THE CAMEO NECKLACE
by Evelyn Coleman
In 1854, many people and places in New Orleans had French names. You'll see some French names in this book. For help pronouncing French names, go here. Or, click on the name when it first appears in the story.
1
A NIGHT AT THE CIRCUS
November 1854
Cécile Rey’s heart pounded in her chest, louder than a blacksmith’s hammer. She held her breath. She could feel perspiration slipping down her face, even though the gas lamps on the ornate walls of the Floating Palace showboat gave out little warmth to dispel the night’s chill. Cécile was squeezing her fists so tight, her nails created indentations in her palms. The man teetering on the tightrope swayed too far to the right. “Mon Dieu!” she breathed. “Good heavens.”
Cécile had never seen anything so thrilling in her eleven-year-old life. She glanced quickly at her friend, Monette Bruiller, and wondered if Monette was experiencing the same strange mix of feelings she was—scared to look, but wanting to see it all. Cécile turned back, pinning her eyes to the man dancing on the wire, as if by force of will she could catch him if he fell.
The circus acts were so exhilarating! The acrobats flipped and tumbled. The jugglers threw rings and clubs high in the air and to each other without ever dropping anything. The animals stood on their hind legs, jumped through hoops, and danced, and even the most ferocious appeared tame. Clowns mimed, pranced, and had the audience laughing. A real band, dressed in bright red uniforms with gold braid and shiny buttons, played lively songs to accompany every act. And then there was the finale.
Cécile watched a white horse thunder around the huge ring. A man sat atop the bareback horse. Suddenly he vaulted upward and planted his feet on the horse’s back. He balanced there on the galloping horse, his knees bent. Then, without warning, he was sailing through the air.
Cécile grabbed her throat. She felt alone, as if the crowd had disappeared and there was no one but her watching the scene unfolding on the stage far below. The sounds of shuffling bodies and whispered chatter fell away. As the man flipped upward, the only noise was the faint sound of the horse’s pounding hooves. Then, to Cécile’s astonishment, the man turned a somersault in the air and landed smoothly on the back of the horse!
Seconds ticked by before the spectators found their voices and the room filled with boisterous cheers. Cécile rose from her seat, still dazed. She looked around. All the other free people of color were on their feet, too. Like the rest of the crowd, Cécile broke into frenzied clapping.
The circus performers were gathered in the ring now, bowing to the crowd. Cécile sat down again and leaned over the edge of the balcony as far as she could to get a better look. The scene below was breathtaking—the silk and velvet curtains flowing, all the performers in plumes of feathers, sparkling costumes, elaborate headdresses. It was like a fairy tale.
Cécile turned her attention briefly to the audience down below, closer to the ring, where the white people sat. She wondered if they could see the faces of the performers better, or hear them speaking to one another in their different languages. Cécile knew that many who worked for the circus came from distant parts of the world, places that Grand-père, her grandfather, had visited as a sailor. It was at moments like this that Cécile wished the free people of color could sit in any seat they could afford.
Someone tugged Cécile’s sleeve. It was Agnès Metoyer. She was poised on Cécile’s right side, holding dainty binoculars up to her eyes.
“If you’d brought opera glasses, you would have had more fun,” Agnès said.
“You can look through mine,” Fanny Metoyer offered, reaching around Agnès and holding her glasses out to Cécile.
“We’re not supposed to let anyone borrow them,” Agnès said, pulling her sister’s arm back. “Remember?”
Fanny shrugged to Cécile. “Sorry.”
Monette, standing on Cécile’s left, leaned toward the Metoyer sisters. “She wouldn’t be borrowing them—you’d just let her use them for a minute, that’s all.”
“That’s borrowing,” Agnès replied.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cécile said. “I can see very well, thank you.” She didn’t want to borrow anything from Agnès Metoyer. Agnès never treated her very nicely.
“What an exquisite necklace you’re wearing, Cécile,” Monette said, leaning closer for a better look.
