The Storm and the Splendor

Chapter One

Julia Marie Dupré paused in the doorway and looked back. The light of a girandole attached to the wall beside the doorframe caught her in its flickering rays, giving her the look of a gilded Madonna. Her high-piled hair, shining through a mantilla of blond lace, had the burnished gleam of old gold coins. Beneath winged brows, her eyes were a shadowed and mysterious amber, like the sun penetrating into the depths of a woodland spring. She was taller than most French Creole women, with a regal bearing that went well with the classic mold of her features. Still, there was nothing cool or severe about her. Her eyes could flash with sudden life, with anger or mirth, and the curves of her mouth were both sensitive and sensuous. There were those in New Orleans who claimed that a misalliance such as the marriage between her French Creole father and American mother could produce only mongrel progeny lacking the attraction of either nationality. That they never made such claims in the presence of Julia Dupré was not because of her admittedly hot temper, but because she could shatter their argument with a single bewitching smile.

She gave a slight nod to herself. All was well. On the dais at the end of the long room, made by throwing the grand salon and the petit salon together, the musicians played with a will. Her guests swung to the strains of a lively contredanse, the ladies in light gowns of pastel muslin, the gentlemen in dark cutaway coats and knee breeches. Music, the scuffle of dancing feet, the murmur of conversation filled the air. At a sideboard at the end of the room, a footman in black-and-gold livery served liquid refreshment from silver bowls. For those who found the damp air of the rainy spring night a trifle cool, there was a small fire in the Carrara marble fireplace. The chairs lining the walls were occupied only by the older women who were acting as chaperons. Julia had seen to it that no young girl was left to sit making tapestry while her more fortunate sisters cavorted on the floor. Julia herself would not be missed if she slipped away for a time.

Like most houses in what was becoming known as the Vieux Carré of New Orleans, the Dupré mansion was built around a courtyard. Because of dampness and the danger of flooding, the lower floor was not used for living space, but was rented out as shops and offices on the side fronting the street and used as stabling, kitchens, and laundry in the interior of the court. The family living quarters were on the second floor, where wide galleries protected the high-ceilinged rooms from the sun and the courtyard could act like a funnel to draw every passing breath of air through the French windows. On the third floor under the eaves were the servants' quarters.

Most of the family rooms opened into each other, but some, for the sake of privacy, did not. To reach the chamber known as the library, it was necessary to venture out onto the dark, rain swept gallery and follow its turnings until the last room on the end of the right wing was reached.

Picking up her skirts of white tissue silk shot with gold thread, Julia hurried along. The rain drummed on the tiled roof, running from the eaves to splash into the paved courtyard below. The night air was cooler than she had expected, and she shivered a little as she ducked her head to avoid the blown spray. She should have had one or two flambeaux lit in the court, she thought, though it would not have done to draw too much attention to the need to see in these back regions of the house.

She was rounding the corner where, a flight of stairs rose from below when two dark shadows loomed in her path. With a small cry, she tried to sidestep and found the stairwell nearer than she had realized. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch as empty space fell away beneath her feet, and then she was caught in a braising grip. An arm like a band of steel compressed the air from her lungs while hard fingers sank into the flesh of her upper arm. As the yielding softness of her body came up hard against a masculine chest, the man who held her gave a startled exclamation.

Beside him, the other man chuckled. "Your pardon, captain, but I believe you have there my daughter Julia. She is no threat, at least not in the way you must have imagined. Permit me to present you. Julia, ma chère, this is our guest, Captain Rudyard Thorpe. You will have observed his ship, the Sea Jade, anchored in the river."

The instant her feet touched the floor Julia pushed free. Her skin burned where he had held her. Curiously shaken, she retreated behind what was left of her ruffled dignity. "Captain," she said, acknowledging the introduction in a tone as cool as she could manage. "I believe I must thank you for your quickness and presence of mind."

"Not at all," he replied. "It was no more than a reflex action."

"Nonetheless, I am grateful."

"The pleasure was mine."

