Jasmine moon, p.15
Jasmine Moon, page 15
"Control yourself, Florilla. We are all at fault. But she is safe now."
"I…I know you will not want me to stay after this."
"Nonsense, Florilla. You have been with Jason for over two years. And very helpful with him. But we will both have to be a little less stupid and be more protective of both mother and son."
"Oh, thank you, Robert. You don't know how much this means to me, to know that you don't blame me entirely for what happened."
She smiled up at him through eyelashes glistening with tears, and with a slight sob, she walked tragically out of the dining room.
Florilla's confession confirmed Alistair Ashe's guilt. To think that he had deliberately done this, even after Robert had gone privately to him, entrusting him with the story of what had happened between him and Eulalie. And that he, Robert, was entirely to blame. Blast it! He never thought he would have asked a favor of anyone, much less an enemy, but his concern for Eulalie had made him swallow his pride. He had not wanted her to be hurt any more. And Ashe had not been gentleman enough to remain silent.
There was only one course to take. He would see him dead for what he had done to Eulalie, or die, himself, in the attempt.
Later that day, Feena arrived from the plantation. All the way, she had been wild with joy. Her petite Lili was alive!
When she walked to the strange white clapboard house, everything was remarkably quiet. Was Lili ill? Was that why the house seemed dead?
"Mam’selle Lili has sent for me," she announced proudly to the young girl at the door. "Please take me to her."
"You mean Miz Tabor?" the girl asked.
"Mais oui—Mistress Tabor—Mam’selle Lili. Vite! Don't just stand there looking at me. I am in a hurry."
Feena walked up the stairs, along the dim hallway, following the girl to the closed door of the bedroom.
"Mr. Robert said no one was to go in theah, 'cept Effie," the girl explained, doubtful that Feena would be allowed entry.
"Then she is ill. I will take care of her as I always have. Ma petite Lili, it is Feena," she called out, knocking at the door.
The heavy carved door opened a tiny bit, and when the other girl had left, Effie let Feena in.
“Mon Dieu, what have they done to you, mam’selle?" an indignant Feena asked, shocked at the condition of Eulalie's skin.
"It was all a…mistake, Feena," Eulalie replied, wincing at the pain when she moved.
"Mistake is right. Whoever did this made the big mistake. Feena fix them, all right."
"No, Feena. Promise me you won't do anything. You would be sent away, and I need you."
"That mush-faced hussy, Madame Florilla—She had a hand in this. I feel it here."
Feena banged her fist against her breast. And not waiting for Eulalie to confirm or deny it, she continued her tirade.
"She's a no-good woman. The minute I laid eyes on her, I knew. But now that you are back, things will be different. Madame will no longer rule this house. When will you get rid of her, ma petite?"
"It is…not my place, Feena. Robert was the one to hire her. He must be the one to let her go."
"Humph! Then you'd better put the idea in his head. Men cannot see through such a sly one. But a woman knows—and I know she will only cause trouble in this house between you and your husband. But now, you must rest. I will go downstairs to boil a poultice for you. Your skin will heal without a blemish, mam’selle. Feena will vouch for it."
Eulalie lay quietly, waiting for Feena to return with the healing balm for her skin. But she did not go to sleep. Rather, the events of the previous night spun slowly through her mind. Nothing seemed real, except Robert…Robert, with the fierce look on his face. Even the dark scowl at Midgard when he had jumped the fence and almost run her down was nothing in comparison to the expression when he saw what the two men had done to her.
And he had been so gentle while removing the tar from her body. When she had cried out from the stinging of the turpentine, he had soothed her with loving words, as if he were calming a fretful Jason.
To think that his giant hands could be as dexterous as any nurse's. Eulalie remembered their insistence long ago, moving over her body, demanding her response to his lovemaking. Now she had seen another side of Robert Tabor.
She put her hand to her cheek, where she had felt his lips. Or had she only dreamed that he leaned over during the night to kiss her? She could not be sure.
CHAPTER 17
FLORILLA came to me this morning, Eulalie, to explain her part in what happened last night."
