Christie (48 page)

"Bon soir, m'sieur,"
she said in a throaty voice which implied far more than the three words of greeting. "I am Elaine."

Garrett knew full well who she was, for during his stay here Lucille had continually hinted that her new Creole beauty ached to serve him. He was about to dismiss her attentions again when the softly accented voice of Andrew, Lucille's mulatto "manager" interrupted.

"Remove yourself, Elaine. The gentleman is expected upstairs."

The girl threw him an insolent look, but obeyed quickly when the mulatto, a fellow New Orleans citizen of partial French parentage, hissed a menacing warning to her in rapid Gallic syllables. Andrew then smiled apologetically at Garrett.

"I fear I must request you leave your weapon with

me, monsieur," he said carefully. "I say this with utmost respect, but I have my orders."

Garrett shot him a steely look. "Orders, from whom, Andrew?"

The mulatto looked surprised. "Why, from madame, of course, Monsieur Garrett. Who else should they be from?"

His tone was so sincere, Garrett felt he spoke the truth, but he also decided to press for an advantage. When he had arrived at Lucille's one night several years ago, he had saved Andrew from a harsh punishment, perhaps even a beating—for the mulatto, despite his education and polish, was Lucille's slave. On that occasion Andrew had brought Lucille a quadroon girl whom he had purchased at auction, for Andrew was Lucille's chief procurer of new "talent," entrusted by her to hire, purchase, or otherwise acquire suitable women. The quadroon had been an expensive mistake for, though beautiful to look at, she had been recalcitrant and dangerous, nearly succeeding in killing her first customer with a stolen knife and then threatening to disrupt order in the house by vowing to use voodoo magic on the other girls, many of them superstitious, if she were forced to continue in her owner's service. As Lucille had instructed Andrew to avoid such difficult types, no matter how tempting, she considered it his fault that he had not determined the nature of the quadroon before purchasing her. He had been ordered to get rid of the troublesome wench and to repay her high cost himself, neither of which he was able to do, for word had gotten around as to her shortcomings and no one could be found to pay
anything near her original price. Coming upon the scene in the midst of a heated quarrel between madame and her mulatto, Garrett had offered to save the situation by taming the quadroon for them. This
he had proceeded to do, in about a week's time, and finding the task not
at all unpleasant, he had declined Andrew's grateful offers to repay him in some way.

But now, he thought to himself, perhaps the time had come to accept a return of that favor. "Andrew," he said quietly, though his tone was pregnant with meaning, "how is Dulcie these days?"

Andrew's eyes shot him a look of surprise and then he smiled knowingly. "No longer nursing a broken heart over you, monsieur. Her new life makes her very happy, I'm told."

It was common knowledge the quadroon was now the pampered mistress of the only son of one of the wealthiest men in the state. She had been purchased by the father for his son when the young wag had been taken on an initiatory excursion to the Setting Sun last year and had promptly become smitten with the mocha-skinned beauty. Dulcie, now a freed slave, owned her own house in a fashionable part of town and periodically paid a visit to Lucille's to lord it over her former owner and cohorts, something Lucille reluctantly allowed because it provided her with a carrot to dangle before some of her girls. Most of them held aspirations toward a similar raising of their own future statuses.

Garrett made himself smile, silently cursing the need to indulge in this time-consuming exchange while his loved ones' lives could be in danger
somewhere nearby. "Then I may pass?" he asked meaningfully.

Andrew's face was uncertain. "Monsieur, I cannot overlook a past kindness. Additionally, I admit I am puzzled as to why these outrageous orders were given in the first place. Monsieur has always been a welcome guest in this house. If you can give me some assurance, sir, of your intentions, that they do not include any harm meant toward madame?"

Garrett looked him fully in the face. "I come here with no reasons or intentions to harm madame, Andrew. You have my word on it." Then, seeing the mulatto's face relax, he added, "You have no knowledge of why I am expected or"—he sought to phrase the next question carefully—"of anyone in addition to Lucille who might await my presence upstairs?"