A more perfunctory gallantry Julia had never heard. The man spoke in the cultivated tones of a gentleman. His French was fairly fluent, though his accent was less than perfect, marking him unmistakably as being of English upbringing. One thing more Julia detected in his deep voice: a rough note of impatience. She realized that he was waiting for her to excuse herself and allow him and her father to go about their business. It gave her great pleasure when her father took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, drawing her along with them.

"Captain Thorpe has just arrived, and we are going to meet with the others," M'sieu Charles Dupré said. "Won't you join us?"

"I would be delighted," Julia said dryly, for she had never for a moment intended otherwise, and well her father knew it.

A pair of bookcases standing on either side of the fireplace gave the back room the right to be called a library. They did in fact hold a number of books, ancient leather bound volumes moldering in the damp climate, a Bible, and a collection of the children's books Julia had used in the nursery. They also held a miscellany of yellowing news sheets and farming periodicals prevented from cascading to the floor only by the glass doors, plus dust-coated brass figures of soldiers and statesmen, an astrolabe, a molting stuffed owl, and a Meissen china bowl filled with string, fishing flies, broken hairpins, rusty needles, and corroding coins. The books that Julia wanted for her consultation and enjoyment she kept in her bedchamber, since her father was jealous of the privacy of his library and seldom allowed anyone to intrude, even to clean.

With a rueful twist of her lips, Julia noted the layer of dust that coated the center table, which served her father for a desk. The brandy decanter holding pride of place on the gritty surface had left a definite imprint, and by counting the rings, it was possible to see how many times it had been lifted to refill the glasses of the four men who sat around it. At her entrance, the gentlemen got to their feet. One, her father's old friend, General Montignac, came forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "Mademoiselle Julia, such a pleasure, though not an unexpected one."

General Montignac, late of Napoleon's grande armée, was a gray-haired, craggy-featured veteran. He had sacrificed a foot and an eye for his emperor and hobbled about on a specially fitted boot with the aid of a cane, while peering around the protection, or so it seemed, of a rakish black eyepatch. He was the accredited leader of the Bonapartist following in New Orleans, a post he enjoyed immensely. His pleasure in it did not prevent him from being deadly serious about the goals they espoused, however.

"You are too kind," Julia murmured as she met his one flashing black eye without evasion.

"Not as kind as I would be were I twenty years younger," he replied with a gusty sigh and a shake of his head. "I see you have made the acquaintance of Captain Thorpe."

Julia had not until this moment glanced at the man who stood beside her. He was tall, as she knew he must be. For some reason, she had expected him to be in uniform; instead, he wore excellently tailored evening clothes, which clung to his wide shoulders and molded the muscular length of his thighs. A cloak damp with rain hung from his arm, and in his hand, he carried a curly-brimmed beaver. Despite the trappings of a gentleman, his skin was burned as mahogany brown as that of any sailor, contrasting strangely with the vivid, deep sea-blue of his eyes. His hair was cut short and brushed back without the artifice of careful disarrangement practiced by the dandies. Though it appeared fine in texture, it had the crisp vitality and midnight color of a swamp panther's pelt.

In that quick, comprehensive appraisal, she discovered one thing more. She was also being inspected, though Captain Thorpe's attention seemed to be centered upon the décolletage of her gown, where the creamy curves of her breasts were covered by a tissue-thin layer of silk.

"Yes," she said more sharply than she had intended. "We have met."

"Then, if your father permits, I will make known to you the two gentlemen gathered with us who may be strangers -- M'sieu Marcel de Gruys, a fervent admirer of the emperor recently arrived in our city, and M'sieu Eugene Francois Robeaud, lately in the service of the emperor. M'sieu Fontane I believe you know."

"Please be seated, messieurs," Julia said, taking the chair her father held before she acknowledged the two men. With a smile and a nod, she greeted the fourth, an old acquaintance of her father's with ties in the commerce of the city. M'sieu Fontane, the general, and her father constituted the leadership of the Bonapartist following in New Orleans.

