Rebellious Spirits

By the time Charles Rathburn approached the steps leading up to the Lacroix's gleaming Georgian colonial mansion, the knot in his tie had been pressing against the knot in his throat for several blocks. He was tempted to slacken the silk noose around his neck when a maidservant pulled open the great front door and beckoned him into the house. Dressed in full length sleeves and skirts of black taffeta, she extended her arm to show Charles into the parlor. Waiting there in his favorite leather armchair was Avery Lacroix, his customary stogie dangling from his mouth and his ever-present scotch resting on the tiny brass table beside his chair. He rose with a toothy, yellow grin framing his lit cigar and Charles took note of the ashes that had settled on the lapels of Monsieur Lacroix's fine summer jacket, as though he couldn't be bothered with the consequences of his oral fixation. Too many schemes in Avery's mind to notice drops of flaming ash on mohair and cotton on this particular day.

"I wasn't sure you'd come!" Avery laughed as he ushered Charles towards the stately walnut credenza and offered him his choice of fine scotch whiskey from a set of crystal decanters.

"You've pretty much left me no option," Charles responded glumly, pointing to the 18 yr old Glamis.

Avery absently dusted his lapels then prepared a glass for his guest. "Wasn't me that left you no option, young man. You know better than anyone I'm about to lose my business to this incessant depression which means you'll be out of a job soon as well. But at least prohibition has provided us an opportunity we can properly exploit."

"Yes, you've mentioned that numerous times," said Charles, slugging back three fingers of scotch, careful not to choke on the single precious ice cube. "Another please."

"Steady now, Charles. We're about to adjourn to the veranda and Madame Lacroix won't tolerate a drunk at her tea table."

"I find it hard to believe she'll tolerate me at all," Charles groaned as he turned to the great mirror in Avery's palatial smoking parlor and carefully smoothed his jacket. He was dressed in the finest suit he'd owned in nearly a decade and would be damned if so much as a hair settled on any inch of the expensive fabric. His icy blue eyes and angular features were knotted with tension and, despite his youthful age of 28, Charles felt he looked every bit a middle-aged miser, for he'd never in his life wasted time with archaic mating rituals and it showed in his sternly chiseled features.

But in Avery's estimation, there was no finer match for a proper lady than Charles Phillip Rathburn and Charles had long since earned his place at the Lacroix's table with his unassailable talent and his dedication to Lacroix's business over the years. Why, it was only a matter of time before a young man with Charles's skill and ambition made his own fortune and settled down prosperously. He had already saved Lacroix's Imports thousands of dollars with his incredible understanding of the tax codes and the esoteric admiralty laws that were nearly indecipherable to other bookkeepers in the international trade industry. Even in an economic depression such as this, Avery could see that Charles was destined to be master of his own estate one day, if only he had a proper courtesan to help disguise his lowly social standing.

This is why, on a balmy Saturday in the summer of 1930, Avery had invited his favorite young protégé to tea with the promise of an irresistible merger. Charles expressed his concern for the scheme on multiple occasions, usually by wincing at the idea of taking on a female companion, particularly one so privileged as she who he'd come to entice. But Avery had made Charles a proposal too seductive to ignore and so he arrived at the manor this day determined to win the heart of one of New Orleans most desired debutantes; Monsieur Lacroix's youngest daughter, the deliciously nubile Delphine.

She was all that was left of Avery's dwindling family, for his eldest daughters had already been married off to wealthy barons of various industries. Delphine, nearly 11 years Charles's junior, had dozens of suitors call on her since her spring debut, but her father had refused them all so far. Charles knew he now had the favor of the patriarch of the Lacroix household, but before he won Delphine's hand he must impress the notoriously haughty Madame Lacroix, who had vowed never to let a daughter of hers marry beneath her class.

Charles Rathburn may have appeared to possess all the breeding of Anglo Saxon royalty, standing six-foot-two with reddish brown hair and ghostly blue eyes, but, upon investigation, Madame Lacroix had discovered that his ancestors were nothing more than tradesmen and farmers whereas she could trace her bloodline back to the royal court of Versailles. Despite his impoverished upbringing, however, Charles had made himself an indispensable part of the Lacroix family businesses, though he understood he would soon make enemies of Avery's aristocratic wife.

The sound of Madame Lacroix's heels clicking down the marble staircase stiffened their spines and the gentlemen both turned to greet the lady of the house who flashed Charles the widest of ruby-lipped grins, which he could hardly misinterpret as anything other than a pathetic endeavor to hide her utter contempt for him. "Bonjour, Monsieur Rathburn," she sang, her voice taut with frustration, "Comment allez-vous? I believe you've already met my daughter Delphine."

Madame Lacroix allowed him to kiss her wrist then turned to reveal a creature behind her too stunning in her natural beauty for Charles to address in his own voice. He'd met Delphine on several occasions in his five years working for the Lacroix family, though she'd been far too immature in appearance to have made any impression on him. This time, however, it seemed she'd blossomed considerably since their last encounter. She had the voluptuous hourglass figure all Lacroix women eventually developed, a heart-shaped face blushing with vitality and framed in ebony curls, full, round lips and glistening emerald eyes that Charles soon noticed had remained fixated on him from the moment she'd stepped into the parlor.

