Pride of the King, The (20 page)

The first time the General ran his lips down Lauren’s neck and shoulders she slapped him soundly, reminding him that she was a married woman. She swept from the room, slamming the door and congratulating herself later on a job well done. As expected, General Stuart returned to Lauren, more eager than ever to have her in his bed. All the time Heloise cultivated a relationship with the man consulting him on matters of business and investment. Lauren never knew what Heloise wanted from Stuart, and she did not care. She was holding up her end of the bargain and having a wonderful time in the process.

Day in and day out an endless assortment of witty, pretentious snobs paraded through the house on Duke Street, flattering themselves on their friendship with the Benchs. Several men believed Lauren loved them, but in reality her favor fell on no one except her English tutor, Frederick Brink.

The lessons ended, but Lauren and Frederick continued to rendezvous several times a week. His station in life prevented him from attending parties and suppers at her residence, so they met at Frederick’s flat quenching their passion in secret. Lauren was smitten with the tall, dark haired pedagogue. After keeping company with the clumsy General Stuart, Frederick’s beauty captivated Lauren. Blinded by his good looks, she could not see the shallow self-absorbed parasite inside.

Lauren threw herself into her new life completely, ignoring the advice from Heloise about reckless behavior. Her earlier privation caused her to be greedy and self-indulgent, so she indulged every whim and gratified every desire. She found it amusing to play with the hearts of the men that frequented Duke Street and would manipulate one against the other using them to feed her vanity, laughing openly at their declarations of love. She indulged her hedonistic side staying out all night drinking to excess and playing pranks, some of which were dangerous. Cornelius accompanied her on these outings reveling in the merriment, throwing himself into numerous trysts and love affairs as well. Heloise was aware of their wild behavior but said little. Lauren and Cornelius brought the rich and well-bred to her doorstep; she would not complain.

One morning Heloise's servant burst into Lauren's bedroom, yanked open the drapes and announced, "Mrs. Bench would like to see you downstairs immediately."

"What?" mumbled Lauren rubbing her eyes.

"The mistress, she will see you now."

"What? What’s so important?"

"I wouldn't know, Miss, but she said, 'Now.'"

Lauren sat up clutching her temples. "Oh, God it hurts."

"I'll bring tea right away," the servant said as she left the room.

Lauren felt nauseous, and her head was pounding. Gradually, she remembered last night’s mischief. She remembered a late supper of oysters and champagne at Henry Hubert's country home, a raucous carriage ride, and then Corny falling into the canal. Her last memory was of retching into a chamber pot before falling into bed.

“Get out and let me sleep!” shrieked Cornelius from the other room. Lauren knew that Heloise had summoned him too. 

"A pox on that woman," she uttered as she stood up to get her stays. She wondered how she would ever keep the contents of her stomach down with stays digging into her sides, but she had no choice, convention dictated it. The servant returned with tea just as Lauren finished dressing. After draining her teacup, she tied her hair into a loose knot and started downstairs. Every step she took was agony, every muscle on fire. “I’ll never drink again,” she uttered.

Lauren walked into the sitting room and immediately saw Frederick. He was standing by the mantel looking dignified in an indigo blue topcoat and dark britches. He held his hands behind his back, never acknowledging her presence.

"Good, you're here," Heloise said in a business like tone. She had stuffed herself in her usual wing back chair and was finishing her breakfast.

Lauren looked at Frederick. "What are you doing here?"

He looked the other way.

"What’s going on, Heloise?" she demanded.

“Well, my dear,” she said pushing her empty plate aside and wiping her mouth. “It seems your esteemed Mr. Brink is blackmailing me.”

“What!” Lauren gasped. Suddenly the nausea returned, and she felt weak. “Is this a joke?” she said sitting down on the edge of a chair.

“I assure you our sly friend is not joking,” said Mrs. Bench.

Lauren looked at Frederick for an explanation.

