Rhett Butler's people (52 page)

"Excuse me, madame ..."

"Ah, Mrs. Butler. I understand you fancy bezique?"

Scarlett didn't want chitchat, "Madame Sevier," she asked, "are you respectable?"

The old woman chuckled, "My dear, old age makes all of us respectable. I am far more respectable than I ever wished to be. Henri, be a dear and fetch me some champagne."

"Then you don't know about the Quadroon Ball."

She clapped her wrinkled hands in glee. "On the contrary, Mrs. Butler. Every lady knows about the Quadroon Ball, but she'd risk her reputation admitting it."

"Will you risk your reputation?"

"My dear. My reputation has been blacked more thoroughly than an old boot. What do you wish to know?"

"Why can't I buy a ticket?"

"Because Quadroon Balls are for white gentlemen and quadroon girls seeking connections with them. Neither negro men nor white ladies may

329

attend. A few daring white women have slipped in -- it is a masked ball -- hoping to catch their husbands

en flagrante.

When they were discovered, the city buzzed about it for weeks. Delicious scandals. Absolutely delicious."

Rhett was out when the porter delivered an envelope to their room. The envelope was of good quality and on it, in a slanting hand, someone had written, "Compliments of a friend." Scarlett found a ticket for the Honeysuckle Ballroom inside.

When Rhett returned, he eyed Scarlett quizzically. "What are you up to, my little sparrow hawk? You were grouchy this morning. Now butter wouldn't melt in your mouth."

"Oh Rhett, I'm not feeling well. I can't go out tonight."

Rhett eyed her skeptically. "I wouldn't want you to waste away. I'll fetch something from Antoine's."

Scarlett was in bed with the shutters closed and a cold cloth on her forehead when Rhett returned with her favorite delicacies: clams swimming in butter, delicately crusted prawns, a langoustine opened like a pink-and-white flower.

"Oh," she said. "I couldn't eat a thing. Here." She patted the bed. "Sit beside me."

Men are such deceivers! Rhett seemed almost... concerned. He touched her forehead. "May's too early for the fevers. Shall I fetch a doctor?"

"No, my darling husband. You're the only medicine I need."

He shook his head. "Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. I must go out for a few hours."

"Where are you going, darling?" Her voice was light and unconcerned.

"Nowhere you need to worry about, my poor darling. Some business I must attend to." Rhett leaned closer, his eyes glowing. "What do you have on your mind, my dear? Are you thinking again? Your angelic countenance betrays you."

"Can't I go with you?"

He laughed. "No, my dear, you certainly cannot. Anyway, as I seem to recall, you aren't feeling well."

330

He donned the frock coat the tailor had delivered yesterday and the silk foulard he'd worn at their wedding. Rhett bent to kiss her forehead. "Try to eat something," he said, and closed the door softly behind him.

She plundered her wardrobe, dropping rejected gowns on the floor. Yes, her blue taffeta -- Rhett'd never seen her in it. And that new black mantilla! She lay flat on the bed, cinching her corset until she gasped. She braided her hair into coils tucked under her blue velvet hat. Her sequined half mask concealed everything but her eyes.

Carriages deposited gentlemen outside the Honeysuckle Ballroom and slipped around the corner into Bienville Street. The negro doorman was dressed as a Zouave in baggy red pants, a short blue jacket, a broad red sash, and a Turkish fez, which perched atop his huge skull like the turret of an ironclad.

"Bonsoir, madame. Comment allez-vous?"

He hesitated before accepting Scarlett's ticket.

"Et la Maman de vous, mamselle?"He

peered closely at her. "Mamselle, are you lost? Have you perhaps arrived at the wrong address?"

The watchful young man appeared and took Scarlett's arm. "I see you got my ticket." Scarlett's escort made a joke in rapid-fire Creole and the doorman laughed and bowed them inside.

As they ascended a broad carpeted staircase, Scarlett asked, "What did you tell him?"

"A crude joke. At your expense, I'm afraid."

"How dare you!"

They paused on the mezzanine before white doors. "Mrs. Butler, you wish to attend the Quadroon Ball?"

"I do, but..."

"Well then, madame...." The young man opened the doors for her.

The Honeysuckle Ballroom had high ceilings with intricate plaster cornices, white-and-gold wainscoting, and furniture in the Empire style. Tall windows opened onto a wrought-iron balcony where gentlemen could smoke. Refreshment tables lined one end of the hall.

Across the room, Rhett was deep in conversation with a middle-aged

331

mulatto woman wearing a dark brown dress with a Baptist bodice and neckline.

Scarlett's escort disappeared.

Scarlett had expected something wicked, perhaps even

le cancan.

Alas, this ball was no different from respectable balls, except the ball managers were negro matrons.

White men and young women danced and exchanged pleasantries. The cushioned chairs on both sides of the balcony were reserved for the girls' watchful chaperones. The girls were light-skinned and well mannered.

The orchestra struck up "The Blue Danube," Mr. Strauss's popular new waltz.

"Mamselle, si vousplais?"

The gentleman bowing to Scarlett was younger than she and prematurely bald. "English, please," she said.

