Gabrielle
Page 22
She nodded. He patted her backside and told her he’d be leaving to go to New Orleans himself, at which her face fell.
“Oh, Jean, I do hate it when you leave me here alone,” she said, her big eyes troubled.
He grinned happily. “Aha! So you do miss me then, eh?” He began unbuttoning her bodice, his hands intent on capturing her breasts.
She wriggled away. “No, Jean, I’m serious. I—I wish you didn’t have to go so often to New Orleans. Couldn’t Pierre do everything there is to do in the city?”
He looked at her questioningly, his brows raised. “Pierre can’t do it all himself. Truth to tell, he’s been drinking a little too much from all reports, and is in need of some guidance from his younger brother. There’s really no need to worry, since Renato is staying on the island.” His eyes snapped dangerously. “Would you like me to ask our friend to spend the night with you?”
Gabrielle reddened, then put her hands on her hips and returned tartly, “No need to, as I’m sure I could do the asking very well myself, without your help.” Her violet eyes challenged him, and he caught her up against him.
“If I thought you were entertaining such ideas, I’d whip you until you were black and blue and in no condition to share your bed with anyone.”
She sulked for a moment. “And I suppose you go off and have your fun at the Quadroon Ball, or maybe even Renée’s! You men are really intolerable at times!”
He laughed. “Accusations, now! And on top of Pierre always telling me I’m too indifferent to women. Do you know what I tell him when he twits me about having no eyes for the ladies?” Gabrielle drew her mouth down, still angry. “I simply tell him that I already have a lady, and she is all I want,” he said softly.
Gabrielle looked up quickly into that dark face and sighed in surrender. “All right,” she whispered, “but I will be lonely.”
“And besides,” he added, “I must do the thinking for all of us.”
He began to laugh and plopped her down, whereupon she swung her fist, missing him completely, and glared at him until he bent down beside her, his intentions all too apparent.
“Jean, no! Not here in the pantry! What if someone should come in?”
His grin broadened. “Let them come in, then. I mean to have you now. As you say, sweetheart, we men are intolerable.”
It was later that night, after he had gone, that Gabrielle prepared for bed, already beginning to feel a creeping unease that always assailed her with special force on the first night alone. It seemed like hours since she had tried to doze off, when a sharp noise brought her completely awake. Her eyes flew to the window, where she stifled a gasp at sight of a dark shadow moving across the glass. Cautiously, conquering her fear, she slipped out of bed and made her way towards the door. Seeing a heavy vase on a shelf close to her, she picked it up.
The invader was evidently taking his time with the window, hoping not to disturb her sleep, so she had plenty of time to position herself next to the window, the vase held high over her head to come down the minute the intruder stuck his head in.
Her arms began to ache with tension, and just as she thought she would scream with the waiting, the man stuck one foot through the window and then the other. He moved his head in, and, closing her eyes tightly, Gabrielle brought the vase down on his head with all her strength.
The intruder hadn’t time to say a word, but quickly slumped to the floor. Gabrielle shut the window in case there were any accomplices and hurried to light a candle. A low moaning was coming from the body by now, and when she went over, armed with a heavy candlestick this time, she could see that fresh blood was matting in his hair.
“All right. Before I call for help, I will give you a moment to explain,” she declared, hoping her voice did not tremble too much. She nearly gasped when she saw the face that gazed up at her, nearly as frightened as she. “John Simmons!” she exclaimed.
He felt his head gingerly, then tried to stand up and fell back against the wall.
“John Simmons! What—what are you doing? Why did you—”
He shook his head as though to clear it and seemed to be trying to focus his eyes on her. Gabrielle put the candlestick down, feeling her self-assurance come back on a quick tide of curiosity. She was certainly not afraid of a boy hardly older than herself. Besides, she had had an opportunity to observe Simmons several times in the last few days, and he seemed a very pleasant lad.
She helped him to a chair, leaving him for a moment to get something to wipe his wound. When she returned, he seemed to have come to himself, for there was a definite air of fear about him, as though he only just realized what he had done. To intrude upon the Bos’s mistress was looked on as a criminal offense by any of the recruits on the island, and everyone knew Lafitte’s punishment would be unmerciful.
“Please, please, ma’am, just—just let me out and I promise I—”
“Nonsense, John. I’m afraid I’ve put a considerable gash on your scalp, and I should at least look at it.”
His eyes continued to dart about the room nervously. “I—I didn’t think you’d be awake. I waited a while after the lights went out, but I guess—I’m not very good at this.”
She sat beside him and questioned him slowly, “What were you trying to do?”
He bit his lip, and his eyes seemed to plead with her for mercy. “Please, ma’am, if you’ll just let me leave—”
She shook her head. “I will give you my word not to inform Lafitte of this, but you’ll have to trust me enough to tell me what it is all about.”
He took a deep breath as though considering. “I—I was trying to get information.”
“Information? Information about what?”
He took another deep breath and then plunged on. “About Lafitte’s schedule—his runs. The times that he makes delivery from the island to the city. Proof of his smuggling and illegal trafficking.”
