The Creole Princess (31 page)

“Down here, Mama! Scarlet is pinning the hem of my new dress. You must come see! The drape through the hips is just so—ah, Scarlet, I’m sorry, I’ll be still, I promise. It’s just that you do such beautiful work, and I shall be very sorry when you have to go back to my brother.”

Pins in her mouth, Scarlet glanced up and smiled at her bright-eyed and excitable young mistress. She, too, would be sorry to leave Miss Sofía—though nothing could be worse than service to Isabelle Dussouy or picking cotton.

After purchasing her from the slave market, Don Rafael had taken her first to the governor’s wife, Madame Gálvez. Madame had exclaimed over Scarlet’s pitiful physical condition, then gave her a long bath in lye soap, fed her, and made her rest for two whole days—for the sake of the babe, said Madame. Scarlet meekly
complied, too exhausted and grateful for her redemption to even care what might befall her next. But when Madame called her into her private parlor the next day and bade her sit in the only other chair in the room, a finely upholstered blue voile, her confusion twisted in on itself.

“Madame, I’m happy to stand,” Scarlet said, laying her hands protectively across the bulge of her stomach.

“Yes, I’m sure you would be,” said Madame with a smile, “but I’ve no desire to crane my neck whilst we talk, so sit down, if you please.”

Flustered, Scarlet sat. “Yes, Madame.”

“Now, Scarlet, Rafael says you are a seamstress.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“And your baby will be coming . . . maybe in July?”

Scarlet nodded, wary now. “I think so.” Was having a baby a bad thing?

Madame’s eyes softened. She was very beautiful. It was said that her Spanish husband was crazy for her. Perhaps as much as Don Rafael was for Lyse. “I’m sorry you had to leave your baby’s father,” Madame said gently. “We’ll try to find him, but in the meantime, there will be plenty of work for you here. How would you like to go to Rafael’s mama until the baby comes?”

Scarlet picked through the words, trying to make sense of them. What difference did it make what she would like or not like? If this were Madame Dussouy, there would be some trap hidden in the question. Scarlet did not know Rafael’s mama and didn’t particularly want to go elsewhere, but neither did she want to offend this kind Creole lady. She shrugged helplessly. “Whatever you say, Madame.”

So Madame Gálvez had given Scarlet one of her old dresses and materials to let it out in the waist, and then examined her stitches with a critical eye. Pronouncing it “exquisite work” with an approving smile, Madame had one of the houseboys walk her down
the street to the Gonzales mansion. He left her in the kitchen in the care of a cook who reminded her very much of Cain’s mother.

By the time Doña Gonzales sent for her, she had been fed most of a loaf of crusty French bread, along with a chunk of sausage, and she was so full she could barely stay awake long enough to waddle to the second-best salon.

Dear God
, she thought, blinking at the two well-dressed ladies—one middle-aged, with Don Rafael’s exquisite bone structure, the other young and possessed of her brother’s mischievous brown eyes—
what sort of heaven have I landed in?

It had taken Scarlet over a month to learn to answer direct questions without flinching or looking for hidden meanings. Eventually she realized that her talent with a needle was valued and appreciated. She was fed well and allowed to rest, and as her body grew bulkier with the baby, she was even assigned a small slave girl of her own to fetch and carry for her.

Little Dina, who had apparently never known an unkind word, chattered like a mockingbird from the moment she arose in the morning to the minute she fell asleep at Scarlet’s feet at night. Scarlet found her maternal feelings wrenched at the thought of her charge having been removed from her mother’s care at such a young age, until she discovered that the child actually belonged to the poker-faced cook. She resolved to be as kind a mistress as Madame Gálvez.

Now, one by one she removed the pins from her mouth and secured the dress’s hem as Miss Sofía slowly turned atop the little platform. Finally she sat back on her heels and looked up at Sofía. “Check it in the mirror, miss,” she said. “Does it look straight to you?”

Sofía turned and preened, smoothing her slender, well-manicured hands over her hips. The dress draped, as she had said, with perfection. “I love it,” she said, beaming at Scarlet’s reflection in the mirror. “I can’t wait for Lieutenant Torres to see me in it.”

“Lieutenant Torres had better look out for parson’s mousetrap,” Scarlet said without thinking.

Sofía burst out laughing. “Scarlet! You made a joke!”

Scarlet gasped and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, miss!”

But Sofía leapt down from the stool, crouched and took Scarlet’s hands. “Don’t be sorry! It’s wonderful to have someone to laugh with. Mama is always so very—” she looked over her shoulder and whispered, “
strict
!”

“I heard that!” came Madame Gonzales’s voice from the hallway just before she appeared, hands on hips. “Someone has to be strict around here, or the place would fall to pieces.” But her eyes twinkled. “Sofía, change out of that dress and run out to the garden for some flowers, so Scarlet can hem it in peace.”

Madame stood tapping her foot until her daughter complied, then shut the sewing room door behind her and turned to Scarlet. “How are you feeling today?”

Scarlet had risen, a hand braced to support her back. Still shy around the matron of the house, she looked at the dress in her hands. “I feel fine, Doña Gonzales. Everyone is kind to me here.”

“Good.” The older woman nodded. “It is good to stay busy, but do not put too much strain on your back. Where is Dina? She is supposed to stay close by in case you need anything.”

