The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (7 page)

Shedding her ragged clothes, Sydnee stepped into the bath. It felt wonderful to shed the dirt from travel and to massage her scalp with the soft soap. When she dried off, she slipped the shift over her head and went back out on the balcony. She looked for Vivian but it was too dark to see her in the trees.

Then something caught her eye. There was movement in the upstairs window of the
garçonnière
. Sydnee could see shadows dancing on the curtain. She blinked and looked more closely. The shadow looked like the profile of a tiny dog. Sydnee realized that someone was in the room doing this puppetry with their hands. The dog bounced back and forth and then dropped down out of sight. She blinked and smiled slowly, wondering if the puppeteer was the young gentleman.

Another silhouette popped up in back of the curtain. This time the shadow seemed to be a bird with a long graceful neck. It turned its head from side to side and dipped repeatedly as if drinking water. Next an alligator appeared and then a deer, and a rabbit.

At last the light was extinguished. It seemed that the puppeteer had gone to bed. Regardless of all the excitement, it was time for Sydnee to rest too. She crawled into the plush feather bed and smiled as she dropped off to sleep. Tomorrow she would meet this young gentleman.

*                   *                    *

Thoroughly excited, Sydnee was up before dawn. She dropped the green gown over her head and walked to the mirror. Sydnee had never seen herself in a full length mirror before, and she turned from side to side thrilled with her new dress. Although it was a day dress, the material was a polished green with a black floral print. It had a wide neckline which ran out to the tips of her shoulders with large sleeves and cuffs. The gown was too big for her, so she pulled the black belt tightly around her waist.

Sydnee was not familiar with dressing her hair, but she found some pins in a drawer and put it up. After she rolled her stockings up her legs, she stepped into her shoes. It was awkward walking, but she was determined to learn the ways of a lady.

As she walked back and forth, there was a knock on the door. When she answered, Giselle walked in and ran her eyes over her.
“Turn around,” she demanded.

When Sydnee turned, Giselle pulled a small sewing kit out of her pocket and began tucking and pulling the material, making basting stitches here and there, adjusting the garment to Sydnee's figure.

“There,” she said, straightening up. “That will do for today. I will alter it permanently tomorrow.” Opening the door, she said, “Now go to the kitchen for food. Monsieur Maxime will meet you there.”

The tall windows flooded the house with sunlight as Sydnee walked down the stairs out to the courtyard. Someone had let the dogs out of the stable, and they sat side by side at the door waiting for her. They ran up to her the minute they saw her. She only had time to give them a quick pet before walking to the kitchen.

The first thing she saw when she stepped in was a large fireplace filled with trammels, cast iron pots, trivets, and frying pans. In front of the hearth was a large wooden table where two dark-skinned women stood, rolling and cutting biscuits. They looked up at Sydnee and then over at Maxime who was finishing his breakfast. He wiped his mouth and stood up, examining her appearance. “Have Giselle show you how to dress your hair, and for goodness sake, have the dress altered.”

Gesturing toward the cook's table, he instructed her to take some biscuits and gravy and ushered her out to a stone bench by the fountain.
He stood before her and paced while she ate.

“In a moment we will go upstairs, and you will meet Monsieur Tristan, but first I must explain your new identity. You will keep the name Mademoiselle Sydnee Sauveterre, but we will tell everyone that you are the young gentleman's distant cousin. He is aware of this arrangement and has been informed about your employment here. Tristan's father, Monsieur Saint-Yves, is the owner of this home and several other properties. We will say that your mother has recently died and you have come here from the Mississippi Country to live. No one will ask questions. This is a very quiet household. Only Monsieur and Madame Saint-Yves and their son live here. Visitors are infrequent.
You will meet Monsieur Tristan's parents later. At present they are in the North avoiding the midsummer heat and fevers. They did not care to have their son join them this year.”

Sydnee noted a tone of disapproval in Maxime's voice, but he quickly resumed his reserve and continued. “This morning you will attend tutoring with Monsieur Tristan in the
garçonnière
. There is a break in the afternoon during the heat of the day, and then I resume lessons again with Monsieur Tristan until the evening, at which time you will--” again he paused. “You will begin
your
work with the young gentleman.”

