Velvet Shadows (13 page)

“You mean taken such action that she will have to marry him?”

“That—or other matters.” Mrs. Pleasant did not enlarge on the second part of her reply.

So I was forced to be content while she left and returned shortly thereafter with another tray of food. It was a superbly cooked meal, such as to tempt even a small appetite. But I chafed at my imprisonment.

I even took to listening at the door after Mrs. Pleasant left again. There was the sound of laughter, muted voices. Once a woman sang a sentimental ballad in a languishing voice, to be paid with a crackle of applause. The door had been locked again, but this time Mrs. Pleasant had been frank about that, saying she did not want anyone to intrude upon me.

I kept thinking of my own folly, that intermingled with my worry over Victorine. I shrank from picturing what Alain's return might bring. For my own part in this bizarre happening there could be only censure.

Mrs. Pleasant presented an enigma I could not solve. She had summoned me to a house where she admitted I must not be seen, yet her promise of aid was, I was sure, honestly made. Her discussion of Mrs. Deaves, was there a hint of blackmail in that? And to this add voodoo—

Amélie had been drugged nearly to death. Was Victorine a second victim, controlled by another's will? I had heard of strange drugs which produced hallucinations—could such hellish devices be part of voodoo?

I found my patience wearing very thin by the time Mrs. Pleasant returned.

“You have learned something?” I demanded even before she closed the door.

“A hint only, but one we can act upon. If she
is
in the place suggested to me, we can bring her away. However, that hint came to me through several sources and such rumors can be false. But I am told she believes herself to be safely hidden until D'Lys comes for her, and she is entirely devoted to him. I have no key to compel her
to come away, save force, and that would bring unwelcome attention. All I can do at present is make sure she can leave if she wishes. Do you understand?”

“Where is she?” That speech had been so full of half-bints and implications it irritated me—I wanted the bare truth.

I think she was weighing the need for being frank against reticence before she answered. Perhaps it was because I was my father's daughter she did answer.

“She is, according to report, at the Red Rooster. That is a parlor house—a
French
parlor house.”

Though her accenting of the “French” meant nothing to me (I was not
that
worldly wise), I guessed at the meaning of the other term.

“But them—she—” I was filled with such horror that I could not speak coherently.

“No, she is only in safe keeping there. That is all, I swear.”

“And you are not entirely sure she
is
there—”

“I am as sure as I can be without seeing her myself. When this D'Lys returns—my people have lost sight of him—I do not know where he plans to take her. Nor do we know when he shall return.”

“Then we must go to her. She knows me—will listen to me certainly. She cannot be utterly lost to all that is right, she is so young—”

“If she will not listen”—Mrs. Pleasant spoke with a deliberation which gave her words deeper emphasis—“you must take measures to get her to go with you. Once we can bring her here, D'Lys cannot bother you.”

“But we must take her back to the hotel—”

“To do that before Mr. Sauvage returns would be folly. If you cannot convince her, can you keep her prisoner in her room there without courting the very notice you do not wish?”

Her logic was right. But the path ahead seemed to me to lead deeper and deeper into trouble. Yet I had to agree, if reluctantly, to her proposal.

“You cannot come with me as you are. You must be no young lady, but rather someone likely to be seen in
such a place. Not—” she read aright my start of repugnance—” one of the regular habitués. But it is customary that the maids in such houses be of Negro or mixed race. Many of them have been hired through my agency by the keepers of such establishments. Thus tonight I shall simply be calling on an acquaintance with a maid she might or might not want to hire. That will introduce us to the house. If Miss Sauvage is there, it shall then be your duty to persuade her to leave with us. If she refuses—there is another way—”

She crossed the room to where stood a tall cabinet, a beautiful piece of Chinese design, with a double front panel inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Taking a ring of keys from her seam pocket, she unlocked those doors. Within were two sections of narrow drawers, and she chose from one a paper packet.

Having carefully closed and relocked the cabinet, she advanced to the full light of the lamp, placing the packet on the table. For a moment she regarded it intently and then nodded, as if in answer to her own thoughts.

“Do not touch this,” she cautioned. “I shall be back very shortly.”

