The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (14 page)

Tristan’s heart jumped. Once again fate had looked favorably upon him. D’anton was leaving for Europe soon too.

“But that creature, who you have been keeping as a carnal tutor, must go.”

Tristan set his jaw. He had been anticipating this moment for months, and he was ready. “Yes, father. I agree. It is not appropriate having her stay in the
garçonnière
any longer.”

“Good, I am glad you are listening to reason.”

“
I will be taking her permanently as my
inamorata
,” stated Tristan.

Cuthbert Saint-Yves slammed his hands on the table and barked, “You will not!”

Several customers looked over at them, but Tristan did not flinch or take his eyes from his father’s face. “You are too late, Father. I have made arrangements for a town house on Dauphin Street.”

“With
my
money?” his father said, his chest heaving.

“No, I have my own money from Grandfather. You know that.”

The waiter approached with aperitifs, and the men fell silent.

“This is an outrage,” his father hissed.

“
You
have a mistress, Father,” Tristan said calmly, sipping his sherry. “Why is this an outrage?”

Cuthbert looked from side to side, afraid someone had heard. He lowered his voice and said, “Adelaide is a distinguished quadroon of refinement and breeding. Papers were drawn up--”

“Yes, I have everything in order too. That is my last word on it, Father.”

At that moment, the waiter approached and set down the meals. “Oh look, here is our food. Very good,” said Tristan to the server. “I have just what I want.”

*                    *                    *

On her sixteenth birthday, Tristan presented Sydnee with her new townhome on Dauphin Street. It seemed as if all of her prayers were answered in one day. She would not have to leave Tristan. She would have her own home, and Vivian and the dogs could live with her permanently.

From the moment she laid eyes on it, Sydnee fell in love with her little house. It was a petite two-story stucco townhome in a good neighborhood. Although it was in need of paint, new shutters and minor repairs, the foundation was strong, and the structure was sturdy.

Sydnee walked through the parlor, her eyes glowing. “Oh, I love it! How can I ever thank you?”

“Thank Monsieur Girard for drawing up the papers but especially thank D’anton. He helped me pick it out,” said Tristan, holding his hat in his gloved hand. “He seemed to know just what you would fancy. With a little care, it will be the most charming house in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, D’anton was right, but where is he?”

Tristan’s smiled dropped. “He is having another one of his spells.”

“How many days?”

“Three days sleeping,” said Tristan. “I wish he would wake up. He needs to get ready for his voyage to Paris. He leaves within the week.”

“And when do you leave?” Sydnee asked, not wanting to hear an answer.

“Not for another month.”

Tristan reached out and touched her arm, saying cheerfully, “Which will give us plenty of time to bring this house to life.”

Sydnee laughed and looked around. “I am very happy.”

“I’m glad.”

They stepped through the French doors out into a small courtyard. It was overrun with weeds and vines, but Sydnee found a trellis and wrought-iron loveseat beneath the tangled overgrowth. She pulled back the brush and sat down. Tristan bent over, ducked in and sat down beside her. “With some raking and weeding, this too will be beautiful,” he said. “And you will never have to leave me.”

*                   *                   *

Every day when they were finished with their studies, Sydnee and Tristan would change into old clothes and go to the house on Dauphine Street to work. They swept the floors, knocked down cobwebs, weeded, and raked.

Madame Trudeau had shopping in New Orleans one day, so Isabel came to help too. Knowing that her mother would not approve of Sydnee’s living arrangement, she told her that Sydnee was setting up housekeeping with her old aunt. Isabel knew that soon enough her mother would find out, but until that time, she chose to mislead her.

Isabel washed windows, planted flowers and dusted. Then a week later, when Mortimer came in town to pick up a new mare, he assisted in repairs to the roof and balconies. Gradually they transformed the little town house from a dirty rundown shack into a charming well-kept cottage.

One mild spring afternoon, Sydnee brushed the hair from her face and asked Tristan, “Do you think the house is ready for me to move in?”

