Jasmine moon, p.14
Jasmine Moon, page 14
"Oh, look, Robert," she whispered, her eyes big with wonder. "Isn't he the most splendid fellow?"
Reluctantly Robert took his eyes from her to follow her discreet hand. And then he laughed. "That, Eulalie, is Mr. Crowley, from the upcountry. He's quite a dandy, all five feet of him. Peacock would have been a better name for him than Crowley."
But already, Eulalie's attention had been diverted, with Mr. Crowley completely forgotten.
Robert's topaz eyes narrowed as he studied his wife beside him. She looked so innocent, so virginal. No one would guess…
The three years in the convent must have done that to her, after Jacques Binet had left her there. If he had not known better, Robert would have sworn that she was untouched.
Robert knew if he had been Jacques Binet, he never would have released her to the sisters. He would have taken her with him, wherever he went, fighting to keep her constantly by his side.
But he was not Jacques Binet. He was Robert Tabor, her husband, whose pride would not let him forget that another man had known her charms, her soft body.
"Robert, is…is anything wrong?"
He quickly erased the bitter expression from his fade.
"No, Eulalie. Nothing is wrong, except that we have not danced."
He smiled at her and, leading her to the edge of the dance floor, he joined the set for the next quadrille.
When the quadrille was over, Robert took Eulalie by the hand to lead her through the crowd of people to Joseph Alston, the governor, who stood on an elevated platform with his wife, receiving guests.
"Well, Robert, what have we here?"
The governor's eyes twinkled in his strong, dark face as he stared at the girl beside Robert.
"May I present my wife, Eulalie Boisfeulet Tabor."
Governor Alston held out his hand to take Eulalie's smaller one in his. He was not tall, but he was sturdily built, his neck well developed and his prominent brow half-hidden by dark curls that had refused to be brushed into submission. The man exuded power, and Eulalie was aware of it as his sharp eagle eyes swept over her and his hand tucked hers under his arm to move her along to his wife a few paces away.
"Theo," the man called gently, waiting for his wife to turn. "May I present Robert's wife, Eulalie. You must take this beautiful young thing under your wing. I can already see that she could encounter trouble with some of the less handsome ladies."
"Yes, Joseph," she answered, smiling at him. "She is far too pretty for her own good."
"Boisfeulet…Boisfeulet." The governor said the name several times, searching for some answer that eluded him. "Are you from New Orleans, my dear?"
"Yes, Governor Alston. I grew up there but left the convent school to be with my maman when I was almost sixteen."
"Genevieve Boisfeulet. That's the name I was trying to recall," he said with a pleased expression. "Do you happen to be Genevieve Boisfeulet's daughter?"
"Yes, but—"
He laughed at the surprise written on her face. "How did I guess? Because you remind me very much of her. She was a beautiful woman."
In an atmosphere of conspiracy, he leaned over and said, "Would you like to meet one of your relatives, my dear?"
"A relative?" Robert questioned. "I was not aware that Eulalie had any relatives outside France."
"Then it will be my pleasure to introduce them. Go, Robert, and fetch Arthur Metcalfe's cousin. You know the one—Desmond Caldwell, the representative from Chester County. No, leave your wife here, Robert. We will look after her while you are gone."
The evening was turning out vastly different from what she had expected. Eulalie waited while Robert went in search of Mr. Caldwell. And she waited for Joseph Alston to tell her how he knew her maman.
The man who returned with Robert was almost as tall as he. But he was thin and ascetic while Robert was muscular. The middle-aged man looked toward Joseph Alston with penetrating ice-blue eyes above the dark bushy sidewhiskers that hid a large part of his face.
"Mr. Caldwell," the governor began with obvious enjoyment, "is not your second wife a Frenchwoman from Santo Domingo?"
"That is correct, Governor Alston," the man replied with no trace of the accent that gave away the governor's low-country identity. "She fled that island during the last slave rebellion and came to Charleston with many other French refugees."
"And her surname was Longchamp?" the governor questioned further.
