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La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fourteen, Scene 3

All the while she danced, Christiane wondered where the major could be. Occasionally she saw him, whirling by with another woman. Their eyes would meet and then slide apart. She hoped he was enjoying the performance he had ordered and financed, but would he never claim her for a dance?

At last she managed to break away from the dance floor. Escorted by a major and a captain, she arrived at the sumptuous buffet table. The array of viands before her boggled the palate: smooth brown pate, pink ham, venison, and a variety of dark and light sausages, a rare roast beef; breads, rye, wheat and white, thin-sliced and without crusts; all manner of tarts and a rainbow of petit fours, dark Dutch chocolates; red punch and fragrant mulled wine. She was amazed again at the feast and famine of her life. Last December she had starved. This December night she would feast.

The three of them found a bench along a nearby wall. Christiane ate methodically while the men, one on each side, tried to outdo one another with light-hearted teasing and compliments. She often paused between bites to giggle.

“Madame Belmond, how are you?”

Christiane looked up. “Mrs. Loring, how are you?” She was gratified to see the envy in the blond’s eyes. Christiane’s escorts stood up in deference to the Sultana.

“I am as well as one can be at these weekly soirees.” Her tone attempted to portray the proper boredom of a highborn lady.

“Oh, really?” Christiane answered impishly, “I’m having a delightful evening.” She glanced suggestively at her two “bookend” officers.

“I am just happy you took my advice and that the major has finally ceased keeping you prisoner.”

Christiane giggled. “It wasn’t against my will,” she answered brazenly. “He can be quite amusing.”

“Well, there is no accounting for tastes,” the general’s mistress commented sharply, revealing her envy over the pearls and the new gown. Christiane ignored the comment, but was secretly pleased. The woman went on, “Would you care to play a hand or two of cards? The general is expecting me in one of the gaming rooms.”

“I came to dance.” Christiane tapped her toes on the shining floor and treated the men nearby to a brief glimpse of her silk stockings and slender ankles.

“Try to amuse yourself  then, my dear,” Mrs. Loring said patronizingly.

“I intend to,” Christiane replied as the scarlet-robed Sultana swept stylishly away.

Major Andre on Christiane’s right asked, “I see your supper is done and the violins are striking up another minuet. Will you do me the honor?”

“Of course.” Christiane hopped up, handing the disgruntled captain her plate and cup. The mulled wine had lightened her mood even more.

The major swept her onto the floor. The stately minuet with its set poses and pauses was perfect for flirtation. “Madame, you are the loveliest lady at the ball,” he murmured as he bowed to his partner.

“You are too kind.” She bent her neck in polite welcome.

“The major is to careless of you. If you were mine, I would not stand idly by and let others take my place.” With his hand above her head, he turned her in a sedate circle.

As if on cue, Major Eastham appeared and tapped Andre on the shoulder. With a disgruntled look, Andre gave way. The steps of the dance became more intricate, but as soon as she was able, she whispered, “I hope you have been enjoying my performance. What do you think?”

“Adequate, madame, barely adequate.” For some reason he was nettled and he took it out on her.

“Only adequate?” she hissed.

“Yes, I am sure Mrs. Loring could put on a much better display.”

She almost sputtered, but controlled herself. A better show he wanted, a better show he would get. At that moment the persistent major returned to reclaim her. Eastham gave way without a word. Christiane voiced her pleasure, “Major Andre, I was pining to see you again.”

As they finished the dance, she was again surrounded by three officers. She chose the colonel. During the next few dances, she began to cast flirtatious glances at the men, gliding nearby with other partners. This tack netted her even more suitors at the end of each song.

It delighted her to see that the major himself had stopped dancing and now stood, sipping wine and watching her intently. She hoped he was enjoying her show. Lt. Colonel Weston, whom she was curtseying to, whispered, “Aren’t you tired of this dancing? Would you care for a hand of cards?” She nodded. A quick exit would add an interesting note to her plot. They slipped off the floor and down a side hall to a private room. Once inside she was surprised to see that they were alone.

“A private card game?” she asked warily.

“I wish to play, but not cards. I am sure you will find that I am much more generous than Eastham and much more attentive.” Before she could make any reply, she was in his arms, tasting the rum on his lips. Her efforts to push him away were ineffectual. At the ball he had not looked so strong or so demanding. As his embrace tightened rather than loosened, a feeling of panic shot threw her. Memories of Morristown choked her. She began to twist and struggle in earnest.
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