“It better be ready. Isabel comes tomorrow to help us decide on furniture,” was his reply.

“I have been talking to Madame Picard, and she told me to order modest furniture of good quality and to remember that classic styles are the best.”

When they began ordering furnishings, Tristan marveled at Sydnee’s sense of style. She had an instinct for colors and textures, fabrics and design that astounded him. Sydnee surprised herself too. She adored decorating, and by the time they were done, the house on Dauphin Street resembled an elegant doll house. The parlor was done in a pale green with cream and green
toiles peintes
drapes. The sofa, two chairs and carpet were upholstered in a light dusty rose. Overhead was a miniature crystal chandelier and hanging above the fireplace was a portrait of Tristan.

“I feel like a fool,” he said, looking up at his likeness. He was mounted on a gelding dressed for the hunt.

Sydnee smiled a crooked smile. “If we are to convince the world that I am your
inamorata
we must have a portrait of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, turn it to the wall when there are no guests here.”

They picked out a mahogany table with six chairs for the dining room and the master bedroom had an oak half-tester bed with blue and cream-colored curtains and spread. The other two bedrooms were also done in soft pastels.

“What time do we go to the plantation
tomorrow?” Sydnee asked.

“First thing in the morning. But we will not stay long. I have so much to do before I sail in two days. Does Mortimer know we are bringing the dogs and Vivian back to live with you?”

“He does,” Sydnee replied.

The next day they travelled to
Saint-Denis
so Tristan could say goodbye. Isabel was there, tears streaming down her face, and Mortimer disappeared deep into the stable when it was time to say goodbye. Tristan frowned and looked at Sydnee. “I want to go home. This is too hard.”

Sydnee nodded and whistled to the dogs who jumped into the landau, and Vivian flew along behind the carriage. They were quiet on the way back, knowing that their lives were about to change.

*                   *                   *

The sky was fair the day of departure as Sydnee and Maxime stood on the landing waiting for Tristan to return from checking his trunk. The docks were teaming with activity as passengers boarded vessels and crews loaded cargo. It was noisy as draymen roared past, whistling and cracking whips and peddlers hawked their wares.

Sydnee ran her eyes over Tristan’s ship. She had never been close to an ocean going vessel before. It was completely different from the square sturdy steamboats that lined the landing all around it. This craft was oblong with three poles standing upright in a row which Maxime called masts. Attached to these masts were sails which, she was told, caught the wind and propelled the craft. From her studies she learned that the oceans were even vaster than the mighty Mississippi River, and if this was true, this vessel seemed very small indeed. She tried hard not to think about the fate of Guy Saint-Yves on his voyage to Europe and that her friend may be at risk.

Tristan approached Maxime. “Everything is in order,” he said. “They are ready to depart.”

“Your father sends his regrets,” Maxime said apologetically. “He is very busy today.”

Tristan shrugged. “Those who matter to me are right here.”

He took a breath and looked away, holding back tears. “How will I know what to say and do without my dear teacher?”

Maxime swallowed hard and tried to speak, but he could not. Instead he took Tristan’s hand, squeezed it hard and walked away.

Then Tristan turned to Sydnee. They looked at each other a moment and then collapsed into an embrace. At last Tristan pushed her away and ran up the gang plank onto the deck stopping at the railing to look back at her.

Sydnee wiped her eyes and waved. The crew burst into action, getting ready to set sail. Some of them stayed on deck while others climbed aloft to loosen the rigging. “Let fall,” she heard someone call, and the white sails dropped.

Passengers crowded around to shout good bye to loved ones on shore. Some were waving hankies and others were crying, but Sydnee did not notice them. She could only see Tristan.

Suddenly the sails bulged with harnessed energy, and the ship began to creak and move away from the landing. As the vessel moved downriver, the crowds gradually dispersed on the landing. Families crawled into carriages and others departed on horseback, but Sydnee did not move. She remained motionless determined to watch Tristan until the last.

