Guarded Heart (14 page)

“I realize, and don't object in principle,” Ariadne said seriously. “Oh, but then there is the condolence call and everything else.”

“Yes, though I think you can avoid the ordeal of sitting with the remains through the night. That is, unless you prefer it. As for the burial, I am told arrangements are being made to transport the bodies and mourners back upriver to their place in the country.”

Ariadne had hoped for that outcome. To hear it confirmed was an enormous relief. As embarrassed as she might be by that obvious self-interest, one question concerning it stood out above the rest.

“You think my mother will return to New Orleans afterward?”

“No one knows, though I should think it unlikely.” Maurelle reached for her coffee cup, cradling it between her hands. “She will hardly rejoin the social round while in mourning, even if she should wish to continue the pursuit of a husband for your sister. The girl herself could attend only the most staid of entertainments, so may as well remain at home.”

Had her problem been so easily resolved? Ariadne hardly dared accept it. After a moment, she asked, “What of the condolences?”

“Calling on your mother at once will be best. At least you may choose the time and duration of the visit and will not appear backward in your filial duty. As for whether to join them on their sad homeward journey, you must please yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Ariadne said gratefully. Leaving New Orleans was the last thing on her mind.

“You will naturally wear black for the visit. Afterward, I should recommend gray at the very least.”

Gray seemed a workable compromise. Being a fashionable color this season, it might easily pass without remark by a certain swordsman, at least for the short time required. “Do you think many know of the connection?” she asked after a moment.

“Perhaps not at present, but this tragedy may resurrect the memories of those who knew of your adoption. It is sure to be grist for the gossip mill in time.”

She could only hope that it was later rather than sooner, Ariadne thought as her lips tightened. As for the rest, Maurelle might be a fairly free spirit but no one knew the refinements of the New Orleans social code so well. If she thought a condolence call while in black was necessary, then there was no escaping it.

“You will accompany me for the visit, I hope.”

“If you like,” her hostess said, though there was a question in her direct gaze.

Ariadne was not sure whether her request was made from a need for support or merely for the sake of company in her misery, but she smiled and thanked her friend, regardless.

They set out during the afternoon, Maurelle in subdued gray with lavender piping and Ariadne in a gown and bonnet rushed from the nimble fingers of Madame Pluche who kept black ensembles on hand for just such emergencies. They walked, since the rain was in abeyance for the time being and it was only a few blocks to the Hotel St. Louis where her mother was in residence. A note had been sent asking if their call was convenient, given that her mother was in seclusion. The reply was brief, but in the affirmative. At least they could expect to be received.

They entered by the side door reserved for ladies without male escorts, nodding to the porter who held it open for them. Another time Ariadne might have been annoyed at the extra steps required to reach it, but in this case she was happy to use the more discreet entrance. It allowed her to avoid the front door which opened on the Passage de la Bourse and a chance sighting from the gentleman who had his atelier there.

The suite they entered was in chaos. Beyond the open doors of the two bedchambers connected to the sitting room, trunks could be seen with their lids flung open. A pair of maids bustled here and there with clothing over their arms and collections of oddments in their hands from button hooks to sewing boxes. The opulence of the hotel room with its swag-and-fringe-laden draperies, Brussels carpet and brocatelle-covered furnishings, seemed to suggest a change for the better in the circumstances of Ariadne's mother since her remarriage. It was an impression aided by jet jewelry which complemented the deep, lusterless black worn by her and the daughter of marriageable age for whose sake she had been in the city.

One of the maids was sent for a tray of refreshment from the hotel kitchen while the other withdrew, muttering, into one of the bedchambers, shutting the door behind her. Ariadne and Maurelle were left in the sitting room with Ariadne's mother and her half sister.

“It's very good of you to come,” Madame Arpegé said with great dignity when the greetings and introductions were out of the way. “I would not have had it be under these circumstances for anything in the world, but—” She stopped, pressing a black-edged handkerchief to her eyes.

“No, nor would I.” Ariadne swallowed an unaccountable knot in her own throat before she went on. “My every sympathy is with you, I assure you, though you must realize that I hardly…”

“No, no, of course you don't know us, I quite understand that. We have lived apart for so many years, so very many years.” Her mother summoned a smile which lifted the lines of her face, making her seem endearingly familiar to Ariadne for an instant, as if she might recall that expression from childhood.

Ariadne's half sister moved closer to where their mother sat on the settee, reached out to take her free hand, holding it between both of hers. This was Sylvanie Renée who had not been born when Ariadne was given for adoption, daughter of the stepfather who had died. She appeared fifteen or sixteen perhaps but mature with it, not at all an unusual age for the marriage market. Though not quite as tall or as thin as Ariadne, she had the same pale skin, and dark eyes and hair, the same steady way of looking at people. Yes, and even the same expression of mistrust.

“Oh, but I expect you are wondering why I tried to contact you at the theater the other night. It was the call of a mother's heart. I didn't mean to intrude but saw you and had to speak to you, to explain. No matter how many children a woman may have, the loss of even one must forever be felt inside. Hardly a day has gone by in all the time since I gave you up that I haven't regretted parting with you, regretted even more the move which took me, took all of us, so far away.”

Ariadne leaned forward in her chair. “Why—” She stopped, cleared her throat. “Why did you?”

