With One Look (8 page)

It was impossible to escape. For now. For however long that beastly woman held Maydrian hostage. She would have to play this part until Maydrian was released or—

Jade closed her eyes tight. Dear Lord, please save Maydrian! Do not let her suffer more or be killed!

She thought of Maydrian's three daughters and that good woman's grandchildren, how much they loved the old woman. How much she herself loved old Maydrian. She would not shorten her life. No matter what....

So she'd have to do this tonight, perhaps tomorrow and until Maydrian was safe. Or until somehow she could get a message out to alert Mother Francesca and Father Nolte of this hellhole and its suffering without endangering Maydrian.

Tonight. She could do it. Many women had done it. Women bedded men all the time. She knew the bare facts of the physical act. She would just pretend she was somewhere else. For one night ...

For she knew her fate had been tied to this poor suffering soul for the greater purpose. She had been sent here by a greater design to rescue Mercedes.

It was all meant to happen Mon Amour,

You must visit Madame Charmane's house tonight— the night of the full moon. Important. Marie Saint

Victor took the note from the tray, read it and passed it to Sebastian. He had hired a new cook, an old woman named Chachie, on his father's recommendation. Tonight's dinner of fried oysters, red beans and rice, spicy corn bread and stuffed artichoke hearts was worth a month's pay.

At least. "That lady is getting a raise," Victor said as he motioned his servant Reed to clear the plates. The men at the table: Murray, Sebastian, John and Steffan, two of their foremen, all growled agreement. "Reed, ask Chachie if she's married yet, if she wouldn't mind an older man who appreciates a woman's talents?"

Reed cleared the table with a chuckle. "Will do, sir."

Sebastian read the short note twice. Victor had never said what had been between him and Marie Saint, the beautiful quadroon woman and one of the city's most revered and eccentric citizens. Marie reserved the affectionate title "amour" for Victor, while the mere mention of Marie's name always brought a glimmer of fondness, mixed inexplicably with some secret regret or sorrow.

Victor had known Marie Saint since he was a boy of twelve and Marie was a young lady of fifteen. Apparently, as Victor's mother, Claire, had become more ill, his father heard of Marie's mother's talents and, desperate to save his wife, they had journeyed here to New Orleans to seek the woman. Marie's mother could not save Claire, but her potions had given Claire six months of freedom from her pain, months Victor had said he would "remember always."

Marie's mother had something to do with Victor's father's joining the priesthood too. Father Nolte had been a theologian teaching at Virginia's College of William and Mary when his wife had first become ill. All Victor would say about it was that Marie's mother had offered his father unusual counsel after his mother's death, counsel that led him by a roundabout path to a faraway retreat for priests in Scotland. Sebastian only knew part of the story. Apparently, Father Nolte had left his son in a boarding school in Boston, a school fatefully close to the shipping yard. Victor had lasted less than a month in this conventional setting before he signed up as deck hand on a clipper sailing to the Orient. After a few years, his gifts had landed him a spot in a London shipbuilding firm where he began amassing the knowledge and skill of ship design and building—and eventually enough of a fortune to start his own company back in America. Then some years later, at his father's and Governor Claighborne’s request, he had returned to New Orleans, where he renewed his liaison with Marie.

Presently, Sebastian asked, "Is this not that ghastly overpriced brothel? The one frequented by some of our most favored adversaries?"

Victor nodded as the coffee was poured. "The very one."

"Why," Sebastian remembered, "I believe we went there once, about three years ago, just before you left for the war. A pretty little redheaded girl was being auctioned like chattel." His tone

changed, his voice outraged, as if it were Victor's fault, "You Americans are so barbaric! Anything can happen here. The worst things do!" He shook his head with disdain. "Which, I suppose, is just what one would predict in a country governed by a flimsy piece of paper."

Murray looked up to point out, "Better a constitution of laws than some mad king's psychotic whims, or a despot's mad quest for power." This of course referred to Napoleon. "Flimsy piece of paper indeed," he mumbled. Sebastian's aristocratic ideology always irritated his Irish utilitarian sensibilities. "And I don't think whorehouse auctions are discussed in the United States Constitution."

