The Seige Of Dragonard Hill Part 6

Consequently, Claudia Goss welcomed the old copy of the 'New Orleans Bee' which the young lawyer, Jerome Poliguet, had sent to her by a messenger from Troy. She was the foundation for the practise which Poliguet was now conducting two days a week in this vicinity.

Claudia Goss had first met the young Creole lawyer after her last husband had died. She had decided after Mister Grouse's demise to change her surname from 'Grouse' to 'Goss'. She had also heard at that time about a young Creole opening a professional office in New Orleans for legal advice. She knew the Creole people to be crafty-as well as influential citizens of New Orleans-and immediately recognized the benefits of having one as her lawyer.

Being realistic, Claudia also suspected that a Creole who opened an office which would take her for a client must badly be in need of money, that such a man might even be as unscrupulous as herself.

Claudia's suspicions proved to be correct. She had visited Poliguet's offices on Ca.n.a.l Street, had entered as Clau- 7I.

dia Grouse and emerged as Claudia Goss. The normally long procedure of legally changing a name had been accomplished in minutes. She was totally convinced about the handsome young Creole's integrity-or lack of it. She visited him again, suffering the day's journey to New Or-lean to learn how to deal with loans, mortgages, the ways she could insure her own money whilst exacting a high rate of interest from people who did not qualify to borrow money from a bank. Poliguet told her about compounded interests, taking slaves as collateral against risky loans, how she could sell the slaves as interest against the interest outstanding and, above all, he instructed her to have all agreements- however shady-committed to a binding written contract. Claudia gladly paid Poliguet's fee, acquiring a store of knowledge which began increasing her small fortune.

Four years after she had first consulted Poliguet in New Orleans, Claudia now considered him to be more than a financial advisor. He had an impressive background but also understood the burning drive of revenge. Being a Creole ostracized from his own peer group, Poliguet understood Claudia's complaint of being slighted by people who considered themselves to be her social superiors. Poliguet had become a colleague in Claudia's long-term plan for total revenge against certain leading families in northern Louisiana. She would not have a good night's rest until she saw one specific plantation-Dragonard Hill-razed to the ground and its fields planted with salt.

Claudia Goss sat wrapped this chilly June morning in a patchwork quilt. The back copy of the 'New Orleans Bee' which Jerome Poliguet had sent to her now lay opened on a deal table in front of her, its yellowing pages turned to the obituary columns.

'Jack!' she shrieked, throwing back her head. 'Mary! You lazy wench! One of you thieving n.i.g.g.e.rs around this house someplace?'

The sound of shuffling feet moved in a small lean-to adjoining the one-room cabin, a makes.h.i.+ft s.p.a.ce serving as a kitchen. A Negress soon appeared in the doorway, a young but weary-looking black woman who wore a badly patched 72.cotton s.h.i.+rt and her hair frizzed in a cloud around her haggard face.

Claudia demanded, 'Fetch me that no good c.o.o.ni Tell Jack I wants him to hitch-up my mules! I aim to start travelling again.'

'Travelling? Mrs Goss?' Mary asked. 'Your ague done pa.s.sed?'

'My ague pa.s.sed from my body this very morning,' Claudia announced as she threw back the patchwork quilt from her shoulders and grabbed for the newspaper. 'The ague done pa.s.sed from my body like a fart after eating too many b.u.t.ter beans!'

Mary had suspected recently that her mistress's strange illness was brought on by slow periods in her trade, that the malady was a camouflage for the fact that none of her usual customers were buying-or had the money to buy- the sad-looking Negroes whom Claudia trailed around the country roads tied to the back of her wagon.

The hut where Claudia kept her supply of slaves was empty; her stock of toothless old men and barren women was depleted. This knowledge made Mary wonder about the reason why her mistress should suddenly announce that she was going travelling.

Mary asked, 'You plan to go... selling, Mrs Goss?'

'Don't go snooping into what I plans or don't plans to do. Just you tells that c.o.o.n I wants him to hitch up my mules. And then you fetches me something clean to wear.'