Madame Arpegé met her eyes, her own drowned in tears. “How to explain when it was so many things, really. I was so tired, you see; that is the first thing. I loved your father desperately and the babies came almost every year, one after the other. You were barely two and I was already increasing again. A hurricane ruined the sugarcane harvest and we could not repay the money we owed against it. Your father gambled away the last of our reserves trying to recoup the loss, then was so distraught I feared…feared he might do away with himself. My cousin Josephine, your
marraine,
came to visit and fell in love with you. She begged so to have you, and her husband, your
parrain,
offered…offered a loan that seemed our salvation. I thought…I thought…”

“Please. I understand.”

“Do you? I'm not sure I do. I've wondered so many times how I, your mother, could…” Her mother made a helpless gesture with her handkerchief. “We lost our home anyway, the next season, you know. By then, Francis was born. I pleaded that you be returned to me but Josephine wouldn't hear of it. You had become hers and you adored baby Francis. He needed a sister, she said, she might never have another child. In the end, we went away.”

“I never knew…was never told that you asked to have me back.” Ariadne could see why it had been kept from her; still she wondered if everything might not have been different if she had known. Hearing it now, she felt the easing of a hard knot of old resentment.

“Josephine was afraid you would hate her, I think, and so…” Her mother lifted her shoulder in a fatalistic gesture. “But it must have seemed strange to you, our desertion. I quite realize that now. At the time, it was simply less painful to go away where I need not see your sweet face, would not be reminded. Then your father died, and it was like…like a judgment upon us.”

“Please, you must not upset yourself further,” Ariadne said, her voice not quite even. “It's all in the past now.”

“Yes, and then you were sent farther away, to Paris,” her mother continued as if she did not hear. “All thought of ever seeing you again was ended, or so I thought. But by chance, the most astonishing chance, I heard you had returned to the city.”

“It's fortunate that you were here as well.” For a brief moment, Ariadne remembered her suspicion that it was Jean Marc's fortune that had brought her mother to her, and was ashamed.

“As to that, your oldest sister lives here now. You know that you have nine living sisters as well as three stepsisters? Three were lost as children to fever soon after we moved upriver, and then you know of my poor, darling Cecilia and the horror of….”

She trailed off, searched for a dry corner on her handkerchief, used it again. Ariadne looked down at her hands fighting her own tears. It was Maurelle who took up the conversation.

“You say you have a daughter in residence here?”

“But yes, since last year, my Beatrice. It's she who has been helping with invitations for Sylvanie during this season. Her husband is a cotton factor with an office in the Passage de la Bourse.”

Ariadne shared a quick glance with Maurelle even as she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. The Passage was not a long street, being only a pedestrian alleyway leading from the business district of lower Canal Street to the Hotel St. Louis and through its great central rotunda onward to the Cabildo where records were filed and legal business transacted. Any sort of office would be only a step away from the
salon d'assaut
kept by Gavin Blackford.

“How providential for your Sylvanie. I am assuming Beatrice's husband has family connections here?” Maurelle asked with a pleasant smile in the girl's direction.

Madame Arpegé made a distracted sound of agreement before turning back to Ariadne. “What I have told you—it isn't all what I meant to say,
ma chère…
You don't mind that I address you so?”

Ariadne shook her head, too anxious over what else her mother might tell her to voice an objection.

“I wanted to see you, most of all, because word came to me that you were alone in the world. No one should be without family, especially when there are those of their blood waiting to take them in their arms. Family is everything,
n'est pas?
Monsieur Arpegé, my dear Theophile, quite agreed. He doesn't…didn't…care for the city, but felt he should join me here, the better to convince you. Oh, but now…”

Ariadne put a hand to her throat where her breathing was suddenly constricted. “You are saying he died because of me?”

“No, no, there is no blame! I didn't mean to…it's only…oh, please, please don't think so! It's merely the terrible sadness of it. He adored having a family of girls, loved seeing them in their new finery as they tripped down the stairs to show him.” She shook her head, mopping tears. “He so looked forward to adding you to their number, one who could speak to him of Paris where he studied as a young man during his grand tour.”

“I'm…sorry that I shall not have the pleasure of his acquaintance.” It was actually true, Ariadne realized as she said it. He sounded like a gentleman it might have been a privilege to know.

Her mother wiped her eyes yet again, keeping them closed for a long instant before she released a sigh. “Yes. Oh, yes. He will be greatly missed by us all. As for our Cecilia…but I must not think of that or…Our time is short, and I should tell you that you are an aunt, yes, several times over. You were my fourth-before-the-last child, so have older sisters who have been married these several years. The count is six nieces and four nephews to whom you must be introduced.”

It was too much, being presented with such a large family after thinking of herself as solitary. Ariadne could not quite take it in or decide how she felt. The close relationship was not something she could claim while pretending to be without family connections. Gavin Blackford already knew too much about her; if she turned up with a long-lost mother, he could well begin to put together her past.

She rose to her feet with a swiftness which so startled the maidservant just coming through the outer door that the china rattled on the tray she carried. “You go too fast, Madame Arpegé—”

“Maman, your
maman.
”

“My
maman,
the woman I knew by that name, passed away almost four years ago. I must tell you that I have a life of my own now, one I cannot abandon in an instant because of an accident of birth.”

“Of course, you do. I would not…”

“You can't simply take me back and expect everything to be the same,” Ariadne continued a little desperately. “I must have a choice this time, since I had none when I was small.”

“Oh,
ma chère.
” Her mother shook her head in distress while Sylvanie Renée stared at her in reproach.