Marcel de Gruys she had seen about the city often in the last few weeks. He appeared to have an entree into the normally closed French Creole society and was popular with the hostesses of the ton. It was said that he had inherited his money, a family fortune, though no one seemed to know anything about his family -- a black mark in New Orleans, where identifying relations was a favorite pastime. Exquisitely turned out, he had the heavy-lidded eyes and slightly protuberant lips of the confirmed roué. He raked her with an exploring glance as he inclined his head, a glance prevented from being offensive only by its habitual nature. M'sieu Robeaud was entirely different. A self-effacing man, he was short and tended to corpulence. His gray eyes held a worried look, and he did not quite meet Julia's amber gaze. Still, her attention was caught and held. There was an attraction in the man's symmetrical features, a suggestion of steadfast character. And, there was something more which teased at her mind, something she could not quite capture.

"Brandy, Captain Thorpe?" M'sieu Dupré, the elegant host with silver gleaming in his white hair, waved the captain to a chair. He splashed the fiery liquid into a balloon glass and pushed it toward the other man, then replenished his own glass before he joined them around the table.

General Montignac tapped on the floor with his cane for attention. "Messieurs, mademoiselle. I believe we are all aware of why we are here. There is none among us who has not waited, dreamed, and hoped for this day. Three long years, since the moment of inattention at Waterloo, we have stood in readiness to aid the emperor. Now, at last, the summons has come. Napoleon has laid his plans. He has need of us to bring them to fruition. Soon, the eagle will fly his cage. In days to come, we will be privileged to say to our grandchildren that we, here in New Orleans, helped forge the key which set him free! Let us drink to the flight of the eagle!"

Ladies did not drink anything stronger than a glass or two of wine with their meals, but Julia repeated the toast with the others. There was a tightness in her throat, the result partly of the emotional tone of the general, partly of her own deep sympathy for the man who was being held on the barren island of St. Helena. Head held high, she smiled, proud as any to be a part of the moment. Let him who thought he could keep her from this quest dare to try!

When the echoes of the salute had died away, General Montignac went on. "As some of you know, I have been in direct contact with the emperor. A letter, smuggled out in the baggage of a young officer aboard a ship, which touched at Jamestown harbor on St. Helena, came to my hand not a week ago."

"How does he go on?" asked the elderly banker, M'sieu Fontane.

"His morale is good, honed by his constant battle of wits with this English dog set to watch him, Sir Hudson Lowe -- your pardon, Captain Thorpe, but one may condemn as a dog a single man without maligning a whole race, n'est-ce pas? But, to proceed, the commissioners, these canaille of England, Bourbon France, Austria, and Russia, indulge in petty tyrannies. They refuse to give the emperor his correct title, calling him merely General Napoleon, a name he left behind after the African campaign twenty years ago! They censor his mail -- that which is sent directly as a camouflage for that which is not! They search for messages in the packages of food and wine sent to him by friends and relatives, and they send away anyone on the island who they think may be too sympathetic. But, our emperor is not beaten. He retaliates by making certain the viands shipped to him are more sumptuous than any the petty English officials ever dreamed of consuming. By refusing to admit into his presence anyone who fails to address a request for an audience in the proper terms, he denies himself to the commissioners, but holds court for every other visitor to the island."

"They do not force themselves into his chambers?" M'sieu Fontane asked, frowning.

"They dare not. Napoleon has armed both himself and his retinue. They are sworn to defend the environs of the court at Longwood with their lives. If Sir Hudson Lowe caused death or bodily harm to come to the emperor, he would face the outrage of Europe, as well as the strictures of his own government. Public opinion is beginning to swing in the emperor's favor. The thought of a man's being tied to a rocky island for life, like Prometheus with the carrion birds pecking at his flesh, does not sit well on the consciences of the world. But enough. We have important matters to decide."

Captain Thorpe let his gaze wander from the speaker and sent Julia an oblique frown as he cupped his brandy glass in his fist. When his attention fastened on the gold bee, Napoleon's symbol of royalty, that was pinned to a black velvet ribbon at her throat, the blue of his eyes darkened. And then, catching Julia's inquiring gaze, he looked deliberately away.