Sydnee looked down at her plate. The subject made her uncomfortable. She finished her breakfast, and they started into the
garçonnière
. She shuffled behind Maxime, trying her best to move gracefully in her new shoes. He stopped suddenly and looked down at her feet. “What is the problem?”

“I am not used to shoes, Monsieur Maxime.”

“First of all, never call me 'Monsieur'. Address me only as Maxime. Next take those shoes off and carry them. We will find something more suitable for you later.”

Maxime opened the door of the
garçonnière
. Sydnee's hair was falling down, her gown was too large, and she was in her stocking feet. Swallowing hard, she stepped inside.

A young man looked up from his writing, and Sydnee's lips parted. He was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen.

Tristan Saint-Yves had the ethereal beauty of an angel and the gentle demeanor to match. He stood up and smiled at Sydnee, his blue eyes sparkling.
She stared at him in wonder. He put his hand up self-consciously smoothing his wavy blond hair. Smiling, he mumbled, “Welcome, Mademoiselle Sydnee,” and kissed her hand.

Feeling incredibly gauche, Sydnee tried to hide her feet under her gown, putting one foot awkwardly on top of the other. He saw what she was doing and laughed. She realized then that it didn't matter. She found a new friend.

Chapter 8

The first floor of the
garçonnière
was converted into a classroom with several desks, a chalkboard, and shelves lined with books. There was even a small nook by the window with old wing back chairs for reading.

Maxime lectured on the history of Rome and discussed several of the emperors, but Sydnee was not interested in this lesson. She was curious about the instrument Tristan was using to write. He sat at a wooden desk scratching figures onto paper dipping a sharp object into an ink pot.  He used the elegant bone handled instrument to produce exquisitely beautiful sweeping and flowing figures on paper. She loved not only his writing but the industrious sound of the scratching and the smell of the ink.

Latin was the next lesson Maxime taught. This subject caught Sydnee's attention immediately. She recognized many of the words and was pleased that she could understand some of the language even though she did not know why the words were familiar.

Maxime paid no attention to Sydnee at all, focusing instead on young Tristan. A very strict teacher with high expectations, Maxime had no tolerance for mediocrity. He firmly believed that under his tutelage a student would excel, so he gave Tristan all of his attention expecting the best from him in return.

Sydnee watched Maxime strut back and forth proudly in the classroom, moving with a haughty demeanor. Tristan was not intimidated by him though. He asked questions and initiated dialogue freely. Maxime, in turn, was eager and willing to answer questions and feed the boy's hungry mind.

In the afternoon, Maxime allowed Sydnee to get up and look around the classroom. With her hands behind her back, she looked at the colorful books, maps and pictures in the room. Formal education had never been a part of Sydnee's life. In fact, she met few people who had ever gone to school. Like most girls, Sydnee was well versed in domestic duties. Margarite had given her expertise in the still-room, an appreciation of nature, and a deep sense of spirituality, but academic tutoring had been non-existent. Since Margarite was a slave she was not allowed to read, so as a result, Sydnee could neither read nor write.

Occasionally there was an exception to this rule, and Maxime was an example of this phenomenon. He came from a long line of scholars and educators from Maryland. Although enslaved, his ancestors were known as the finest pedagogues in the country, and for this reason, Monsieur Saint-Yves purchased him.

Sydnee did not know it, but Maxime watched her as she moved around the room.  He studied her as she drifted along the book shelves and examined the globe. There was something about the waif that fascinated him.

Tristan was distracted by Sydnee too. He would write a few words, steal a look, write a few more words and steal another look at her. He liked everything about Sydnee; her quiet demeanor, her large chestnut eyes but especially her little stocking feet peeking out from under the green dress.

“It is time to dismiss for our rest period,” announced Maxime, closing his book and standing up. “We resume at four.”

Sydnee bit her lip, unsure how to tell when it was four o'clock. Maxime did not notice her quandary, but Tristan saw it. Immediately he knew that she could not tell time. He said, “Just in case you fall asleep, Mademoiselle Sydnee, I will come for you at four.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “
Merci
.”

