Allegiance Page 7

  A strong hand clamped down on Amy's shoulder from behind, and she whirled, swinging her parasol like a club.

  "Miss Baker! Whoa!” Major O'Donnell stood behind her, raising his arm to fend off her attack.

  She froze, gaping in surprise.

  He reached out and twisted the makeshift weapon from her fingers. “What's happening here?"

  He looked different; less military and more the well-to-do gentleman. He had replaced his authoritative uniform with a dark blue cut-away coat, black trousers, and a shirt with a minimum of lace and frills. He held his black felt hat in one hand. Even though his eyes were shadowed and his face drawn, he was as handsome as she remembered.

  She found her voice. “Major! Maybe you can help me. I'm having great difficulty getting a message through the thick skull of this constable that I have a right to see my brother."

  The Creole behind the counter sniffed. “I am not a constable, and you are very foolish to try my patience. You are about to discover that the Gens d'Armes do not take well to insults."

  Major O'Donnell asked calmly, “What do we have to do to see Jeb Baker?"

  The Creole's expression lost only a margin of its impudence. “You American's think you can come in and take over, but that's not going to happen here. I told the girl, and I'm telling you: there will be no visitors for Baker. You can go to the Commissioner General of Police, or you can talk to the governor, himself, but there will be no visitors for Baker. Comprendez?"

  The major's eyes narrowed. “You've made yourself quite clear."

  "No!” Amy clenched her fists. “I do not understand!"

  The major gripped her elbow and propelled her towards the door. “Allow me to escort you outside."

  "Wait! They can't treat Jeb like that! It isn't fair!"

  "No, it isn't. But they're doing it. Are you ready to go to jail to prove your point? Come along."

  "All right! Please release my arm!” When the heavy doors had swung shut behind her, she whirled on him. “Why did you come here? What do you want, anyway?"

  "I understood Stott intended to have you arrested. I came down to see what I could do.” He replaced his hat and stepped into the yard. “I can't abide the imprisonment of women."

  She stared at his back in confusion. He had come to help her? Not Jeb, but her? Why? What did he care what happened to a lowly merchant's daughter? “Sir, you were no help at all!"

  He paused, turning intense gray eyes on her. “I don't know how you managed it, but you have the good fortune of still being at liberty. Are you really so eager to throw that away in exchange for solitary confinement? Unless I miss my guess, that ass in there was about to come up with an arrangement I'm certain you wouldn't have liked. You would have been at his mercy."

  Unable to frame a reply to that, she forced her lips into a cool smile. “I can't thank you enough for your timely arrival. May I have my parasol back, please? Thank you. Now, if you'll pardon me...” She started toward Sadie who waited by the gig in the shade of a sycamore tree.

  "Just a moment, Miss Baker. I wish to say I'd be happy to speak with certain people I know about your brother's problem. I believe we can do more for him that way than bearding the lion in its den, so to speak."

  We? He made it sound as though they'd be pulling together. She turned back, remembering the scene aboard the freighter. If he had connections with men like General Houston, he might have considerable influence. Her annoyance evaporated. “I remember now. You met General Houston's ship, didn't you? Was he ill? How is he?"

  "He's having surgery on his lower leg. It doesn't look good, truthfully. He's been unconscious since he arrived."

  "I'm very sorry to hear that. Poor man. You are staying with him then?"

  "As long as he needs me."

  She experienced a twinge of conscience. Major O'Donnell wouldn't have come here to rescue her against her will unless his concern was real. “I thank you for trying to help. You are kind."

  "Better wait and see if I can accomplish anything. Let's see ... We'll need to develop some strategy, I suppose.” Frowning thoughtfully into space, he smoothed the sides of his mustache between thumb and forefinger. The growth was a couple of shades darker than the burnished gold hair that curled below his hat. The mustache had a good shape; she liked it.

  She couldn't help but note his broad shoulders and remember the feel of his body as she'd crashed into him the day before and the strength of his arms as he broke her fall. His rudeness afterward could be put down to a short temper—understandable under the circumstances. He was a true gentleman, she decided. In spite of his occasional bad manners, he was refined, dignified, elegant, without conveying anything soft or weak. In fact, he was downright intimidating.

