Part 12 (1/2)
”You might say so,” Eugenie said, in a dry tone that made Jessaline laugh. (One of the old nuns glowered at them over a bed of herbs. Jessaline covered her mouth and waved apology.) ”But that wasn't what gave me pause. My brother has his ways, Mademoiselle Jessaline, and I do not always agree with him. He's fond of forming opinions without full information, then proceeding as if they are proven fact.” She shrugged. ”I, on the other hand, prefer to seek as much information as I can. I have made enquiries about you, you see.”
”Oh? And what did you find?”
”That you do not exist, as far as anyone in this town knows.” She spoke lightly, Jessaline noticed, but there was an edge to her words, too. Unease, perhaps. ”You aren't one of us, that much anyone can see; but you aren't a freedwoman either, though the people at your old inn and the market seemed to think so.”
At this, Jessaline blinked in surprise and unease of her own. She had not thought the girl would dig that deeply. ”What makes you say that?”
”For one, that pistol in your bag.”
Jessaline froze for a pace before remembering to keep walking. ”A lady alone in a strange, rough city would be wise to look to her own protection, don't you think?”
”True,” said Eugenie, ”but I checked at the courthouse too, and there are no records of a woman meeting your description having bought her way free anytime in the past thirty years, and I doubt you're far past that age. For another, you hide it well, but your French has an odd sort of lilt; not at all like that of folk hereabouts. And for thirdly this is a small town at heart, Mademoiselle Dumonde, despite its size. Every time some fortunate soul buys free, as they say, it's the talk of the town. To put it bluntly, there's no gossip about you, and there should have been.”
They had reached a ma.s.sive old willow tree which partially overhung the garden path. There was no way around it; the tree's draping branches had made a proper curtain of things, nearly obscuring from sight the area about the trunk.
The sensible thing to do would have been to turn around and walk back the way they'd come. But as Jessaline turned to meet Eugenie's eyes, she suffered another of those curious epiphanies. Eugenie was smiling, sweet, but despite this there was a hard look in her eyes, which reminded Jessaline fleetingly of Norbert. It was clear that she meant to have the truth from Jessaline, or Jessaline's efforts to employ her would get short shrift.
So on impulse Jessaline grabbed Eugenie's hand and pulled her into the willow-fall. Eugenie yelped in surprise, then giggled as they came through into the s.p.a.ce beyond, green-shrouded and encircling, like a hurricane of leaves.
”What on earth-? Mademoiselle Dumonde-”
”It isn't Dumonde,” Jessaline said, dropping her voice to a near-whisper. ”My name is Jessaline Clere. That is the name of the family that raised me, at least, but I should have had a different name, after the man who was my true father. His name was L'Overture. Do you know it?”
At that, Eugenie drew a sharp breath. ”Toussaint the Rebel?” she asked. ”The man who led the revolution in Haiti? That was your father?”
”So my mother says, though she was only his mistress; I am natural-born. But I do not begrudge her, because her status spared me. When the French betrayed Toussaint, they took him and his wife and legitimate children and carried them across the sea to be tortured to death.”
Eugenie put her hands to her mouth at this, which Jessaline had to admit was a bit much for a gently raised woman to bear. Yet it was the truth, for Jessaline felt uncomfortable dissembling with Eugenie, for reasons she could not quite name.
”I see,” Eugenie said at last, recovering. ”Then these interests you represent. You are with the Haitians.”
”I am. If you build a methane extraction mechanism for us, mademoiselle, you will have helped a nation of free folk stay free, for I swear that France is h.e.l.l-bent upon re-enslaving us all. They would have done it already, if one of our number had not thought to use our torment to our advantage.”
Eugenie nodded slowly. ”The sugar cane,” she said. ”The papers say your people use the steam and gases from the distilleries to make hot-air balloons and blimps.”
”Which helped us bomb the French s.h.i.+ps most effectively during the Revolution, and also secured our position as the foremost manufacturers of dirigibles in the Americas,” Jessaline said, with a bit of pride. ”We were saved by a mad idea and a contraption that should have killed its first user. So we value cleverness now, mademoiselle, which is why I came here in search of your brother.”
”Then ...” Eugenie frowned. ”The methane. It is to power your dirigibles?”
”Partly. The French have begun using dirigibles too, you see. Our only hope is to enhance the maneuverability and speed of our craft, which can be done with gas-powered engines. We have also crafted powerful artillery which use this engine design, whose range and accuracy is unsurpa.s.sed. The prototypes work magnificently but the price of the oil and coal we must currently use to power them is too dear. We would bankrupt ourselves buying it from the very nations that hope to destroy us. The rum effluent is our only abundant, inexpensive resource ... our only hope.”
But Eugenie had begun to shake her head, looking taken aback. ”Artillery? Guns, you mean?” she said. ”I am a Christian woman, mademoiselle-”
”Jessaline.”
”Very well; Jessaline.” That look was in her face again, Jessaline noted, that air of determination and fierceness that made her beautiful at the oddest times. ”I do not care for the idea of my skills being put to use in taking lives. That's simply unacceptable.”
Jessaline stared at her, and for an instant fury blotted out thought. How dare this girl, with her privilege and wealth and coddled life ... Jessaline set her jaw.
”In the Revolution,” she said, in a low, tight voice, ”the last French commander, Rochambeau, decided to teach my people a lesson for daring to revolt against our betters. Do you know what he did? He took slaves including those who had not even fought and broke them on the wheel, raising them on a post afterwards so the birds could eat them alive. He buried prisoners of war, also alive, in pits of insects. He boiled some of them, in vats of mola.s.ses. Such acts, he deemed, were necessary to put fear and subservience back into our hearts, since we had been tainted by a year of freedom.”
