The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (15 page)

Banging on the door, she looked through the entry window anxiously. She saw candlelight move down the stairs, and then Madame Picard looked out the window with her servant standing behind her. Pulling the door open, she gasped, “Sydnee what—“

“Maxime is sick. He is alone in the Saint-Yves
garçonnière
.”

Madame Picard stared at her a moment, absorbing the news. She was in her dressing gown and her servant, Clotilde was holding a candle in a glass shade.

“Come in,” she said taking Sydnee’s wrist and pulling her inside. “I will summon Frederick.”

Sydnee, Madame Picard and her elderly black coachman, Frederick left to bring Maxime back to the house while Clotilde stayed behind preparing a room. Maxime tried to move his parched lips when he saw Ninon at the
garçonnière
, but she touched his lips and murmured, “Say nothing, my dear one. I am here now.”

After moving him to her residence, Madame Picard stayed at Maxime’s side throughout the day and well into the next night. He was in a small bed chamber next to her room. Clotilde and Sydnee answered requests, changing and boiling soiled sheets and blankets and keeping vigil while Madame Picard slept for a few hours.

Maxime awakened seldom. He was thin and frail. He did not look like the Maxime Sydnee had known, so haughty and elegant, capable and self-possessed.

Sydnee slept that night for a few hours and then took over for Madame Picard. She sat by the lamp reading but avoided looking at Maxime. He looked even more drawn and withered than when she first discovered him, and his skin looked like parchment.

Suddenly he opened his eyes and tried to speak. Sydnee set her book down and put her ear to his lips.

“I must tell,” he whispered. “Ninon.”

Sydnee looked into his face. His eyes were glassy. “Madame sleeps. It is Sydnee,” she said.

He continued. “You must--you must help them.”

At that moment, Madame Picard came from her bed chamber. She was rolling up her sleeves and said, “I am awake now. What is it, Sydnee?”

“He wants to tell you something.”

Madame said quickly, “I will attend to him. You rest now.”

Sydnee went to her room, fell into bed and slept heavily. When she awoke at dawn, she was surprised that Madame Picard had not come for her. She noticed that Clotilde was sleeping as well. Sydnee went to Maxime’s room and gently pushed the door open. Madame was asleep in the chair, and Maxime was very still on the bed. The sunlight streaming through the sheer curtain illuminated his face. His head was back, and his mouth was open. He was dead.

“Oh, Maxime,” Sydnee uttered, tears filling her eyes.

She dreaded telling Madame, but it must be done. “Madame, wake up,” she said, lightly touching her arm. “Madame.”

The woman’s skin was cold and clammy, and like a bolt of lightning, it hit Sydnee. Madame was not sleeping, she was unconscious. “Clotilde!” she screamed. “Clotilde!”

The servant ran into the room. “Madame is sick now too.”

Together they picked up Madame Picard and took her to her bed chamber. Frederick summoned the corpse cart, and Sydnee watched Frederick carry Maxime down the stairs. Tears were streaming down her face, and her hands were in fists. His body would be thrown into a mass grave with all the other slaves to be buried or burned. It seemed a sorry tribute to the life of a man who had given so much to this world.

Sydnee swallowed hard and returned to Madame Picard’s side. She must attend to the living and be quick about it. Somehow she would keep this woman alive.

*                    *                   *

With the help of Margarite’s remedies and Hoodoo potions, Sydnee managed to save Ninon Picard’s life. Clotilde and Frederick were of great help as well, putting themselves at risk washing linen, emptying chamber pots and standing watch.

Sydnee lit many candles, invoked the power of the spirits and allowed Madame Picard to drink only Margarite’s sickness tea. It took several days but gradually her color returned, and her eyes seemed to take on life again.

Sydnee did not have to tell Ninon about Maxime. She already knew, and the two women suffered in silence. Although Sydnee grieved for Maxime she knew her loss was nothing compared to the emptiness Madame experienced. Sydnee knew Madame Picard had lost the great love of her life, but the woman carried on, holding her head up high.

