Le Sirene

A TESTY SCOT
         When Claudette awoke she found herself lying in a dingy room, on top of a stained mattress. She jumped up off of the offending filth only to be met with an affronting ache that coursed throughout her body. She collapsed back onto the mattress.
         The scraping of a chair, from the darkened corner met her ears. “Best not move too quickly.” A raspy voice obscured by shadows clipped. A figure emerged from the blackness. All Claudette could focus on was the mass of flesh and corded muscles that made up the mans form. Her breath caught in her throat in an audible whoosh.
         His face which had previously been obscured by shadows, tilted downwards, looking at his unclothed state. “What have you never gazed upon a man’s body?” He looked up an arrogant smirk spreading across what Claudette realized to be a handsome face. “Or never one such as masculine as this.” He laughed, and it grated on her nerves.
         “Sir, if you’d kindly put your shirt back on. It is highly improper.” She’d found her voice. He ignored her request.
         Claudette gazed unabashedly at his intense stormy sea blue eyes which were set in a weathered and angular face. His complexion was the color of ivory which made his eyes stand out that much more. His nose looked as if it had been broken multiple times and a jagged pink scar ran along his jaw line interrupting the stubble that grew there. Dark coal black hair fell haphazardly around his face reaching his neckline at its longest point.
         He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that but his complete lack of propriety unnerved Claudette. He still hadn’t put a shirt on and Claudette tried, failing multiple times to avert her eyes from his hairless and muscular torso. “Your shirt sir!” She expelled in a rush of words barely discernable to the human ear. Claudette gained back a modicum of her composure and continued, “I fear I will not be able to speak to you unless you are fully clothed.”
         Her request was met with what Claudette believed to be a laugh but sounded more like a grunt, accompanied with an arrogant smirk. To her relief he began to put his shirt on. Claudette realized though that the shirt was more in fashion than the strange one he’d worn earlier. In fact his pants, weapons, and shoes, seemed more appropriate than they had. She filed this oddity away in the back of her mind.
         With all distractions aside the memories from the alleyway came rushing back. “Lizzy!” she whispered fiercely. Her friend was dead, murdered by creatures she could not begin to explain let alone believe she had seen.
         “Aye lass, they’re real, and they killed your friend.” He’d read her mind. His voice held no emotion whatsoever. Meanwhile the emotional tornado that was blundering it’s way through Claudette’s heart and mind, was threatening to make her pass out. “What were they?” she whispered.
         “Shadow dwellers, devils, demons. At least that’s what you would call them. They’re Unseelie, the species undetermined. I was too busy killing them to note what exactly they were.” he replied sarcastically. 
         Her father being a well educated man had allowed her one thing that many women were not afforded, the gift of literature. Not inane ladies magazines, real honest to goodness literature. She’d thrived as a child on the works of Aristotle and Homer, and devoured works from Kant, Blake, and Wollstonecraft. She loved learning, and the intellectual sciences. Most of her family had always told her it would never amount to anything for her, being that she was of the less fortunate sex, but her mother and late father had encouraged it immensely. For all the intellectual tales she had read, she also loved poetic and nonsensical works which included the works of William Butler Yeats, which is how she knew that the man in front of her had to be crazy. He was talking of fairies for goodness sake.
         “You’re trying to tell me that evil fae killed my friend?” She laughed but it was more hysterical sounding than humorous.
         “There’s nothing funny about this lass.” He said.
         “You’re right there isn’t. What really killed my friend? Are you some sort of killer? Or maybe you’ve kidnapped me to sell me into a brothel?” Claudette asked panicked and trying to push away the nonsense explanation he was giving.
         “Nay.” He looked her up and down. “You in a brothel is laughable. And who said I’ve kidnapped ye? Yer free to go any time ye please. In fact I think it’s best you get to that pretty little school of your’s and explain to them that you’re friend ran off with some back alley urchin.”
         “But her parents? Her friends? What will people think of her?” Leave it to Claudette to automatically think of the social repercussions a lie like that would lead to. This was what a couple months at a finishing school did to young women, even ones as well read as Claudette. They took all sense out of you and made you think of inane vapid and useless things.