He stayed where he was too, never taking his eyes from her. She looked so small and helpless standing there all alone, and suddenly he panicked. Had he left her enough money? Would she be safe? As the vessel rounded a bend and he lost sight of her, he took comfort in the fact that as tiny and as frail as his dear friend appeared, she had the heart of an Amazon.

Chapter 14

It took weeks for Sydnee to adjust to life without Tristan. He had become such an important part of her existence that she felt lost without him. Tears would fill her eyes unexpectedly throughout the day and at night she would lay awake worrying about his long voyage across the Atlantic. Many mornings it was hard to pull herself out of bed, but her loyal companions, Vivian, Atlantis, and Baloo reminded her that someone still needed her for their happiness.

In spite of her loneliness, Sydnee was grateful for her new life, thanking the spirits often. Her home on Dauphin Street was a satisfying distraction for her, and she worked long hours trimming and manicuring the shrubs and flowers at the front entrance and in the courtyard. On several occasions Isabel visited her, and together they planted hibiscus, Indian pink, bee balm, and bright blue iris.

Sydnee planted an herb garden by the back door where she could harvest plants for cooking and for medicines. She had memorized Margarite’s recipes for gumbo, soups and
cassoulets
and began to hone her culinary skills. Sydnee also made Hoodoo powders and oils in her small stillroom off the courtyard in case of accidents or disease.

Tristan left Sydnee ample funds for living expenses at her new home and, with Maxime’s help, she was learning to handle money. Although Tristan had been unable to arrange further academic instruction with Maxime, she was able to continue with Madame Picard’s School of Etiquette. Maxime was occasionally at the house, and after class he would teach Sydnee about money management.

Even though Sydnee was no longer able to receive tutoring, she was determined to continue her education. Although Madame spent hours teaching her needlework, it was academics she craved. Madame Picard was keenly aware of her hungry mind, so she gave Sydnee complete access to her personal library and spent time with her after class helping her improve her French and English skills by discussing world events with her.

Sydnee read voraciously, studying everything from literature to politics. After only a few months, Isabel noticed the change in her. “My goodness, you know more than my father about the upheavals in Paris.”

Sydnee shook her head. “I understand nothing. There is so much to learn.”

“Say,” Isabel said changing the subject. “
La dame blanche
is opening tonight at the Opera. My Aunt Beatrice is too feeble to attend anymore, but she enjoys watching everyone enter in their finery. We sit across the street in the carriage and watch the crowd. Would you like to come with us?”

Sydnee’s eyes grew wide. “I would!”

“
La dame blanche
is based on Sir Walter Scott’s work. We must find someone who attends the performance so we can give Mortimer a recounting. Scott is his favorite,” Isabel said.

“How is Mortimer? I miss him.”

“He is well. His skills as physician to animals only improves. Planters from all over the county consult with him now.”

Sydnee smiled. “Someday he will have his own livery.”

“He will if I have anything to say about it,” said Isabel.

That evening Isabel returned for Sydnee in the family carriage with Aunt Beatrice, a good-natured voluminous woman of later years. “Oh, to be young again,” she said as she fanned herself, looking at the girls. “Someday you two will be attending the opera.”

The
Theatre d’Orleans
was a large two-story stucco building with a colonnade on Orleans Street. Greek and Roman statues lined the rooftop, lounging, reading scrolls or standing at attention.

The coachman parked the barouche across from the entrance so they could watch the promenade into the theater. Although many arrived in carriages, the majority of the patrons strolled up on foot, coming from dining establishments nearby.

Sydnee leaned forward wide-eyed. She never imagined such a grand sight. Everyone was in formal evening attire and sporting the latest fashion. The men were dressed in crisp coats with padded shoulders, cinched waists and dark trousers. Many of them had cloaks and carried canes. All of them wore tall hats and had curled their hair.