Julia's fingers tightened on the arm of her chair. It was a novel sensation to find herself unwanted. Most gentlemen of her acquaintance were overjoyed to be in her presence. She recognized that she was privileged above most women in being accepted in the councils of her overindulgent father and his friends. Still, she knew that she was also accepted for her own sake and the contribution she was capable of making. It was irritating in the extreme to be judged on appearances alone and found lacking. That Captain Thorpe did not trouble to conceal his opinion she considered nothing short of an insult.

Turning from the captain, she encountered the gaze of Marcel de Gruys. Smiling, his eyes closed to slits, he raised his glass in homage to her beauty. The gesture was not unusual, but she was surprised to find herself unmoved by the flattery. What ailed her that she could not be pleased by either appreciation or the lack of it?

The one-eyed general drew his chair nearer to the table and lowered his voice. "The emperor, messieurs, mademoiselle, plans to leave St. Helena by August, at the latest, of this year. By October, he will have reached Malta, the first way station in his return as master of Europe."

"By August!" Fontane exclaimed, blinking rapidly. "That is less than five months away. How are we to mount a rescue, procure a ship, recruit men, and arrange for weapons and all such necessities in so short a time when the prison is half a world away? Have reason, mon ami!"

"Everything has been planned. All these details and many others you have not dreamed of have been taken care of by our emperor, the master of logistics such as you enumerate. First, the ship-indeed a necessity, as you say. This is why Captain Thorpe, so fortuitously arrived in the city, has been invited to join us. Men? Weapons? If you envision an army, such will not be needed. The emperor does not intend to risk the lives of his faithful followers in a contest of arms at this date. How then, you will ask, does he expect to make his escape? Does he intend to hide himself in an empty wine barrel or dress himself like a common stevedore or sailor? No, a thousand times! Such conduct is beneath the dignity of a man who has felt the mantle of empire about his shoulders, a man who has bought and sold kingdoms, given crowns and coronets away as gifts!"

The banker, a man with little appreciation for eloquence, looked sour. "Must he take wing, then?"

"You are a pessimist, my dear Fontane," the general accused. "He walks away, naturellement, like an emperor and a gentleman, strolling beneath the noses of those who think they have him fast."

"And, books his own passage on a ship of the East India Company, I presume?"

"Non, mais non! It is more complicated than that, though still of a great simplicity. It is a brilliant plan, truly brilliant, and a major portion of its success depends, as I have said, on the men with us now, Captain Thorpe and also M'sieu Robeaud."

"I am sure this plan is a marvel, general. We require only to be told what it is for a proper appreciation."

General Montignac, enjoying the moment, smiled and shook his head. "Such impatience. I am coming to that."

With sudden decision, Captain Thorpe sat forward, placing his empty glass on the table. "Before we begin, General Montignac, may I ask if everyone present has given you a personal guarantee of loyalty? This is a dangerous conspiracy we are about to embark upon. We would be foolhardy to jeopardize it at the beginning by allowing the details to be either deliberately revealed or bandied about in careless chatter." As he spoke, Julia felt his glance sweep over her once more. His words might seem to be directed to the group at large, but she was well aware of their focus. Men did not ordinarily consider their conversation chatter. That was a word reserved for the conversation of women.

"If you are referring to me, Captain Thorpe," she said, keeping her voice firm with an effort, "I assure you that I have been privy to the secrets of this group for some time and they have not yet become common knowledge."

To his credit, the captain made no attempt to deny the obvious. "I meant no offense, mademoiselle," he replied, his head tilted on one side. "In England, it has never been the practice for men to burden females with matters of political significance, or those which may become hazardous."

"Your concern is commendable, captain, but I must point out that this is New Orleans and that I am not, I believe, your typical English female-"

"Here, here!" General Montignac said to a rumble of laughter from her father and his friends.

Smiling a little in response, she went on. "I do not intend to take a direct part in this affair, but you may be certain that what is said in this council will be safe with me."

