The Creole Princess (29 page)

Lyse gasped. “You think my father is a
spy
?”

Daisy’s father leaned in. “I am aware of the contempt in which your whole family—with, perhaps, the exception of Simon—holds the British nation. Antoine himself hardly seemed a threat, as he is drunk a good portion of the time. But lately it occurred to me that very drunkenness might be a clever act, put on to get my enlisted men to talk. Then, when he couldn’t resist backing up Captain Willing’s effrontery . . .” Papa looked away, perhaps abashed by the incredulity in Lyse’s expression.

Daisy herself could hardly contain her disgust and disbelief. “Yes, Papa?”

Papa harrumphed. “Well, I took the opportunity to question him.” His mouth hardened as he returned his gaze to Lyse. “And your grandfather as well, once he insisted on aligning himself with his wretched son. Neither has admitted anything as of yet. I’m
willing to believe, Lyse, that you had no notion of your father’s duplicity, since I was taken in myself. But despite my affection for you, I cannot take my responsibilities lightly. I insist that you denounce your father and take the oath of loyalty to the king—or I’m afraid I must deport you.”

14

W
ith his guitar across his lap, Rafa sat in a rickety chair propped against the tavern wall, entertaining the early customers with an impromptu concert of noisy and frankly bawdy drinking songs. Once Lyse had gone to the schoolhouse for the day, he had composed a message to Major Redmond, requesting an audience at his earliest convenience, and sent it by a young off-duty soldier lounging at the bar. While waiting for the response, he had whiled away the time in conversation with those who entered the tavern for a drink, sifting through gossip about weather, trade, and the progress of the war, hoping for tidbits of information that might help Governor Gálvez assess the likelihood of a British attack on New Orleans, which was rumored for execution sometime during the spring of 1779.

“Another! One more!” came a chorus of shouts as he strummed the last jangling chord of “Juice of Barley.”

He shook his head, grinning, and let the chair drop to the floor. “I swear, friends, after such a long song about drinking, my throat is parched! Barkeep, another round of the real juice of barley, if you please!”

“Barley won’t grow here, man, only corn!”

The men roared with laughter. One slapped Rafa on the back, and offered to buy his drink.

Before he could accept, the door opened, and the young soldier Rafa had sent to the major entered the tavern. He stood near the door, twisting his hat.

Rafa rose, leaned the guitar against the wall, and casually worked his way through the crowd. He took the boy’s shoulder in a friendly grip and said quietly, “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

The boy looked relieved to see him. “Don Rafael, come with me—Corporal Tully sent me to get you.”

“Tully?” Rafa couldn’t think who that might be.

“He’s Major Redmond’s adjutant. I gave him your message for the major.”

“Ah, yes, the excellent violinist. I met him last fall.”

“Yes, sir. He looked relieved to hear from you. Said to come get you as quick as possible, because Miss Daisy and Miss Lyse are in trouble. But he said don’t make a big to-do if you can help it.”

Not make a to-do? When Daisy and Lyse were in trouble?

All sorts of possibilities chased through Rafa’s brain as he hurried beside the young enlisted man. What had they done? Had he waited too long to pursue the prisoner’s release? He should have gone straight to Major Redmond, as soon as he arrived in Mobile.

Calm yourself, Rafa,
he thought. Panic strangled the brain and froze the instincts, as he knew all too well.

The short walk to the fort seemed to take an hour, though it was probably no more than a couple of minutes. The messenger saluted the guard, who opened the gate to admit both men.

“This way,” his young friend said, leading the way directly across the drilling ground.

Headquarters was the largest of the interior buildings, built a foot or so off the ground on pilings and marked by a new door. The shutters at the windows had been thrown open, and curtains fluttered in the mild spring breeze. Peripherally Rafa noted several
other improvements to the fort since he’d first visited in the fall of 1776. Gálvez would want to know that the English were investing in refurbishing the southern garrisons.

The door opened before they reached the shallow porch, revealing a tall, burly officer with balding pate and bristling mustache. Tully had evidently been watching for their return.

