The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (29 page)

He nodded and then ran his eyes over her. The moonlight cast a faint glow on her face and reflected the champagne color of her gown.

“Now, it is my turn,” Sydnee said, brushing a wisp of hair away from her face. She smiled and asked shyly, “Why have you never married?”

Fletcher laughed. “Well, you get right to the intimate details, don’t you?” He sighed and shrugged. “No great mystery. I have never had time for a wife. I jumped right over the marrying part and went right to children. And will you remain unmarried and forever faithful to your foppish friend, Saint-Yves?”

The smile dropped from Sydnee’s face, and Fletcher knew that he made a mistake. “I apologize,” he said quickly. “The whisky has loosened my tongue.”

“Dr. Locke, I accept your apology, but you lack manners. It is apparent that being busy is not the only reason you’re unmarried. Good night.”

Sydnee started to her room, but he stepped in front of her. She ran into him and then stepped back with surprise. He was almost a head taller than her. She could smell the liquor on his breath and feel the warmth of his skin. 

“What do they tell you about us?” he demanded.

“Who?” she asked.

“The spirits. Your Hoodoo spirits.”

“This is ridiculous,” she replied, trying to step around him, but he caught her by the arms. His hands felt hot on her skin.

“Ask them about us. They know,” he ordered. “But you won’t like what you hear.”

He reached up and lifted her chin, and kissed her. Slowly he moved his mouth over her lips and then arched her body back so far that her breasts pushed firmly into his chest. Suddenly she felt small, like a rag doll, and a rush of warmth flooded her.

“My God,” he murmured as he ran his mouth down her neck, his whiskers grazing her skin. Sydnee felt the blood pulsing in her ears as she leaned back letting him run his lips over the tops of her breasts.

Suddenly she pushed him away. “Stop,” she said.

He stepped back from her, looking confused.

“You have the wrong idea. I-I am faithful to Monsieur Saint-Yves,” she said.

He frowned. She had been returning his passion. He had felt her heat. Nevertheless, her rejection stung him. He straightened his jacket and said, “Mademoiselle Sauveterre, I would actually have to
think
about you to have the wrong idea about you.”

Sydnee felt a rush of anger at the insult. She went to her stateroom and slammed the door.

Chapter 27

Sydnee was furious with Locke. The man had not only stolen her peace of mind but her communication with the spirits. She feared listening to them, filled with trepidation about what they may say about him.

Sydnee was not only afraid of her infatuation for Fletcher but of the ramifications of a serious liaison. If she allowed herself to fall in love with this man, any man, she could compromise Tristan’s secret relationship with D’anton. Creoles were tolerant of men having an
inamorata,
but men loving men was another story and extremely taboo. Tristan had Isabel for this masquerade, but they needed a home in which to rendezvous. She could not take a chance by allowing anyone else into this world which was balanced so precariously on secrets and trust.

The next morning
The
Mississippi Empress
arrived in St. Louis. Sydnee was packing when there was a knock on her stateroom door. It was Locke. Although he was dressed in crisp, clean clothes, he looked as if he had slept little, with dark rings under his eyes. With a sheepish look, he held out a tussie-mussie of flowers for her.

“I am unfamiliar with the language of flowers,” he said. “But I hope there is a flower in the group that denotes apology.”

Sydnee gave him a crooked smile and took the bouquet of miniature blossoms that he had just purchased from a peddler onshore. “I am sure there is a hyacinth here somewhere. Thank you.”

“Are you ready?” he asked. “I just had our luggage directed to the St. Louis Hotel. I booked adjoining rooms for us there. This way everyone thinks we are married, but we still have separate rooms.”

“I too am prepared,” she said, holding up her left hand. It had a ring on it.

They walked down the landing stage of
The Mississippi Empress
arm in arm that sunny afternoon as if they were married. The St. Louis landing was alive with activity. It was loud and smelled of fish, wood smoke, and horse dung. Everywhere Sydnee looked, there were peddlers and draymen, slaves, sailors, and river rats.

Laclede’s landing, once a small 18
th
Century French village, was now the bustling commercial center of the city of St. Louis, Missouri. Cobblestone streets, lined with warehouses and outfitters, all catered in some way to the frantic stampede of westward expansion that swept the country. Prospectors, immigrants, and charlatans pushed through the city, shoulder to shoulder, all in search of a better life west of the Mississippi.

Hawkers sang the praises of their oxen, or recently constructed “prairie schooners”, enticing travelers to come take a look at their “exceptional” merchandise. Swindlers, gamblers, and miscreants lurked on every corner, competing and groveling for any opportunity to fleece the naive. Prostitutes lingered in every doorway, displaying their attributes.

