“I don’t think it’s the ribbon, Maman,” Cécile said. “My curls are too loose.”
Hannah stopped folding Cécile’s nightgown. “Madame, if you would like, I can fix her hair.”
“Please, Maman, let Hannah try.”
“Would you, Hannah?” Maman asked, looking relieved.
“I have a pomade that will put a nice shine in her hair and help it curl,” Hannah said. “I’ll get it.”
A few minutes later, Hannah returned with a decorated jar. When she removed the lid, a wonderful aroma filled the room.
Cécile sat down so that Hannah could work. She felt Hannah’s fingers removing the ribbon and then gently applying pomade, arranging curls, and slipping in hairpins here and there.
“You’re doing a fine job, Hannah,” Maman said. “Did your mother teach you?”
“No, madame,” Hannah replied softly. “Cécile is a lucky girl to have her mother here to teach and help her.”
Cécile could hear the sadness in Hannah’s voice. She wondered if Hannah had ever known her own mother. Cécile knew that many children lost their mothers at an early age; she had learned that at the orphanage. Sitting here as Hannah arranged her hair, Cécile felt close to her. She hoped that Hannah knew she was as much a part of the family as Mathilde was.
When Hannah finished, Maman said, “My goodness, that’s lovely. Merci, Hannah.”
Hannah led Cécile to the mirror. “What do you think, Miss Cécile?”
Cécile was almost afraid to look. When she did, she saw that Hannah had swept her hair up on her head in a style she’d never worn before.
Cécile took one look and hugged Hannah. “I look so grown-up! Oh, thank you, Hannah.”
With a pleased smile, Hannah nodded and quietly left the room.
“Turn around, Cécile,” Maman said. “Let me see you.”
Cécile made a slow circle in front of the mirror, letting Maman inspect her hair and dress before she left for the Metoyers’ party. As anxious as Cécile was about the necklace, she couldn’t help feeling proud of the image she saw in the mirror. Her new dress was lacy and white, with small pink flowers at the neck and waist that looked almost real. Maman had even found white lace gloves with little pink flowers at the wrist. And now her hair was elegant, too.
“You look lovely, chérie,” Maman said with tears in her eyes.
“What is it? Why are you crying, Maman?” Cécile ran to her mother and hugged her close.
“My little girl is growing up, that’s all,” Maman said, laughing now. “Mothers want their children to grow up, and they don’t want them to grow up.”
Cécile understood. There was a part of her that wanted to grow up, but there was also a part of her that didn’t. Instead of the world getting clearer as she got older, everything seemed to get more confusing.
Maman kissed Cécile’s cheek. “Let’s go downstairs. Hannah will walk you to the Metoyers’.”
Butterflies danced in Cécile’s stomach at the thought of Agnès and Fanny and the necklace. For some reason, the old woman’s words rang in her mind: Those we cannot know have it. Well, Cécile knew Agnès and Fanny, but sometimes she surely wished she didn’t.
“Wear your warm coat,” Maman said. “It’s chilly out today.”
Hannah was certainly dressed for cold weather, Cécile thought. She stood by the door wearing a bulky coat, a scarf on her head, and a shawl over both. Cécile smiled, thinking that Hannah was so bundled up, she looked more like Mathilde than the slender young woman she was.
Outside, they walked in silence. Hannah was always quiet, and today Cécile was too nervous to carry on any chatter. She had to make the most of this chance to find Tante Tay’s necklace. She had made no progress looking for the two children. She and Armand had gone to Jackson Square last evening to search. They’d seen many marchands there, but no children offering baskets. For a moment last night, Cécile’s hopes had risen as she’d glimpsed some indigo-striped baskets among one marchand’s wares. But when she asked where he’d gotten them, he’d said, “From the Old Goat Man down at the French Market.”
Cécile pushed the memory away. She looked at Hannah, walking with her head bent and her shawl pulled forward so that it almost hid her face. Cécile realized with some embarrassment that she’d been so busy thinking about the necklace, she hadn’t said a word to Hannah yet. She thought of a question she’d been meaning to ask ever since last Sunday.