So swiftly and soundlessly did she move, she might have vanished as do the characters in some fantastic story. Then she was back, a handkerchief in her hand. This she spread flat on the table before she tipped onto it the contents of the packet, a saffron yellow dust. Turning up the corners of the linen square she tied those together to form a loose bag.

“If she refuses to listen to you, you will have this. Be ready to loosen it quickly—so—” She inserted one finger to prove how easily a corner could be loosened. “Then throw the powder into her face!”

“What! But what will it to do her?”

“If she is under the influence of D'Lys as we suspect, breathing this will break his control over her. She will become, for a very short time, like one who is sleepwalking. You can lead her by the hand, and she shall be as obedient to your direction as a small child—”

“But what is it?” I shrank from the idea of using such a weird weapon, even if Victorine's future depended on it.

“It is a powdered herb, or rather a mixture of herbs. The effect is not long lasting. And it is harmless, that I swear to you.”

Such was the tone of her voice that I believed her. Only the thought was so strange I hoped that I would not have to put it to the test.

Mrs. Pleasant brought out a second handkerchief to wrap the first. Then she spoke briskly.

“You must darken your skin and I shall bring you a bonnet to help your disguise. Take down your hair so it can be tightly netted under that.”

Though I shrank from all this I knew it must be done. Unhooking my bodice I allowed her to pat a soft wad of cotton, first dipped in a bowl of dark liquid, over my face and throat. When I looked in the mirror as she busied herself netting my hair as tightly as she could, I saw how much the darkening of my skin transformed me. I could indeed now pass as one of mixed blood.

The bonnet she had ready was akin to the face-concealing one Submit had worn. But added to it was a fringe of wiry black curls sewn within, so that when its strings were tied beneath my now brown skin, I had hair to match my complexion.

My own waterproof cape was discarded in place of one more worn and shabby. But my dress, she decided, would do. There came a discreet tap at the door as she submitted my person to a last searching gaze.

“Our hack is here, it is time to go. Oh, you have forgotten!” With an exclamation of annoyance she caught up the handkerchief bundle and thrust it upon me. “Tuck that in your sleeve where you can reach it easily. Your father was a man of great courage and resolution. You are not unlike him in looks; if you share his qualities of character, call upon those now.”

We descended a back staircase, passed through a kitchen filled with delicious smells where my companion paused to inspect the contents of various pans on the stove, speaking to the cook in charge of them. He was a
stout man who paid no attention to me huddling back in the shadows.

“This business,” Mrs. Pleasant announced as she pushed upon the back door and we had only the faint glimmer of a single yard lantern to guide us to a high board fence, “must be resolved as soon as possible. It is only by luck that Mr. Lanthen and his family are away from the city. Were they here now, I would have to be at their house—and they are due to return soon.”

At her push a section of the fence swung like a door and I held my skirts tightly against me to squeeze through in her wake. Beyond, in an alley, waited a hack. It might have been the one which brought me here; I did not know.

Nor did Mrs. Pleasant give any directions to the driver. But he set off as if he knew exactly where to go. The drizzle of the early day had stopped, but dampness was heavy in the air. In the light of the infrequent street lamps pools of water glittered in the gutters. And now there was more traffic in the streets through which our conveyance twisted and turned.

Ahead I saw a gleam of light, fire red, not at ground level, but in the air. Now we advanced more slowly. A carriage ahead had pulled to a halt and two men, their voices loudly jovial, alighted, to enter the door under that beacon. Now I could see the light formed a rooster of bright scarlet. There was certainly no mistaking the sign.

But we did not stop before the front door. Instead our hack continued with a sober clip-clop to the corner of the block and turned left, carrying us into another dark alley where the driver at last reined in. Mrs. Pleasant got out.

“Hold up your skirts, girl!” she bade me as I were indeed a would-be maid. “No sense in going to see Madame Célie all draggle-tailed.”

The warning was necessary. Here the pavement, which I could only dimly see, was noisome, the smell noxious. I watched my footing as best I could, reaching another fence where my guide opened a gate. Then we were in a small littered yard. Luckily the far wall of that was
badly rotted, for there was no second opening; instead we had to squeeze through a gap to reach an area paved with brick, more stable footing than the alley had allowed.

“Be quiet, and stay a little behind me,” Mrs. Pleasant cautioned in a whisper.