'Clean?' Mary repeated. The word-in all its connotations-was unknown in this household.

'I didn't say dirty, did I, you dumb cluck? I needs a clean dress to wear. I sees here in this newspaper that a neighbour of mine done died.'"

"A neighbour. . . died?'

'That's right! Killed! Threw from her horse! And almost a month ago by now! So make sure the dress you finds for me to wear is black. Black for mourning. Dig around and see if you can finds the mourning clothes I wore for my last husband."

'Mister Grouse done died five years ago, Mistress.' Mary cautiously reminded the white woman. 'You tells me to use those togs to scrubs the floors with! That be nearly three years ago now you gives me those orders. I done already 73.used-up and throwed-away that black dress you mourned Mister Grouse with.'

'Not Grouse, d.a.m.nit! Gossl Won't you ever learn to get that name right? Who wants to go through life as a "grouse". A grouse is a birdl A simpering timid little bird that done gets chased and hunted and pecked by other birds. I hate Grouse! I'm Goss now. And soon this place is going to be called something different than Grouse Hollow. I'm going to change the name of this place to something fine as soon as I can think of it. But if you don't start remembering to stop saying, "Grouse", missy, I'll tie you up to my wagon and drags you down to the crossroads the next time I takes a string of n.i.g.g.e.rs there to sell!'

Mary knew that her mistress's threat to sell her was not idle. She had seen her sell off other slaves from Grouse Hollow since her reign of terror had begun here. Hanging her head, Mary said, 'I looks and sees what black dresses we gots for you to wear, Mistress Marn.'

'Make it snappy,' Claudia ordered. 'I wants to start my trip this afternoon. I plan to rest the night away from home. I heads to Dragonard Hill bright tomorrow morning.'

'You going to sleep tonight in the wagon?'

'Wh.o.r.es and thieves sleep in wagons,' Claudia ranted. I plans to go as far as Troy today. I got business there with my. . . lawyer! I also got a few friends in Troy who finds it to their advantage to put me up in their homes.' Claudia smiled at the prospect of wringing hospitality from the white families who still owed her money. Yes, she needed this trip to revitalize her spirits. She already felt like a new woman.

The name of the plantation, Dragonard Hill, meant little to the black woman, Mary, but the Negro, Jack, immediately recognized it when Claudia Goss explained her intentions to him a short while later.

Jack drawled, 'Dragonard Hill. . . that's be the plantation where your first husband was the overseer of, Mistress Goss?'

Claudia sat by the old table and said, 'My first husband was Misver Chad Tucker, the overseer of that plantation 74.when it was still called The Star. In the days before uppity Peter Abdee took control of that land. Mister Tucker and me were living on The Star when Peter Abdee was bought from a n.i.g.g.e.r house in New Orleans as a... slave!' Her eyes gleamed in their sockets as she announced this long-forgotten fact, then continuing, she said, 'Mister Tucker and me were still living on The Star when it was proven that young Abdee was actually a white person and then allowed to marry that sickly Selby girl. The Selbys used to own The Star but when they allowed Abdee to take control of the land, Mister Tucker and myself did not approve of the treatment which we saw certain people receiving on the plantation-that's when we decided to... depart! It was not until many years later that Abdee married Kate Breslin of Greenleaf Plantation.'

Claudia puckered her small lips, saying, 'I could tell plenty of stories about that Irish filly but, being she met such an unfortunate death, I shall keep my peace like a... white lady. I plan to travel to Dragonard Hill to pay neighbourly respects to the grieving family. That's the least any white lady of my position can do.'

Jack knew that his mistress was not what polite Southerners referred to as a lady', nor did she perform any generous acts without having an ulterior motive. He knew better than to question his mistress, though, and lifting his cap toward his head, he mumbled, I better gets going so you can take advantage of driving those mules in as much daylight as you can catch.'

'Me? Drive? What rubbish you talking, c.o.o.n? You'll be handling the team! Same as usual!'