Cécile reached up to feel the necklace, an ivory cameo—a side view of a woman’s face—with a rose diamond placed where an earring would be. The cameo was set on a circular ruffle of black lace, attached to a black ribbon. The necklace looked very grown-up. It belonged to Cécile’s Aunt Octavia, whom she called Tante Tay.
“Let me see it,” Agnès said. She lifted the cameo, examining it carefully. “It is beautiful,” she said after a moment. “Is that a real diamond?”
“Yes,” Cécile replied proudly.
“I like it,” said Fanny.
“It would look lovely on me,” Agnès said, reaching her hand out again. “Let me try it on.”
Monette chimed in. “Cécile’s not supposed to let anyone borrow it,” she said. With a broad grin, she added, “Right, Cécile?”
Agnès said, “I wasn’t going to…” Then her voice trailed off. Cécile and Monette exchanged amused glances. Evidently Agnès realized that she’d been caught, because she said quietly, “Never mind.”
A moment later, Cécile’s tutor, Monsieur Lejeune, joined the girls. He and his sister, Mademoiselle Lejeune, had taken Cécile and Monette to the circus as a reward for doing well in their studies. The Lejeunes had picked up both girls in a hired carriage, but they had sat a few rows behind them at the performance so that Cécile and Monette could sit with the Metoyer sisters.
At first Cécile had wanted to explain that she and Monette weren’t really friends with the sisters. But then Cécile was glad she hadn’t said anything, because sitting without chaperones had felt more grown-up.
“Ladies, ladies, did you enjoy the show?” Monsieur Lejeune asked as he put on his gloves.
“Oui, Monsieur Lejeune. Oh, yes!” Cécile and Monette said, beginning to describe their favorite parts.
“Très bien, very good. You’ll have to tell me all about it later. Right now, we need to catch a carriage before they’re all taken. Follow me.”
Cécile and Monette filed out behind the Lejeunes, joining the river of people trying to make their way off the showboat onto the wharf. The Lejeunes were in front, pushing the way forward. The crush of people moved like a school of fish, no space between them, all headed in the same direction—through the doors of the showboat, down the plank, and onto the wharf. Once on the ground, the river of people flowed into an ocean of circus-goers, sailors, and people out on the town on Saturday night.
Shoved this way and that by the crowd, Cécile realized that every few steps, she seemed to fall farther behind Monette and the Lejeunes. She wished she’d grabbed Monette’s hand, even if it would have made her feel like a little girl.
Now Cécile could barely see the back of Monette’s head as she moved in the crush of the crowd on the wharf. The smells and calls from the marchands selling treats caught Cécile’s attention as she found herself pushed toward the edge of the crowd. On one side of her, a tall, aproned man with a reddish beard was holding a tray aloft and calling out, “Hot orange buns! Hot, sweet orange buns!” On Cécile’s other side, two children about her age with flowing black hair and light brown skin held up woven baskets and yelled, “Get the last cypress baskets. Last ones. Hurry, last chance.” The baskets were beautiful. Cécile
had never seen baskets with indigo-blue stripes.
A very short woman with tiny blond ringlets pressed close to the marchands. Cécile’s eyes widened as she noticed that the woman was wearing a purple and gold circus costume; a band around her head held a matching plume of purple and gold feathers. Cécile’s heart sped up. Maybe she could meet a real circus performer! Before she could speak to the woman, Cécile felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and found herself looking at Agnès and Fanny Metoyer and one of their servant boys.
“Hello again,” Agnès said. She reached out and touched Cécile’s necklace. “I do so love this necklace.”
“Merci. Thank you,” Cécile said. She turned to face forward again, trying to see Monette and the Lejeunes. At that moment, she noticed a shabby old woman coming toward her, making her way against the crowd. The colorful tignon knotted around the woman’s head bobbed up and down as she moved through the throng.
The tall marchand reached out over the crowd to the old woman as he called, “Get your orange buns. Hot orange buns!”
Suddenly he lost his balance. He crashed into Cécile, who lost her footing and fell, knocking the old woman down.
