Page 10 of The Irish Gypsy

Patrick had a strong desire to find Kitty after his father's death.

He questioned Mrs.

Thomson and the other servants, but they could not or would not furnish him with any details that might lead to her whereabouts.

As Patrick had no idea that Kitty and Terrance had relatives in Bolton, the pair seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Perhaps they had gone to another town, or back to London, or even returned to Ireland.

At last he began to realize that if she cared for him at all she would not have left him without a trace.

He didn't blame her; he blamed himself.

What he had done to her was unpardonable.

Eventually he stopped searching every crowd for a glimpse of her beautiful face. He felt that if she wanted to be free of him, the least he could do was leave her in peace.

Her image still lingered in his memory, and if he did not keep himself busy every hour of the day, she came back again and again to haunt him.

Sometimes in bed, the dark room would be filled with that unique fragrance that always lingered about her hair--a mixture of wild roses and peat smoke; then he would curse himself for a fool.

If only he hadn't ravished her, but taken her gently, awakening her desire and giving her pleasure and rapture with his touch.

He put the mills up for sale, as he definitely had decided to sail for America on his merchant vessel's next voyage.

He sold the Egyptian for a very large sum, but offers on the other two mills didn't meet his expectations, so he decided to keep them until he got his price.

Patrick had noted that the best cotton they received from the Carolinas had been marked 'Bagatelle Plantation,"

and he intended to journey there and buy up the whole crop if possible.

He threw himself into arranging the cargo and was impatient at the amount of time this consumed.

At length he was free to depart for Liverpool to see the various goods loaded and make final arrangements before departure.

Patrick found that he loved the sea.

He welcomed the needed change.

The air was invigorating and the male-oriented environment of the ship was rough and ready and made possible an easy camaraderie that he fell in with comfortably.

When they made harbor in Charleston, Patrick discovered that vessels from England were eagerly awaited, and the goods he had brought were snapped up quickly for fantastic prices.

He had written to Monsieur LeCoq at Bagatelle Plantation, telling him of his proposed visit, and he carried an invitation in his pocket that the LeCoqs had extended to him.

He bought a carriage and horses to convey him, and when he arrived at Bagatelle he was amazed at its size and opulence.

This was not the 'trifle' that its name indicated.

The plantation must have covered ten thousand acres.

There were endless rows of slave cabins and hundreds of slaves.

The magnificent Georgian mansion set in vast formal gardens took his breath away.

He drove his carriage up the long, circular driveway; half a dozen slaves waited to take care of his horses when he stopped.

The house was white with an upstairs gallery that swept across the whole front of the building.

The lawns were like jade velvet, with each shrub trimmed to perfection. Patrick counted over a dozen gardeners plying their trade. A liveried majordomo complete with powdered wig opened the door to Patrick. He handed his calling card to the servant, who placed it on a silver salver and disappeared up a magnificent wide staircase. The female house servants were dressed in striped cotton dresses with bright cotton tignons covering their hair. Quite a number appeared in the short space of time Patrick was kept waiting, and he realized it was out of curiosity to get a good look at him.

Suddenly a female appeared at the top of the staircase.

She was the most striking woman Patrick had ever beheld.

She was a Juno, statuesque, almost as tall as himself.

A Titian-haired beauty with a slightly hooked nose, whom Patrick thought bore a striking resemblance to Elizabeth I.

Their eyes met in mutual amusement as each acknowledged the other's critical inspection.

He stared at her magnificent breasts, well displayed in the low-necked black gown, and her sensual mouth.

She stared at the thick saddle muscles of his thighs, unconcealed by the tight trousers, and her glance lingered on the bulge of his crotch, which was satisfyingly large even in his unaroused state.

She spoke up then; her voice was low, with an attractive French accent.

"Jacquine LeCoq, Monsieur O'Reilly."

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, madame, and your husband, Monsieur LeCoq, who extended me such a gracious invitation."

"My husband, Monsieur O'Reilly, was laid to rest two month ago."

She paused dramatically.

The knowledge somehow didn't surprise him, perhaps because she had given the immediate impression of being in command. He murmured his condolences, but he had known as soon as she imparted the news of the death, that she was not sorry. He wondered why. Freedom? Money? Power? Yes, definitely power! he thought.

"You must call me Jacquine, monsieur. Let us move to a sitting room on the shady side of the house, and let me offer you a cool drink."

The tall glass of Bourbon filled with crushed ice was delicious to Patrick's parched throat.

"Your home is very beautiful, Jacquine, but I must admit I am having difficulty adjusting to the climate."

"It is a trifle humid, Patrick. At this hour of the afternoon any sensible man or woman would be between cool sheets for a rest, no?"

