Siren's Song Page 3

  Mademoiselle Charbonneau,

  I must take this form to warn you that your brother, Monsieur Valcour Charbonneau, has been arrested and is being held at the fort. I believe it would be wise if you were to hasten there with all possible speed. He is in great peril. It is said that he is a friend to the British, and this will go against him.

  It was unsigned.

  Dominique was shaking so badly she had to sit down and lean her head back. Her worst fears had been realized, Valcour was in trouble—terrible trouble!

  Her first instinct was to rush to her grandfather and ask him what to do, but no, she must protect him from the knowledge that his grandson had been arrested.

  Quickly, she raced to her bedroom and dressed in a gray riding habit. Then she hurried to the stable to find that no one was about at this late hour. With trepidation in her heart, she saddled her own horse.

  The sunlight was just topping the tall trees when she rode away from Windward Plantation and headed for Basse-Terre. Her powerful gelding's long strides kicked up dust as they raced against time.

  She knew why Valcour had been arrested. He had spoken too often and too loudly about his hatred for Napoleon Bonaparte. Most probably he would be charged with treason or even spying—both offenses were punishable by death!

  On she rode past sugarcane fields dotted with the new sugar mills Valcour had built so they could process and market their own sugar. He had even constructed a distillery, where rum was bottled with the Charbonneau label. Their hope had been to export the rum, but thus far they had been unsuccessful.

  Dominique urged her horse on to a faster pace in her anxiety to reach Basse-Terre. Her mind was whirling ahead to what she would do when they reached the fort. General Richepance would certainly have to answer for what he had done. She would remind him that on Guadeloupe the Charbonneaus were not without influence. They had many friends who would help her gain Valcour's release.

  She slowed her horse to cross a small stream and caught a glimpse of the mango trees that grew along the roadway. In the distance she could see patches of scarlet from the flame trees. She loved this island and had never been away from it, except for short boat trips to neighboring islands. It was no longer the paradise it had been before Bonaparte's troops had gained control.

  When Dominique finally entered the outlying village of Basse-Terre, the town was just coming to life. She slowed her mount to a walk on the narrow streets that were soon choked with a press of humanity. There were oxcarts loaded with bananas and tobacco. She passed women who were setting up stalls to sell fruit and vegetables while their children wove baskets from dried banana leafs.

  She raised her eyes to the garrison, which loomed in the distance like some dark forbidding place of evil, and tasted the bitterness of fear. Dominique swallowed her apprehension when the guard waved her inside without question. But when the heavy gate clanked shut behind her, she had a feeling of impending doom.

  Dominique halted and slid to the ground, tying her mount to a post. She must not show fear, she told herself. For Valcour's sake, she must be strong.

  "You there," she said to the guard on duty, trying to sound authoritative, "I insist on being taken to Governor Richepance at once."

  The soldier shifted his weight, looking undecided. He was momentarily stunned by the beautiful woman, and she was definitely a person of some importance, but her scornful manner evoked his indignation. He, like many of the soldiers who had come to this island from France, cared little for the locals whose haughty manners were reminiscent of the royalists they'd left behind.

  "I cannot do that, Mademoiselle," the soldier said stiffly. "First, I must speak to Colonel Marceau's aide, Corporal Parinaud, who will in turn speak to the colonel. Then, only the colonel decides if you will be allowed to speak to his excellency, the governor."

  Dominique cast a disparaging glance at the Frenchman. "Then inform the colonel that Mademoiselle Charbonneau insists on seeing General Richepance at once."

  Within the walls of Fort Saint-Charles it was sweltering. A young boy waved a long-handled straw fan back and forth to cool Colonel Marceau. It was obvious by the scowl on the officer's face that he was not in a congenial mood.

  With an angry growl, he shoved the young boy aside and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a lace handkerchief.

  The boy scurried from the room, glad to make his escape. If asked, he could have advised the Frenchman that to dress in full uniform in this climate was the epitome of stupidity—but no one asked him.

