Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [14]
“Apparently shipborne,” the doctor muttered. “At any rate it has not spread into the town. Since Wednesday the quarantine is lifted from his vessel.”
“Excellent,” said Toussaint. “We are favored by Providence.”
“In addition to which,” Captain Howarth put in, “I credit this gentleman with my survival.”
Toussaint smiled and in the same movement masked his bad teeth with one hand. The other he laid on the doctor’s shoulder. The two of them were roughly the same height, Doctor Hébert perhaps an inch or so taller, but Toussaint had a knack of projecting some force outward from himself, which made him seem much larger than he really was, when one was near him.
“The first among my men of medicine,” Toussaint said. He squeezed the doctor’s shoulder and let it go.
“You give me too much credit,” the doctor said, genuinely embarrassed. He knew that Toussaint knew how very slight was his knowledge of the yellow fever.
Toussaint nodded to Howarth’s bow, then continued his perambulation. Christophe had lingered to speak to Isabelle. Riau brushed the doctor’s hand in passing. Howarth turned to say something to Isabelle, for Christophe’s attention seemed to vex him a little. The burr of conversation grew generally louder. Maillart caught the doctor’s eye, cleared his throat, and then shook his head.
“No, no, of course,” the doctor said. “I’ll find you later.”
He walked to the refreshment table and found himself some cold meat and cheese. After all, he did not much enjoy these occasions . . . It took Toussaint almost an hour to complete his circuit of the room. Toward the end of his tour, the musicians struck up a country minuet. In the arms of Colonel Sans-Souci, Elise came smoothly gliding onto the dance floor. The doctor felt his pulse leap upward. Toussaint, who was himself no dancer, watched the couple with an indecipherable expression, one hand at the white neckcloth which swathed his throat. Presently a few other dancers joined the first couple, and Toussaint turned away.
As the Governor withdrew in the direction of his offices, Riau and Guiaou made discreet signals to certain members of the company. Isabelle, the doctor, and Captain Howarth were elected. Elise, still on the dance floor, was not.
It was not quite the inner sanctum, but the outer office, which Doctor Hébert knew well, and which could comfortably seat some twenty people. Included this evening were Christophe; Borghella, an important merchant visiting from Port-au-Prince; a couple of other members of Toussaint’s constitutional assembly; the priest Anthéaume; Julien Raymond, a mulatto who’d served on the last commission sent out by the French government; Pascal, a Frenchman who now served as one of Toussaint’s principal secretaries and who also happened to be Raymond’s son-in-law; and a few others, besides the doctor’s party, of similar status or interest in the colony. Toussaint presided, sitting in a carved wooden armchair facing the outer door from a corner. He had taken off his hat, beneath which he wore, as almost always, a yellow madras cloth bound tightly over his brow and knotted at the back. He addressed himself first to Isabelle Cigny.
“What news have you of your children, Madame?”
“None at all for some weeks now,” Isabelle said, with a petulant moue. “I expect them hourly in the port.” She laid her cheek aslant on her wrapped hands and looked charmingly wistful.
“Ah, they are returning? That is good,” Toussaint said. “What age have they?”
“Robert is twelve,” Isabelle said. “And Héloïse—my baby!—is now ten.”
“So the eldest is of an age to have been confirmed in the faith.”
At this the priest roused himself to a greater display of attention. Isabelle lifted her head from her hands and sat primly upright.
“As to that, there has been some delay, but I and his father intend to accomplish his First Communion once he is safely arrived here.”
Toussaint nodded. “So he, and the younger girl also, must be well instructed in their catechism.”
“So I must presume. They have been installed in a convent school