Lee: Devils on Horseback, Book 4 Page 14

  The three of them murmured their agreement while Lee really wanted to punch his brother.

  “Now this woman came in about eight o’clock, not long ago, with a young man who isn’t her husband, but he sure isn’t her son. Good-looking fella with slicked back hair. They both had an accent, likely somewhere in Louisiana. It wasn’t until they were halfway through supper when she asked me where Henry Blanchard lived.” Margaret looked worried even in the gloom thrown by the houses around them. “I told her I wasn’t sure, could she describe him and I’d go see what I could find. She’s waiting on me to come back, just not with three walls of mean muscle.”

  “Louisiana? Are you sure?” According to Genny she was born and raised in New Orleans. His gut began to tighten with dread.

  “Pretty sure. I knew a couple who were friends with my Ben, back before the war. They were from Baton Rouge and had the same kind of lilting accent.” Margaret took his hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if it involves your Genny, I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

  Lee pulled Margaret into an embrace, this time without a bit of the puppy love he’d had for her. “Thank you, Margaret. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  She stepped back with a small smile. “I can’t believe you’re the same man.”

  “Me either. I didn’t get a hug,” Zeke grumbled as he started walking. “Let’s quit jawing and get walking to the restaurant.”

  “I’ll hug you later,” Gideon quipped.

  Zeke growled at his cousin. “Shut up, Gid.”

  They walked the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence, the teasing jabs forgotten. Lee’s throat felt parched as he stepped inside. He spotted the couple straight off, and he knew exactly who Camille was.

  “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

  “Do you know her?” Zeke whispered.

  “Not yet, but I know who she is.”

  Gideon and Zeke stood on either side of him as he made his way toward the strangers. The woman smiled at them with a sugary sweetness that made Lee’s gorge rise. She had the same curly hair as Genny, her eyes were blue, and the heart shape of her face was mirrored in her granddaughter, Sophie.

  This had to be Genny’s mother.

  “Gid, can you clear the restaurant?” he asked under his breath.

  “On my way.” Gideon spoke quietly to the few diners who were left, and Lee knew the restaurant would make no money that night.

  Zeke stood in the corner near the table, arms folded, star clearly visible on his vest. Lee sat down, pleased he had a bit of an upper hand on her, and totally lost as to what to do to protect the woman he loved from the mother who’d sold her.

  Camille looked around at the people being herded from the restaurant, then at Zeke. “Is there some kind of trouble, Sheriff?”

  “Not yet.”

  Lee was never so glad his brother was a cold hard-ass of a sheriff. His brusque response rattled her, and Lee smiled inwardly at her discomfort.

  “What do you want with Henry Blanchard?” he demanded.

  “That’s between me and Henry.” She sipped at her drink which, judging by the scent, was tea laced with whiskey.

  “No, that’s between you and me.”

  She glanced up at him and raised one eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t know you, monsieur. My name is Camille Boudreaux.” Her gaze raked over his missing arm and he saw the distaste in her eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Well, my name is Cornelius Blackwood, and I’m your daughter’s new husband.”

  She started choking on the tea, and the young pup beside her slapped her on the back until she waved him away. Camille dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. When she looked at Lee, this time the coquettish smile was gone and he saw the real woman she was. “Merde. That cannot be true.”

  “Oh it’s true all right. Henry died in the spring and Genny married me today.” No need to tell her they hadn’t actually made it to the church yet. They’d become man and wife in heart and body, if not legally.

  “And the child? Did the child survive?”

  “What do you mean did the child survive? Did you never check on her after she left New Orleans?” Lee had never wanted to punch a woman before that moment.

  “I could not. It would endanger her life. You see she had a hand in a man’s death and that man’s family was after her. She was pregnant and scared. I had to do what I could to protect her.” Camille almost sounded sincere. “So I ask you again, did the child survive?”

