Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  Dolly helped Gabrielle with her bags. The room she took her to was very nice, and Gabrielle couldn’t help thinking back to that earlier time when she had been shown to a room in Renee’s establishment—but as a virtual prisoner, not a guest.

  Dolly, aware of the other’s thoughts, was quiet as she set out gowns and put them neatly in the armoire. “Life is really funny, just like they say,” she murmured in a moment of reflection. “It can put you in the strangest circumstances and when you think nothing can possibly go right, everything seems to fit into place. Is that how it is with you, Gabrielle?”

  “Except that everything doesn’t always fit into place, Dolly. Oh, I suppose I’m ungrateful, and a fool on top of that, but I just feel that something is still missing. I’ve been with Lafitte nearly two years, and yet I still don’t know him—not completely—and I suppose I never will. There are times when he holds me and I know that no other man will feel towards me the way he does, but other times he seems just as far away as he did when I first saw him on the deck of the Lillias.” She shivered involuntarily at the memory.

  “All men are like that,” Dolly put in. “They expect a woman to be theirs body and soul, and yet they are not ready to commit the totality of themselves in the same fashion. It’s not fair, but—that’s the way it is.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “You’re a wise old woman, Dolly.”

  The latter laughed heartily. “Haven’t you ever heard, my friend, that a prostitute is the wisest woman in the world? Certainly she can draw on vast experience.”

  A little later, dinner was announced, and Gabrielle and Dolly went downstairs. After dinner, Gabrielle returned to her room to await Lafitte’s arrival. She could hear soft strains of music—violins and guitars—in the rooms downstairs, and she made her way to the window, which looked out onto the street. She could see carriages pulling up, and she watched idly as men descended into the street to disappear under the balcony. She stayed at the window for some minutes, playing a little game in her mind, trying to guess what sort of business each man was in by his clothes. A short, stocky man dressed in a plum coat and embroidered vest must be a merchant—a tall, lanky man in sober black looked to be a clerk—a powerfully built man in red shirt and leather breeches came from the docks.

  An exceptionally fine carriage stopped in front of the gambling house next door, and Gabrielle craned her neck to see out. The first gentleman to alight was tall and wore a wide-brimmed hat which shielded his face, and the second gentleman was much shorter and bareheaded. With a little start, Gabrielle recognized Bernard de Marigny. He was laughing and talking with considerable animation while his companion seemed to be listening with only half an ear and his face was turned towards the light streaming from the gambling house. She watched as the two walked into the building.

  “Bored, spitfire?”

  Gabrielle turned around and threw her arms around Lafitte’s neck. “Oh, yes! Can’t we do something, Jean? I’d like to go to that gambling house next door. It looks very nice and not at all disreputable. Why, I just glimpsed M’sieur de Marigny getting out of his carriage to go in.”

  Jean shook his head, still smiling. “I’m afraid not, my dear. Very few women are allowed inside, and I wouldn’t want to see you disappointed.”

  “Jean, you’re joking! Women like to gamble just as much as men,” she retorted.

  “Well, then, let’s just say I’m not too keen on showing you off to the kind of men that frequent those places. Rich and lazy and bored, most of them. The kind that break little girl’s hearts.” His voice was still amused, but there was a serious light in his dark eyes. “Now, if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you to the Theatre d'Orleans tomorrow night. Would you like that?”

  Gabrielle bit her lip grudgingly, but nodded. “Yes,” she sulked, her mouth drawn into an irresistible pout.

  Lafitte was hardly one to resist, and he quickly began undressing her with a roughness that took her breath away. He was gentle, though, during their lovemaking, and afterwards he laid a hand on her stomach as though to feel the life that pulsed within.

  “He doesn’t move yet,” Gabrielle whispered drowsily, “but soon enough you’ll find yourself kicked out of bed.” She laughed softly.

  They fell asleep, not to be aroused until mid-morning, when a sharp tapping preceded breakfast. After eating, Lafitte ordered a carriage to take them to Marie’s home, stopping along the way so that Gabrielle could purchase a complete layette for little Rose.

