by Nan Ryan
“It’s so great to have you here and…and…oh, did I tell you? This year we’re planning a big holiday bazaar in December to aid Florence Nightingale and her brave nurses in the Crimea. You’ll help out, won’t you?”
“Certainly,” Madeleine said.
“It’ll be great fun. Then, after the holidays we’ll have to start planning your wedding! I will be maid of honor, won’t I?” Not giving Madeleine a chance to respond, she gushed, “You are so lucky. Lord Enfield will make the perfect husband. He is handsome and distinguished and respected and…and he’s rich. Isn’t he? I mean, I assume he is, everyone says he is.”
Madeleine smiled. “Desmond has, for years now, worked very hard and has made a great deal of money in the cotton and sugar markets. The profits were wisely invested in various other enterprises, such as real estate. Yes, he is a wealthy man.”
Melissa sighed. “Well, I’m green with envy. He’s so madly in love with you. You’ll be pleased to know that I have attended numerous social functions where beautiful women openly flirted with your blond nobleman, but to absolutely no avail. Lord Enfield’s heart belongs solely to you.” She gazed dreamily at Madeleine.
Feeling as if she had to comment, Madeleine said, “And mine belongs to him.”
“Oh, it’s all so romantic,” said Melissa, clasping her hands together beneath her chin.
The two young woman continued to talk and laugh until Avalina, knocking softly on the door, entered and said, “Miss Melissa, you have been here for over two hours. Time for you go so Lady Madeleine can rest.”
“Avalina’s right,” Melissa said to Madeleine and rose from the bed. She leaned down, pressed her cheek to Madeleine’s, and promised, “I’ll be back to see you real soon.”
Lord Enfield’s many business interests required all of his time and attention during the daylight hours. But he visited the Royal Street town house and his cherished fiancée each evening. Taking care not to overstay his welcome and tire his bride-to-be, he would ascend the stairs to her bedroom every evening, bringing with him a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, or a book, or a box of bonbons. He would pull up a chair and visit with Madeleine, gently holding her hand and smiling at her as they talked quietly together.
Concern for her welfare always uppermost in his mind, the lord never stayed longer than an hour or two. And when it was time for him to depart, he would lean down and brush a brief kiss to her forehead or her cheek.
“I love you so much it hurts to leave you,” he’d whisper. “But I want you to get plenty of rest, so I’ll go now.”
Madeleine was touched by his thoughtfulness. Most men would have already been pressing her for intimate kisses and caresses, but the blond nobleman was chivalrous. He realized fully that she was not yet well enough to be receptive to displays of passion.
His unfailing kindness and astute understanding caused Madeleine to suffer even greater bouts of guilt. It would have been easier if he had behaved the impatient male and attempted to make love to her. Then she could have blamed him for being so unfeeling and intolerant.
As it was, she could blame him for nothing. He was consistently the empathetic, compassionate fiancé who cared only for her well-being. She was, she knew, a most fortunate woman to have such discerning gentleman eager to make her his wife.
Nonetheless, when Lord Enfield was not there with her, when Madeleine was alone, her thoughts unfailingly returned to the darkly handsome Creole who had gone down with the sinking ship. Armand de Chevalier was, she knew, dead. She knew, as well, that she would never completely forget him.
Fortunately, Madeleine was seldom left alone to brood. Overjoyed to have her in his home, her uncle Colfax spent long hours with her, talking, reminiscing, enthusiastically discussing her upcoming marriage to Lord Enfield.
On a hot, sunny day in early September after spending a full week in bed, Madeleine awakened feeling rested and eager to get up. She reached out and pulled the bell cord that would summon Avalina.
When the woman appeared, Madeleine said, “I can stand this bed no longer. I want to get up. I am feeling well enough to join Uncle Colfax downstairs for breakfast.”
Indulgent, Avalina smiled. “The master will be delighted and I will fix something special for the momentous occasion.”