Fletcher and Sydnee wound their way through this chaos, not speaking until they reached a quiet residential street. “Where are we going?” Sydnee asked.

“They said at the hotel that most of the sales are at a place on Clark Street.”

“Look at this,” Sydnee said, bending down and picking up a handbill. It was an advertisement for a slave sale at Murphy’s Exchange on Clark Street followed by an orphan adoption meeting. “Every Sunday at the Exchange,” she said. “Just like Giselle’s husband said in his letter.”

“Orphan sales
every
Sunday? That’s a lot of children.”

“They must be sweeping cities up and down the river gathering youngsters,” Sydnee said. “I am guessing they are holding sales as far north as Dubuque. Remember Ruth? She escaped from Hannibal. I think this is a much larger operation than we realized.”

Murphy’s Exchange was only a few blocks away. It was a massive domed structure, which was not only a hotel, but an auction house, a
maison de café
by day, and a drinking establishment by night.

Neither Sydnee nor Dr. Locke wanted to watch the slave auction and waited in a doorway nearby until they were finished. “There are many things I detest about England, but at least we don’t enslave the African,” he said as he watched slaves leave the Exchange with their masters.

Sydnee chuckled cynically. “That’s right. Why bother when you have the Irish?”

Locke opened his mouth to argue, and then changed his mind.

At last it was time for the orphan sale, and they entered the building. People were pulling up in wagons, others came on foot. Most of them looked like farmers or settlers traveling west coming to find low cost labor. Gaunt and sinewy, the men were in work boots, wore threadbare clothing and had tanned leathery skin. The women were equally weather-beaten. They wore shabby bonnets and had dingy shawls draped over their thin shoulders. There were a few smartly-dressed people who Sydnee thought were probably looking for servants. She hoped a few of these people were sincerely interested in welcoming an orphaned child into their home.

The atrium of Murphy’s Exchange was a large pillared area with a chandelier overhead, stone floors and a faux marble platform suitable for displaying merchandise. A worker stepped up with a broom, swept the platform off quickly, and then nodded to a man in a dirty black suit coat standing in a doorway. The man in the suit coat had on the collar of a preacher, long shaggy side burns, and dirty unkempt hair.

He stepped up onto the platform and addressed the crowd in a drawl. “Good day, folks. My name is Brother Jackson and God bless ya’ll for coming. In a moment you will witness God’s finest creation--his children. These children have been dealt cruel blows and orphaned at tender ages in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Natchez.”

Fletcher looked at Sydnee and whispered, “Multiple cities.”

“They have lost their parents but escaped the ravages of disease themselves because of their fine constitutions. Nevertheless they have been rendered destitute and homeless, and I appeal to your hearts today to give them loving homes.”

He swept his arm, and a chubby, middle-aged woman directed the orphans onto the platform. The tallest orphans came out first, mostly boys and girls around the age of eleven or twelve followed by younger children. Some of the older girls held the hands of toddlers or carried infants. In all, there were about sixty orphans. Their eyes looked too big for their faces because they were emaciated, and their clothes were hanging on them like scarecrows. It was obvious someone had washed their faces and hands before the sale, but their hair was dirty and matted.

“These poor unfortunates have come a long way to unite with you today. Granted they are thin but with good food and hard work they will be back to full health in a jiffy.”

Then Brother Jackson put his hands up in a dramatic gesture. “Now, we ask nothing from you for these dear children of God. They are not for sale. The only recompense we ask is the cost for bringing them upriver to you today. In one easy transaction with my colleague in the back of the atrium, you may take them home. Now step right up and feel free to converse with our angels and examine them. You will find them in excellent health.”

Sydnee and Fletcher watched people step up and quickly surround the older boys. They picked up their arms to examine their biceps, had them bend over and touch their toes or jump up and down. Many of the customers had children open their mouths to examine their teeth while others checked the whites of their eyes. Several women took infants into their arms and rocked them. Some customers talked with the girls, but they were not a popular commodity. It was the boys they wanted for labor on the wagon trains or farms.

“Have you noticed there are no mulattos or Negros in the group?” Fletcher muttered to Sydnee. “They don’t want anyone accusing them of stealing slaves.”

Customers were now taking children to the desk in the rear of the atrium to pay. Almost all of the boys over the age of eight were taken, most of the infants, and a few of the girls. As the crowd thinned out, Jackson stepped off the platform to pressure customers who had not yet made up their minds.

