Far From Home (7 page)

‘I need a haircut, Allen,’ he said as he fastened his cravat, then smoothed his sideburns. ‘I’ll find somewhere tomorrow, and some new clothes.’

‘I’ll cut it for you when you get back, sir,’ Allen offered.

‘Good man.’ Edward picked up his cane. He didn’t need it, but he was of the opinion that he cut rather a dash when carrying one. ‘Call me a cab,’ he said. ‘And then you’d better get some rest,’ he added. ‘You look pretty rough.’

Allen lay on the bed in his room when Newmarch had gone, and closed his eyes. What to do? He couldn’t leave without money and he debated whether to take his wages out of Newmarch’s pocketbook. I’d only take what I’m due or else he’ll have the authorities onto me. And if I’m caught and he presses charges I could finish up in a stinking jail and never get out! No, I’ll wait for an opportunity, he resolved. I’ll know it when it comes.

Captain Voularis had recommended that Edward called on Señor Rodriguez, who was an eminent man in the city of New Orleans. ‘He can put opportunities your way, Mr Newmarch,’ the captain had said, ‘there is no-one better.’ Edward, always looking for the easiest route to opportunity, decided he would call.

He told the cab driver the address and they travelled over unmade muddy roads until they came to the wrought-iron gates of the house, where a guard and a dog patrolled inside.

Edward passed his card to the guard, on which he had written the name of the hotel and Captain Voularis’ name. ‘My compliments to Señor Rodriguez. If I might have the privilege of paying him a visit, at his convenience.’

He climbed back into the chaise and asked the driver to return along the levee. The evening had cooled and the residents were coming out of their houses and businesses and were socializing along the riverbanks. Hundreds of ships for as far as his eyes could see were moored along the Mississippi, with the flatboats and broadhorns slipped between.

He heard music from fiddles and pipes and the sound of drumbeat. On the decks of some of the ships, girls and men were dancing. He tapped the driver on his shoulder. ‘Those ladies down there.’ He pointed with his cane to where two honey-coloured young women were walking with an elderly Negress. ‘What would they be, Spanish? Mexican?’

The driver glanced down towards them, then shrugged. ‘Quadroon,’ he said. ‘Mixed blood. Mebbe Spanish, Mexican or French. Their granddaddy or grandmammy would have been Negro anyway, but they ain’t pure black like me!’

‘So, will they be free citizens?’ Edward asked. ‘Or are they servants?’ He found he couldn’t bring himself to say slaves.

‘Could be, sir, if they’ve been given their freedom. Some Europeans, even in New Orleans, don’t keep slaves.’ He gave a deep chuckle. ‘Time’s a coming when we’ll all be free, but there’ll be a fight all right: North and South will git blood on their hands.’

Edward sat back and contemplated. It was such a perfect evening. The sun was warm, people were laughing and making merry, and the city had the feel and appearance of Spain or southern France with its orange and lemon trees and brightly berried hedges, and the smell of blossom. It also appeared to be thriving, judging by the commodities which were on the levee. A fight, the driver said. That can’t be right. There was so much merriment and there didn’t appear to be any hardship. None at all.

When he returned to the hotel he found Allen fast asleep in his own room, but he had unpacked the luggage and hung Edward’s clothing in the cupboards, so he didn’t call him but lay on his bed and closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep for he was awakened by a light tapping.

The same houseboy was at the door, holding a message. Edward put his hand in his pocket before remembering that any coin he gave to him would go to the hotel owner. The boy saw his hesitation and slightly opening his lips he pointed to the inside of his mouth. Edward nodded and gave him the coin and watched as the boy slipped the silver into his cheek. He touched his cap and silently departed.

‘Hope he doesn’t swallow it,’ Edward muttered, and opened up the envelope. The message was from Señor Rodriguez, who requested that he join him for lunch the following day.

He rose early the next morning and accompanied by Allen went in search of a new suit of clothes, something lighter and more suitable for the climate. He bought a cream linen suit and a wide hat to keep the heat of the day from his head. The hat was made, he was told, from the leaves of the palm tree. He fitted Allen out with a cotton coat and trousers.

‘They maybe won’t do for California,’ he said to him. ‘But I like the feel of this place so we’ll stay a while before moving on.’