He turned to Mrs. Bench. “I reiterate, Madam. I will say nothing to your son about the affair, if I am satisfied.”

“What are you talking about?” questioned Lauren.

“Is it true what he says, Lauren? Was there a liaison between the two of you?”

The blood drained from Lauren’s face as the fog of romantic illusion lifted. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Well then. There is only one thing that can be done,” stated Heloise.

Cornelius staggered into the room whining, “For God’s sake Mother! What’s so damned important that--”

“Shut up, Cornelius and sit down,” barked Heloise. “Lauren has been having an affair.”

Corny made no reply. He groaned and dropped onto the divan rubbing his head and moaning. Everyone was watching him. When the room grew quiet, Corny looked up, realizing that his mother required an answer. “So?”

Frederick's jaw dropped.

“Mr. Brink, I believe you have your answer,” stated Heloise. “Corny, please restate your sentiments about Lauren’s love affair.”

Corny looked at the young man and said, “So?”

Frederick’s handsome face flushed, and his chest heaved. Mrs. Bench noted the jewelry on his fingers and wondered if he acquired the gems from blackmailing other women.

“You are nothing more than degenerate, depraved--” Brink cried. Not bothering to finish, he grabbed his hat and swept from the room.

With an eyebrow raised, Heloise turned to Lauren and said, “There was no harm done this time, but I suggest that you pick your lovers more carefully in the future.”

Corny was about to say, ‘I told you so’ but stopped when he saw Lauren’s face. She sat motionless on the edge of her chair, her back stiff and her eyes on the floor. “Oh God,” he exclaimed sitting up. “Darling, you’re upset. What you need is a good strong drink. As a matter of fact so do I.”

Heloise looked at the tears rolling down Lauren face. She wanted to castrate that charlatan for what he had done to the girl. Pushing herself up from the chair, Heloise handed Lauren her hanky. “That fraud’s not worth soiling a good handkerchief, my dear, but here is one anyway.”

Lauren dried her eyes, took a breath and stated, “There will be no more tears,” and returned the hankie. She left the room with her chin high and her eyes down. Corny and his mother exchanged looks.

Before the day was out Lauren was back to boisterous suppers and raucous carriage rides. Yet she was fundamentally changed, the carefree flibbertigibbet of Duke Street was gone, replaced by a cold apathetic shadow caring nothing for her own well-being.

Chapter 24

After that day, Lauren remembered very little of the years she spent with the Benchs. She continued with her undisciplined existence, caring nothing for her safety or well-being, throwing herself into any situation no matter how perilous. She would go for days without sleep, attending every ball and supper New York had to offer, indulging in every excess and then fall ill only to recover and stagger to her next soiree. Filled with self-loathing, she drowned herself in drink denying what she had become; an insipid, self-serving aristocrat of New York society.

After a while, she forgot Frederick Brink. He meant nothing to her, but she could not rid herself of the nagging doubts about her future. She was approaching twenty-one years of age, and she had not yet found a home. She felt trapped on Duke Street, merely a pawn in their game of society chess, so out of frustration and impotence she drowned herself in revelry. Others could see the toll it was taking on her health, but she listened to no one. Heloise and Cornelius tried to talk with her, but she shut them out reminding them that she was still delivering the wealthy and well-bred to their front door.  

It was early spring 1753 and hostilities began to escalate with the French. There was grumbling from the colonists that England was about to engage in a war with France, and some of the discussions became heated at the house on Duke Street. Lauren cared nothing for their bickering. She learned just enough to sound informed, nothing more.

“The menu card you wrote looks fine, Rosalie,” said Heloise to the cook one afternoon. “Clam chowder, green beans, and lobster--everything is fine except your use of that provincial term, ‘Albany beef‘. How many times do I have to tell you? It is called sturgeon. Obviously your previous owner was Dutch.” Heloise continued to peruse the menu. “Let me see flummery, tarts, and nuts for dessert. Yes, very good, very good.”