Shortly before 9:00 a.m., Madeleine, aided by the stalwart Avalina, descended the stairs. Colfax waited at the base. When the two women reached him, Avalina turned and hurried downstairs to her kitchen, while Colfax ushered his niece into his paneled, book-lined study.
“Are you sure you feel like being up?” he asked, noting that she was still quite pale.
“I’m fine, Uncle Colfax, really I am.”
“Well, then we’ve a few minutes before Avalina calls us to breakfast and there’s something I want to show you.”
He led her across the carpeted study to where a portrait of LaFayette hung directly behind his mahogany desk. While she watched, curious, he slid the heavy portrait aside to reveal a hidden wall safe. A small round safe with a heavy bronze door.
“I keep my most valuable documents here,” he explained, then beckoned her forward. “I will tell you the combination and I want you to open the safe.”
When she had opened the safe, Madeleine stepped back. Colfax reached inside and withdrew a legal-looking vellum document. He handed it to her.
“My last will and testament,” he explained. As Madeleine unfolded and skimmed the document, he said, “Upon my death everything I own will belong to you, and as you surely know, I have accumulated a vast fortune over the years.” He smiled then and added, “Fortunately, we live in Louisiana, the only state in America where a woman can own property. Much of my fortune in is real estate holdings.”
Madeleine looked up and handed the will back without reading further. With a smile she said, “Uncle, let’s not talk about wills and dying. You are going to be around for at least another twenty or thirty years!”
“Perhaps,” he said, but with little conviction.
Madeleine noticed and asked, “Uncle Colfax, you’re not…you’re not ill, are you?” Worriedly, she studied his face.
“No, no, child,” he quickly assured her. “I’m in excellent health.”
He returned the will to the wall safe, but withdrew a second document. He began to smile as he told her that it was a provisional will that he had had drawn up some eight or nine years ago.
“You were,” he explained, “a rather flighty young woman then, as I fondly recall, and I wanted to make certain that you would be protected.” Madeleine stared at him, her eyes questioning. He continued, “As you well know, Lord Enfield has been a loyal, trusted friend almost from the minute our cousin arrived in New Orleans. I realized back then—well before the two of you discovered each other and became engaged—that he was an honorable, trustworthy man who would, I felt confident, look after your best interests.”
She nodded her agreement.
“So I wrote up a provisional will making Chilton coexecutor along with a couple of other old friends, giving the three of them total control over my estate, on your behalf.” Colfax frowned then and added, “Unfortunately, the other two gentlemen have since passed away.” He shook his graying head, then continued, “But I digress. The provisional will remained in effect for seven years. Then, a few months before you and Lord Enfield fell in love and decided to marry, I drafted my last will and testament making you the sole heir.”
She smiled at him and said, “As usual, you left no stone unturned. My inheritance had been protected all these years.”
“Indeed it has,” he replied. “Now I want you to memorize the safe’s combination.”
“I already have,” she said and then proved it by flawlessly reciting it.
He beamed with pride and said, “You always were a very clever girl.”
She slid her hand around his arm and said, “Well, of course, I am. I take after my brilliant uncle.”
Eight
Soon Lady Madeleine had regained
her strength, had pushed Armand de Chevalier and her guilt to the back of her mind and was eager to get out and enjoy the many pleasures of New Orleans.
Lord Enfield, delighted that the roses were back in her cheeks, said at dinner, “My love, I will take you anywhere you wish to go this evening.”
“You won’t laugh if I tell you where I really want to go?”
“I would never laugh at you, Madeleine,” was his gallant reply.
Her emerald eyes lighted and she said, “To Le Circus de Paris! I saw handbills posted that the circus is in town and Avalina said the show is drawing huge crowds every night. I want to go. Say we can, Desmond, please.”
Lord Enfield was indulgent. “The circus it is,” he said and smiled warmly at her.
Moments later the handsome pair stepped down from Lord Enfield’s chauffeured carriage and onto the banquette at St. Ann’s. They crossed the street to Jackson Square where a large gathering had assembled to watch the circus.