Robert stood before the window, looking down at the still-soggy ground, shadowed by the late-afternoon sun.
"Oh?"
Eulalie, dressed in a soft wisp of a gown, sat up in bed, her hair covering the pillows at her back. She waited for Robert to continue.
"I have no reason to believe that she knew what Ashe had arranged, so I have given her permission to remain as governess for Jason."
Stunned at his words, Eulalie was silent. Robert had not even bothered to get her version of what had happened, before absolving Florilla of any criminal intent. But whether she had known what was planned or not, Florilla had been cruel to tell her that Jason was ill. Now it was too late to mention that to Robert. He had already made up his mind to keep Florilla in the house.
"But there is no need for Jason to have a governess, Robert. I will take care of him from now on."
"You are in no condition to watch after anybody for a while. No, Florilla will earn her keep. Jason is already causing her some consternation, since he can't get in to see you. I'm afraid you have spoiled him, Eulalie, in the short time you have been in the house."
"But why is he being kept from me, Robert?"
"He would not understand your being hurt. It would only scare him and upset him. And I know it would be too painful for you even to hold him for a few minutes. No, it's best if he does not see you for the next few days."
The knock sounded at the door and Robert called out, "Yes? Who is it?"
"It is Feena, monsieur, to help Mam’selle Lili back to her room."
Walking to the door, Robert opened it a few inches, not wide enough for Feena to enter.
"That will not be necessary, Feena, since Mrs. Tabor will be staying in here from now on. You can start bringing her clothes from the green room, instead."
"Oui,, monsieur," Feena said, chuckling, as the door closed.
Furious at the servant's dismissal, Eulalie climbed out of bed. She held to the large mahogany post until her head could clear.
"Robert, you had no right," Eulalie choked, "to tell Feena that. There is no need for any of my clothes to be brought here. I…I do not plan to stay in this room."
"As you wish about the clothes, Eulalie," Robert retorted. "You will not be able to wear them for some days anyway. But you will remain in this bedroom, Eulalie, whether you like it or not."
Eulalie let go of the post and took three faltering steps before she stopped, her body swaying from dizziness. Quickly, Robert reached her side and took her arm to steady her. She cried out in pain at the touch.
"You are not able to manage alone. Stop torturing yourself and get back to bed." His voice was curiously gentle.
Defeated, she let Robert help her to bed, but not before the tears began.
Seemingly unmoved by her tears, the golden-haired man exploded. "You are acting as spoiled as Jason, Eulalie. However disagreeable it is for you to share this room with me, that is exactly what you will do. The servants have enough to gossip about as it is, without our having separate bedrooms."
Eulalie buried her face in the pillow and made no effort to check her angry sobs. Soon the door slammed and she was alone.
"It is natural, ma petite, for a husband to want his wife with him," Feena said, hanging up Eulalie's clothes beside those of Robert.
"He didn't even ask me about Florilla. He made-up his mind without even talking with me. He…he thinks I'm spoiling Jason and…and he didn't consult me about this room, whether I wished to stay or not." Eulalie wiped her tears with the edge of the sheet.
"All men do that, mam’selle. They do not think it necessary to ask their wives anything, before making up their minds."
"But I am not his wife, Feena."
"Ah, so that is the big problem, n’est-ce-pas? Well, do not worry. With my poultices taking effect, you will soon be well. And then, when your skin is healed, we shall see how strong Monsieur Robert is, in resisting you."
"But I do not want…" Eulalie stopped, her face turning red with embarrassment.
Feena laughed and helped Eulalie out of her gown.
"Already the skin is looking better," Feena remarked.
The door opened and Feena, turning to Robert, asked, "Do you not think so, monsieur?"
Robert stepped closer to the bed and gazed at Eulalie, who was reaching frantically for the fresh gown that Feena held.
"Much better, Feena," he said, smiling. "Your balm is working its magic, I see."
Eulalie glared at Feena and ignored Robert and his comment.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, Robert vaguely registered the movement in the large mahogany bed. Ready to blow out the candles, he glanced toward Eulalie to bid her goodnight before stretching out on the cot near the hearth.