He stared at her. He had expected to be left here at Grouse Hollow with Mary. They had few moments together as husband and wife.

Claudia asked, 'You don't expect me to go calling on neighbours driving my own wagon, do you? A white lady is always driven by her darkie!'

Jack lowered his head. She had shattered all his hopes of spending time with his wife. He slowly left the room.

The road leading from Grouse Hollow was barely more 75.than a path worn down into the quack gra.s.s which grew between the water oaks and scrub v Jlow trees. Once the slave, Jack, drove the mules of Claudia's wagon to the public road, the wooden wheels rolled smoothly over the dirt thoroughfare and a blue sky was visible beyond the spires of pine trees. Claudia Goss and Jack reached the small town of Troy before sundown. Claudia told Jack to leave her by the mercantile store where Jerome Poliguet rented office s.p.a.ce in the upper floor.

She said, 'You take the wagon over to w.i.l.l.y Browne's place. Tell w.i.l.l.y to stable these critters and find a place for you to roost in the barn. Tell him to have his missus prepare their room for me. Say "Mrs Goss don't know how long she's staying." Say "Mrs Goss done gone visiting her attorney and does not know how long her business will keep her in town." If w.i.l.l.y Browne or his missus give you any back talk, say that "Mrs Goss also got the deed to their house and she's thinking that she might need her money pretty soon owing on the house". And then say "Mrs Goss has been considering lately of moving into town. That she finds their little house very pleasing".'

Satisfied with the message she was sending to the Browne family who had little choice in offering her hospitality, Claudia Goss turned and mounted the wooden steps to the mercantile store.

A bell tinkled over the door as she entered the gla.s.s-fronted building. The pungent smell of coffee beans, cloves, and tobacco filled her nostrils as she surveyed a group of men seated near the window.

The men were mostly small farmers or town people who had nothing to do other than to idle in this store. Many served as patrollers on the public roads, self-appointed militia men who watched for runaway slaves. Claudia recognized a few faces amongst them, men who had debts outstanding to her for slaves they had bought from her, or from loans which she had extended to them with usurious rates of interest, loans-and interest-they had difficulty paying-Adjusting the straw bonnet on her head, Claudia surveyed the collection of sober faces and asked, 'Don't a man stand up no more when he sees a white lady?'

Chairs creaked. Shoes shuffled. The men moved to rise.

76.They murmured, 'Afternoon, Mrs. Goss."You looking fine, Mrs Goss.' 'That a new bonnet you wearing today, Mrs Goss?'

Claudia now ignored them, She had their attention. She had received the homage she expected. She waddied past a line of wooden kegs filled with nails and withered apples, calling to the store clerk behind the counter, 'Ralph? Mister Poliguet upstairs in his office?'

'Yes, Mrs Goss,' the clerk quickly answered. 'Good to see you again, Mrs Goss.'

'Good to be out and about again,' she mumbled and headed for the board stairs which led up the side of the mercantile to its upper floor.

The door at the top of the narrow stairway was opened before Claudia reached the landing. A tall man dressed in a black frock coat and grey-striped breeches stood with his arms folded across his chest. He was a young man, no older than thirty-years, and his black wavy hair was brushed back from his cleanly-shaven face. His dapper appearance made a sharp contrast to the slovenly group of men seated in front of the store's window.

'Claudia Goss! You old h.e.l.lion! What brings you into town?' His eyes twinkled as brightly as the diamonds set in the gold stickpin decorating his burgundy silk cravat. I bet you've been reading the newspapers!'

Puffing for breath, holding onto the banister for support, Claudia panted, 'Poliguet, if I don't get more respect from you, I'll-I'll-I'll do something awful to youf Moving now to give a hand to his best client, Jerome Poliguet teased, 'You don't have anything awful enough for me! Come on in! Take a load off your feet! Tell me what you're plotting now, you . . . queen of the backwoods!'

