Mississippi Raider (9 page)

“
Sorry, girlie,” the redhead said, still showing the
superciliousness. “You’ve come to the wrong place. We only offer
gambling and the occasional bout of fisticuffs for our gentlemen
guests. Mrs. Jackson’s the one you want to go and see to
play
those
kind of games.”

“
Just
a
moment!”
Belle snapped, knowing the woman who had been named ran
what was politely termed a “house of ill repute” despite the
pretense of being an actress. Belle was not sufficiently lacking in
world matters that she failed to understand the implication of the
explanation. “I want to see Captain de-Farge.”

“
I
just
bet
you do,
girlie,”
the redhead sneered, and she started to close the
door.

Before the move could be completed, the door
was given a push by the slender girl with such force that the woman
involuntarily took a couple of paces backward to avoid being struck
by it.

“
I
said I want to see Captain de-Farge,” Belle stated grimly, taking
grave exception to the way she was being addressed and stepping
across the threshold into what she guessed must be the main
entrance hall of the building. Annoyed by the greeting she had
received and the thoughts that motivated it, she failed to notice
that the furnishings and appointments were all in excellent taste
even by the strictest conventional requirements. Nevertheless, she
was not unaware that half a dozen shapely women clad in an equally
revealing fashion and a bulky old Negro in the attire of a footman
were watching from the open door of what appeared to be a dining
room. “So will you
please
—!”

“
All
right,
girlie!”
the redhead interrupted, the same emphasis continuing to be
placed upon the clearly insulting designation. Clenching her right
hand into a fist and looking menacing, she went on, “No matter how
big and high muckety-muck your momma and poppa might be hereabouts,
you’ve asked for—!”

Despite knowing that the words
were spoken without the redhead
’s being aware of who she was and how
recently she had lost her parents, Belle responded to the implied
threat. Realizing how dangerous the action she contemplated would
prove to be if carried out against the woman, particularly as she
believed it would be completely unexpected, she began to move.
Pivoting with a close-to-balletic grace similar to that displayed
to Auntie Mattie against the modified tailor’s female dummy in her
sitting room, she sent her right foot crashing at face height
against the wooden panels of the main entrance. There was a
resounding crack as the sole and heel of the riding boot made the
contact and, its sturdy bulk notwithstanding, the door jerked with
some violence in response to the impact.

“
All
right,
girlie!”
Belle said, her voice and manner indicative of a
still-controlled yet potentially dangerous anger, as her foot
returned to the floor. “I still mean to see Captain de-Farge
and
you
aren’t capable of stopping me, nor even dressed for
trying.”

Staring at the mark left by the boot on the
panel that was struck by the swiftly performed and clearly very
powerful kick, the redhead found herself on the horns of a dilemma.
While her every instinct warned that she had been told the truth
about her attire should she elect to take physical action against
the young and slender visitor, she had the reputation for toughness
she had acquired, and that—along with a close relationship with her
employer—gave her considerable moral ascendancy over her fellow
female workers in the gambling house. If she refused to take up the
challenge, she would suffer a serious loss of faith with them. On
the other hand, competent though she knew herself to be at engaging
in physical conflict against other members of her sex under more
normal conditions, she felt sure the kick had not been made by
chance. Rather, it was performed by one very well versed in such
matters and whose footwear would allow the knowledge to be
exploited to damaging and most painful purpose.

Aware that she was being watched with eager
anticipation by the women with whom she had been taking breakfast,
the redhead wondered how she might extricate herself from the
predicament of her own making without her standing among them
suffering an adverse effect.

“
W
ell now, Roxanne my little spitfire, whatever are you up
to
this
time?” Never had the well-mannered Southern drawl with its
slight suggestion of the French-Creole patois of her employer
sounded so welcome to the redheaded woman who called herself
Roxanne Fortescue-Smethers and declared her ancestral home to be
Belvoir—which she always said was pronounced “Beaver”—Castle in
Nottingham, England, despite having been born Bertha Smith, but in
a less exalted part of the same city where, however, the high-class
residence she claimed was not situated.

Nor was Belle Boyd any less pleased to see
the man from whom she had come to ask a favor.

The girl had not wished to jeopardize her
chance by being compelled to defend herself against and possibly
inflict serious injury upon one of his female employees.

Although Captain Anatol de-Farge generally
dressed after the fashion of a wealthy Southern plantation owner,
because the hour was early as he judged the time of the day, he was
not wearing a jacket, collar, or tie and had on carpet slippers
instead of his usual well-polished brown Hessian leg riding boots.
He was tall, handsome in a somewhat swarthy Gallic fashion, with a
slender build suggestive of wiry strength and agility, neither of
which traits was lacking in his bodily makeup, as he always kept
himself in the peak of physical condition. Regardless of his being
a professional gambler and the owner of a well-known establishment
offering a variety of games of chance along with other diversions
for those wealthy enough to afford his high prices, he still bore
himself with the carriage of the professional soldier he had been
until a scandal and court-martial blasted his promising career.

“
Good
heavens!” the gambler almost gasped before the redhead could reply,
having turned his gaze in Belle’s direction. “Is that really
you,
Miss
Boyd?”

“
I’m
afraid it is,” the girl replied, noticing that there was a
suggestion of disapproval in the way she was addressed.

“
Miss
Boyd!”
Roxanne repeated, and a change to contrition came into her
voice as she continued, “I’m sorry for what I said about your
parents, Miss Boyd, but I didn’t realize who you are.”

