East of Orleans (49 page)

Two weeks more passed and Tom Slaughter decided that it was time he left town. As he started downstairs at the DeSoto to check out, he turned to the voice behind him. “When are you leaving?” asked Isabella.

“In a few minutes. I have to be back in town by tomorrow afternoon.”

Isabella nodded.

“There are questions I would like to get answered, but I think maybe it’s time I move on to another project. There’s lots of rumors out there, you know.”

Isabella put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t leave,” she said.

“Why?” Tom asked.

“Because I can’t stand to see you go.”

“And what about tomorrow and the next day?” He asked. “No, I told you the last night we were together that you had to decide. You made your decision.”

“No, I didn’t. Please, Tom, understand, there’s so much going on right now I can’t just up and leave.”

“You can’t? That’s exactly what you did years ago. You up and left without a word. You’re still making me empty promises.”

“Meet me this afternoon,” she said.

“Where?” he asked.

“At the river,” she said.

“No, Isabella, we’re not children anymore.”

“And what about Jacqueline. You know how worried I am about her,” said Isabella.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up,” Tom said with a sarcastic smile. “If you listen to the gossip down on the riverfront, you know that she didn’t just vanish into the night.”

“What are you saying?” asked Isabella, narrowing her eyes.

“Come on, Bella, no clues, no evidence, nothing? But there was a little conversation that I thought interesting.”

“What?” she asked anxiously.

“Your husband, the one who
loves
you, was seen in the early morning hours, the same morning Jacqueline was due to take the stand, with Mrs. O’Brien at the ship docks. That’s not all. She was seen carrying a brown satchel and your husband boarded her on a ship that was sailing for
Europe
.”

“Are you sure?” Isabella said in shock.

Tom smiled. “I’m so sure that I paid three hundred dollars for the information. And your husband wanted it to look like a suicide, so he paid five hundred dollars for that brown satchel and one of Jacqueline’s gowns to be found in the river.”

“Are you going to print this information?”

Tom stopped and looked at her. “It’s my job, but no, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because, Isabella, everything can’t be bought and if there’s one thing in this world I’ve learned, it’s that everything should
not
have a price. I figure Mrs. O’Brien has suffered enough, and if she was indeed able to take a boat out of here, go off somewhere to start a new life, then I don’t want to be a part of taking that away from her. Even though I could make a hell of a lot of money off this story; I figure, let some other poor hungry bastard write it. So, if you will excuse me, I’ve got a train to catch.” Tom slowed before opening the door to leave and said, “And if for some good reason Jacqueline did shoot Jacob Hartwell that morning, then I owe this to her, because I would have killed him myself. By the way, who did kill Jacob Hartwell that morning?” This was one secret that Isabella and Jesse would take to their graves.

Tom turned and walked out of the door of the hotel. Isabella just stood there for a long time.

By early March of 1886, Jacqueline had made the acquaintance of two artists: Vincent Van Gogh and Jean Renoir. She spent most of her days in the artists’ quarter of
Montmartre
. Suddenly Jacqueline had the wonderful opportunity to pose nude for Renoir. She did not need to model for the money since Jules regularly wired her money to a bank in
Paris
. He had opened the account shortly after her arrival for her use in any way that she saw fit. Jacqueline loved
Paris
, but she longed for
Savannah
, the place she had come to call home and, of course, most of all, she missed her beautiful, black-haired baby daughter. But Jacqueline knew that she was facing years, if not life in prison—right now she could not return. Jules promised her that as soon as he was able to
arrange
for either a dismissal or acquittal that she could come back home.

Renoir had become Jacqueline’s most trusted advisor and he urged not to go back home. He argued that in the scheme of deals being made, something could go very wrong, his beautiful model could end up in prison, and that, he said, would break his heart. Besides, he reasoned, that Jacqueline was French by blood, therefore, she should never return to
America
. Jacqueline often spent twelve hours a day posing in the nude for her mentor. Renoir would look at his painting and then back away a few inches, and then in frustration, he would stomp away to regain his composure, shouting that his work was not good enough.

Jacqueline often posed for Renoir outdoors. He loved to paint outside and his favorite subjects were rich landscapes and beautiful, bosomy young women. He confided in Jacqueline and told her that he did not like begging for money, but that, in earlier years, he seldom had the money to buy a paintbrush or canvas and often went hungry. He would then laugh and roll his eyes saying how much he appreciated his most loyal patrons: the Choquets, Caillebottes, Mrs. Charpentiers, and of course, his backer, the art dealer Durand-Ruel.