  Genny was pregnant before she came to Tanger? That meant Sophie was not Henry’s child and had no claim to the farm at all. He began to understand why Genny was scared and reluctant to ask for help. Yet that didn’t excuse what Camille did. “What the hell do you care? You sold your own daughter to that bastard Henry and left her to rot on that farm under his fists.”

  Camille raised one brow. “Is that what she told you? That I sold her?” She laughed without humor. “I’m afraid Genevieve has told you a falsehood. I did not take money for her. I paid Henry to take her and keep her safe, to save her life. When it was safe to bring her back to New Orleans, I told him I’d come to retrieve her.”

  Lee briefly considered the possibility Camille was telling the truth. What if Genny had misunderstood what her mother had done? He dismissed it immediately—he trusted his intended wife, and not this woman who pretended to be concerned about her.

  “I don’t believe you, Miss Boudreaux. Now take your man and leave Tanger and don’t come back.” He stood and glared down at the woman who’d given birth to Genny. “She won’t want to see you.”

  Camille grabbed at his arm. “I am only concerned with my daughter and her child. What do I need to do to convince you?”

  “You won’t. Ever.” He shook off her touch. “You can leave town the same way you came in. I won’t allow you to hurt her anymore. Selling her to a man who beat her isn’t even close to keeping her safe.”

  Lee nodded at Zeke and walked toward the door on shaky legs. Camille’s voice shattered his control.

  “Mon dieu, monsieur. I did not sell my daughter to a man who beat her. Henry was my cousin and he offered to take care of her. After all, what could I do with an incorrigible twelve-year-old?”

  Genny woke with a start in a strange bed and an unfamiliar room. Her mouth was dry as dust and her head throbbed.

  “It’s okay, Genny.” Gabby approached the bed from the corner of the room. She must have been sitting on the chair. “How are you feeling?”

  Genny took a steadying breath. “I don’t know. How did I get here?”

  “You were outside with Lee, Gideon and Margaret. Then Lee came in with you in his arms pale as milk. He brought you upstairs then left to go to the restaurant.” Gabby’s dark eyes were full of worry. “I had to almost kick him out before he’d leave.”

  “Lee carried me upstairs?” She was trying to picture it.

  “He had you partially on his shoulder, with your legs on his right arm. I don’t know how he did it, but he’s a different man than he was when he left here.” Gabby shook her head. “Whatever you did was magic.”

  “I fainted?” She tried to sit up but dizziness assailed her.

  “Yes, I think you did. I’m not sure why but if you like, I can ask Doctor Barham to come by.” Gabby helped her into a sitting position.

  “No, no need. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She tried to remember what happened. “Did they say anything about why they were going to the restaurant?”

  Gabby frowned and looked down at her hands.

  “Please, tell me.”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly, but Margaret said there was a woman at the restaurant who said her name was Camille and she was looking for Henry.” Gabby’s voice faded away, leaving Genny to try to suck in air.

  Her head swam with the memory of hearing her mother’s name again. She bent over and Gabby got the basin beneath her mouth before Genny vomited. Stars swam behind her eyes as she threw up all the fear,
self-loathing and shame she’d been carrying for eight years.

  Lee must already know more than Genny had revealed to him. Camille looked enough like her and Sophie for there to be an immediate connection. God, Genny wanted to curl up and die. Instead she put her face into the pillow and wept.

  Gabby sat by her side, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words. Genny had no idea how long she lay there feeling sorry for herself. She heard the men’s voices downstairs and knew she couldn’t hide any longer.

  It was time to face her mother and the past she wanted to bury.

  “Sounds like they’re back.” Genny sat up. “Can you give me a minute to wash my face?”

  “Of course.” Gabby tossed the dirty water from the basin out the window, then poured in fresh water from the pitcher. She pulled a clean rag from the washstand drawer and sat beside Genny.

  Much to Genny’s surprise, the other woman pulled her into a fierce hug. “I’m glad he found you. Please take care of him. He’s not as tough as he seems.”