“Oh, madame, I am so sorry!” cried Cécile, now sprawled on the wharf beside the old woman. The stacks of orange buns rained down around them, followed closely by the crashing tray. The two children selling baskets scrambled to pick up the buns, even grabbing a few that had landed in Cécile’s lap. The Metoyer sisters looked on as their servant picked up buns next to Cécile. The tall man reached over Cécile’s head and snatched up his tray.
Cécile looked at the old woman with concern. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Despite the chaos, the old woman reached out, her bangles and bracelets shifting as she grasped Cécile’s wrist. She pulled Cécile closer, as if she were going to say something.
The blonde circus performer leaned over them, her drawstring purse dangling in Cécile’s face, and asked, “Is either of you hurt?”
Suddenly, only a few feet from the spilled group, a passerby hugging a bottle slurred loudly, “Somebody picked my pocket!” The crowd around him began jostling as men checked their pockets and women secured or felt for their jewelry.
Cécile started to feel for her necklace but found herself being yanked up by the old woman, whose grip was surprisingly strong.
“Merci. I am so sorry for knocking you down,” Cécile said, hastily straightening her dress and cloak. She was about to make sure the old woman was all right but realized that she was no longer beside her.
As quickly as the old woman had disappeared, Cécile found herself being moved along by a new crush of people emerging from the showboat. Anxiously Cécile rose on tiptoe, attempting to catch a glimpse of Monette or the Lejeunes.
At the same time, Cécile reached up to feel for her necklace. Her fingers grasped air.
Panic exploded in her chest. The necklace she had borrowed from her aunt was gone.
2
CONFUSION ON THE WHARF
Cécile’s heart raced; she could hear it pounding. She had to find that necklace.
She turned and tried to retrace her steps to the spot where she had fallen. She put both arms out, attempting to part the sea of people still streaming down the wharf. They were so close, Cécile could smell on their breath the foods they’d eaten. She could hear bits of conversations, laughter, an argument or two. Looking down, she frantically checked the ground as she moved against the flow of the crowd, but she saw nothing. “Excuse me,” she shouted. “Did anyone see my necklace?” People ignored her or shook their heads no.
When had she lost it? She’d had it on only moments before, when Agnès had greeted her and touched the necklace. Then she’d fallen.
For a second, Cécile thought she heard her name being called, but she ignored it. Only one thing mattered now—she had to get back to the spot where she had fallen to see if she could find Tante Tay’s necklace.
“Pardon. Excuse me,” Cécile said, alternating between French and English. She shoved against the crowd, but its movement was strong and she was still being pushed forward, away from the spot where she’d fallen.
A surge of fear shot through her: What if the pickpocket that the passerby was yelling about had taken it? No—Cécile would not allow herself to think that. The necklace had to be there, right where she’d fallen.
In desperation, Cécile dropped onto her hands and knees and began crawling through the crowd. “Ouch!” she cried as someone stepped on her fingers. She felt the squish of something nasty, a wad of tobacco that someone had spit out, and realized she’d forgotten her gloves again. She wiped her palm, now caked with dirt, on her cloak.
Cécile kept moving through the crowd, still saying, “Excuse me.” When she saw a few trampled buns, she knew she was in the right place. She swept her hands back and forth across the dirt but found nothing.
Cécile hopped up, calling out over and over, “Has anyone seen my necklace?”
Finally she stopped. She looked out over the crowd surging by and realized that not only had she lost the necklace, she had lost the Lejeunes and Monette too. They were nowhere in sight. The crowd was thick, festive, and constantly shifting. Cécile was alone.
She had to think clearly. What should she do?
She decided she must keep looking for Tante Tay’s necklace. It must have come off when she fell. If she didn’t find it now, she might never get it back. Had someone picked it up after it slipped from her neck? Cécile studied the faces of the people nearby.
The tall marchand who had dropped the tray of buns was standing over to her right. Now he held the empty tray at his side. He was looking downward, concentrating on his right hand. Had he picked up the necklace?
