Doctor Brooks paused, and Alaina raked her brain for some logical denial. Mrs. Hawthorne took up the standard.
“You are dear to us all, Alaina,” the old woman began her argument. “And we would not see you tortured or abused on a whim. But you simply must understand that you are a burden to us all, one we would gladly bear, yet one we are most fearful of losing through a chance mistake. If you are safe and far away, we would be free to defend ourselves, should the need arise, and far better able to defend you as one who has been deeply wronged. Major Latimer has assured us by letter that he understands the entire situation, but he also assures”—Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips twitched beneath the spurs of a threatening smile— “that he heartily doubts that you would have the wisdom to accept. I believe he said—” The woman fumbled in her handbag and drew out a letter to scan it quickly. “Ah, yes—here it is.” She raised the thin parchment and read. “ ‘She has a penchant for foolishness and trouble that outweighs all the considerations of common sense. I extend the suggestion most willingly and wish you luck in your attempts to convince her, though I doubt much will come of it. Will be anxiously awaiting your reply.’ “
Mrs. Hawthorne folded the letter primly and tucked it away. Alaina’s face was flushed as she stared down at her white-knuckled hands. Doctor Brooks and Mrs. Hawthorne exchanged the briefest of glances and nods, then watched the young girl as they waited for her response.
Alaina’s mind flogged itself in a confused melee. Outweighs all common sense! That blithering bluebelly idiot! She could just see his gaping grin above his broad brass-buttoned chest. That miming jackanapes! He pities me and plays his savior’s role most heartily, but he does not want me as a wife.
Her mind hardened, and her neck stiffened. Well, I don’t want him as a husband!
And all the arguments rolled endlessly back on her like a flooding tide, and slowly her defenses crumbled. Burden! Threat! Danger! Stupid! Foolish! And one that had been unspoken—Unwanted!
She straightened and, in a small voice, conceded. “All right. I’ll go away. I’ll marry him—I’ll stay until I’m a danger to no one—but only until then.”
The two elders relaxed and smiled. They had gained the first step of their plan. But soon the girl would be out of their hands, and they would have to depend upon a greater guidance for its full consummation.
Chapter 25
AT times Jacques DuBonné was a lender of money at high interest rates. He expended very little risk since, for his investment, he was careful to command property of much higher value as security. It was in this capacity as usurer that one bright September morn he entered a merchant’s shop across the street from Angus Craighugh’s store and sought out the owner.
“You are far behind in your payments, monsieur. Jacques DuBonné does not have great patience in the matter of moneys. Either you pay your debt, or you will lose your shop. Do you understand?”
“It’s obvious that you’ve intended this very thing from the beginning,” the merchant accused. “I have seen you come and go over there, and I would say that you’ve supplied Angus Craighugh with money and merchandise so he could lower his prices and gain all my customers. You’d do that for the uncle of that thieving and murdering Alaina MacGaren, and where I am an honest man in a bit of difficulty, you take advantage of my plight.”
“Pardon, monsieur. What was it you say?”
“I said that you’ve planned this from the first!”
“Non! Non! I mean about this Alaina MacGaren.”
The merchant glared in heated ire. “Anybody who knows him can tell you that Angus Craighugh is the uncle of that traitorous bitch!”
Jacques leisurely straightened his tall hat on his head and tapped the handle of his ornate walking stick against the man’s chest. “You have until tomorrow evening to satisfy your debt, monsieur. I would not waste another moment if you hope to keep your shop.”
The Frenchman strolled from the shop, cast a long and thoughtful glance toward the Craighugh store, then climbed into his landau. Sometimes a man profited from biding his time.
A light mist was settling upon the city, turning the trees and houses along the way into indistinct shadows as Saul and Alaina wended their way home in the gathering shrouds of dusk. At the Craighugh house, Alaina ran to the back door, while the black man drove the buckboard into the carriage house. As she entered the kitchen, Dulcie glanced around from her work and announced: “Miz Leala’s in de parlor, chile. And dere’s a gen’man with her. Ah doan know what he’s here for, but he done come all de way from Minnesotee, and he been sent by Mistah Cole.”
