Patricia Rice by Moonlight an Memories

Author:Moonlight an Memories
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-11-27T13:12:15+00:00

Chapter 23

The clatter and laughter and sound of feet in the normally empty room across the hall finally drove Eavin out of the nursery to investigate.

She caught Clemmie leaving the room with her arms full of musty draperies and Jess coming up the stairs ahead of two men carrying a trunk. Puzzled, Eavin inquired about the activity.

Clemmie laughed and raised a cloud of dust as she shook the heavy material in her hands. "Marster Nick done got tired of the ghosts downstairs and is movin' in up here. He's gonna have them rooms down there done all over. Said it was that or burn the place down and start again. Maybe he finally got some sense whupped into him. Those rooms down there are a plumb disgrace."

The house was old and perhaps some of the plaster was cracking, and the walls certainly could use a good scrubbing and painting, but Eavin didn't think those niceties were the cause of Nicholas's sudden distaste for the decor. Stepping across the hall, she watched as the maids scrubbed down the floors while workmen set up a wider bed than had previously adorned this unused chamber. Jess was already unpacking the trunk and sorting through Nicholas's clothes to place them in the empty wardrobe. The room was considerably smaller than the one Nicholas was used to. Eavin didn't think he was sacrificing all that magnificence below stairs for the sake of a new decor. He had every intention of exchanging one pleasure for another, and she could very well guess which one he had in mind.

But when she went in search of him, he was nowhere to be found. Cursing her stupidity, heart pounding erratically at the thought of how far Nicholas would go to get what he wanted, Eavin dropped down at his desk and thought of a dozen scathing diatribes she would like to unleash on him.

Instead she found herself perusing the list of suggestions Daniel Fletcher had sent for another satire. The hypocrisy of the gentlemen attending balls in the white theater while slipping out to meet their mistresses at the colored ball across the street had a certain appeal, but Eavin didn't think it was a topic to grace the pages of a newspaper. If the ladies of New Orleans could tolerate men who would treat them that way, it was their problem. She had enough of her own.

The slave auctions were an entirely different kettle of fish. Everyone knew there was a law against importing slaves. Maspero's Exchange would scarcely do half its present business if not for the suspiciously foreign-speaking slaves sold there. The pirates were responsible for the contraband, but the merchants and the government were responsible for turning their backs on the legal circles that put the slaves on the block. If the militia didn't "capture" the slaves and sell them as contraband, there would be no market at all. She could certainly put her heart into a story like that.

Writing gave Eavin an outlet for her anger.

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