Bal Masque (27 page)

Their situation might be perilous, but Lucienne had exhausted her stock of fear when the shack fell before the wind. She had no terrors left. Somehow she and Armand, and Dorcas and Jessup as well, were going to reach safety. She was sure of it. She hadn’t faced all the failure and disappointment of the last two weeks only to fall victim to the elements. She leaned back against Armand, his firm arms solid around her.

“We’ll be all right. Wet won’t kill us, and we can beat the wind.”

“I wish I had your certainty, madame.”

Moments later the rain came down. It washed over Lucienne’s face like a wave, till she could scarcely breathe without drawing in water as well as air. Hooves thudded into a ground too soaked to sustain the animal’s pace. At any moment she expected their mount to slip and topple them into the spongy turf. Armand leaned forward to shield her as much as he could, but it made little difference. Instantly her wet garments were soaked anew. Lucienne shivered and clutched the pommel of the saddle, hoping the rising wind wouldn’t spook the poor horse.

“It’s just ahead,” Armand shouted in her ear. The wind struck them, not with full force but hard enough to slow the horse.

“I see a light.” She doubted he heard, the way the wind tore words from her lips.

Faintly she saw shadows of horse and riders as Dorcas and Jessup passed before the faint glow and through the outline of a doorway. She and Armand reached the same point just as a screaming howl announced the second half of the hurricane. Its force tumbled her from the saddle. Only Mort Jessup’s huge hand kept her upright.

Dorcas threw her arms around Lucienne. “We’re safe now, Miss Lucy Ann, safe and sound.”

Doors blew shut with a mighty crash and a moment later Lucienne heard, just above the roar of the wind, a hefty bar drop into place. Out of the shadows Orman Jessup hobbled toward them. He leaned heavily on a makeshift crutch and carried a lantern in one hand. The flame danced as gusts of wind pushed around the door and under the roof.

“Take the wimmin through, Dupre. I see to the horses.”

“No,
mon ami
, you’ve done yeoman service already, and that leg needs no more strain. You see the ladies to safety while your brother and I take care of the horses.” Armand clapped a hand to the man’s shoulder. “We owe our success to you, Jessup. If you hadn’t known of that Indian trail, the storm would have beaten us.”

“Man has to know more’n one way home,” Jessup muttered. “This way.” He nodded toward the shadowy depths of what Lucienne assumed was a barn.

Dorcas caught her hand, and they followed the lumbering hulk into the darkness. The wet hair in her eyes and the gloom inside made it impossible for Lucienne to see where Jessup was leading, but Dorcas seemed confident. Lucienne felt the mantle of exhaustion settle over her. Rivulets ran down her back and dribbled from her soaked skirt. Her sodden boots seemed to sink into the floor. It took all her strength to lift one weary foot and move it forward. The next steps took even more determination.

At last Jessup stopped. Sounds of creaking wood and grating iron cut through the howl of the wind. A rectangle of lighter grey appeared as a door, long unused, screeched open. Lucienne followed Dorcas through.

“What is this place?” she asked as they stepped over a low threshold and into a dim and dusty cave-like room. She could see chinks of faint light seeping around heavy shutters covering the three narrow windows. A table tilted against a wall. Assorted stools and chairs, some missing a leg, some with broken backs, all overturned, littered the dusty floor.

“River pirates’ hideout,” Jessup answered.

“Pirates!” Lucienne recoiled in disgust. River pirates, the scourge of Louisiana river commerce, still stirred havoc among steamboats and watercraft even as law and order tried to tame the Mississippi.

“They’s still around, but nobody’s been here fer a long time now. Buildin’s safe enough.” He hobbled over to the table and righted it, then dragged two chairs beside it. He sank into one and propped his bandaged leg on the other.

“I don’t care who used it for what.” Lucienne’s stiff limbs protested as she bent to stand another chair up on its legs. She wrung out her wet skirts and wrapped them around her, sitting with her legs stretched straight out before her. “As long as the walls are standing and the roof doesn’t come down on top of me, I’m not interested in its history.”