I was just able to make out the outline of a door in the house wall. A single stone step was between that and the yard. Mrs. Pleasant set her feet firmly on that and knocked on the door with a series of small taps.

The portal opened and we came into a narrow back hallway, lighted only by the candle of the woman who greeted us. Of her I saw little save she was Negro and wore the cap and apron of a maid. Nor did I catch the words Mrs. Pleasant murmured to her. She turned and led us to a stairway down which filtered some light.

From the front of the house came the sound of a parlor organ, laughter, and talk. There was the smell of strong scent, the fumes of wine, and the spice of burning incense.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

At the top of the stairs opened a second hall carpeted in thick red stuff, lighted by gas jets (turned quite low) in the form of gilded cupids holding aloft torches. The maid continued to the front of the house where there was the head of a wider stair, up the well of which came much louder sounds.

She opened the door of a room which must face the main street and waved us in. Thus I found myself in surroundings my untutored imagination could never have pictured for me. Here the red carpet was overlaid by a scattering of thick fur rugs dyed a golden yellow. Light was provided by amber- and topaz-banded lamps. There
were no signs of windows, for crimson drapes of velvet fell, in gold-fringed folds, to hide the outer world.

Overhead the ceiling was frescoed with nude golden goddesses depicted showering trails of overblown roses. But it was the walls which astonished me the most. Mirrors ran from floor to ceiling in panels, the door through which we had entered being concealed by one such. All were framed in gold and between them were four life-size pictures of nude women painted without any restraint of taste. Each was plainly meant to represent a different type of beauty, one brunette, one blonde, one with brown hair, and the last with red.

The bed was very wide, its deeply carved headboard nearly touching the ceiling. Across that headboard played cupids holding more gold roses. While the sheets and pillowcases, revealed by a partly folded back red velvet cover, were of gold satin.

There was a marble-faced fireplace equipped with a gilded screen. Even the fire irons had been treated with a wash to counterfeit that same precious metal.

About were several chairs, all of gilt, with padded crimson velvet seats and backs. And the atmosphere had a thick, cloying scent which made me a little faint. I longed to go to one of the concealed windows, push aside that smothering weight of velvet, and open the panes, let in the night air. There was no sign of Victorine.

“She is not here.” I looked for the door, now so cunningly hidden behind one of the mirrors that I felt trapped.

“She is here—but not in this room. Be quiet, leave all to me.”

Mrs. Pleasant seated herself placidly on one of the chairs as if she were in her own sitting room. The calm dignity with which she moved, the elegance of her dress, put to shame this gaudy chamber. I averted my eyes from the walls, the bed, looked straight at the fireplace. How could Victorine come willingly to such a place? What had happened to her?

The mirrored door was flung open with such force as to suggest that the woman who entered was in a far from amiable temper. Small, she wore a dress as red as the carpet.
And that garment was so betasseled, beaded, and sequined in gold that she glittered with every movement.

Her bright chestnut hair was built high into the most elaborate style. Small diamond stars, anchored on almost invisible wires, were entrapped in that edifice, sparkling with every movement of her head. Bracelets thick with the same stones ringed her plump wrists, and a necklace was fully displayed above a bodice cut so low as to be hardly decent.

“Vat you vant now?” Her eyes held the same hard glint as her diamonds as she planted herself before Mrs. Pleasant. She spoke with a thick accent, her voice huskily hoarse.

“Some words with you, Célie.”

The woman snorted angrily. “Eet ees time for vork, not for talk. Come een zee morning as always.”

“When you shall be deeper in trouble than you are now, Célie?”

At Mrs. Pleasant's question the woman stared. She might have been about to protest and then her eyes narrowed, her painted mouth closed. A moment later, in a much lower voice, she asked, “Vat you mean—trouble? Me—een trouble—”

“Right now you have under this roof a young lady of good family, taken from her relatives and friends. One word of that, Célie, spoken to Captain Lees—and with the anger of a very important family to spur him on—”

“You are wrong! I ‘ave no von as you say—no von!”

“Perhaps you have been told a false story. That might just save you when Captain Lees comes, if you can make him believe it. But knowing him, Célie—and knowing he will be spurred in this case to do his whole duty—do you want to risk it?”

