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La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twelve, Scene 2

Christiane struggled against his grip, but she had all she could do to stay on her feet as he hurried down the landing and stairs with her in his wake. Soon they stood before a door. She heard loud voices from inside and then a tipsy trill of a woman’s laugh. This did not seem a proper room for an interrogation. “I will not go in.”

With a deep growl, the soldier opened the door and, miscalculating the amount of force needed to bring her through the doorway, he catapulted Christiane into the room. She bumped against the nearest table, almost upsetting it. The clatter of the scattered playing chips, caught the attention of the surrounding players.  All eyes turned to her.

Christiane felt her spine stiffen. Did they expect to treat her with such disrespect with impunity? Her chin lifted regally, her hands clasped in front of her, she defiantly surveyed the room. She’d been brought to a gaming room. Officers in pairs and groups were playing cards and chess. Some women were present, elegantly dressed and coifed. The room was white with powdered wigs. Then she saw her major rise from the table by the fire and stride over to her.

“Major, here is the prisoner,” the sergeant announced.

“Take your hands off her. You were told to bring her, not abuse her.” The major stepped close to Christiane, his voice low. “Madam, are you all right?”

“Why have I been brought here?”  She vibrated with outrage.

“I was over-ruled,” he murmured into her ear. “Mensing is a fool and Howe thought it a joke.” His volume rose. “Please follow me, madam. General Howe would like to speak with you.” He offered his arm.

Christiane’s insides congealed. She did not want to meet the commanding officer of the British Army in America. Imprisonment, death or freedom–Howe had complete power over her. Then as defiance surged in her, her fear evaporated. How dare he treat her in such a common manner? Whether he condemned her to prison or not, she was a lady and General Howe would know it.

She took a deep breath and tossed her head, making her hair that still flowed freely to her waist, ripple. Accepting the major’s arm, she arranged her long emerald skirt and, holding its hem with one hand, gracefully accompanied him over to the table. When they arrived at the general’s gaming table, the major cleared his throat.

As if just remembering their manners, the two men stood up, causing their chairs to scrape the polished floor. The major murmured, “Gentlemen, and Mrs. Loring, Madam Christiane Belmond.” On her right the general, a tall man in his middle years, took the hand she had extended to him and bent over it.

He did not look as though he had intended to, but her manner must have decreed it. Inwardly she smiled. Her grandmother’s lessons on panache would most definitely be of use in this situation.

“General Howe at your service, madam,” Howe said wryly.

“An honor, general.” Christiane answered correctly and turned to the colonel on her left.

“Colonel Mensing,” the man said curtly, but he also kissed her hand.

“Colonel,” she acknowledged. Then in accordance with etiquette she turned her attention to the blonde who sat beyond the general to Christiane’s right.

“Mrs. Loring, Mrs. Belmond.” Christiane curtseyed.

Mrs. Loring nodded cautiously.

So this was the notorious Mrs. Loring herself. Christiane stood stiffly. There was a strained pause. The major quickly dragged an unoccupied chair from a nearby table. Christiane sat down, modestly arranging the dressing gown around her.

The general cleared his throat. “Major Eastham, let me understand this. Is this the woman that, you say, was disguised as a boy?” His voice sounded as though this were possibly a joke of the major’s.

“Yes, general, this is she,” he replied stiffly.

The general turned to Christiane. “Would you explain this to me please, madam? The major gave me his version, but I would like to hear it from you.”

“Of course, General Howe–though I do believe that this interview has been made unnecessarily awkward–it is all very simple. I was travelling from New Jersey to western Pennsylvania to visit friends. Since I was alone, I disguised myself as a young boy to avoid trouble.” Silence greeted her explanation.

Mensing looked disgruntled. “That sounds peculiar to me,” he muttered. He put a great deal of emphasis onto the word “peculiar”.

Major Eastham put in mildly, “Oh, I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes.” The colonel scowled at him in return.

General Howe looked at Christiane thoughtfully. Smiling conspiratorially to Mrs. Loring, he asked as innocently as possible, “What type of trouble could you possibly be referring to, Mrs. Belmond?”

“I beg your pardon?” Christiane answered, her face stony.

“The sentries thought her suspicious. She must have given them some cause,” Colonel Mensing spat out.

General Howe could not hold back his mirth. “Colonel, though I have severe doubts about the intelligence of General Washington, I do not think he has started dressing woman as boys to act as couriers. Why not just use boys? And it is no wonder that the sentries thought her suspicious. Mrs. Loring would look suspicious in men’s breeches, too.” Howe laughed at his own jest and the rest of the room joined him.

Christiane scanned the room. This had gone on long enough. In a moment she would rise and excuse herself. All those around her were laughing, enjoying the intriguing situation, and the joke at the expense of the disgruntled, obviously unpopular colonel.

Then unexpectedly a face at the table directly to her right startled her, arresting her attention. She studied it carefully. Seven years or more had passed since she had seen him. Yes, it was him. Suddenly her heart beat faster. Without thinking, Christiane stood up and slowly went to stand in front of the English officer.

As she scrutinized him carefully, she almost ceased to notice the actions and voices around her. At her unexpected attention, the distinguished-looking man stopped laughing, stood up, and gave her a detailed examination in return. Little by little, the gaiety around them subsided. Complete silence came and Christiane was now almost oblivious to everyone, but the gentleman before her. Finally she spoke wonderingly, “Lord Hazelton?”

At this appellation he took her face in his hands and turned it toward himself. “Madam, you do remind me of someone. Could you really be–”

“You knew my mother Renee Marie,” she said softly, “I have not seen you since I was thirteen years old.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She would not have predicted that seeing someone who had been close to her mother would affect her so.

“It is little Chrissy, isn’t it?” he asked in French.

“Oh, Lord Hazelton, it is so good to see someone from home,” she said also in French. She swallowed tears.

“How is it that you are here in Philadelphia, Christiane?”

“Oh, it is a long story, but I came with my father to Canada first.”  She shuddered at the mention of that awful trip and fatal end.

“After your mother’s death?”

“Oui,” she said in a small voice. She still found it difficult to speak of her mother’s death, even to this old friend.

“I was so sorry, Christiane, so very sorry when I heard about it. I was so sad to have been away just when you needed a friend. It must have been dreadful–dreadful,” he consoled her.

“General, what are they saying?” Mrs. Loring asked, breaking into the exchange. “Why don’t they speak in English?”

“Evidently, my dear, they are old friends,” he answered; his eyes still on Christiane. “Colonel Hazelton, do you know this young woman?” he asked loudly.

Colonel Hazelton took Christiane’s hand and led her to the general. He did it in such a fashion that it announced to all: This is a lady. Act accordingly. “General Howe,” the colonel announced formally, “I would like to present to you, Christiane Marie Renee Pelletier, the daughter of a very dear friend of mine, the late Renee Marie Pelletier of Paris.”

Even in 1777, the world could be a small place. Will Christiane’s finding an old friend prove good or ill?
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