Somehow he was not surprised that she had brought up the subject of sex before they had even finished their first drink.

"I find it more than a trifle humid, my dear; it's more like a steam bath."

"That's why our gentlemen wear white suits in the tropics. Have you nothing lighter you could change into?"

she suggested.

"Alas, madame, where I come from, men's fashion is black, and I'm afraid I would feel foolish in a white suit."

"The English are said to be very set in their ways; however, I must confess I enjoy doing things in the French way,"

she said as she directed her eyes to his lap. She licked her lips to add emphasis to her words. He stirred and began to enlarge, and the corners of her lips lifted in triumph with the knowledge of her power.

He said pointedly.

"I'm not averse to experimenting. Are you, Jacquine?"

She smiled and said.

"I'll wager you ride well, Patrick."

"I have stamina. I don't tire easily,"

he promised.

"In that case, I shall enjoy mounting you."

She paused again for effect.

"Tomorrow we will inspect the plantation. We should ride in the morning while some coolness lingers, then we can rest in the afternoon....perhaps?"

He bowed.

"I am at your service, my dear lady."

She summoned an elderly black man.

"Titus, show Monsieur O'Reilly to the front guest room and tend to his needs."

Titus ran a bath for Patrick and laid out fresh underwear and a white frilled shirt on the bed. While Patrick bathed, his suit was taken away to be brushed and pressed. Patrick had always been used to having money, but he had never seen it so lavishly spent. He estimated that house, kitchens and garden must employ over fifty servants. The rooms were filled with the most exquisite and expensive furniture Europe had to offer. The chandeliers were breathtaking, the drinking glasses were the finest lead crystal. He had no doubts now what would bring top prices when he shipped his next cargo.

Dinner that evening was probably the most delicious Patrick had ever eaten. It was French cuisine at its finest. A delicate bisque, crab quiche, shrimp coquilles, coq au vin surrounded by delicately flavored mounds of plantation-grown rice. Everything was served on the most ornate Georgian silver dishes and Sèvres china. The two of them were served by six slaves, albeit unobtrusively.

Patrick came straight to the point, buying and paying for Bagatelle's whole cotton crop. Only half was picked and baled, but he made arrangements for the rest to be shipped as soon as it was ready. She chided him for his impatience.

"A southern gentleman wouldn't have brought up the subject of business until he'd enjoyed our hospitality for a few days. Tell me, Patrick, are you always in a hurry?"

"When I know what I want, I walk a direct path to it, and I'm not always a gentleman,"

he warned.

"That's good, for I'm not always a lady,"

she parried.

"The plantation intrigues me. Would you mind if I took a walk this evening?"

Outside in the darkness the air was hot and damp, but it had a softness to it that he had never felt before. Insects, frogs and crickets made up a midnight band, and singing could be heard in the direction of the slave quarters. The air was heavy with the fragrance of night-blooming flowers and the moss-hung trees made romantic, ethereal shadows. The atmosphere made him think of love, and Patrick was haunted by fleeting glimpses of Kitty. An overwhelming longing came over him that made a tightness in his chest and elsewhere. He mentally shook himself for being a damned fool. Jacquine was within arm's reach. No girl this, but a mature woman whose passion would match his own. He went back to the house and climbed the stairs to his room. He decided he wouldn't go to her, but make her come to him. If she wanted it as much as he thought she did, she would come!

He removed his coat, unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shoes and stockings when there was a soft tap on the door.

"Come in, chérie, he called.

To his amazement a small black girl took a few steps into the room and reluctantly closed the door.

"What would you like?"

he asked, puzzled.

"I have to do my duties, sir,"

she said shyly.

"What are your duties, child?"

he inquired.

"Whatever you desire, sir."

He looked at her and suddenly he knew why she was there. Another southern tradition for him to sample.

"What is your name?"

"Topaz, sir."

"Come, Topaz."

He beckoned her to the light. She was not a pretty girl, but she was very young and quite obviously inexperienced from the frightened looks she cast upon him.

"Did your mistress send you to me?"

he asked curiously.

She hung her head.

"Yes, sir. She picked me for your bed wench. Please, sir, don't whip me?"

she pleaded.

He put his finger under her chin and raised her face until their eyes met. Fear, like he had seen in Kitty's eyes, mingled with mute pleading. He smiled kindly at her.

"I won't whip you, Topaz. I won't hurt you in any way. You are very sweet and lovely, but there is nothing I desire from you, sweetheart. You may leave now. Go to bed. Don't worry about your mistress. I will explain to her."