Alaina smoothed her damp hair. “I guess everyone neglected to tell you, Dulcie. I’m about to follow in Roberta’s footsteps.”
“Huh?” The woman looked at her suspiciously, raising her brows.
“I’m going to marry Doctor Latimer.”
Dulcie gaped in awe, then slowly whispered, “Lawsy! Ain’t dat a wonder!”
“A wonder,” Alaina mumbled disconcertedly. Despite herself, she had been counting the days past, wondering if each would be the one that heralded her Yankee rescuer. September was already full upon them, and no word of his intended arrival had been received. She took a long, steadying breath. “I’d better see why the man is here.”
Alaina passed through the house, her footsteps echoing in the hall. At the sound, the voices in the parlor halted expectantly, and as she entered the room, a rather small, thin, nattily dressed man came to his feet. A large leather case sat beside his chair.
“Alaina, child, this is Mister James,” Aunt Leala said in introduction. “He’s an attorney Cole has sent.”
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Haw—uh—Miss MacGaren,” he corrected himself and smiled kindly. “Doctor Latimer went to some length to explain your situation here, but I’m afraid he failed to inform me of your youth and beauty.”
“Doctor Latimer has been rather hampered in the past by the presence of soot and grime,” Alaina replied. “He’s never been able to see past it. But tell me sir, how has such a gracious man come to know Doctor Latimer?”
Mister James was confused by her veiled jibe and politely explained. “I have been associated with the Latimer family for some time. I knew his father.”
“And you are here to arrange the details of the marriage. I suppose you have copies of the letters, agreements, and such?” Alaina regarded him curiously, half expecting him to give some reason why the marriage should be put off.
“It is my prime purpose, and I have the necessary entitlements.” He nodded, then hastened to place the leather case in front of her. “Doctor Latimer has also sent a gift of clothing for your wedding and the trip up north.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” she responded cooly. “I have managed to acquire a sizable trousseau, and I do not intend to accept more of Doctor Latimer’s charity than I can afford.”
Mister James coughed delicately. He had been warned, of course, of the young woman’s stubborn independence and tried to soothe her ire as much as possible. “Perhaps you might look over his gifts just the same. There might be something in the case you’d like to have.”
“When is Doctor Latimer arriving?” she asked bluntly.
“Oh, I don’t think you quite realize why I’m here. I bear Doctor Latimer’s proxy and am prepared to accomplish the service in his absence.”
“Do you mean that bluebelly Yankee couldn’t even come to his own wedding?” Her voice grew louder with each word.
“Doctor Latimer has been a trifle inconvenienced of late—”
“Inconvenienced!” she railed. Her color mounted high in her cheeks and warmed her ears. Mister James was taken aback by her outburst and spluttered to explain, but with a strangled cry of outrage, Alaina whirled, throwing back a comment that left both of the elders gaping as she fled the room. She hit the front door running, struck by a mad, impelling urge to get away from the house. Leala hurried after her, pleading with her to come back, but Alaina was incensed. She quickene
d her pace as she heard her aunt calling for Saul. Her eyes burning with tears, she ran across the wide lawn and into the street, fleeing through the fog-filled night as if the hounds of hell dogged her heels.
After a time, some sanity returned, and she realized she had come some distance from the house. Her side ached, and she gasped for breath as she leaned against a tree by the roadside. At first glance, shadows seemed to flit along the street, three on either side of the avenue. But even as she paused, they retreated and faded from view. Then, in the night, a new sound came, the measured clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the stone street and the slow creaking of carriage wheels.
Clasping her side against the pain, Alaina began to walk away from the sound. The shapes came back, vague movements on either side, gone before the eye could focus, and somewhere behind in the night, the relentless plodding pursuit of the carriage. She came to an intersection where a streetlamp glowed dimly in the fog, and gladly entered its narrow nimbus of light as if it provided a haven from the surrounding darkness. She tried to peer through the thick haze, then slowly, almost magically, a darker shadow took shape and drew near. It was a magnificently matched pair of black horses drawing a lowslung landau of the same hue. The carriage halted, and Alaina gasped as the driver stepped down. It was the huge black who served Jacques Dubonné as coachman and bodyguard. A few steps away from her, the man paused and cocked his head as if listening.