Eugenie, who had gone quite pale, stared at Jessaline in purest horror, her mouth open. Jessaline smiled a hard, angry smile. ”Such atrocities will happen again, Mademoiselle Rillieux, if you do not help us. Except this time we have been free for two generations. Imagine how much fear and subservience these Christian men will instill in us now?”
Eugenie shook her head slowly. ”I ... I had not heard ... I did not consider ...” She fell mute.
Jessaline stepped closer and laid one lace-gloved finger on the divot between Eugenie's collarbones. ”You had best consider such things, my dear. Do you forget? There are those in this land who would like to do the same to you and all your kin.”
Eugenie stared at her. Then, startling Jessaline, she dropped to the ground, sitting down so hard that her bustle made an aggrieved creaking sound.
”I did not know,” she said at last. ”I did not know these things.”
Jessaline beheld the honest shock on her face and felt some guilt for having troubled her so. It was clear the girl's brother had worked hard to protect her from the world's harshness. Sitting beside Eugenie on the soft dry gra.s.s, she let out a weary sigh.
”In my land,” she said, ”men and women of all shades are free. I will not pretend that this makes us perfect; I have gone hungry many times in my life. Yet there, a woman such as yourself may be more than the coddled sister of a prominent scientist, or the mistress of a white man.”
Eugenie threw her a guilty look, but Jessaline smiled to rea.s.sure her. The women of Eugenie's cla.s.s had few options in life; Jessaline saw no point in condemning them for this.
”So many men died in the Revolution that women fill the ranks now as dirigible-pilots and gunners. We run factories and farms too, and are highly placed in government. Even the houngans are mostly women now you have vodoun here too, yes? So we are important.” She leaned close, her shoulder brus.h.i.+ng Eugenie's in a teasing way, and grinned. ”Some of us might even become spies. Who knows?”
Eugenie's cheeks flamed pink and she ducked her head to smile. Jessaline could see, however, that her words were having some effect; Eugenie had that oddly absent look again. Perhaps she was imagining all the things she could do in a land where the happenstances of s.e.x and caste did not forbid her from using her mind to its fullest? A shame; Jessaline would have loved to take her there. But she had seen the luxury of the Rillieux household; why would any woman give that up?
This close, shoulder to shoulder and secluded within the willow tree's green canopy, Jessaline found herself staring at Eugenie, more aware than ever of the scent of her perfume, and the nearby softness of her skin, and the way the curls of her hair framed her long slender neck. At least she did not cover her hair like so many women of this land, convinced that its natural state was inherently ugly. She could not help her circ.u.mstances, but it seemed to Jessaline that she had taken what pride she could in her heritage.
So taken was Jessaline by this notion, and by the silence and strangeness of the moment, that she found herself saying, ”And in my land it is not uncommon for a woman to head a family with another woman, and even raise children if they so wish.”
Eugenie started and to Jessaline's delight, her blush deepened. She darted a half-entranced, half-scandalized glance at Jessaline, then looked away, which Jessaline found deliciously fetching. ”Live with another woman? Do you mean-?” But of course she knew what Jessaline meant. ”How can that be?”
”The necessities of security and shared labor. The priests look the other way.”
Eugenie looked up then, and Jessaline was surprised to see a peculiar daring enter her expression, though her flush lingered. ”And ...” She licked her lips, swallowed. ”Do such women ... ah ... behave as a family in ... all matters?”
A slow grin spread across Jessaline's face. Not so sheltered in her thoughts at least, this one! ”Oh, certainly. All matters legal, financial, domestic ...” Then, as a hint of uncertainty flickered in Eugenie's expression, Jessaline got tired of teasing. It was not proper, she knew; it was not within the bounds of her mission. But just this once perhaps ...
She s.h.i.+fted just a little, from brus.h.i.+ng shoulders to pressing rather more suggestively close, and leaned near, her eyes fixed on Eugenie's lips. ”And conjugal,” she added.
Eugenie stared at her, eyes huge behind her spectacles. ”C-conjugal?” she asked, rather breathlessly.
”Oh, indeed. Perhaps a demonstration ...”
But just as Jessaline leaned in to offer just that, she was startled by the voice of one of the nuns, apparently calling to another in French. From far too near the willow tree, a third voice rose to shush the first two the prying old biddy who'd given Jessaline the eye before.
Eugenie jumped, her face red as plums, and quickly s.h.i.+fted away from Jessaline. Privately cursing, Jessaline did the same, and an awkward silence fell.
”W-well,” said Eugenie, ”I had best be getting back. I told my brother I would be at the seamstress's, and that doesn't take long.”
”Yes,” Jessaline said, realizing with some consternation that she'd completely forgotten why she'd asked for a meeting in the first place. ”Well. Ah. I have something I'd like to offer you but I would advise you to keep these out of sight, even at home where servants might see. For your own safety.” She reached into the brocade bag and handed Eugenie the small cylindrical leather container that held the formula and plans for the methane extractor. ”This is what we have come up with thus far, but the design is incomplete. If you can offer any a.s.sistance-”
”Yes, of course,” Eugenie said, taking the case with an avid look that heartened Jessaline at once. She tucked the leather case into her purse. ”Allow me a few days to consider the problem. How may I contact you, though, once I've devised a solution?”
”I will contact you in one week. Do not look for me.” She got to her feet and offered her hand to help Eugenie up. Then, speaking loudly enough to be heard outside the willow at last, she giggled, ”Before your brother learns we've been swapping tales about him!”