  They rode down St. Charles Street and turned into Rampart until they came to a small whitewashed house with a decorative iron fence running the length of it and separating it on either side from two more identical houses. When the door was opened and she saw Marie smiling happily at her, Gabrielle threw her inhibitions to the winds and hugged the girl.

  “Marie! How good it is to see you!”

  “Gabrielle, I’ve so looked forward to this visit. Congratulations to you—Pierre told me the news.”

  Marie escorted them to the back of the house, which opened into a sunny, wide room that seemed to serve as both kitchen and dining area. At the stove a huge mocha-colored woman in a bright lime-green tignon was stirring something.

  “Mama, this is Gabrielle. You remember I spoke of her many times.”

  The woman nodded curtly and turned back to her cooking, obviously not impressed by this woman who called herself Jean Lafitte’s mistress.

  “Catherine! Catherine, come out here and bring Rose with you,” Marie called through an archway that led to three separate doors. One of the doors opened, and a delicate young girl approached with a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Gabrielle smiled at the girl, who barely acknowledged her before turning a brilliant smile on Jean. Noting the instant and obvious affection, Gabrielle remembered Jean’s words. In those huge, velvety brown eyes, Gabrielle could see an unselfish love that Jean did not discern.

  “Cathy, bring the baby here. Gabrielle wants to see her,” Lafitte said, placing an arm affectionately around Gabrielle’s shoulders.

  Immediately, the smile died on the girl’s face, replaced by a sullen expression, and she brought the child silently for Gabrielle to see.

  “Oh, Marie, she is precious,” Gabrielle said, inspecting the tiny face with its unwinking brown eyes. “May I hold her?”

  Marie nodded, and Catherine placed the baby in Gabrielle’s arms. Almost immediately a loud wail arose, and, surprised, Gabrielle glanced around quickly for help. Catherine snatched the baby back and comforted it against her shoulder. “Little Rose knows you don’t belong here,” the girl offered without expression.

  Gabrielle flushed. Marie beckoned her to the bedroom, turning to her sister. “Catherine, why don’t you get something for Gabrielle to drink?”

  Catherine looked mutinous, hesitated, then ran from the room in a burst of sobbing. Feeling embarrassed, Gabrielle looked helplessly at Marie.

  “Pay no attention to her, Gabrielle. I’m afraid she doesn’t feel very friendly towards the woman who possesses her hero’s love.”

  “She—she loves Jean, doesn’t she, Marie?” Gabrielle asked.

  Marie nodded. “I suppose so, but she’s only fourteen.”

  “Does your mother take her to the Quadroon Ball as you used to do?”

  “No, Catherine has not expressed any interest in it, and since Pierre pays for all of us, there is no hurry. When this infatuation with Jean is gone, I’m sure she will consider going, if only to find a patron for herself.”

  Gabrielle nodded, but she felt privately that Catherine was not one to get over an infatuation so easily. In those eyes that had looked at her with misery and hate she had seen what Jean would someday recognize. Love and adoration looked out when Catherine’s eyes rested on Jean Lafitte, and those two emotions were without price to a man like him—the two emotions that she, Gabrielle could not give him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Gabrielle gazed ruefully at her distended belly and counted the months mentally—nearly s
even months gone and only two more months to contend with. But, according to Marie, those were the worst. She felt heavy as a cow and twice as slow as she moved about the house on Grande Terre.

  Lafitte had insisted she bring in another girl to help her, and so she had engaged the daughter of one of the fishermen on the island. Janet was not lazy, but she preferred to do the tasks assigned to her with the minimum of efficiency. Gabrielle would find that she must continually watch the girl while she performed her jobs so that she, herself, would not have to go back and redo what the girl had just done.

  “I’m done in the pantry,” Janet called from the depths of the deep closet.

  “Good. Now you must put all the food back in. What will we have for dinner tonight?”

  “There’s bacon, ham, and a roast in here.”

  “The roast. Lafitte brought it home yesterday, and we had better cook it before it fills with maggots.”

