards into their shops, girding themselves to take the oath of allegiance required by O’Reilly? It could not hurt to be on terms with McCormack, and might actually help. At any rate, her situation was too precarious to make an enemy of him.
Ashanti was not the only person who feared for Félicité. An hour after Félicité’s return from the governor’s house, she had received a call from a neighbor woman. A motherly soul with a penchant for gossip, she was all sympathy over the arrest of poor Monsieur Lafargue and concern that Félicité was alone. She had noticed that Valcour did not go in and out these last few days, and wondered what was the reason. Her husband had seen the dear boy on Bayou St. John in company with a set of men of reputations most unsavory; smugglers, chére, veritable pirates, if the truth were known. It was a pity to wring the heart of le bon Dieu himself how families were being torn apart by the cruel orders of this devil O’Reilly. The man was made of stone; everyone said it was so. He could not be moved by the tears of a mother or the pleas of a young and gentle bride. Did Félicité know that Jean Baptiste Noyan, the very nephew of the great Bienville himself, founder of the colony, was among those arrested, dragged from the side of his new wife? A mere boy, he was, son-in-law to Lafréniére, also taken up by the soldiers. How evil could such a one, scarcely a man yet, be? And poor little Madame Noyan, to be bereft of father and husband at once! Life was a great sadness, nothing more, nothing less.
The neighbor heaved a sigh from the depths of a comfortably padded bosom, and returned her thoughts to Félicité. Her situation was grim, a young girl alone with nothing more than a trio of female servants in the house to protect her. What Valcour could be thinking of to leave her so was a puzzle, with the Spanish soldiers loose in the town. How long their officers could control them was anybody’s guess, though the officers, especially the paid Irish hooligans, might well be worse than the men. It would not be surprising if every woman in New Orleans was raped in her bed! Would it not be best if Félicité removed next door as her guest, or at least sought refuge with the good sisters at the convent?
Such a course did not recommend itself to Félicité, any more than did the idea of resigned and prayerful acceptance of the events gathering around them. What did that leave, however? She could protect herself with pistol and sword, but she could not secure the release of her father by marching in and brandishing such weapons. The odds against success were overwhelming. It was possible, then, that her best chance of improving his chances was through Lieutenant Colonel Morgan McCormack.
It was a calculated risk; she knew that. Though there had been some sign that her cooperation, as outlined by the colonel, would result in the lightest practicable sentence for her father, there was no guarantee. The colonel, very carefully, had not put what he was offering into words, any more than he had said precisely what he expected in return. In such a situation, it would be fatally easy to read too much into what he said, or not enough.
Noon came and went. Movement slowed to a standstill as the heat grew, and breathing became an effort. The sky overhead washed out to a faded blue without a sign of clouds. A heat haze shimmered over the cypress shingle rooftops of the houses, and people retreated inside, closing the shutters against the silver-white glare of the day. Only as the sun began to settle toward the west did they come out again, moving at a lethargic tempo that would not increase until the coolness of the evening made itself felt.
The walls of the houses held the accumulated warmth until well after dark, however, and it was the custom to venture out of doors in the twilight, to sit on the steps or balconies. The more energetic walked slowly along the streets to the river levee, or strolled around the Place d’Armes, the dusty parade ground before the Church of St. Louis.
The levee was Félicité’s favorite promenade. Scorning to be deterred by the presence of the Spanish, she set out with Ashanti to take the air. It was possible the soft and peaceful air of the evening and the breezes off the river would banish the dull headache that had formed behind her eyes and quiet the turmoil that gripped her.
It was a vain hope. Hardly had she reached the area of the river-front when she saw a uniformed officer detach himself from a group beneath the sycamore trees that edged the parade square and come toward her. There was a challenge gleaming in the emerald depths of Colonel McCormack’s eyes, though his bronzed features were stiff as he stopped before her. “Mademoiselle Lafargue, an unexpected pleasure,” he said, executing a perfunctory bow.
“I suspect that is something less than an accurate statement,” she returned in cool tones.
His smile was ironic. “I assure you, I am most pleased to see you.”
She was not certain enough that he had been waiting there on the chance that she might put in an appearance to charge him with it. Instead she murmured, “It is a pity I cannot say the same.”
“So it is, especially since we will be spending much time together in the future.”
She stared at him, hardly aware of the light warning touch of her maid’s fingers on her arm. “What makes you think we will, colonel?”
“I may be wrong, of course, mademoiselle, but since you have not yet twitched your skirts and walked away from me, I am encouraged to think you have decided to favor the plan I outlined this morning.”
It had come without warning, this moment of decision. In an effort to gain time, she said, “I cannot believe you were serious.”
“I was never more so.” The timbre of his voice was low and deep, his expression watchful.
“Why me?” she asked abruptly.