“Miz Alaina? Miz Alaina?” Saul’s voice, muffled by the fog, came faintly through the black gloom.
“Saul!” she shrieked with all her strength. “Here! Help me!”
She turned to run again, but the black driver was on her before she could take a step, his arms encircling her and preventing flight. Even as she drew a breath to scream again, he spun her around, and his massive fist came forward almost gently to tap the point of her chin. Strangely the light disappeared, and she floated into a limbo, a void as black and bottomless as the deepest, darkest hole.
Jacques’s huge servant, Gunn, picked up the limp form and turned in time to see the other large black charging him. But before Saul could reach his quarry, he was swarmed upon by a half dozen waterfront toughs. He struggled to cast his assailants off, gritting and gnashing his teeth with his effort as he saw Gunn carry Alaina to the carriage, hold her face up into the light as if for inspection by someone inside, then open the door and place her within it. A moment later the man’s sharp whistle set the magnificent black team in motion, and the carriage disappeared into the night.
Saul turned to the several matters at hand. He grasped the arm of one of the men who wielded a heavy wood truncheon and seemed intent upon splitting a black skull. A twist of the man’s wrist brought a scream of pain, and Saul lifted the club from the slack fingers, laying it about him in a hasteful, wasteful manner. A surprisingly brief time passed before Saul crouched, gasping for breath, over the still forms of the six men. Turning them over, he recognized two as the minions of one despicable Jacques DuBonné.
Tucking the truncheon into his belt, he raced back to the house. His feet took him flying across low shrubs and fences, but scarcely outdistanced his mind. There was no use in telling the household since the only news he had was of the worse kind. Angus would probably explode, and Leala would be a nervous wreck before the night was over. Thus Saul went directly into the stable. He slipped a bridle over one of Cole’s finest horses and led it carefully through the gate to the front of the house before he threw a leg over its bare back, thumping his heel into its ribs to send it flying like a hunting bird through the dark of night.
When they entered the shantytown of the emancipated Negroes, he tied the horse in a tumbledown shed of a friend and went the rest of the way by foot, seeking out those who had a knowledge of the underworld current in this gray, dingy, half-civilized city. A word here, a word there, a reluctant forced piece of information, and soon he knew where the worst corruption on the waterfront was headquartered.
Alaina stirred, then moaned. A dim light threw eerie specters on the back sides of her eyelids. A quaking ache throbbed at the base of her skull, and her head swam as the ache splintered and became a dull, pounding pain somewhere behind her eyes. She eased her eyes open and saw a dim, blurred figure of a man seated beside what seemed to be a table with a lamp on it. She blinked away the fog and repented the act as she recognized the leering grin of Jacques DuBonné. He leaned back in the chair, the tails of his coat hitched over his thighs, and his bandy legs spraddled wide.
“Ah, my dear Mademoiselle Hawthorne.” He fairly chortled with glee. “Welcome back. I had almost begun to fear that Gunn might have been over harsh with you.”
Ignoring the man for the moment, Alaina took in her surroundings. She lay on a bale of cotton over which a bolt of rich silk brocade had been carelessly tossed. The room was small but as quiet as a cave. No outside sounds came in, and the walls, though piled high with crates and barrels, seemed hewn of stone block. She could think of no part of the city where such a place could exist.
“Are you feeling well enough to discuss a few things, ma chérie?” Jacques’s mewling voice drew her attention once more.
Alaina tried to answer, but a thick croak was all that issued from her parched throat. She managed to sit up, but braced herself as her head swam with the motion.
“Well, be that as it may, I’m sure your voice will return in a few moments. I’ve never known a woman who could be silent for very long.”
Alaina slid her feet to the floor, then had to lean back and grasp the bale as a sickening dizziness swept over her.