  Janet agreed and pulled out the piece of red meat after unwrapping it from its cloth—the sight of it caused Gabrielle to feel the bile rise in her throat. “Put it in the kettle. Hurry!” she pleaded, closing her eyes and swallowing deliberately.

  Knowing her mistress’s delicate stomach, Janet hurried lo obey her, filling the pot with water and salting it liberally, then lighting the kitchen fire. When everything was done, she came back to where Gabrielle still sat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go out and pick some sea oats to put on the table. Nothing is really blooming this time of year, but it would add a little color to the meal.”

  “I’d like to go with you, Janet, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling up to it. To think that in only two more months I’ll be rid of this burden and be able to run and bend like a girl again.” She sighed. “That is, if I don’t stay permanently fat.” She called to the girl as she was slipping out the door. “Oh, and while you are out, please stop by Mother Hanna’s. Ask her for another posset for this backache. I need something to help me sleep.”

  Janet shook her head soberly. “You know that Mother Hanna said she wouldn’t give you another—it’s not good for the baby.”

  Gabrielle snapped at the girl waspishly, “I don’t care what she says! I tell you, get it from her, or I shall scream with pain all night and lay the fault on your shoulders. Now hurry!”

  As the girl left, Gabrielle bit her lip, vexed at herself for her evil tongue. Lately she had been more than irritable, finding it harder than ever to curb her complaints and sharpness.

  “Damn the bastards!”

  Gabrielle hurried out of the house as fast as she could to find Lafitte on his way up the path, shaking his fists and letting out a stream of curses. Beside him, Pierre was shaking his head, his fat belly jumping at every step.

  “I really didn’t think that crafty fox would do it,” he murmured intermittently.

  “Well, he did it, but it’s not going to do him much good,” Lafitte vowed.

  Beluche and You hurried behind the two brothers, the looks on their faces stern. Gambi and Nez Coupé followed.

  “Jean—what happened?” Gabrielle asked.

  He didn’t answer but indicated his pleasure at seeing her after his trip to New Orleans by a hearty kiss. “Coffee, sweetheart. We’ve got some work to do.”

  The six men filed into the kitchen and sat around the table.

  “Let’s look at this from Claiborne’s point of view,” Lafitte began. “Now, on November 16, as Pierre and I were taking a small fleet of skiffs loaded with contraband merchandise through the bayous, we were surprised by Captain Holmes. Naturally, the smuggled goods were found in the convoy and were confiscated by the government authorities in the name of the United States—Claiborne doesn’t miss a trick! Pierre and I were arrested, bail was set, and we were released through the good services of Jean Sauvinet. Now, the trial is set for November 29. Claiborne is going to want to speed up the process and get a conviction. Grymes will hold the position of prosecutor for the state.” Here Lafitte smiled a little. “I think we can depend on Grymes to lengthen the trial until the general interest runs out. Claiborne will find himself without public backing, and we should get out of it.”

  “It sounds good to me, but you can count on Grymes?” Dominique asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” Lafitte answered.

  Pierre shook his head. “Couldn’t Claiborne invoke some sort of lawful procedure to speed up the trial without Grymes’ help?”

  Lafitte shrugged. “I doubt that Claiborne will have much to say. The tribunal will have to make those decisions, and I think I can truthfully say I don’t have a real enemy on the bench. Most of the judges have bought goods and slaves from me for years. They’re not going to risk losing a good source of supply just to gratify Claiborne, who is as unpopular with the general public as a fox in the henhouse. Everyone knows the Creoles don’t like him, despite that very beautiful Creole wife he’s taken in the hope that it will get him a foot in the door.”

  Dominique laughed. “Suzette Bosque is a beauty, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t mind getting that filly in my clutches for a few hours, but she’s a smart one, too. She backs her husband tooth and nail and isn’t about to lose him.”

  “That still doesn’t assure Claiborne’s position among the Creoles,” Lafitte put in. “They don’t understand the man, and so they are amused by his tactics.”

  Gabrielle, whose heart had skipped several beats on hearing this news, forced herself to remain calm as she made coffee and filled the men’s cups. The men would be talking far into the night, and she settled herself comfortably in a chair in a corner.