"Now, what are you doing, Eulalie?" Robert asked, annoyed that she was again out of bed.
"I am praying, monsieur, for Jacques Binet, as I promised." She knelt by the side of the bed, with only a portion of her long, dark hair visible from across the room.
The candles went out and Robert's voice cut through the room. "Then you will do it in the dark. I will not be subjected to watching my wife praying for such a bastard."
In the darkness, an annoyed Robert listened to the whispered sounds of his wife. Then, the quiet, sweet voice spoke clearly. "Good night, Robert."
"Good night, Eulalie. Sleep well."
Before dawn, Robert, careful not to awaken Eulalie, tiptoed from the bedroom into the adjoining alcove, where he dressed.
He had not told her about the duel, knowing it would upset her. With luck, he would be back without Eulalie knowing he had gone—that is, if Ashe did not kill him, instead.
The sun rose on the east banks of the Congaree, its brilliance sifting through the heavy, gnarled oak trees. The cheerful chirping of birds was incongruous over the sinister strip of sandy earth where death was meted out according to the gentlemen's code.
And it was there at Dueling Oak near the riverbank that the small group gathered—Robert and Arthur, his second; Alistair Ashe and his second; and the surgeons, waiting in the background to pronounce the severity of the wounds that were sure to come.
The horses, tethered to the saplings not far off, nervously pawed the ground and snorted, anxious to be free of the carriages.
The odor of the river, the strength of the early-morning breeze against his face, and the taste of vengeance bombarded Robert's senses while he waited for the signal to begin.
Narrowing his eyes, Robert peered toward Alistair Ashe, who stood arrogantly not twenty paces from him, slowly drawing up his flintlock dueling pistol to eye position and gazing down the barrel toward his adversary. Once a member of the infamous Charleston Dueling Society, Ashe had had much practice on similar well-worn stretches of ground, with his opponent quaking before him.
But Robert Tabor did not quake. With a coolness derived from total hate of the man who had so insulted his wife, Robert stood his ground and calmly waited, his tawny topaz eyes watching Alistair Ashe, like some jungle lion waiting certainly for his prey.
Nothing less than death would satisfy Robert, and Alistair Ashe, facing the giant golden-haired man, sensed this. For the first time, Ashe knew fear. His colorless gray eyes became wary, and to hide the sudden trembling that invaded his limbs, he quickly changed gun positions.
As the sun burst forth over the trees, Arthur's voice reviewed instructions. "Five paces, and then the signal to fire at will."
Each man nodded in affirmation to indicate he understood. Standing back to back, they began the walk down the sandy path that separated them momentarily from death.
Increasingly nervous, Ashe walked down the path, his grip on his pistol causing his knuckles to turn white. Small beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead, and he swallowed, trying to rid himself of the fear that clung to him, threatening to take over his once calm and sure pistol hand.
"One…two…three…four…" Before Arthur had finished counting, Ashe suddenly whirled around and aimed his pistol toward Robert.
And Arthur, seeing this breach of the code, yelled, "Foul!"
Hearing Arthur's warning, Robert turned to see what had gone wrong, and at that moment, heard the sound of the shot and, surprised, felt the piercing of fire in his arm.
The sudden spurt of blood invaded the sleeve of Robert's coat. With a steely look toward the white-faced Alistair Ashe, Robert held his arm again his body and, slowly taking aim at his enemy, released the shot that sent Alistair Ashe plummeting to the ground.
The surgeons rushed to the victims to attend to their wounds. But Alistair Ashe was beyond help.
In the carriage, Robert sat, with an anxious Arthur by his side, while the surgeon probed for the bullet. It was not deep, and with its removal, the doctor bandaged Robert's arm. He could do no more.
The sun was still barely above the east bank of the Congaree when the carriage slowly worked its way up the street and then crunched to a halt before the white clapboard house where Eulalie slept, undisturbed.
Arthur Metcalfe helped Robert out of the carriage and guided him up the steps to the heavy front door. "Robert, let me come in with you," Arthur urged.