Patrick O’Brien was losing patience when Jules assured him that he had no idea what had happened to Jacqueline. Patrick, too, had heard the rumors about how Jules had paid an old sea captain to take his wife to
Europe
. Patrick had now started to follow Jules, and would sometimes sit at a small table in the tavern watching Jules, deal with businessmen and the cotton factors out on Riverstreet. Patrick looked for any sly exchange of money, but never once did he see anything strange or unusual. He stood quietly in dark, damp warehouses at night and waited for any sign of Jules until, out of frustration, he would finally go home. One night, after one of Jules’s poker games, Patrick waited for him outside in the dark after all the other players had left. When Jules came out of the warehouse, Patrick placed a knife to his throat. “Let’s go,” he said.

Jules casually removed a cigar from his mouth. “Hell, I was leaving anyway.”

“Where’s my wife?” asked Patrick.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve heard that until I’m sick of it. If you don’t tell me where she is, I’m going to slit your goddamn throat,” said Patrick. “The gators will have you tomorrow for lunch.”

Jules threw his cigar on the ground, and grabbed Patrick by the collar. “Boy, you listen to me, you wanna eat this goddamned knife?” Jules wrenched the knife from Patrick. “She’s doing fine and I’m about to work a deal with Noble Jones. Now, you listen to me and you listen good—she’s a free woman. What do you want? To see her here behind bars for months, maybe even years, before we can get her a new trial? This thing ain’t pretty and you know that; she couldn’t take being in jail for all that time. Do you want to kill her? Tell me, do you? I’ve had enough! If you want to stick that knife in me, I suggest you go ahead, but when you do, it’s all over. You’ll never see your wife again.”

Suddenly Patrick’s anger turned to pain and heartbreak. “How much longer do you think this will take?”

“I don’t know, but I’m working on it. Just leave it to me.”

Patrick nodded and looked away. His eyes filled with tears. “Do you understand I have nothing without her?”

Jules nodded. “I understand.”

The next morning after breakfast Isabella approached Jules. He had taken his coffee out on the verandah and she made a quiet entrance behind him. “I want to talk about our future,” she said.

“Very well, talk.”

“I don’t want to live together as man and wife anymore,” said Isabella.

“I see. Do you have any more requests?”

“I want to take the stand. I want to testify for Jacqueline.”

There was a spark in Jules eyes. “There is no Jacqueline, therefore, there is no trial,” he said. Isabella noticed that Jules had lost weight and there were dark circles under his eyes. He shrugged, “It’s not possible.”

“It is possible! You can bring her home; I know you know where she is.”

“And the night Jacqueline disappeared, where were
you
?” asked Jules.

Isabella stood frozen; then she looked at him. “I had a lot to think about so I walked, I walked the streets ‘til dusk. Then, I came home and you weren’t here.”

“And--” he said.

“I was busy with other things.”

“You were so busy that you stayed out all night?”

“I was not out all night,” Isabella said in a low voice.

Jules smiled. “You’re not good at keeping secrets, little lady. A smart woman, especially a married one, would never been seen early in the morning leaving the hotel room of a single man. There is nothing worse for a lady’s reputation, and well, if there was ever a divorce such a woman would surely lose her child.” Jules grabbed her arm and pulled her to one side. “You see, eyes and sharp tongues are everywhere. Anyone could have spotted you, and it seems someone did. Now, I would think long and hard about that divorce that you think you want. I think Elora has been through enough. Do you want her to have to walk with her head down for the rest of her life? But this is your decision.”

“I swear if it were not for my daughter, I would kill you. And now after finding out that you are Jacob Hartwell’s father tells me that my suspicions were right—you are the devil himself.”

“I’ve been called worse and I may be the devil, but a devil who kept you out of the streets. At least when you sold yourself, it was for one time and behind closed doors,” said Jules.

Isabella slapped Jules hard across the face. “I’d rather sell myself on the streets than to ever share your bed again. I’ll keep up appearances until Jacqueline comes home, and then when her trial is over, I am going home.”

“You have no need to worry about me anymore.” He paused. “My desire for you has died. Your betrayal has been made clear to me.”

Isabella started toward the door as Jules added, “Oh, I almost forgot—” he pulled a small object wrapped in a small piece of white muslin from his trouser pocket, “Silas handed this to me this morning. It seems that the hotel sent it over—you left it in Tom Slaughter’s room.”

All the color drained from Isabella’s face and she felt queasy. She took the earring from Jules’s hand, turned and stormed into the house.