Over time they returned to their daily tasks, but things had changed. Ninon Picard coped with her loss of Maxime by filling her life with Sydnee. She mentored her and fostered her like a daughter, teaching her everything she knew about great literature, politics, art, and the ways of polite society in the South.

Sydnee was overjoyed with this turn of events and soaked up everything like a sponge. It took many months of mentoring, but by the time she was done, Madame Picard had sculpted a young woman ready to play her part with skill and grace in the aristocratic but deadly world of 19th Century New Orleans.

Chapter 15

New Orleans 1835

Tristan stepped off the ship in New Orleans and took a deep breath of home. There was the rich smell of crayfish boiling at a stand, the heady scent of flowers wafting up from Jackson Square and the aroma of chicory so thick he could taste it. He sent the carriage driver ahead with his trunk, informing him that he preferred to walk. He wanted to stroll the streets once more and immerse himself in the rich ambiance of this flamboyant city on the Mississippi.

Tristan returned to New Orleans a grown man. Although he was taller and his face was leaner, his hair remained as golden as sunshine and his eyes as blue as robin’s eggs. He carried himself now as a gentleman, with an air of confidence and poise. The years he spent on the Continent, he learned self-reliance and determination to succeed.

He was also a man of means. Not only was he in line to inherit the Saint-Yves properties and holdings, but he had interests in several textile industries in Paris and London which were increasing his wealth daily. Shortly before his death, Maxime advised Tristan of three excellent opportunities in cotton which he seized immediately and turned to his benefit. Initially Tristan had devoted a huge amount of time to these ventures, but now the investments had become lucrative enough to hire business managers.

How Tristan missed Maxime. By the time Sydnee’s letter had arrived in Venice, he had been dead for months, and when he read her account, he was devastated. Tristan loved Maxime like a father, and he felt empty and alone without him. D’anton tried to comfort him but without success. For weeks he distracted him with outings to fashionable cafés and salons, or with tickets to the opera, but the passage of time seemed to be the only panacea for him. Eventually he started to smile again, and gradually he returned to his favorite pursuits. Nevertheless, his life was fundamentally changed.

Dressed in a charcoal-colored coat with a black cravat, tall hat, gray vest and pantaloons, Tristan was the picture of fashion strolling down the street. He washed and changed on the packet before going ashore, gladly shedding his dirty ship-board clothing. 

It was curious to be walking on land again, and he was glad he had the use of his cane. Pedestrians stole looks at this attractive young gentleman taking in the sights of the city with a half-smile on his lips. In spite of his growth into manhood, Tristan still had the countenance of an angel. It gave onlookers pause when they beheld him.

The streets were busy today. It was late fall, and everyone had returned from the north to enjoy the cooler months in New Orleans. Market was in full swing and vendors called out to customers. Tristan lifted his hat to the ladies and greeted the gentlemen cordially as he passed. Turning onto Royal Street he came up behind two men strolling and discussing the gossip of the day.

“I have never been this close to her. I heard that she is most exceptional,” said one of the gentleman, swinging his cane.

“Madame Picard has been hiding her all this time,” said the older man. He dropped his voice and said discreetly, “He is foolish to leave her alone this long.”

Tristan looked across the street at the young woman they were discussing. She was walking with a parasol on her shoulder, dressed in the latest Parisian fashion. Her gown was of soft gold silk, fitted on the upper arms, voluminous at the elbows and tight fitting at the cuffs. Her cinnamon-colored hair was swept up onto her head and tied loosely with ribbons, and she had a basket over her arm.

Tristan recognized Sydnee immediately by her large, mahogany-colored eyes. Although now a young woman of nineteen, she still had the appearance of a waif. Although a voluptuous body was
de rigueur
, her chic, gamine look was the perfect frame for fashion, and she wore it well.

The two gentlemen watched in awe as Tristan dashed across the street, jumping from stepping stone to stepping stone, avoiding carriages and pedestrians. He jumped into her path, swept off his hat and bowed low.

