The Creole Princess (43 page)

“’Course I was in pretty bad shape, after being locked up for such a long time, but at least I was stone-cold sober! My boy and Cain over there, they took care of me in a little shelter they built in the woods, fed me a little at a time until I got my strength back. Meanwhile, they watched and listened from the shadows and heard bits of news. In January, Redmond was recalled to
Pensacola, and they sent Colonel Durnford to replace him. If Durnford had been in charge a month earlier, I don’t know that I’d have gotten away.”

“That’s—remarkable,” was all Rafa could think of to say. Wait until Lyse heard what her little brother had been up to.

Antoine nodded. “And then rumors started to fly that you Spaniards had taken back the Mississippi River and were headed for Mobile next. We heard you’d landed at Mobile Point in spite of that nasty storm, and figured you’d camp here and prepare to attack.” He lifted his shoulders. “So here we are. There’s only a garrison of maybe three hundred men at Fort Charlotte, and they’re running low on ammunition. I know Durnford has sent for reinforcements, but they will have been slowed by the same weather as you. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

A smile took over Rafa’s face. Gálvez would now have the advantage of an eyewitness who had observed daily preparations inside the fort, not to mention three individuals—four, counting Simon—who were familiar with every stone and hill and creek in the surrounding area.

Nothing was a foregone conclusion, but things were looking a shade brighter.

N
EW
O
RLEANS
, S
T
. L
OUIS
C
HURCH
M
ARCH
1, 1780

Lyse awoke with the splashing of gold, purple, and indigo light across her cheek and onto the marble floor of the St. Louis Church. She had come there late last night to pray, and had fallen asleep at the altar, crouched on all fours, her arms wrapped about her head.

Aching in every muscle and joint, she rolled to her back, spread-eagled like a living sacrifice, and stared up at the beautiful domed ceiling. One of the priests would be here to shoo her away, if she
didn’t move soon. But her thoughts continued to wheel like butterflies in the stained-glass dust motes.

Rafa was a hundred miles away, waking up, she hoped, to a rare day of sunshine. Perhaps he was putting on his boots, laughing at another man’s joke, that roguish crease in his cheek, his hair coming loose from its queue.

Or maybe he had been wounded and lay in a muddy ditch, his precious lifeblood seeping into the ground.

She sat up, flattening her hands at her temples, as if to block out the sounds of his rasping breath. Oh, God! Why had she not told him how she loved him? Why had she been so insistent on a proper proposal of marriage? What did that matter, when he told her with every touch of his hand, the very timbre of his voice, that he wanted and loved her?

God, if you will bring him back to me, I will never again be so silly as to throw cake at him. Or refuse to kiss him.
Or make saucy remarks.

Well . . . he actually seemed to enjoy the saucy remarks.

And one couldn’t spend one’s life kissing, though it might be fun to try.

At any rate, I most humbly ask you, Holy Father, to guard and protect him this day. Give him wisdom for
whatever task he takes on. Oh, and give him dry
socks.

Amen.

F
ORT
C
HARLOTTE
, M
OBILE
M
ARCH
4, 1780

For the fourth day in a row, Rafa marched through the gate at Fort Charlotte under a flag of truce, bearing gifts from General Gálvez for Colonel Durnford. Rafa had been chosen for this important mission for several reasons. Because of his close connection with
Oliver Pollock, as well as his extensive travels through British territory, his English was the best of all Gálvez’s officers. Also, Gálvez remembered Rafa’s original report on his first stay in Mobile in the fall of 1776, which recounted the dinner with Redmond and, fortuitously, Durnford’s family. Gálvez determined that Rafa’s previous acquaintance with the British officer must shed a favorable light upon his intentions.

Gálvez hoped by this extended polite parlay to avoid a costly attack, encouraging instead a peaceful surrender of Fort Charlotte. Every day the negotiations continued, this hope became less and less a certainty.

Still, Rafa remained proud of his commander’s gentlemanly conduct. When he arrived at Durnford’s quarters, he saluted the adjutant, Tully, who had notified Rafa when Lyse’s situation became desperate, and who had so humanely assisted Antoine Lanier. Tully returned the salute, but by no flicker of an eyebrow or twitch of mustache did the stodgy corporal betray any recognition; in fact, he might have been some inanimate block of stone as he held the door for Rafa’s entrance into the commander’s office.

Durnford, considerably grayer about the temples than the last time Rafa had seen him, rose upon Rafa’s entrance and invited him to take a seat. Rafa did so with a smile, but first presented the handsome lined basket Gálvez had sent. In it were a freshly plucked chicken and a leg of mutton, two loaves of French bread, a dozen corn cakes, and a batch of tea biscuits—all purchased from the bountiful kitchen of Justine Lanier—and to top that bounty off, Gálvez had provided, from his personal store, bottles of Spanish and Bordeaux wine with a box full of premium Cuban cigars.

After poking eagerly through the basket’s contents, Durnford set the basket aside and showed all his bad teeth in a gratified smile. “You must express to General Gálvez my deep appreciation for his generosity, Don Rafael. The chicken especially is a most appropri
ate manifestation of the don’s character. My officers enjoyed the wines he sent yesterday, but I think I must keep this fresh batch of courtesy for myself.”

Rafa pretended not to notice the buried insult. “I assure you, Colonel, that Don Bernardo is fully cognizant of the depths to which a British officer will go if there is a leg of lamb offered as reward. Perhaps that is how a certain prisoner managed to escape a few weeks ago.”

