The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (25 page)

“Oh, forgive me, you will certainly be at Mass,” he said sarcastically. “Let’s make it nine.”

Sydnee scowled and said, “Very well, nine.”

Before he left, he turned back and asked, “By the way, your costume. What are you?”

Holding the mask over her face, Sydnee thrust her arm into the air, and Vivian swooped down to perch on her wrist. “Tonight I masquerade as an old friend.”

*                    *                    *

Dr. Locke took the long way home that night. He walked out of his way so he could watch guests arriving at the Orleans Ballroom for the masquerade. He stood in the shadows across the street with his hands in his pockets. Although he did not dance and most of these functions bored him, he would have liked to have attended this event. He hated to admit it, but something stirred within him when he was around that Sauveterre woman. It was mesmerizing to watch her move, and her personality was certainly unpredictable. One minute she was elegant and reserved, the next she was sharp-tongued and derisive.

At last the stream of guests arriving for the ball diminished, and the music began. He heard laughter and saw costumed figures sail past the ballroom windows. Locke thought of Sydnee once more, smiling when he remembered the sharp tone she used with him. He turned toward home wondering if she was like that with everyone, or if Fletcher Locke was the only one who could ruffle those feathers.

*                   *                    *

Tristan watched Sydnee in the carriage on the way to the ball. She sat stiffly in her seat, staring out the window. “What did Locke say that upset you, my love?” he asked.

“
Pardon?
” Sydnee said absent-mindedly. “Oh, nothing that matters now. We must forget ourselves and attend to our guests tonight.”

“Very well, Madame Picard,” Tristan teased.

Charles looked at him, confused.

The carriage stopped, and the coachman pulled the door open. Sydnee slid forward, took the driver’s gloved hand and stepped out, followed by Tristan and Charles. The three of them stood by the front door of the Orleans Ballroom to receive guests.

Charles dreaded having to talk with strangers and shake their hands. He was never comfortable around people and when he had to talk, he was often tongue-tied. 

He was surprised that Mademoiselle Sauveterre did not seem comfortable either. She stood staring straight ahead, clearly preoccupied. But the moment the first guest arrived, her transformation was miraculous. She smiled gaily and offered her gloved hand for kisses. She cooed and gushed over costumes, laughed and made small talk with everyone young and old. She made every person that walked through that door feel comfortable and welcome. Uncle Tristan had the same knack for hospitality. They both were poised and comfortable.

Charles wished he was like them. He was mortified when someone talked to him, he stammered and blushed and struggled for words. Without fail, Mademoiselle Sauveterre would rescue him, or Uncle Tristan would jump into the conversation.

Mademoiselle Sauveterre was the most beautiful woman Charles had ever seen. He admitted that many of the ladies present were more buxom and full-figured. Many of them were more flirtatious and coy, but Mademoiselle Sauveterre had a grace and charm that enchanted him. Uncle Tristan called her captivating. He guessed that was a good word to describe her.

The Orleans Ballroom was ablaze with candles, casting a golden glow over everything. A massive crystal chandelier was in the center of the ballroom, and the chamber was lined with tall mullioned windows. French doors opened on one side into a courtyard with a fountain where guests could sit and listen to the water or move into the shadows for a kiss.

The orchestra was seated at the far end of the ballroom, and with a nod from Sydnee, they opened the ball with a Polonaise so everyone could display their costumes. The dress was an opulent mix of the beautiful and macabre. There were jesters wearing pointed hats with bells, sultans in gold with turbans, and royalty from the 17
th
Century. Some of the guests were dressed as Chinamen, or buccaneers in black and gold. There were tropical birds with colorful plumes and hideous creatures with long noses, horns and sharp teeth. Isabel came dressed as Marie Antoinette and spent the night laughing and dancing, hiding successfully behind her white mask and plumed fan. Sydnee looked for D’anton in vain. He could have been anyone hiding behind a costume.

Her first dance was with Tristan, and then she continued on with others, dancing two quadrilles and a cotillion. Staggering over for a glass of claret, she heard someone say, “May I have the pleasure of this next dance?” It was Charles. His face was flushed, and he bowed stiffly.

Sydnee took a breath, smiled and said, “I would be delighted.”

She could feel his hand shaking as he put it on her waist. He was so thin that Sydnee felt like she was holding a bag of bones. She looked down at him as he struggled to start the waltz. “You mustn’t worry,” she whispered. “It is the lady’s responsibility to follow whatever step you take. Even if it is wrong, I will not mind. I will follow.”

Tristan was talking to a group of people nearby, and Sydnee saw him stop and watch. Charles started out the dance stiffly, stepping on Sydnee’s feet several times, but by the end of the waltz, he had mastered the steps.

“Thank you, Monsieur Saint-Yves. That was delightful,” she said to him.

He looked up at her with delight. “May I have another?”

“You would like to try it again?”

“Yes, I would!”

They danced another waltz, this time more smoothly, and Sydnee laughed when the boy whirled her around several times. When the music ended, Tristan complimented Charles on his dancing but told him that it was time to go home. Sydnee could see that the boy was disappointed, but he was a perfect gentleman, bowing and asking to be excused.

The rest of the masquerade was a grand success. When Sydnee fell into bed that night she was utterly exhausted. She had consumed too much wine, and her head was filled with the sounds of waltzes, laughter and accolades. But as she drifted to sleep, it was not the success of the party that excited her but the fact that once more her life had direction and purpose, and it would all begin with Fletcher Locke in the morning.

*                    *                    *

Morning came quickly, but Sydnee was ready when Fletcher came to the door. “It is a beautiful morning,” he said. “I left the carriage at home. Is it all right if we walk?”