Just as Cécile started to push her way toward him, she caught sight of a plume of purple and gold feathers. It belonged to the blonde woman in the circus costume—and she was even closer. Cécile shifted direction. “Excuse me. Pardon,” she murmured, keeping her eye on the performer, who was now busy tucking something into her jeweled drawstring purse, the same one that had dangled near Cécile’s face.
But the crowd’s momentum propelled her slightly to the left, and instead Cécile found herself right in front of the old woman she’d accidentally knocked down.
The old woman was leaning against the wall of a warehouse, staring at Cécile. She clenched a strange, elaborately carved wooden pipe in her mouth. Her brown face was angular and weathered, and long tufts of gray hair fell loose from her tignon. Abruptly she stopped looking at Cécile and stared off into the crowd, nodding.
Cécile turned, following the old woman’s gaze, and spotted the two young basket sellers, their hair loosely flowing around their shoulders. One of them held a cluster of cypress baskets, each one striped with indigo. For a brief moment, they looked in Cécile’s direction, their large, slanting eyes dark and piercing in their long thin faces. The two looked so much alike, Cécile wondered whether they were boys or girls. They began moving toward her swiftly, bobbing and weaving through the crowd as smoothly as water snakes in a river.
Cécile held her breath. The children were heading right for her. Did they have her necklace?
She jumped as a hand grasped her shoulder. “Here you are,” Monsieur Lejeune exclaimed, gently turning her toward him. “Thank heavens! I thought we’d lost you. Come with me. Mademoiselle Lejeune and Monette are waiting for us near the carriages.”
“I’m so sorry, monsieur. Please, wait just a moment—” Cécile began. But her words were swallowed up by the boom of a cannon. Cécile knew this was the signal to warn that it was nine o’clock and all the slaves needed to be off the streets. She glanced back over her shoulder, but the two children were gone.
Before Cécile could say more, Monsieur Lejeune took her hand, pulling her urgently through the crowd. Cécile pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. She had lost her chance to find out if the children had her necklace, or to question the other people who had bee
n near her when she fell.
As she and Monsieur Lejeune inched forward in the crowd, Cécile caught sight of the old woman standing a few feet ahead. How had she gotten there so fast?
“Monsieur Lejeune, may I stop for a moment to speak to that lady ahead?” Cécile asked. “I knocked her down earlier by accident, and I didn’t apologize properly.”
“All right, but hurry, please. I’ll wait right over there, where I can see Monette and my sister waiting for the carriage. Please don’t tarry.”
Cécile rushed over to the old woman, surprised at how easily she reached her. She could see now that the old woman was barefoot, even though it was cold outside. Had she lost her shoes when she fell?
The old woman’s eyes met Cécile’s, almost as if she’d been expecting her return. The woman took the pipe from her mouth. “You are searching for something very valuable,” she said, reaching out to touch Cécile’s face. Her fingers felt cold and ironlike as they stroked Cécile’s cheek.
Cécile’s thoughts raced. The woman must have the necklace—how else would she know that something of value was missing? Excitedly, Cécile asked, “You found my necklace?”
The old woman gave Cécile a long look. “No,” she said gently. “It is your heart that you must find.”
Cécile flushed as if she were standing too near a hot cookstove. She didn’t understand what the old woman was talking about.
“As for your necklace,” the old woman went on, “those we cannot know have it.” Without warning, she grasped Cécile’s hands. Cécile tried to pull away, but the old woman’s grip was strong. Cécile looked around, frantic. She caught sight of Monsieur Lejeune, but he was staring out over the crowd toward the carriage stop. The old woman drew Cécile’s hands toward her, palms up. Staring at Cécile’s palms, she said almost in a whisper, “Remember, hunters always want to kill lions… Lions only want to eat.”
Cécile felt tears pushing out of the corners of her eyes. She was frightened, and she wasn’t sure why. The old woman let go of her hands and pointed up to the sky. Cécile’s eyes followed the motion, noticing the woman’s wrinkled hand, the many jangling bracelets on her wrist, and all the rings on her fingers.
The Cameo Necklace (American Girl Mysteries (Quality)) Page 1