Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  She began to weep, shedding tears of self-pity that shook her with their intensity. She was at the mercy of the brigand, who neither loved her nor even cared for her.

  Beside her, Lafitte bent over her sleepily. “What are those tears for?” he asked with little tenderness.

  Gabrielle bit back fresh sobs and refused to answer him. His hand closed painfully over her left breast, drawing a gasp from her lips.

  Truth to tell, Lafitte thought to himself, he felt very bad about his performance tonight. But she had wounded his pride, dammit! Didn’t the wench think he could have as much as anyone else? She was so damned beautiful, and he was furious at the thought that he could have all this loveliness within his grasp and yet not be sure of her. Damn! The girl would drive him crazy if he didn’t think of some way to keep her out of his sight for a time.

  If he could only keep her somewhere where he wouldn’t have to worry about her running away—didn’t the little fool realize that New Orleans was no place for a young, beautiful girl to be alone? Bigger fish than he would gobble her up soon enough, he thought, and many of those would have little, if any, concern for her personal welfare. He could keep her at Grande Terre, but he couldn’t be sure she would not try to escape despite the many dangers involved. He could picture her exquisite face drifting, white, in the pools of quicksand, or in the treacherous swamp waters—worse, there were the alligators lurking in evil menace in the shadows. If only he could keep her here in New Orleans, safe from such horrors, he thought. But where?

  Certainly not here in this house, but—and his face suddenly relaxed in the darkness and he tightened his arm unconsciously about her now-still form. Yes, the first thing in the morning, he would have to pay a call on his good friend, Renée.

  Gabrielle was seated at the breakfast table when she heard the front door open and Lafitte’s voice greeting the black boy.

  “Ah, I see you have eaten already,” he said, entering the room and kissing her lightly on the mouth as though nothing had happened between them to disturb his accustomed manner with her.

  Gabrielle nodded curtly, more than a little embarrassed after last night’s episode. “Yes, it—it was very good. And—and yourself?” She gazed steadfastly out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “I’ve already been to the old Absinthe House. I breakfasted with friends there. I had some business to attend to before returning here.” He laughed as though in fond recollection.

  “It’s all very easy, I suppose, for you to be amused,” she put in bitingly. “But please do not expect me to join in your good humor. I’m afraid my—my feelings have altered considerably towards you after last night.”

  He frowned. “Is that some sort of refusal, spitfire?”

  She stuck out her chin in defiance, and her violet eyes sparkled with temper. “I will not be treated like a—like a common—common—” she broke off and tamed away from his black gaze.

  “Did you say, spitfire, that you are not a common whore? Then, my dear, are you an uncommon one?” His laugh was totally devoid of levity, and Gabrielle could not meet the angry look in his eyes. “I have been debating for some time just what to do with you. Believe me, I realize that you will not hesitate to try to escape me, and, frankly, I cannot understand why I don’t let you do so. But, unfortunately for both of us, there is a very strong attraction that you continue to hold over me. The only feasible solution I can see is to secure you in a jail.” He smiled at her outraged look. “No, no, my lovely, not the menacing old calaboose in the square. I mean a silken prison of such luxury that you should be thankful that you have such an obliging master.” His eyes narrowed. “Madame Renée, then, has kindly consented to keep you for me.”

  At the look of puzzlement on Gabrielle’s face, he explained. “It’s the best brothel in the city of New Orleans, my dear. Didn’t you just scream at me that you were no common whore? Well, this is not a common whorehouse. Many of the finest men in New Orleans frequent it, including Governor Claiborne himself, I’m told. Madame Renée’s is the perfect solution, you see, for she guards her girls as jealously as a lover. She offers everything from young virgins to quadroons so beautiful you would think they were white.”

  “What—what are you saying?” Gabrielle whispered faintly, her eyes wide in her strained face.

  He laughed cynically, deliberately hardening himself against the stirring picture she presented to him. “In a word, I am installing you in one of Madame Renée’s better suites, exclusively for my use on those occasions when I am in New Orleans.”

