When she landed again on her shoulder, Sydnee stroked her feathers and said, “Good girl!”
When they reached home, the rain stopped, and she perched Vivian in a tree for the night. “Sleep well, my friend. Tomorrow I will find a big treat for you.”
“Giselle's mother just arrived,” a voice said behind her.
Sydnee jumped. It was Maxime.
“I am glad,” she replied.
“I want to thank you sincerely,” he said.
Sydnee looked up at Giselle's window and nodded. “Is she well?”
“Yes, she is well.”
“Good night,” she whispered.
“Good night.”
Weary and fatigued, Sydnee climbed the stairs to bed. She slept heavily for several hours but was disturbed suddenly by a nightmare in which she heard Giselle screaming. In the dream there was a violent storm, and she looked out the window at the deluge. When lightning flashed, she spied Madame Saint-Yves rushing through the courtyard with a bundle in her arms.
Chapter 11
When Sydnee awoke the next day, she was weary and drained. She dressed and listened at the door before leaving her room. The house was quiet. Still groggy, she stumbled down the stairs and outside to the kitchen. It was empty, and the work table was clean. She found it curious because the kitchen was seldom unattended.
She found Maxime arranging books and papers in the schoolroom. There were dark shadows under his eyes.
“Why is no one in the kitchen?” she asked.
“The women made breakfast early so they could prepare the body for burial.”
Sydnee's eyes grew large. “What body?”
“Giselle died last night.”
She gasped. “But you said she was well!”
Maxime dropped his eyes. “There was a turn of events. She started bleeding and--”
“The baby?”
“He survived but was very weak. Madame Saint-Yves took him away to be attended to.”
Sydnee covered her mouth with horror. So there had been no escape. Madame had won. “Did Giselle see her take the baby?”
Maxime pressed his eyes shut and nodded. Suddenly he found it curious that Sydnee asked this question. He looked hard at her and asked, “Why?”
“No reason.”
Sydnee's knees felt wobbly, and she slid down into a chair. She realized that the nightmare last night had indeed been a reality. She had heard Giselle screaming, and she had seen Madame Saint-Yves whisking the baby away. She believed that Giselle had lost her will to live after her child was taken from her. Memories flooded her, and her eyes filled with tears.
“I will be tutoring Tristan in mathematics privately today,” Maxime said. “I suggest you do reading and geography on your own.”
“Yes, Maxime,” Sydnee responded, without looking up. She gathered her books and went back to her room to study.
It was difficult concentrating on her schoolwork, but she managed to finish by midday. When Sydnee picked up her noon meal, the women in the kitchen were quiet. Everyone seemed mute and stunned.
She ate by the fountain, and when she finished she brushed off her apron, tied on her green poke bonnet, and walked down to give Monsieur Schinden money from Tristan to board the dogs.
Schinden's Livery Stable and Undertaking Establishment was two blocks down from the Saint-Yves home. It was a large brown stucco building with huge wooden doors. It smelled of hay and horse dung. The dogs bounded up to see her the moment she walked into the stable. She bent down and hugged them before walking into the dark office.
Carl Schinden, a stout, middle-aged Prussian with huge arms, looked up from his desk with a scowl. “Ja?” he barked.
“I have payment for the dogs,” Sydnee murmured, holding out coins in her gloved hand.
He snatched the money from her, tossed it inside his desk and looked back down at his ledger without another word.
Returning to the stable, Sydnee stopped and looked at the black hearse parked in the corner. She peeked through the glass at the empty chamber. The window was draped in dark velvet, and the curtains were tied back with black tassels. She looked at the identical white hearse standing nearby. This vehicle was for children's funerals. Sydnee chastised herself for looking at the hearses. This was the last thing she needed to see after the events of last night.
“Gish!” Schinden roared suddenly behind her.
Sydnee jumped.
The Prussian walked past her, calling to Mortimer in a thick accent, “I go out now. You be done when I get back, or I beat you to an inch of your life!”