Sydnee stopped, wide-eyed. When he straightened up, she cried out. Clutching his arms, she was about to embrace him but then remembered she was in public and kissed his cheeks instead.

“Tristan, Tristan!” she exclaimed. “I had not expected you for several days!”

“The winds were in our favor, and we arrived this morning,” he said, looking into her eyes and holding her hands. “My dear friend,” he murmured.

Becoming aware that they were blocking the sidewalk, Sydnee took his arm, hugged it, and started walking. “Where is your carriage?” she asked.

“I sent it on home. It was such a beautiful day, I thought I would walk.”

“That is how I felt.”

Suddenly there was a flapping of wings, and Vivian landed on Tristan’s shoulder. “Vivian! You haven’t forgotten me,” he said, stroking her feathers.

“Ah, but she was angry with you for a long time.”

“How is Isabel? Mortimer?”

“They are well. Is D’anton still returning at the end of the month?” she asked.

“Yes, he has completed his law studies at Harvard and is ready to start his practice. We have so much to talk about. Can you skip your marketing for today and return to the house?”

“I certainly cannot. This calls for a celebration. We need oysters, champagne--”

“I brought some champagne back from France,” Tristan said.

“We will drink that.”

After purchasing oysters, fish and fresh produce at market they returned to Sydnee’s townhome. They sat at a small café table in the courtyard and ate their supper in the half light of sunset. Vivian sat nearby, not letting Tristan out of her sight, and the dogs were at his feet, overjoyed at his return.

“It is wonderful to be back,” he said, sipping his coffee and sitting back. “I have been homesick. It was too long.”

“Are you going to see your parents?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to see them, but to do business, I must see my father. You know that mother is raising Giselle’s child in Natchez?”

“Yes, there is always talk when they visit
Saint-Denis.
” 

“They will press me to marry Isabel now that I have returned, you know.”

Sydnee nodded.

Tristan continued, “It is a masquerade that is inevitable for all of us. At least Isabel knows and will not expect--or want anything from me.”

He looked at Sydnee. “And you have changed, my dear friend. You are so poised and well spoken. It is apparent you have continued your education.”

“I read and study with Madame Picard daily.”

“You must realize that you are exquisite.”

Sydnee blushed and shook her head. “Tristan, you embarrass me.”

“Do you have beaux?”

“Hardly, I am being kept by a gentleman of property.”

“Ah yes,” Tristan said wistfully. “We are all trapped in this charade.”

*                    *                    *

The wedding celebration was set for Christmas day at
Saint-Denis
. The ceremony would be at St. Louis Cathedral first and then guests would be invited to an intimate wedding breakfast at the house afterward. Madame Picard told Sydnee that weddings in Louisiana were quiet affairs and usually at the home of the bride’s parents, but since Monsieur Trudeau’s health had been poor lately, they decided to entertain at the groom’s plantation. Later in the day Tristan and Isabel would return to New Orleans where they would reside. Tristan purchased a
modest home for them in New Orleans on Chartres Street.

Sydnee had not spoken with Isabel since Tristan returned. The roles they played now as adults did not allow them to see each other publicly. The mistress and the wife would never meet socially. These same constraints made it difficult for her to see Mortimer as well, although on several occasions, when he was in the city to minister to sick horses, he called on Sydnee.

He would come to the door holding his hat in his hand, but never step inside the door. Mortimer was not comfortable indoors, and Sydnee understood this, so she would call the dogs, and they would walk along the river together.

Mortimer continued to amaze her with his boundless intellect which encompassed so many subjects. He could speak articulately on everything from world history to folk remedies. His personal feelings were more difficult for him to express though. They had never spoken of Isabel’s marriage to Tristan, but Sydnee knew that it caused him great pain. They would speak instead of books, music or their favorite topic, Hoodoo remedies.