“You are a beautiful young woman,” he answered. “Besides which, if you will remember, it was you who brought yourself to my attention.”
“Not for this purpose!”
“That much is certainly true, though it scarcely matters now. Tell me, Mademoiselle Lafargue, will you walk with me, or will you not?”
His words seemed to indicate that he expected no more of her than this public show of cordiality, as he had suggested that morning. Félicité took a deep breath. “It seems, Colonel McCormack, that I have little choice.”
“Regrettable,” he said, the word clipped for all the quietness of his voice. “However, it is not I who compels you.”
“No, you are merely using the situation to your advantage, are you not, colonel?” There was a shadow in her clear brown eyes.
He made no attempt to avoid her gaze as he turned, offering his arm, indicating the direction they would take. “Quite true, I am.”
The agreement had been made; it would be useless to quibble over how it was carried out. With no more than the barest instant of hesitation, Félicité placed her fingers on the broadcloth-clad arm of the colonel, and they moved off together. Ashanti, with a sigh that might have been of relief or pained acceptance, fell in behind them.
Félicité was more aware than she cared to be of the man beside her, of his height, the lithe grace of his stride, the muscles beneath the sleeve of his uniform, and his sheer male presence. For long moments these things were so overwhelming, so at odds with the unreality of what she had done, that she failed to notice the covert glances cast in their direction, or the manner in which people gave way before them. As she recognized how it must look, Monsieur Lafargue’s daughter walking out with a red-coated soldier, one of O’Reilly’s I
rish henchmen, while her father lay behind bars, a wash of color rose to her hairline. Then she lifted her chin. Her conduct was no one’s concern except her own. The wisdom of what she was doing would one day be evident, and in the meantime she would stroll with the devil himself if it would benefit her father.
They reached the levee and climbed the rickety wooden steps that led to the top of that long, curving bulwark of earth. More than ten feet across on top, slanting to nearer twenty at its base, it had been thrown up as a not always adequate protection against the Mississippi River at flood stage. Now, in late August, the river was at its lowest level of the year, but so wide and mighty still that its far bank was indistinct in the evening distance. It smelled of fish and mud and rotting vegetation, and yet the breeze that rippled its surface was fresh and cooling.
Colonel McCormack slanted her a look of grim amusement. “Are you always so silent, or am I to assume you are having trouble finding a topic suitable for the occasion?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to entertain you.”
“You aren’t,” he answered, the warmth dying out of his eyes, “but an appearance of common politeness does seem in order.”
“By all means, if that is your wish,” she answered, and had the pleasure of seeing a frown of annoyance appear between his brows.
“My wish,” he said, stressing the last word, “is to be treated as you would treat any other man of your acquaintance.”
“But you are not any other man,” she pointed out, a clouded expression in her eyes. “My father’s fate may depend on your goodwill.”
“If you follow that idea to its logical conclusion, then politeness would seem mandatory.”
“Is that a threat, colonel?”
“If you mean bread and water for your father if you displease me, no. Everyone, man or woman, should pay for his own misdeeds.”
For some reason she could not have named, his words were more chilling to Félicité than an outright intent to make her father suffer for her uncooperative attitude. It was not so much the thought that she might be in jeopardy as it was the implacable manner in which the words had been delivered. Her voice cold, she said, “Am I to understand then, Colonel McCormack, that your presence here may be as much because of the affair of the chamber pot as for my pleas on my father’s behalf?”
An expression impossible to decipher flitted across his face. “The reasons, mademoiselle, are many and varied, but since the fact has been accomplished, they need no longer concern us.”
“Very well,” Félicité replied after a long moment. To follow his lead seemed easier, and possibly safer, than delving into that question any further.
He smiled with a touch of mockery. “While you are in so agreeable a mood, I will request that you address me as Morgan, that being my given name.”
Félicité inclined her head in acquiescence, carefully refraining from extending the freedom of her name to him. That did not deter him, however.
“Thank you, Félicité,” he said, his manner grave, though his expression was expectant.
She sent him a fulminating glance, but did not protest.
They turned south along the levee, he fitting his long strides to her slower pace. After a few moments she said with vinegary sweetness, “Tell me, how do you like Louisiana?”
“It’s an incredible place,” he answered with no more than a flash of dry humor for the commonplace nature of the topic. “I’ve never seen anything like the way things grow here. They seem to spring up overnight. I’ve seen weeds and vines that measure a foot or more of increased length or height overnight. Between the rich soil and the warm climate, it wouldn’t surprise me if three different crops could be produced in a year’s time.”
“You sound almost like a farmer.”
“And why not? One way and another, I come from a long line of farmers.” Bitterness like an acid etched his tone for a moment, then was gone.
Félicité decided to ignore the lead he had given her. “The heat doesn’t trouble you?”