  His clear gray eyes met her gaze. “Would I be out of line to invite you to the theatre?"

  The question startled her. Attending the theatre with a man had the connotation of courting. Why would someone of his class want to court her? “I'm not sure..."

  Amusement warmed his eyes. “It's completely up to you. But I happen to know that Senator Christie is taking his wife there tomorrow night. They'll be joining Thomas Hart Benton and—"

  "The senator from Missouri! Oh, now I see what you have in mind. I could talk to them, couldn't I, and—Yes, of course I'd be delighted to go with you to the opera."

  "Good.” His grin made him look younger, almost boyish. His teeth were white and even.

  She smiled back, new excitement chasing away the shadows of defeat. His motives remained a mystery, but she couldn't afford to question them. The way things stood, the man's influence represented the best hope for Jeb. “But can you really spare the time? Won't General Houston need you?"

  "I won't be neglecting him, I assure you."

  He set the time for the following evening, and she gave him directions to Henri's house. Afterward, he walked her to the gig and offered his hand in assisting her inside.

  "Major, this is Sadie,” Amy said. “She has been kind enough to drive me here today."

  He tipped his hat. “A pleasure, ma'am. May I escort you ladies on your way? I wouldn't want some ruffian to accost you on the street."

  Sadie scowled. “Any fool comes close, I wring his neck!"

  Amy grinned at him. “Thank you for the offer just the same, Major O'Donnell."

  "Call me Tyler. If we're going to scheme together, we must dispense with formalities."

  "Scheme! Oh I like that!"

  "Until tomorrow then."

  As he tipped his hat, his gaze left her face to skim quickly over her form. She squirmed inside, wondering if he were judging her attire with that errant glance. The circle of shade from her parasol spread across her lap, cool and blue, while the lower part of her skirt caught the mid-day sun. Her scuffed leather ankle boots, thin and soft as a second skin around her feet, poked out from under the dusty ruffle of her skirt. In the clear light, it was impossible to overlook the threadbare condition of her clothes.

  With a self-conscious gesture, Amy smoothed the fabric over her knees and tucked her feet back under the seat. “Good day to you, sir."

  The Negro woman picked up the reins and slapped her mare into motion.

  Much as she was tempted, Amy didn't look back as the gig bumped along the street away from the station house. Her initial thrill of elation gave way to a niggling sense of guilt. She intended to do everything she could to help Jeb, but attending the opera didn't constitute much of a sacrifice. Could she enjoy herself while her brother remained confined like a rat in a cage? Yet what else could she do? Her own efforts had met with dismal failure, so if Major O'Donnell had any pull with the big bugs at all, it behooved her to encourage him. And if she had a good time doing it ... so be it!

  The carriage left the sultry heat of the avenue and entered a narrow street shaded by rows of tall slender buildings wedged together. Iron grillwork with delicate lacy patterns supported the balustrades along the facades of the elegant Creole houses. The mare's iron-shod hoo
ves struck sparks from a rare section of cobblestones, and the carriage wheels chattered like castanets, a rhythm that echoed in Amy's bones and teeth.

  Sadie maneuvered her gig into a line of old hackneys, carryalls, and town coaches parked alongside the banquette which was like a boardwalk built a few inches higher than the street. She turned to Amy. “If that gentleman be escortin’ you ‘round, you be needin’ a new dress."

  Amy grinned. “You're right, Sadie, but how did you—"

  "Go there.” Sadie pointed a long bony finger. “To that shop. Ask for Madame Arcenaux."

  "All right, I will.” Amy climbed down, juggling her parasol and reticule, and trying not to trip over her bedraggled hem. “Thank you, Sadie. For everything. You are good to me."

  Sadie's smile, diffident and shy, didn't last long, but Amy took it as a sign of friendship.

  Chapter 7

  In her bedroom at the back of Henri's house, Amy stripped down to her knee-length chemise. Cool air brushed her bare legs; a sensuous touch. She untied the string on the package she'd brought from the dress shop and upended it over the bed. Yards of striped silk in cream and brown, festooned with lace and ribbon trim, spilled into the light. She scooped the gown up in her arms and buried her face in the soft folds, inhaling the flowery scent of the sachets the couturiére had included.

