The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (16 page)

It was early in the evening when the last of the guests departed. Sydnee sighed. “I am glad this day is over. I shall be leaving now too.”

“Wait,” said Mortimer, looking up at her through his stringy hair. “Stay and eat something with me.”

Sydnee knew that he was feeling lonely, and she too felt a nagging emptiness that wasn’t just hunger. Mortimer took her back to his quarters. Sydnee looked around as she pulled off her gloves. His rooms were comfortable, spacious and warm. Although he was not supposed to have female guests, they both knew that the family would have no reason to come to the stable tonight. Mortimer bustled around the fire making them gumbo and fresh biscuits.

Just as they were finishing their meal, they heard a carriage pull up. Mortimer grabbed Sydnee’s wrist, and they dashed out of his quarters. She ducked into a corner behind one of the horses as he went to the stable door.

She heard voices and then Tristan called, “Sydnee, I know you are in here! I see the landaulet.”

She stepped out of the shadows. He was standing by the wedding carriage dressed in his finest blue suit, and Isabel was leaning out the window. She was dressed in a voluminous white gown, and on her head was a wreath of flowers. A white veil was attached to the back of the wreath, and it draped down her back. “Well, hurry up. Get in!” she called to them.

Blinking in disbelief, Sydnee approached the carriage. Isabel laughed and started pulling the muddy ribbons and flowers off the side of coach. “Foolishness!” she said.

Suddenly, everything was different. Joy and laughter had returned.

“Look! We have picked up D’anton,” Tristan announced. The young man leaned forward and waved to them with a huge smile.

“You are done for the night, are you not, Mortimer?” Isabel asked.

“I am,” he mumbled, stealing a quick look at her.

Tristan explained, “Isabel and I went to our new house on Chartres Street, had a glass of champagne and realized we were lonely. We discussed things and decided that nothing has to change. We are all still best friends, are we not?”

Sydnee and Mortimer nodded.

“Well, then we carry on as before,” Tristan stated.

“Get in!” Isabel demanded.

Standing up straight and holding the door as if he was a footman, Tristan demanded, “We shall go to Sydnee’s town house for a celebration of friendship.”

With a shy smile, Mortimer stepped over to the other side of the door and held out his hand for Sydnee to step into the carriage. She stepped up into the coach followed by Tristan.

Mortimer shut the door behind them, pulled up his collar and climbed up beside the driver.

Tristan leaned toward the window to tell him to ride inside.

“No,” laughed Isabel. “He is happiest out there.”

*                     *                    *

A few months later, Sydnee sat in the open carriage on her way to the opera with Madame Picard. She felt like a queen dressed in her finest gown, white silk with lavender stripes and short puffed sleeves. The low neckline was bordered in lace and draped over her bare shoulders was a delicate white lace shawl. Her hair was dressed high upon her head and a string of faux pearls was woven through her coiffure.

Madame Picard sat next to her, her back straight and her head held high. She was dressed in a burgundy evening gown and around her neck was a string of garnets. Even Frederick was dressed for the occasion, in his finest livery trimmed with gold braid.

The opera was
Robert le diable
and at last Sydnee was attending the performance, not watching from afar.

“When Georges died, he left me his private box,” Madame Picard informed her. “Even so we will go to the opera house early, before everyone else arrives.”

When Sydnee asked why, Madame’s reply was, “Although they endure us, polite society does not want to mix publicly with the
inamorata.
”

Arriving early gave Sydnee a chance to admire the elaborate interior of the
Theatre d’Orleans.
It was the grandest building she had ever seen. The ceiling of the lobby was covered with colorful murals depicting classical mythology and stories from the Bible. There were angels doing battle with demons, beautiful goddesses lounging on divans and handsome Greek warriors brandishing swords astride muscular horses. All of the pictorials were bordered with intricately carved flourishes painted in gold. Marble pillars and chandeliers lined the hall, and at either end of the lobby were circular divans upholstered in red velvet.

Madame Picard swept across the granite floor like a queen. “Good evening, Sebastien,” she said to a tall dignified man in a white jacket standing behind the counter. He was polishing a silver spoon. “How is your wife?”

“She is well, Madame Picard. Thank you.”

“Mademoiselle and I will have absinthe if you please, lightly prepared.”