  With that, she left Genny alone to mull over her words and get herself ready to face her mother. She’d honestly thought the day would never come. Genny waited for years for her mother to arrive while figuring out how to take care of an infant when she was barely older than a child herself. Camille had broken so many promises, Genny hadn’t really believed she’d come for her.

  She’d been correct for eight years, until the day she asked Lee to marry her, the day her world was nearly perfect, and now the day she might have broken Lee’s heart. Genny pressed the wet cloth into her swollen eyes, knowing there wasn’t much she could do about it. Everyone would know she’d been crying and it wouldn’t matter much anyway. Her mother’s presence in Tanger would trump everything.

  As she walked down the steps, Genny’s stomach fluttered like there was a butterfly trapped inside. When she heard her mother’s voice, she almost missed a step and barely stopped herself from falling head first. Perhaps breaking her neck would have been easier than seeing her mother again.

  For years the memory of her last day in New Orleans played itself over and over in Genny’s mind. She thought about it night and day until she almost lost her mind. When Sophie arrived she blessedly took over every moment in Genny’s life, yet her dreams were never completely free. The memories of that dark day were rising up again, overwhelming her enough that she had to stop and sit on the steps for a minute.

  Two weeks after she had been raped, Genny changed the course of her life for good. It had been raining earlier in the day so there was a mist rising from the streets. She had been dressed in the stableboy’s clothes. They were scratchy but she was short enough to fit in them and pass for a boy. The coppery smell of blood was strong in the alley, along with piss, shit and moldering food.

  She crouched behind some crates and watched as Allen Coddington lost his life. They stabbed him again and again, even after he collapsed to the ground. She knew they had to be sure he was dead, but when they slit his throat, she flinched and had to look away.

  This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d brutally taken her virginity with whiskey on his breath and her protests ringing in his ears. Now his blood joined with hers and vengeance was taken. She wept silently into her hands as she listened to the two men wipe their knives on his clothes and walk away.

  The alley was still except for the scrabbling of insects and rats nearby. Genny stood, her legs wobbly beneath her, and crept toward the body. He lay face up, the blood darker against his fancy silk vest. His mouth was open in a grimace of death, but it was his eyes that would haunt Genny. As she stood there, they moved until he stared directly at her.

  That’s when she turned and fled, heedless of where she was going. She sobbed as she ran, sorry for who she was, what she’d done. Once she stopped and vomited in another alley until there was nothing but bile coming up her throat. Then she continued on until she made it to the back door of her mother’s house.

  Bernard, the stableboy, was waiting for her. His eyes widened as he rose from the back steps. “You all right then, Genny?”

  “No, I don’t think I’ll ever be right.” She walked into the carriage house and pulled off the clothes, ignoring Bernard’s stare. Her small breasts were hidden by a cloth so he could only see her arms and feet. She yanked her dress off a hook in the tack room and pulled it on quickly.

  Bernard stood in the corner watching her. “You’ve something on your shoes.”

  Genny glanced down and realized there was blood on her good leather boots. Mama would be furious with her for ruining them, but she sat down and yanked them off as quickly as she could.

  “Thank you for your help, Bernard.” She rose and handed the boots to him. “Burn them.”

  He nodded, wide-eyed, as she walked out of the stable barefoot, filthy and smelling of death and decay. She’d gone into the house and tried to wash up before her mother found her. By then Camille had heard of Allen’s murder and slapped Genny so hard her ears rang.

  “How dare you?” Camille had snarled. “You have no right to take revenge on an important man like that. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to me if they find out?”

  It was always about Camille, never about Genny. She let her mother rant and rave without saying a word. What could she say? Genny had become an adult and a murderess at the tender age of twelve.

  A month later, Genny discovered she’d be a mother too. Her life, as pitiful as it was, had been destroyed completely. She thought it couldn’t get any worse, but she’d been mistaken. Her mother found out about the pregnancy and rid herself of such a burdensome daughter.