         “She’s dead. It doesn’t matter what people think of her. Now leave.”
         “What about those things? Won’t they hurt more people. Will they follow me?”
         “Of course they’ll hurt more people, it’s in their nature. They won’t follow you, their puny minds have already forgotten you. Don’t be going into dark alleys alone though from now on. Now leave my fucking flat.” Claudette’s well bred ears burned at the profanity he used.
         Gathering herself up, although not too quickly as to affront her delicate senses again, she rushed towards the doorway to get as far away from this man as she possibly could. Some unnamable force planted her feet at the door jamb. Claudette looked back at the man, and immediately realized what the emotion was. Gratitude. Although the man was a terrible cad, and improper in more ways than one, he’d saved her life.
         “I did not catch your name sir.” She informed him, her voice sounding tiny.
         “Aye, that’s because I did not tell it. Now leave before I think better and keep you as a play thing.” He uttered indifferently. He was trying to scare her she realized. Half of her was very much scared, but the other half was intrigued.
         “Thank you for saving my life.” She whispered and fled out of the room and into the cool Parisian evening.
         The rain had stopped but a layer of mud and grime coated the cobbled streets, which made it less than pleasant gettin back to the finishing school. On the long walk back, Claudette nervously scanned the streets and shadows around her, always feeling like she was being watched. She prayed that it was just her over active imagination. She hoped against all hopes that when she returned to her room, she’d find her sweet, yet misguided friend in a spirit induced sleep. She wanted more than anything in the world to wake up tomorrow morning to find that all of the horrors she’d seen and experienced were just nightmares.
         Tired and restless all at the same time, Claudette arrived at the doors to the finishing school and looked at the street clock across the street. It was nearly four in the morning. She had no excuse, and no time to make up an excuse except for the one that her mysterious rescuer had given her. Her heavy fist pounded on the solid wood door making a hollow sound akin to the feeling that was beginning to take root in her chest. She knew in her heart that poor Lizzy was dead, and that she would have to lie about it, carrying it to her grave.
         Madame Antoinette, who was rarely seen opened the door in her robe. Her salt and pepper hair was wrapped up in a sleeping cap, while her hazel eyes burned with disappointment and anger and then rapidly changed to alarm and concern. Claudette was too tired to remember that there was blood splattered across her face and dress. So much for the mystery mans plan. Claudette was too exhausted to think on her feet, so she did what any self respecting girl would do when faced with too much to handle. Her body pitched foreword into the arms of Madame Antoinette, and a peaceful haze fell over her.
                                                    

†††

         Warm golden sunlight poured in from the window in Claudette’s room, and spilled onto her face rousing her from an intense and horrendous dream. Sitting up in her bed she turned her head to Lizzy’s bed to tell her of the strange dream she had, but found it empty. Lizzy had never been an early riser, so it was odd for her to not be snoring away peacefully in her fortress of covers. Anxiety stirred deep within Claudette’s stomach. She’s probably using the facilities. Thought Claudette.
         When she got up to investigate their private bathroom her feet became entangled in a mass of fabric that was haphazardly thrown on the floor. Her dress from last night. She picked up the beautiful creation and her illusion of normalcy shattered. A high pitched scream came from somewhere, and only when Madame Antoinette, and a brigade of men dressed in uniform came rushing in, did she realize that the scream was coming from her.
         “Come come now mon amour. Tell Madame what happened.” Madame Antoinette cooed gathering Claudette lovingly into her arms.
         Despite the hate she had for the school, Claudette did not however hate it’s proprietor. Madame Antoinette was a plump women who had once been very beautiful, if not a little on the large side. When she had been a young girl she had been betrothed to a well to do man, who instead of staying faithful to his commitment, ran off with some brothel hussy. It did not however tarnish his reputation, but Madame’s was ripped to little shreds, and no one ever asked for her hand again. People had blamed her because he strayed, saying she was not well bred or beautiful enough to hold his attention. Years later after the scandal had died down, she built up a school for young women to make sure they would always be good enough for the men that wanted them. She was kind and gentle and caring, although Claudette often thought a smidge misguided. Claudette’s personal theory was that it was the men that needed finishing not the women, but society cared little on the thoughts of a seventeen year old female.
