Drum (24 page)

"These are yours," he said and he looked at her searching-ly. '*You and I both know the little game the mice played while the cat was away. Verdad?"

She bowed her head.

"I am grateful to you." He turned and walked out of the patio, closing the iron-griUed gate behind him, put his foot into the stirrup and called for M'dong and Omo to follow him.

"Tamboura is dead," he said. "What a stupid waste of the best slave in Cuba."

'Tamboura is dead," M'dong repeated the words to Omo.

"Tamboura is dead," Omo echoed sadly.

chapter xvii

Alix waited in the shadows of the balcon until she heard the patio gate close. She ran down the stairs, dressed in her most elaborate gown. She could not believe that Cesar was gone and would not see her again. She had been so certain she could patch matters up with a little acting—at first contrite and pathetic, then rising to a righteous indignation that he could so much as suspect her, and in the end forgiving him. Now he had left, without a word to her. "What did he say," she demanded of Rachel. "He said that we must leave Havana tonight. There are two ships—one leaves for Mexico and one for New Orleans. You have your choice."

"What does it matter?" Alix could weep now without thought of spoiling the elaborate maquillage she had used to hide the ravages of her earlier tears.

"They speak French in New Orleans," Rachel prompted her.

"And we must leave here?" "We must."

"Then let us go to New Orleans. I am sick of these damned Spaniards. Aie, what more can happen to me?" "Nothing, madame, I am here to protect you." "But there is something you cannot protect me from. Something nobody can protect me from."

Rachel took her mistress in her arms and consoled her with soft pattings and sympathetic duckings. H "Nothing can harm madame with me here." K "But oh, Rachel." Alix clung tightly to her. "You don't Know the worst. All that has happened is as nothing. I'm going to have a baby, Rachel, a baby! Do you understand? A black bastard of a baby. I'm already nearly three months pregnant. I've visited three abortistas, but they have failed. The little black bastard grows inside me. Damn that Tam-boura, danm him, damn him, danm himl When I was with

him, he made me forget everything else. I took no precautions. Oh, Rachel, what shall I do?"

"Hush, madame," Rachel's moment had arrived. Alix was hers. "I will arrange everything. From the moment we step foot on the ship, you will become an invalid, keeping to your cabin. When we arrive in New Orleans, you will be carried off the ship on a Utter and we shall seek some quiet boarding house or a httle house of our own. As far as everyone else is concerned, you will be ill—bedridden—and I shall be your nurse. Gradually I shall pad my dresses until there will be no doubt in anyone's mind that I am enceinte. You will have to depend on me to be yovu- midwife but I shall make the acquaintance of one in New Orleans and learn her methods from her. Then, when the child is bom, you can pass it oflf as mine. I shall be its mother and you will miraculously recover." She clasped Alix tighter. "Aiel we shall be happy together, madame. What delicious Uttle meals I shall prepare for you and we shall play ecarte and rouge et noir. You will read books to me and I shall embroider for you."

"But what shall we use for money?"

"See, madame, don Cesar gave me this." Rachel held out her hands with the coins.

"BahI A paltry sum!" Alix looked at the meager gold and silver. "Is that all I earned in these many months?" She brightened. "But I have my jewels—the parure of diamonds, the necklace of opals. And I stiU have those I brought from St. Domingue."

"We shall make out, madame, never fear. And now I . must attend to packing our clothes. Don Cesar said we might take them."

"Well I should hope so! And more than our clothes. There \ are many valuables belonging to the Montalvo family in the house. Pack them with the rest of the things—the big silver cofifee urn, the spoons, the amber and ivory crucifix, the silver statue of the Madonna. Strip the house of everything of value. Cesar owes me that much. Come! Perhaps it is all for the best. At least one problem is solved. I shall not present him with a black child. Come, Rachel."

Alix started up the stairs. Halfway up she stopped to pick, something up. It was a wad of cloth, still damp from Tam-boura's sweat.

"He set great store by this," she said to herself. "He sait that as long as he wore it, his spirit would never depart froi

him." She rolled the shapeless wad in her hand, then lifted it to her nose and sniffed it. For a second she was back in Tamboura's arms.

Perhaps for the first time in her life, Alix wept tears that were not for herself.

