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La Belle Christiane
Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved
Chapter Sixteen Scene 1
As usual the windows, even this late in the afternoon, were still delicately frosted. Christiane looked through the lacy patterns to the scene below. Tomorrow would be Christmas and her own nineteenth birthday. The mood of the passersby below was more than cheerful; it was ebullient. She watched soldiers carrying Yule logs and wreaths; bakers making special deliveries; poulterers bearing large geese and turkeys to the kitchen door; and officers greeting one another. Not even a war in a strange city could dampen their holiday spirit. Christiane felt set apart from them by her inner morass of emotions. She had hoped that some graceful way of leaving would present itself, but none had. And she had failed to convince the major that he did not need her.
Before Smith’s ball, the major had been distant and sardonic. Now he was eager to share his attention, approval, and wealth. She was astute enough to recognize that he was showing more than gratitude, more than infatuation. If only she had not left the Richardsons unprotected. If only her plan to leave that morning after the ball could have succeeded. If only she had possessed the strength of will to go despite his pleadings. “If-onlys” she had in abundance. She could have strung them like beads and made a chain of them.
A sigh rushed out. She could not believe that any other woman on the North American Continent had a life more confused than her own. She was an American patriot, living with an English officer. She was engaged to marry, yet she had slept in another man’s bed. How could she ever look Henry in the eye again? Every time she tried to take control of her life, it slipped just a little farther from her reach.
The door opened. Alfred entered and smiled at her. He was so pleased at the way things were going. His lordship’s long trial seemed to be over–though Alfred still wondered at the lady’s continued use of the blankets by the fire each night. “Merry Christmas, ma’am,” he said brightly.
“Merry Christmas, Alfred.” Her complete lack of enthusiasm came through clearly.
“Is there anything that you need, ma’am?”
“No, Alfred.” She sighed again. He stood for a moment, wondering at her mood. After all, it was Christmas Eve. Quietly he went about the room, straightening and smoothing.
“Alfred,” she asked, “where is the major?”
A wary look came to the servant’s face. He must be careful or spoil the surprise. “He is in the stable, ma’am, seeing to his horse.” A devious smile creased his face.
Unaware, she continued, “Do you think he will be there long?”
“No, ma’am.”
She sighed wearily. “Mrs. Loring has invited me to visit her this afternoon. If the major asks for me, that is where I will be.” She smoothed her hair with her hands and left the room. She did not look forward to another idle afternoon with the Sultana, but perhaps it would take her mind off her problem.
When she entered the general’s suite, Mrs. Loring was waiting for her. “I was just about to send you a reminder,” the blond said quickly, “The shops will close in a little over an hour. I am so careless. I have not even bought a gift for the general.”
Christiane wondered if the woman had bothered to buy Mister Loring anything. At first she had assumed that the general’s mistress was a widow as she was, but she had later learned that Mr. Loring had actually accompanied his wife and Howe to Philadelphia. Howe had appointed Mr. Loring his commissary officer. It was a very lucrative position, considering the abundant opportunities for graft. Suppliers to the British Army were quite willing to grease the wheels of commerce. After all, they could always make up the cost by lowering quality or shorting quantity.
Of course, she knew that this type of arrangement was common at the French Court, but for once she agreed with her ancestress Marie Renee who had decided that the women of her family would always remain single. Having a husband who wished to profit from his wife’s affairs was sickening. No wonder there was a Revolution going on.
“I’ll loan you a wrap and hat and we will be off,” Mrs. Loring said heedlessly. Christiane tried to decline, but the imperious Sultana and she were soon sitting opposite each other in a narrow sedan chair. It was only a short walk to the shops, but, of course, Mrs. Loring never took an unnecessary step. They first stopped at a jewelry shop. The paramour selected a snuff box for her lover. Christiane watched the proceeding disinterestedly. As they left, Mrs. Loring asked, “What did you get Major Eastham for Christmas?”
Christiane was at a loss. She almost blurted out “Nothing. Mind your own business,” but stopped herself. Finally she managed to say, “I haven’t been able to decide.”
“You should have asked me! I’ll be glad to help!” With no further ado, she turned Christiane around and piloted her back into the shop.
The owner beamed at their quick return. “May I be of further help?”
“Yes, Madame Belmond is looking for a Christmas gift for her friend, Major Eastham.” She emphasized the word “friend” in such a way that it was clear that they were definitely more than friends.
“Of course,” the jeweler seized the opportunity. “May I suggest cuff links? I have several handsome pairs.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Christiane murmured. The owner made several more expensive suggestions to no avail.
