Tainted Lilies (21 page)

“Not in the least, my love. The man won’t dare show his face today. I’ve called his bluff. From here on out the game is mine. And I always hold aces!”

He tucked Nicolette’s gloved hand into the crook of his elbow and they continued their stroll down Royal Street toward the river.

The Place d’Armes was crowded with people wanting to bask in the bright November sun. Many were hoping to catch a glimpse of Jean Laffite. His arrival the night before had not gone unheralded. Laffite had not meant for it to!

“We’re through hiding,” he told Nicolette as they strolled the walkways in the shade of the sycamore trees, acknowledging nods and smiles from all sides. “You see, the good people of New Orleans hold no grudge. They’re on our side.”

Nicolette had relaxed at first when she saw that no soldiers came rushing forward to arrest Laffite on the spot. But soon she realized that the warm smiles and friendly greetings were for her escort—none for her. More than once she detected a fleeting look of disdain cast in her direction. These people could forgive a man his smuggling, but not a woman her passions!

No! she thought. They’re not on
our
side, my darling. They are only on
your
side. To them I am only…

She couldn’t even repeat the phrase in her mind, though she knew it was spoken openly by the good citizens of New Orleans.

But a dirty, bearded drunkard, leaning out of one of the flatboat brothels tied out of earshot upriver from the Place d’Armes, spied Nicolette and finished the phrase for her: “Filthy
pirate’s whore!”

During the early months of 1814, two conflicts, an ocean apart, were striking fear in the hearts of Louisiana’s citizens. The aggressor in both cases was the “British Dragon.”

While red-coated land forces hammered away in France, the king’s navy continued to block shipping from American ports and bum cities at will.

Those people in New Orleans who had always thought of France as the mother country and some who still had relatives there hung on every scrap of news from across the sea, hoping to hear of a French victory. They resented the others, who said, “As long as the Dragon’s busy chasing after Napoleon, it won’t have time to whack its tail at us!”

But, resented or not, the statement was true. Jean Laffite worried more than most that France might fall to the British. Since the attack on his two ships the summer before, all had been quiet. But he continued to stock arms and munitions, preparing to defend his territory and all of southern Louisiana, if need be.

When the axe fell, Laffite’s men were the only ones prepared.

“Look here, Nikki,” Laffite said, holding a copy of
Le Moniteur de la Louisiane.
It’s news from France, over two months old. “The paper says Napoleon has abdicated. The Treaty of Fontainebleau was signed on April 11, exiling him to Elba.” He stopped and took a deep breath, as if trying to digest what he had just read. When he continued, his voice was as frighteningly serious as Nicolette had ever heard it. “Our wait won’t be long now.”

Nicolette, who had been thinking in her first waking moments what a lovely day it would be for a picnic on the beach at Grande Terre, felt her sunny fantasies dashed like so much driftwood in a storm. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat up in bed, clutching Jean’s arm.

“What have we been waiting for, darling? And why do you sound so grave? We all knew Napoleon had to fall sooner or later.”

“Nikki!” he huffed, rising, naked, from the bed. “You’ve listened to all the war talk. You know the British will come here now.”

Nicolette tried to tease him out of his abysmal mood. “And will they rape every woman and hang every man when they breathe their Fire on New Orleans, my darling?” she asked brightly. “I’m sure the men will flee in terror. But I know many a wife who would welcome an amorous, red-coated dragon into her bed in place of her stodgy husband!”

Laffite glared at her. “This is no joking matter, Nicolette! The city of New Orleans is the key to the entire United States through the river. My men and I are guardians of that key! I plan to declare martial law on Grande Terre this morning. If you don’t wish to remain in an armed camp, feel free to return to your family!”

He turned away from her abruptly. Nicolette felt a deep ache in her heart and a twisting pain in her stomach. They hadn’t argued once since their reunion at the blacksmith shop—until now.

“Darling,” she cried, running to catch him at the door. “I didn’t mean to make light of this trouble. And you know I’ll never leave you again. I promised!” Tears were filling her eyes.

He clutched her suddenly in his arms and smoothed her hair. His voice grew gentler. “I know you promised. But maybe it would be best. I told you a long time ago that there would be times when I would have to go away from you. This could be one of those times, Nikki.”

“What do you mean? Go where?”

He shook his head and bent down to kiss a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know yet,
ma chère.
I’ll go when I’m called to wherever I’m needed.”

“And I’ll wait for you!” she said desperately, hurting inside.

“Of course you will. I never doubted that.”

He enfolded her bare shoulders with his arms and kissed her deeply. Nicolette closed her eyes and let her other senses drink him in. She couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from him—not even for a short time. He had become her whole life. Loving him was her reason for existing.