  Colonel Henri Marceau snarled at Corporal Parinaud, who had just entered the room. "Damned pesthole. How can any civilized man live in a place like this? If the heat does not kill you, the fever will. The locals scorn you and then protest when you scorn them in return."

  "Colonel," the aide smiled, knowing he was about to deliver news that his commanding officer had been waiting to hear. "Mademoiselle Charbonneau has arrived, just as you predicted she would."

  Colonel Marceau's eyes gleamed with satisfaction and he nodded. "Is she accompanied by her grandfather?"

  "Non, Colonel, she is alone."

  The colonel poked his handkerchief back in his pocket, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "It is unfortunate that he is not with her. Send someone for him and bring him to me by the quickest means possible."

  "But sir, I had heard that the old man is ill and keeps to his bed."

  "I care not about details, just do as you are ordered— and do it now!" His face suddenly became calm. "You know what to do with the woman. Tend to her before you send for the grandfather."

  "Colonel," the aide said carefully, "I wonder if it is wise to put such a highborn lady in a cell. The first consul has insisted we deal gently with the aristocrats, and General Richepance might not like the woman being—"

  Colonel Marceau's eyes became cold, and his neck arched upward, reminding his aide of a fighting rooster.

  "Fool! Imbecile! How dare you question my orders. I have been trained to think and you have been trained to obey. Besides, Napoleon Bonaparte is a long way from Guadeloupe and has no concept of how to deal with these people, and neither does the general—he only likes results, and I get them for him."

  The colonel's face reddened, and his dark eyes flashed with rage as he continued his tirade.

  "The reason Mademoiselle Charbonneau is to be locked in a cell is to make her more amiable to my .. . shall we say . . . request." He laughed at his own daring. "After a few hours in a cell, I believe she will be only too eager to do anything that I ask of her." His eyes narrowed. "Now go, and do as I say."

  The young corporal backed out of the room, bowing every few steps. "Yes, Colonel. Right away, Colonel."

  When he was outside, he drew in a sigh of relief. Colonel Marceau had lofty ambitions, and he pitied Mademoiselle Charbonneau if she refused him. The colonel could be merciless.

  4

  Dominique was frantic after being kept waiting in the cramped office. She watched the door in agitation for the guard to return and escort her to the governor.

  As time passed Dominique became more angry than agitated. When she first arrived, she had considered using politeness to win the general over, but now she would demand that he release Valcour at once.

  The door opened and a soldier wearing the blue and red uniform of a corporal entered with a flourish. "Good morning, Mademoiselle. How may I help you?"

  "Was it you who kept me waiting for over an hour?" she asked pointedly.

  He looked unconcerned, and she had the impression that he cared little for her comfort.

  "Alas, I plead guilty. There are so many trifles to take up my time."

  "What is your name," she demanded, "so I can report you to your commanding officer? I cannot believe he would approve of your actions."

  He only smiled as if he was unimpressed with her threat. "I am Corporal Francis Parinaud, Mademoiselle."

  "Well, Corporal Francis Parinaud, has General Richepance agreed to see me?" Dominique asked,
trying to retain her patience.

  He swept the door open. "Mademoiselle Charbonneau, if you will but accompany me."

  "Will the general see me?" she asked again, stubbornly standing her ground.

  The corporal bowed slightly to her, feeling no guilt for what he must do. "If you will follow me, all will be understood shortly."

  He indicated that she should precede him through the door, which she did reluctantly. As they walked through several rooms, she practiced what she would say when she was face to face with General Richepance. But when they descended the steps that took them into a dank, ill-lit room, she became concerned.

  "Are you taking me first to see my brother?" she asked in confusion.

  Silently, the corporal smiled, urging her forward.