"Tamboura," she whispered, "Oh Tamboura. I think I loved you. I don't want your little black bastard, Tamboura. Already I hate it. But if it is a boy, I shall name him Drum and I shall give him this."

i

book two

chapter i

On the morning of April 22, 1820, the French-Spanish-American-Creole city of New Orieans was in a gala mood—a mood always easy for this mercurial city to adopt. The decorations left over from the recent Mardi Gras were once more tacked up on the house fronts, wound through the iron lace balconies and refurbished with leaves of palmetto, garlands of flowers and oleographs of General Andrew Jackson. The victor of the Battle of New Orleans, which had been fought only six years ago, was again passing through the city with his wife Rachel—en route to Florida, so recently a colony of Spain, to become the governor of that new addition to the United States. It was an occasion for celebration in all New Orleans and the city was ready to do homage to the lanky general and his rotund wife. That he had been hated by some and extolled by others made little difference now.j New Orleans was no longer either French or Spanish—it was American, a part of the burgeoning United States—anc General Jackson was a man high in favor with President Monroe in Washington.

New Orleans was ready to welcome him, although to^ the old Creole families it was a tongue-in-cheek welcome. Naturally no American, regardless of his position, could compare with their importance in the rigid social structure of New Orleans, but they were willing to do token welcome to any Johnny-come-lately if it meant a day of celebration.

And so the bands played, the militia marched in their fantastic uniforms, and the general and his lady progressed slowly up Orleans Street, turned right on Dauphine, down Dumaine, which was by no means as impressive as Orleans, to Conde and thence back to the Place d'Armes, which was later, had the general but known, to be named after him. The lace-curtained glass coach, which had come down the Mississippi along with the general and his wife, had all its windows open as it rolled slowly along over the cobbles,

pelted with flowers and acclaimed by many a hearty vive. Some of the watching Creole ladies, of course, whispered the scandal about the general's plump lady who, 'twas said, had been careless about divorcing her first husband before she married Mr. Jackson. Others, glimpsing the plain stuff of her dress through the windows of the coach, waved their fans of Chantilly lace and sniffed at the mode passee in which the good lady was dressed. All of them had an invitation for the big ball that night on the upper floor of the French Exchange and each vowed to herself that her elaborate toilette would quite eclipse that of Madame Jackson.

Alix had decorated the long upper balconies of her house on Dumaine Street with a tasteful draping of red, white and blue bunting—how convenient that the Americans used the same colors as the French; and economical too—centered by a wreath of white immortelles around the oleograph of Jackson. She and her white girls, dressed in pale blue and pink to complement their unvarying pale-blonde prettiness, were lined up in chairs behind the convoluted grillework on the second floor while Rachel (honored today by having the same name as the general's lady) sat with the quadroon and octoroon girls on the third floor balcony, their olive beauty subtly enhanced by the pale yellow, peach and orange dresses they wore. Indeed, the whole combination made the prettiest of pictures from the street—the pistache-green stuccoed house, the elaborate black lace ironwork of its balconies, the colorful dresses of the girls—a most effective advertisement for Alix's prospering business. The girls were all beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful in New Orleans; it would be difl&cult to tell which were the loveliest, the pale beauties on the second floor or those of richer coloring on the third. But there could be no doubt in any man's mind that they were all superb. Albc had seen to tiiat. Par consequent! They were her livelihood and the source of her many dollars.

Vraiment, neither Alix nor any of the girls in her house had received an invitation to the official ball at the French Exchange. Alix hardly expected one, for long ago she had dropped any pretension to being a French countess, since her profession excluded her from the possibility of taking a place in society. But although the Creole aristocracy of New Orleans might resent her appearance at the ball, she could take comfort from her knowledge that after midnight, when the gay beaux had dutifully escorted their dull wives and vir-

ginal sweethearts home, these same men would head straight for the de Vaux Academie de Musique, as Alix called her house—though the French referred to it as Le Bordel de Madame Alix; the Spanish as La Casa de la gran Puta; and the more matter-of-fact Americans simply as that whorehouse on Dumaine Street. Alix cared not a picayune what others called her house as long as they came and brought their gold pieces with them. Yes, Gold Pieces! The tiny dollar gold piece was her entrance fee—to keep out the barbarous Kaintucks, she explained. Should a man desire to listen to the strains of the particular music for which the girls of the house were celebrated, he paid in twenty-dollar gold double-eagles. It was rarely that Alix extended credit. The music her girls made was never ordinary; it was worth every penny, of the fee.