“I’ve served in the Caribbean, in the Mediterranean, and in Spain almost constantly since my eighteenth birthday. Hot weather is nothing new, though I can’t say I enjoy the flies and mosquitoes that seem to go with it. I’ve never seen them quite so bad anywhere else.”
“It’s the swampland that surrounds us; they breed in stagnant water. I’ll admit they are a nuisance, but I don’t suppose they have ever killed anyone. By serving, though, colonel, I take it you mean with the army?”
He glanced at her with a lifted brow, saying nothing.
“I — mean Morgan, of course,” she corrected with a small stammer.
“If you refer to the Spanish army, no,” he answered, taking up her question. “I was apprenticed at the age of fifteen to a lawyer. Slightly less than two years later, I was caught on the street by an English press gang. They knocked me senseless after a short but bloody struggle, and I was trundled to the coast in a wagon. When I woke up, I was bound hand and foot and was being carried on board a ship.”
“A lawyer’s apprentice?” she asked, flinging a quick frown at his hard, martial features. “Somehow I can’t see you in that profession.”
“Nor could I,” he said with one of his brief, almost reluctant smiles. “It was considered a good position by my father. If I learned the ways of the English law, I might be able to prevent them taking any more of our land. It would have been more practical to have bound me over to a baker. At least we could have eaten, something not too many people were doing in Ireland just then, or now for that matter.”
“You became an English sailor, then. Was that more to your liking?” Despite herself, Félicité felt a stir of interest in Morgan McCormack’s tale.
“If you can ask such a question, then you know nothing about the life of a deckhand before the mast, especially one on an English ship. It was nothing except unremitting toil in all kinds of weather, food seasoned with maggots and weevils, and the constant lash of the cat-o’-nine-tails.”
“But you escaped.”
“The frigate we were sailing in had the good luck to be taken by pirates in the Caribbean.”
“Good luck!” she exclaimed.
“As it turned out, yes. The men who are willing to go to sea for long months at a time are few. Pirate ships, like those of the English navy, are always short of men. Knowing that most of the crew on English ships have been pressed against their wills, the better pirate captains give the seamen the chance to change their allegiance and improve their fortunes. Since the alternative is to be set adrift in a small boat at the very best, most take it.”
She could not resist a touch of spite as she said, “And was that occupation more to your taste?”
“It had its compensations.” The glint in his green eyes was a hint that he was aware of her belittling attitude, though he made no comment.
“Such as?”
“The pirate ship made port more often, the food was better, and in most cases, any ship attacked was well armed, so in most cases the capturing of a prize was a fair fight with the outcome depending on the quickness, skill, and daring of the captain. The man I served under was interested in spoils, nothing more; money, jewelry, cargo. He got no pleasure from watching men die, and was content to allow the ships and their passengers to go on their way, spreading his fame, and perhaps reloading to be preyed on another day.”
“A paragon!”
“So he was, until he was pinned to the deck by a failing mast in an engagement off the island of Puerto Rico.”
“A pirate ship without a captain? Sounds like chaos.”
“It is,” he said grimly, “but the position has to be filled for the good of everyone involved. Sometimes a new captain is elected, sometimes he elects himself by defeating all other comers.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said in mock respect, “that you were chosen?”
“After several of the other contenders had carved each other up to the point of anemia, yes.”
“Then how does it happen that you aren’t a pirate still?”
He shrugged, a quick movement of broad shoulders. “The pirate’s creed is simple: a short life but a merry one. I found I had too much farmer’s blood in my veins to appreciate it. I weighed the risks against the rewards, and decided the former outweighed the latter. I was already branded an outlaw by the English; I had nothing to lose by capturing British merchantmen. But it looked as though it would be better to throw in my lot with another country before I had pounced on the shipping of all, doing myself completely out of a refuge.”
“How did you come to choose Spain? Why not France, for instance?
“I was in a Spanish port when the decision was taken.”
They walked on a little way without speaking, passing a milch cow staked out on the slope of the levee, placidly cropping the grass. A group of young boys pushed past them laughing and calling in high spirits, shirtless, barefooted, carefree. They stepped aside for a Negro woman balancing an enormous load of laundry in a basket on top of her head. She spoke to Ashanti, and Félicité’s maid paused to exchange a few words with her as Félicité and the colonel moved on a few steps.
“Your brother,” Morgan McCormack said as their way cleared once more, “I understand, is no longer staying with you.”
“No.” She slanted him a quick, inquiring glance.
“On the occasions when I have met him, he seemed — an interesting man.”
“Interesting? In what way?”
“He is not, in my opinion, what he seems on the surface.”
This was dangerous ground. “Valcour? Surely you mistake. He calls himself a fashionable fribble; that should tell you something.”
“A fashionable fribble with a reputation as a dangerous man with whom to cross swords? An unusual combination in my experience.”
Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 Page 88
