Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 (56 page)

Pierre stood in front of her, shielding her from curious glances. “Ah, don’t, Elise. Reynaud would not wish it.”

“I can’t help it.”

“If you think they will torture him,” Little Quail said soothingly, “Pierre tells me it is not done, not with prisoners captured in war.”

“No, no, but if there was only something I could do!”

“You are a widow. Could you not ask for him to serve you?”

Elise gave the other woman a wan smile as she wiped at her cheeks with the palms of her hands, “It doesn’t work that way with the French.”

“You could try.”

Elise went still, struck by an idea so extraordinary that the shock of it stopped her team at the source. She said nothing, for Helene and St. Amant, engaged until now in conversation with friends, turned and started toward where she stood with Pierre and Little Quail. But she could feel excitement burgeoning inside her. And hope.

20

ELISE FORCED HERSELF to wait until morning, until after she had had the long hours of the night to consider the plan evolving in her mind. She discovered many obstacles as she lay staring into the darkness, but none that would cause her to abandon the scheme. What she meant to do had to be better than doing nothing at all.

She discovered Helene on the back gallery of the house. The day was so warm that she was having breakfast on the open, any porch. The table was set where the duck, thorny canes of a rose brought with care by some women from France climbed to the second floor. The rose was just putting out new growth, and other splashes of greenery were supplied by evergreen palmetto growing in round-bellied clay pots beside the door into the house.

Helene was feeding the baby sitting in her lap milk-soaked tidbits of bread that had been dipped in egg and then fried. More of the
pain perdu
, or lost bread, so called because it was made from day-old loaves, sat on a plate in the center of the table along with a pot of chocolate. Elise greeted her hostess, stopped a moment to play with the little Jeanne, then served herself. Only then did she speak of her plan.

“I realize that I have trespassed shamefully upon your hospitality, Helene, but if you would be kind enough to listen to me, I would like to beg your indulgence even further.”

“How can you speak so, when but for you I might have died and my sweet Jeanne with me,” Helene said, her eyes warm with her passionate sincerity. “More, you protected me from the killing drudgery of being the slave of Red Deer and allowed me to share your home and food. Only say how I may help you.”

“You are too good.”

“Nonsense. Tell me, now!”

“It’s difficult to explain without sounding a monster of conceit. You see, I need to have it known in the town that I had some small part in the release of the women and children at
Fort de Valeur
.”

“Small!” Helene exclaimed. She paused in spooning the bread into the baby’s mouth and was recalled to her duty by a piercing shriek from Jeanne.

When she could be heard again, Elise said, “It isn’t for me, truly. I hardly dare put into words what I have in mind for fear it will fail.”

“You need not explain if that is your wish,” Helene said in firm tones. “As for spreading your repute as the woman who led the captives to safety, nothing could be easier. Indeed, it is already well known, along with many tales of your kindness while with the Natchez. All that is needed is to build upon what is already there.”

“I knew I might count on you. But there is another thing.”

“Yes?”

Elise stared at the other woman for a long moment, then in a rush she said, “I wish it to be made common knowledge how I was coerced into becoming the slave in all matters of the half-breed, Reynaud Chavalier, son of the Comte de Combourg.”

Helene dropped the spoon into the dish in front of her so that milk splattered across the table. “But, Elise, you were his wife!”

“They need not know that, or at least it should be understood that it was against my will.”

“He was kindness itself to you, unfailingly tender and — and considerate, at least so I thought while I was with you.”

“Yes,” Elise agreed soberly.

“If it is that you think people will scorn you if they hear of your alliance with him, then you may be right, but I can only say that I would not have thought you would so blacken Reynaud’s name.”

“No, no, and I would not, if there was any other way! But they dunk him a traitor now, remembering only that he led the Natchez during both sieges. They forget the years he spent in France, his noble blood, the good he has done in the past serving as liaison between French and Indian — forget also that if he had chosen to lead the Natchez truly in the path of war, the outcome of the conflict might have been far different.”

“Then why—”

“The officials here can hardly value him less, no matter what I say. They mean to make him a slave, with orders to his new master, I don’t doubt, to see that he does not long survive. If I can save him from such a fate, what does it matter how I do it?”

“Save him?” Helene echoed in amazement.

“At least make the attempt.”

Helene sent Elise a look of unexpected severity. “You will never effect an escape; the men are too well guarded. And if you should find men enough and make a breach, it is all too likely that every Natchez warrior being held will pour through it. We would none of us be safe then, this you must see.”

“Yes. I promise you it’s nothing like that.”

As Jeanne began to cry, reaching for her breakfast, Helene picked up the spoon and began once more to feed the baby. Slowly she said, “Perhaps you had better tell me.”

Less than two days later, Helene held a small soirée. Elise, dressed in her brightest gown, was spritely and gay, though when the subject was turned most adroitly by her hostess to the subject of the Natchez, Elise burst out with a furious denunciation against them, declaring with exaggerated firmness that selling them into slavery was precisely the punishment she would have chosen for them herself, if not some more drastic vengeance, and ending on such a tearful note that she had to seek composure behind her handkerchief.