         “Oh Madame! Lizzy is dead! Gone from this world forever.” Claudette cried anew.
         Everyone was shocked into silence waiting for the curly haired mulatto in the room to expound upon what happened. She could not bring herself to say a word since she did not know what to say. Claudette could not possibly tell them that demons had killed her friend. They’d lock her away in a madhouse for certain.
         “Negroe.” A white officer who looked at her suspiciously stepped forward.
         Claudette may have been half white and had respect from some whites, but she certainly was viewed most places still as a black woman plain and simple. Little more than dirt on a shoe to some people. Even though her mother and father had been immensely in love, he still had had a white wife and white children. Society was not yet ready for interracial couplings to be more than whims of a white man and that disdain showed on the officers face. “We must know what happened.” He said sternly, looking as if he was awaiting her to confess that she had murdered her friend.
         “Mon amour, please, tell us what happened to Lasiandra.” Madame Antoinette coaxed.
         “She…She came to me yesterday, after class, and told me about this boy who’d captured her heart. He’d invited her to a party last night. She was set on going, and I tried to persuade her otherwise, but we know how Lizzy is, I mean was.” Claudette took in a shaky breath trying not to cry anymore. “She begged me to go along and I didn’t want her to go alone, so I went with her. We ended up in some horrid part of the city in some disgusting tavern. The boy ended up ditching us and when we decided to leave we got lost and a man came out of nowhere in the alley and sliced open her throat. I was frozen with fear and he came after me then. We tussled in the alley and he scratched me in multiple places, even bit me, but a man came to my rescue and scared the fellow off. I was too scared to come back right away so I walked for hours until I ended up here.” The lies rolled smoothly and seamlessly off of Claudette’s tongue.
         The policeman asked additional questions like timing and locations, which she answered truthfully. She did not know if the body would still be there but she knew the blood would, and if it wasn’t they would say the rain washed it clean.
         It was Sunday morning and in all the commotion Claudette had missed church services. Madame Antoinette had forced the other girls that went to the school to stay away from Claudette for the day in order to let her rest. Rest was the last thing that Claudette had on her mind. She had the ludicrous urge to go back to the flat that the man had taken her to. She could not fathom why in the least but that didn’t stop her from putting on a plain looking dress and wrapping a shawl about her shoulders.
         Claudette easily snuck out being that everyone was at the after service brunch. The sunshine met her face coaxing her back along the path she’d taken the night before. When she arrived at the door to the flat, which was hidden on a side street she almost turned around out of fear. She steeled herself against the uncertainty growing with in her and stepped up to the door and knocked. After waiting for a few moments no one answered.
         She pushed the door open easily, not hindered by a lock. The half rotted steps creaked beneath her feet. When she reached the top of the stairwell she heard the clanking of glasses and male laughter. Claudette could see that up ahead the hallway opened up into a large room, which was the source of the noise. Moving closer she pushed herself flat up against the wall trying to blend in and listen to the conversation.
         “Tristan well done on yer first kill.” A drunken voice boomed from the other side of the room.
         “HERE HERE!” Shouted the other men in the room.
         “Where’s Kohl?” asked the first voice.
         “Ach, who gives a bloody damn. He’s in his room, been in there since the girl left.” Said a different voice. She managed to hide the small gasp that escaped at the realization that they were talking about her.
         “Girl?” Someone said with a hearty laugh. “She may be a girl in age, but she’s all woman where it counts!” The men began to laugh, and Claudette felt a blush consume her entire body. Claudette was not naïve, she knew that this was how men talked about women behind closed doors, but to hear it in person, and in regards to her was unnerving.
         “Doesn’t matter. Next assignments in America. Dreaded damn place. Even if he wanted her, which is laughable being that were talking about Kohl, he couldn’t have her. If she even agreed to come to America with him, also laughable, they wouldn’t be able to be together there. She’s a black woman, no better than a slave there.”
         ‘What the fuck are ye bloody idiots talking about?” A new voice joined the conversation making Claudette jump. She knew the voice. It was the man from last night.
