They call her Dana (19 page)

half of the silver was already polished—and then I took a leisurely bath and changed into an afternoon frock of pearl-gray linen with narrow rose stripes, one of the many lovely garments Corinne had designed for me. The carriage was waiting for me in front of the house, a hastily spruced-up Elijah sitting proudly up beside the driver. He hopped down to open the door for me, handed me inside and then scrambled back up to his perch. I leaned back against the cushions as we drove away, rather tired after the morning's activities and in no mood for another tedious fitting and Corinne's vivacious chatter.

It was a warm, lovely day, hazy sunlight brushing the mellow old walls and wrought-iron lacework of the Quarter with pale gold. As the carriage drove slowly through the streets, I gazed out at those worn, gracious old houses with their courtyards and gardens, and I wondered if my grandparents and perhaps some aunts and uncles lived in one of them. I hadn't forgotten about finding my ma's folks, not for a minute, but thanks to Julian's incredible generosity, I had an opportunity to improve myself, and I knew they would be far more likely to accept me if I spoke properly and had at least a smattering of the social graces. Was I deluding myself? How could I even begin to go about locating them when I didn't even know their name, and if by chance I did locate them, why would they accept the bastard child of a daughter they had disowned almost twenty years ago?

I wasn't nearly as naive as I had been five months ago. I knew now that my chances of finding them were small indeed, and the chances of their welcoming me with open arms were even smaller. I didn't intend to worry about it. By an unbelievable stroke of good luck, I had a whole new life. I had a home, a guardian, people who cared about me, even if Julian was rarely out of his study long enough to show it. He did care, or he would never have brought me here and made me his ward. Besides, who I was wasn't nearly as important as what I was, and I intended to be everything he wanted me to be. I intended to make him proud, and one day, I vowed, I'd find a way to repay him for his great kindness.

We were passing the elegant shops now, and the carriage slowed down, finally stopping in front of Corinne's. Elijah leaped down to open the carriage door for me, and I smiled, resisting an impulse to pat him on the head. He was a delightful boy, good-natured and eager to please, if not always as efficient

as he might be. Gathering up my skirts, I stepped out of the carriage, told the driver I would be about an hour and then went on into the shop. A bell tinkled discreetly over the door as I entered.

The spacious front room of Corinne's salon was done in shades of soft gray, sky-blue and rich sapphire, two crystal chandeliers suspended from the elaborately molded white ceiling. Up front, white shelves held bolts of cloth for customers to examine, and there was a purple velvet sofa and matching chairs where they could sit and be served coffee while studying patterns. The taste-ftil grandeur of the place had overwhelmed me the first time Delia had brought me here, but now I felt completely at ease. How quickly we adapt to new circumstances, I thought. Only a few months ago I wouldn't have believed so grand a place existed.

Corinne herself dashed forward to greet me, taking both my hands in hers and squeezing them exuberantly.

"Mademoiselle O'Malley! Ma chere, it's almost finished, merely a few minor adjustments here and there, and—I must say, it's the loveliest gown I've ever created."

"You say that about all of them."

"Ah, but this one isV

Corinne released my hands and smiled that toothy smile of hers that unfortunately brought a horse to mind. Tall and skinny, with an elongated face and gray hair stacked atop her head in an untidy pile of waves constantly slipping out of place, she was nevertheless a striking figure, chic and vitality triumphing over ugliness. Her withered cheeks were generously brushed with pink rouge. Her heavy lids were coated with tan-mauve shadow. Her thin lips were painted, too, and her blue eyes sparkled vividly. In her late fifties, Corinne always wore a highnecked, long-sleeved silver-gray silk dress with narrow waist and a ftill, crackling skirt. Long coral earrings dangled from her lobes, a matching coral brooch on her shoulder. Garrulous, vivacious, as exuberant as a child, Corinne was genuinely enthusiastic about her work and took great pleasure in creating sumptuously beautiful clothes for her exclusive clientele.