He hired a chaise and presented himself at one o’clock at the gates of Señor Rodriguez’ house. The guard, obviously expecting him, unlocked and opened them and advised him to continue up the long drive which divided the wide, lush green lawns where palm trees and the purple-blue jacaranda grew. Mulatto and Negro workers were rolling the clipped grass and trimming the hedges.

He drew up outside the door and looked with admiration at the house in front of him. Wide steps led up to the front door and the cream-coloured brick gave off a sunny warmth. Wrought-iron balconies at the upstairs windows held stone pots and jars of brightly coloured flowers, and white muslin curtains floated gently in the warm breeze.

A young mulatto girl opened the heavy wooden doors. She was bare-headed and barefoot and wore a red cotton skirt and white embroidered blouse. ‘Good day, Mr Newmarch, sir,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘Come right in. Señor Rodriguez is expecting you.’

Edward followed her through the entrance hall and up a wide staircase with an elaborate scrolled-iron rail to a landing with double doors. She opened one of them and, holding out her hand, said, ‘Go right on in.’

He walked into a large room painted white and gold and filled with heavy but elegant furniture, the chairs and sofas with carved scrolled frames and richly brocaded cushions. At the furthest end of the room, open glass doors led out onto a balcony where the muslin curtains he had seen from below billowed to and fro. From up here he could see the brown Mississippi and the crowded levee.

Señor Rodriguez rose from a sofa to greet him with outstretched hand. He was tall and slimly built, sharp-featured with a long nose and thin cheeks and well-groomed silver hair. He wore a white linen suit with a narrow black silk cravat tied in a simple knot.

‘I am delighted to welcome you to New Orleans, Mr Newmarch.’ He glanced keenly at Edward. ‘I have had a meeting with Captain Voularis only this morning and he mentioned you.’ He spoke in a cultivated voice with just a trace of Spanish accent. ‘I understand you are looking for a new life in America?’

‘I want something different from what I had,’ Edward agreed. ‘I need to stretch my horizon.’

‘Quite so.’ Rodriguez smiled. ‘You are still a young man, and ambitious, yes?’

At Edward’s nod Rodriguez softened his voice. ‘And I understand from Captain Voularis that you are recently widowed?’

Edward cleared his throat and murmured that he was.

‘So no commitments? No children? You can do as you please? Good. Come,’ he said. ‘You must meet my wife Sofia and our family, and then we shall have luncheon.’

He led the way to a door at the other side of the room which seemed to open by itself, until, glancing over his shoulder as he entered another room, Edward noticed the little mulatto girl standing behind it. She repositioned herself at the other side of the door and closed it behind them.

Edward refrained from gasping as he saw the magnificent dining room. A long room, yet it was dominated by the highly polished table set in the centre with at least twenty chairs around it. There were heavy silver candelabra upon it and crystal bowls filled with exoic fruits, melon, oranges, bananas and pineapple. Edward cast his eye over the table setting and saw that six places were laid with gleaming silver cutlery and crisp white table napkins with pale pink blossom laid upon them.

Another door opened and Edward caught a glimpse of the young girl again, but he took a deep breath as a woman came in. She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He guessed that she would be in her early thirties.

She had thick black hair to her shoulders, swept back and secured with a flower and diamond pin. Her complexion was creamy and her large eyes were of the deepest brown, and when she smiled, as she did now to greet him, her mouth was soft and full.

‘I am honoured, señora.’ He gave a deep bow. ‘Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home.’

‘You are more than welcome, Meester Newmarch.’ Her voice was low and husky with an attractive accent. ‘You must feel a little lonely so far from your own country?’

‘Just a little,’ he agreed. ‘New Orleans is very different from where I come from.’

‘And you are a widower, yes?’ Her forehead creased in sympathy.

I wish they wouldn’t go on about it, Edward thought. I wonder why Captain Voularis chose to tell them?

‘It ees not easy, I know,’ she said. ‘I too was widowed when I was very young.’ Then she flashed a brilliant smile at her husband, who was watching her. ‘But then I met my Sancho, so it was ordained!’

The door opened once more and an elderly woman, dressed in a black gown with a black lace cap on her white hair, was ushered in by the girl, who held her by the elbow until she reached them. She leaned heavily on an ebony walking stick.