And now, she thought, more than ever, we should be together. Perhaps if I tell him…

“Jean, darling,” she began.

“Boss! Boss!” Dominique You’s voice, coming from outside, interrupted her words. “They got Pierre! They took him away!”

Laffite froze in Nicolette’s arms for an instant, then he threw on his clothes and dashed out of the room toward the sound of his brother’s voice.

Nicolette pulled on her dressing gown and followed him. She reached the veranda in time to hear Dominique finishing the story.

“They arrested him right in the street, near the Place d’Armes. He’d been to visit Marie Louise and overslept so he didn’t get out of the city before daylight.”

“Don’t worry, Dom. We’ll have him bailed out in time to visit his lady again this evening,” Laffite answered.

Nicolette could tell from the looks on both brothers’ faces that Laffite feared his words were not true, and Dom knew they were totally false.

Youx shook his head sadly. “Not this time. He’s in the Cabildo… in chains! Bail has been denied. His case will be heard… when they get around to it… by a secret grand jury. No witnesses allowed in his defense!”

“Sweet Mother of God!” Laffite groaned. “He’ll die in there!”

Nicolette touched Laffite’s arm, trying to console him. “Other men have survived the Cabildo.”

He looked at her with great sadness in his eyes. “You don’t understand. Pierre was very sick the year before we met. Marie Louise nursed him back after the stroke, but he’s never been the same since. He has the fortitude of an old man. The weight of the chains alone could sap what remaining strength he has in a very short time. We must free him!”

“Can you?” Nicolette’s voice quavered as she asked the question.

“Claiborne hates me!” Laffite replied bitterly. “Ever since the affair with the broadsides, he’s sworn his revenge…” His voice broke with emotion. He cleared his throat and went on. “He couldn’t get at me, so he’s taking out all his wrath on Pierre. Still, there might be a way.”

Dominique looked at him with one eyebrow raised and a slow smile beginning on his face. “You mean…?”

“Exactly! The governor’s own lawyer and District Attorney, Livingston and Grymes. We’ll hire them away from him!”

“Ho! Ho! Give the old fart something to yell about,
non
?”

“Claiborne can yell or whimper, it makes no difference to me, as long as we get Pierre out of that hell hole. Nikki, how fast can you pack? We’re leaving for New Orleans. Now!”

New Orleans was buzzing with rumors when Laffite and Nicolette arrived a few days later—The Seminoles from Florida were banding with runaway slaves to attack New Orleans, but General Andrew Jackson was devising a plan to head them off. A British sloop of war had been sighted in the river near the Balize. A plot was afoot to send a ship from New Orleans to rescue Napoleon. Jean Laffite and his Baratarians were making plans to storm the Cabildo and free Pierre. Perhaps they would even murder Governor Claiborne in the bargain!

Laffite dismissed most of the outlandish talk they heard along the levee. But one terrifying tale was based in fact. Yellow fever, it was whispered behind nervous hands, had been brought into port on a merchant ship from South America. The numbers who had died already varied with each telling: a dozen, fifty, over a hundred. But they were all foreigners, the New Orleanians were quick to point out, sailors off other ships. No native had caught the fever yet.

“Bronze John!” Laffite grumbled as they stood on the levee, waiting for Gator-Bait to collect Nicolette’s bags from their barge. “I should have thought of the fever season being upon us before I let you come along, Nikki.”

“I would have come anyway,” she insisted.

He looked down at Nicolette, admiring the flattering cut of her pale muslin gown. Though, he thought, her figure needs no flattery!

He smiled at the petulant expression on her face. “Well, that’s not a subject for debate at this point. You’re here. And I have to admit, I’m glad you are. But I want you to stay indoors while we’re in the city. The less you’re exposed to the swamp vapors, the safer you’ll be.”

“And what about you?” she demanded.

“Oh, I had the fever when I was no bigger than Gator-Bait and recovered. It won’t strike again. Besides,” he added, his voice going deadly serious, “I have business to attend to.”

Nicolette watched his gaze shift across the Place d’Armes to the Cabildo. His eyes changed to cold, obsidian green, and she could imagine that he was visualizing his brother—a helpless prisoner in the place, suffering under the weight of his chains and the stifling July heat.

She touched his hand. “You’ll get him out, Jean. He knows you will.”

“I wish I were as sure of that as you.”

“Hey, Boss, me, and Gator-Bait got everything,” Xavier called. “You want I should hire a trap?”

Laffite looked down at Nicolette, questioningly.

“It’s only a short way. Let’s walk,” she said with a smile. “I want New Orleans to see that I’m still your woman.”

