Iron Lace (11 page)

Vidal sighed. He was sure she was lying to defend her
friend, yet he couldn't help admiring her loyalty.

"I won't pursue that point with you now," he conceded,
"except to say that I don't want you to see that young man anymore. At
least not for the time being, until he proves himself to be more
prudent. He's headed for trouble, and I wouldn't want to see you mixed
up in it. Governor Carondelet tells me that, when the news of Louis
XVI's execution reached New Orleans, there were such open
manifestations and signs of rebellion around the city that he was
forced to arrest six of the ringleaders and imprison them in Havana for
a year. But, under the circumstances, I think the government has been
extremely lenient until now. Everything has its limits, however, and
you and your hotheaded friends like Foucher don't seem to realize the
dangerous ground you're treading when you persist in so openly
expressing your misplaced patriotism. After all, no government can
ignore open rebellion in its streets."

Monique lifted big doleful eyes toward him, and for a
moment there was more fear in them than anger. Memories of her
grandfather's fate had come flooding back to her.

"Oh, please, Cousin Miguel, don't say anything to the
authorities!" she pleaded. "I wouldn't want Maurice to die in one of
those horrid dungeons of Havana because of me!"

Vidal tried not to smile. At that moment she was just a
frightened child. "Don't worry," he said a little more gently. "I have
no intention of publicizing your rebellious inclinations to anyone, and
if you obey me in the future and avoid associating with gentlemen of
such dubious political leanings, there should be no need for me ever to
concern myself over that young man's affairs, either."

Hostility flared up in her eyes once more, and the gray
tinged with the reflection of her green-striped cotton suddenly became
a stormy sea. "In other words, you're threatening me—
chantaje
is the word in Spanish for blackmail, isn't it? You're saying that
either I bend to your will, or you'll have my friend, and perhaps even
me, put in prison!"

Vidal was taken aback. "Good heavens, no! What kind of
monster do you think I am? Do you really think me capable of sending
you or that foolish freckle-faced boy to prison?"

"I don't know… After all, you're
Spanish…"

Miguel ran his hand exasperatedly through the waves of his
thick black hair, nearly pulling the ends loose from where he had
neatly tied them back with a black velvet ribbon at the nape of his
neck.

"
Dios mio
! But why do you hate us so
much? I know the story about your grandfather, but how can you continue
to hold so much rancor for something that happened a quarter of a
century ago, before you were even born? It seems to me that at least
some of the anger you French feel toward us Spaniards should be
directed toward your so-called mother country, as well. After all,
France was the one who rejected you. Spain didn't especially want this
colony, you know, but, for the most part, I'd say we've been trying to
make the best of an unwanted gift. In many ways, Louisiana has been
more of a costly headache for us than a boon."

"Indeed? Then why did Spain accept us and go to so much
trouble to keep us, even after patriots like my grandfather made it
clear we didn't want to belong to you?"

Vidal sighed but tried to keep the impatience out of his
voice as he replied. "I see where Mlle. Baudier is going to have to
give you another history lesson. Unfortunately, you are still sadly
lacking in knowledge of world history. Tomorrow please ask your
governess to tell you about the Treaty of Paris in 1763. You see, my
dear cousin, Spain didn't take you away from France. We didn't conquer
Louisiana, you know, despite what your Jacobin friends would like you
to believe. My country was given this colony to help compensate us for
the territory we lost while fighting on the side of France during the
Seven Years' War back in the middle of this century. Actually, Spain
has been as much the victim of an unfortunate set of circumstances as
you have been. I can assure you Spain would have liked nothing better
than to have gotten back the territory that had originally belonged to
it, rather than getting a rebellious colony of Frenchmen in its stead!"

"If your country and mine have always been such good
allies, why, then, did you go to war against France last year?
Technically that makes us enemies, you know."

Her guardian laughed, finding her attitude more humorous
than exasperating at this point. "When will you ever face the fact that
you are no longer a colony of France but of Spain? Do you realize that,
like it or not, you are really a Spanish citizen, since you were born
here in a Spanish colony? As for this ridiculous war between Spain and
France, you can thank your French revolutionaries for that.
Traditionally, Spain and France have been more allies than enemies, but
when rabble rule took over in Paris and they began beheading everyone
in sight, including even their anointed king and queen, our King Carlos
had little choice except to go to war against the ones in power now.
After all, Spain is a monarchy. It could hardly condone the destruction
of another monarchy. But the war is with the new political
regime—the leaders of that reign of terror they are calling a
revolution—not with the real French nation."

Monique gave a disdainful toss of her head. "Some blood
must always be spilled when old evils have to be uprooted," she
replied, "but once the new government settles down, things will be
better, you'll see. Then perhaps France will want us back. It was a
king who gave us away, but now that the old regime has been overthrown,
perhaps the wrong that was done us will be righted by the new ones in
power and we here in Louisiana will be accepted again by our mother
country."

Vidal smiled patiently. "Now you're just repeating things
you've read in those leaflets. Louisiana was given to Spain in an
honorable treaty as payment of a debt that could hardly be ignored.
It's wishful thinking on the part of your people to go on dreaming of
belonging to France once more. Even if Louisiana were ever to return to
French rule, I'm willing to bet that France would be using the colony
to barter for something else before too long. I hate to disillusion
you, but unfortunately the country you people here so passionately
persist in clinging to doesn't really give a fig for you. That's a fact
all you hotheaded young rebels will have to face sooner or later."

"But enough of politics. I want to talk to you about the
plantation. I understand that you and Celeste aren't too happy over our
going there to spend a few months. It will probably only be until the
fall—just a month or so more than what you've been accustomed
to spending at Le Rêve every year. Is that so terrible? I'd hoped you
might welcome the change for a little while."

