The Creole Princess (28 page)

“You are
not
a coward,” he said fiercely, “and you are right to trust no one. As a representative of a neutral party, all I can say to you is that I will do everything in my power to bring you safely through this contretemps between the British and American factions. Your father is perhaps in the safest place, but I will see if there is anything I can do to negotiate for your grandfather’s release.”

“You found Scarlet when I thought she was gone forever, and I sincerely thank you.” She looked away. “If there was something I could do in return—”

“There is. Keep this conversation between us only. When the
time is right, I will come for you. In the meantime, watch and listen, be the brave girl you are.” He lifted both her hands to his mouth and kissed one, then the other. “Now let us go inside and partake of Joony’s so-excellent beignets and chicory. I find I am more hungry than ever.” He gave her a smile intended to make her blush, and grinned at his success.

Lyse sat on the schoolroom floor with the children circled around her, one arm around little Genny, who shivered in delicious terror as Suzanne Boutin read aloud a story she had written to entertain the younger children. It was an outlandish tale—something about a red-haired princess, a Turkish ogre, and a fairy with tiny swords for fingernails—but Lyse couldn’t have said who wanted what, nor why.

Her mind was far more occupied in wondering how Rafa had fared in effecting her grandfather’s release from prison. He had fulfilled his promise of rescuing Scarlet—at least, he claimed to have done so.
When the time is right, I will come for you.
The words, oddly echoing Grandpére’s mysterious stricture on Mardi Gras, promised so little and so much. What did he mean? There had been no mention of marriage.

On the other hand, when he asked her if she had given the oath of loyalty to England, she hadn’t answered in so many words. And why would he ask her such a question? What if he was a spy?

He had adjured her to trust no one. If she were wise, that would even include Rafa himself.

“Miss Lanier! I said do you want me to leave the story on your desk?”

Lyse blinked and focused on Suzanne’s perplexed face. “Oh! Yes, indeed! I will read it for grammar and spelling and return it to you tomorrow.” She smiled at Suzanne warmly. “What a beautiful story. I know you worked very hard to make it descriptive and clear.”

Suzanne shrugged. “I was trying to make it scary, not beautiful. But thank you—I suppose.”

“In any case, your creativity is commendable.” Lyse scrambled to her feet and extended a hand to Genny. “Come, children, back to your desks. It’s time to start our mathematics lesson. Who can recite the ‘times four’ multiplication table?”

There was a general groan as the children moved back to their double desks. She had just gotten them settled when a knock sounded upon the door.

“Miss Lanier! Lyse! Open up!” It was a familiar male voice.

She hurried to open the door. “Niall!” With an effort she restrained her surprise and irritation. “Ensign McLeod, we are busy with lessons. What can I do for you?”

“Send them home for lunch early. I need you to come with me.”

She stiffened. “Why?”

“Major Redmond asked for you.”

“What if I say no?”

“Lyse, don’t make me—”

“What? Are you going to arrest me too?”

He looked aggrieved. “The children are listening.”

“So they are.” She stood there a long moment, just to make him squirm. “All right. Children, put your things away for lunch. We’ll recess for an hour—”

“It might be longer than that,” Niall interrupted. “Miss Lanier will ring the bell when it’s time for you to come back.”

She stared at him in outrage, but there was little she could do. “Let me get my shawl. Wait for me outside.” She shut the door in his face, then supervised the children as they put away books, dropped pencils, and slammed desk lids. Finally she opened the door so they could file out ahead of her. After locking the door, she turned, gathering her shawl and her dignity. “What is this about, Niall? Is my grandfather all right?”

“He’s fine, but I’m not supposed to say anything else.” He
offered his elbow, which she ignored, then followed her down the schoolhouse steps like a puppy. “I don’t know why you’re angry with me. I didn’t do anything.”

“That is true.” She scalded him with a look over her shoulder. “You don’t do anything but follow orders.”
And the same could be said of me,
she thought with a pang of conscience. “I’m not angry with you, Niall, I’m just worried. Doesn’t it bother you when honest citizens are arrested for speaking their minds in a public place?”

“James Willing is an officer in the rebel army. Your father—I’m sorry, Lyse, but he’s a drunkard and rabble-rouser, just like your uncle Guillaume was.”

She could hardly believe her ears. “Uncle Guillaume was executed by the Spanish, a long time ago, under very different circumstances. Do you think my papa should be hung as a traitor?”

“Of course not, but—but—now, I told you I can’t speak to you about this, and you made me—” Niall grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stop. When she stared at him in resentful silence, he blundered on. “Lyse, I’m going to say one more thing, and then we’re going on to the fort. My feelings for you have nothing to do with my duty to the king’s guard. I love you, but if you won’t let me protect you, then you’ll have to take the consequences.”

Lyse thought her head might explode. “Is that right? Well, let me tell you something, you pompous r-rooster! It is not your place to give me ultimatums or blackmail me with your stupid threats! You can’t tell me what to believe, you can’t make me turn my back on my father—drunkard or not—and you can’t make me marry you!” She wheeled and charged for the gates of the fort.

“Wait, Lyse, that’s not what I meant!”

By now she was holding back angry tears, banging with the heel of her fist on the gates. “Let me in!” she shouted at the sentry in the gatehouse. “Major Redmond wants to see me!”

“Lyse, stop it!” Niall took her by the shoulders.

She wrenched away from him. “Leave me alone!” The gate swung open, and she rushed inside, nearly colliding with a Negro laundress carrying a loaded basket. Dodging the woman, Lyse headed straight for the admin offices. She could hear Niall stomping along behind her.