“Yes, Mr. Schinden,” she heard Mortimer mumble. The boy was in the back of the stable, brushing one of the horses. He had on a soiled smock and leather apron. The dogs were sitting beside him.
When Schinden walked out the door, Sydnee went over. The dogs bounded up, and she squatted down to hug them.
“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Sydnee.” Mortimer said, still brushing the horse.
“Greetings, Mortimer. The dogs seem happy,” she said. “I can tell that you are good to them. Thank you.”
He looked down at them with a smile, his long dirty hair dropping down in front of his face. “They are easy to get to know except for Madame Vivian.”
Sydnee's jaw dropped. “Vivian comes here?”
Mortimer nodded. “She sits outside in that tree. I have tried to coax her inside, but she refuses.”
Sydnee chuckled and said, “You are getting to know Vivian. She is stubborn.”
She walked around the livery looking at the horses. Most of the stalls were occupied. Although it was dark and stuffy, the stable was clean.
“You do all this by yourself?” she asked, coming back and scratching Baloo behind the ears.
“Yes.”
She spied a cat in the corner, panting as if it was in pain, and she heard a horse wheezing. “Are some of these animals sick?”
“Yes.”
“You take in sick animals too?”
“Yes, I try to help them.”
Sydnee remembered Tristan saying that Mortimer had a way with creatures. She shook her head. “There is much work here.”
“I have many friends. It is a fair bargain,” he said.
Sydnee smiled. She understood him completely. She watched him for a while as he moved around the stable. His gait was so unusual. When he was not carrying something, Mortimer's arms hung limply at his sides. He never swung them, and his head was always lowered.
He walked over and removed a bridle and some black plumes from a rack. “I apologize, Mademoiselle Sydnee, but I must get ready for a funeral. I am short on time.”
Sydnee realized that he was gently telling her he had no time to talk. She started to leave and then reconsidered. She dreaded returning home. “Mortimer? Would you like some help?”
“Mr. Schinden would not allow it.”
“But he is gone. If he returns, I will act as if I had taken the dogs out for a walk and just come back.”
Mortimer hesitated, looking down at floor. He said at last, “Very well.”
For the next few hours, Sydnee helped Mortimer attend to the sick animals, groom the horses, and clean the stalls. Just before Schinden returned, they finished hitching the team to the hearse and securing the black plumes to the horse's heads.
Sydnee hid in the shadows as Schinden marched in, examining everything. He berated Mortimer for the poor shine on the horse brasses and for not tying back the drapes properly in the hearse. After spitting tobacco juice onto the sick cat, he pulled on his black undertaker's coat and barked, “Get my hat!”
The boy scurried over to a peg returning with a black mourner's hat. The squat Prussian climbed onto the hearse, belched and snapped the reins. He disappeared down the street to the funeral of an elderly woman.
Sydnee stepped out and asked, “Can you rest for a while?”
He nodded and said, “Let's sit with Lady Rowena.”
He walked over and sat down by the sick cat who had f
allen asleep. He took a rag from his pocket and wiped the spittle from her fur.
“This is Lady Rowena?” Sydnee asked, sitting down beside him.
“Yes, I took the name from the book Ivanhoe.”
“You read?”
“I do. Monsieur Tristan brings me books.”
“He does? How old are you?”
Mortimer shrugged. “I am not sure. I think I am about your age.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“My mother couldn't feed us so she apprenticed us all out to merchants. I ended up here at the livery stable. It was a long time ago.”
“Did your mother teach you to read?” Sydnee asked.
“No, I taught myself,” he said, fiddling with some straw.
She blinked in amazement. When he leaned forward, she noticed purple bruises on his arms and face, and she suspected Schinden beat him. The two sat for a long time in silence petting the cat. There was little need to talk, but at last, Sydnee asked, “What do you want to do when you grow up?”
Mortimer cocked his head in thought and said, “I want my own stable.”
“A livery?”