Relief flooded her features. In that moment of kindness she felt real love for him and she fell to her knees and kissed his hands. He gently disengaged himself and raised her hand to his lips before he held the door open for her to leave.

Patrick wondered if this was some kind of test Jacquine had devised for him. He did not know if he had passed or failed, and he didn't really give a damn. He went out onto the gallery to smoke a cigar. He had not been there long when he sensed rather than saw Jacquine. He stood perfectly still and let her approach. She was wearing a flimsy black negligee that showed her white skin through, even in the dark. He waited until she spoke first.

"You did not care for the companion I chose for you, Patrick?"

He crushed out his cigar and pulled her to him roughly.

"I choose my own bedmates, Jacquine. Stop fencing with me. There's no need to play cat-and-mouse games."

"I enjoy crossing swords with you, Patrick. You have such a formidable weapon."

He picked her up and carried her into his room. He lifted her as easily as if she had been the lightest weight imaginable and laid her full length on the bed. He removed his shirt and pants and stood before her for inspection.

"Tell me what you like; name your poison."

He grinned down at her.

"You mean like a menu, Patrick? Whatever I fancy, served any way I like?"

"Exactly! I will satisfy your hunger for you."

"Well, first of all I like it on the floor, chérie. Then I want to be assaulted as hard and as long as you can stand it."

His love play consisted of biting her nipples and almost bruising her body with his hard hands. She groaned and writhed in pleasure and demanded he penetrate her immediately. He gripped her body with hard hands and bruised her mouth with his, bringing blood. He mounted her with a brutal lunge and thrust himself to the hilt. He was just as rough and savage as she wanted him to be, and she reached peaks of ecstasy with the pleasure-pain. He kept at it until she was satisfied and asked him to stop. He ignored her and thrust harder until she crossed her strong, well-muscled legs around his body and squeezed until she almost cracked his ribs. He withdrew, but strangely he had found no release with this insatiable animal. They rested for a few minutes, panting against each other. Their sweat plastered their bodies together, and when she reached for him, thinking she would have to cajole him to arousal for a second bout, his burning, hard erection jumped and quivered to her touch.

And so it was all night as he gave her whatever she desired.

As he bathed and dressed the next morning, Patrick wondered what made her so insatiable. Was it because she had been starved for so long without being satisfied, or was she always like that? He suspected the latter was true and idly wondered how she would manage until her year of mourning was up and she was free to marry again.

As Patrick and Jacquine rode together, he realized the vast scale of this plantation and became quite covetous. Five thousand acres were planted in cotton, and even though the yield was only one bale per acre, it was almost 100 percent profit because each crop provided seed for the next and the labor was virtually free. The plantation was totally self-sustaining. Vegetable crops covered many acres and these fed the slaves as well as the big house. All the swampland was cultivated in rice. The land had an intricate drainage system that took off the water, stored it and returned it to the rows of green shoots as required. He immediately thought of Ireland and knew that with such a system, successful crops could be produced from the black, sodden soil.

He thought: If only I could transplant this whole place to Ireland--without the black slaves of course--it would be paradise on earth.

At the farthest point from the house they kept livestock, hogs, chickens and turkeys, which provided the meat for the plantation. He watched Jacquine from the corner of his eye. She guided her horse with an iron hand and clearly enjoyed the feeling of power the large animal gave her. He knew in that moment that all this could be his. If he asked her to marry him, he would be master of all he surveyed.

Whenever he saw Topaz, she gave him a shy smile and hurried away before the mistress could catch her. Patrick stayed a week and at the end of this time he was thoroughly sated with Jacquine and his nightly jousts. Her animal magnetism had ensnared him in the beginning, but the excesses began to jade his palate and the fascination was beginning to wear thin.

At breakfast one morning he told her flatly that although he had enjoyed her hospitality, he had business awaiting him in New York that he dared delay no longer.

"Well, Patrick, you know when my period of mourning is up. Will you return by then?"

she asked.

"I promise you, Jacquine, that I shall return by then. I shall want your next year's crop, and perhaps other things, by then."

They understood each other completely. He knew what she was offering, and she was being generous enough to give him ample time to consider whether he would accept or reject it. In truth, at that moment, Patrick did not know what his decision would be.

He drove back to Charleston, and the ship sailed up the coast and into New York Harbor. He had come to see if it was feasible to start up branches of successful English companies. James Leaver wanted to start manufacturing his soap in America, and Patrick was on the board of directors of two other companies that had their eyes on America. New York was a thriving city. A new word had just been coined--'millionaire'--and Patrick thought it would be no bad thing to be. Fortunes were to be made in banking and railroads and gold mines. It was indeed a land of opportunities and he was determined to seize them all.