  Gabrielle’s eyes glittered with outrage. “I am to be set up as your—your mistress in a brothel! How can you be sure you will be the only man I see?” she taunted him, her voice icy. “After all, you are gone for months at a time, as I well know. How can you be positive that I will be there when you return?”

  Lafitte admitted to himself that he couldn’t be positive, but he was betting on Madame Renée’s greedy hands, for he had promised her an outrageous sum to ensure that this girl would not be touched by anyone else. He sent a swift glance toward the young woman who sat opposite, blazing defiance at him now, and he felt a pang of regret that things could not have been different between them. If only—but he quickly, determinedly, shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. No, the best thing would be to get her with child, and quickly. Mothers, he knew, were less apt to fight when the welfare of their children was at stake.

  “You may take anything you wish from the closet upstairs,” he indicated harshly. “But make it quick, for I have other matters to attend to.”

  “I will not take anything obtained by your lawless pillaging,” was her haughty answer. “I would not even wear this gown if propriety did not demand that I not walk naked on the street!”

  “Very soon, spitfire, you’ll have little use for such propriety,” he returned softly and called for the carriage to be brought to the door.

  Trembling with anger and humiliation, Gabrielle shortly found herself crossing the threshold of Madame Renée’s house, Lafitte’s hand tight on her arm. Madame Renée herself greeted them in the front parlor, a room that was, to Gabrielle’s considerable surprise, tastefully decorated in soft blues and greens. The madam was dressed very conservatively at this time of day in a high-necked gown of stiff damask that did little to enhance her overly endowed figure.

  “Ah, the terrible pirate of the Gulf,” Renée smiled as she extended her hand for Lafitte to kiss. “Who would ever think that such a man would be conducting so unusual a transaction, eh, my friend?” The woman turned to look speculatively at Gabrielle, who could not help flushing at the obvious inspection. “Don’t be afraid of me, my dear. I’ll take the very best care of you, which is more than the streets of this city can offer. You know, you’re really very lucky. Captain Lafitte has told me a little about you, and I think that you will find we are a very civilized group here.”

  Gabrielle did not deign to answer. Renée turned back to Lafitte and beckoned him into another room.

  “Come with me, captain, and we will conclude our business. Meanwhile, I’ll have Claudine take our new resident to her room.” She rang a tiny silver bell, causing a pretty mulatto girl to appear at the doorway. “Take Ma’m’selle Gabrielle to her room on the second floor, Claudine.”

  The maid curtseyed, and Gabrielle realizing there was no use resisting, followed her silently up the stairs. There were no other girls about, and Gabrielle concluded that they must all be asleep at this time of day. Claudine led her to a room at the far end of the hall and opened it to reveal a nicely furnished bedroom, papered in a soft print.

  “Have you any baggage?” the girl asked her in English.

  “No, I have nothing except these clothes I am dressed in,” Gabrielle replied.

  Gabrielle heard the distinct click as the door was locked, and she sat hopeless on the bed after first inspecting the room to see if there were any other exit. The one window was barred by wrought-iron grillwork, and Gabrielle surmised that
she was truly a prisoner within the confines of this room. Dear God, she would die of boredom within a month.

  After a while, she heard a soft tapping at the door followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door was opened timidly by a girl who looked no more than twenty. “Hello.”

  Gabrielle barely acknowledged her greeting with a slight nod.

  “You are Gabrielle, are you not?”

  Another nod.

  The girl broke into a dazzling smile that transformed her plain features into a look of total sweetness. “I’m Dolly Ames. I have the room right next door.” She pointed to the wall and then walked in and seated herself on a chair.

  Still a bit nonplussed, Gabrielle continued to stare at the girl, who was dressed only in a light silk robe that left little to the imagination. She had round, blue eyes and a wealth of auburn hair that floated softly about her shoulders in pretty dishabille.

  “You—you live here?” Gabrielle questioned finally in order to break the silence.