Desmond Caldwell nodded, the puzzled look matching the others surrounding Joseph Alston.
"Then, it is my pleasure to introduce you to a distant cousin of your wife's. Eulalie Boisfeulet Tabor, whose mother was also a Longchamp before her marriage."
"This comes as quite a surprise," Desmond Caldwell said. "I will be pleased to apprise Julie when I return home that she has a lovely young relative here in Columbia.
"My dear," he continued, turning to Eulalie, "it is a pleasure to meet you. And I hope that you will be able to visit us in the upcountry, after my wife recovers from her slight indisposition."
Everyone began to talk at once, but Joseph Alston, already tired of his role, stepped down from the platform and guided Theodosia through the roped-off area to lead her onto the dance floor. And Robert, bidding Desmond Caldwell good evening, claimed Eulalie for the next dance.
No matter in which direction Eulalie went, Robert was at her side, or watching her every move. Even when she danced with other partners, he stood protectively at the edge of the dance floor, observing her every turn.
But toward the end of the evening, Eulalie slipped away to the room reserved for the ladies, so that she might repair the silver lace that had come loose from her ballgown at the lower edge. And it was impossible for Robert to follow, with Eulalie already in the middle of a group of women walking in that direction.
She lingered in the cloakroom until the others had gone. And when her mission was completed and the lace pinned into place, Eulalie headed back to the senate chamber.
The hallway was dark, with only a few candles to give light along the way. Quickening her steps, she hastened toward the muffled sound of music coming from the senate chamber. So deserted—the long hallway.
"Mrs. Tabor," a voice called softly from the shadows. Instantly recognizing the voice, Eulalie stopped, her eyes searching for the owner of the voice.
The woman stepped into sight.
"Florilla, what are you doing here?" Eulalie asked. And then panic seized her. "Is it Jason? Has something happened to him?"
Coming closer, with her hooded cape shielding her face, Florilla answered, "Yes. I'm afraid he's taken ill again. And he keeps crying for you."
So what she had feared had come true
"I will get Robert at once," Eulalie said.
But Florilla shook her head and said, "No. You must hurry. There's a carriage already waiting for you. I'll find Robert to tell him you have gone. And I'll ride home with him."
Florilla took Eulalie's arm and guided her down the dark hall to the back entrance where the carriage was waiting…
CHAPTER 16
ROBERT watched the groups of women returning to the senate chamber, but Eulalie was not among them. She had been gone an unusually long time. What could be keeping her?
The ball was nearly over and he was anxious to leave. Already, Joseph Alston had left with Theodosia, his wife. It was common knowledge that she was departing the next day for Georgetown, where The Patriot lay anchored, despite the British blockade, for its trip to New York. Her father, Aaron Burr, had reentered the country under an assumed name and was awaiting his daughter's visit and the new portrait she was bringing him.
I must have Eulalie's portrait painted, Robert thought, in the same shimmering white ballgown she is wearing tonight. He would request her, though, to wear her hair long and unbound, as he first remembered seeing her. But the portrait would be for no one else. Only for himself. A pity that Jeremiah Theus was dead. He would have been able to capture the soft elusive look of those brown eyes and the pearl translucence of her skin.
Now visibly worried, Robert headed for the hallway. Perhaps Eulalie had become ill and even now needed help. She had watched over Jason so unceasingly. It would not do for her to become ill now that Jason was well.
Seeing Anna deLong, Robert reduced the space between them.
"Anna," Robert began, careful to mask his growing concern, "would you be so kind as to see if Eulalie is still in the ladies' room? I am ready to leave and she has not returned."
"Yes, Robert. I shall be happy to find her and give her your message."
Robert relaxed and waited for Eulalie to accompany Anna. But when Anna returned, she was alone.
"I have looked everywhere that I thought she might be," the woman apologized to Robert, "but I cannot find her."
At that moment, Arthur Metcalfe, on his way out, stopped. Seeing the dark frown on Robert's face, he asked, "Has something happened?"
Then, looking around at the dispersing crowd and not waiting for an answer to his first question, he said, "Where is Eulalie?"