“Hannah, tell me how you know my tutor, Monsieur Lejeune. He’s such a nice man and so very smart, don’t you think?”
To Cécile’s surprise, Hannah replied, “Monsieur Lejeune? I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“But I’m sure—” Cécile began, ready to explain that she’d seen the two of them talking in Jackson Square. But then she recalled how Hannah had kept Cécile’s secret about the gloves, never asking a single question.
“I’m sorry, Hannah, I must be mistaken,” Cécile said gently. “Goodness, it’s cold for November, isn’t it?”
Still, she couldn’t help being curious about Hannah’s secret. She didn’t have long to ponder, though, because in the next moment what Cécile saw almost made her heart stop beating.
A white man was pulling a slave down a shadowy alley. The slave had an iron collar around his neck. His clothes were torn and his head was bowed. Cécile knew the white man was a slave catcher.
Cécile turned her head away. Her body felt numb as she remembered the two slave catchers who had stopped Armand. What if they’d taken her brother away? That man with irons around his neck could have been Armand. Cécile patted her coat pocket, feeling for the folded paper inside. There it was, but she still felt shaken. Cécile wondered how long it would be before the sight of a slave catcher didn’t turn her stomach to jelly. Then she thought of the slave now being pulled along in his iron collar. She thought about his terrified face and wondered if he was someone’s brother, too. She said a silent prayer for him.
Unsettled, she reached for Hannah’s hand, but no one was there.
Fear gripped Cécile. Had Hannah left her all alone? She looked down the street. Hannah was only a short distance behind and was hurrying to catch up with her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Cécile,” Hannah said. “I—I thought I saw a friend across the street, but it was someone else.”
“It’s all right,” Cécile said, glad to have Hannah beside her again.
Cécile realized that they were nearing the Metoyers’ house. She had to figure out how to get Tante Tay’s necklace back. What if Agnès denied having it? Then what?
The Metoyers’ fancy house came into view. Cécile took a deep breath to steel her nerves. She had to be ready to confront Agnès and Fanny.
A well-dressed servant opened the Metoyers’ door. She curtsied to Cécile, never glancing at Hannah.
“Welcome, mademoiselle,” the servant said, motioning Cécile to follow. Cécile stepped into the house, taking one more deep breath.
“Have fun,” Hannah said, speaking softly.
Cécile turned and gave her a wave, smiling. “Thank you, Hannah,” she said, patting her hair. “Merci.”
Hannah smiled back.
The servant shut the door, leaving Hannah standing on the Metoyers’ porch. How rude, Cécile thought. Then she realized that not so long ago, she would have hardly noticed.
Forcing her thoughts back to the necklace, Cécile followed the maid down a wide hallway. Red draperies with gold embroidery framed the windows, and ornate gas lamps hung on the walls. A side table held fresh flowers in silver vases. Down the hallway, Cécile heard girls’ voices and laughter.
In the parlor, maids dressed in gray with white aprons were serving treats on silver trays. An older free person of color whom Cécile recognized from the cathedral sat in one corner playing a harp. The tables were set with fine china. The white tablecloths and napkins were crisply starched. Beautiful white and blue flowers had been placed in the center of each table in a blue vase.
Fanny came over to greet Cécile, looking very stylish in a blue and white silk dress. Agnès didn’t seem to be in the room yet, but the other guests clustered around Cécile, admiring her hair and dress.
Cécile tried to join in the polite talk and laughter, as if her heart weren’t beating double time. How would she find a chance to talk privately with Fanny and Agnès? Hoping no one would notice, Cécile cast her eyes around the room, considering whether there was any way she might later be able to slip off and find Agnès’s room, to see if the necklace was there.
Madame Metoyer walked in and greeted all the girls. “We welcome you to our home,” she said, waving her hand toward the buffet table. “Please enjoy the watercress sandwiches, the scones, the cookies, the teacakes, and, of course, the teas. We have three kinds. There is plenty of everything. Enjoy.” With an elegant swish, she left the room.
Cécile wondered if she would be able to swallow a single bite of the delicious-looking treats. Her stomach felt as if it were full of angry bees. She had a feeling that it was going to be much harder than she had ever imagined to find out whether the Metoyers had her necklace.