“Of course,” Sydnee said, picking up her parasol. She was dressed in a green and gold plaid day dress. She looked down, and there was Atlantis sitting next to Locke.

“I have prescribed exercise for my patient,” he said. “So it is imperative, the dog join us.”

Sydnee narrowed her eyes at Atlantis teasingly, and she wagged her tail. “Very well, but you must behave.”

“I thought we could walk to market and perhaps pick up some breakfast,” Fletcher suggested.

“Good idea.” Sydnee said, snapping her parasol open.

They strolled down the street with Atlantis behind them. Locke did not enjoy small talk, so he started right in about his concerns. He told Sydnee about the sudden disappearance of children and about his talk with Mother Baptista. As they approached the market, he swept his arm out and said, “Ordinarily after a summer of fever, there are children of all ages loitering and begging in this area. This year in a matter of days, they disappeared. I would like to believe some were taken to good homes but--” and he shook his head.

“Do you think the kidnappers are taking them upriver?”

“That is what I believe.”

“How are they seizing them? Do they snatch them, gag them?” Sydnee asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Thinking of her father, Sydnee said, “Is it possible some of them are surrendered by their parents?”

Fletcher stopped and looked at her. “
Sold
by their parents?”

Sydnee suddenly felt uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and said, “Well, yes. Sometimes parents can no longer feed and clothe their children, so they give them up. But sometimes—yes, there are those that see their young as a financial opportunity.”

Locke sighed and rubbed his forehead. “So we fight wars on several fronts.”

They walked in silence for a while.

At last, Sydnee asked, “If we can stop this, what will we do with these homeless children?”

“Well, there is the Poydras Asylum, but it is badly overcrowded. I would like to start my own orphanage. But how to do it--” He stopped walking and put his fist to his lips, deep in thought.

Sydnee studied him a moment. Although he was naturally fair skinned, he had grown tan in the Louisiana sun. He was a handsome man, but he had lines in his brow from frowning.  Sydnee wondered if these were from constant worry about his patients. She had to remind herself that although he was caring and warm to children, he could be difficult and intolerant of spoiled adults and the privileged classes.

“What was your home like in England?” she asked abruptly.

He frowned and shrugged. “It was a house not a home.”

Sydnee pressed further. “It is a large estate in Gloucestershire. Am I correct?”

“Yes. Your friend, Monsieur Delacroix should not be discussing my affairs.”

“He has not,” Sydnee said quickly. “But there has been talk around town.”

“None of this is relevant. Let’s keep to our topic.”

In reality, Sydnee heard very little gossip about Locke, but he confirmed her suspicions. He scorned the aristocracy because his own background had been privileged.

When they arrived at the market, Fletcher bought coffee and beignets for them, and they sat under an awning at a café table. Atlantis sprawled at their feet.

“Are you still helping women?” he asked, taking a sip of his chicory coffee.

“No.”

“Good, so you can give this a bit of your attention between the soirees and garden parties?”

“Dr. Locke,” Sydnee said firmly.

“Oh yes, my apologies. Where do you think we should start?”

Sydnee put her cup down and stared out over the market. “We must catch the orphans before they are abducted.”

“Indeed. From now on, when a patient is admitted to the hospital, I will obtain names of all the family members. That way if someone dies, I know where to find the children.”

“And we must determine if there are relatives to take them in,” she added. “If there is no one, we must have housing, food and clothing for them.”

“Poydras can take them at first, but once summer begins, they will not have room.”

“We will need to find a building suitable for an orphanage,” Sydnee said. “But most importantly we must put a stop to the abductions. We must dig out the rotten core of this thing and find out who is behind these kidnappings.”

He watched the breeze blow a lock of hair across her cheek, and then he ran his eyes over her breasts. He swallowed hard looking away. Damn her, he thought.
I do not need a woman distracting me right now.

“I have a contact in the North,” Sydnee announced. “And I will write to him. He is in Memphis, although if he had noticed anyone selling children, he would have already written.”

*                    *                    *

Over a month later, Mortimer responded to her letter. As predicted, he had no information about trafficking children, but he would watch for anything unusual. Sydnee was at a loss where to find these predators.

She returned to her life at the salon, but this time she was happier; she had purpose once more. After a month of searching Sydnee and Dr. Locke found an abandoned townhome in Faubourg Marigny that would work as an orphanage and they had D’anton draw up papers for a purchase immediately. It was no secret that they were starting another orphanage. In fact they wanted the public to know; they needed patrons. Sydnee used her connections at the salon to solicit funds from the wealthy, and she never hesitated to lord it over Fletcher. “I see you have a double standard,” she said as she handed him a hefty donation one afternoon. “You loathe these people but will gladly take their money.”

Locke shrugged. “Yes, it’s true. It is much like an apprentice who takes wages from a master who is a despicable buffoon.”

Sydnee sighed. There was no winning an argument with this man, so she decided to ignore him.

One morning, a boy delivered a disturbing note to Sydnee at her townhome. It was from Clotilde. Sydnee remembered the woman’s words when she had consented to helping Frederick, “Someday you will return the favor,” and it appeared that now was the time. Clotilde said that there was a woman in need who wanted to meet Sydnee at midnight at the entrance to St. Louis Cemetery.

Sydnee frowned. She did not like going to City of the Dead. Nevertheless she sent a reply saying that she would be there.

Making an excuse that night, she left the recital of a young soprano at the home of Madame Bottineau and returned to the town house. Telling her new coachman, Amaury, to wait, she dressed in modest attire, called Atlantis and climbed back into the carriage. She was grateful that the moon was almost full. She wanted as much light as possible at the City of the Dead.