Claudia dropped the shawl from the shoulders of her linsey-woolsey dress and looked past Poliguet into his office. She remarked, 'Business don't seem to be booming here for you, Poliguet.'

'Arid I haven't seen you parading n.i.g.g.e.rs around the countryside lately.' He stepped aside and, extending one arm to a chair placed alongside his desk, he said, 'Come in. Tell me what you've been reading in the newspapers. All about local society, have you? Oh, you always were the fancy one!'

77.'d.a.m.nit! Stop sweet-talking me! You know what I've been reading in the newspapers. The obituaries, that's what! Why else did you send it to me? And you also know there is something I can do. I know there is something I can do. There's no better time to take advantage of people than when they've had a death in the family now is there? So you and me only has to decide what that something is going to be. I've had a few ideas but-' She stopped to wipe the beads of perspiration from her brow.

'I never forget old friends, Mrs Goss. Nor old feuds. That's exactly why I sent you the newspaper. But there's also been a development since I sent you the Bee. I happened to meet someone last week on the coach travelling here from New Orleans. Now come into my office and let me tell you all about it. Who knows, old girl? Who knows but we might both be richer by the end of this planting season. Richer than we ever thought we would be.' Jerome Poliguet closed the office door behind them.

Chapter Five.

THE LAST WEEK OF SPRING.

The last week of spring, the first days of summer in the month of June, was a fertile time at Dragonard Hill; the rich soil began its abundant yield in the fields and the gardens; the orchards blossomed with promise of a full harvest; the deer, wild fowl, the possum trailed the woodlands and pine forests with their young, predicting that there would be fine hunting and trapping before the cold months of winter arrived.

Peter Abdee welcomed these seasonal auspices, they helped turn his attention from the recent loss of his wife. He also enjoyed having his four children on this land and, although he had not so far established a reunion which would join them at one table, he hoped soon to achieve this wish.

True to his considerate spirit, Peter noticed that the presence of Vicky and Veronica in the main house at Dragonard Hill took its toll on his son. Young David Abdee became overly excited at the supper table and had difficulty falling asleep these nights. He also began asking questions about his mother and repeatedly described days from their life together to his step-sisters. David Abdee was proving to be a highly-strung boy. To avoid any disturbances now in the young boy's mind, Peter decided in the last week of June that David should spend a few days visiting his cousin-Kate's nephew, Barry Breslin-who was the master of nearby Greenleaf Plantation.

79.Peter Abdee himself had been waiting for the opportune moment to visit Greenleaf himself. He knew that Barry Breslin's cotton crops had repeatedly failed in recent years, The young man did not know how to manage his land nor lay aside profit for the next season and lean years. Peter had decided to extend the financial a.s.sistance he and Kate had previously given to Barry. He spent his time considering all these facts in the last week of June, planning visits and considering loans rather than to concentrate on the s.e.xual appet.i.te growing in his groin.

Vicky and Veronica still had not said when they were going to leave. Peter did not press them. He wanted his daughters to enjoy themselves for however long they remained home and decided that a brief visit to Greenleaf Plantation would benefit everyone. They would leave on Sunday morning to take young David to stay at the neighbouring plantation.

Although smaller than Dragonard Hill, the main house at Greenleaf Plantation was painted white and proportioned in a similar cla.s.sical style; its parlours and bedrooms were tastefully furnished; the food which came from the kitchen was plentiful, tasty, and varied-all attributes a.s.sociated with this small but pleasing house since the days when Kate Breslin had first been its mistress.

Barry Breslin kept the appearance of Greenleaf as the house had looked at the time Kate had transferred its t.i.tle to him when she had married Peter Abdee and moved to Dragonard Hill. He kept the same house servants, same furniture, same English silver cutlery and Sevres china, the same schedule for meals, morning rising, even whiskys-at-sundown as his aunt had enjoyed during her days as the mistress of Greenleaf.