‘May I introduce you to my mother?’ Rodriguez said. ‘She does not speak English although she understands a little, in spite of her deafness.’

Edward bowed again and Señora Rodriguez peered narrowly at him and then inclined her head in a little nod.

‘Now we just need our daughters and we may be seated.’ Sofia looked towards the door and, as if on cue, two young girls entered. ‘This is Sibella.’ A girl of about fourteen rushed towards him, dimpled a smile and curtsied. Like her mother she had a creamy skin, fine features and large dark eyes which shone with merriment. How lovely she is, Edward thought as he gave her a bow. She must already have many admirers.

‘And this is Elena, my eldest daughter.’ Sofia Rodriguez’ voice was bright and brittle. Edward turned to bow to the young woman who stood sullenly before him, and he wondered how it was possible for such a plain creature to be born into this handsome family. She was about seventeen years of age, tall and of heavy build with dark corkscrew-curly hair. Her skin, unlike her mother’s and sister’s, was swarthy with coarse broad features. The only likeness was in her eyes, which were dark like theirs with long sweeping lashes, and which viewed him with suspicion.

She muttered something in Spanish as she curtsied to him and her father spoke sharply to her in the same language.

‘Shall we be seated?’ Señor Rodriguez snapped his fingers and a troop of servants appeared. Two of them positioned themselves behind the two ladies and one behind the señoritas and drew back their chairs so they might be seated. Another moved towards Edward to show him his place and one attended Rodriguez, who sat at the head of the table.

Wine was poured into crystal glasses and the food was brought in. Edward, having eaten plainly for so many weeks, found his mouth watering as dish after dish was placed on the table. They were served with a dish of guacamole containing tomato, avocado and chilli, which made him draw in his breath with its fire. Bright red and green peppers decorated a dish of cold spit-roasted quail. Smoked fish, oysters, crayfish, boiled turkey, pastries filled with minced ham and hot black peppercorns were placed before him. Tortilla and rice with ham and olives were offered. A dish of figs and dates mixed with almonds and raisins, capers and spinach, was topped with slices of oranges and lemons and sprinkled with sugar and almond oil.

For dessert he was offered honey corn cakes and a creamy chocolate blancmange flavoured with nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger and malmsey.

His glass was constantly filled, first with a crisp white wine, next a delicate rosé. Then the glasses were changed and he was brought a deep red Portuguese wine, mellow to the tongue, followed by a sweet dessert wine spiced with coriander and cardamom.

After they had finished, the ladies departed to another room and through the closed doors Edward heard the angry tones of Elena, who he had noticed ate greedily and quickly. Her mother answered sharply and then came the raised voice of the older señora, though he couldn’t understand what was being said.

‘You will take a glass of malmsey, Mr Newmarch?’ Rodriguez lifted a crystal decanter enquiringly. ‘We will drink a toast to your success in your new country!’

Edward blinked and accepted, though he knew he had had more than enough. He lifted his glass. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘And may I wish you and your family good health and continuing prosperity.’

What riches, he thought. What sumptuous surroundings! Everything he saw around him spoke of wealth and old money. If I could cultivate this man, would some of his aura rub off on me? Could I acquire such grandeur and splendour?

Edward drained his glass, saw Rodriguez smiling to himself and realized that the Spaniard wanted something from him, equally as much as he wanted from the Spaniard.

‘How do you do?’ Georgiana was standing on the stairs, so she had the advantage of being higher than the man who was posing as Edward Newmarch. She recognized him instantly as Edward’s valet, for she had seen him many times when calling on her cousin May. His name? she thought. What is his name? She tried to think of Edward’s voice as he called to him, as he often did, to fetch him this or that.

Allen! she remembered. That’s what it is. So what has happened to Edward? Is he dead and Allen posing as him and spending May’s money? Her lips tightened. I cannot condone this, even though I have no regard for Edward Newmarch! But then she saw Wilhelm Dreumel’s smiling honest face and wondered how she could tell him that the man he was trusting with his land and gold mine was an impostor. But she must.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Gregory.’ Allen’s voice was nervous and his eyes had an appeal in them. ‘I believe we come from the same district?’