The young soldier saluted, then scurried away before he could be drafted for further uncomfortable errands.

Rafa bowed. “Corporal Tully, well met.”

Tully nodded. “Don Rafael.” He stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door, then said quietly, “I remember you being something of a diplomat, which is what we are in sore need of at the moment.” He paused, tugged at his mustache. “I also remember you being a friend to our Miss Daisy and her friend Miss Lyse.”

Rafa studied the man for a moment and found earnest kindness housed in the stiff-rumped British military man. “I am deeply admiring of both young ladies,” he admitted, “which makes me anxious to discover what has transpired since I breakfasted with Miss Lanier this morning.”

“The major does not always include me in his dealings, but things have gotten a bit, er, loud this morning. I understand that there has been pressure from the governor to clamp down on possible seditious activity—tighten security and all that. So when Captain Willing took it in his head to come over here, bust in with that declaration of independence the rebels are so het up over—” Tully shook his head. “All hell broke loose, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

Rafa merely raised his brows. Nothing he didn’t already know.

Tully continued, “And yesterday one of the little Guillory girls showed her mama a paper she found under Lyse’s pillow and asked her to read it.”

Rafa felt sick. “What was the child doing in Lyse’s room?”

“What little ones do. Poking around in places they shouldn’t
be. Then Mistress Guillory went looking and found some books pushed up under the bed, books no proper British lady ought to be reading. So Guillory brought it all to the major this morning, and he hauled Lyse in here for questioning. Major Redmond thinks he’s being generous by giving her a chance to repeat the oath of loyalty. But in the meantime, Miss Daisy found out about the shape the two prisoners is in—”

“Prisoners?” Rafa knew he’d better be careful how much he let on he knew.

“The Lanier men, Antoine and old Mr. Chaz.”

“I see. I take it Miss Daisy objected.”

“Loudly.” Tully pulled on his mustache again. “Then when she realized her papa was about to deport her best friend for treason, she—well, let’s just say she wasn’t happy.”

Rafa could imagine. He could also imagine how well Major Redmond would have received his daughter’s disrespect.

His original mission had just gone from difficult to all but impossible.

It was a good thing God had gifted him with a good set of brains and a hefty dose of self-confidence.

Lyse thought her heart might thunder right out of her chest. “Oath of loyalty?” The words tasted like chalk in her mouth. As a ward of Major Redmond, she had never been required to make such a profession. Until two weeks ago, if she had been asked to do so, she probably would have shrugged and said the words without thinking.

But something about that sheet of paper under her pillow had changed the way she looked at the world around her. Ultimately, it changed every relationship in her life.

Before she could voice her thoughts, Daisy lunged to her feet. She moved in front of Lyse, as though guarding her from attack.
“Papa, how can you ask such an absurd thing? Lyse has nothing to do with her father’s political nonsense—how could she? She hasn’t lived at home since last summer!”

Major Redmond came from behind his desk. “Daughter, this kind of ‘nonsense,’ as you call it, begins at an early age. Lyse has grown up in a French household. You know the story of her uncle Guillaume’s rabble-rousing when the Spanish took New Orleans. The whole family is steeped in sedition.” He fixed Lyse with his light-gray eyes, and she was surprised to see veiled sorrow there. “Tell Daisy what you have hidden under your bed, Lyse.”

Daisy gasped, whirled around, and stared horrified at Lyse.

Lyse’s heart hammered in her ears.

Silence hummed.

Then the faint sound of a birdlike whistle came from outside the office door.
“Love in a
Village”?

The latch rattled and the door opened. Rafa stuck his head in. “Major Redmond! Well met, señor! I have the message that you are ready to see me. Oh, hello, young ladies! Miss Lanier, you are hiding from me, I think—I have been searching the town high and low for you—only just look at you, wasting this beautiful face on old men like—” His eyes widened as he took in the major’s stern expression. “
Caray
, I have stepped in it indeed, have I not?” He laughed.