“Lees! Ha!” Célie laughed. “Vat do I care for him? Do you know who comes here? Lees vould take a look into my parlor—then he vould run, like a puppy, vith his tail between zee legs!”

Mrs. Pleasant smiled. “Come, come, Célie.” She might have been warning a boastful child. “You know the Captain as well as I do. I tell you in this case the pressure
which can be brought to bear is such that none of your valued clients would dare lift a finger in your behalf.”

Célie had been studying the other's face, which now wore its most benign expression, as if she were trying to assess how much truth there was in that threat.

“You know ziss?” The bombast was gone from her voice.

“Would I be here at this hour if I were not certain? We have been acquaintances a long time, Célie. Because of that I have come to warn you. What story you have been told, I do not know. But the truth is exactly what I have said. If it were known that this girl was under your roof it would rock this city from top to bottom. We have come for her. Once she is away all will be forgotten.”

“He said—she ees his wife—” Célie bit her full lower lip, rubbed her hands together. “He vill be most angree—”

“There are those who will be even more angry, ones who have the power to make that anger felt. Keep her and you will have no house, perhaps you shall even finish your days in prison, Célie. You know well enough there are those in this city whose wills can supersede even the law.”

“She has said ziss also—zat she ees his wife.”

“Which he doubtless forced her to say. I have brought one with me who knows her well, can persuade her to go with us.” Mrs. Pleasant gestured toward me. For the first time Célie glanced in my direction.

“Ziss von—she ees only a maid—”

“A maid, yes. But one who knows enough to make your guest remember who and what she is. Let them be alone for a space, then we shall leave and you will have nothing to fear.”

“Except him! And he ees a bad man—a veree bad man.”

“He shall also be taken care of, I promise you, Célie. Captain Lees dislikes troublemakers, he shall be informed.”

“Ah, you have an answer for all!” Célie flung at her.

“Except what you have already been given, Célie—the gold paid for this service. Better return that and be
sure of a less troubled future. I would advise no greediness in this case—”

Angry as the woman was, for some reason she did not set her will against that of my companion. As she turned abruptly to the concealed door she said, “So. Let eet be. Come viss me—you!”

It was me she addressed and we went back along the cupid-lighted corridor, to a continuation of the back flight of stairs.

“Up—eet ees zee first door.” She went swiftly away, her heavy skirts whispering over the carpet.

I groped my way up, feeling unequal to the task ahead. However, when one is faced by a disagreeable or dangerous duty, it is best to move without delay.

A single gas jet gave light enough to see the door. I turned the knob, more than half expecting to find it locked. It was not and I entered.

“Christophe!” A name, murmured softly, reached me.

Victorine sat on the edge of a bed, wearing only a filmy wrapper which made her look as wanton and shameless as those dreadful pictures below. When she saw me her eyes went wide.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I had forgotten my disguise. Now I swept off that bonnet with its fringe of false curls.

“It is Tamaris, Victorine. I have come—”

She stared at me, then tensed, her mouth twisted in a ugly way. This was not the Victorine I knew. Only I was given little time to assess the stranger for she burst out, “Go away, do you hear me—go away! I do not need
you.
Where is Christophe, what have you done with him? If you do not go I shall scream and scream. Then, when they find you here—you shall be sorry, you pinched-faced little cat my brother set to watch me!”

She laughed in so wild a way that I thought of drugs. If Amélie had been left to die, then perhaps Victorine had been given something which had turned her brain. My horror of that was so great that for a moment I could not answer at all. Then I knew that I must depend upon the
weapon Mrs. Pleasant had given me. Otherwise I could never get Victorine out of this terrible place.

The handkerchief was in my hand. But I must get closer to the distraught girl before I could use it.

“Victorine”—I strove to hold my voice steady—“truly I mean you no harm. We have been so worried—you left us without a word—”

“You lie, Tamaris.” Again she laughed. “All you worry about is that Alain will blame you because his plans are spoiled. He hates Christophe, he swore we should never be together. But Alain is not
le bon Dieu!”
Again came that wild laughter. “There are many things he cannot control, for all his money and power. Now I stay with Christophe. And when
she
knows what is due me she will pay more and more. Alain shall also give us money—you will see. Christophe is not a nothing Alain can sweep from his path—he knows much. Alain shall pay, more and more and more—”

The hysteria in her voice was plain. I had myself under control, knew what I must do.