Sword swallowers. Fire eaters. Jugglers. Trained animals. Colorful clowns. All delighted the spectators. Madeleine applauded like everyone else, fully enjoying herself.
Midway through the performance, the red-coated ringmaster stepped into the center ring and raised his hands for silence.
“Mesdames et Messieurs, ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted loudly enough for all to hear, “our next performer is a man of great strength.”
A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd and they began to chant, “Big Montro! Big Montro! Big Montro!”
The ringmaster again signaled for silence and announced, “The moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived, my friends. It is with great pleasure that I present to you the amazing Big Montro!”
A gigantic man stepped into the center ring amidst loud applause and whistles and admirers shouting his name. He wore nothing but a low-riding pair of loose white linen trousers. His massive chest was bare, as were his feet.
Like everyone else, Madeleine stared in awe at the imposing giant. Knotted muscles rippled in his gargantuan arms and across his mammoth chest. He slowly turned round and round to afford everyone a good long look at him.
Ironically, his face was round and smooth—a baby face at complete odds with his powerful body. And his dark-brown hair had a little boy’s cowlick at the crown. He was smiling shyly, as if embarrassed by all the attention.
He went immediately into his act when a quartet of laughing, tumbling clowns joined him in the ring. The clowns circled the strong man, taunting and teasing him until he reached out and plucked one off the ground. Gripping both the clown’s feet in one hand, Montro lifted the laughing man high over his head, extending his long, muscled arm full-length.
The crowd roared.
In minutes Big Montro had scooped up all four clowns and held them easily on his outstretched arms, turning slowly about as the crowd screamed its approval.
For the next half hour the strong man demonstrated his astounding strength and Madeleine applauded as enthusiastically as all the others. She was so caught up in the amazing spectacle, she never noticed that Lord Enfield was not particularly enchanted by Montro’s crowd-pleasing act.
At breakfast the next morning, Madeleine excitedly told her Uncle Colfax and the attentive Avalina about the circus and how thrilling it had been.
She took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice and said, “The very best part was the strong man. Big Montro. You wouldn’t believe the things he did!” And she proceeded to tell them of the many incredible feats he had performed.
Colfax smiled and nodded as she spoke. She was, in many ways, still quite childlike, a trait he found most engaging. But she possessed another trait, one that concerned him.
She was a strong-willed woman and so she ignored the frown of worry that immediately crossed her uncle’s face when she announced, “I’m going down to the French Market this morning to…”
“Oh, child, I’m afraid a visit to the market will have to wait,” Colfax interrupted. “Unfortunately, I have an important business engagement that I simply cannot break.”
“And why should you?” she replied. “I never expected you to go with me.” She glanced at the black woman pouring another cup of coffee for Colfax. “Avalina will accompany me to the market,” she stated in tones that brooked no argument.
Colfax’s frown deepened, but he acquiesced.
Lady Madeleine and Avalina walked the three short blocks down to the French Market on the riverfront. The place was humming—women with baskets over their arms were carefully choosing fruits, loaves of bread and freshly caught fish.
Pausing before the many stalls, interested in all that was for sale, Madeleine savored every sight and smell and sound. She loved this busy market where all the varied factions of New Orleans shopped. The haughty French Creoles, the Spanish, the Germans, the Irish, the Americans. People who would normally not even speak to each other rubbed elbows here and haggled over prices.
Drawn to the booth where fresh, hot beignets were being served, Madeleine bought one for herself and one for Avalina. Rolling her eyes with pleasure, she quickly devoured the delicious diamond-shaped doughnut that was generously dusted with sweet powdered sugar.
Madeleine was having such a good time she hated to leave. But they had been out in the sultry summer heat now for well over an hour and she was beginning to feel flushed and faint. So, with their many treasures in a big basket over Avalina’s arm, the two started home.