Madame Lacroix silently sneered at the lascivious energy wafting between her opulent young daughter and the unpedigreed intruder in his second rate suit. Then, with a shrill cry, she ordered the maidservant to lead the quartet off to the gardens where Madame's special tea service had been prepared. Though surrounded by ornate flora of all shades and perfumes, Charles would begin to feel as though he were locked in a cold, concrete cell with the warden's hostile gaze executing her harsh judgement for the crime of appearing at her exclusive tea table without an ounce of aristocratic blood in his veins. The intruder was seated directly across from young Delphine with her parents stationed on either side, each of them silently firing off their own contemptuous expressions at each other and occasionally at Charles. Avery, it seemed, expected Charles to make the entire sales pitch on his own.

"I do beg your pardon for interrupting your particular social schedule, Madame Lacroix, but I've come with urgent business that I, as well as your husband, decided we just couldn't delay a moment longer. As you know, Lacroix's Imports has taken an enormous loss since the crash of '29. Your husband's stocks and bonds are virtually worthless now and people just aren't interested in buying expensive antique furniture from Europe and the Orient. So it has fallen on Monsieur Lacroix and myself to figure a way to satisfy the financial demands of your estate until things have righted themselves, economically speaking."

"You're an accountant, Mr. Rathburn," Madame sneered, "What use is your presence in a world where even money has no value?"

"Our guest has value, Madame!" Avery growled in his guttural creole accent, "Even if you wish to ignore it."

The maidservant kept her eyes cautiously lowered as she poured the delicate jasmine tea into Madame Lacroix's elegant china tea cups, but Avery turned to the little brass trolley parked beside the table and pulled from beneath the linen covering a bottle of 1900 Chateau Margaux. Madame's eyes widened. Though she was aware of Avery's priceless collection of fine wines and spirits stockpiled in their cellar, it was highly inappropriate to dispense such a beverage during her posh afternoon tea service. Avery, however, did not uncork the bottle and instead set it precisely in the center of the table for all to see. "Do you know what this vintage sells for in the private market nowadays, Mary? This single bottle of Merlot would net me $500 and I have five cases of it. And believe me, there's folks willin' to pay that price."

"So that's it," Madame hissed, "You're no longer going to sell settees and armoires. You're going to become a common bootlegger! That's how you intend to maintain our standing in New Orleans society?"

"I intend to do what's necessary to keep our family afloat until this godforsaken depression ends, whenever the hell that may be. Someone's got to pay for the petrol in that expensive car of yours and the pastry chef you refuse to fire. God knows you won't give up one jewel around your neck to help pay the bills around here."

"Then what exactly is he doing here?" Madame Lacroix demanded as she locked her furious gaze on Charles Rathburn.

"Charles is going to inherit this entire enterprise. I have agreed to turn over the entirety of Lacroix's Imports to him to use as a front for moving our new merchandise if he accepts Delphine as his bride, so that I may retire with my beloved wife in comfort."

"I beg your pardon!" Mary shot up from her seat with her pale white fists clenched at her side.

For a moment the table fell silent as all exchanged bewildering glances at each other; all but Delphine who still had not taken her eyes off Charles Rathburn. It was as if she'd known all along she'd be offered up to Avery's favorite employee as part of her father's plan. Better that, she supposed, than being auctioned off by her mother to the highest bidder in New Orleans society as her older sisters had been in the years before. She understood now by their letters home that marriage to a workaholic millionaire was not the ticket to freedom and happiness her mother had promised, particularly since the stock market crash had made failures out of even the wealthiest entrepreneurs.

But it wasn't fear of poverty nor marriage to a total stranger that fixated her gaze on their unusual guest. It was the fact that Delphine would do just about anything to remove herself from this miserable household and that despite his lack of personal wealth and pedigree Charles Rathburn was one of the most striking gentlemen ever to call at Lacroix manor. By the time Charles knelt beside her, Delphine had already made up her mind to allow the pale-eyed intruder to whisk her as far from her solemn childhood as possible and into whatever adventures he had planned. When he unveiled the pear shaped diamond ring Avery had given him to maintain their conniving rouse, Delphine's eyes were already bulging with tears of excitement.

"Avery, how could you!" Madame Lacroix shrieked before storming off to the house with her maidservant following close behind.

When Mary was out of earshot Avery chuckled, barely concealing some level of nervousness beneath his laughter, then uncorked the expensive bottle of Merlot and poured a glass for each of them. "Cheers to you, Charles. You managed your task without injury. I suppose I will have to take it for you in due time, but Delphine, I know you'll be an excellent partner for Charles on this venture. With an angel like you on his arm no one would ever guess the two of you were up to no good." Once again, Avery laughed in a manner than betrayed his own anxiety. "And, Charles, I know you'll treat my petit bébé as though her smile generates the very air you breathe. Here's to you both! And I wish you all the luck in the world."