"You're looking radiant today, ma chereV" she exclaimed. "Oh, to be eighteen again with the world at your feet."

"The world is hardly at my feet," I pointed out.

"It soon will be," she promised. "When they see you in my new gown—you're going to create a sensation, ma chereV

Corinne always spoke in superlatives, and I paid very little attention. As we started toward the fitting room, the bell over the door tinkled again and two women came in, a plump brunette in blue and a slender, attractive blonde in lime-green silk. In their early twenties, they were clearly affluent and spoiled and very conscious of their superiority, the blonde in particular. She had a haughty tilt to her chin, a petulant curl on her pink lips. Corinne left me for a moment to go speak to them, explaining that one of her assistants would help them. The young ladies were not happy about it. They stared at me with open curiosity and, at least on the blonde's part, an ill-concealed hostility. I ignored their stares, my head held high. I had as much right to be here as they did, and I was not at all intimidated by their superior airs.

"Tiresome creatures," Corinne said a few moments later, leading me on into the fitting room. "Mademoiselle Cautier, the fat one, always makes my creations look like potato sacks-she will go on stufling herself with pastry—and Mademoiselle Belleau, the blonde, is the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the Quarter, who never pays his bills on time. She owes me for several expensive gowns and seems to think her condescending to frequent my place is payment enough."

She shook her head, gray waves slipping and spilling, coral earrings swinging to and fro.

"These aristocrats! Of course, Monsieur Etienne always pays his bills, and on time, too, but most of them—zwr! The actresses and the ladies of the demimonde are much more reliable. They're pleasant, punctual, they pay without complaint and have much better manners than the wellborn belles."

The fitting room was large and comfortable but far less grand than the showrooms. The walls were a pale pearl-gray, a rather worn dark gray carpet covered the floor, and four big blue silk screens concealed cubicles for changing. Stepping behind one of the screens, I removed my frock and petticoat and then, wearing only a thin chemise, joined Corinne in front of the huge three-sided mirror. Two assistants, both in black silk, entered, one carrying the petticoat, one the gown Corinne had created for me.

"Exquisite!" Corinne exclaimed. "Just exquisite! Here, ma

chere, slip on the petticoat—eight skirts! Like butterfly wings! See how they stand out and float. Now the gown—Adele, help me with these hooks. There! Now, ma chere, if you will just step up onto the little stool ..."

I obeyed and, waving the assistants away, Corinne began to pat and pull and make minor adjustments, pincushion in hand.

"Yes!'' she declared. ' 'We were quite right to select this topaz satin over the melon pink. Pink is too girlish. The topaz is—it's much more sophisticated, ma chere. You look gloriously grownup, ever so provocative, and the colcw is perfect with your light, creamy tan, those hazel eyes and that marvelous honey-blond hair."

On her knees, Corinne smck a final pin in the hem and then stood up to adjust the modestly low-cut bodice and flufi" up the full, off"-the-shoulder puff^ed sleeves. In the mirrors surrounding me on three sides, I watched her fluttering about like some gigantic silvery gray butterfly, and I gazed in amazement at the poised, demure young lady who stood on the low stool in the gorgeous topaz satin gown, its extremely full skirt belling out over the eight cream gauze petticoats. Can that really be me? I wondered. Corinne moved back several steps in order to properly examine her handiwork.

"Simplicity!" she enthused. "Simplicity and elegance. You, ma ch^re, have no need for fussy frills and laces and adornment. Exquisite cloth—see how it shimmers with just a hint of gold— and clean lines. Yes! We've created a masterpiece."

"It's lovely, Corinne."

"It's sheer delight working with you, ma chere,'' she confided. "That slender waist needs no whalebone stays, and that bosom—it's quite magnificent, perfect for decolletage. We've cut it just low enough to intrigue and tantalize the men without being immodest."

"I hope Julian approves," I said.

"You look like a goddess, ma chere. When I think of that gauche, frightened little girl Delia first brought to me—can it be only five months ago? It seems so much longer. The transformation is simply amazing."