They had gone but one short block when a trio of unkempt ruffians suddenly stepped into their path and began making crude, suggestive remarks to Lady Madeleine. One, a big, ugly brute moved in so close Madeleine could smell the strong offensive odor of stale sweat and unwashed flesh.
Horrified, her heart beating in her throat, she said with as much authority as she could muster, “You get away from me! Step out of my way or I’ll…”
“Or you’ll what, my pretty,” mocked the monster, “have a case of the vapors and fall into my arms?”
While Avalina cursed the men in gumbo French, Madeleine looked anxiously about for help.
Help appeared in the form of the six-foot-six giant who Madeleine recognized as the strong man from Le Circus de Paris. Big Montro stepped out of an alley and onto the banquette. Without lifting so much as a finger, the giant, his arms crossed over his massive chest, planted himself squarely in front of the frightened women, sending their tormentors scurrying for cover.
Once the ruffians had gone, he turned, smiled at the grateful ladies and said in a deep, surprisingly soft voice, “I am Montro. I will escort you to your home.”
They both nodded, still badly shaken and more appreciative than he would ever know.
The very next morning when Lady Madeleine and Avalina again ventured out, Big Montro was there below on the cobblestone banquette, waiting for them.
“Montro,” Madeleine exclaimed when she reached him, “I thought the circus was leaving New Orleans today.”
“It is,” he said without emotion, “I am staying here.”
“I see,” she replied. “Well, Avalina and I are going to meet with a dressmaker over on Toulesse and…”
“I will see you safely there,” he said and did.
From that morning on the gentle giant accompanied the two women wherever they went. Very soon, without any formal arrangements, Big Montro became Lady Madeleine’s faithful bodyguard.
Madeleine was somewhat surprised that her uncle offered no protests to including Big Montro in his household. It was Colfax who suggested that Montro move into the vacant garçonnière across the courtyard at the back edge of the property. And, he agreed to pay him a generous monthly salary, much more than he’d made with the circus.
The truth was that Colfax Sumner was quietly relieved that the strong man would be watching over them. Colfax would never have mentioned it to Madeleine or Avalina or anyone else, but he had felt increasingly threatened of late. Plagued with a nagging sense of foreboding that he couldn’t seem to shake.
It was as if some unseen danger lurked in the shadowy streets directly below the mansion’s iron lace galleries.
Nine
On a blistering-hot day in September, a tall, dark man stood on the wooden wharf in Havana, Cuba.
Armand de Chevalier patiently waited his turn to board the cargo ship that would take him to New Orleans. Armand was smiling, as usual. He knew how lucky he was to be alive. Plucked from the sea by a small trader bound for Cuba late that fateful August afternoon, he hadn’t complained when he learned it was headed for Havana.
“Sounds good to me,” he had said with a laugh, after having spent hours bobbing in the water under a burning summer sun.
Now, after three long weeks of rest and boredom in Havana, Armand was as robust as ever and more than ready to go home.
“Señor,” said one of the crewman, motioning him forward.
Armand nodded and climbed the gangway, whistling merrily.
The days were the drowsy ones of late summer. The weather in New Orleans stayed hot and muggy throughout the month of September. The hot mist off the bayous seemed to scald the skin.
Along with the humid heat was the constant irritant of the buzzing, biting mosquitoes. The residents of the low-lying river city didn’t dare try sleeping without a mosquito baire protecting them.
The mosquitoes had been worse than usual this summer, but Colfax Sumner told his niece it was a good thing, really. There had been very few cases of yellow fever this year, thanks to the mosquitoes. He was convinced that the swarms of mosquitoes purified the miasmic swamp airs that caused the deadly disease.
“You actually believe that?” Madeleine asked, skeptical, as the two of them sat together in the shaded courtyard on a sweltering September afternoon.
“Indeed. If the fever had been rampant this year as it was in ’53, I would never have allowed you to come near New Orleans. Or, if you had come, you’d have had to stay upriver at the plantation or else have shut yourself up inside this house and never have gone outdoors. You wouldn’t have liked that.”