Pride of the King, The (31 page)

James swallowed hard and looked away exasperated. “I don’t know,’ he whispered. “I wish I could tell you, but I just don’t know.”

“Just say it. Tell me the truth. You will return to your wife!”

“Not this again,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

Lauren jerked from his grasp and started toward Davi. “Not yet,” he said, yanking her into his arms.

She felt his arms tighten around her and felt his breath on her face. He ran his lips over her skin and down her neck, and her heart began to pound. His arms seemed to crush her as he pressed his mouth down onto her lips. Drenching in desire, she returned his kisses then suddenly remembered his wife and her spine stiffened. Pushing him away she said, “Is this how you kiss
her
?”

James stopped, looked down at her in the moonlight then pulled her into his arms once more, bending her head back parting her lips. She felt the heat from his hands as he ran them up and down her back, tangling her hair in his fingers. His breathing quickened as she pushed her breasts up against his shirt wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her face running his lips over her cheeks, forehead and the tip of her nose.

Lauren thought she heard him whisper, “Don’t go.”

“What did you say?” she asked breathlessly.

James stepped back, swallowed hard and replied, “I said you must go.”

Chapter 34

“Madame, Madame!” cried the little boy from a branch high in a chestnut tree. “Look how high I can go!”

Lauren looked up and laughed, “High enough. You have won, Xavier. You are better at tree climbing than me.” Swinging her legs and chewing on a blade of grass, Lauren was sitting several branches below her new friend, Xavier Moreau. She was looking down on Fort St. Frederic and Lake Champlain. It was a beautiful afternoon in May and Lauren was thinking about the convent and wondering about her sister, Simone. She pictured her kneeling with a rosary in her hands, cloistered in a dark sanctuary that smelled of candle wax and incense, petitioning to save Lauren’s soul.

“Look Madame, a boat!” the boy cried.

Lauren eagerly scanned the lake for
The Pride of the King
. It was only a French sloop. She felt silly hoping to see the fluyt.
It would never appear here. It was not only dangerous but also impossible to navigate all the way to Fort Frederic through French territory.

She shook her head and sighed. Since returning to New France, everyone associated with New England and
The Pride of the King
seemed like a dream to her, almost as if she had never left Kaskaskia at all. It was wonderful having everything familiar here at the fort; the French-speaking people, the customs, the attitudes, but it did not feel like home, and her loneliness returned. Night after night, she dreamed she was on the “
Pride”
again, the sun baking her skin and the breezes combing through her hair.

Lauren looked up at Xavier and called, “We must return. Your mother will be wondering where you are.”

“Only a moment longer, Madame Heathstone,” the boy pleaded.

“Yes, yes a moment,” sighed Lauren. She looked out at the massive lake and leaned her head on a branch. It was the first warm week of spring, and the ground was drying up from months of snow. It was beautiful here at St. Frederic; the scenery, the quaint settlement, the graceful windmill, but she felt unsettled. She liked the community, and they welcomed her, but she was not one of them. The authorities did not seem suspicious, in fact they applauded her determination to return to her homeland and escape the cruelties of New England, but everything seemed lackluster.

It all was too easy. She made negative comments about the English colonies, and the French commended her. She condemned the rigid puritanical Protestants, and they applauded her. In short, they admired her. There was no challenge.

Lauren found her thoughts returning often to
Pride of the King
as if it had been a dream. Everything about James St. Clare and the crew seemed unreal to her. She blanched when she thought of that night by the lake when she kissed St. Clare. Obviously, danger had been clouding her judgment. He was nothing more than an arrogant scoundrel taking advantage of her.

She drifted back to when she first came to St. Frederic. So much had happened since that night on the shores of Lake Champlain. It seemed longer than two months ago when Davi delivered her to the Moreau family in the settlement. He introduced Lauren as an acquaintance from the Hudson River Valley, an acquaintance who paid him dearly to help her escape to New France.