"It took a lot of work. I'm still working."

"Monsieur Julian must be very proud of you."

"I wouldn't know. I rarely see him, and when I do, he's preoccupied with his work."

"Something about plants, isn't it? What a waste—a great big handsome male like that, loaded with charm and appeal, spending his time closed up in his study when he could be driving the ladies wild."

"I—I don't think he's interested in that," I told her.

"Zwr! Don't you believe it for a minute."

"After his wife died he—he decided to devote all his time to his researches."

"He was crushed, poor man. I remember it well. I designed Maryanne's wedding gown—she was a vision. He was twenty-five, a charming, good-natured lad, very much in love. When she died it took him a long time to recover, and he did indeed devote himself to this plant project of his, but he did not lose interest in women, ma chere. During the past fifteen years there have been any number of litde affairs—nothing serious, granted, but that's because he hasn't encountered the right woman. One of these days she'll come along and knock him oflF his feet and he'll forget all about flora and fauna. I know men, ma chere.''

I didn't doubt it. In her youth, in France, she had cut quite a swath, with lovers by the score, one of whom, an older man, conveniently passed away and left her enough money to come to New Orleans and set up the business she had longed to have since her days as apprentice seamstress to a famous dressmaker in Paris. At past fittings Corinne had regaled me with chatty, amusing stories about her early days. Despite her vast experience and worldly wisdom, I still felt she was wrong about Julian and told her so.

"Ah," she said, moving behind me to unfasten the tiny, concealed hooks. "I sense something, ma chere. You would like to be the woman to make him forget the plants, n 'est ce pas?''

"You are attracted to him. It is only natural. He is a delicious man, even if he is remote and preoccupied with this silly book of his."

"He—I'm very fond of him, of course," I replied. "He's much older than I am—and he's like—like a very kind uncle."

"La!" she clacked. "Age does not matter in affairs of the heart. He is, I think, attracted to you, too, though he may not be fully aware of it. One day he will wake up and—zwr! We will see some interesting developments."

"Nonsense," I said primly.

Corinne finished unfastening the hooks, and the bodice fell forward. I eased the sleeves down, freeing my arms.

"In the meantime," she said, "I hear the younger brother is returning home next week. That one—a cold fish, he is, though it has never prevented him from savoring the ladies. I dressed Lorine, the lovely quadroon he kept for a spell. Charles brought her here a number of times—dangerously, devastatingly good-looking, he was, but utterly heartless, I sensed. Poor Lorine swallowed a whole bottle of laudanum when he dumped her."

"You really are an outrageous gossip, Corinne."

"Of course, ma chere—one of the reasons my establishment is so popular. I am indiscreet, but never about people I like. I would never gossip about you. I won't even answer their questions."

"You-you've been questioned about me?"

"Naturally. Everyone wants to know all about this most curious arrangement. I say only that you are a very charming young girl."

"What happened to Lorine?" I asked, unable to resist it.

Corinne smiled, helping me step out of the gown. "The curiosity is stronger than the disapproval of my gossip, n 'est ce pas? She almost died, but she recovered and eventually found another protector. Her spirit was broken, alas, and to this day she pines for the man who broke her heart.''

"That's—terribly sad," I said.

"Lorine is not the only one whose heart was broken by the devilishly attractive younger brother. He has attended many a Quadroon Ball and always left with the prize beauty on his arm. He is a superb lover, one hears, but he knows nothing about love. No heart. When he has had his fill—zwr! It's back to the office until he happens to feel randy again."

Corinne carefUUy folded the vast skirt over her arms. The topaz satin shimmered with golden highlights and made soft, rustling music. She held the gown as though it were some priceless treasure.

"It will be delivered tomorrow," she promised. "I've indicated a minor adjustment at the waist, a few stitches only, and, of course, the hem must be done. I'll put Adele on it immediately. The petticoat is perfect. You can leave it in the changing cubicle, ma chere.''

"Thank you, Corinne."