“Sort of,” he said. “But mainly a stable to take care of sick animals.”
Sydnee nodded thoughtfully. “My mother taught me the ways of the still room, potions, remedies and such. Maybe I can help you.”
“Maybe,” Mortimer said. “What about you?”
Sydnee put her head back on the wooden stall and said, “I want to ride in a paddle wheeler as a fancy lady someday. That's what I want to do.”
* * *
There were many visits with Mortimer Gish after that day. Sometimes Tristan would accompany Sydnee too. It was difficult for him to get away with his parents in residence, but he always seemed to find a way. On days when Schinden was gone, the three youngsters would work together in the livery; taking care of the animals, grooming and cleaning the horses and caring for sick creatures. They became close, sharing their hopes and dreams and sometimes their worries and fears with each other. Each of them had been lonely, and at last they had companionship.
“Mortimer, why don't you swing your arms when you walk?” Tristan asked, one afternoon in December.
“I do swing my arms,” the boy said with surprise.
“No you don't,” said Tristan, and he demonstrated how Mortimer walked with his arms hanging at his sides.
Sydnee was sitting, leaning against one of the stalls eating an apple and listening. Mortimer peered out from under his stringy hair to watch Tristan.
“Here,” said Tristan. “I'll help you.” and he walked along Mortimer's side, helping him swing his arms.
Mortimer tried it on his own, several times. He was stiff and clumsy as he experimented, and he seemed to walk even more awkwardly.
Tristan stood back and watched thoughtfully. He put his fist to his mouth and cocked his head, observing him. He gave several suggestions, and each time Mortimer tried to swing his arms, his walk looked worse.
At last, Tristan shrugged said, “Well, Mortimer, this is just who you are.”
Sydnee nodded in agreement, finishing her apple. They never discussed it again. Unconditional acceptance was the cornerstone of their friendship.
On many occasions, Sydnee helped Mortimer minister to the sick animals. The boy taught her how to help with births, treat mange, and set broken bones. She in turn shared Margarite's recipes for ointments and tonics, salves, and poultices. She imparted the wisdom of Hoodoo and explained the healing power of the spirits to him.
Tristan was included in the exchange as well. Mortimer taught him how to groom and shoe a horse, swing a hammer and sew leather. Tristan in turn brought the boy books and taught him how to write.
* * *
Three evenings a week, Sydnee and Tristan attended Madame Picard's School of Etiquette and Dance. “This is New Orleans's finest school for young people,” Maxime told Sydnee. “Madame Picard, an acquaintance of mine, has been gracious enough to allow you in her classroom even though you cannot pay.”
Sydnee noticed that Maxime had been treating her differently since she had delivered the message to Giselle's mother on All Soul's Day. He took a personal interest in her education and began to mentor her. He spent more time with her in the classroom and tailored much of the coursework to fit her needs. Sydnee was grateful for all that he was doing. His attention pleased her immensely, and more than anything, she wanted him to be proud of her.
The afternoon before the first etiquette class, Sydnee was nervous. She was afraid that she would act gauche and unrefined in front of Madame Picard, so Tristan tried to calm her fears. He told her that, although Madame Picard was the most famous quadroon and free woman of color in all of New Orleans, she was gracious and patient with all of her students.
Although in her middle years, he admitted that she was still a beauty and had the bearing of a queen. In her youth, Madame Picard had been the most sought-after woman in all of New Orleans, and eventually she became the consort of the most powerful and handsome planter in Louisiana. Her salon on Royal Street still hosts the crème de la crème of New Orleans' society, he explained, and to this day, her fashion and taste is emulated throughout the South. In spite of all this beauty and refinement, he assured Sydnee, you will find no one more charming and kind. Tristan leaned close to her ear and whispered, “And it is common knowledge that the great love of her life is Maxime.”
Sydnee's eyebrows shot up. “Really?” she gasped.
“Indeed,” murmured Tristan, nodding his blond head.