"As far as I am aware, monsieur, it is only madame who expects you. I only know she secluded herself in her quarters several hours ago, sending word by way of a note with one of the servants that you would be arriving and—you know the rest of my instructions. But I am an honorable man, Monsieur Garrett," he added smilingly. "Just now, you will pardon my back to you? I find I must attend to the perusal of what goes on elsewhere in this room."

With this, he turned around and allowed Garrett to ascent the stairs unobserved and still armed.

Once in the darkened hallway upstairs, Garrett withdrew the loaded pistol and approached the door to Lucille's front sitting room with care. He decided to knock.

"Enter," came the unmistakably male voice from
within. Pistol ready, Garrett complied, and when the door was ajar, found himself face to face with the coldly dispassionate countenance of Philip Stanhope whose equally ready pistol was focused directly on him.

Philip's face distorted with silent rage. Finally, he spoke, "It seems a yellow nigra is no more trustworthy than the common black variety. Well, no matter. You will learn shortly, Garrett, that this merely complicates matters.. I suggest you shut the door, though. What we have to discuss is private."

Garrett stepped forward into the room, his pistol hand remaining steady as he pushed the door closed with a backward swing of one foot.

"I see you found one of my little trophies to use," said Philip. "Stupid of me to have left them available to you. Still, as I said before, the fact that you have a gun is of little consequence, and I don't mean because I have one as well and we find ourselves in what appears to be this charming little stand-off. You must realize I still hold the complete advantage, Randall."

They both knew what he meant, and Garrett's eyes narrowed dangerously as he prepared to speak. When his words finally came, they were deceptively quiet on his tongue, and his tone suggested language encased in ice.

"Your 'advantage' resides in the persons of my wife, my son, and a very dear friend. For whatever ill you bear me, I cannot see why you should mean them harm. I am here. So be it. Now I demand to see them safely released."

Philip's thin smile barely reached his mouth.

"Demand? My dear Garrett, you are hardly in a position to demand anything. But I am basically a generous man, and have been known to be understanding and reasonable as well. Fortunately, for your sake, you have found me in an understanding mood. I choose to overlook your arrogance for now, and going one step further, I can even assure you that the three persons you mentioned are well and safe at the moment."

Philip watched carefully as the slightest relaxation in Garrett's jaw muscles indicated this information was all important to his adversary. Then he continued.

"Now that you have that assurance, I thought perhaps you would like to hear something of my reasons for my current—I admit it—uncivilized behavior."

"I know all I need to know, Stanhope. You murdered my parents twenty years ago and now, for some reason, you need to reach me as well."

"Correct!" snapped Philip. "But I disagree that that is all you need to know. It is I who shall determine that need! And I say you will listen to my explanation of how and why I brought you here tonight. Before l have the need—to speak of it, to tell in full the story of those events of twenty years ago which nearly destroyed me, but which, through my own wits and prowess, I was able to overcome and repay, though the final repayment, owing to your wife's unfortunate and hapless interfering, will not be completed until tonight. For twenty years I have lived quietly with the details of my greatest triumph, unable to tell anyone of it. Now, at last, I have a
worthy audience, and by my soul, I will tell of it!"

"First, I want to see my wife—"

"First, you will hear my tale! Then, I assure you, you will be shown the proof of the safety of my—er— three guests. And I warn you, Randall, should you make one move to use that pistol or in any other way threaten me, that guarantee of safety will no longer apply to them and you will seal their death warrants. Even if we foolishly annihilate each other here and now with these pistols we so-ridiculously point at each other, three others will die with us. Do I make myself clear? Of course, I do. Now, if you insist on holding onto that ineffectual weapon, why I suppose I can humor you that far. But the hand can grow heavy, you know, and my story is a lengthy one, and I do want you to have all the details of it, every—"

"Get on with it!" charged Garrett through clenched teeth.