*                    *                  *

True to his word, Tristan came for Sydnee at four, and they spent the rest of the day listening to Maxime talk about ancient philosophers and the great art of the Renaissance. Promptly at six, Maxime gathered his books and left Sydnee and Tristan alone together in the classroom. The moment he left, the two became self-conscious. Tristan fiddled with his pen while Sydnee looked at her hands in her lap.

At last he asked, “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” she replied.

“Oh, I'm sixteen.”

Sydnee kept her eyes on the floor, tongue tied.

“What manner of books do you--” and he stopped, remembering that she could not read. “Oh, I am sorry.” There was another long pause. He swallowed hard and said, “I saw your dogs.”

Sydnee's face brightened, and she looked up into his blue eyes. “Do you like dogs?”

“Yes, I do” he said rather loudly, eager that they found common ground. “I especially like large dogs.”

“Would you like to meet them?”

“Yes indeed,” Tristan said, standing up.

The moment they stepped into the courtyard, Baloo and Atlantis bounded up. Tristan bent down and rumpled their fur, talking to them. She noticed his fine blue vest and his white silk shirt. His pantaloons were crisp, and his shoes were a rich brown leather. She found it hard to believe that anyone so refined and genteel would speak with her. Her favorite part about Tristan was his hair. The soft curls grew just over the tops of his ears and were the color of sunshine.

Sydnee walked to the fountain. The water bubbled out of an ornamental pineapple, overflowed the first basin and then splashed down into the second and larger third tier.

“Has anyone shown you the house?” Tristan asked, coming up alongside her.

“No, not yet.”

“We will start at the front door as if you are a guest.”

They went out through the carriage gate and up the front steps. He pushed open the heavy front door, covered with brass fixtures, and took Sydnee into the entry where the tall wooden box stood. This time she stopped to examine the small painted landscape on the face.

“That is our grandfather clock,” Tristan said. He leaned close to her ear and said confidentially, “I will teach you how to read it.”

Sydnee looked at him and smiled.

Walking into a huge corner room, Tristan explained, “This is where we entertain guests, if they ever come.”

Sydnee gasped. Floor to ceiling windows lined three walls of the parlor. They were adorned with long, sheer curtains which moved slightly in the breeze. The walls were painted a cool white, and a huge, gilded mirror graced one wall reflecting the crystal chandelier overhead and several
girandoles
on the walls. Chairs and divans upholstered in colorful patterns were grouped around two fireplaces.

Sydnee leaned into the room, not daring to step inside.

“Come in,” coaxed Tristan, standing by a piano. “You won't hurt anything.”

Cautiously Sydnee stepped onto the plush patterned carpet, walked over to the piano and then looked at the porcelain figurines on the mantel. One was a basket of flowers and the other was a tall elegant woman with a dog.

“Come along. There is more,” Tristan encouraged.

Doors were open across the hall so a breeze could pass throughout the first floor. They crossed into the next room. This was the library and had a more masculine look. “This is where my father takes brandy and smokes with the men,” Tristan explained. The walls were lined with books, and the furniture was darker, sporting a more solid appearance. “This is nice, but I prefer the library at
Saint-Denis
.” he said.

“What is
Saint-Denis
?” Sydnee asked.

“That is our plantation home on the river. I will take you there.”

Joining the library was a drawing room for the ladies which was lighter and airier in feel. They crossed the hall again into the dining room. The room was dominated by a heavy walnut table, sideboard and a large, black marble fireplace. The drapes were a light green and dropped in luxurious folds onto the floor. The carpet was a light green with a beige pattern.

“In there,” Tristan said, gesturing toward some doors, “is the pantry and wine room. Upstairs are the bedrooms. Most of them are at rest since my parents are gone.”

Sydnee did not know what “at rest” meant, but when she peeked in two of the bed chambers earlier, there was no bedding on the beds and much of the furniture was covered with sheets.

“Where is Maxime's room?”

“The quarters for darkies are over the stable,” Tristan explained.

They returned outside and took their supper at the little table in the courtyard. It was a great relief for Sydnee not to worry about finding food, and she was at peace knowing that Vivian and the dogs were gorging themselves on table scraps by the stable. She noticed that they had been sleeping a great deal, renewing themselves after the journey.