Suddenly Sydnee was eager to attend the school. She wanted to see this beautiful woman who could move mountains. She put on her royal blue gown, her silk bonnet and her finest gloves.
Madame Picard's town house on Toulouse Street was a modest, peach-colored, two-story stucco structure. It had petite balconies that were encircled by black filigree iron railings and matching black shutters on the windows. The sidewalk to the front door was bordered with autumn flowers; pink asters, snow white mums, blue hyssops and red firecracker bushes. When Tristan and Sydnee stepped inside the house, they were shown to the parlor where class was to be held. The room was fashionably appointed in the Second Empire style with two low sofas and several chairs upholstered in deep blues with cream accents. The windows had heavy drapes of the same color and a table was set for tea in front of the fireplace.
Using manners he learned the year before in class, Tristan introduced Sydnee to Madame Picard and all twelve of the students.
Sydnee was awestruck. Madame Picard was even more beautiful than she imagined. She was tall and willowy with smooth dark hair streaked with white. Her lips were full and sensuous, her eyebrows arched and her skin was the color of amber.
“Welcome, Mademoiselle Sauveterre,” she said. “My dear friend Maxime speaks highly of you.”
Sydnee felt her face flush, and she dropped her eyes. “Thank you, Madame Picard,” she mumbled.
The students all stared at Sydnee. They were her age and children of the finest families in New Orleans. They were curious about this cousin from Mississippi and followed Madame Picard's example being gracious and welcoming to her.
As Sydnee stepped back, trying to hide from inquisitive eyes, she wondered if Madame Picard knew the truth about her previous life. Maxime told Sydnee that Madame Picard judged people on the content of their character rather than their pedigree and this was just one of the many reasons she was considered a great lady. If she did know about Sydnee's background, she treated her no differently from the rest of the class. She included her in everything and addressed her as she would any other student.
“Come, let us begin,” Madame Picard announced to the group.
That first evening the students worked on introductions, conversational skills, and the etiquette of tea. Although shy and self-conscious, Sydnee sat on the edge of her seat listening to every word Madame Picard said, watching her every movement.
Just before they dismissed for
the night, Madame said, “The next time we meet, we will work on the language of flowers and the fan. Gentlemen, this is necessary for you as well, so you receive messages properly from the ladies.”
On the way home, Tristan said to Sydnee, “When you weren't looking Madame Picard was studying you tonight.”
Sydnee started. “Oh no, I don't fit in!”
Tristan looked at her with surprise and then continued walking, deep in thought. “No,” he said at last. “I don't think that was it. I am not sure what it was.”
“She will not be inviting me back,” Sydnee said, crestfallen.
Contrary to her fears though, Sydnee was invited back, again and again. Madame Picard, just like Maxime, had taken an interest in her.
* * *
Weeks turned to months as Sydnee and Tristan worked during the day with Maxime and in the evening with Madame Picard. In their free time, they would practice their dancing or simulate fetes to polish their manners. Sydnee was even learning to play the piano forte.
A week before Christmas, school was dismissed, so the youngsters traveled to Saint-Denis for the holiday. Tristan's parents decided to go to Natchez early, so they left an aged cousin to chaperone Tristan and Sydnee at the plantation over the holiday.
“Her sight is poor and so is her hearing,” Tristan said with a smirk about Cousin Agnes.
When Sydnee raised an eyebrow, he countered with mock indignation, “Of course we will do nothing wrong.”
“Of course not,” Sydnee replied.
Sydnee was excited when the landau turned up the long driveway lined with ancient oak trees. Saint-Denis was a sprawling cotton plantation. Like other grand estates along the Mississippi, the manor house was a large, two storied structure with soaring columns built in the Greek revival style. What set it apart though was a white pillared veranda which arched out gracefully in a semicircle to welcome guests. It was a beautiful addition to an already grand structure. In anticipation of Christmas, boughs of evergreen were draped over the black iron railings on the upper and lower level of the gallery.
The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Page 11