  How annoyed Madame Arcenaux had been at first over the request for something to be worn the next day. Amy had ended up buying the sample gown displayed on a mannequin which fortunately required little alteration. The dressmaker had cheered up when Amy ordered two more dresses, complete with accessories—and allowed a sufficient number of days to sew them.

  As Amy glanced in the mirror, her heart sank at the pathetic image of the homespun Missouri girl aspiring to be a social butterfly. How could she possibly measure up to the dignified ladies Major O'Donnell must have escorted around New York or Washington or wherever he was from?

  Resolutely, she turned her back on the mirror to open the other packages. After donning her new corset and cinching it up, she fitted the bustle Madame Arcenaux had recommended for swelling the back and sides of the hips. Petticoats followed, a full half-dozen of them: flannel layers first, then cotton, corded and tucked for stiffness, with the top one embroidered, lace-trimmed and flounced. At last, over the top of everything, the beautiful dress.

  Cautiously, she peeked into the mirror again, then caught her breath. A narrow standup collar at the back of her neck curved over her shoulders to plunge into a décolleté bodice. Lace edged the collar, the flared sleeves, and the five tiers of striped silk in the skirt. The expanse of flesh above the bodice made her neck look graceful and long—too daring?—and the fullness of the sleeves and skirt created the illusion of a small waist. The reflection transformed the poor-church-mouse into someone she scarcely knew. Who was that gorgeous creature?

  Indulging in the fantasy, she smiled and preened. Wearing a dress like this amounted to a masquerade, considering her modest background, but she might pull it off for one evening. Mrs. Abernathy and her prissy friends on the steamboat could go suck eggs!

  With growing excitement, she unwrapped the accessories the couturiére had selected for her: stockings, silk slippers, a gauzy lace shawl, and some short netted mittens which exposed the fingers. The final touch was the small arrangement of ribbons, flowers and feathers that served as a hat.

  Amy turned before the mirror, her eyes wide, doubts nibbling at her confidence. Would people readily see through her charade? What if she should say or do something gauche to embarrass the dignified Major? She would die!

  Oh, but the gown was lovely, performing magic on the gawky skinny-legged girl she'd seen in the mirror first. The current style complemented her figure far better, in fact, than the drawings in Godey's Lady's Book had led her to expect. How long had she pored over those pages, planning and designing the wardrobe of her dreams? Now, here she was dressing for the opera. Everything absolutely perfect, except...

  A chaperone! She didn't have a chaperone.

  Chewing her thumbnail, she stared at her reflection. Would everyone think her a loose woman if she attended an opera alone with a man? What did a lady do when she fell on hard times and found herself bereft of brothers, father, and matronly aunts?

  She straightened her spine and took a deep breath. Lamentable situation, but unavoidable. She wasn't about to turn down the Major's invitation to the opera over a mere shortage of chaperones.

  It struck Amy with no small amount of satisfaction just how much independence she had gained overnight. She could go to the opera alone with the major or personally arrange the sale of furs in the warehouse—hadn't she tried to ask Jeb's permission? And what could stop her from spending her last cent on trade goods for Santa Fe if she wished? She didn't have to answer to anyone, and it didn't feel half bad.

  Adjusting the scrap of flowers, ribbons, and feathers on her head, she smiled with anticipation.

  * * * *

  The major arrived at twilight in a fancy equipage, complete with a liveried driver, to take Amy to the opera. If he noticed the lack of a chaperone, he didn't mention it. But he did seem to notice her new silk dress. His appreciative sidelong glances made the exorbitant price worthwhile.

  Standing in Henri's drawing room in his shaped coat and tails, he looked resplendent. The pictures in the fashion magazines hadn't done justice to the actual effect of such garb hugging wide shoulders and narrow hips. Beneath his coat, he wore an embroidered waistcoat and close-fitting trousers. She couldn't remember what they called the type of tall, narrow-brimmed hat he wore—the Tilbury or the Aylesbury?—but it completed the image of gentility unparalleled by the Missouri farmers who had tried to court her.