Gabrielle looked steadily at the boy. “Proof for whom, John?” she asked, her eyes scanning the face in front of her for signs of dishonesty.
He shook his head, then grimaced with the pain. “I—I cannot tell you. I don’t want—”
“John,” she began, facing him squarely, “you’re doing this for someone else. Were you sent here for that purpose—to find out when Lafitte will be delivering cargo to his depots?”
He nodded. “That, and to find out the locations of those depots.”
She frowned. “So you are a spy, then?”
His eyes dropped and his silence was ample affirmation. “I must ask you again, John. For whom?”
His eyes grew stubborn and his mouth set in a determined line. “The authorities.”
“The authorities? You mean Claiborne was behind this little scheme?”
He would say nothing else. Gabrielle paced the room, taking several turns before coming to stand in front of the boy. “Where are your quarters?”
He looked up. “A little way from the fort.”
She made her decision. “Then you’d best get back to them before you are caught or missed. Beluche is on the island, and I have a feeling he’s keeping his ears open tonight.”
“But,” and his face was incredulous, “but what are you going to do?”
“Nothing, for now, but I’m warning you that you are playing a terribly dangerous game, John. For your own sake, I think you should leave Barataria and go back to New Orleans before you make a worse mistake.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Back to what? My father drinks awful. My mother died when my youngest sister was born. There are seven of us trying to breathe in a house hardly bigger than this bedroom. I had to get out somehow. My brother works for customs in the city, and he stood to gain by offering my services for this. I took the offer—what else could I do?”
“Why don’t you move out of the house permanently?”
“My father threatened to kill me if I didn’t bring him home money every week to buy his whiskey.”
Gabrielle felt a stab of pity for th
e boy. “Go back to your quarters, John, and get some sleep.”
He nodded and proceeded painfully to shuffle out the door. “I—I know how you must hate me for doing this to the man you—you love, ma’am.”
She tried to smile, but failed dismally at the effort. “I don’t hate you, John. But you must be more careful in your—your activities.”
After he had gone, she tried to sort out her thoughts on this turn of events. To say nothing about this to Jean would be tantamount to assisting the authorities in putting him in prison. She would be as guilty as Simmons or his brother of breaking Lafitte’s trust.
This time she did not even try to go to sleep, but watched wide-eyed as the sun began lightening the window panes. Knowing what she did, she would have to make an effort to hide her feelings from Lafitte. She could only hope that John would make no more rash moves. Try as she might, though, she could not quite shake the sense of foreboding that accompanied this night. . . .
Chapter Twenty
Lafitte returned from his journey to New Orleans in three days, but the scowl on his face told Gabrielle that the trip had not gone smoothly. She forbore to ask him about the details but kept her ears open for any information that might give her a clue as to whether John Simmons was implicated.
Lafitte called a meeting of his lieutenants and, while Gabrielle served drinks and other refreshments, the men discussed a sober turn in events.
“I’m sure all of you have heard of the little skirmish two nights ago,” Lafitte began, pacing the room swiftly, his tall, black boots ringing against the polished wood of the floor. “Claiborne, it seems, has finally succeeded in arousing the customs officials, and a Captain Holmes with a company of forty dragoons was ordered to search any boat sailing the bayous.” His face was dark with anger. “Forty dragoons, mind you, manning boats and sailing the bayous as though they were attached to the government!” Lafitte went on, still pacing. “I’m surprised they didn’t see fit to search the boats anchored here on the island!”
You held up his hand, his voice calm. “Now, Jean, we all know you’re angry and rightly so, as we are too, but we must not let ourselves be bluffed by these tactics. We’ve got all the luck on our side, and I’ve heard that the dragoons found nothing in the boats they searched.”
Lafitte nodded curtly. “As you say, nothing was found and yet, how can we be sure that this harassment won’t become a continual thing? Are we to arm our skiffs like men-o’-war in order to get our goods to the people who want them?”
“A few nights sailing the bayous, and I think Captain Holmes should realize his quest is useless. If he doesn’t get lost in the swamps, he’ll soon get tired of the heat and the bugs,” Beluche put in hopefully.
“You could be right, Renato. Let’s hope so, but, for now, I want to prepare myself for an all-out attack.” Lafitte hesitated and eyed his men sternly, then continued. “I am ordering fortification of the island. Cannon will be set up along the beach, and the walls of the fort will be strengthened. Every man who is not now on an assignment will help with these maneuvers. Dominique, I will put you in charge of confiscating the battery from useless ships and bringing them ashore to use in the fortifications. Renato, you will oversee the storage of ammunition and guns, preferably enough to last through a long siege. I will send a message to Pierre and remind him to keep a sharp eye out for any military maneuvers from Claiborne. Damn the man! Gambi, send one of your men to fetch one of the new recruits. His name is John Simmons. He will be a likely candidate to send with the message to Pierre, as he has a brother in customs and might be able to bring back valuable information.”