“
That’s all right,” Belle asserted, not sorry for the
hostility shown by the redhead to be ended in a way that would
cause none of the loss of respect she had been trying to avoid.
“You weren’t to know. I thought I would attract less attention
looking the way I do if I should be seen coming here.”

“
May I
ask
why
you have come, Miss Boyd?” de-Farge requested, but did not
wait for an answer before looking at the scantily attired women in
a pointed fashion and saying, “Shouldn’t you be finishing your
breakfast, my angels, then getting yourselves ready for the
afternoon’s activities?”

“
Come
on, girls,” the redhead ordered, speaking as imperiously as usual,
while watching for any suggestions that her authority over the
other women had been reduced by the indecision she had shown when
issued what amounted to an open challenge in their circles from the
slender girl. Seeing none, even from her closest rival, she went
on, “Let’s go and do it.”

“
Perhaps you would care to speak with me in my private
office, Miss Boyd?” the gambler suggested, watching the girl’s face
with the keen eye of a man who made much of his living by studying
and seeking to assess human emotions. “I can ask Roxanne, or one of
the other ladies, as a chaperone if you wish.”

“
There’s no need for that, sir,” Belle replied.

“
One
of my French bloodline might take exception to that from an
attractive young lady like yourself,” de-Farge claimed with a
smile, contriving to sound even more Gallic than ever. “Or one far
less attractive than yourself even, provided her... balance was of
a satisfactory nature.”

“
I
really wouldn’t know what you mean, sir,” the girl answered,
finding herself liking the man who many women of her class would
have considered undesirable company for her. Allowing herself to be
guided toward an inconspicuous door with nothing to indicate its
purpose at one side of the entrance hall, she continued, “And I
really must apologize for coming here the way I have.”

“
You
certainly gave dear Roxanne the wrong impression,” the gambler
said, still smiling in a warm way that relieved some of the
professional inscrutability from his handsome face and giving a
hint of the kind of man he used to be during his early days in the
Army. Opening the door and allowing Belle to precede him through
it, he went on, “And, good as I know she is in such matters, I’m
pleased she didn’t take up your challenge. I have seldom seen
the
chasse
croise
of
savate performed with such grace and power and nev—!”

“
And
never by a mere
woman,”
the girl finished the incomplete sentence, but without any
suggestion of having taken offense.

“
I
would never call you ‘mere,’ Miss Boyd,” de-Farge claimed, having
seated his guest. “May I have coffee or anything else brought in
for you?”

“
No,
thank you,” Belle refused politely. “I took breakfast with Colonel
and Mrs. Thatcher before I left to visit you.”

“
I’m
afraid that early to bed, early to rise has never been one of my
many good points,” the gambler declared, then he became sober.
“Please forgive me for being so remiss. My condolences upon the
death of your parents.”

“
Thank
you, sir,” Belle said formally, knowing the sentiment was
sincere.

“
Your
father was far too wise to honor me by his presence at my tables,”
de-Farge stated without rancor. “But I respected him as a damned
fine gentleman.”

“
Again, sir, my thanks,” Belle said, and was sincere. “He
felt the same way about you. In fact, he always used to tell our
young guests—and some who were not so young—that if they had to
gamble, to come and do it with you.”

“
He
had such trust in me?”

“
A
friend of ours, Joe Brambile, with whom I am sure you are
acquainted, always used to say that, like himself, you knew the
percentages were so favorable in your behalf that you had no reason
to cheat and, when he explained what he meant to me, I agreed there
was none.”
^vii

“
I
know Joe and I’m honored that I have your respect,” the gambler
declared. “Damn it, ma’am, if I’d only known what those two Yankee
no-bullfighter bas—what they planned, I would have made sure they
never had a chance to even think of looking for the help they got
for doing it.”

“
They
came
here!”
Belle asked, eager to know anything that might help her to
trace Tollinger and Barmain. “No disrespect to your establishment,
sir, but what little I saw and have learned about them wouldn’t
have led me to think they were the kind to come gambling in such a
highly priced place.”

“
They
certainly wouldn’t have gone to dear Glenda’s for their pleasure,”
de-Farge claimed dryly. “Regardless of what Roxanne told you
regarding the way you’re dressed, she doesn’t cater for anything
except straight man and worn—!”

“
I
know who she is and what you mean,” Belle asserted with a smile.
“Momma and Auntie Mattie thought I should know even the more seamy
facts of life. Anyway, you say Tollinger and Barmain have been
here.”

“
Only
a couple of times,” de-Farge confirmed. “And not to preach the kind
of ‘liberal’ garbage they were giving out along the river, going by
all I heard. Each time, what they lost hardly covered the broke
money they asked for and the meals they had on the house. That kind
of business—and customers—I can do without. Anyway, how may I be of
service to you?”

“
Do
you have any idea where they could have gone after they ran away
from our home?” Belle wanted to know.

“
I’m
afraid not, except that I would say it would have to be back up
north,” the gambler answered. “Only, I don’t think you came here to
ask about them, interested as I know you must be in trying to have
them located.”

“
It
isn’t,” Belle admitted. “I would like you to teach me
fencing.”

“
Going
by all I’ve heard, Miss Boyd,” de-Farge remarked, his face
returning to being an imperturbable mask, “your father taught you
how to use a sword and you’ve got to be pretty good at
it.”