Mrs. Loring finally gave up and led Christiane out. “Perhaps we can find something at the haberdashers?”
Christiane stopped. Another ploy was needed. “Mrs. Loring, I did not bring my purse with me.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. If I identify you as Madame Belmond, your credit will be good. Just sign for it as I did.”
Bested again. Maybe honesty would work. “The major seems to have everything he needs. And if he wants something, he is able to decide for himself,” Christiane said desperately.
“I know that!” the blond exclaimed, perturbed. “You don’t think William needs this snuff box, do you? But I know he will be giving me something and it would be rude not to have something to give him in return.”
“I never thought of that,” Christiane said honestly.
“Sometimes I don’t know what you would do without me,” the other woman observed with satisfaction.
The men who were carrying the sedan chair followed them as they walked down to the haberdashers. Christiane took more interest this time, but neither woman could find anything appropriate. Just as they were about to leave, Christiane spotted some handkerchiefs. She stood over them and the stroked the fine white linen. “Not handkerchiefs for a major,” Mrs. Loring complained.
“No,” Christiane replied thoughtfully, “I was thinking of Alfred, the major’s man. He would like these.”
“Well, why not?” Mrs. Loring answered. Her expression showed that she believed Christiane was without a doubt the strangest creature she had ever met. Buying presents for a servant. Really.
The transaction caused Christiane some anxiety. She had never used credit before, but she found it almost painless. Still she felt wrong in not asking the major’s permission first. But he was an honest man and she was confident he would make good on her purchase. Soon the two women were again standing outside in the crisp air. “Should we go back to the jeweler’s since you are now in the mood to shop?”
Christiane looked up and down the street at the various shops. “No, let’s try the bookseller. The major enjoys reading.”
“Very well. Let’s get out of this cold. Why does Christmas always have to be so cold?” The blond looked as though she were about to signal the men that they would board the chair again, but Christiane, smiling to herself, marched briskly toward the book shop at the end of the block. Mrs. Loring was going to get her outdoor exercise today.
As soon as they stepped inside, Christiane liked the book shop. The smell of the leather delighted her senses as did the rows upon rows of shiny multi-colored volumes. This was the major’s kind of store. Mrs. Loring sniffed and went to warm her hands by the stove.
Christiane strolled along the first aisle of books, reading the titles, touching a book here and there. The owner cleared his throat, “May I be of some help?”
Mrs. Loring rustled over to him. “She is looking for a present for her friend, Major Eastham.”
So this was the beautiful Madame Belmond. The bookseller had heard about her. Along with all the other shopkeepers, he had wondered when she would begin to give them some trade. He had better look sharp. His wife would want a detailed description of the French beauty. “What are the major’s interests?”
Christiane turned to him. “Almost anything. He is widely read. That is the problem, you see. He may already have whatever I choose.”
The owner crossed his arms and cupped his chin in one hand. “Ah,” he said at last, “how about a new very well done edition of a classic? Even if he had the plays in a another form, he will value the book itself.”
“Plays?” Christiane asked tentatively.
“Yes, a new edition of MacBeth, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet. It is called: Three Tragedies of Shakespeare.”
Christiane stroked the dark red leather binding and fingered the gold lettering. “Yes, this is lovely. Will you wrap it please?”
“Of course. Of course,” the man agreed happily. He was delighted by her quick decision and by its large price. He hummed a little of “Deck the Halls” to himself. Mrs. Loring stood by the warm stove, still idly waiting.
Christiane browsed among the few book stalls. Oddly her mood had lightened and she hummed along with the bookseller almost unconsciously. Her eyes spotted a book, Scottish Verse by Robert Blair. Lord Hazelton had amused Christiane often as a child by reciting Blair’s poetry to her.
“I’ll take this one, too,” Christiane said, carrying it to the owner.
He beamed at her. “Another excellent choice. Excellent.” The second book was wrapped posthaste. Christiane signed for them and the two women departed. Christiane still hummed “Deck the Halls” as she entered the sedan chair in Mrs. Loring’s wake.
“Well, that’s done,” the blond said smugly. “I can hardly wait to see what the general gives me.”
From the way she said it, Christiane knew that the woman expected more than a snuff box. The thought of what the major might give her almost dampened Christiane’s budding good spirits. But she threw off the depression. She was tired of feeling downhearted. It was Christmas Eve and this was the first time in her adult life that she had been able to give anyone a present. It was a great feeling. Couldn’t she afford to be carefree for a day or two?
Dangerous words, don’t you think?