As dashing as the men appeared, it was the ladies who captivated the girls. “Look at the gowns,” murmured Isabel in awe.

“Just look at the fabrics,” echoed Sydnee.

The female patrons wore a dazzling array of colors. Their necklines were cut wide and low for the evening with sleeves that were dropped off the shoulder, short and puffed. To cover their arms, they wore long silken gloves and carried shawls. Waistlines were emphasized and made smaller by belts and large voluminous skirts, padded with multiple petticoats. They wore their hair in knots upon their heads and ringlets framed their faces.

“Someday I will come to the opera dressed as a fine lady,” Sydnee said wistfully.

“Isabel, my dear,” said Aunt Beatrice, “When you marry Tristan, you must ask him to bring you here.”

The smile dropped from Isabel’s face. She swallowed hard and said quietly, “I most certainly will.”

On the way home Sydnee watched her friend. Isabel sat back in the shadows concealing the look of melancholy on her face. Sydnee did not try to draw her into conversation. Instead she turned and looked out the window at the streets of New Orleans. She worried about Isabel and her love for Mortimer. She was afraid it would destroy them both. Once more Sydnee felt gratitude for her quiet life with Vivian, Baloo and Atlantis.

*                    *                    *

The girls saw each other off and on all summer until one day a note arrived from Isabel saying that her mother would not allow her to come to the city anymore. She explained that there had been an outbreak of a disease called cholera in Paris and New York, and several infected people had carried it to New Orleans.

“Have you heard about it?” Sydnee asked Madame Picard after class that evening.

“Indeed I have,” she said, frowning as she put away chairs. “It is most troubling. We are just coming out of yellow fever season, and now we have this malady. They say it is most virulent.”

“Are people dying?”

“Yes and very quickly, in a matter of days, sometimes hours.”

Sydnee had a lump in her throat. She asked in a small voice, “This cholera was in Paris. Do you suppose Tristan has it?”

Madame Picard straightened up and rested her blue eyes on Sydnee. She reached out, touched her cheek and said, “Oh, little one, worry not. He is young and strong. Usually these things take the very old.”

But Madame Picard was wrong. Cholera swept New Orleans that fall of 1832 like a hurricane. It took the young, the old, the rich, and particularly the poor. The city became a ghost town as people left for the country, fleeing the “miasmas” or infected air.

The first thing that Sydnee did was make Margarite’s sickness tea. For as long as Sydnee could remember Margarite told her when there was contagion to drink only raspberry leaf tea with some black pepper and to eat nothing but bubbling hot gumbo. When asked why, Margarite would shrug and say that the spirits had advised it.

Business in the city came to a stand-still. Madame Picard cancelled class until further notice and people stayed indoors. Small bonfires were built at each intersection to purge the air and every half hour there was a deafening blast from a cannon to cleanse the atmosphere.

Sydnee found it unnerving. The heavy stench from the fires seeped into her home, and the cannons startled her every time they blasted. After a week of seclusion, Sydnee decided to go to market. She was in dire need of food. Planning to stock up so she wouldn’t have to go out again, she strapped baskets on the backs of Atlantis and Baloo and stepped out into the street.

The usually busy thoroughfare was empty. The town was more deserted than it had been during yellow fever season. She noticed a fire smoldering near the curb, adding heat to the already sweltering temperature. There were smoke pots smoldering in front of houses giving the city a surreal landscape.

An elderly gentleman walked down Dauphin Street with a handkerchief tied around his nose and mouth. When he saw that Sydnee did not have her face covered, he crossed the street.

Looking around self-consciously, she reached into her drawstring purse and pulled out a hankie to hold over her nose and mouth as she walked.  

The market was deserted as well. A few tenacious vendors turned out, standing with their carts, eager to make some kind of sale. Sydnee made her purchases and hurried home.

On Bourbon Street she passed a funeral, but there were only two mourners. The coffin was covered heavily with flowers to absorb the diseased air emanating from the remains.