“Heloise, do you have a lover coming to supper tonight?” teased Lauren. She poured herself a glass of port and looked around the room. “Honestly, the way you are fussing. You are a nervous wreck.”

Mrs. Bench had taken great care to set the table in the latest style
a la francaise
. In the middle of the table were three salvers, or footed servers, one heaped with
faux
jewels and decorations, the next with fruit and nuts, and the last with a richly frosted torte. Her shipment of porcelain dinnerware had just arrived that morning, the very latest creation. She used her best serving pieces, finest linens, and most precious bayberry candles all to create the impression of opulence and good taste. She had been working on the menu for a week and even engaged some musicians for entertainment.

Lauren finished her drink and went upstairs to bathe. Heloise had instructed her to wear her finest gown tonight because there would be a special guest at supper. She did not give a damn who was coming to the house on Duke Street. She was sick to death of the aristocrats and dandies. They were all alike. She stepped out of the tub, dried herself and dabbed some oil of lavender behind her ears. Of all the luxuries Lauren had experienced in the last few years, scent was her favorite. She loved the work of the stillroom and created new perfumes on her own at every opportunity. Many of the recipes she learned from Marianne back in Kaskaskia, and every time she distilled a new scent or extracted oil she remembered working with the gentle old slave woman in the Aberjon kitchen long ago. Sometimes a smell would remind her of Simone or Eugenie, and she would search herself for emotion, but all she found was emptiness.

Lauren refilled her glass of port then slipped a gold
sacque
gown over her head. After lacing the bodice over a snow-white shift and lace petticoat, she attached a richly beaded stomacher to the front of the dress and stepped to the mirror.

“My God! You need makeup,” observed Corny from behind her.

Lauren jumped, and cried, “Damn it Corny! Announce yourself!”

He leaned close to the mirror. “Look at the rings under your eyes. You look like you haven’t slept in a month and your skin. It is so gray.”

“Mind your own business!” snapped Lauren. "Look at that your own face. You look like a mummer. That white makeup is hideous.”

Ignoring her comment, Corny pulled Lauren to the dressing table. After much arguing, she allowed him to apply a bit of cochineal rouge to her cheeks and brush some lampblack on her lashes. He stepped back to inspect his work. The cosmetics had not helped. Lauren still looked drawn and ill, her complexion gray and lackluster. Corny was worried but said nothing instead suggesting, “How about a little orrisroot to whiten--”

“No! Now I have enough on!”

“Have it your way,” he shrugged. “Mother wants us downstairs now. The guests are about to arrive.”

“Who is this mystery guest she talks about?” asked Lauren.

“I’m guessing its General Stuart’s replacement, General George McAffee. He arrived in New York this week.”

The guests were starting to arrive as Lauren came down the stairs to join the party. She was the quintessential hostess, engaging them in witty conversation, offering them refreshments, encouraging them to relax and enjoy themselves. The musicians played in the garden while guests drifted in and out sipping Madeira and port before supper.

The only one who was not entertained was Lauren. As the evening progressed, she turned more and more to drink for amusement. It lessened her contempt for the pompous snobs and their endless prattle. She assumed her mark for the night was General McAffee, so after some easy maneuvers she found herself alone with him in the garden. He was a large, unattractive man with bushy eyebrows and a loud voice. Lauren swallowed hard and approached him.
Why are they always so hideous?

It was a beautiful evening with a warm breeze carrying the scent of roses throughout the garden. A half-moon sailed in the sky as the musicians played a minuet. “I hope you will be a frequent guest of ours, General,” gushed Lauren as she swept up to him smiling.

“Oh, I am most grateful, Madame, I will be in New York most of the time, but occasionally I will travel to Albany. In fact I leave in a few days for a visit there.”

He is leaving in a few days. I must work quickly, thought Lauren. Heloise was in dire need of investments. “Oh my, you will be going to the interior?” she asked biting her lip. “How that terrifies me, the thought of savages and wild animals.”