The dressmaker left for the workroom with her precious burden, and I stepped behind the screen again. The frail cream gauze skirts billowed as I took off the petticoat and hung it carefully on a rack. I dressed slowly, thinking about what Cor-inne had told me about Charles Etienne. I was indeed curious about him, and I was nervous about his return. He was a total enigma. He was strong, he took the responsibility of the family business on his shoulders, the rock, the capable one who kept everything going, the patriarch at the age of twenty-nine. He was a womanizing cad, utterly heartless, according to Corinne, yet Jezebel "knew" that beneath this thorny exterior he was "sweet as a lamb" but couldn't let on lest it be taken as a sign of weakness. Hard and driven he undeniably was, but maybe it was because he had to be, I thought. From what I had seen of the family, keeping the Etiennes afloat and solvent couldn't be an easy task.

And now he's coming back home to find yet another person on hand, I thought, smoothing my rose-striped gray linen skirt over the ruffled white petticoat I was wearing beneath. Julian had spent an enormous amount of money here at Corinne's on my wardrobe—the ball gown alone was costing a small fortune—and none of the tutors he had hired had come cheap. Even if Charles wasn't outraged to find that his brother had become my guardian, he wasn't going to be pleased at the expenses it incurred. He had every right to resent my presence. I was a drain on the coffers, and, from all that I had gathered, the coffers were already pretty well depleted. Behind the screen, I fluffed the sleeves of my frock and rubbed my hands around the narrow waist, arranging the line.

I had had the dream again that first night in the Etienne mansion, and I had seen the man and his face, and his face was the same as that in the portrait hanging in Delia's sitting room. The feeling had been there, too, stronger than ever, delicious torment, a languorous ache in blood and bone, and I had awakened wanting something I couldn't quite define. The face had been Charles Etienne's, yes, but . . . but that meant nothing, I told myself. The portrait had made a strong impression on me, and when I went to sleep I had transposed those features on the man in the dream. I hadn't had the dream since, not in all these months, probably because my mind was so worn out each night

after all the reading and studying that I dropped into a deep sleep immediately and didn't dream at all.

Running my fingers through my hair, shoving the thick waves back from my temples, I sighed and started to move around the screen when I heard rustling skirts and the hum of voices. Someone was coming into the fitting room and, for reasons I couldn't explain, I stayed where I was, concealed by the tall blue silk screen. The voices grew louder, and I leaned forward to peer through a tiny slit where two sections of the screen joined together. The plump brunette in blue and the tall blonde in lime-green I had seen earlier came on into the room, the brunette holding a red velvet gown and in a state of moral outrage.

"—shocking that she would allow a creamre like that to come here and mingle with respectable people," she declared in a girlish voice. The words were slurred together with a thick southern accent. "Why, my daddy'd have a fit if he knew I was even in the same room with someone like her.''

"Your daddy sends all his mistresses here," the blonde replied. Her voice was a cool, lazy drawl, considerably more cultivated. "It's a wonder we haven't run into one of them."

"They couldn't be as bad as her, Regina. Daddy's very discreet. He doesn't bring his women into his own house like Julian Etienne. I'm shocked that Corinne would agree to dress that—I forget her name."

"They call her Dana," Regina drawled, "and everything's quite respectable. Bertha. He adopted her, at least made her his ward. I should think it might set a whole new trend. Whenever one of our men find a pretty slut they want to fuck, they simply go to Judge Moreau and become her guardian—saves the expense of setting her up in an apartment."

I was shocked to hear that word on the lips of a young woman who was supposedly well-bred, and I was stunned at the implication she had made. I stood there behind the screen, numb, a cold rage slowly mounting.

"Do you really think she's pretty?" Bertha asked.

"Passable, I suppose. Some of those buffalo gals do have nice features."

"Buffalo gals? You mean—"

"She's bound to have nigra blood with that complexion of hers."