At that moment, Agnès waltzed into the room as if she were dancing on clouds, smiling and greeting everyone. She looked elegant in a blue silk dress with a matching ribbon in her hair and—
Cécile gasped. There it was, right before her eyes—the cameo necklace. Agnès was wearing the cameo necklace.
Cécile felt as if someone had thrown hot pepper in her face. How could Agnès steal her necklace and then flaunt it right in front of her?
A swarm of girls surrounded Agnès. One girl said, “I love the black lace under the cameo.” Another said, “Yes, it makes it look so fancy. I’ve never seen a cameo on black lace before.”
Cécile could not stop herself. She pushed her way through the guests until she was face-to-face with Agnès. “How could you?” Cécile said. She could not hold back. “How could you do this?”
“Are you upset?” Agnès asked, frowning. “Why, I thought you would be flattered.”
Flattered? Cécile was so angry, she couldn’t even answer.
Fanny rushed over. “Oh dear, Cécile. I told Agnès you might not be pleased.”
Agnès shrugged and spoke to her sister as if they were the only two there. “I already told Cécile how very pretty I thought her necklace was. Why should she care if I had Rudine sew black lace under my cameo, too?”
Cécile stared at the necklace. Now she saw that it wasn’t Tante Tay’s ivory cameo at all. The fine profile was carved from a pinkish stone. With a pang of shame, she realized that Agnès might not even have seen Cécile’s necklace on the wharf.
Cécile looked up to see all the girls staring at her as if she were a pirate who had just landed with a stolen ship. “I—I’m sorry, Agnès,” she managed.
Fanny touched her arm. “I did tell Agnès you might not like her copying your necklace.”
“Cécile, honestly, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” Agnès added. “I think your necklace is the prettiest cameo I’ve ever seen. Why, you should be proud that you’ve started a new fashion.”
Cécile tried to smile, but she couldn’t meet Agnès’s eyes. This time, she knew, she was the one who had behaved badly.
Cécile let Fanny lead her to the buffet table. The other girls began to chatter, and the party resumed. Cécile somehow got through the rest of the tea, but her mind was as jumbled as a jigsaw puzzle.
When the party ended, Cécile was relieved to find Armand waiting for her in the Metoyers’ entryway. On the way home, she told him how she had embarrassed herself.
“Well,” Armand said, “at least you know the Metoyers don’t have the necklace.”
“But that leaves only the two children and the old woman—and I can’t find them. And Tante Tay will be home in two days.” The tears that had been threatening all through the party finally spilled over.
Armand put his arm around his sister. “Cécé, I’ve been thinking. There’s one more place we haven’t looked. After you get out of that party dress, we’ll go to Congo Square.”
Cécile caught her breath. Congo Square was where the slaves and poorer free people of color gathered to visit, dance, and trade. It was shabbier than Jackson Square, with bare dirt instead of green lawns. Sometimes soldiers practiced marching there. Cécile had not been to Congo Square very often, but she knew that some marchands sold treats and trinkets there.
“That’s a good idea, Armand. Merci,” said Cécile, walking faster now. There was no time to lose. Tante Tay would be home the day after tomorrow.
12
MESSAGE IN CONGO SQUARE
“Rice cakes! Hot, fresh rice cakes!”
“Good price on beads. Come, take a look!”
In the dusty square at the edge of the French Quarter, marchands sat with their wares spread out on blankets, urging passersby to make a purchase. Cécile and Armand walked past them slowly, asking the marchands if they had any indigo-striped baskets for sale. They went from one end of the square to the other and then decided to split up and try again.
Cécile was on the verge of giving up when she saw a figure sitting near a tree on a makeshift chair. It seemed to be an old woman wearing a colorful tignon on her head and strings of beads around her neck. Cécile caught her breath. Was it the old woman from the wharf? Cécile was too far away to be sure.
She looked for Armand, but he was on the far side of the square, talking to a friend.
Cécile turned back toward the woman. Two sailors were talking with her now. Keeping to the edge of the square, where there were more trees, Cécile moved closer, her heart pounding.