At the last minute, he ran around her to reach the major’s office first. Barely stopping to knock, he flung the door open. “Miss Lanier here on the major’s orders,” he panted.

Corporal Tully produced his patented lugubrious scowl. “It’s about time. Bring her in.”

The situation wasn’t funny anymore. Daisy stormed across the drill ground in the center of the fort, as upset as she’d ever been in her life. How could Papa so mistreat Lyse’s father and grandfather? She had just seen for herself that they had been held in the guardhouse for over two weeks, most of that time on short rations. Poor old Mr. Chaz was weak from hunger, and Mr. Antoine had apparently also been beaten, probably for information. His once-handsome face was now gaunt, livid bruises marring the sharply defined cheekbones. Raw cuts oozed at the corners of his mouth.

For a week or so she hadn’t known. But eventually the soldiers began to talk about the prisoners in her hearing. When she asked questions, Papa at first answered with the vagueness of one putting off an annoying child. Then he’d resorted to ordering her to stay away from the guardhouse, had even threatened to lock her in her room if she disobeyed.

Well, today she had disobeyed.

She had found the Lanier men together in a narrow barred cell, at the low-lying end of the building that had flooded in last week’s three-day spate of torrential rain. They had apparently been sleeping on the bare, wet floor. James Willing, the American who had started the whole episode, was confined as well, but as an officer,
he was comparatively well fed and housed in the officers’ quarters, comfortable in a room with a bed, a chair, and a writing desk.

“The Laniers are traitors,” the guard on duty said, as though that justified such barbaric injustice, “worse than enemy soldiers in uniform.”

She slapped the man’s smug, astonished face and demanded that he move Mr. Chaz to a dry cell and give him something to eat. When he refused—unless her father gave the order—she had wheeled and headed for her father’s office. Papa
would
give the order! She would make him, somehow.

Her whole body trembled as she rapped upon the door. “Corporal Tully! It’s me, Daisy. I must speak with my father immediately. It’s—it’s important!”

Tully opened the door a crack but did not move aside. “Not now, miss. He told me not to disturb him for any reason.”

Daisy stepped back, took a deep breath, and raised her voice to a shout. “Papa! I have to talk to you! Please tell Corporal Tully to—”

Tully opened the door, grabbed her elbow, and hauled her inside the room. “Miss Daisy, have you lost your mind?” he hissed, shoving her none too gently into the only available chair. “Tell me what’s wrong—and I’ll see if I can help you.”

She bounced to her feet. “Unless you can countermand my father’s order to mistreat the prisoners, I would speak with
him
.”

“You know I can’t—”

“That’s what I thought.” She raised her voice again. “Papa! I want to talk to—”

“What is the meaning of this commotion?” Her father jerked open his office door and stood glaring at her. “Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?”

“No, but
you
apparently have. I wish to know why you have treated two of your oldest friends like murderers!”
Please, God,
she thought,
don’t let my voice quaver.
“Mr. Chaz is—is sick and hungry—”

“Daisy, go to your quarters immediately or, I assure you, you will regret it. Corporal, escort my daughter to her room and make sure she stays. That is an order.” He started to shut the door in her face.

She slipped her arm through the opening to take hold of his sleeve. “Papa! What has happened to you? I cannot believe you would do this to me!”

“Daisy? Did you say my grandfather is ill?”

That was Lyse’s voice, in Papa’s office. Panic shook Daisy. Her father’s face was stony, though a spasm of something like anguish passed through his eyes.

“Papa, please let me in. I’m not a child, and you can’t protect me from the truth. I know there’s something terrible going on.”

He pressed his lips together, glanced at Corporal Tully behind her, and reluctantly nodded, moving aside so that she could enter the office.

Lyse was sitting in one of the chairs Papa kept for visitors, twisting her hands in her apron, her eyes large and shining with tears. She lunged to her feet and reached for Daisy, hugging her fiercely.

Daisy returned the embrace, rocked with emotions she couldn’t have named. “Lyse, oh, Lyse. I’ve missed you so!”

“And I you.” The words sounded choked.

Daisy pulled back to search her friend’s face. “Are you well?”

“I’m frightened for my grandfather. You’ve seen him?”

“Yes, I—”

“Daisy, that’s enough.” Papa’s voice was a douse of cold water. “Sit down, both of you—and stop being such maudlin little ninnies.”

Daisy flinched. She released Lyse but squeezed her hands before taking the other chair as Lyse returned to her seat. “Papa, Lyse has reason to be worried—”

“I said that’s enough!” Papa smacked his hand hard upon the desk. “This is a military installation, and I am its commander, at least until Colonel Durnford arrives. I insist that everything you
hear within these walls be treated with the utmost discretion. I am responsible for ensuring the safety and integrity of the fort and the inhabitants of the city, as I always have been. But now that we are at war, every word uttered, every visitor admitted, takes on extraordinary tactical significance.” He glared at them, as though waiting for an answer.

Lyse said nothing, but Daisy could feel her anxiety. She nodded warily.

“Good,” Papa said, as if they had both agreed with him. “As I was just explaining to Lyse, before you burst in here like a hoyden, her father committed an act of grave misconduct by supporting Captain Willing’s seditious attempt to seduce the citizenry of His Majesty’s colony of West Florida. However, Antoine did me somewhat of a favor by coming out into the open. For some time now, we have been searching for an agent who has been passing information from Pensacola, through here and on to New Orleans, where intelligence has proceeded to the American high command at Fort Pitt.”