He nodded and Sydnee watched the man pour an emerald green liquid into a glass and rest a perforated spoon over the rim. With a pair of tongs he placed a cube of sugar onto the spoon and put the goblet under the spout of an elaborate glass fountain with a silver spigot. Sydnee noticed that the base of the fountain was a slim silver fairy holding a glass tower filled with ice water. The man turned the spigot slightly, allowing the water to drip through the sugar cube into the green liquid below. Gradually the drink was transformed into a light green cloud.

With their drinks, Madame Picard and Sydnee sat down on one of the divans. “This is a special occasion,” Madame said. “Tonight is your graduation.”

Sydnee stared at her a moment. She had felt this coming for some time. Her conversations with Madame Picard had been changing lately. They had become less tutorial and more of a thoughtful exchange between two adults. The spirits had been restless the past weeks as well. Sydnee knew that she was at a turning point in her life, but instead of being excited, she felt unsettled.

“There will be no more school with you?” she asked uncertainly.

Madame Picard sipped her drink and shook her head. “No more formal schooling, but I will always be at your side. You are ready to take your place in society. There is no question now that you are suitable to be Monsieur Tristan’s courtesan. But more than that, I wanted to educate you so you could survive in this world if something unexpected happens. Planning for the future is why I am secure today.”

Sydnee nodded her head. “But, Madame—is this all there is? Just being someone’s
inamorata
?”

Madame Picard was about to take a sip of her absinthe but stopped midway, lowering her goblet. She turned and studied Sydnee for a moment and then a smile flickered on her lips. She looked pleased.

“There can be more, but it will be revealed to you by the good Lord in his own time.”

Chapter 16

New Orleans

1838

The next three years flew by quickly for Sydnee. Tristan and D’anton visited her frequently, introducing her to many of their business associates and friends. They were all young, ambitious members of the New Orleans and Natchez aristocracy who were interested in animated discussions about art, politics and philosophy.

Although many people sought their company, the three friends were careful who they befriended. Tristan, D’anton and Sydnee wanted men and women who were not just witty and charming but interested in looking at the world in different ways and with open minds.

They discussed the coronation of Victoria, studied Victor Hugo’s works and dissected the relationship of George Sand and Frederic Chopin. They revisited the philosophies of Kant and Rousseau, argued about the policies of Van Buren and speculated on a new invention called a telegraph. The world was changing quickly, and they were glad to be a part of it.

Over time, the town house on Dauphin Street became known throughout the South as a great salon of enlightenment, rivaling that of Paris and London, and Sydnee Sauveterre was at the very heart of it. She was a gracious and dignified hostess, encouraging all perspectives and ideas, creating a setting ripe for discourse. If anyone scoffed or indulged in snobbery, she never invited them again. Even though Madame Picard’s influence was apparent, the success of the salon could be attributed to Sydnee’s generous nature and respect for others.

Sydnee had come a long way since the Natchez Trace. Over the years she had evolved from a homeless waif to the toast of New Orleans. Her fashion and style were emulated throughout city, her hospitality and grace known across the South. Over time she surpassed the fame of even Madame Picard, who was Sydnee’s greatest devotee. She was proud of her student and overjoyed at her success.

Tristan was ever her loyal companion and always Sydnee’s generous sponsor. He never forgot that she was integral to the illusion that gave him complete freedom to pursue his relationship with D’anton.

In spite of this new life filled with adulation, Sydnee never forgot her roots, her life with Margarite, the kindness of Maxime, or the guidance of the spirits. They were with her always, whispering in her ear, guiding her course. Tristan offered to purchase slaves for her service but Sydnee politely declined, suggesting servants instead.

Several nights a week, Sydnee held soirees. They would dine on oysters or sip aperitifs in the courtyard and discuss events of the day. The salon guests were all pleasant, well-mannered acquaintances, witty and intellectual, but none of them knew intimate details about Sydnee, Tristan and D’anton’s personal lives. The three friends made sure to keep them at arm’s length, telling them nothing of their arrangement. Everyone speculated about their relationships, and many longed to be closer, but no one was admitted into their private circle.

Ironically, Sydnee found a certain freedom in masquerading as Tristan’s mistress. Her lifestyle was already considered unconventional, so she did not have to hide the fact that she came from humble origins.