  "I want to take Valcour home with me today. You see, our grandfather is ill, and my brother is needed at home to run Windward Plantation. Our sugarcane rots in the fields and—"

  She broke off as a sickening odor wafted through the air and assaulted her senses. Looking bewildered, she paused while a guard with a ring of keys at his waist unlocked a heavy wooden door and she peered into a hole of darkness.

  Corporal Parinaud held out his hand and the guard gave him a lantern.

  As they descended the steep steps, Dominique could see only vague shadows, but they seemed to be passing cells with heavy iron doors. She was horrified to think that Valcour was being held prisoner in this appalling dungeon.

  "Is my brother here?" She asked the stone-faced corporal. "Is he?"

  He merely inserted a key in a rusty lock and the door squeaked open. There was no light in the cell, but Dominique rushed forward, calling her brother's name.

  When she realized the cell was empty, understanding dawned on Dominique. She turned toward Corporal Parinaud just as she heard the iron door slam shut and the key grate in the lock.

  "Monsieur, what have you done?" she asked, moving forward, her hands gripping the bars. She tugged to open them. "Surely you are not going to leave me here. I have done no wrong. My grandfather will see you stripped of your rank and cast in a prison cell yourself."

  Her threat only brought laughter from her jailer. "As you said, Mademoiselle, your grandfather is old and ill, and I heard he is crazed." Without a backward glance, he walked away, leaving Dominique with the feeling of unreality—this could not be happening to her!

  She and Valcour were French citizens and they could not be held without a reason. This had to be some terrible mistake. Perhaps this was only meant to frighten her. If that was so, it had succeeded—she was terrified!

  Dominique had no notion of the passing of time as she lingered near the iron door, refusing to venture too far into the cell. The shadowy world was so terrifying that she could neither move nor catch her breath. The aide lit a torch and rammed it into a wall holder, then she heard the echoing of his footsteps disappear. Her body shook and her hands trembled with terror of the unknown.

  When she felt something scurry across her foot, she did not need to see to know that it was a rat. She shivered, suddenly glad she could not see the condition of the cell. Most probably it was lice-infested. She fumbled in her reticule until she found a scented handkerchief, which she held to her nose to block out the stench left by previous occupants.

  Her stomach churned sickeningly and she leaned her head against the bars as a feeling of hopelessness invaded her mind. The fact that Valcour was probably sharing the same fate gave her the strength she needed to gather her courage. She had no doubt that she would be released, but when?

  Dominique became aware that there were prisoners in the other cells—she could hear them moaning as if they were in pain. What a hideous place, she thought, what human misery.

  "Valcour, Valcour!" she cried.

  There was no answer, but she did hear the sound of heavy boot steps, and the grating of an opening door. Her face was suddenly thrown into blinding light by the lantern carried by the same man who had locked her in the cell.

  He inserted the key in the lock and the door creaked open. "Come with me, Mademoiselle."

  Wordlessly, Dominique adjusted her straw bonnet atop her head and retied the green ribbons beneath her chin.

  "Take me to Governor Richepance," she told the man in a voice that trembled with emotion.

  He merely nodded, and she followed him up the steps, glad to be quit of the loathsome dungeon.

  Although the day was hot, she shivered with dread at the thought of facing General Richepance. What kind of man would place a woman in a cell merely to frighten her? Yet she feared him for a far greater reason: he had the power of life or death over her brother.

  Dominique was shown into a brightly lit office, with gilded and ornate furnishings, somehow out of place with the drab walls of the garrison. The man who sat at a desk studying the papers before him was overdressed, with wide epaulets on each shoulder and gold braid on the sleeves of his uniform. He had a thick neck and thick shoulders, the physique of a fighting man. His head seemed small in comparison to the rest of his body. For all his fastidiousness, his dark hair had an unwashed look about it.

  He neither looked up nor acknowledged Dominique's presence as his quill pen darted across the paper.