On the dance floor, Scarlett was whirled back into her carefree girlhood. Marriage could go hang, and Rhett Butler, too! She would enjoy herself tonight -- if only her partner were a better dancer. He moved stiffly and was half a beat behind the measure, and he would keep apologizing!

"Pardon, mamselle.

You said English, did you not? I am so sorry!"

At last, the Blue Danube rolled to the sea; her partner bowed, wiped his forehead, and cleared his throat. With his eyes fixed somewhere over Scarlett's left shoulder, he enumerated assets: his new house on Canal Street, his half interest in a warehouse near the Morgan railroad depot, five percent of the Banque du New Orleans and 10 percent of a six-hundred-ton side-wheeler. "And" -- he blushed furiously -- "I am faithful!"

"Sir? Why are you telling me this?"

"Mamselle. I am considering you. I hope you will do me the honor of considering me." He wiped his sweaty face. "Please to do me the honor of introducing me to your mother?"

"Sir, my mother is with the angels."

"Your aunt, then, your cousin ..."

"I cannot think Aunt Eulalie would approve of you, sir."

When the orchestra struck up again, Rhett swept her onto the floor. Awkwardness was banished. The air seemed to shimmer.

332

"Mamselle," he said, "how well you dance."

"As you, sir. Have you taken lessons?"

Rhett flashed a dazzling grin. "Forgive me if I interrupted delicate negotiations between you and that gentleman...." Sir?

"I will top any offer he has made."

"He owns ten percent of a steamboat, sir."

"I own fifty percent of six steamboats."

"The gentleman has five percent of a bank."

"I own two banks outright and am partner in a third."

"Ah, but sir. The young man says he is faithful."

"You believe I am not?"

"Sir, you mustn't read my mind."

Rhett whirled her. "In any marriage, at least one must be faithful. Are you faithful, madame?"

The mulatto woman in the brown dress interrupted their waltz.

"Qui etes-vous?"

'she snapped. "What is your name?"

Rhett answered for her. "Madame Gayerre, may I present my wife, Madame Butler."

"This is a respectable ball," the furious woman said. "Not a farce."

"We'll leave quietly, madame. There need be no scandal."

She huffed but withdrew.

Rhett's authority was as delicious as it was hateful. At the door, Scarlett paused. "Which young girl was the 'business' you spoke about?"

Rhett nodded to a girl sitting alone -- as proud and resigned as an Aztec sacrifice. "Madame Gayerre needed my advice about her niece Solange's future. I've known the Gayerres for years."

From the balcony, the watchful young man raised a glass to Rhett and Scarlett.

"Ah," Rhett said, "so Tazewell was behind this nonsense."

The Zouave doorman summoned them a cab.

Rhett set his hat on the seat. "Quadroon girls come to be attached to white gentlemen:

aplacege.

Their mothers negotiate the little house he must

333

buy for her, the amount to be deposited in her account, the bonus for a child.

"Solange had two suitors, an elderly gentleman who is unlikely to make many demands and that fellow you were dancing with. I advised her to accept the elderly gentleman."

"So the disappointed suitor was pursuing me."

Rhett laughed, "My dear, you could do worse than ten percent of a steamboat."

In their suite, the fully dressed Rhett Butler watched as Scarlett slowly removed her blue hat, her ball dress, her stockings, and her chemise. She loosed her hair.

"My God," Rhett said hoarsely.

Savoring her power, tingling from the top of her head to her toes, Scarlett did not remove her mask.

334

Chapter

Chapter Thirty-six

A House f

or Monsieur Watling

Three days after he landed in New Orleans, Tazewell Watling was employed by the cotton factor, J. Nicolet et Fils. Nicolet's sixteen-year-old-son, Francois, had died of yellow fever, and Nicolet was moving his wife and daughters to Baton Rouge's healthier climate. When Taz arrived in the city, Nicolet's wife and daughters were already installed in their new home, but Nicolet himself hadn't left New Orleans.

J. Nicolet had long needed an assistant, and since he would now be in Baton Rouge much of the time, this need had become acute, but the prospect of hiring someone for the position his son would naturally have assumed had depressed him into immobility.

The morning Nicolet's belated advertisement finally appeared in the

Picayune,

Nicolet climbed the stairs to his dusty office over the Gravier Street warehouse. Tazewell Watling was waiting for him.

Tazewell held Nicolet's newspaper and beignet while Nicolet fumbled for his keys. Inside the office, Nicolet waved Taz to his visitor's chair and settled himself behind a desk whose surface was buried beneath cargo manifests, shipping news, and cotton reports.

"I am responding to your advertisement, monsieur," the young man said.

Nicolet had placed his advertisement hurriedly, so he couldn't change his mind. "I did not expect anyone so soon."

"The

Picayune

can be got at its offices at six A.M.," the young man said. I see.

335

"Is something wrong, monsieur?" the young man asked.

Nicolet blinked rapidly. Of course there was something wrong. This young man was not beloved Francois. He said, "No, nothing. As I intend to be out of the city often, I require a reliable assistant. Reliable!" Nicolet grumbled. "Most young men are not reliable; they loaf and smoke cigars, play cards!"