The Moreau couple was overjoyed to have Lauren. The hardy big-boned dairy farmers were good honest people, married and childless for many years. Suddenly, they were blessed with several children one after another, the youngest being five when Lauren came to them. They were delighted with the blessings of children, but they also found it overwhelming this late in life. Lauren came along just in time to help with chores and childcare. In exchange, they gave her a room in the loft and food.

As time passed, Lauren met the residents of St. Frederic and made a point of telling them that she had experience cooking for families of quality and distinction. She baked pastries for the officer’s wives, gifting them her specialty from New Orleans, bread pudding with caramel sauce. She hoped to gain an introduction to the few single gentlemen at the settlement, one being Julien Gautier. He was a visiting businessman from Montreal, the gentleman James mentioned earlier to Lauren, and she learned that this merchant had gained wealth and success in the fur trade.

One afternoon as Lauren was beating rugs outside the Moreau house, a bride of one of the officers stopped with a question. Lauren noticed the basket of pastel flowers she carried matched perfectly with her pink complexion and flaxen hair.

“Excuse me, Madame Heathstone,” she said. “My name is Ariel Devereaux. I know you are busy, but I am having Major Boyer and his wife and Monsieur Gautier to supper, and I am very unsure of myself in the kitchen. If you could spare some time, would you help me with some of the cooking and serving tonight? I would be ever so grateful,” the girl said, the color rising in her cheeks.

“Certainly,” replied Lauren, pulling the kerchief off her head.

Lauren smiled to herself as the girl continued down the road. At last, her opportunity had come to meet this Monsieur Gautier. Lauren marveled at how easy it was to befriend these people. After the suspicious snobs of Duke Street, everything here seemed effortless.

That afternoon Lauren menu planned and shopped. She taught Ariel Devereaux table setting and some basic cooking techniques including a
meuniere
sauce for her fish and a
gateau sirop
for her dessert. To impress the guests, Lauren included an
amusee` bouche’
to begin the meal.

The Devereaux had one of the finest homes in the settlement with a sitting room, a dining room, two bedchambers, a stillroom and a kitchen. Although it was a far cry from the townhouses on Duke Street, the dwelling was comfortable by Fort Frederic standards.

“Go now and enjoy yourself, Madame Devereaux,” ordered Lauren. She had just completed the meal in the young bride’s kitchen, and the guests were arriving. She put her hand on Ariel’s elbow and gently guided the girl to the dining room door.

“Everything looks wonderful. Thank you, Madame Heathstone,” the girl said.

“Oh, and here,” Lauren said arranging Ariel’s hair. “Allow some strands to fall around your face. It looks softer.”

When the girl left the kitchen, Lauren ducked down to glimpse her own image in a small cracked mirror on the wall. She pulled off her mob cap, put on a clean apron and put her hair in a knot, letting a few strands frame her face too. After peeking outside the door, Lauren stepped back to the mirror and pulled out a tiny pot of color, applying a hint of red to her cheeks and lips. Then lacing her bodice tightly, she yanked her shift down underneath her dress to reveal the tops of her breasts.

Grabbing a tray of food, she stepped out into the dining room quickly surveying the table to make sure everything was in its place. The fine china was arranged meticulously, the napkins looked crisp, and the vase of pink flowers looked charming. Lieutenant Devereaux, a gangly pock-faced youth was at the head of the table looking uncomfortable. Ariel was at the other end wringing her hands in her lap while Major Boyer and his wife joked with Julien Gautier.

Lauren served the elderly couple first. They were dressed in modest evening attire and sported poorly fitted white wigs. They congratulated Madame Devereaux on the lovely appearance and aroma of the food. While she was serving the first course, Lauren looked up and locked eyes with Julien Gautier. He took her breath away.

He was a tall, broad shouldered man, in the prime of his life, with jet black hair, light skin and piercing black eyes. He wore his hair tied back in the fashion of the day, wore a blue woolen frock coat and matching waistcoat. His crisp, white linen shirt had just a hint of lace at the neck and wrists.