  When she awoke the next morning, she found Lafitte already dressed.

  “I have two planters coming to the island today to look at merchandise,” he said.

  “Despite what happened a few days ago?” Gabrielle asked incredulously.

  He smiled. “Remember, my dear, that men are not concerned with anything but their own survival. I have no doubts that all of my buyers would continue doing business with me up until the day I hang from the scaffold.”

  “Jean! Please don’t talk like that,” Gabrielle said, getting clumsily from the bed.

  He noted her awkward movements, and his face grew tender. “Soon this will be over,” he said, coming to stand close to her. “When the baby comes, you will be your old self again and—perhaps—I will have a wonderful surprise for you.”

  “No more surprises, please,” Gabrielle sighed, patting her stomach.

  Lafitte laughed. “I think the boy will need a legal father, don’t you, ma’m’selle?”

  Gabrielle stopped abruptly and looked at Lafitte, her violet eyes widening considerably. “Jean, you don’t mean—you can’t possibly be thinking—”

  “This is a dangerous life, Gabrielle, and I’ve been thinking that maybe now would be a good time to get out of it. You and I and the boy, together we could make a new life somewhere.”

  “Jean—I can’t believe you’re truly saying this,” Gabrielle exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time.

  He wiped her eyes gently. “I can’t make any promises, but I have been giving the idea much thought lately. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  He pressed a parting kiss to her mouth, then left the room to go to the beach in order to meet his prospective buyers when they arrived. Gabrielle watched him and felt happier than she had for months. Oh, it was too good to be true! Lafitte loved her after all, and—she was sure— with the arrival of the baby, she would be able to return that love wholeheartedly, with no reservations.

  Gabrielle went out to the veranda and sat for a while on the porch, rocking gently and gazing out to the emerald sea.

  “Ma’m’selle, may I join you for a moment?”

  Gabrielle looked up and smiled to see Beluche coming towards her. “Of course, Renato, sit here beside me. Lafitte is with some customers at the moment.”

  Beluche shrugged. “It can wait. I was only going to ask him if he had decided to attend General Humbert’s birthday party.”


  “Birthday party? Who is this General Humbert? Jean hasn’t mentioned him to me.”

  “The general will be fifty-seven years old on Sunday, and Sauvinet has organized a big party to celebrate. The old general mingles freely with those who might be shunned by others. He’s a popular figure in New Orleans, although I’ve heard his temper can be worse than a bear’s when he’s been drinking. I’m not altogether keen on going, but if Lafitte has decided on doing so, I suppose I shall go along.”

  “But surely, Renato, Jean would not go into New Orleans now—immediately after being jailed by Claiborne’s men!”

  Beluche grinned. “Ah, but then you do not know our Lafitte, Gabrielle. Being jailed and freed on bail, then showing up a few days later on his way to a birthday party given in honor of one of the pillars of New Orleans society—surely you must know how Lafitte would relish the irony of it!”

  Gabrielle smiled. “You’re right, Renato. Jean would think the whole thing most amusing.”

  Of course, what was bound to happen happened. By the next day, news of the fiasco at the Hotel de la Marine had seeped out to every corner of New Orleans. It was generally known that General Humbert "was given to dissipation and habitual intemperance, but just how far his temper would go no one had known until now.

  Someone had given a tribute to the general, who had, by that time, become quite drunk. When he heard the honors bestowed on him in the toastmaster’s speech of tribute, the old general had stood up, overturning his chair and growing very red in the face. He declared, it was said, that he had been a great and worthy general and now must not continue to associate himself with common outlaws and pirates. He had begun a stream of terrible oaths and denunciations that caused immediate drawing of swords and flaring of tempers. Beating upon the table and shrieking curses, Humbert had come very near to being killed by the gleaming daggers of the others assembled at his own fete.

  The rumors spread further that Jean Lafitte had arisen from his chair and had held up his hand for silence, stepping close to the general who burst into drunken sobs and fell upon his shoulder. Lafitte had led the distraught man from the room, but those close to him heard Lafitte vow never again to frequent the Hotel de la Marine.