"She seems to have disappeared," Robert answered in a flat voice.
"But her shawl is in the ladies' room," Anna added.
"Then she must still be in the building, unless she has been…abducted." Arthur looked troubled as he spoke.
At the last word, Robert turned pale. He remembered the warning that Arthur had voiced earlier. Moving quickly, they began to search the building, Anna and her husband, Richard, now at her side, and Arthur Metcalfe with Robert.
The porter with his lantern helped them in their search. But combing the entire building and all its rooms, they found no trace of Eulalie. So the careful search outside the building began.
It was at the back that Robert saw something silver gleaming in the mud. He reached down to pick it up and his stomach lurched. The silver slipper. Eulalie's silver slipper, crushed in the fresh tracks that had been made by a carriage.
So Arthur's warning was genuine. Despite his watchfulness, someone had taken Eulalie away.
Run out of town! Run out of town! Over and over the phrase rolled in his mind. And the memory of another night, a rowdy crowd and the same words spoken, pervaded his mind, and he saw the same nightmarish scene, but with Eulalie as the victim. But surely they would not do to a woman what had been done to the thief caught stealing—tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail. No one could be that harsh to a mere girl who had done no wrong.
Without waiting for the others, Robert dashed to his carriage. He gave the horses their heads, and the vehicle hurtled toward the old abandoned blacksmith shop at the south edge of town.
With blood in his eye, Robert drove on, fearing, on the one hand, that he would find Eulalie at the suspected scene and yet hoping, on the other hand, that he would not have to continue his search throughout the night. Each minute lost put her in graver danger.
The drunken, milling crowd presaged his fears. Yelling obscenities, as at a bearbaiting or cockfight, the men spurred on the clandestine activity taking place.
Jumping from the carriage, Robert motioned for a young boy at the edge of the crowd to hold the reins. He shoved his way through the mob that had reached a feverish pitch in their shouts. "Tar her! Feather the loose woman," they jeered.
The stench of tar was upon his nostrils. And the sickening odor of unwashed bodies, seeking diversion in their humdrum lives, hung heavily on the cold blanket of air.
The crowd, seeing the angry giant pushing his way to the center of the blacksmith shop, parted and broke off their taunts.
Then Robert saw her. Her gown had been stripped to her waist, and already her breasts were covered with the mixture of tar and feathers. With a feral growl, Robert grabbed the two culprits holding her. Before they knew what had happened to them, they lay sprawled on the ground, stunned from the cracking of their heads together.
Tilting the cauldron of tar, Robert poured it over them and then dumped the box of feathers on top, covering them from head to foot.
Now respectful, the crowd, cowed by Robert's actions, began to slip away, fearful of reprisal for their own behavior.
Robert and Eulalie were alone. Eulalie, with rescue an actuality, swayed and, except for Robert, would have fallen to the ground. The sticky mixture clung to his hands as he caught her and wrapped his own cloak about her body to hide her partial nakedness.
The carriage moved slowly through the muddy streets. Robert's eyes kept returning to the girl who lay slumped beside him, her head against his chest. A fierce, protective anger welled up in his spleen and overflowed.
Alistair Ashe—he was the instigator. And already, Robert was planning satisfaction.
Finally the journey was over. The carriage halted before the iron railing and Robert lifted the woman in his arms and stepped to the ground. Up the stairs into his own bedroom he carried her and he laid her on the bed, unmindful of the coverlet.
"Effie," Robert shouted. "Come here quickly."
The young black girl ran to the master's bedroom, and when she saw Eulalie with her eyes closed and the condition she was in, she began crying.
"Lawd a-mercy, Mr. Robert. Is she…dead? What did dem mean 'uns do to 'er?"
"Hush, Effie. She's not dead. But she needs attention. Go to the cellar and bring up the gallon jar of turpentine."
"But what'll I tell the folks waitin' in the parlor, Mr. Robert?"
"You'll tell them nothing, Effie, except that I will be down presently. Say nothing else. Do you understand, Effie?"