"I wouldn't call her dark,"' Bertha said, "but she does have

a large mouth. That makes it even worse! Poor Lavinia—she's absolutely distraught, has been ever since that creature arrived, and Magdelon is so humiliated she's ashamed to show her face in public."

"So that's why I haven't seen Magdelon lately? I just assumed Reginald Vandercamp had gotten her pregnant. They've been screwing in his aunt's gazebo ever since April."

"Reggie has moved to Memphis. Magdelon's been seeing Pierre Dorsay.''

"I wish her luck," Regina said. "He gets it up at the drop of a hat, gets it off before a girl even gets started. A great lay he isn't."

"He's gorgeous. / wouldn't mind trying him."

"You'd try anything, pet. Not that you get that many offers. If your daddy weren't so wealthy, you'd still be a virgin.

"You're wicked, Regina!"

"I wonder what Magdelon's brother is up to these days. Raoul Etienne is undoubtedly the most exciting man in the Quarter. I'd give a pretty penny to have his shoes under my bed."

' 'There's not much chance of it,'' Bertha said snidely. "Raoul likes a challenge, not a pushover."

Why, they're no better than the girls in the swamp, I thought, trying to control my anger. Bloodline and background and money don't mean a thing. They've got the morals of alley cats, and they say nasty things about me. I may come from the swamp, may have fed chickens and pigs and gone without shoes, but I'm as good as those two strumpets any day of the week. My anger under control now, I walked from behind the screen and glanced at them with cool hauteur. Bertha blushed furiously. Regina turned pale, and then her green eyes began to flash angrily.

"I suppose you've been eavesdropping!" she snapped.

"I haven't been eavesdropping," I said politely, "but I couldn't help hearing what you said."

"You heard—"

"I heard enough to know that you're a malicious shrew with the instincts and appetites of the basest whore."

Bertha gasped. Regina turned even paler, trembling with outrage.

"Why—why, you filthy little slut. How dare you speak to me like that! How dare you speak to me at a//!"

I looked at her ashen cheeks and her blazing eyes and then

walked calmly toward the door. Regina spluttered. Bertha's cheeks were still a fiery pink. At the door I turned and gave them another frosty glance.

"I don't intend to stand for this!" Regina cried. "I don't intend to let a piece of trash from the swamp call me names!"

"I would tell you to go get laid," I said sweetly, "but you'll undoubtedly do that anyway.''

Regina was shocked speechless. Bertha was leaning against the wall, clutching the red velvet gown she had yet to try on. I gave the two ladies a polite nod and left the establishment with perfect poise. You really have changed, I told myself. Five months ago you'd have gone after them with claws unsheathed. Apparently everyone in the Quarter was talking about me. I was a shameless creature from the swamp who probably had Negro blood as well. Tongues would wag even more after today. Let them. I had nothing to be ashamed of, and I vowed I was going to make Julian very proud. People could talk all they liked. I was going to show them exactly what being a lady was all about.

I

Chapter Eight

I LOOKED AT THE ELEGANT CREATURE IN THE MIRROR, and I saw a little girl with a dirty face and tangled honey-blond hair, wearing a ragged pink dress. I felt a tremulous feeling inside, remembering, trying to forget. It seemed I could hear the chickens and smell the pigsty and I saw Ma's face and heard her soft voice and I thrust the memory aside. The pain was still too great. The dirty little girl shimmered in the glass, vanishing, gone now, and I coolly inspected the woman in the sumptuous topaz satin gown. I couldn't believe she was real, much less that she was me. She was indeed elegant, the gorgeous gown complimenting her creamy tan complexion, short puffed sleeves worn off the shoulder, bodice cut low enough to reveal the full swell of bosom, waist snug, the skirt spreading out luxuriantly over the underskirts.