         “Apologies boss.” said the men.
         Claudette knew she was getting no answers tonight. She began to walk backwards to the exit, but her foot caught on her dress and she stumbled back falling on her bottom with a loud thump.
         All noises ceased in the room, and Claudette heard chairs scraping against the floor, and weapons being drawn. Her heart beat picked up and she scrambled to right herself up and run for the exit, but a pair of familiar arms wrapped around her middle and tossed her up over his massive shoulder.
         “Well well, what do we have here?” Said one of them men in the large room. She looked up at him through her eye lashes and anger flashed in them.
         The man she was staring at was massive, and had flaming red hair a shade darker than Brea’s. He was an older man and rugged in his appearance. His big meaty hands were clasped around a weapon that looked unfamiliar to her.
         “Oh she’s a feisty one isn’t she Kohl?” He asked.
         “Shut the hell up Gideon.” said Kohl. Claudette now had a name for the man who’d rescued her.
         “Let me go! Now.” Claudette screamed, balling her tiny fists and banging them against Kohl’s massive back.
         He smirked and grasped her tighter carrying her to his room. He threw her roughly onto the mattress and glared daggers at her. “Why the fuck would ye come back here.” It seemed that when he got angry or upset his accent thickened.
         “Don’t dare talk to me like that!” She had been somewhat calm up to that point. Seeing her friend killed and being taken into the care of a brute, then having to lie about the whole situation was enough to wear on a girl. She could not maintain proper etiquette for a minute longer.
         Before she could realize what was happening Kohl was holding her face in his hands rather tightly. She could feel her teeth grinding up against her cheeks. “And what if I don’t?” He asked menacingly. 
         She struggled against him, but there was no use. “Let go of me you devilish brute!” She managed through her mushed up cheeks.
         “Ay, you’d like that wouldn’t you. Well ye’ve gone and mussed that all up now haven’t you?” He said. “You shouldn’t of come back here. I was willing to let you go.”
         Claudette stiffened with fear. “You aren’t going to let me go now?” she whimpered, drawing her knees up to her chest.
         He huffed and his fist balled up into a fist. Claudette was sure that he was going to hit her, leaving her bones broken for certain. She squeezed her eyes tight waiting for a sickening crunch. Instead she heard a frustrated growl accompanied with the bed shaking. He’d punched the bed instead.
         
         “Why? Why are ye here sneaking around?” He asked.
         “I wanted answers!” She screamed.
         “Answers, I told you everything you needed to know last night.” He replied.
         “No sir you did not. You told me Fae killed my friend and poisoned me, that is all.”
         “What. Else. Do. You. Need. To. Know.” He whispered gently through clenched teeth, trying his best to put a lid on the temper boiling within him.
         “Well for one. Who in the world are you? And why were you in the alley in the first place?” Claudette asked.
         “Because I was. Listen, I’m giving ye one more bloody chance.” He yanked her up and pulled her out of his room and through the room where the rest of the men were. They looked at her with no expressions in their eyes.
         Feeling defiant Claudette yanked her arm out of his grasp, fully knowing that if he had not actually allowed it she’d still have been in his grip. She squared her shoulders, and faced Kohl head on. “I am fully able to escort myself out sir.” She turned brusquely and walked from the room heels clicking fiercely down the uncarpeted hallway.
         She swore she’d heard one of the men say, “Good lord, lass has spirit.”
         “Lucky for me.” Kohl replied annoyed.
         Claudette walked back out into the sunshine and decided to take a long walk through the park. While meandering through the blooms and taking in the fresh air Claudette came to the conclusion that she would forget everything about last night, except for the memory of hear dear friend. She could not live a life believing that the events that took place the night before had been true, or at the very most she couldn’t dwell on it. She would file away the incident and get on with her life.