Silence, except for the raging storm outside, filled the room. All three were too weary, too depleted, to speak. Lucienne’s wet dress chilled her, but she couldn’t find energy to do more than endure her stiffness and bone-deep cold. Her hair hung in tangled ropes over her shoulders. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a comb or the chance to use it. Her dress, not new when she received it, was little more than mud-tinted rags. Streaks of brown and green marked her arms where she’d dodged broken limbs. Her half-boots, once smart and dressy, had nothing of their original color and little of their soles intact. Ragamuffins were better dressed. At that moment Lucienne just didn’t care. The room was dry; the floor seemed sound. If a few drops managed to get through the roof, at least it remained attached to the walls. Here was refuge, sanctuary, and she didn’t have the will to ask for more.

The sound of movements filled the room, followed by the smell of wood smoke, and a clank of metal implements. Lucienne ignored them. In a fog of exhaustion she sat immobile, her eyes closed, her thoughts elusive and muddled.

“Here,
chèrie
, try to drink a little of this.” A warm mug and the smell of pungent coffee accompanied Armand’s words. Lucienne couldn’t summon the energy to grasp the cup. “Try a little,” he insisted. “You’re cold, Lucienne, chilled all the way through. Drink a little of this.” The cup was at her lips and, without thinking, Lucienne sipped. A bit of warmth trickled into her frozen interior. “A little more?”

Lucienne grasped the cup herself and breathed in the steam. She swallowed a mouthful and then another. “
Merci
,” she managed between swallows. “I never knew coffee could restore life.”

Armand drew up a chair and sat beside her. “You look in need of restoration,
p’tite
. These days out in the world have not been so easy for you.”

Indignation fueled her reaction. She’d managed pretty well in spite of all the adversity. “As easy as the world I tried to leave behind, m’sieu! And if things have been hard, I have only you to thank for it.”

Something flared in Armand’s eyes, as if a slumbering volcano suddenly spewed a shower of sparks. “I don’t think this is the time to begin that discussion, madame. We have a good many hours ahead of us here before the storm subsides. Perhaps a flooding river to manage after that. Try to be as agreeable as possible and save yourself some misery.”

“Agreeable!” Lucienne threw the cup and its contents at him. Coffee spilled down Armand’s doeskin shirt. The cup missed his head by an inch.

His hands gripped Lucienne’s wrists. “Lucienne, we have gone to some trouble to bring you out of the peril you so rashly embraced. Pray do not make me regret the effort.”

Lucienne wrenched herself away from him. She darted as far from him as the room permitted. “Why did you bother? You have the dowry you and your father wanted. That’s all the marriage was about, wasn’t it? Has gossip in the cafés been more than you could bear? Is your poor male pride shredded by whispers that your bride ran away rather than face living with you? Did someone laugh or make a rude joke? How awful for you, m’sieu. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just leave me out there and let the storm conveniently dispose of me?”

“
Mon Dieu
! Would it not!” Two paces brought him to her. The pains he’d taken to save her reputation! The endless conniving to keep gossip about her rash action away from the loose tongues of society! And to have her throw his efforts back in his face? It was too much! He reached for her, intending to shake her like a wet puppy.

Two days of fear and fury ignited Lucienne. She snatched up a broken chair and brought it down with all the strength left in her arms. He sidestepped, missing a concussion by the width of the shoulder that shoved her attack aside.

“Lucy Ann Toussaint! You stop that, you hear?” Dorcas thrust herself between them. She pushed Lucienne back to the wall, holding her shoulders so hard no amount of wriggling could free her. “Miss Lucy Ann, the man risked his life to come get us. Now behave yourself. He came, where my pa didn’t. You gotta respect a man what does that for you.”

Lucienne shuddered and, sobbing with exhaustion, went limp as all the fight went out of her. Dorcas held her shaking form closer. “And Mr. Dupre, you can’t rightly blame Miss Lucy Ann for all this. She’s been a mite foolish, it’s true, but she’s not out here ’cause she wanted to be. You can blame me and my pa for that part of it. Hadn’t been for us, she’d be safe at her grandma’s and you woulda found her easy enough. It’s our fault she’s in this fix.” Her rough hand stroked Lucienne’s hair back and wiped away the tears Lucienne was helpless to stop. “I gotta say she’s got more courage and general gumption than most menfolk. If it hadn’t been for her figurin’ a way to fix up that hidey-hole for us, her and me would be floatin’ into the Gulf of Mexico by now, I reckon. So you let up on her, you hear?”

Armand’s face changed as he reined in his emotions. Days of frustration and fear subsided as he fought to master himself. The angry color receded, leaving his face white with exhaustion and heavily shadowed by grime and whiskers. He leaned back against the wall.