He kissed her cheek. “My
wife
! And a brave girl at that!”

They formed a curious entourage, walking down St. Peter Street to Bourbon. Laffite and Nicolette in the lead, followed by the two small blacks, one a child and the other a middle-aged man, but both the same size and both struggling to handle the baggage and to keep up on short legs with Laffite’s long strides. Nicolette hurried along, not complaining of Laffite’s quick pace. She had never seen the inside of his mansion and was anxious to get there and inspect her new home.

The place was far more luxurious than she had ever dreamed. Laffite had filled it with the best of his take: Brussels lace, Persian carpets, gilt furniture from France, and mirrors everywhere, doubling and quadrupling all the opulence.

She stood in the
grand salon,
turning slowly, her eyes wide and bright with wonder.

“Jean, it’s like a palace! I’ve never seen anything this gorgeous!”

He came to her and hugged her. “I have. You!”

He gave her a lingering kiss which almost made her forget her excitement over the house.

“I’d like to tell you that I had the place decorated especially for you, Nikki, but that’s not true. Actually, all this show is for business purposes. I am, after all, first and last a businessman. My clients, the other merchants in town, expect to be entertained. By the show of wealth I put on with this house and the things in it, I’ve impressed them with my taste and know-how. They’re quick to envy and quicker to buy! Most men, I’m sad to say, are greedy beyond belief.”

“I don’t care!” she said, laughing with glee. “It makes no difference what your motives were in creating this showplace. I wouldn’t change a thing!”

“Now, my lady,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the stairs. “To the
boudoir
with you!”

“Jean! In the middle of the day… in New Orleans?”

Laffite turned to Gator-Bait, who had just entered with a tray and two glasses of wine, and said, “Your mistress thinks of only one thing!” Then frowning at Nikki in mock disapproval, he explained, “I would certainly not sully your reputation by suggesting anything more serious in the bedroom at this hour than perusing the gowns in your armoire.”

“Gowns?” she asked, dumbfounded and a bit disappointed.

He led her up the carpeted stairs. “For this evening, I want you to look dazzling… as if nothing is wrong. We have two guests coming, Messieurs Edward Livingston, the best legal counsel in New Orleans, and John Randolph Grymes, Claiborne’s own District Attorney. I know them both, and I believe they will see things my way. But, forgive me if this sounds like I’m using you, I’ve always found a handsome woman in an exquisitely cut gown to be an aid to difficult negotiations.”

Nicolette started to object, not sure what she would be called on to do during the evening. But the expression deep in Laffite’s eyes pleaded with her to cooperate. His bantering since they reached the house had only been camouflage, she realized, to cover his true concern. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to…

“I’ll do whatever I can to help free Pierre,” she said quickly, cutting off her thoughts.

He kissed her ever so tenderly, then said, “I was certain you would, darling.”

Nicolette stared at herself in the long dressing-room mirror and decided she didn’t mind being used in this fashion. As Laffite had decorated his mansion to impress, so had he adorned his lover.

The gown he chose for her was of midnight-blue silk, cut lower than anything Nicolette had ever seen worn by a decent woman in New Orleans. A cloud of flowing silk fell from the high waist to the toes of her silver kid slippers. The entire skirt was hand stitched with silver threads, forming an intricate, allover pattern of dainty flowers. The slightest move caught the candlelight, making the dress shimmer and gleam.

And for the first time in her life, Nicolette wore diamonds—a parure of necklace, earrings, and bracelets with a matching tiara crowning her blue-black hair.

She let her fingers caress the web of white fire at her throat, wondering what wonderful, terrible tales the brilliant stones might tell if they could speak.

Jean had told her earlier, “These jewels belonged to the seven wives of Ivan the Terrible, the first tsar of Russia. Each wife, from Anastasia on down the line, wore them until the last of Ivan’s tsarinas died in the late fourteenth century. They disappeared then. Some say they were stolen away from Moscow by a Jesuit priest sent by the Pope from Rome to unite the Russian churches. A half-century later, the gems resurfaced in Venice to adorn a Doge’s wife and then his mistress. Again they vanished, only to turn up in Spain when my grandmother, Zora, was a young woman. Many times I’ve listened to her tell tales of the tsarinas’ diamonds. The jewels were in my family for a time, owned by a wealthy ancestor on Zora’s side of the family. I felt it only fair that they return to their most recent rightful owners.”

“You bought them?” Nicolette had asked.

“Confiscated stolen property, my dear,” he answered with a wickedly charming smile.

Nicolette frowned at her image as she pondered the diamonds’ troubled history. But a knock at the door revived her drooping spirits. “Jean!” she cried, pulling it open.