Isabel and Sydnee had to meet in secret though. The young women would include Mortimer when he was in town, but never were they seen publicly, and never did the entire group of friends gather as a group anymore.

Frequently Sydnee would meet Isabel in the courtyard of Madame Picard’s home, where they would visit for hours, laughing and sharing all the latest news. Isabel told Sydnee that she was happy with Tristan. Although their relationship was platonic, the bond of friendship and love between them was unbreakable.

The young women would arrive after dark in covered carriages for their rendezvous at Madame Picard’s home, but the past two weeks Isabel had been ill. Tristan told Sydnee that it was a malady of unknown origin, but at last Isabel started to improve. When she finally came to Madame Picard’s home again, Sydnee was shocked to see how thin she had grown. Her face was drawn, and her blue eyes looked pale.

“What was your illness, Isabel?” Sydnee asked, drawing her down into a seat under the arbor. Isabel’s hands felt as cold as ice. “Was it the fever?”

Isabel shook her head and dropped her eyes. “It was not yellow jack.”

“What was it?”

Isabel murmured, “I lost a child.”

Sydnee’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t tell Mortimer this time. He worries so.”

Sydnee looked at Isabel, blinking. “There have been other times?”

“Yes, I lost one several months back. I was not far along.”

“Does Tristan know?”

“No,” said Isabel. “He would not object though if I had a baby, so I must keep trying.”

Sydnee’s eyes grew large. She was flabbergasted considering the implications, Tristan raising Mortimer’s child, Mortimer watching from afar, and Isabel playing the part of dutiful wife and mother, to say nothing of the ramifications of inheritance. It all seemed so fantastic.

Sydnee stood up and walked to the fountain, rubbing her forehead. She turned and looked at Isabel who seemed so small and frail.  “So—so you will try this again?”

Isabel looked at her with surprise. “Why, of course, Sydnee.” In the half-light coming from the house, her eyes looked feverish and wild.

“Oh, Isabel,” Sydnee gasped. “So much can go wrong!”

Isabel jumped up and snapped. “What would you have me do, Sydnee?”

“There must be another—“

“Another way? And what would that be?” Isabel interrupted. “You are quite happy with your salon and all of your friends while I remain home alone and lonely.”

Isabel picked up her drawstring bag and started down the walkway out of the garden. When she opened the gate, she stopped walking. There were tears rolling down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she turned and ran back to Sydnee throwing her arms around her. “Oh, my friend I am so sorry,” she sobbed.

“I am so sorry too for not understanding,” Sydnee said, her words muffled in Isabel’s voluminous hair, but she was still uncertain. “We will see this through together.”

*                    *                    *

For years, Sydnee had seen the way Isabel and Mortimer looked at each other. She had witnessed the love between Tristan and D’anton, and sometimes she wondered why she did not have an intimate relationship herself. When she was young, the thought disgusted her, but with time and adulthood she found herself wanting to find love as well.

So far the gentlemen who frequented the town house bored her. Although they were handsome and intelligent, they seemed predictable and lackluster to her. They sensed her indifference toward them and this inflamed their ardor. The gentlemen flirted outrageously with Sydnee, competing for her attention, bringing her gifts, or flattering her. But again and again, she rebuffed them.

For a brief time in the spring a dashing French emissary had awakened a flood of passion in her, and she indulged herself for several months, but when he became hungry for more intimacy, she refused. She used the excuse that her heart belonged to Tristan.

Last month there had been a planter from Natchez that caught her eye, but she stopped that too, telling herself that she must be cautious and appear as if she belonged to Tristan.

Years ago, she asked Madame Picard if being an
inamorata
was all there was for her in life, and she told Sydnee to wait for the spirits to show her more. Since that time she had been waiting for a path to be revealed to her, but nothing happened.

“Allenger will be disappointed if you are not here tonight, Sydnee,” said D’anton one evening at her townhome. He was smoking a cigar in the parlor waiting for the guests to arrive for supper. He looked dashing, dressed in a black suit with a red vest and black cravat. He had his arm slung over the back of a chair.

Sydnee wrinkled her nose. “Foolishness.”

“The man adores you,” D’anton teased, as he bent down to pet Atlantis.

Sydnee shook her head and swept across the room in her royal blue gown. It was the latest fashion, closely fitted around the upper arms, full at the elbows and tight at the cuffs. It was trimmed in military fashion with gold braid. She adjusted her hair a moment in the mirror and then checked the humidor for cigars.