"No, Arthur. I'll be all right. Eulalie might awake and I don't want her to know."
"Do you think you can keep it from her, with your arm in that condition?"
"I shall try, Arthur. The best thing you can do for me is to go to Joseph and file your affidavit, showing Ashe for the cowardly poltroon that he proved to be."
"You won't have anything to worry about on that score, Robert. Ashe's second intends to corroborate what happened." Arthur, unhappy at being dismissed, asked, "Can I send a physician to see you this afternoon?"
"No. All they know to do is to bleed and purge, and heaven knows I've lost enough blood already."
Slowly, Robert walked into the house and began the ascent of the stairs. Pale from loss of blood, he clasped his hand over his left arm where he had been wounded. The jolting of the carriage had started it bleeding again. Halfway up the steps, Robert had to stop and rest. He was breathing heavily and his legs were not responding as well as they should. But after a few minutes, he was at the top of the stairs, facing the closed door to the master bedroom.
A fresh shirt and linens to bind his wound were what he needed—and if Eulalie were still asleep, she need not know.
He twisted the knob. The door came open and he walked into the room. Eulalie was still asleep, one arm outflung and hanging over the edge of the bed. Restraining himself from touching her, Robert opened the drawer of the highboy and pulled out a clean shirt. Now for the linen press in the hallway.
He was almost to the door again when the room began to whirl about him. Trying to steady himself, he reached out toward the wall. But his fingers, unable to grasp hold, edged down the white wall, and with a loud thud, his body plunged to the floor. The sudden draft from the hall caused the partially opened door to slam shut.
At the noise, Eulalie sat up and rubbed her eyes. The room slowly came into focus. But the far wall was different. A large stain—it had not been there when she went to bed. It looked almost like…blood. With increasing horror, she gazed at the smeared handprint and, following its red-fingered trail, she saw Robert on the floor beneath it. Eulalie screamed in terror.
"What is the matter, ma petite?" The voice penetrated the closed door. Then, Feena, not getting an immediate answer, rattled the door open and with Effie and Florilla right behind her, gazed incredulously at the trail of blood leading to the unconscious man on the floor.
"Mon Dieu," Feena exclaimed in horror. "Monsieur Robert has lost much blood."
Eulalie, bending over her husband, said in a distraught voice, "I will need help in lifting him to the bed. Effie, go and get Jimbo and Willie to help me. And Feena, my scissors and case—where did you put them last night?"
The two black women disappeared, leaving Florilla staring at the wounded man on the floor. Her eyes narrowed and with venom she turned to Eulalie and whispered, "How does it feel, Mrs. Tabor, to be responsible for your husband's death?"
"He is not dead, Florilla," Eulalie denied, with tears in her eyes. "And I did not know—he fought Alistair Ashe, didn't he?"
Florilla confirmed her suspicions and bitterly quizzed, "Why did you have to come to Columbia? Both Jason and Robert would have been much better off without you. You should have stayed in New Orleans."
It was hard enough to bear without Florilla's accusations. The tears escaped down her cheeks, as Eulalie said, "Go to Jason, Florilla. He is probably awake from all the noise. And there is nothing you can do here."
Willie and Jimbo came with a wide-eyed Effie, and after Robert had been lifted from the floor to the bed, Eulalie dismissed everyone but Feena, who stood at her side, tearing the strips of linen to bind the wounded man's bleeding arm.
By the time Robert opened his eyes, he was lying in bed with his arm rebandaged. He looked at Eulalie sitting beside the bed. "I had not intended for you to find out," he said apologetically.
"Robert, why? Why did you do it?" Eulalie asked, the agitation filling her voice.
"Ashe insulted my wife. I could not let him get by with it."
"And…and he is…dead?" she asked, shivering involuntarily.
"Yes."
"But you might have been killed, too."
"Would that have mattered to you, Eulalie?"
"Of course it would matter, Robert. I could not live, knowing that you had died because of me."
…"Your little nun's conscience, Eulalie?"
His question went unanswered. Instead, Eulalie became lost in the past, with the words that Feena had spoken to her—how long ago?