Lauren placed Gautier’s plate in front of him. As she stepped back she caught the scent of his cologne and felt her stomach jump. The rest of the meal, Gautier watched Lauren as she moved around the table, discreetly trying to catch her eye. When Lauren raised her eyes to meet his own she felt the color rise in her cheeks and a smile flickered on her lips. He was so unexpectedly dashing that she felt aflutter.

At the end of the meal as Lauren was retrieving the dessert plates, young Madame Devereaux said, “It would be unfair if I took credit for the exceptional fare tonight. Madame Heathstone is responsible for this remarkable repast.”

Lauren looked down modestly.

“My dear,” said Madame Boyer putting a monocle to her eye. “Where ever did you obtain your skills?”

“The good sisters of the Ursuline Order in New Orleans,” Lauren said quietly with a curtsy.

There were murmurs of approval, and Julien Gautier asked, “Certainly you have served in this capacity before?”

Ariel answered before Lauren had a chance. “She has Monsieur Gautier, but not here in the English Colonies. She is new to our settlement and works as a nursemaid for Monsieur Moreau. It is a shame to waste such talent. Is it not?”

“Indeed it is,” agreed Julien Gautier burning a look into Lauren.

*           *        *

Lauren‘s thoughts returned to the present. Sliding off the branch she called, “Come along, Xavier. We are late.”

She brushed her skirt off and reached up helping the little boy down from the tree. Giving him a squeeze before putting him down, Lauren remembered the little girls at the convent and how she had loved to hold them. It felt good to have a child near her again.

“We shall race, Xavier. Are you ready?” she exclaimed.

“I am ready, Madame!” the boy said, crouching down with one chubby leg thrust forward.

“Go!” cried Lauren.

Off they dashed, through the meadow, down the hill toward the settlement, Lauren holding her skirts up, staying two strides behind little Xavier.

When they reached the door of the Moreau residence, Lauren scooped Xavier up in her arms and burst through the door. Two of the children ran over and hugged her legs.

“I won, Mamma! I won again!” the boy cried with glee, his cheeks glowing.

Gray haired Madame Moreau looked up from the hearth and smiled at her son. “How is it you win every day, my pet? You are most amazing!”

Lauren laughed as she set Xavier down, her eyes sparkling and her hair tumbling everywhere. Grabbing her shawl from the peg she said goodbye and started out the door. Walking briskly down the road, she reached up and twisted her hair into knot. The sun warmed her skin, and she took a deep breath of the afternoon air, thick with the smell of rich soil and pine needles.

Lauren looked up at Fort St. Frederic. It was much larger than Fort de Chartres in the Illinois country. The limestone walls were massive, and a drawbridge spanned a dry ditch which encircled the entire fort. Most impressive was the redoubt, or citadel, a tall building within the confines of the fort, four stories high which housed a bakery, a powder magazine, and officer’s quarters. Lauren thought it resembled the castles of old with the French colors flying overhead.

Passing the fort she headed toward the lake toward the home of Monsieur Gautier. Even after several weeks of employment, Lauren was still amazed at the elegance of Monsieur Gautier’s residence. It was a cottage near the windmill overlooking Lake Champlain. The back of the home was hidden from view by trees, but the front of the residence had been cleared for an expansive view of the lake. Windows were extremely rare in the settlement, and Gautier had two installed in the cottage to look out over the water. Lauren suspected he put these in not only for the view but to set himself apart from the ordinary villager.

Julien told Lauren that the first few years he came to St. Frederic he had stayed in the citadel, but when it became necessary that he must return every summer he had the cottage built for privacy.

She found his cozy cottage utterly charming. It was small but the design was exceptional. The plaster walls in the sitting room were painted a golden hue to compliment the browns and blues of a lush oriental rug on the hard wood floor. Two high-backed upholstered chairs sat in front of the hearth with intricately carved legs and one wall of the sitting room had a mural of the French countryside. However, what amused Lauren the most was an end table sporting a ‘trick of the eye’ on its surface. When she first saw the table she thought a deck of playing cards rested on the tabletop but it was, in reality only a painting, an optical illusion, or
trompe-l’oeil
, a hugely popular art form in Paris.