A BROKEN HEEL AND UNEXPECTED GUEST
Two Months Later: July 1825, New Orleans
         Claudette’s breathe was shallow in her throat, and the jewel encrusted corseted dress, that her uncle had made her wear was not helping matters. The shimmering ivory fabric swirled and pooled at her feet, and the jewels sparkled splendidly when the light hit them, however the sleeves the dress provided ballooned out to huge proportions that she thought looked ridiculous. The sleeves hung off her shoulders in what most circles might call scandalous, but her uncle assured her it would help her. Her mother who was dressed magnificently in a simple but stunning black gown stood at the door way of her boudoir taking in her daughters appearance.
         She swept a hand along her delicate cheek wiping away a lone tear. “My dear.” She came over and grabbed her daughters hands squeezing lightly. “You know that this is not what your father or I wanted for you, but you look stunning none the less.” 
         “Merci Maman.” Claudette replied placing a light kiss on her mothers slightly wrinkled skin.
         Her uncle Albert stormed in a scowl upon his reddened face. He was a plump and unpleasant man whose greed was the only thing that outweighed his body weight. Claudette wanted nothing more than to run out of the house and find someone to whisk her away from the nightmare that she was about to go through. For a brief moment she envisioned a pale face with a scar along it’ s jaw line, but she pushed it down immediately. “Is she ready? People have started to show up.”
         “Yes Albert, she’s ready.”
         He wringed his hands greedily, already imagining the wealth and power that would come with a pairing between his brothers spawn and one of the many suitors who would take her off his hands.
         Claudette took a deep breath and walked out of the room with her back straight and head up never miss stepping once. She was walking toward her future and she should do well to recognize that. If she didn’t captivate one of the wealthy men in attendances’ attention, her uncle would most certainly do something drastic.
         Her uncle stopped her and her mother at the grand staircase, where she was hidden from all the guests that were gathering in the ballroom below. Nerves churned in her stomach like a storm. She could hear the laughs and glasses clinking of the gentlemen who had come and the stench of cigar smoke tickled her nose. He uncle descended the stair case stopping on the landing and grabbing the attention of his audience.
         “Welcome, Welcome.” His voice spread throughout the room, silencing all the chatter. “I want to give you my most sincere thanks for attending my late brother’s daughter’s first Quadroon ball. It is my most sincerest of wishes that my niece,” he barely managed the word, “captures one of you fine gentlemen’s hearts this very night.” clearing his throat he looked up to where Claudette and her mother stood. “Without further adieu, I present to you Claudette de Maison.”
         Feeling numb to everything Claudette moved like a ghost down the steps. She only saw eyes. Hundreds of eyes all staring at her. For the next five hours she’d be passed from man to man, reciting her resume, which they would pretend to find interesting when all they really cared about was how she appeared.
         Her normally curly hair had been flattened and tamed into one smooth sheet the color of warm honey. It reached down her back and escaped strands tickled her bare skin when she moved. The hair style was completely out of fashion, but her uncle had insisted that it would be a surprise for the men to see her in such a way, so her mother and maid had conceded.
         Sadie, her maid and friend, had lined her sea foam green eyes with a deep black eyeliner, and her slender neck was bejeweled with a fine diamond necklace. Claudette knew for certain that the necklace came from her fathers wife, because her mother did not own any such piece. She surmised that her uncle had lifted it right out from under her nose. The woman whom Claudette’s father had legally been wed to had become a raging alcoholic after her father had died.
         Claudette’s foot hovered between the last step and the ballroom floor. Fear filled her heart and she could barely manage to swallow. She took a deep breath and her slippered foot met the marble beneath her.
         She didn’t know why, but she had expected the men to descend upon her like a pack of rabid wolves, but instead nothing happened. When she gained the courage to look up she realized that most of the men were only a few years her senior and to her delight the majority looked intimidated. The thought! Wealthy to-do men intimidated by the sight of her. She had been called beautiful on many occasions, but never had experienced the full effect of it, not like this.