  Dominique could see that his actions were meant to intimidate her, but she refused to play his game. Although it was difficult to keep her anger under control, she moved casually about the room, while bitterness surged through her mind. To keep her trembling hands busy she examined a portrait that was the focal point of the room. Her lip curled in disgust at this man's audacity: he had been painted dressed like Caesar, from the laurel wreath atop his head to the golden sandals on his feet. She turned away in revulsion to stand before his desk, her hands folded demurely in front of her, silently watching him work.

  Colonel Marceau had expected Dominique Charbonneau to come to him, her face tear-streaked, beseeching him to allow her to go home. He watched her from the corner of his eyes and she appeared a cold, calm beauty who demonstrated little fear of him. After a while, her urbane actions began to agitate him; he resented anyone who represented the nobility, a class of people who had always made him feel inferior about his humble ancestry.

  At last he raised his eyes to hers and was momentarily struck by the calmness with which she returned his stare, and by the tilt of her chin, which demonstrated a frosty manner. She was a beauty all right, he thought, even more so than he had heard. Her dark curls peeked out of her straw bonnet, and her face was perfect, from her full, ripe lips to the sooty lashes that swept across her turquoise eyes. Her faded riding habit did little to hide her soft curves—she was precisely what he needed.

  Dominique was anything but calm. Her heart was tinged with foreboding, and she was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, but she would not drop her eyes, and she would not speak to the man until he spoke first.

  His baleful eyes bore into her. "So, Mademoiselle Charbonneau, we meet at last. I hope you have enjoyed our hospitality."

  "I would not call your kind of welcome hospitable, Monsieur. I have been watching for some time and I have concluded that you are not General Richepance, and I expressly told Corporal Parinaud to take me to the general."

  "What makes you think I am not he?"

  "It is simple. General Richepance would be a gentleman, therefore he would not have had a lady placed in that vile cell."

  She had his attention.

  "Corporal Parinaud is a wretched fool." His eyes did not flicker as he spun his lie. "He was not acting on my orders when he placed you in the dungeon."

  Dominique looked at him skeptically. "General Richepance would have offered me a chair. Who are you?"

  Anger caused red blotches to stain the colonel's face and neck, and he tapped his quill against the desk—in truth he was having difficulty controlling his fury.

  "As you guessed, I am neither a gentleman nor a general, but those of you who have not heard of me will soon come to fear and respect the name of Colone
l Henri Marceau!"

  Dominique's words were sharp, but she kept her tone polite, fearing he might harm her brother if she truly angered this man. "I hope one day to show you the same hospitality you have shown me, Colonel Henri Marceau."

  He glared at her; she was cleverly maneuvering him to her advantage. He extended his arm to her, and she reluctantly touched her fingers to his cold, clammy hand as he led her to a chair.

  "The incompetence of the fools that surround me is not to be believed," he declared in an indignant voice. "How was I to know that my imbecile of an aide would place you in the dungeons? I can assure you that he will be severely reprimanded."

  Dominique sat forward on the chair, wanting to demand that he tell her about her brother. It took all her will to smile at him. "Do not be too hard on yourself, Monsieur. You either have the ability to command men or you do not."

  He blinked in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

  She slowly and deliberately studied the man, from his balding head, to his wide girth. He was foppish, and she observed his elaborate manner of dress with contempt.

  "Some men," she said at last, "are born to be leaders, like your Napoleon, and perhaps even General Richepance. I cannot imagine Napoleon being surrounded by such incompetence, can you?"

  The colonel lowered his bulk into a chair and chose his words carefully, knowing just how to crack her air of dignity.

  "Suppose we begin with my telling you what I know about your family."

  She wanted to scream at him that the only thing she wanted from him was her brother's release. "How kind of you to take the trouble to learn about my family. I regret, I know nothing of your background."

  He ground his teeth, wanting to strike that superior smile off her face. But he would bring her down from her lofty perch. He thumbed through several papers on his deck. "Your family is tied by blood to the princely house of Grimaldi of Monaco."

  "I hope you are impressed."