  “Yes. I also work here. I’m one of Renée’s girls,” Dolly offered with a complete absence of embarrassment. She appeared to study her pearly, polished nails for a moment, then cocked her head to one side as she studied Gabrielle. “You are very pretty,” she announced finally. “You’d probably do very well here—I mean, of course, if you wanted to make it a permanent thing.”

  “I—I wasn’t brought here for that,” Gabrielle said firmly, hoping to draw the line between this girl and herself, if only for her own feeling of self-respect.

  Dolly waved her hands in understanding. “Oh, of course. Renée has already informed everyone that you are an exclusive resident. My, my. However did you capture that exciting man, anyway? It must have been thrilling for you.”

  Gabrielle shuddered inside but kept her outward demeanor cool as she shrugged with nonchalance. “Not really. After all, he’s just a man—like any other.”

  Dolly laughed. “Spoken like a sister!” She stood up and extended her hand. “Come now. Renée asked me to bring you down to dinner. Everyone is dying to meet you.”

  Gabrielle hung back a little. “Must I go downstairs? I mean, I really don’t—”

  “You’ll be all right. Really, the girls are all very nice, except Rosa, who’s a Mex and as catty as you’ll ever see. Steer clear of her and you won’t have any worries.”

  Dolly pulled at her hand and, resigned, Gabrielle followed her down the hall and downstairs to a huge dining room towards the back of the house. She noticed that Claudine and another girl were lighting candles in two spacious rooms that were connected by an archway and whose furnishings were lavish in bright reds and golds. The “meeting room” she thought distastefully.

  In the dining room, there was plenty of food spread out on the table, and about ten girls were digging in with hearty appetites. All talk stopped as she made her appearance beside Dolly on the threshold.

  “Ah, there you are, Gabrielle. Please forgive us for starting without you. I hope you will enjoy your meal.” Renée ushered her to a chair beside her, and Gabrielle took it hesitantly, careful not to look up at the curious faces who were all staring at her. “Girls, please remember your manners,” warned Renée, casting a wary glance around the table.

  The talking resumed after a few stilted hellos, and the clatter of knives and forks mixed with the aroma of excellent Creole food. But Gabrielle ate very little and sincerely wished herself back in her room alone.

  The girl to her right was a stunning redhead with languorous green eyes and a voluptuous figure, partially revealed by her lacy robe. “I’m Catherine,” she told her between mouthfuls. “My room is just across the hall from yours.” She giggled a little. “I hope I don’t keep you awake at night. Renée says I’m one of her best girls, and she—”

  “That’s enough, Catherine,” Renée interrupted, noting Gabrielle’s reddening cheeks.

  Catherine pouted prettily. “Well, for goodness’ sake, it’s not as if she doesn’t know what it’s all about!”

  Gabrielle cast a grateful look at her benefactress.

  Renée said, “I’m afraid, Gabrielle, that you’re just going to have to get used to the girls’ way of talking and dressing. It is part of our business—and it’s a profitable business. None of us here is ashamed of the way we make our living.”

  The other girls agreed, to the accompaniment of titters and giggling.

  “I’m sorry,” Gabrielle murmured, “but I'm not used to—”

  “But I thought you were Jean Lafitte’s mistress!” said a girl. “Surely you must know how to make a man desire you if you were lucky enough to catch him!”

  Another round of laughter greeted this statement. Gabrielle said nothing, her face reflecting her embarrassment.

  “You act so innocent,” came another voice, disgruntled. “Perhaps that is how you caught the pirate’s attention, eh? Did you have to steal him from another woman?”

  All eyes turned to the end of the table where a striking, dark-haired woman sat, her liquid eyes watching Gabrielle with calculated indifference. “I tell you this, brighthaired one, if I ever thought you would steal a man from me, I’d slit your pretty throat.”

  “Rosa! Hush! Good Heavens, do you want to scare the child? Of course she’s not going to go after any of your men. She’ll stay put in her room during business hours—strict orders, my dears.”