"Yes suh, Mr. Robert," she answered, "but they sho' is goin' to think it's mighty strange, seein' me with the jar of turpentine."
Exasperated, Robert was careful and gentle in his instructions. "Go into the parlor first, Effie. Give them my message and then go get the turpentine." Her face brightened. "Yes suh," she said and left the room.
Robert used the turpentine to remove the tar from his hands, and quickly changing into fresh clothes, he started downstairs.
Effie sat with Eulalie and waited for Robert to return. "Stay with her until I get back. And say nothing to the other servants about this."
He assumed a calmness he did not feel and walked into the parlor. "Eulalie is safe. I have brought her home," Robert told them.
"Thank heavens," Anna deLong replied, still holding onto her husband's arm. "Is she…hurt at all, Robert?"
"Just badly shaken up. Thank you for helping tonight. I won't forget it."
"We…we brought her shawl with us. It's on the chair by the window, Robert," Arthur Metcalfe remarked.
The three stood up to take their leave. Too well bred to ask Robert what had happened, they left the white clapboard house, still unsure what had actually occurred.
As soon as they were gone, Robert walked back upstairs. He did not look forward to the next hour.
"She's awake, Mr. Robert," Effie said. "You want me to stay and help?"
"No, Effie. Just bring me lots of towels and hot water. And then you can go to bed."
"Jason? Is Jason all right?" Eulalie's feeble voice shook as she tried to talk.
"He's fine, Eulalie. Don't talk. Save your strength."
His tawny eyes, smoky from emotion, looked down at her. "This is going to burn, Eulalie, but there's no other way. I will be as gentle as I can, but before I start, I want you to drink this."
"Yes, Robert."
He hoped the laudanum would help. But he was afraid to give her too much. She was so meek, her spirit crushed. If she could respond with anger or crying, it would help. But she lay there, silently submitting to the torture, with the vast anger belonging to Robert for the sacrilege that had been committed. But Eulalie was lucky that they had not gotten to her face, and for that, Robert was grateful.
Gently he worked, removing small dabs of tar at a time, methodically pulling the feathers from the loosened black mixture. But when he reached the last layer next to her skin, the pain grew worse. And by the time he dipped her into the soapy warm water in the old brass tub, Eulalie could keep quiet no longer. She screamed with pain, and the sound cut Robert to the heart.
Her translucent skin was red and raw, and small patches exuded moisture where the skin had once been and was no more.
Robert wrapped her in towels and, throwing the ruined coverlet to the floor, pulled back the sheets on the bed to receive Eulalie's aching, exhausted body.
All through the night, Robert sat by the hearth, keeping the fire going. The moans of a troubled Eulalie were answered by the whining of the wind in the trees. Back and forth, the sounds intermeshed until, toward morning, the wind rested.
A tearful Florilla.was waiting when Robert went downstairs for breakfast.
"Robert, I have been incredibly stupid," she said, dabbing daintily at her tears with the lace handkerchief.
"You are not the only one, Florilla," he commented in a dry tone. "What is it that you have done?"
She looked at him in surprise, forgetting to shed more tears. "You…you mean, Eulalie—that is, Mrs. Tabor—hasn't told you?"
"Told me what, Florilla?" he asked with an air of impatience.
Relief showed in her cornflower-blue eyes, and she began her story.
"Mr. Ashe approached me yesterday and…and asked me if I would help him with a surprise party for Mrs. Tabor."
Robert's face showed his anger at the mention of the man's name.
She hastened on. "I thought he was a friend of yours. I had no way of knowing…" She twisted her handkerchief in her hands.
"Go on with your story."
"Well, he said everyone in Columbia wanted to give your wife a fine welcome—and if I could get her away from the ball, they would all be waiting for her. And it would be such a nice surprise, he said.
"It was much later last night that I found out what happened, and that…that he was not your friend, but your worst enemy. Oh, Robert, if you only knew how I have berated myself!" She was again shedding tears. "And to think how I played into that evil man's hands!"
Her body was trembling and she turned her back to him, as if the confession were more than she could bear.