Suddenly she turned to D’anton and said, “I am so weary, D’anton. I am tired of all the witty conversation, flippant attitudes and--”

His eyebrows shot up. “So you are serious. Say no more, my dear. You are entitled to a night of peace and quiet.”

Sydnee sighed, walked over and kissed his head. “Thank you for understanding.”

He chuckled. “God knows, I understand. I take breaks for
days
at a time.”

“That is different, and you know it.”

He shook his head slightly and murmured, “Not really.”

Sweeping his arm, he commanded, “Now go! Your little Marie will serve supper, and Tristan will handle the entertaining.” He took a puff of his cigar. “Tonight Madame Girard is bringing the latest Dickens novel. I plan to be the first to read it.”

“Something Twist, isn’t?” Sydnee asked as she draped a shawl over her shoulders.

“Yes something like that. Love you darling,” he said kissing the air in her direction.

“You too,” she said, closing the door behind her. She ducked out into her carriage before the guests arrived and set off for Madame Picard’s house.

The women dined on capon and new potatoes that evening, ending with a rich éclair and coffee. It was good for Sydnee to be near her dear friend once more. Madame had been away for months visiting friends near St. Louis, and Sydnee missed her terribly. It seemed as if she was spending more and more time away from home lately.

“Are your St. Louis friends well?” Sydnee asked.

“Yes they are. I also visited Maxime’s sister. She has recently purchased her freedom. She is setting up housekeeping just outside of town.”

“I didn’t know that he had a sister,” Sydnee said, about to take a bite of dessert.

“Yes, he would be proud to know that his sister is free. He never could afford his own papers. He was too brilliant and valuable for his own good.”

Sydnee looked down at her plate. “I still miss him.”

Madame Picard nodded. “I do too. More than you can imagine.”

The rest of the night the women talked by the fire and when the hour grew late, Madame told Sydnee to take one of the guest rooms. She was tired and complied willingly. Unsure how late the soiree would last, she did not want to return to a house full of guests.

Sydnee set down the lamp and looked around the guest room. It had not changed since Maxime had died. The sheer curtains were still on the window, the plush Turkish carpet was on the hardwood floor, and the light blue duvet was on the bed.

She undressed to her chemise and slid under the covers. It was difficult pushing back the memories, but eventually she fell into a dreamless sleep. She slept for several hours and then was awakened suddenly by someone banging on the door downstairs. Sydnee sat up, her heart hammering. When she heard Madame Picard start down the stairs, she grabbed a dressing gown and rushed down after her. When she reached the landing, Madame Picard was just putting the lamp down on the entry table. When she opened the door an elderly white man with a gray beard was standing on the step. He had a huge build and was dressed like a farmer.

“Thou must flee,” he said breathlessly. “They know.”

He looked at Sydnee, suspiciously.

“She is a friend,” Madame Picard explained. “How much time?”

“Ten minutes.”

“My bag is ready,” she replied.

The man returned to his wagon.

Madame shut the door, picked up the lamp and glided quickly up the stairs with Sydnee behind her. “What is that man talking about, Madame?”

Ninon Picard calmly walked into her room, opened the wardrobe and pulled out a gripsack which was already packed. “Sydnee, that man is a Quaker and my friend. I must flee with him tonight. And you--” she pulled a brown woolen traveling gown over her head. “You must go home, right now.”

Sydnee stood in the room shaking. She was in her bare feet with her arms folded across her chest. “What is happening? Why are you in danger?”

Ninon stopped buttoning her gown and looked at her. “Sydnee, I help slaves escape to freedom. I have been doing this for many years.”

Opening her jewelry box, Madame Picard emptied the contents into her bag along with a wad of notes she pulled out of the back of a book. She looked around the room one last time, took Sydnee by the wrist and pulled her down the stairs behind her. When they reached the landing she faced her. “My little one, do you remember Maxime’s words before he died?”

Sydnee’s lips parted and she nodded, wide eyed. “He said I must help them.”

Madame Picard nodded. “He said it again to me just before he died. He said, ‘Sydnee must help them.’ So I taught you everything I know so you too have the power to change lives.”

“I must help slaves escape?” Sydnee asked desperately.

“Only you can answer that question.”