“
Eh, bien
, Chou-Chou, it’s a hard road we’ve traveled these past days. We’re all worn raw from anxiety and fighting through this storm. Myself as much as anyone.” He drew her from Dorcas’s arms and into his own. “Marie is sick with worry for you. These last days I’ve seen corners of New Orleans that I didn’t suspect existed till I began to hunt for you. You’re safe now, and if we have a little luck, the worst is over.”

Lucienne made nothing of his words. Their angry exchange had taken the last of her energy. Her strength was spent, her body too drained to care whose arms held her or what warm heart offered her comfort. She drew succor from the cocoon surrounding her, regardless of its source. The security of his arms and the strength of his care were all that reached her.

“She’s plumb wore out, pore baby,” Dorcas murmured. “She needs about three days’ sleep just to catch up, Mr. Dupre. Cain’t we get her a place to rest?”

“About the best I can do is a couple of horse blankets over a little hay,” Armand answered, with a wry twist to his mouth. “Not much of a cot for someone used to featherbeds and fine linens.”

“She’s slept on worse and not complained,” Dorcas assured him. “In fact, she’s such a brave little thing, she never complains about nothin’, no matter how bad off we are.”

“Well, let me see what I can do about a pallet for her, and maybe one for you, as well, mam’selle.” Armand started to ease Lucienne back to her chair.

She struggled to sit upright. “No, I don’t want a bed,” she said, a sleep-drenched note of contradiction in her voice.

“No,
chèrie
? What is it you want then?” Armand bent down to hear her reply, her voice barely above a whisper.

“A bath,” she murmured. “A real bath. Can someone get me a bucket of water?” Fortunately sleep claimed her before she registered the shout of laughter that met her request. For one brief moment ironic mirth drowned out the sound of gallons of rain sluicing over the old hideout.

“A bucket of water,” Armand chuckled. “In the middle of a flood she asks for a bucket of water.” He glanced at the girl crumpled in sleep, a tender expression filled his eyes. “I’ll go find that horse blanket. We’ll see about her bucket of water when the storm has blown over.”

Chapter Eighteen:

Renegades and Reptiles

The first thing Lucienne realized when she woke was that the wind had finally stopped. No howling shook the timbers. A glorious silence surrounded her. The next thing to register in her waking mind was that no water was leaking through the roof above her head. The storm had blown itself out. In the same instant, the fragrance of cooking tickled her stirring senses. Her stomach rumbled a frantic demand. Lucienne was a healthy girl with a substantial appetite, and food in any decent quantity had been in short supply for days.

She sat up, trying to see the source of that enticing aroma. A grey-and-green curtain improvised of ragged horse blankets hung between her crude bed and the rest of the dusty room. Lucienne didn’t remember that fabric wall from the night before. She untangled the impromptu bedding and started to get up. One edge of the curtain moved, and she saw Dorcas peeking around the edge of the blanket.

“We was talkin’ about eatin’ without you, since it looked like you might sleep till dark.” She set a wooden bucket beside Lucienne’s rumpled pallet. “Mr. Dupre said as how you wanted water.” She shoved the bucket closer with one foot. “He slipped out when the wind died down last night and fetched you this bucket of rain.” She held out a narrow sliver of soap to Lucienne. “It ain’t good soap like you’re used to. It’s what Mr. Dupre uses for his shavin’. But it might get the top layer of grit off.”

Lucienne took the soap with gratitude. Even if it took her skin off, even if it was as harsh as Sister Mary Agnes’s lye soap, she’d feel better. The mud and grime must be ground into her flesh by now. But the enticing smell of food stopped her.

“You’ll save me some?” She gestured toward the room beyond the curtain.

“While you’re washin’, I’ll fix some for you. Mr. Dupre’s right handy at stalkin’ down dinner. He’s got two fat ducks in there cooking. There’ll be a feast for all of us.”

“Armand? He went hunting?” Lucienne tried to fit that into her mental picture of mundane Armand and wondered if she knew him at all.

“I ’spect that man can do a lot of things you ain’t credited him with. Good thing he did get those birds. Mort’s no good with a gun, and Orman’s just plain useless till his leg heals up.”

Lucienne wriggled her filthy dress over her head. “What did happen to Orman? And how did Armand ever find us?”