Sydnee felt queasy and stepped over to lean against a pillar. A humming started in her ears and her heart started to pound. She anticipated the sale would sicken her, but this seemed excessive. The humming became louder and louder. Suddenly, with a jolt, she realized that this was the droning that preceded a vision.

Panicking, she appealed to the spirits.
Not now! I must not attract attention.
No, please!
Panting, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, trying to block the vision.

Fletcher noticed her, and in two steps he was upon her. “Are you ill? What is it?”

With that, Sydnee’s head snapped forward, and her eyes opened. She realized the spirits had been trying to warn her about someone. She looked across the atrium and there he was, looking just like he had looked years ago on The Trace. It was the man who had come for a reading from Margarite in the shed that stormy night long ago when Sydnee was only fourteen. It was the man who Cumptico, the snake, had cornered. There was no mistaking him, tall and thin, rounded shoulders, heavy brow and sunken cheeks.

Sydnee stared at him with horror. Just like it was yesterday, he wore his threadbare greatcoat and heavy boots. His head was down, and his collar was up.

When Brother Jackson finished with one of the couples he started talking to him. They seemed to be conducting a transaction regarding the remaining children.

“What is it?” Fletcher asked.

She reached up and pushed the damp hair from her forehead. “Find out what that Jackson man is saying to that creature,” she murmured.

He nodded, looking at the men. “Very well.”

Fletcher strolled over casually. When he returned, he told her that the man in the greatcoat was purchasing the remaining children.

“No,” she gasped. “No, don’t let him!” she blurted, taking his lapels.

“Quiet,” he said, grabbing her arms and whisking her behind a pillar. Locke had never seen her so agitated. Sydnee’s eyes were on fire, and she was shaking.

“Don’t let him near those children. This man is evil, capable of anything. You must stop him!”

“Hush,” he said. “Lower your voice.”

Tears started to run down her cheeks.

“There, there,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. “Be still. Don’t worry. I will take care of it.”

As Sydnee buried her face in his jacket, Fletcher frowned. He had to think of something and think fast. Pulling out his handkerchief, he bent over, dried her tears and said, “Stay here.”

Stepping onto the platform, he approached one of the girls and asked her to open her mouth. He looked down her throat, felt the glands in her neck and then approached the next child.

Brother Jackson came over. “Good day, friend,” he said to Locke. “Do you see someone who interests you?”

Locke ignored him. He went to the next child, looked down the boy’s throat and felt his neck as well. He turned to Brother Jackson and said abruptly, “No one is taking any more orphans. These children have diphtheria.”

Jackson’s eyes grew large, and he barked, “Impossible! They are as healthy as horses. Just exactly who are you, sir?”

“I am a doctor, and these children are going to the hospital. They need to be quarantined immediately.”

“How dare you!” Jackson roared. With a flourish, he signaled to the woman to start taking the children off the platform.

In a flash, Locke grabbed Jackson by the jacket and snarled, “I’ll let the constables know that you are contributing to a contagion.”

Jackson’s eyes grew wide, and he babbled, “No, no, not necessary. Take them. Take them all. I have no use for sick children.”

Dr. Locke stepped back. Never taking his eyes off Jackson, he motioned to Sydnee saying, “Mademoiselle, if you please!”

Sydnee scurried up.

“Take these children to the hospital,” he said.

“Very well,” she murmured and began to direct the children to come with her.

Locke dragged his eyes from Jackson’s face and looked at the orphans. Instantly his demeanor softened. “You will be just fine,” he said, going from one to the other. “Do not worry. We will take care of you.”

When Locke turned around, Brother Jackson, and his assistants were darting out the door. The man who terrified Sydnee had disappeared as well.

“What the hell are we supposed to do with all these children?” Fletcher said to Sydnee. “There must be thirty of them.”

Sydnee smiled, looking relieved. “I don’t know Dr. Locke. This was your idea.”

He mustered a smile, running his hand through his tangled hair. As quickly as possible they whisked the orphans out of The Exchange. With Sydnee in the back and Fletcher in the front they hustled the children down several blocks to a quiet street and stopped. “Where are we going?” Sydnee asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t think,” Locke said. The toddler he had on his back was crying. Sydnee handed the child to an older girl. “We need to get them back to New Orleans somehow,” he said, straightening his shoulders.

“A paddle wheeler?” she suggested.

“I haven’t the fare for thirty children. Besides, once Jackson and his thugs see that we aren’t at the hospital, the first place they’ll look is the landing.”