Kayla had performed miracles with my hair, pulling it back sleekly like a tight cap, leaving three long sausage ringlets to dangle on the right, just below my temple. Above the ringlets she had affixed the lovely creation Corinne had designed especially for me, three short cream-colored ostrich feathers fastened to a cream velvet bow. Instead of standing up, the feathers curled delicately around the right side of my head. It was a gorgeous creation that went beautifully with the satin gown and long velvet gloves. At Kayla's insistence I had applied a bit of rouge to my lips, just slightly darkening their natural pink, and I had used a bit of blush, which emphasized my high cheekbones and, on my lids, a faint golden-brown shadow. The makeup was subtle and merely highlighted my own coloring, but I felt it made me look older and far more sophisticated. Why, I could pass for twenty or twenty-one, I thought.

"I cain't believe it, Miz Dana," Kayla declared, looking at me with something like awe. "I just cain't believe it's you.''

"Thank you," I said.

"Oh, I didn't mean you ain't always fetchin', but tonight-tonight you's downright dazzlin'. I ain't never seen any gal so beautiful, and I ain't joshin'. I 'spect it has somethin' to do with th' way I done your hair."

"I 'spect it does. You did a marvelous job, Kayla, even if it did take a good two hours."

Kayla beamed and continued to chatter about my hair and my gown and what a sensation I was going to cause, and I took a deep breath and willed myself not to scream. All day long I had kept my nerves at bay, convincing myself that I wasn't at all nervous, but now as the time drew near for me to go downstairs, to leave for the ball, I could feel panic mounting inside. I am not afraid of those people, I told myself. I am every bit as good as they are, and I intend to hold my head high and be cool and polite and gracious, no matter what. They can stare and whisper all they like, but it won't bother me in the least. I'm not going to let it bother me. I know that none of those things they are saying about me are true and . . . and I don't care what they think.

"—when they sees you tonight, them handsome young gents're gonna all be flockin' round. You's gonna have so many beaux we won't be able to count 'em all."

"I doubt that, Kayla," I said.

"An' one of 'em will sweep you off your feet. That's how it happens. Me, I've been swept off my feet so many times I's still dizzy. Ain't nothin' like it."

I took a deep breath and made a final adjustment of the sleeves, the panic jangling inside. Kayla seemed to sense the way I felt. She looked at me with warm brown eyes full of understanding and genuine affection.

"Don't you worry none, Miz Dana," she told me. "They's just people like you an' me. They ain't gonna eat you."

"Maybe they'll just tear me from limb to limb."

' 'They's gonna love you."

"Don't count on it," I told her.

I seemed to be numb as I started down the hall, the full satin skirt making rustling music. I had the feeling I was on my way to face a firing squad, and I wasn't at all sure I wouldn't prefer

that to going to the ball and being on display all evening. Was I showing too much bosom? Was I wearing too much makeup? The woman in the looking glass was beautiful—I couldn't deny that—elegant, too, and superbly composed, but that was all an act. I had acquired polish and poise, but inside I was still Dana and—I might as well admit it—absolutely terrified. You can whistle in the dark all you like, but the terror is still there.

I moved slowly down the gracefully curving white staircase, my hand resting on the smooth banister. Hearing voices below, I paused, peering down into the foyer. Julian and Delia were waiting for me, Julian looking wonderfully handsome in beautifully tailored black breeches and frock coat. His shirtfront gleamed white, his white silk neckcloth perfectly arranged. In her pale opal satin gown, with her silver cloud of hair, Delia looked like some fragile porcelain figurine.

"Do stop grumbling, Julian. You know you can't miss the Lecombs' ball, so be a man about it."

"I'd rather be drawn and quartered."

"You haven't been out of the house even once since you got back from your last trip to the swamp. You can't spend your entire life shut up in your study. It'll do you good to see people.''

"They bore the bejesus out of me. Idle, narrow-minded men, haughty matrons, impudent young rakes, flirtatious, empty-headed belles—all of 'em ever so superior. The Creole aristocracy!"

"They're our people, Julian, and they're not all like that. Do try to be civil tonight, and please, dear, for my sake, don't start babbling about plants and things. No one's interested."

"They're not interested in anything but bloodlines and the next party and their tawdry little love affairs."