“Don Rafael, this is an inopportune time for a visit.” Major Redmond’s voice was strained but civil. “I beg you to step outside and wait until I finish with my daughters.”

“Oh, but what I have to say will take but a moment.” Rafa’s affable smile remained undimmed. He came inside, shut the door with a flourish, and seated himself upon the corner of the major’s spotless desk, whereupon he set one well-shaped leg to swinging. “It is to do with that ridiculous American captain, James Willing, who I believe has escaped Spanish custody and run, who knows why, over here to make a pest of himself in West Florida. Gover
nor Gálvez, knowing that I was coming this way on business, has bid me apprehend Captain Willing and bring him back to New Orleans. And today I find out from the good Corporal Tully that you have been so kind as to apprehend him for us!”

“Willing is in custody, that is true,” Major Redmond said without smiling. “But he is a prisoner of the king, and I would not release him without—”

“—without a very good reason, I am sure.” Rafa looped his hands around his knee. “And this I am happy to provide. You see, Governor Gálvez bids me inform you that Captain Willing took into parole two British planters on his so-naughty raid down the Mississippi River last month. Perhaps you know of a certain Alexander McIntosh and Anthony Hutchins of Natchez? They are at present free to walk about New Orleans, but unable to return home. And they have been forced to watch their belongings fall under the auctioneer’s hammer.” Rafa shook his head. “A most humiliating circumstance indeed.”

“And I suppose,” the major said slowly, “your governor proposes something of a trade? Why does he want Willing back? As you said, he is quite a nuisance.”

“Oh, indeed.” Rafa chuckled. “The governor is determined to seek redress for the embarrassment caused by the captain, and he cannot do that if the miscreant remains at large, so to speak. And frankly your charming planters would do everyone more good at home, taking care of their, um, plantations, rather than wandering about the city complaining of the heat and mosquitoes.”

“I confess, I see no reason not to honor this request, Don Rafael—if you will give me your word as a gentleman that Hutchins and McIntosh will be safely returned to Natchez.”

“It is my pleasure to do so, Major.”

“What about their personal belongings? I presume there were slaves and other valuable items confiscated in the raid.”

“I’m sorry to say that those transactions cannot be undone,”
Rafa said cheerfully. “But remember that you are getting two planters for the, er, price of one insurgent. Quite a bargain!”

Lyse stifled a giggle, in spite of her anxiety. She couldn’t wait to hear what Rafa’s fertile brain came up with next.

“Which reminds me,” he said, suddenly leaning around the major to wink at Lyse. “I believe you have uncovered another foolish little rebel who must be dealt with.”

“Foolish and dangerous,” Major Redmond said. “There is an information leak to the Americans, and I am going to make sure Mobile isn’t its source or funnel.”

Rafa sighed. “I understand your dilemma, Major, but surely one young girl who spends her days teaching children to read and write and multiply can hardly be considered a national threat, eh?”

“She can if she is a particularly bright young lady who is connected to the Lanier and Lafleur families, not to mention those of the children she teaches. I’ve discovered that even while Lyse lived in my own house, she was absorbing the seditious writings of rebels like John Locke, Thomas Paine, Adam—”

“Papa, stop! You don’t understand!”

Lyse had all but forgotten Daisy’s presence, once Rafa entered the room. She caught Daisy’s hand, forcing her to look at her. “Be quiet, Daisy. It’s all right. I did read those books.”

“No! They were—”

“Major Redmond, a word, if you please.” Rafa slid off the desk, a lithe movement that put him between Daisy and her father, and which effectively halted whatever Daisy had been about to say. He leaned in toward Major Redmond’s ear and murmured, “I realize that this may not be the
most
appropriate moment for what I’m about to say, but as it has bearing upon this rather uncomfortable discussion, I feel that I must suspend etiquette and ask Miss Daisy to forgive the interruption.” He slanted Daisy a sleepy look which somehow caused her to close her lips and meekly retire to a corner of the room. “Thank you,” he said with a graceful bow.