“Remember the feeling, Miss Hawthorne.” Jacques’s voice was flat and deadly. “And remember Gunn’s gentleness with you. It could save you much pain in times to come.”
Alaina stared at him in frustrated anger. She croaked again, then gestured questioningly to where a bucket and dipper hung near the door.
“Please, ma chérie, help yourself,” Jacques acceded lightly. “Whatever you wish—within reason, of course.”
Alaina had regained much of her senses, but made it a point to stagger and stumble a bit as she went to the water. The stuff was tepid and stale, yet its wetness was most welcome. She drank deeply before she replaced the dipper, then leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over her brow as her other hand crept toward the door latch. With a sudden rush, she lifted the bar and threw the portal wide, but halted in her tracks with such abruptness that her skirts swirled about her ankles. Gunn was already waiting in a half crouch, his arms spread wide to block her passage whichever way she turned, and with a grin that split his face from ear to ear. As she stared at him in stunned dismay, he began to laugh, a low, rolling thunder that began deep in his chest and grew until it echoed in the stone-walled corridor. She slammed the door in his face, then leaned against it as the high cackle of Jacques’s laughter drove punishing shards of despair through her.
“Well, Miss Hawthorne, I hesitate to say that your sudden departure is not within reason. After all, we have come to no understanding as yet.”
Alaina found her voice and hurled back. “Do you think you can abuse me and find safety anywhere in the South? Why, every gentleman, Southern or Yankee, will hunt you down like a mad dog.”
“For Camilla Hawthorne? True, as you say.” He favored her with a sneering grin and shrugged. “But for the murderess, thief, traitor Alaina MacGaren? Hardly.” He considered the back of his hand. “Why, they even might award me an honorarium—or a medal.”
Alaina set her jaw and glared her hatred through the sudden fear that threatened to engulf her. She knew the full folly of her stormy flight from the Craighugh manse now, and retribution had come swiftly for her foolishness.
Jacques rose to his feet, and straightening his coat, began to pace the room, strutting like a banty rooster ruffling his feathers for a desirable hen. “I have met many haughty wenches before, ma chérie. There was a Creole bitch who considered herself a prize for the most handsome roué of the Delta. In a matter of days she cam
e crawling, begging me to take her to my bed. Then, there was a Southern belle who came down from Memphis after the siege. Oh, she was most arrogant. But slightly more than a week of my hospitality brought her to see the light, and she came to me willingly.”
“Do you think to frighten me,” Alaina railed, “with a simpering account of your conquests?”
“Frighten you?” Jacques stopped, and his dark eyes raked her boldly. “Why, of course not, chérie. If I wished to frighten you, I would call Gunn, or a dozen of my men. They would most enjoy frightening you. Indeed, they would vie heartily for your screams. I do not wish to frighten you, Alaina, only to point out the advantages of my continued protection.”
Alaina swallowed an urge to vomit and could only glare at him in silent defiance.
He began to pace again and instructed her further in a most casual and offhanded tone. “I know of some hostelries—several down along the coast—some well back in the swamps. They cater to that brand of men who found the dangers of war not at all to their liking and fled—from both sides, mind you—to find some place of peace far from the conflict.”
“Deserters!” Alaina snarled.
“Hm, whatever. Then, there were those who were not always discriminating about the ownership of articles they wished to sell.”
She named them as well. “Pirates. Blackguards, one and all.”
“Perhaps.” He took off his hat and smoothed the bright panache. “Then, there would be a whole host of others, most who cannot stand the rigors of civilized society. The only flaw is that there are few women in these places. They mostly abhor the roughness of life there. Thus, the men are most eager when a pretty young thing is put at their disposal. Sometimes they wax most rough—one might even say crude or brutal. Ahhh—but there, Mademoiselle MacGaren!” He jammed the plumed hat on his head again. “There you have it! Why, if a pretty young thing went there for a few months, think of the things she could learn. How to please a man in—oh, so many ways.” He paused and stared at her, his nostrils flaring. “And when she returned, she would be more aware of the benefits of the gentler life here in the city—one considerably less repetitious and tiresome.”
Ashes in the Wind Page 38