Sydnee was grateful to be home, and she stayed inside for another week enduring the heat and the isolation. The days were gradually getting shorter and this pleased her. She did not want to see the funeral processions go past her front window or see the carts full of corpses. Darkness did not give her complete relief though, she could hear the gravediggers ring bells and call, “Bring out your dead!”

She worried constantly about Tristan and wondered if Isabel and Mortimer were safe residing in the country. She longed for news about the progression of the disease but did not dare go out to ask questions. The farthest she ventured would be into her courtyard and even then she had to come in at dusk because the night air was thought to be dangerous.

There was a restlessness in the spirit world too, akin to her experience in St. Louis Cemetery on All Soul’s Day. She felt a darkness gathering like a thunderstorm, and it lessened only when she went into the sunlight of her garden. It disturbed her sleep as well, and one night in early October it jolted her awake several times. It was a vision that presented itself repeatedly. In the nightmare she was standing in front of the
garçonnière
which was
shrouded in mist. She opened the door and walked inside the schoolroom. It was too dark to see anything, but there was a disturbing presence within the room. Then she would wake up.

The third time the vision occurred Sydnee sat up in bed and cried out. The dogs jumped up terrified. Sydnee clutched her head, gasping, and her gown was soaked in perspiration. When her breathing slowed she realized that she must go to the
garçonnière
and investigate
or this nightmare would rob her of her sanity.

Swallowing hard, she threw the covers back, slid out of bed and dressed. The dogs watched her expectantly. “Come along,” she said to them. “We must put an end to this thing.”

Tying a hankie over her nose and mouth, Sydnee stepped out onto the street. The only movement she could see was from a lantern on a corpse cart a block away. She could hear the gravedigger ringing the bell and calling for bodies.

Vivian swooped down and landed on Sydnee’s shoulder, startling her. She took a deep breath to calm herself and started walking with her lantern. Her shoes clattered loudly on the bricks as she hurried to the property on Rue St. Louis.

The bell in the cathedral tolled three. Baloo and Atlantis trotted behind Sydnee, blissfully unaware of the morbid atmosphere in the city. Sydnee walked several blocks, rounded the corner and saw the charred remains of the chimneys at the former Saint-Yves residence. It was so quiet that the hinges seemed to scream as she opened the gate to the courtyard. The
garçonnière
stood before her, sitting innocuously in the moonlight.

Still, Sydnee wanted to run home and hide in bed. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath and crossed the garden. The dogs were by her side, and Vivian was on her shoulder. Sydnee’s mouth was dry, and her heart was hammering in her chest as she opened the front door. All was dark, and just like in the nightmare, she felt a presence in the room. The hair raised on her arms, and Atlantis started to growl.

Cautiously Sydnee stepped inside, holding up her lantern. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Things were as they left them. She saw bookcases, desks and papers. Chairs were scattered around the room, and she saw the stairs up to Tristan’s bedroom.

Nevertheless something was amiss. She could feel it. The dogs approached the corner where she used to sleep. Sydnee held up her lantern, and her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was on the bed.

It was Maxime.

“Oh, Mon Dieu!” she gasped.

He was on his back, and his mouth was open. His cheeks were sunken, and his clothes were covered with vomit. She had little doubt that it was cholera. When she touched his forehead, he opened his eyes. “Maxime, how is it you are here? I thought you were in the country.”

He moved his cracked lips but no words came.

“I will get you help,” she said quickly.

“They--” he murmured. “--brought me here.”

Sydnee frowned. She knew what had happened. The moment they discovered Maxime was sick, Monsieur Saint-Yves had him dumped him here alone in the city to die.

“I must leave you for a few moments, but I will return with help. We will take care of you.”

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell back into a swoon. Sydnee dashed out of the
garçonnière
with the dogs behind her. Vivian flew overhead. She raced through the streets not stopping until she reached Madame Picard’s residence.