Durnford’s smile froze. “I do not know what you mean. It is true, however, that we were infested with cockroaches not too long ago—but we have rid ourselves of the pests finally.”

“Oh—roaches. One never knows when they will attack.” Rafa brushed at an invisible speck of lint on the knee of the pristine breeches he’d borrowed from the general for the occasion. “Speaking of inconveniences, my commander would like to remind you that our army is still camped quite uncomfortably near the gates of your little fort here. He hopes that you will be so kind as to vacate the premises so that we may have respite from your lovely little swamp. In fact, he is quite concerned that you do so before sundown today, lest his men become impatient and make their own doorway through the wall with a little cannon fire.”

Durnford’s blue eyes iced over. “Is he indeed? Then I’m sorry you have to be the bearer of bad tidings. You must return at your earliest convenience—let us say in the next ten minutes—and inform your master that his bone-bearing puppy has been whipped. He is advised to make himself comfortable in the swamp, because that is the only place I have available to offer as accommodations.” He stood. “And if his men should try to create a doorway, my own men will respond with like enthusiasm. Do I make myself clear?”

Rafa rose as well, and nodded stiffly. “Abundantly, sir. And in that case, I give you good day. I will not disturb you again.” Resisting the urge to poke his fingers into those chilly bug-eyes, he bowed
and sauntered from the office. He saluted Tully, who looked away in obvious discomfort, then exited the building.

The gauntlet had been thrown. Gálvez would pick it up, and the battle would begin. And in the aftermath, the city of Mobile, Lyse’s home, was going to fall.

21

N
EW
O
RLEANS
,
THE
C
ABILDO
M
ARCH
9, 1780

Lyse had been waiting in the anteroom of the Cabildo since noon, waiting for Oliver Pollock to have time to see her. He had sent a message to the fort this morning, requesting that she honor him with a visit at her earliest convenience, as he had some information that he thought might be of some interest to her.

Of course she had rushed right over, barely taking time to brush her hair into a neater braid. But here she had sat, in this chilly room, with its stone floors and cold stucco walls, and not a comfortable chair in sight. She rubbed her arms absently. She shouldn’t complain. Rafa had been enduring untold miseries for nearly two months. Out of habit, on the thought, she whispered a prayer. Perhaps God kept her in discomfort to remind her to pray.

She thought of the night she’d brought Rafa’s dinner to him here, when he’d said,
Don’t be ridiculous—of course we’re betrothed
. Why hadn’t she believed him? She might have had four more months of kisses. They might even have been married by now.

Why did she always have to have everything exactly her way?

Suddenly the door of the governor’s office opened, and Pollock’s
round, ruddy Irish face appeared. “Miss Lanier? I can see you now, if you’ll come in.”

She had come to know this kind, energetic man a deal better since the new year. She understood why Rafa liked and respected him so much. His passion for the new nation of the United States of America was infectious. Perhaps one day, when Rafa retired from service to His Spanish Majesty’s army, they might emigrate, and establish a home somewhere in those free colonies. Surely someone as creative and determined as Rafa would be able to find a way to—

“Miss Lanier? If you please, I have much work to be done this afternoon after I see you.”

“Oh! I beg your pardon!” Blushing, Lyse jumped to her feet and followed Pollock into the office.

“Please, sit there,” he said, indicating the chair in front of the governor’s desk, then seating himself behind it.

She stared at the desk, picturing Rafa’s sleeping face. He had been so overworked and so tired that night. How could she have been so . . .

Oh, she was woolgathering again. She met Pollock’s bland gaze and pressed her hands together. “What is it, Mr. Pollock? I know you’re busy . . .”

“No, it is quite all right, my dear. Rafael’s lady must always be a priority. In fact, my wife has reminded me repeatedly that we must have you over for supper one night. I shall make that happen. But first, this letter came for you, included in one addressed to me.” He handed her a folded paper, sealed with red wax.

She took it and examined the seal. It looked like . . . It was! Rafa’s signet!

She burst into tears.

Pollock stood, horrified. “My dear! What is wrong?”

“Nothing!” Desperately she hunted in her pocket for a handkerchief. “It is only that I have missed him so much, and I didn’t
think he would have time to think of me, but here is his signet, and I am so very happy!” She blew her nose.

“Oh, well, if that is all.” Pollock sat down again, observing her dryly. “I am terrified of what will happen when you actually read it.”

Lyse laughed, stuffed the handkerchief back in her pocket, and broke the seal.

Dear Lyse,
she read.

I have only a moment to write this and send it with Gálvez’s report to Pollock, but I want you to know how much I miss you, how I love you, and can’t wait to return to you. We had a bit of a miserable time for the first couple of months—did you know it rains a lot in Mobile?

She laughed again, hiccupped, and kept reading.

Anyway, I must first tell you that we have your father, your little brother Luc-Antoine, and Scarlet’s Cain safe with us. I’ll tell you the story of their escape when I see you, but for now just know that I shall protect them with my own life. Simon is well, too, by the way, and insists I give his love to Daisy. The other news I must share is a little more difficult. Major Redmond has been recalled to Pensacola, to be replaced by Colonel Durnford. I know you remember him from that first dinner party where I fell in love with you. Actually, I think it was the cornbread, but I digress.