Yes, she was sure now that this was the old woman she’d stumbled into on the wharf. Cécile remembered the old woman’s hand moving in front of her face, with rings on every finger. She could hear the old woman’s words: You are searching for something very valuable. Did she have the necklace?
As Cécile watched, the two sailors left, and a well-dressed young lady walked up to the old woman. Cécile could see them talking, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She had to get closer.
Staying in the shadows of the trees, Cécile inched closer. She still couldn’t hear, but she could see better now. The young lady handed money to the old woman, but the old woman didn’t seem to give her anything in return.
A line was forming in front of the old woman. As the young lady left, a man wearing a top hat stepped forward. Cécile watched carefully. Again, the old woman received money but seemed to give nothing in return. Cécile was puzzled. Was the old woman a pickpocket who came to Congo Square to sell items she had stolen? Was she cleverly keeping the stolen items hidden as she passed them over to the buyers?
Cécile felt sure that Armand would know what was happening. She didn’t want to leave the cover of the trees, but she hoped he’d come this way soon. She could see him looking around for her now. She waved to him. Armand didn’t see her.
Cécile looked back at the old woman. The man in the top hat had gone, and a well-dressed free person of color who attended Cécile’s church was talking with the old woman. Once again, the old woman accepted money but seemed to give nothing in return. Cécile waited until the next person in line was talking with the old woman, and then she ran to catch up with the lady from her church.
“Bonjour, madame,” Cécile said. “May I ask a question of you, please?”
“Oui, ma chérie,” she said. “You are the Reys’ daughter, am I correct?”
“Oui, madame. I was wondering what the woman under that tree is selling.”
“Dreams,” replied the lady.
Cécile felt confused. Dreams? How could anyone sell dreams?
“What I mean is, she’s a seer,” the lady explained. “God has given Madame Irène the gift of sight.”
“What is the gift of sight?” Cécile asked. The old woman’s voice echoed in her mind: Open your eyes so you can see.
“She knows things, my dear.
Sometimes she simply knows how you feel or what you want, and sometimes she can see what is going to happen in the future.”
Cécile stood dumbfounded for a few seconds before murmuring, “Merci.”
Cécile looked over at the old woman. She was standing up now, gathering her things. Cécile’s breath caught in her throat. Oh no, she thought. If she didn’t move quickly, she would lose any chance to talk to the old woman. Did Cécile dare ask her for the necklace?
Cécile scanned the square. She glimpsed Armand walking in the opposite direction, looking around for her.
The old woman was already walking away. Cécile ran to catch her without thinking what she would say. If the old woman wanted money, Cécile would borrow it from Armand. Time was running out.
A small throng of people leaving the square blocked Cécile’s view of the woman, and she thought she’d lost her. Then she heard someone calling her name. It wasn’t Armand’s voice.
“Come, Cécile,” the old woman called to her. “I knew you would be here today.”
Cécile thought, It’s easy for her to say that she knew I’d come, since I’m already here—but how does she know my name?
The old woman stepped closer. Cécile could see the wisps of gray hair that had escaped from her tignon, and the deep wrinkles in her weathered face. “Don’t be afraid, ma chérie,” the old woman said.
Cécile stared at her, unable to speak.
“Go on. You might as well ask me,” the old woman said. “My name is Madame Irène, by the way. Go on. Don’t be shy.”
Cécile knew that the old woman was right; she had to ask, no matter how terrified she felt. She heard Grand-père’s voice telling her how brave she was.
She swallowed and cleared her throat. Finally, the words came out. “Madame, do you have my necklace?”
Madame Irène’s dark eyes looked into Cécile’s. “Your necklace? Are you sure about that?”
Cécile stepped back in terror. How did the old woman know the necklace wasn’t hers? Cécile’s fear increased, but she pressed on. “I lost my necklace on the wharf. I was hoping that you had it. One of the circus performers said she saw someone with a ring on each finger pick it up.” Cécile’s eyes moved to Madame Irène’s hands. There were rings on every finger.
The Cameo Necklace (American Girl Mysteries (Quality)) Page 6