The Casquette Girls (25 page)

“How old is this thing?”

The edges of the pages were mismatched and browned, but the diary had been so perfectly preserved in the secret compartment, it was difficult to guess its age.

I imagined the metalwork unlocking – and the tiny latch snapped open.

An adrenaline I’d never felt before coursed through my veins as I carefully opened the cover of the unlocked treasure. A folded square of paper had been pressed in between the cover and the first page. Careful not to destroy the old stationary, I unfolded the paper and found a letter in handwritten French.

25th May 1728

Dearest Papa,

Today we finally set foot in the city of La Nouvelle-Orléans, so this is my first opportunity to send a letter since leaving France those many months ago, for I did not trust the governor of Saint-Domingue with your location, nor did I consider one of the pirates we came across on the voyage to be a reliable postman. I will attempt to mail this letter today so you at least have news of our safe arrival. Although, I suspect you will be nowhere near the address you left me.

I found the diary and letter you hid in my hatbox. As requested, I have documented my entire journey for you. At first I could not imagine why you would want such a boring account, but I did my best to fill the book each day nonetheless, and eventually, the days became more worthy of the ink.

However, I do not plan to send it. It will be here waiting for you in the capital of New France when you make the voyage yourself.

With all my love and affection,

A.S.G.

My fingers went to the medallion around my neck
.
A.S.G.? This is A.S.G.’s diar
y
?

Excited, I fanned the pages. My heart fluttered as my eye caught a phrase amongst the motion.

I flipped the pages back, frantically scanning them for the words I knew I’d seen. And then, there they were, staring back at me.

You will never believe what the locals call the orphan girls. The townspeople have given them the funniest name, “les filles aux la cassettes.”

“A fille à la cassett
e
?
”
I whispered. “The girl with the cassette… the casquette girls?”

Although, I shouldn’t speak of them as if they are a group separate from myself. I may have boarded the ship under different circumstances, but after numerous events that have bound us together, I consider them to be my sisters.

The ring around my finger suddenly felt warm. I rubbed my thumb over the silver disc with its spherical stone, when suddenly it began to rattle with such gusto that it dislodged itself from the ring’s setting. As I examined the disk that held the milky stone, the medallion hanging from my chain floated into my hand, as if it had been magnetized once again.

With one silver disc in each palm, it was easy to see that they both had the exact same delicately engraved border.
How had I not noticed this befor
e
?
I pressed them back to back, and a golden flicker chased the edges, magically welding them together into one thick medallion. The design no longer looked incomplete – one side had the stone, and the other side had the imprint of the star and the initials.

I held the letter up next to the ornately engraved script on the medallion.

“Who were you, A.S.G.?”

According to my mother, the ring had belonged to my father’s family. Which meant, in theory
, A
.S.G. was one of
my ancestors.

Ren’s voice boomed in my head. “Only the original caster of a spell could undo it.”

“Carriage, take me with you! Ship, steal me away from here!

Take me far, far away. Her
e the mud is made of our tears!”

Charles Baudelaire

(translated from French)

3
rd
March 1728

So, the journey has begun, Papa. We have been aboard the S.S
.
Gironde
, under the command of Captain Vauberci, for seven days now, although we have only completed three days’ worth of our journey due to rough weather. Being trapped inside the private cabin makes me feel like a giant stuck inside a doll’s house. I found this extraordinary diary that you gifted to me, and I am obliged to fulfill your wishes because you are my father, although I find the request odd. If your desire to be a part of this journey was so strong that you wish for the details of every passing moment to be recorded, then why didn’t you accompany me instead of disappearing to the Orient three weeks ago? The mystery surrounding your actions has me ever-curious.

So, here I sit, with only paper and ink to keep me company. I believe the story begins the day before we left the dock in Paris…

From the moment you told me that you were sending me away, I began reading everything I could find about this new foreign land across the Atlantic. It is still so early in the King’s exploration that there is not much information in circulation, so I spoke with as many people as I could, including some of the sailors down by the dock. (I kindly remind that it was you who forced me into this position.) There, I heard stories of all kinds, but no two were the same except for the tales of the hot and humid weather.

The day before my departure, I found myself in the tailor’s shop, picking out fabric for a new cloak. I knew my traveling garments would serve well aboard the ship in the cold ocean winds, but what upon arrival? I had heard tales of men and women stripping off layers of clothing due to madness brought on by the sun! I confess, this idea made me even more excited to travel across the ocean.

The King’s court advertises this New France as the pinnacle of modern society – all the luxuries of Paris but full of endless possibilities for people to make new lives, new investments, and new riches. It is said that a man can start over in New France, that his past can be erased, and that he can be whomever he wants to be. I wonder if this is the same for a woman? It is this prospect that keeps me from jumping over the ship’s edge on this wretched journey.