Gabrielle’s heart jumped at Lafitte’s order. Here he was trusting the very man who could do him the most damage. Dare she tell him about the boy? No, she couldn’t. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Yet, how could she do this to the man who had saved her life, who had lavished so much on her already, who had given her a home in this strange land? Dear God, why must there be such decisions for her to make? She sighed. But it was useless to question God. Hadn’t she found that out already?
The rest of the winter passed with little incident, despite occasional skirmishes between the dragoons of the city and Lafitte’s men.
Gabrielle breathed easier but felt that such peace could hardly last. Lafitte regarded Simmons with near-brotherly affection, for the boy was good at figure work and was required to help in the warehouses on numerous occasions. Lafitte was in contact with him nearly every day and held a certain respect for his intelligence and quickness in learning.
This closeness filled Gabrielle’s heart with dread, for she could see that Simmons was becoming more and more involved with the personal activities and secret negotiations of the Lafitte brothers. The thought that he was pouring out these activities and plans to those authorities in New Orleans made her furious, and the thought of Simmons’ brother and his cohorts, who took Lafitte’s money on the one hand, then turned around and sold him to Claiborne, galled her even more.
Many times she had been about to inform Lafitte of Simmons’ true loyalties, but something held her back. Maybe it was the fact that, through these past months, she, too, had come to know Simmons better and had taken a liking to him, in spite of herself.
It was a chilly night in March, and Gabrielle found herself alone with John Simmons for a moment because Lafitte had gone down to the beach with some of his men to check on a new cargo that Gambi had brought in. She could see that he seemed loath to leave her, and she finally sat down beside him at the table.
He laid a hand gently and quite unconsciously on hers. “You need someone to protect you, ma’am. This is no life for you—you should be one of those grand ladies in a big plantation house who has servants do everything for her. You should dress in silk every day.”
She gazed absently out the window where she could hear Lafitte and his men in the distance. “You know, John, I was a girl like that once. Oh, it seems a very long time ago, but I suppose it was only—well, not quite three years ago. Strange, how memory begins to fade after a while.”
They were both silent, and then Simmons moved his chair closer. “Ma’am, I hope you don’t think me too forward, but if you ever need a friend or are in trouble—”
Gabrielle frowned a little and her violet eyes hardened into twin amethysts. “Speaking of trouble,” she interrupted quickly, “there is something I would like your help on.”
His sincere look of concern caused her a momentary flicker, but she plunged on. “I want you to tell me what information you’ve been able to pass on to—to your superiors.”
He blanched and took his hand away as he turned his face so that she could not see his expression.
“John, you know that I care for Lafitte and that, in spite of his profession, I wouldn’t want to see him trapped and brought to an ignominious defeat. I cannot stand by and watch as he puts more and more trust in you without having my heart nearly torn in half by frustration and guilt. Surely you can understand that?”
He sighed audibly and turned back to her. “I understand, ma’am, what it means to feel guilt and frustration. You see, I’ve grown mighty fond of Mr. Lafitte myself in the past months, and it does set ill with me to be spying on him.”
Gabrielle nodded. “I can imagine how you must feel, John, but—”
He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “Oh, but don’t you worry about Mr. Lafitte getting trapped and taken to the calaboose. It’s true I’ve given my brother a lot of information, but most of it is no good to them anyway. I take care not to give the exact day of the deliveries, or maybe set it up two days later so that he’s already safe and back on the island.” He grinned boyishly. “Some spy I’ve made, huh? But as long as it satisfies the authorities, my conscience is clear. After all, I’ve been saving all the money I’ve earned from Lafitte, and pretty soon I hope to be able to go up to St. Louis or Natchez.”
“John, that’s wonderful! I’m happy for you.” Gabrielle got up and hugged him.
“G-Gambi, what are you—why aren’t you down on the beach with the rest of the men?” she demanded, her voice weakened from surprise and the malignant force that emanated from the man.
Simmons broke away quickly and stood to one side. Gambi moved into the room with practiced ease and hooked his thumbs in his wide belt.
“Well, well, here I’ve come to pay my respects to the Boss’s woman, and I find her behaving quite familiarly with one of the recruits. I wonder what Lafitte would say at such a display.”
Gabrielle stiffened at the insinuation and eyed the man with distrust. “I’m sure Lafitte would have very little to say about it, but he might take it ill should I complain about harassment from one of his lieutenants.”
The man laughed, a clipped laughter that seemed to accentuate the hardness of his eyes. “My dear girl, am I harassing you? Please forgive me. I only wanted to give you a present to show my appreciation. Lafitte was, as usual, much too busy gloating over the cargo to mind my giving it to you personally.” He bowed slightly and came towards her, twirling a string of pearls that glowed with a luster all their own in the waning light.
Gabrielle’s eyes did not leave the man’s face. “You know that I care little for such gifts,” she said, throwing back her head as he came closer.
Again that clipped laughter, and then his hands were on her throat, snapping the pearls in place. They lingered for a moment, caressing the smooth, golden flesh beneath which a pulse was beating in rapid tempo.
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said stiffly, “and now I wish for you to go.”
The fingers continued to fondle her, and she could hear the harsh breathing that came from his mouth. “The pearls cannot match the glow of that skin,” he murmured absently.