M'sieu Fontane also championed her. "There can be no objection to Mademoiselle Julia Dupré. Napoleon has no more staunch supporter and friend. In any case, she would soon have the entire tale from Dupré or one of us, so she may as well stay and hear the correct version."

The captain surveyed the amused faces around the table almost as though he was doubtful of the wisdom of becoming involved in a plot undertaken with so light an attitude. "And, the others?" he asked curtly.

"With the exceptions of Messieurs Robeaud and De Gruys, I have known these men all my adult life," Julia's father said with a gesture of one white hand that was as graceful as it was impatient. "M'sieu Robeaud will be the one most endangered should anything go wrong. You cannot expect a greater assurance of his cooperation. De Gruys I have known for some months both personally and in the realm of commerce. He is willing to contribute handsomely to the mounting of this expedition. It is elemental that one does not finance an expedition one expects to betray. It would be to cast a fortune away for nothing."

The astringency of her father's tone, subtle though it was, was not lost on Captain Thorpe. This was a country where men had been killed for less obvious slights to honor. The captain was a plain-spoken man, and under the circumstances, the men gathered in the library were willing to indulge him, but the cemeteries of New Orleans held many men who had dared to express their doubts too plainly.

Julia watched Rudyard Thorpe's tight-lipped struggle. It went against his grain to bow to the will of others, that much was clear. No doubt he had the habit of command, and of accepting responsibility for his subordinates. It would do the man no harm to discover that he was not in charge here, nor in any way superior to the others.

"I take it we may proceed, then?" General Montignac inquired. After a moment, Captain Thorpe gave a reluctant nod. Once more the general launched into speech. "The instructions of the emperor are set out so simply that there can be no misunderstanding. Some small portion of them has been carried out. However, if you will allow me, I will refresh your memories. We, of Nouvelle Orléans, have been given the great responsibility of contacting M'sieu Robeaud and arranging transport for him to England aboard a ship of American registry. I think there is no problem there, Captain Thorpe?"

"None at all, general. The Sea Jade was owned originally by my father, who was an American. It was his wish that she never fly the Union Jack. By birth, I am British, and my mother's people still reside in England, but I have honored my father's wish."

"Very good. In fact, if I may say so, it could not be better. Once in England, M'sieu Robeaud will take passage on a ship of the English East India Company, which will have as its destination Rio de Janeiro via St. Helena. The emperor has arranged for General Baron Gaspard Gourgaud to travel to London for the purpose of facilitating this voyage--"

"Gourgaud?" M'sieu Fontane asked. "I understood he had quarreled with Napoleon and demanded, in a positive fit of histrionics, to be allowed to leave St. Helena. An unstable fellow, descendant of a family of actors, I believe."

"Indeed yes, just the man to carry out a ruse. That is all it was, this quarrel, you perceive? A ruse to convince the commissioners that he was done with Napoleon. All these denunciations and intimate details and supposedly secret information you will hear from Gourgaud will be so much bombast to cover his true purpose. I think we here in Louisiana will be in a position to give greater aid to Gourgaud than was at first envisioned, however. Perhaps, Captain Thorpe, you will be so good as to tell the others what you confided to me when we met a few days ago?"

"Certainly," the Englishman said, straightening in his chair. "The main problem, which confronts Gourgaud, is to assure that an East Indiaman will be sent out to St. Helena at the proper time. The difficulty arises because, as you are undoubtedly aware, the island is owned by the East India Company, which has leased it to the crown as a place of detention for Napoleon. Only company ships, and British ships of the line, are allowed to anchor in the harbor at Jamestown, St. Helena. I believe I may be in a position to be of service here. My mother's eldest brother is a director of the East India Company. Since he has no sons of his own, it has long been his wish that I settle down and take an interest in the India trade. If I could manage to convince him that I intended to do so, I might be able to discover the sailing schedule for Indiamen going to that part of the world, or even influence a voyage at the proper time, should it prove necessary."

"Now that should be of value," Fontane said, nodding his white head.