Helene, appearing very upset herself, led the conversation into calmer channels. Later she was able to confide to several of the ladies present that her friend was still affected by her recent experience, but was holding up in the best tradition of a true heroine. It took only a suggestion of the nature of the trials Elise had undergone to elicit breathless inquiries to be told every titillating detail. Helene obliged, adding such small asides as would remind her audience of Elise’s part in the rescue of the women who were, in the main, the friends and relatives of the ladies gathered under her roof.

On the following afternoon, Elise and Helene went shopping. The whispers that marked their progress were evidence of the effectiveness of Helene’s tactics. Several people came up to them, speaking of commonplaces at first, but finding some way of leading up to the expression of gratitude for what Elise had done for their cousin, their sister, or their niece. Most looked searchingly into Elise’s face. At that point, Elise had only to think of Reynaud languishing in prison to summon the correct expression of suppressed anguish.

Using the money she had gained trading, Elise bought a new mantle of blue velvet with Watteau pleats in the back and a hood lined with peach silk that framed her face to devastating effect. She also invested in a set of blue-dyed egret plumes and a small vial of perfume with a seductive undertone of the Far East, and had her feet drawn for the making of a new pair of shoes of peach and blue brocade with the latest high, curved heels.

She had an opportunity to display her new finery at a reception given by the governor a few days later. It was a gala affair, a victory celebration. The long room of the official residence was lighted by crystal chandeliers holding candles of myrtle wax, which shed their spicelike fragrance on the night air. Mirrors in gold-leaf frames reflected the candlelight, hanging above a pair of rather rough brick fireplaces in which flames roared at each end of the room. The plastered walls were hung with tapestries above the wainscoting and lined with rows of mismatched but elegant chairs borrowed from a number of households. There was punch for the men, a fiery brew concocted with five different liquors, and ratafia or a rough wine distilled from wild grapes for the ladies.

The attitude of the guests was one of happy but cautious relief. There was still the remaining Natchez at large to contend with — and there was the fear that the dispersal of the women and children and the ignominy to be visited upon their leaders would rouse them to reckless fury. Still, the fighting was at an end for the moment and they were ready to honor the victors. The room was therefore crowded with uniforms as the officers of the expeditionary force mingled with the guests.

Elise wore her gown of blue satin over its petticoat of quilted cream satin and her new shoes. Her new plumes dipped and swayed above her hair, which was piled in curls on top of her head with one shining ringlet trailing over her shoulder. She stood with Helene and St. Amant, watching the sheen of silk and velvet, the glitter of gold lace and silver braiding, the bright accents of uniforms. There was a pair of violinists gathered about a harpsichord in one corner, but the music had not yet started. Elise was content to watch, in any case, and to wait for the arrival of the governor. She had been promised an introduction.

“Ah, here he is now,” St. Amant said.

Elise had expected to dislike the man on sight. It was not possible. Nondescript in appearance, rather large in bulk, he carried himself with the uprightness instilled during a naval career in the War of Spanish Succession. He was richly dressed, but hardly more so than most of the other men in the room, nor was his full wig any larger. His smile was genial, calm. He was rumored to be somewhat vacillating, but nothing of it showed in his face. If anything, his mouth was of a width to denote generosity. It was said that he was prudent, which must certainly be true since he had managed to remain in the good graces of the company while at the same time serving the interests of the colonists. Whether he was as broad-minded as some asserted remained to be seen.

He was coming toward them. St. Amant offered his arm to Elise, leading her forward. She curtsied low as she was presented. She wanted to smile since it would be polite to do so for what she had in mind, but she could not make the muscles of her face obey her.

“I am charmed, Madame Laffont,” Governor Perier said, taking her hand and carrying it to his lips. “One has heard so much about you that it becomes necessary to express the gratitude of the company and the king for your good offices on behalf of your fellow countrywomen.”

“You are too kind.” Elise heard his words with a sense of fearful triumph.

“Not at all. I will not speak of the sacrifices you have been called upon to make, in common with others of your fair sex who were at Fort Rosalie, but I will assure you of my most sincere sympathy.”

She murmured she knew not what in response and the governor moved on. Turning to St. Amant with eyes feverishly bright, she whispered, “It will work; I know it will.”

“I pray you am right. I waited to tell you, knowing how vital you felt it to be that you first meet the governor in a social setting, but I have news. A pirogue arrived this morning from Belize at the mouth of the Mississippi. There is a supply ship in, tacking upriver. It should be dropping anchor by tomorrow afternoon. When it departs again, the Natchez warriors will be on board, to be landed in St. Domingo.”

“It will have to be in the morning then.” Her tone was flat.

“Yes. When the ship comes in, the governor will be too busy with official business to give you a full hearing.”

Elise squared her shoulders, giving St. Amant a firm smile. “It’s just as well. The waiting has been too long.”

She dressed carefully for the meeting in the last of the gowns Reynaud had bought for her so long ago, a gown of rich gold and green stripes with deep sleeves finished with falls of lace and ruchings of lace filling the low décolletage. From Helene, who had never quite dared to wear it, she borrowed a rakish hat of green velvet in the style of a soldier’s tricorne that was made more feminine by a gold brooch on one side and a cockade of lace. Checking her appearance before she left the house, she thought she looked well enough, if rather daring; a woman who knew what she wanted and intended to get it but who yet had a certain vulnerability about the eyes and the rose-flushed cheeks. It was excitement and fear that caused that took, she told herself, but turned from the mirror with a sharp swirl of skirts and let herself out of the room.