As the pa.s.sage of time seemed not to have touched the jewel-like quality of Greenleaf so did years leave Barry Breslin visibly unmarked by age and wear. The sandy-haired man appeared to be no older-but, also, no more responsible-than he had been when he used to travel to Dragonard Hill years ago and make b.u.mbling efforts, first, to court Imogen and, next, to make seductive attempts 80.toward Vicky. Barry had discovered his masculinity in those formative years, but, even now when he pursued veneries only amongst the plantation slave women on Greenleaf, he still exuded a clumsiness.

The discussion of finances also still embarra.s.sed Barry Breslin. He now tried to divert the subject of conversation from money when Peter mentioned his present situation at the bank. Peter and Barry were walking together, strolling from the main house in the gentle warmth on this. Sunday afternoon after a midday meal of roast chicken, steamed vegetables, spiced rice, and a tingly white French wine still chilled from the coolness of the springhouse.

Barry held his large red hands behind his back and, kicking at a stone with the toes of his outsize boots, he confessed, 'I guess I'm going to rniss Aunt Katie more than you.'

Peter knew that Kate had done the financial accounts for Greenleaf long after she had moved from here. That she had even spent time discussing crops with the overseer, menus with the cook, taking care of Barry and this plantation long after she had become known as 'Mrs Abdee.' *

'We both have to try harder now,' Peter said, disliking this new responsibility of goading a mature male into becoming the master of his own land. He said, 'Perhaps it's time you considered getting married.'

Barry did not reply to the suggestion.

Peter glanced sideways and saw Barry's cheeks flus.h.i.+ng brightly red. He remembered seeing the same blush on Barry's face when he had met him, Veronica, Vicky, and young David on the front gallery of the white house. Although Vicky had long forgotten-or, at least, made no reference to their past a.s.signations-Barry still was obviously embarra.s.sed by his conduct as her erstwhile paramour. He also stayed away from Dragonard Hill in fear of seeing Imogen-who was once supposed to become his wife.

Hoping to put him at ease, Peter said, 'There are plenty of pretty young girls in the neighbourhood. What about Polly Sinclair? Or Wilhelmina Schneider?' He elbowed Barry in the ribs, saying 'They say that the young Schneider girl is filling out very nicely. And she's German. That's 8I.

good stock. You'll get strong, hearty sons-some German blood mixed in with your Iris.h.!.+"

Barry shook his head. He kept staring at the tips of his boots- as they now reached the crest of a hillock. He said, I feel I'd be cheating my wife-whoever I married. The real kind of woman I want to live with I can't. And . , .' He shook his head saying, 'No, I guess I'm not cut out to be the marrying kind Peter did not have to press Barry to understand his dilemma. He knew that Barry enjoyed bedding Negresses, that if he were to settle happily with one female that she would have to be black, and he could not do that here- not a choice he could make and still remain the master of Greenleaf. White planters had to keep their involvements with black women away from the public eye, not to allow love to tease them into thinking about marriage.

'You're planting well again this year,' Peter said in a brighter voice, looking to the fields furrowed into neat rows.

Barry remained maudlin. He said, 'Nothing in my life seems to be going according to how it's supposed to. Not the planting. Not who I want..."

'The planting looks fine."

I had to borrow more money to do this much. More of Kate's money. Least money Kate signed for.' He knew that Peter was aware of this arrangement for Kate providing money or collateral for the loans from the bank. She had done it this year as well as the year before. She had insisted that Barry use formal banking procedures rather than to use her as a bottomless purse to finance his way in the world. She had felt that such a practise would bring him closer to the realities of the business world.

'Don't let me burden you with my problems,' Barry said, turning to glance back toward the yellow roof of Greenleaf dotted with four dormer windows. 'Let's talk about David. I'm glad to have him here for a few days. How long you want him to visit?'

'I appreciate your hospitality. A change of scenery will do the boy good. The mood at home now is-' Peter paused, struggling for the right words. He did not really know how to describe the atmosphere at Dragonard Hill. He secretly feared a rift was corning between his three daughters but he did not want to admit that, not even to himself.

82.'A nice handsome young boy,' Barry said. 'Before long he'll be chasing poontang himself.'