         The next few hours passed without instance. Claudette flitted about the ballroom, like a curious hummingbird. The twenty or so gentlemen in attendance ranged from early twenties to much older. Others in attendance included hundreds of already paired Quadroon women, with their wealthy white counter parts. The women were there to see the next generation of Les Sirenes, a popular name afforded to the most beautiful of the placees. The men were curious to see what they were missing. Some of the couples looked lovingly into each others eyes, and touched each other affectionately when they thought no one was looking. The majority of the women though looked at their suitors disdainfully, with hate simmering fiercely in their eyes. She prayed that the older ones were not taken with her. She knew not if she could perform the duties meant by her, if she was taken under the placage of an old wrinkly man. Some were handsome, incredibly so, but lacked any type of substance while other were mediocre looking and held her attention for some time. All however were quite taken with the beautiful creature before them. Her uncle had begun taking offers and when Claudette looked over she saw in his face that the prices they were presenting were more than he’d ever expected.
         None of the men however had fully captivated Claudette’s attention. She knew she was silly for hoping that she would connect with someone. She knew she should just be happy that they were so taken with her. She knew ever since her father had died that she was not one of the lucky ones destined for love. Although she knew all these things she couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing for the one thing she wouldn’t have. The thoughts were weighing on her so she excused herself onto the balcony in order to take in some fresh air.
         Her Uncle Albert’s plantation was situated only a few miles from the city of New Orleans, but she could feel the energy that the city produced, even from where she stood. The air smelled heavy of Spanish Moss and bonfires, and she squinted towards the slave cabins. She could hear the drums and voices singing on the breeze. She knew her dear friend Sadie was among them. Most of the slaves had been given the night off and were having a celebration.
         She could be one of them she thought. She had been lucky to be born a free black, they were few and far between. She would do whatever it was that she had to in order to keep her status. A firework went off in the distance shattering into hundreds of brilliant colors. Claudette felt a smile spreading across her face at the beautiful sight.
         “A smile as lovely as that should be shared with some one special.” A voice said behind her.
         She gasped and nearly fell over the balcony out of fright. Claudette turned and stared at the lanky muscular form leaning up against the frame of the French doors. “Sir. You startled me.” Claudette managed as her heart began to slow down.
         “For that I’m deeply sorry.” He drawled. His Creole accent was thick and his voice was as sweet as sugar. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Reginald Moreau.” He bowed sweeping low. His face was obscured by the shadows and something about him made Claudette’s skin crawl.
         “We should probably go in. This is not the most proper of situations, as I’m sure you realize sir.” Claudette stuttered.
         “Of course my dear.” He said. “Allow me to escort you in?” Say yes. A loving voice whispered into her ear.
         “I’d be honored sir.” She said without thinking. The words that she’d really wanted to say, stuck like glue in her mind, unable to make their way to her tongue.
         He held his arm out waiting politely for her to secure it. She’d already said yes and didn’t want to be seen as rude, so she linked her arm into his and they walked into the ballroom.
         The light in the room cast off the shadows that had obscured his face outside and she took him in more clearly. She was astonished to see that he was handsome. From the feeling she had gotten outside on the balcony she would have sworn him to look like a gargoyle. His face was hard and angular, but covered in smooth olive colored skin. His hair was a shock of pale blond, that looked silvery white in the light of the chandelier, and his lips were full and pink. Eyes the most peculiar shade of brown peered at her greedily. “You my dear are even more magnificent in the light.” He smiled and revealed perfectly white and straight teeth.
         “You are too kind sir.” Claudette thanked him.
         “Please call me Reginald.”  He said, that strange voice in her head urging her to do the same.
         “Of course. Reginald.” She looked up at him and swore she saw his eyes flash to black. She shook the thought right out of her mind. If she went deeper into that territory she’d be breaking a promise to herself that she’d made over two months ago. She refused to relive that night. What she needed was a break from all the pomp and circumstance. “Can I get you a drink? Reginald.” She batted her eyes and he went all soft, like all men did.
         “I’d be much obliged.” He responded and she nodded politely When his back was turned Claudette walked quickly in the direction of the drink table, but at the last minute ducked into the entryway.
         She heard a god awful growl of frustration come from the sitting room across the hall. The doors were shut, but she leaned up against the panel trying to listen in. Her uncles voice was ecstatic. “Mr. Moreau has offered triple that for her Placage. Not to mention the house she’ll receive.” 