Yet Sebastian was hardly listening as he remembered the pretty redheaded girl and her terrible fear, his own outrage. He had been about to kill the eager bidders when Victor had stopped him, then taught him how to handle one of this city's more uncivilized practices.

"Aye," Victor said, wrapping a large hand around a cup of steaming coffee as he dumped a good deal too much sugar into the cup. "Marie's been after the lady of the house for over two years now. Charlemagne or something. A little girl, a servant, apparently flung herself from the rooftop back then."

Murray looked up from his plate of pecan pie and muttered a curse.

"I remember that," Steffan said. "Didn't you tell the men to stay away from there?"

"Aye." Victor nodded. "For Marie. The lady claimed it was an accident, but Marie said she saw the girl's terror in a dream, that the little girl was trying to escape a torment of some kind."

"What about Girod?" Murray asked.

"Hell," Victor swore. "He probably collects a clean ten percent off the top."

"Well!" Sebastian stood up and grinned, seeing a bit of excitement for the evening. "What say you?"

"Not tonight." Victor shook his head. "I need to go down to the shipyard tonight and check those rafters they were putting up. Then later I'm meeting with Claighborne. Ride over to Marie's and ask her if you can take my place. And Sebastian"—Victor's eyes narrowed but a lift of grin gave him away—"do try to exercise a little restraint with that sword of yours, will you? If Don Bernardo is there tonight, you just might discover if his dull wits have generated a suspicion of the town's new player."

"You always ask too much, Vic," Sebastian said as he motioned for their mounts to be brought up.

John, Steffan and Sebastian turned their horses from the quiet streets of the garden district and headed straight for the heart of town. New Orleans was an exercise in contrasts, and Canal Street revealed them all, neatly separating the Creole east side from the new American west, and so, offering something for everyone. Taverns, gaming houses, restaurants and brothels flourished alongside honest shops and businesses, modest residences, two churches and a hospital.

The day had started bright and beautiful, but like an angry mistress, the sky darkened and now threatened rain. A smooth canopy of menacing clouds hung motionless in the evening sky and covered the light of a full moon. The air felt oppressive, hot, humid and like potent wine, stirring souls to restlessness. Outside Marie's house, Steffen parted from the rest and headed back to Victor's town mansion with her message. She insisted Victor go to Charmane's. The clairvoyant had dreamt of Victor at the house and Marie Saint did not ignore any warning given in a dream....

Madame Charmane's house was in full swing when John and Sebastian arrived. Sebastian spent several minutes flirting with two pretty hostesses before John finally managed to pull him away. The gaming room appeared relatively deserted. Everyone seemed to be in the barroom; something was happening there.

Men packed the large black-and-white marble squares of the space, crowding every table as well as the stools lining the mirrored bar. Comely women, scantily clad, served drinks. Thick smoke and fumes of hard liquor filled the air, already heavy with a near-deafening sound of drunken talk and laughter. Sebastian's gaze flew about the large room, seeking Don Bernardo.

Just as Victor had suspected. Don Bernardo and his crew were there, occupying the far corner of the room. Sebastian smiled as his gaze settled on the large, corpulent Spaniard. He sat partially turned around, so Sebastian viewed his profile. His long wiry dark hair made a plait down his back. Sebastian's dancing eyes greeted this oddity. It would make such a fine trophy! He would decorate it with red ribbons and hang it on his saddle. The huge man's face, made grotesquely larger by a full beard, showed numerous signs of one too many fights. What bothered Sebastian the most were the man's eyes; they were eyes that flashed with the same emotion whether killing or wenching. As usual, the pirate laughed loudly and boisterously.

"Madonna," Sebastian whispered to John, "look who's with the bastard."

None other than one of the two Laffite brothers, perhaps the only men Victor disliked more than Don Bernardo. Pirating normally kept the brothers busy and away on their little island; this was a rare appearance. Leaning back and appearing disinterested, even bored, the tall red-haired

man's pretense of respectability disgusted Sebastian. The Laffite’s alone were responsible for more rapes, murders and other bloodthirsty cutthroating than most of the other so-called privateers combined.

"Can you tell which weasel it is?" Sebastian asked, never able to tell the brothers apart.