Curiously, the tales of the seamen did not confirm the proclamations of the King. Some of the more inebriated sailors even went so far as to call the stories “lies” and the adverts “propaganda.” Some of the sailors’ news had allegedly even come from the church, from a group of nuns of the Order of Saint Ursula who are setting up a hospital in New Franc
e.
The same Order that is traveling on this very ship with me! (Do not fret; I have not forgotten that you have taught me to never trust anyone on this journey, even those who walk in the eyes of the Lord.) The sailors also said that the land of
La Louisiann
e
is full of drifters, prostitutes and criminals – ex-convicts the King has pardoned in exchange for building the grand city of
La Nouvelle-Orléan
s
.
(My apologies for this digression, but something tells me this is the true prologue of the story.)

Let us see. I was in the tailor’s shop, getting a cloak made of a light silk. Louis draped the fabric over my shoulders and then pinned and snipped. This task took longer than necessary because of his insatiable need to gossip, but I didn’t mind. I was going to miss not only his magical talent to transform even the ugliest duckling into a beautiful swan, but his friendship, and that was the reason I went down to the shop rather than sending for him. He asked me a hundred questions about my pending journey, and I was just telling him that he was welcome to take my place aboard the S.S
.
Gironde
when in walked a very debonair man. Louis became excitable, which could only mean one thing: that the gentleman’s purse was full.

The man waited patiently while Louis tended to me. To his credit, Louis did not leave my side (I am sure your position as count had something to do with it), despite seeming absolutely mesmerized by the man. And the man was indeed hypnotizing: his dark hair was held perfectly in place under a top hat, which matched his suit made of fine velvet, and he had the kind of green eyes that were impossible not to notice. It really is unfair when a man has the sort of eyes that sparkle. He had a smile like an innocent boy’s, but a chill on my arms warned me that the innocence was deceptive.

Of course, I immediately longed to know more about this stranger. It would be false to say I was not excited when we began to converse. He said to me, “Mademoiselle Saint-Germain, what good fortune I have running into you.” Our apparent acquaintance sent Louis into a head-spin.

To which I replied, “Dear sir, it is impossible that I could have forgotten your face, which means we have not met, and it is hardly fair that you know my name and I have not yet learned yours.”

He paused and looked deeply into my eyes. “But we have met,
Mademoiselle
. I was a guest of Mademoiselle Jeanne-Françoise Quinault, at a masquerade ball at your father’s estate last winter…”

Is that not ridiculous, father? As if there has been a person in our own home in my sixteen years whom I don’t remember! The very idea is absurd. I can hardly explain it, but it was as if he was trying to will me into believing we had met before. I laughed, and the man appeared confused. I could tell he was becoming frustrated, so I pretended to play along.

“You will have to forgive me, sir, and tell me your name a second time.”

He quickly composed himself, as if he realized he would have to deploy a different tactic to get what he desired. “Jean-Antoine Cartier,
enchanté
.”

When he kissed my right hand, my left instinctively curled at my side.

There wasn’t a part of me that believed for one second his name was actually Jean-Antoine Cartier. It’s not that he seemed insincere.
Au contraire,
he had an extremely calm and inviting aura, but there was something about him that fired up all of my senses. He was a man who knew exactly what he was doing. In the spirit of the game, I asked him where he was from.

“Now, that is a very long story,” he told me.

I warn you, Papa, you are not going to like the next part of this tale, but you are not exactly in the position to reprimand me, so I will speak openly about it, as we always do in the flesh. Despite our distance, it will comfort you to know that as I put these words on paper, I can feel you chastising me for my actions.

He said to me, “I realize it is forward of me to ask, with your father abroad, but would you care to accompany me this evening to the salon at the home of
Mademoiselle Quinault?”

I had wanted to go to that very gathering, but had given up on the idea without you to chaperone, Father. His eyes were just as inviting as his words, but it was only when he said this that I really had to concentrate on keeping my brow straight: “I’ve been to New France three times already. Twice to the great city of Montreal, and once to the site of
La Nouvelle-Orléan
s
.
”

He did not seem at all surprised that this information made my ears perk, and I didn’t care why that was. This tease solidified my decision – his offer was the perfect invitation for mischief on my last night in Paris. Not that I needed more reason other than to simply quell my boredom, but a mysterious, handsome man, knowing the exact way to capture my attention, piqued my curiosity. I promise that I was not looking for a scandal, Papa, but really, how could I say no to someone who might satisfy my need for information on the land I would be traveling to in just one day’s time? A land which not even you have yet been to. So, that evening, Monsieur Cartier’s carriage picked me up.

When we arrived at the salon together, the look of surprise on the other guests’ faces was alone worth the trip. Many of the women looked at me with contempt because I was on the arm of such a handsome man, but mostly they were all just desperately curious as to why the daughter of
le Comte de Saint-Germain
would be traveling to New France.

Do
not worry, I did not tell them you were forcing me to go or that the reason was mysterious even to me – nor did I mention that doing so had seemed to cause you duress. I simply told them I was bored with Paris and that, if I couldn’t explore the Orient because I was a woman, then I supposed I had to settle for New France. Of course, they drew their own conclusions. I overheard their little comments as we walked by.

“I heard the count is shipping her off to
Louisiann
e
…
”

“Well, I heard he is locking her up in an insane asylum in London.”