  Rosa refused to be quieted. “Oh, yes, but how long will that be? How long before she opens her door ‘just out of curiosity’? I tell you, if she even looks at one of my customers, I’ll—”

  “Oh, shut up, Rosa! We all know you’re jealous as a tigress over that handsome Mr. St. Claire of yours. My God, after you’re done with him, it’s a wonder he can still walk out the door,” Dolly replied saucily, sticking her tongue out at the other girl.

  Rosa’s eyes glittered. “You remember, Dolly, what happened to you when I caught you showing your legs to him?”

  Involuntarily, Dolly winced and held her arm, where Gabrielle could see a long, white scar that ran from her shoulder to her elbow, obvious even through the enveloping robe.

  Rosa laughed. “So you did learn your lesson. And I’m glad this new one knows, too, now.”

  “I can assure you that I have no intention of sticking my nose out of my—my room at any rate,” Gabrielle told her in a level voice, feeling as though she should justify herself in the face of this other woman’s disbelief. “My door is locked. How could I get out?”

  “Locked? All the time?” a sympathetic voice murmured.

  Madame Renée’s face hardened a trifle. “I’m afraid that those are my orders from Captain Lafitte, girls. So, until I have some proof that our new boarder won’t be attempting to escape, I shall, for the moment, comply with his wishes.”

  Gabrielle felt completely defeated. It seemed even more humiliating to be labeled a virtual prisoner in front of all these others. She noted the smile of satisfaction on Rosa’s face and swallowed hard to keep the tears from her eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A week passed without any incident, and Gabrielle found that she was becoming more and more used to observing the unusual habits of the girls—their daytime sleeping hours, the infectious laughter and ribald humor, their form of dressing. Her sleep at night was still disturbed by laughing, shouts, singing, and deep men’s voices calling and cajoling, but she hoped she would soon grow accustomed to these noises.

  Most of the girls were friendly in accordance with their natures, and even Rosa, after a few days, behaved cordially towards her.

  At length, Madame Renée condescended to leaving her door unlocked, for as Gabrielle pointed out, there was no place she could go. Lafitte had informed Gabrielle on his last visit that he was leaving immediately on more business and would be gone for a few weeks, news that drew a sigh of relief from Gabrielle, who had not been looking forward to another meeting with him.

  There was a general joke among the girls at Renée’s that very soon they would have to
initiate their unwilling guest into the “sisterhood.”

  “Oh, yes!” Catherine cried, clapping her hands with unbridled glee one night at the table. “We could use dear old Mr. Sawyer for a guinea pig!”

  Rosa snorted in disgust. “You mean that old man—what good can he do? His loins are filled with cold water!”

  “You would be surprised,” Catherine returned primly, folding her lips and glaring at the other woman.

  The others burst into laughter at this remark. “What about that young man that seems to favor you so much, Margot? Mr. Bryan—the one who is here every Thursday night precisely at ten o’clock for his weekly purge,” called one girl.

  The girl called Margot shrugged. “Not him—in one minute, and finished the next,” she remarked, causing more fits of laughter.

  “Oh, but what about the dashing Mr. St. Claire?” Dolly asked, her sharp gaze on Rosa, who immediately darkened with anger.

  “I’ve warned you once,” the Spanish girl hissed, halfrising from the table.

  “All right, all right, girls, that’s enough of your silliness. Eat your dinner and get dressed. It’s nearly seven o’clock now, and we’ll have some very irritated customers if you don’t hurry,” intervened Renée, clapping her hands for silence.

  The meal was finished and the girls left to go to their rooms to change. Left alone, Gabrielle hesitated and then walked toward the middle parlor, curious to see just how the evening would be conducted. There she found Renée busily laying out cigars and bottles of the best wine and bourbon, careful to put the cut-glass decanters well back from the edges of the tables. The candles were lit and seemed to cast a rosy glow over the deep plush of the red loveseats and gold chairs, the luxury of the wine-red carpet which, Renée told her, had come at considerable cost all the way from New York. A gracefully curving staircase spiralled up to the second floor, connecting with the hall where the girls’ rooms were. Gabrielle had always used the back staircase, and she marveled privately at the exquisite grace of the white grillwork on the front stairs’ balustrade.