John, himself a huge, quiet man, known for his good humor and able fighting, shrugged. "I have trouble with weasels, but I believe it's the lesser of evils. Pierre."

They made their way across the room, greeting friends as they passed. The sumptuous chamber smacked of the ostentatious. Elegant chandeliers strategically lit the thirty or so tables. A huge marble fireplace dominated the side of the room opposite the bar. Outrageous tapestries depicting naked nymphs in frantic orgy scenes hung on the walls. Sebastian swallowed his good taste as they assumed two seats at the bar, positions that offered a complete view of the room.

Drinks were ordered.

"There's about twelve of them. How many do you think you could handle, John? Just in

case."

"Ah, well, I feel lucky tonight. Three or four. Just in case."

Sebastian liked the odds. He then turned to the bartender, an elderly Negro man, and asked

what was happening, in hopes of discovering why Marie Saint had insisted that Victor be there. "Madame is offering a young lady on the block," he replied, scrutinizing the young man.

Mercedes had told him of Madame's cruelty upstairs, and while he had worked in the house too long to be surprised, the trick she'd pulled on the new girl seemed particularly wicked. The least he could do was what Mercedes asked, encourage the nicer-looking men to bid. "She is more beautiful than can be believed. You will bid, no?"

"I'm afraid not, old man. Buying a woman's favors takes half the pleasure out of having

them."

The old man liked that answer and he smiled back. Sebastian saw nothing in the situation to

warrant calling Victor, but he turned to John. "Have you ever witnessed one of these auctions?" "A few. They never really set right with me. I look at the girl up there and then at all the

bastards watching her, and well, it makes me think of my little sister. And then my blood heats up and my knuckles need cracking."

Sebastian nodded understanding. "It's not so bad if the lady's enjoying the attention, playing up the part. But I'll never forget the first time I witnessed one. I had just arrived in New Orleans

with Vic about three years ago. We were right here, too, in this house. This pretty little redhead was put up there, and to this day I've never seen a girl looked as frightened. Vic held me back from killing the bidders and all he said that wasn't the way you do it. He was right, too. Vic waited for the last bid, he doubled it, paid the money, and without saying so much as a word to the girl, he left."

"That's Vic, all right."

The young lady was escorted out. Ripples of murmured awe first swept over the crowd, quickly breaking into lusty exclamations. Sebastian turned, beheld Mademoiselle Devon, and lapsed in a state of shock.

She appeared as every man's most fanciful dream. The long dark hair, pulled to one side, cascaded over a bare shoulder before falling to her waist. She held her head high, her cheeks flushed hot. She wore only a maroon velvet corset, the dark color accenting the whiteness of her skin while revealing every curve of her slender figure for the pleasure of the crowd: the full thrust of her uplifted breasts that tapered to a waist as narrow and slim as a child's before the gentle flair of her hips and her impossibly long shapely legs.

No one saw the rope holding her elbows behind her back or the strand of hair tied into a knot to force her head up, but only the most insensitive failed to notice that her eyes were closed in abject shame.

John let out his breath in a whistle, and like every man there, suddenly swallowed his drink

whole.

"Mademoiselle Devon," Sebastian whispered, finding his voice. The reason Marie wanted

Victor here. "My God, it's Mademoiselle Devon!"

Watching from the bar, Madame Charmane overheard Sebastian's recognition and, quickly hiding her panic, she approached the two men. "You know my Mary?"

"Mary?" The name did not suit her, he thought. "Apparently not," he said, more than surprised the young lady was one who made her way in a brothel. He turned to the woman suspiciously and demanded, "Where did you get her?"

Madame Charmane smiled brightly as lies came effortlessly to her lips. "She has been with me for over a year now."

"A year? I can't believe it!" Sebastian shook his head. He then explained how he had briefly met her at the opera just the other evening. "She gave the impression of an innocent and rather

charming maiden, and her blindness....Why, I believe Victor saw her escorted by ... well ..." He paused, momentarily searching for words. "We had thought she was someone's mistress."

The Madame's laughter held her relief. "I assure you, Mary's days of innocence are long gone. She fools many men about that; it is her repertoire; it is also why she is the house favorite, the reason the bidding will go high. Men love to destroy what only they can—a woman's innocence.