"But there's nothing going on there," she lamented
tragically. "I've always found the summers at the plantation rather
boring."

"Well, I hope this year will be different," ventured
Vidal. "For one thing, I think it's time you become a little more
familiar with the operation of the plantation itself. Since it will
pass into your and Celeste's hands when you become of age, I think it'd
be wise for you to start learning something about running it so that
you'll be more prepared when that time comes."

Monique shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "Oh, I doubt
I'll have to worry about such things," she quipped. "I'll probably
entrust the management of the property and crops to a good
administrator, or, more than likely, my husband."

"Of course," agreed Vidal. "I'm sure you will, but it
still wouldn't hurt for you to know at least enough about such things
to be able to know whether your affairs are being handled wisely or
not. After all, you wouldn't want to be cheated."

Monique tossed her pale gold ringlets flippantly. "But if
you are to be both my teacher and my administrator, with what criterion
should I judge you, then?"

The color heightened in Vidal's cheeks. "As your guardian,
I'm answerable to the courts," he replied, a sharp edge cutting into
his usually well modulated voice. "If you think I'm being wasteful or
dishonest with your inheritance, you and your grandmother have a right
to press charges against me."

It was her turn to blush now. She lowered her eyes
quickly, already regretting her taunt. Her cousin was a proud man, and
she knew she had gone too far this time. "I'm not accusing you of
anything," she assured him hastily. "But sometimes you can be so
maddeningly pedantic!"

"And you, my ill-mannered child, can be so maddeningly
impertinent!" he retorted angrily. "You should learn to curb that
rattle you have for a tongue. If you had been a man, I'd have taken my
sword to you for questioning my honor as you just did. You should weigh
your words more carefully before you speak."

"You and your arrogant Spanish ways!" she fumed, all the
more vehemently because she felt the need to cover up the fact that she
knew she had overstepped herself. "You take offense too easily."

"Perhaps, but being courteous and controlling that
spiteful temper of yours would certainly do you no harm. I'm afraid
that impulsive nature of yours will get you into trouble someday, and,
as your guardian, I feel it's my duty to insist that you mend your
manners. You might keep in mind that, although I may not be able to use
my sword on you, I most certainly wouldn't be above using the palm of
my hand if you continue to be so incorrigible."

She paled. "You… you wouldn't dare!" she
exclaimed in tremulous defiance. "You… the epitome of
Spanish manhood… you'd hit a woman?"

"No, I wouldn't dream of hitting a woman," he assured her
dryly, "but I most certainly would feel no qualms about spanking a
spoiled brat!"

Monique drew herself up indignantly. "You're being
impertinent!" she sputtered.

"I'm afraid the impertinence is yours," he contested.
"I've been trying to be patient with you, for I realize it's not your
fault if your father and grandmother haven't disciplined you better. I
know you look on me as an intruder, but I can assure you I didn't leave
my comfortable life in Madrid to come to this sweltering pesthole just
to wrestle with a failing plantation and two wayward brats!"

"Then perhaps the best solution would be for me to marry
as soon as possible," she retorted angrily, "and put an end to a
situation that's intolerable for both of us."

"Don't count on it," he snapped. "I doubt I'll give my
consent for you to marry anyone for quite a while. Matrimony is for a
woman, not a child."

"I'll be eighteen in January of next year," she reminded
him. "That ought to be old enough for me to do as I please."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until you're at least
twenty-one. Of course, if you're not satisfied with the way I'm
managing your affairs, you're free to go to the courts and ask them to
appoint someone else as your curator."

"I don't see why I couldn't run things myself. With the
help of an experienced overseer like Roselle, things should go smoothly
enough."

"The management of a plantation is much more complicated
than you think, young lady, especially now that we're converting to
sugarcane. The truth is, it's even a struggle for Roselle and me to
learn all there is to know. I'll have to teach you a lot before you're
ready to take over for yourself. Meantime, it seems we're stuck with
each other, my little ward, so we may as well make the best of things
while we're at it!"

Life
soon settled down to a leisurely pace at Le Rêve as the
weeks wore on. Lifted high on eight-foot brick piers, which were walled
in now for storage space, the large whitewashed plantation with its
overhanging gallery looked out toward the river through a lane of
whispering trees. It offered a serene haven for Vidal and his adopted
family. He continued to make frequent trips into New Orleans, where he
often stayed for the weekend or overnight at the town house. Monique
and Celeste remained undisturbed in their routine of daily classes with
Mlle. Baudier and sewing and cooking sessions with Grandmother Chausson.

Monique found some degree of consolation in the lovely new
hand-painted harpsichord, and she often gave informal recitals for her
little family by candlelight to while away the lonely evening hours.
Vidal frequently brought back new pieces of music upon returning from
one of his excursions to New Orleans.

Miguel felt relieved knowing that his little cousins were
safely ensconced at the plantation. A young girl barely two years older
than Monique had recently vanished from the city and it wasn't known
whether she had fallen victim to foul play or simply run off. It
chilled Vidal to the marrow to think what could have happened to his
naive little wards had they continued to run around New Orleans without
a chaperon.

Vidal found himself looking forward more and more to his
visits to Le Rêve, now that he knew he had his grandmother and two
young cousins waiting there for him. As an only child, he had led a
rather solitary life until he had come to New Orleans to take charge of
the Chausson family's affairs. He rather enjoyed the sharp contrast of
the provincial life he was leading these days with the more
sophisticated one he had always led in the courts of Spain and Europe.
One of the things he especially liked was the feeling of freedom that
the open spaces of the plantation gave him; but when darkness fell, he
resented it when the shutters had to be closed tightly against the
"evils of the night," foremost of which were the droves of mosquitoes
that came out en masse from the nearby swamplands to lay siege to those
who had dared invade what the insects evidently still considered to be
their private domains.