Peter jerked his head and looked at his step-nephew. He knew that Barry was joking. He nevertheless resented the fact of him speaking about the s.e.xuality of someone who was still a young innocent lad. Must Barry talk about nothing but s.e.x?

'I was only making a jos.h.!.+' Barry quickly apologized, sloping down the hill in Song easy gaits. 'You don't have to worry. I won't be mating him up. But there is a real beauty here. Old Milly and Abe's young one. She's blossomed into a right piece. I hear from Gigi, though-she's still my honey, Gigi-that this young Georgiabelle gal ain't interested in me one bit. Oh, no. She says that a certain gent in this neighbourhood is who she's got her eye on. A certain gent who-'

Barry looked mischievously at Peter out of the corner of his eye. 'You know what I'm saying. . . Uncle Peter?'

Peter's answer was cold and abrupt. 'I understand your meaning perfectly, Barry. And I not only think it's impudent but in mighty bad taste. You should show more respect to your aunt's memory.'

Thinking of a young black girl br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the first ripeness of womanhood, and making the fact known in the slave quarter at Greenleaf that she was desirous to give herself to him, excited Peter but he tried to push it from his mind. He told himself that he could not take a bed wench from Greenleaf, not a Negress from the same place where he had once sneaked to meet Kate.

The red-and-yellow spokes of the Abdee buggy revolved like bright carnival pinwheels over the public road as Peter, Veronica, and Vicky returned home to Dragonard Hill from Greenleaf late that Sunday afternoon.

Vicky tried to amuse her father and Veronica with reminiscences about Barry Breslin's physical defect, the fact that he had only one t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e, a deficiency which had no effect on his prodigious appet.i.te for love-making.

The stories were met with silence. Peter snapped the whip over the jerking heads of his pair of chestnut mares; 83.Veronica held one hand on the wide brim of her straw hat which was catching the breeze; the cloud of dust billowed behind the buggy as they now moved along the poplar-lined road to the steady clip-clop, clip-clop of the smartly stepping horses.

Two stone pillars stood along the roadside supporting a black wrought-iron rainbow which announced in cla.s.sical lettering 'Dragonard Hill', an entrance to this land which had replaced the rough timber posts planted further down the road, the old gate supporting a cross-beam from which had long-ago hung a wooden star to signify the former name of this plantation.

Peter cracked the tip of the buggy whip again over the horses' heads as they turned from the public road to enter this land; neither he, Veronica, nor Vicky glanced back toward the cemetery on the far side of the road; the buggy bounced across the open field flanked by cotton furrows and began climbing the gentle slope to the white pillared house commanding the crest.

The driveway turned into a circle in front of the Doric columns lining the front gallery; no other buggies, carriages, nor horses were in sight; Peter reined the horses to allow Veronica and Vicky to alight from the buggy before he drove to the stable. As it was Sunday, he had given the groom permission to spend this free day in Town and expected no one to take the buggy-and-team from him here.

A figure came running toward them from the stable setting in the distance. Peter strained his eyes to see who was trying to attract their attention. It was Vicky who first recognized the person.

She said, 'What's Posey doing coming from the stable? Silly n.i.g.g.e.r! I thought he was frightened of horses. Doesn't he know he'll get manure on his . . . skirts!'

Running toward the buggy and waving his arms, Posey panted, 'Don't go in the house, Master Peter! Don't go in the house!'

Posey stopped and, catching his breath in deep gulps, he pointed toward the side of the main house, saying, I didn't let her come in the front door! I made her n.i.g.g.e.r driver take that old wagon out back. I didn't want no trash littering up the front of the place, Master Peter.'

'Posey, catch your breath!' Veronica urged and walked 84.

toward him to give him an arm to lean on.

'Oh, Miss Veronica, you're so good to me. You've always been so good and understanding to me, Miss Veronica. But, oh, do be careful-there's trouble here today. There's trouble-"

'Trouble?' Peter asked still seated in the buggy.