Tristan and Sydnee were at last able to talk more easily with each other. He was eager to hear about life on the Natchez Trace and asked her many questions. She told him about the beauty of the back country, the wildlife, the people, and her life with Margarite, but she carefully avoided her job at the stand satisfying men. She knew that Maxime told him her role, but she was not comfortable speaking of it. She was extremely anxious about approaching Tristan as a paramour. They were becoming friends, and it did not feel right.

Tristan told Sydnee about his life in New Orleans and on the plantation
.
“I have no siblings so I read a great deal. I read all kinds of books. I also like to study insects, particularly butterflies. Do you like butterflies?”

“Very much,” Sydnee responded. “There were many butterflies around the stand where I lived.”

Tristan said suddenly, “I am glad you have come. There was a boy schooled here before you came. Our fathers were business associates and we became friends,” and his face reddened. “But he was sent to Paris to finish his education.”

Tristan lowered his eyes as if ashamed. Sydnee wondered if this boy had something to do with the reason she was here.

Trying to cover his embarrassment, Tristan said brightly, “But I have another friend who lives on a plantation next to
Saint-Denis.
I want you to meet her
.
She is our age, and her name is Isabel.”

The sun had gone down, and it was starting to drizzle. “Come see where I live,” Tristan said, jumping up. She followed him up the staircase in the
garçonnière
to a hexagon-shaped room. There was a small fireplace with a sitting area and on the opposite wall was Tristan's bed, an intricately carved half tester with snow-white bed linen. There was a large oak wardrobe and a small balcony with French doors.

Sydnee walked to a window and looked out over the courtyard. “Was that you doing a puppet show last night?”

Tristan's eyes grew large. “You could see that?”

Sydnee grinned. “It was good. I liked the swan the best.”

Tristan started to laugh. “I didn't know I had an audience. Shall I teach you?”

She nodded and he dashed over, dropping the curtains to darken the room and lighting candles. They sat side by side for over an hour making shadow puppets and laughing. Sydnee was glad she had come here to live.

*                     *                   *

The next day, Maxime informed Sydnee that she was to help the women beat carpets outside and not attend class. Tristan was indignant. “But Maxime, she is my new friend. I want her to attend class with me.”

Maxime lifted his chin and stated, “Out of the question. She is a female, and I am here to give
you
an education not some mendicant from the back country.”

“Yes, but she is supposedly my cousin. How would this look, you sending a family member to work with the darkies?”

Maxime sucked in his cheeks, clearly annoyed, but he knew Tristan was right. If they were to convince everyone that Sydnee was a cousin, she must be treated like a cousin.

Seeing that he was gaining ground, Tristan added. “I will help teach her, Maxime. If I instruct her, I will learn as well.”

Maxime sighed and said, “I don't like it. I don't like it at all, but I will allow it only if you spend extra time on your own studies.”

“I promise,” Tristan said, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

Sydnee returned to the classroom, this time in a proper-fitting beige, floral print day dress and shoes. She was thrilled to be a part of the classroom and listened eagerly to Tristan's alphabet instructions. Maxime resisted teaching Sydnee, but Tristan was overjoyed and took charge. By the end of the day, she had painstakingly reproduced half of the alphabet and could tell time on the clock. Maxime loaded Tristan with extra reading and Latin exercises, but the boy didn't care. He adored his new pupil.

After several days, Maxime relaxed his resentment about teaching Sydnee and started tutorials for her. This pleased Tristan. He appreciated the fine skills Maxime had to offer, and he watched Sydnee move, in a matter of weeks, from fundamental identification of letters to entire words and then sentences. They introduced basic arithmetic to her, geography and even some Latin. Maxime coached her in speech, helping her with her stammer and gradually Sydnee began to speak more fluidly.

Every evening Sydnee would join Tristan in his room and together they would work on assignments. One afternoon, when class was dismissed, Maxime asked Sydnee in private, “Are you fulfilling your obligations with the young gentleman?”

Sydnee paused and then nodded hesitantly. In reality there had been no physical contact between them.