"Yes," General Montignac said dryly. "And, of course, the captain will sail from England for Rio de Janeiro with the Sea Jade and await the coming of Napoleon in that city. The instant the emperor arrives and boards, he will put out to sea, with Malta as the destination."

Marcel de Gruys, an observer until now, shifted in his seat. "One is forced to wonder what Captain Thorpe hopes to receive for all this," he drawled, his cynical black gaze measuring the large form of the Englishman.

"What I hope to receive," Rudyard Thorpe replied as he swung to face de Gruys, "is money."

A small silence fell. The men at the table glanced at each other.

"Well?" General Montignac said, a trace of bluster shading his voice. "What did you expect? Not everyone can be depended upon to serve the emperor out of love."

"I suppose not," M'sieu Fontane said unhappily. One or two of the other men murmured a dubious agreement.

Julia sat forward. "That may be so," she said, her voice earnest, "but is it wise to trust so much to one who is of the same nationality as those who have been Napoleon's most implacable enemies and who are now his jailers?"

"She has a point," M'sieu Fontane said.

"Indeed, yes," Marcel de Gruys agreed, his eyes approving as he flicked a glance in her direction. "I believe it would be in order for the rest of us to require from this English captain some proof of his loyalty to the cause he hopes will bring him a profit."

A muscle corded under the sun-bronzed cheek of the Englishman, and his blue eyes seemed to darken. "In matters of business, my word has always been my bond," he said with slow deliberation. "I did not ask to be a part of this; I was approached by General Montignac and M'sieu Dupré in Maspero's Coffee House after they had overheard me say I intended to return to London at short notice. I care not a tinker's damn whether Napoleon Bonaparte lives out his given years as the despot of Longwood or the master of Europe. I owe allegiance to no man and idolize none. The sea and the Sea Jade are the things I hold highest, and the welfare of my ship is my first concern. Whatever benefits her has my strictest fidelity. More than that, I cannot say. However, if any of you harbor doubts, they can best be resolved by sending some one or two from among you on this voyage."

"An excellent suggestion," M'sieu Dupré said in a thoughtful tone.

Marcel de Gruys gave a nod.

Julia looked from her father and de Gruys to find herself the target of the captain's hard stare. There was a tightly held anger in his expression, combined with a deep aversion to being forced to defend himself. Julia waited for the satisfaction of a score settled. Without precisely planning it that way, she had had her revenge for Rudyard Thorpe's attempt to exclude her from the conference. The sensation did not come. Instead, she felt a shrinking feeling in the region of her stomach. Despite her father's presence beside her, a shiver of something like fear ran over her. An instant later it was ousted by a redeeming rage which allowed her to lift her chin and return the Englishman's gaze without flinching. And yet, within herself, she was aware as never before in her life of her vulnerability as a woman.

"There now," General Montignac said, sweeping a comprehensive glance around the table, "if all are satisfied, we will proceed. There are stiff a few points to be explored -- some of the more important ones, I might add."

"I should think so," M'sieu Fontane snorted. "It is all very well to speak of needing no armament and risking no lives, but what happens when the emperor's absence is discovered? Pursuit will be immediate, pursuit by English warships carrying heavy guns. The ship carrying the emperor will be blown out of the water the instant they come within range. An escape attempt -- what else could give them such an excellent excuse for ridding themselves of Napoleon?"

Captain Thorpe answered. "What you say is true, sir. I have been given to understand, however, that this will not be a problem."

"Not a problem?" the other man exclaimed, staring at Rudyard Thorpe as though he suspected him of being mad.

"Precisely," the general said with grave humor. "There is no reason to believe Napoleon's absence will be discovered until he appears to make a public announcement of the fact. By that time, the English will be too busy defending themselves to worry about trying to recover their prisoner!"

"Bah," M'sieu Fontane said with a wave of his hand. "You talk in riddles."

The general smiled. "Not at all. The absence of the emperor will not be detected for the simple reason that M'sieu Robeaud will take his place, as he has many times before."

Fontane slewed around in his chair to stare at the plump little man sitting so quietly among them. "It is true?" the banker demanded.

Copyright © 1979 by Patricia Maxwell