  She introduced him to Henri. The men shook hands and took one another's measure. As Henri bid them good night, his face remained impassive yet polite, revealing little of his bright Cajun humor.

  Riding through the streets of New Orleans in grand style, Amy gloried in the fairy tale evening. She inhaled the opiate of flowering trees and felt herself slip under the exotic spell of a pulsing voodoo rhythm beaten out, as Henri had explained, by the Free Negroes over in Congo Square.

  To keep from miring down on Camp Street, the driver halted the carriage a block away from the American Theater. Brilliant gaslights beckoned across a wide expanse of swampy roadway. The major offered to lift Amy across to the banquette in order to spare her slippers. She clutched his shoulders as his strong hands closed around her waist. He smelled faintly of soap and gun oil. An angular bulge inside his coat suggested he'd come armed with a pistol. Effortlessly, it seemed, he swung her over and set her down on the rickety planks spanning the mud.

  His boots left greasy smears on the walk as he led the way with his lantern. “Watch your step, there's a gap here."

  One plank led to another along the street, and in one place she found herself balancing on a wide log pegged to the ground. The rounded top had been scalped with an adze, leaving rough edges. In the dim light, Amy strained her eyes to keep from losing her footing. If she tripped and fell, she doubted the major could move quickly enough to save her from a humiliating mud bath.

  In spite of all that, the swampy darkness receded to insignificance once she stepped inside the lobby of the theater. The splendor left her breathless. Never before had she seen so many beautiful people together in such magnificent surroundings.

  As Tyler guided her through the crowd, she gazed about in speechless awe, trying to absorb everything at once: chandeliers, thick carpets, paintings in gilded frames. A man with a wild mane of hair played a piano in the lobby as though born with extra fingers. Women with full sweeping skirts put her in mind of magnolia blossoms floating on a pool. As the graceful flowers drifted to and fro, aisles opened up, allowing her and Tyler to work their way across the room.

  "Why, Major!” A well-dressed older man smiled in obvious recognition. He had a long face, made to look longer by a high forehead, a receding hairline and sidebu
rns to the jaw. His fair hair and eyebrows were shot with silver. The long aristocratic nose over the thin lips reminded her of the paintings of early British noblemen. “O'Donnell, isn't it?"

  "Yes. Hello, again, Senator. I'm sorry you weren't able to see General Houston this morning. I hope you'll come back when he can have visitors."

  The man's smile widened. “Perfectly all right.” He turned to Amy, laughing. “What do you think of a man that gives the bum's rush to a member of the U.S. Senate?"

  Amy smiled uncertainly, wishing she knew how to respond.

  "Introduce me to the lady, Major, and I'll tell her what a fine upstanding citizen you really are.” He winked at Amy in the manner of a fellow conspirator. The man's voice carried like a trumpet. Did he think every soul in the room needed to hear his foolish banter?

  "Miss Amy Victoria Baker of St. Louis,” Tyler said. “Miss Baker, you might already be acquainted with the senator from your home state, the Honorable Thomas Hart Benton."

  Recognition came late. With as much poise as she could affect, she lifted her free hand with its black-netted glove. “Of course. I saw you at a distance when you came to the benediction of Lafayette Park."

  The distinguished Missourian took her fingers and touched his dry lips to them. Cocking his head, he studied her for a moment with a twinkle in his eye. “Let me see ... There were hundreds of guests. Ah, now I remember. You were in the next to the last row, am I right?” He chuckled at his own facetiousness. “Missouri turns out the most lovely women, don't you think so, Major?” Senator Benton's knowing smile verged on a leer.

  "I can't argue with you there.” Tyler's tone seemed distracted as his gaze wandered across the crowd.

  Amy wondered whether he had forgotten his reason for bringing her here. Concerned that the influential man would slip away before she'd had a chance to state her case, she reached out and touched his sleeve. “Senator Benton, I need to talk to you on a matter of grave importance. Will you be in town long? When may I meet with you privately?"