The sound of the military band down the street heralded the arrival of the parade and the girls leaned forward on the balcony as Alix had instructed; it gave those in the street below a better opportunity to appraise their beauty, not to mention the city's most voluptuous bosoms. On the arrival of the governor's coach, the girls tossed their bouquets down into the street, the multicolored ribbands which tied them flowing out in whirling streamers. It was indeed so pretty a sight that the naive Rachel—the general's wife, not the Rachel on the upper balcony, for she was certainly not naive—smiled and waved gaily to the assembled ladies, only to be reproved by a look from the general who knew from his former visit that the de Vaux Academy of Music was far more than its innocent name implied. But Alix was quite satisfied. She had been rewarded with a smile from Mrs. Jackson,, which was more than many had received. She sank back im her chair, making a mental note of her cUents as they passed—the young Armand du Plessis on horseback and I following him, Jean Bellefleur of Bellefleur Plantation. Ah!! there was Jacques Montpelier of Beauclair Plantation and! there, that silvery-haired man in the carriage, the old Marquis de Thurville who, although now an American citizen, refused to give up his title. Mr. Edward Livingston passed on horseback and the fabulously wealthy Mr. Clark in a carriage. Pablo Hernandez, his adolescent face somewhat matured by long black sideburns, stole a glance at the third floor as he passed and Alix saw the adoring expression in his eyes as he looked up at her Renee-Rose on the top balcony. Lazare Le-Toscan, who was supposed to be the handsomest beau in the

city, cared so little for convention that he looked up at Alix and waved gaily to her, and his companion, Bernard de Marigny, who had insisted on purchasing her octoroon girl, Clotilde, last year, acknowledged Alix' presence with a fillip of his riding whip. Most of her clients, however, passed the gaily decorated Academy of Music without even a glance in its direction, especially those who were riding in carriages with their wives. The girls were most discreet. Even though they might have released a man from their arms only a few hours ago that very morning, they permitted him to pass with no sign of recognition. One had only to compare their charms with those of the lady who sat beside her husband in the carriage to realize why he had sought their company.

One of the most elegant equipages in the procession belonged to Dominique You, the former lieutenant of the infamous Lafitte brothers. He, now turned eminently respectable in his elder years, was so impervious to the comments of his fellow citizens that he not only bowed and smiled to Alix but cupped his hands and shouted up to her.

"Must see you. Three o'clock?"

She glanced at her jeweled watch on its chain of diamonds and nodded acceptance. It was half after two now—evidently Dominique meant to come directly after the parade broke up. Kind of him, but then she and Dominique were old friends. They had been partners in many a shady deal in the old days when Jean Lafitte, from his blacksmith shop in New Orleans, and his brother Pierre from his Bara-tarian stronghold, controlled the commerce of the city while Alix pandered to its passions. Now Jean and Pierre had left New Orleans for the island of Campeche off the coast of Texas, and burly old Dominique had given up his pirating to run the prosperous blacksmith shop where much of New Orleans' elaborate ironwork was produced.

As for Alix, what cared she for respectability? She had buried all such claims when she left Havana with a black child in her womb. Now she was content to insist solely on the "Academy of Music" sign that hung over the banquette. Damne! Hers was not a whorehouse in the accepted sense of the word. Her elegant establishment was not to be compared with the broken-down cribs along the levee. On that one note of pseudo-respectability she insisted. To hell with the rest.

She relaxed in her chair. The parade was over and Onesime might as well remove the bunting and fold it up. She must tell him to save the picture of Jackson as the general might return

I

sometime and it would save the expense of getting another. II hadn't been much of a parade after all. She had seen man>i in the twenty years that had elapsed since she arrived in New Orleans from Havana. There had been Spanish parades and French parades and American parades. Even the Due d'Orleans had once ridden by in an open carriage and latei had come to her Academy for a little concert by a quartet oi her most beautiful quadroon girls. But the stingy duke had not left a centime in payment, although she could always point to an elaborate bed in one of her second-floor rooms and tell its occupant for the night that royal Bourbon flesh had once slept there, if sleep he could with four of hei filles de couleur for company.