  Camille had shoved her into a carriage in the middle of the night with her awful cousin with the sweaty hands and smelly breath. “She’s yours now, Henry. You know she’s with child and out of control. She needs a firm hand, which I’m sure you won’t mind. Do with her what you need to. I wash my hands of her for good.” Camille turned and left Genny alone in the carriage with Henry without so much as a goodbye.

  It was the last time she saw her mother. Genny rose to her feet and tried to swallow, but she had no spit left in her mouth. Jake appeared at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her. She couldn’t hide any longer.

  Chapter Nine

  Genny stepped into the room slowly, Gabby at her heels. She saw her mother sitting at the table, a tall man behind her with dark chocolate hair and a bland expression. Although she didn’t know him, he was as familiar as one of her mother’s favorite hats—they all had the same style, they just looked slightly different. Same with her men.

  “Hello, Maman.” Genny straightened her spine. “I never expected to see you again.”

  Her mother smiled and rose, arms outstretched. “Ah, ma petite, it’s wonderful to see you. You look so tired.” She brushed a kiss against each of Genny’s cheeks as the familiar scent of Camille’s perfume washed over her.

  Genny closed her eyes against the waves of memories invoked by the simple scent. An ache spread in her chest and she had trouble catching her breath. She’d endured so much unhappiness, pain, darkness in her young life. Her mother was a monster with a pretty smile, one with an ugly side Genny knew too well. She stepped out of her mother’s reach and walked over toward Lee, who stood near the sink, Sophie firmly attached to his leg.

  His gaze was wary, but she also saw a little disappointment. She’d been honest with him for the most part. There were details she didn’t quite tell him. He folded his hand around hers. Although she was still shaking, having him beside her helped her feel stronger.

  “Why are you here, Maman?”

  “Ma petite, I come to see you. Henry has kept you safe all these years from the Coddingtons. Now they have given up their search for you. The old man, Allen’s father, died two weeks ago. No one is left to remember or seek vengeance.”

  Genny mulled over what her mother said, knowing of course she was probably lying. “Did you bring the clipping?”

  Camille raised one brow. “Clippi
ng?”

  “Sirius Coddington’s obituary clipping from the newspaper. That was his name.”

  Camille waved her hand as if shooing away a pesky fly. “Of course I brought no clipping. Why would I need one? You are my daughter. I tell you the truth as always.” She smiled at Gabby, who stood silently in the doorway. “Bonjour, Madame. I am Camille Boudreaux and this is my traveling companion, Willard Hill.”

  Willard sketched a short bow while Camille held out her hands for Gabby. Bless her heart, Gabby had more fortitude than Genny did. She squeezed Camille’s hands briefly.

  “Hello, Miss Boudreaux. I am Gabrielle Sheridan. May I offer you some coffee?”

  “How very polite you are. That would be wonderful.” Camille sat down. “I have not had a good cup of coffee since I left New Orleans.”

  Gabby flashed a look at Lee who scowled fiercely at her. Genny understood though—Gabby was being a considerate hostess. Camille had done nothing to offend her and was wearing her polite social mask, which would likely slip when the others left the room.

  “You did not answer my question, Maman. Why are you here?”

  Camille waited until Gabby had set the cup of coffee in front of her. She didn’t say a word, but she picked up the tin cup with two fingers as if it were the finest china. A backhanded insult to be sure. “I have come to visit you of course. This man here tells me Henry is dead.”

  Genny took a steadying breath. It had been so long since she’d played her mother’s games, and she was sorely out of practice. Most folks in Tanger simply said what was on their minds, good or bad, blunt or sweet. Camille played a game of words. She was incredibly smart, very manipulative and devious as a demon.

  “Henry died six months ago so you came for nothing. I have a farm to run and a daughter to raise.” Genny was proud that her voice didn’t tremble.

  “Ah, ma petite, I didn’t come for nothing. I came to see you, not Henry. Poor Henry, he was not young when he took you under his wing, but then we did what we could under the circumstances. I was lucky my cousin was in New Orleans when I needed him.” Camille sipped at the coffee and pursed her lips as she swallowed, another subtle backhanded insult to Gabby.