As her education progressed with Madame Picard, Sydnee’s world became larger too. She had a deeper understanding of politics, philosophy and culture. She loved hearing Madame speak of the famous women of the Parisian salons who hosted gatherings of the greatest minds in all of Europe. She learned that these women had played an integral role in planting the seeds of The Grand Enlightenment which later gave birth to the United States.

The day of the wedding Sydnee awakened early, well before the sun rose. She made herself some chicory coffee and paced. She was worried about Mortimer and D’anton. The dogs watched her walk back and forth, rubbing her forehead. At last she stopped, looked at them and said, “I have decided. Since none of us are welcome at the wedding, I shall keep Mortimer and D’anton company today.”

Atlantis and Baloo wagged their tails in acknowledgement.

Tristan bought Sydnee her own landaulet with instructions to hire Frederick, Madame Picard’s coachman, as needed, so at sunrise Sydnee called on her to ask if she could borrow Frederick, for the day. A few hours later Sydnee was on her way to the wedding celebration at
Saint-Denis
to be with Mortimer. She stopped for D’anton along the way, but his servant said that he was not receiving anyone today.

Wearing a plaid gown with a hooded blue cape, Sydnee looked out of the carriage at the rain splashing on the street. The weather seemed to suit the occasion. She had given Frederick instructions to drive around to the back of the house to the stables. When they turned in the driveway, carriages were arriving for the celebration.

Sydnee pulled up her hood to conceal her face and looked out the window.

The balconies and doors of the plantation were decorated with evergreen boughs and wreaths but instead of red accents for Christmas, the ribbons, flowers and berries were white for the wedding. Sydnee sat back in her seat and sighed. She was glad that she did not have to witness this wedding. Although Isabel’s gown would be grand and Tristan would look dashing in his suit, she knew their hearts would not be in their vows. It would be for them a sad occasion.

Mortimer was unhitching horses when she arrived. With her hood up, she dashed into the stable. He walked in after her, carrying a saddle. Sydnee pulled off her hood, and his jaw dropped. Mortimer looked at the young stable hand standing next to him and then back at Sydnee, saying formally so he did not give her identity away, “How may I help you?”

Sydnee hesitated a moment, looking at the boy. The young man walked away to leave them alone.

“I thought I would pay you a visit today since we are in similar situations,” Sydnee murmured.

Mortimer swallowed hard and dropped his eyes, not replying. When Sydnee walked over to sit on a bale of hay, he barked, “No!” and dashed into his quarters, returning with a desk chair. “You are a lady now.”

Sydnee sat down. “I am still the same old Sydnee to you.”

He nodded, took a brush off the wall and started to groom one of the horses.

She untied her cape and let it drop back onto the chair. “I stopped by to see D’anton, but he was still in bed.”

“He will be in bed all day, I suspect,” he added.

Sydnee nodded and looked around the dark stable. “I see you have unhitched some of the teams. Are there overnight guests?”

“Yes,” he replied, offering no more information.

After a long silence, Mortimer stopped brushing the mare and looked at her. “Don’t you think you should keep your hood up in case someone recognizes you?”

Sydnee looked perplexed. “There are only a handful of people who know who I am.”

“You are wrong. Everyone knows who Mademoiselle Sauveterre is.”

Reluctantly, she drew up the hood over her head.

They spent the rest of the morning discussing everything except the wedding. He updated her on all the animals in his care, and she told him how Vivian had injured her wing recently and how well it had healed. He showed her the books he was reading, and she shared recent news from Europe.

Their conversation helped pass the time, and at last it was time for guests to leave. The cold drizzle soaked Mortimer to the skin as he prepared the horses and carriages for departure, adding to his already miserable state of mind. The worst task was preparing the wedding carriage. Tristan and Isabel would be leaving in a few moments for their first night together in their home in New Orleans.

Like the big house, the wedding carriage was decorated in evergreen boughs, white flowers and ribbons. Nevertheless it too looked miserable. The flowers drooped in the rain and the ribbons sagged to the ground as the driver pulled up to the front door of the big house. Mortimer and Sydnee could hear cheers as the newlyweds left for their new home.