         Her stomach freefell and she could of sworn it had disappeared completely. Mr. Moreau wanted her to be his placee. She could not name a reason as to why she felt such dread and despair at the very thought, but it was there, as sure as the sky was blue. Claudette barely knew the man, how could she place judgment on him so quickly?
         A second voice joined the conversation, which Claudette figured to be the one that had growled sounding so frustrated. “I doona care! Do ye understand? I’m willing to pay whatever price ye ask.”  He yelled.
         The pit that her stomach had dropped down into upon hearing of Moreau grew impossibly deeper. She knew that voice. It grated on her nerve endings. It couldn’t be possible though, he could not be here. In her hometown, her home, her placage ball, fighting for her to be his placee.
         The heel of her shoe snapped at the most inopportune time. The door swung open and as the man she knew as Kohl came storming out, the breaking of her heel caused her to stumble straight into his chest. Oomph!, was all that managed to escape her lips.
         A strong familiar embrace wrapped around her middle before she fell to the ground. “Unhand me!” She screamed yanking back from his grasp as if she’d been bitten by a viper.
         Her uncle glared at her from over Kohl’s right shoulder. “Is that any way to treat an honored guest Claudette?” He said as calmly as he  could.
         She fought the urge to turn from her uncle and run out the front door. Instead she smoothed out her gown. “No uncle I suppose not. It’s just I was quite startled, I hadn’t expected anyone to be in the sitting room.” She lied. The look in Kohl’s stormy blue eyes told her not to mention that she knew him.
         “And why were you coming to the sitting room alone?” He inquired.
         “It’s just…I was quite overwhelmed with the suitors in the room. I thought I could…” Her uncle’s temper was getting the better of him.
         “You thought you could what Claudette, come hide out here?” He was fuming and she became fearful. She prayed she wouldn’t do anything violent in the presence of company, but she couldn’t count on it. Her uncle squeezed between the door jam and Kohl’s large frame, and backed Claudette against the wall in the hallway. “You have a job to do. You ungrateful bitch.” She could smell the whiskey on his breath. He was drunk, and now he was angry. “I spent good money,” he came closer to her and whispered in her ear, “money I don’t have mind you,” he continued louder, “for you to have this damn ball, to secure a Placage so you and your mother won’t live in squalor for the rest of your insignificant lives.” She felt a hot white pain when her uncles palm connected with her face. She hadn’t expected it in the least. Claudette knew her uncle was a dreadful man, but never once had he struck her. In fact Claudette could not remember a time in her life when anyone had struck her.
         She looked past her uncle and into Kohl’s eyes. She didn’t know why but she felt ashamed to have him see her like this. Something was brewing in those eyes, his muscles were flexed and bunched, and his fists were balled up tightly. She swore she saw blood begin to drip from them, but he quickly jammed them into the pockets of his suit. “I’m sorry uncle. I know you are doing all that you can for me.” She said trying to appease the wrath that she could feel coming.
         “Yes I’m sure you are, Nigger.” The insult stung, she winced as if she’d actually been hit. “You should be out in a field, not pretending to be a woman of high society. I don’t know what my brother saw in your mother.” He raised his fist, intent on beating the demons of his past out of Claudette. She held her breath and waited for the pain to explode.
         “I doona think, tis’ a good idea for you to hit the lady.” My uncle spun around in blind anger, but took in Kohl’s size and sputtered to a stop.
         “I respect your opinion sir, but she is after all my property. I will discipline her as I see fit.” He turned around to finish his work on Claudette.
         “Ay I whole heartedly agree with you.” The smirk on Kohl’s face unnerved her. “But I intend for he to be my property soon, and I  don’t like my property bruised, or beaten. Do ye ken sir?”
         Her uncle let out a sigh expelling a foul smelling cloud of whiskey breath. “You’re right my friend.” He was defeated, and Claudette was spared from the first beating of her life. “Shall we go get Mr. Moreau and have the highest bidder sign the papers?”
         “No I’d rather not see Mr. Moreau.”
         Albert was frustrated by the notion, but nodded and called for a slave, to act as runner, for the negotiations. He knew it would be a long night. Why these men were willing to pay such exorbitant rates for his muddled blood niece, was beyond him, but he didn’t care as long as he profited from it.