Then Victorine began to repeat words strange to me, allowing her robe to slip from her shoulders until she was nude to the waist. She reached beneath her pillow and pulled forth that serpent necklace, fastening it about her throat so its evil head hung between her breasts.

Her preoccupation with the necklace gave me the chance I needed. Moving swiftly, I flipped the handkerchief in her face. The yellow dust struck her cheek and chin, adhering thickly to her skin. Victorine gave a startled cry which turned into a cough as she inhaled or swallowed some of the powder.

As she continued to cough her hands fell into her lap. Now she stared straight ahead, her eyes vacant.

“Victorine?” I spoke her name gently as I drew the wrapper up about her. If she heard me she made no answer.

“Victorine!” I endeavored to awaken some spark of recognition. “You must get dressed, we have to go quickly.”

Slowly she arose. “Get—dressed,” she repeated as might
a puppet. Still staring ahead, not even looking at the garments for which she fumhled, she did dress. I tied laces, buttoned, and hooked as fast as I could. For a moment I could only think that she was manageable now.

I was in the midst of hooking her bodice, while she stood like a doll, when the door opened. Terrified by a faint creak, I looked over my shoulder. Had it been D'Lys I would have been lost, but Mrs. Pleasant stood there.

She studied Victorine and nodded as she picked up from a chair a hooded cloak. I made no attempt to order Victorine's hair, which still spilled across her shoulders. But with the cloak on and its hood pulled up, she was well hidden.

“We must move fast,” Mrs. Pleasant warned. “The virtue of those herbs does not last long. If she rouses the house we might be in trouble.”

I needed no other spur. Together we urged Victorine down the stairs and she went like a sleepwalker. During the rest of our journey through the house we met no one; perhaps Célie had arranged that.

Our charge had to be led across the yard, pushed through the fence gap. Mrs. Pleasant moved with quick energy. I wondered in what strange undercurrents of this city she swam. That she might have two sides to her character I already believed. But her help tonight was beyond price.

The hack still waited in the alley. Three on its seat was a tight fit as we put Victorine between us. I hoped we could continue to manage her when the effects of the powder wore off.

How late was the hour I did not know. There were no open shops about, and most of the houses we passed had a secret, well-shuttered look. As if what lay behind their windows were no normal life.

I had intended to defy Mrs. Pleasant and return with Victorine to the hotel. Now I knew that I could not do that. However, I clung to a thin hope that Mrs. Pleasant might relent and agree with me even yet.

“I do not see how we can get her back to the hotel—”

“But we are not taking her there, child. For the time
being she will be much better at Washington Street. No one will know she is there. And as soon as Mr. Sauvage arrives in the city, he will be notified and can come for her. He will be able to provide a believable story for her absence and carry it off.”

That Alain was capable of that I had no doubt. I should have felt an overwhelming relief at such a sensible suggestion. Except that I could not forget that I had not fulfilled my trust or my duty. That we had had to enter
such
a place to find Victorine—

Célie's talk of her marriage to Christophe, that must only have been an excuse he used to enlist the woman's aid. Though perhaps the girl might even believe she had gone through a form of marriage. If so, Alain knew how to deal with that. But if even a rumor of this night's work ever reached those circles in which Victorine was to move—she was lost.

Thus I was not relieved, only tormented by a sense of anxiety and foreboding, as I once more entered Mrs. Pleasant's own domain.

We did not return to her sitting room, rather climbed a second flight of stairs to the third floor. There our hostess showed us into a bedroom which was not luxurious, but comfortable enough to suggest she treated her maids—if this was a maid's chamber—very well.

I steered Victorine ahead of me. But, as Mrs. Pleasant closed the door, that sound acted on my charge like a waking bell. Victorine twisted out of my hold and swung around. In the light of the lamp Mrs. Pleasant carried her face was contorted with fury, her crooked fingers reached to score the flesh of my face.

“Let me go—!” Her voice scaled into a screech.

Mrs. Pleasant moved swiftly behind her. As we struggled, my strength was not enough to save me from a smarting scratch on the side of my chin. But our hostess seized and held Victorine's upper arms.