“She—I sent her outside to play so I could give your daughter some privacy.” Scarlet bit her lip. “I’m sorry if—”

“No, for heaven’s sake, girl, use your common sense. That is fine. I’m only concerned for you.”

Scarlet risked a look at her mistress. “Madame . . . I wanted to ask . . .” When Doña Gonzales waited, brows lifted, Scarlet blurted, “Why are you so kind to me? I’m a slave in your house. Surely you don’t treat all your servants this way.”

Doña Gonzales looked faintly embarrassed. “Of course I don’t abuse my servants. But you are something of a special case.”

Scarlet took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“Madame Gálvez bade me care for you and make sure your babe arrives safely. What Madame Gálvez asks me to do—I do.”

Scarlet stared at the other woman, but could divine nothing beyond the bare meaning of the words. Madame Gálvez had interceded for her. Because of
her
name and position, Scarlet was given favor, almost as a daughter of the house. Perhaps Don Rafael had something to do with that, perhaps not. It was a puzzle she could not unlock without more information.

“All—all right. Thank you, madame,” she said and lifted Sofía’s dress. “I’ll finish the hem now, if you don’t need anything else.”

“You do that,” Doña Gonzales said with a smile. “Sofía has the trap to set.”

A
BOARD
THE
V
ALIENTE
M
AY
12, 1778

Lyse had once dreamed of flying off a cliff. She had spent two days in her grandpére’s library, reading a book of travel in the mountains of Europe. There were no drawings, but the author’s descriptions had taken her to the south of France, where her great-grandmother’s people had lived before the Huguenot persecution drove them to the New World. She could imagine the snowy peaks, green valleys, sharp precipices, in such vivid detail that dizziness almost overtook her when she rose to go home. That night, as she slept, she found herself atop the highest of heights, looking down at a herd of wild horses grazing below. She wanted to ride one. And all she had to do was step off, fly down.

Arms wide, she did.

And awoke screaming so that Justine shook her until her teeth rattled.

It was an experience she hadn’t wanted to repeat. But standing at the prow of the Spanish merchant ship
Valiente
with Rafa, sailing away from Mobile, she felt something of the same sensation.

“Are you cold? We can go into my cabin.” Rafa’s hands, big and warm, cupped her shoulders.

She looked up at him and shook her head. “I’m a little . . . I don’t know how to say it.” She wouldn’t say
afraid
.

He seemed to understand, for a smile lightened his eyes. “There is nothing my Creole lady cannot conquer. The little village of New Orleans will be
that
to you!” He snapped his fingers.

“Even I know New Orleans is not a little village.” But she laughed at his nonsense. “There will be singing and guitar playing on every street corner, and I shall be the veriest bumpkin.” She turned to put her back to the water, and his hands came to brace against the rail on either side of her. Her hair blew wild in the ocean breeze, and she grabbed a handful of it. “Rafa, you have been the most gallant of rescuers, and I am grateful, but you don’t have to—No one will ever know if you don’t want—”

“If you say something like that even one more time, Miss Lanier, I may be forced to hold you down and tickle you until you scream for mercy. I never make offers I don’t mean to keep.” An uncertain tone crept into his deep voice. “Though I’m beginning to think it is you who has second thoughts.”

She looked away from the hurt in his eyes. “I just wish—I wish you hadn’t been forced to offer for me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe one day I may find a way to convince you that I am serious. Until then . . .” He sighed. “Well, until then, we take one step at a time. And the first step is taking you home to meet my family.”

At that, she smiled. “Which, I confess, has me terrified. I don’t
know how many times I’ve heard you say that your mama beats you daily.”

“Ah, but then I am a particularly incorrigible case, as you well know.” He grinned. “My mama will love you. And Sofía is already your best friend.”

“But she doesn’t even know me!”

“But I have told her all about you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘There is a girl in Mobile who threatens me with a knife if I don’t give her exactly what she wants. And she kisses like an angel.’ And Sofía said, ‘Then she is exactly the girl you should marry.’ And I quite agree.”

Lyse gave a gasp of laughter. “You did not say that!” Shaking her head, she put a tentative hand upon his chest, and he covered it with his. “Rafa, you must know how grateful I am that your intervention kept me and my grandpére from harm. But we don’t know each other well enough to make such a lifetime commitment. You have a whole other . . . life in New Orleans that I know nothing about. We have completely skipped over courtship, which is for learning such important things as religious faith. Education. Family history.”

“You are right, and there will be time for all that. Lyse, I won’t ask you to marry me right away. There are things I
cannot
tell you, because they are not my secrets. But I hope you will trust me to put your safety and well-being above all my obligations.”

His eyes were deep and soft, so tender that her heart twisted. Trust him? She was on a Spanish ship with him, traveling away from her home and family and everything familiar, toward she knew not what. It was a little like trusting God, whom her grandmother had taught her was great and fearful and secretive but tender as a hen with her chicks.

Maybe trusting Rafa was a way of trusting God, after all.

N
EW
O
RLEANS
M
AY
13, 1778

The governor was at home this afternoon, which worked well for Rafa’s plan to surprise Lyse. He wanted to take her to meet his mama and Sofía later, but seeing Scarlet would perhaps relieve some of the tension between them. He loved Lyse’s independence, understood her self-protection, but couldn’t reconcile the two without betraying his assigned mission. He hoped that once Gálvez met Lyse, she would be cleared for at least some level of information.