Philip's eyes glittered strangely, and suddenly Garrett knew that no matter how reasonable this man wished to appear, no matter how urgently he sought to offer a plausible story of explanation, there was something at work here which would never yield to the rational. Philip's eyes had, in that one brief flicker, revealed a naked image of the man, and that disclosure caused Garrett something no amount of weaponry and physical threats could evoke. A cold prickle of fear crept slowly up his spine as he realized Philip Stanhope was unmistakably and beyond question, completely and dangerously mad.

"Very well, then," said Philip. He uncrossed his left leg from where it had rested over the other and rearranged himself in the comfortably upholstered

armchair in which he sat, carefully switching the pistol he had been holding to his right hand as he did so. Seeing Garrett watch this last action with interest, he laughed mirthlessly. "Do not take me for a fool, Randall. I have, for years, been equally accurate with either hand when wielding a gun. How else do you think I was able to get off two such quickly successive shots at you and my niece that day you rode double on her gray? Oh, yes, that was my work also, though I find it painfully embarrassing to admit to my poor and unsuccessful marksmanship on those occasions. It was my failing eyesight, you see. Not only did I ride out to your plantation to—er—take care of loose ends without the knowledge that I was in need of these spectacles, but once there, and having first foolishly mistaken your brother for you, I continued in my pursuit, mistakenly believing my once-excellent aim had declined through lack of practice. It was only after I had missed so many long shots while, in subsequent target practice, making all of my shorter ranged ones, that I realized it might be my aging eyes. Especially convincing in this regard was my discovery about your brother—not that he should escape the fate which awaits you. He, too—ah, but I get ahead of myself! More about that later."

Garrett stood still in the same spot where he had
r
emained since closing the door. His finger gripped
the trigger of the prepared pistol, unmoving and
steady. He fought against the urge to do something
more overt to hasten the moment when Philip might
reveal where Christie and the others were, for until he knew that, he could not even formulate a plan. Carefully, with enormous silent effort, he willed
himself to continue listening passively.

"Did you know," inquired Philip lightly, almost as if he were speaking of a subject as inconsequential as the weather, "that some twenty years ago I was involved in trade and related mercantile pursuits? Oh, nothing so large and grand-scale as the erstwhile dealings of my fortunate brother-in-law, Charles Trevellyan, to be sure, but things were coming along rather nicely for the fifth son of a near-bankrupt Louisiana planter. There were fortunes to be made in trade, and I was swimming in the thick of it. With my small share of my mother's inheritance I was able to wedge a foot in the cushioned door of commerce. Nothing greedy, mind you. When the sums of exchange among the great were so large, even a small but ambitious factoring agent could reap hefty profits and advance rapidly. But then one day, during a card game it was, I chanced to overhear the drunken boastings of a man involved in a particularly rich, forthcoming deal in tobacco. There were certain parties, it was said, who would be trying to acquire every last leaf of that brown-gold commodity to supply a very greedy buyer abroad—a buyer who could afford to pay almost any price. All the American group need do was assure him of his monopoly. I quickly realized I had become privy to some well-guarded information. If I acted on it quickly enough, I might be able to tie up all, or most, of the tobacco in this area of the Carolinas. The need to act hastily disrupted my usual tendency to be cautious. I engaged to supply the major American supplier, Charles Trevellyan, by way of his Mr. Rutledge,
before
assuring myself of the tobacco's availability. But I had gambled in other arenas. It
seemed to be a worthwhile risk. And I almost made it,
too
. Through pressures ranging from old gambling debts owed me, to borrowing against my wife's
jew
elry and using it for well-placed bribes, I soon stood roughly a shipload short of my commitment. But it was a legal commitment, one requiring I come
with the entire amount, or none at all, thereby
forfeiting the higher rate of payment. And I needed
the higher rate, for I was heavily indebted at that
point.

"Then I heard of one planter, the only one in the Charleston area who had not yet committed his recently harvest crop—or so I thought."

Here Philip stopped and cast Garrett a venomous look.