The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  She nodded and closed the door. Sydnee knew that she could not refuse the master of the house. Reluctantly she pulled on her everyday gown, slipped on her shoes and stepped out of the room. Pausing a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut to try to steady herself. So it is starting again. As if it was yesterday, she could hear her father roaring for her to come to the cabin. She could feel the men groping her and smell their stinking breath.

  As if she was going into battle, she took a deep breath and started down the hall. As she passed Guy's bed chamber, she hesitated. Someone inside was sobbing. It raised the hair on her arms to hear sounds coming from that room, and then she realized it was Madame Saint-Yves. She bit her lip and continued down the hall.

  When she stepped up to the Master's bedroom, she squared her shoulders and knocked.

  “Enter,” was the reply.

  Cuthbert Saint-Yves was standing by the mantel in a long burgundy dressing gown, smoking a cigar in the candlelight. His long face was white and his narrow eyes were cold. Putting out his cigar, he ordered, “Go stand by the bed.”

  Her heart hammering in her chest, Sydnee complied. When he walked over, he seemed to be seven feet tall. Suddenly, he reached up, grabbed a handful of hair and bent her over the bed, facedown. She cried out, terrified. With the violence of a madman he pushed her head into the bedclothes as he lifted her skirts. Sydnee squeezed her eyes shut trying to endure the pain and humiliation. Give me strength. Please take me away.

  Gradually her petitions were answered, and she could hear the gentle tinkling of wind chimes and see the blue expanse of the Mississippi. There were birds soaring overhead.

  “You filthy whore,” a hoarse voice whispered. It was Saint-Yves mumbling obscenities in her ear. She listened to his vile language and squeezed her eyes shut. The man’s violence was terrifying.

  Just as she was struggling to escape to someplace peaceful once more, there was a shriek from another room. Saint-Yves pushed himself up off of Sydnee and ran from the room. Through the open door, Sydnee could see light flickering and heavy smoke rolling down the hall. Something was on fire.

  She dashed down the hall to see Guy's room in a blaze. The vigil lamp was smashed on the floor, and the bed curtains were in flames. In the middle of the inferno, Monsieur and Madame Saint-Yves were struggling. She was in a long white nightgown, biting and kicking her husband savagely as he tried to choke her.

  Sydnee stood on the threshold paralyzed at the macabre sight. They staggered from one end of the room to the other, locked in a deadly embrace. Madame was like a wildcat, clawing and screaming while Monsieur Saint-Yves looked down at her squeezing her neck. At last, they tumbled into the flaming curtains.

  Sydnee sprang forward to stop them just as Madame Saint-Yves' gown started on fire. The flames crackled up her back jumping to the loose ends of her dark hair. She screamed in terror, wrenched herself free and lunged for the door, but her husband was too quick. He caught her by the wrist and threw her to the floor.

  Sydnee dashed over and pulled a blanket from the linen press. Saint-Yves snapped back to reality and helped Sydnee roll the woman into the bedding.

  The room was engulfed in flames. The drapes and the wardrobe were on fire as well as the carpet. Saint-Yves picked his wife up and carried her down the stairs in the blanket. Sydnee ran behind him. She ran for help, but it was too late. The house on St. Louis Street burned to the ground.

  * * *

  “My mother will recover with few scars,” Tristan told Sydnee late the next day as they stood before the smoking ruins of the house. He ran his eyes over the charred remains. Only the chimneys were left standing with blackened rubble around them. One of the adjoining houses had been affected, but the fire had been extinguished before there had been extensive damage. The air was thick with the smell of burnt timber.

  Tristan turned back toward the garçonnière which was unaffected. The carriage house and slave quarters were intact as well. “You and I will stay in the garçonnière,” he said. “I told my father that I do not want to go to Saint-Denis. I will have a bed brought in, so we can make up a room for you in the classroom.”

  Sydnee looked at Tristan. The last few months he had changed, gaining confidence and maturity. Although he was getting ready to step into his role as a gentleman of means, it wasn’t just the acquisition of manners and social graces that had changed him. It was something more fundamental. He stood taller and was more in charge. It was as if he had become a soldier readying himself for battle. Sydnee had not told him about the incidents that occurred the night the house burned, yet somehow she believed that he knew.

  They settled into the garçonnière for the next few months. They slept, ate, and attended class while crews outside shoveled and carted away rubble and debris.

  One afternoon, a slave came to the schoolroom interrupting Maxime’s lesson. He informed Tristan that his father wanted him to attend supper at Victor’s Restaurant on Bourbon Street that evening.

  “My father is in town?” Tristan asked with surprise.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I thought he was in Natchez,” he said with a sigh. “Very well. Please tell him I will meet him at eight, no earlier.”

  Sydnee’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at Maxime who was staring in wonder at Tristan. The hint of a smile played around his lips, and he nodded his head. She could tell he was pleased that his student was finding his voice at last.

  That evening Tristan called for a carriage and went to Victor’s Restaurant to dine with his father. It was an intimate eating establishment catering exclusively to the upper class of New Orleans. Its pristine interior had murals on the walls, crystal chandeliers and crisp white linen. Even though it was a busy night, Cuthbert Saint-Yves was seated at the best table in the house, drinking an aperitif. Through the window he could see Tristan step out of the family landaulet.

  Cuthbert Saint-Yves narrowed his eyes as he puffed on his cigar and watched his son. The young man was fashionably dressed in a black evening coat and pantaloons and a white satin waistcoat and cravat. Heads turned as he walked into the restaurant. He checked his hat and gloves at the door and came over to the table. “Good evening, Father.”

  “Why is it necessary we dine at eight?” Cuthbert said, without greeting him.

  “I had some matters of business to attend to,” Tristan replied, flipping his coattails up and sitting down.

  A hint of anger passed over his father’s face. “I hope this time is convenient for you,” he said sarcastically.

  Ignoring the gibe Tristan replied, “Why yes, it suits me well, thank you. How is Mother?”

  Monsieur Saint-Yves sat back and puffed on his cigar, studying his son. The young man seemed different to him. Tristan returned his gaze coolly.

  “Your mother is almost completely recovered.”

  “That is good news. Send her my regards, will you?”

  Saint-Yves continued to watch his son as a waiter came up to take the young man’s order. “I will have sherry, and I believe that I would like the duck tonight.”

  “I have already ordered the roast chicken with bordelaise for you,” his father announced.

  Tristan handed the menu to the waiter and said, “Cancel that. I will have the duck.’

  Monsieur Saint-Yves raised an eyebrow as the waiter bowed and left. He did not like his son’s new found independence, but he ignored it and continued, “I summoned you here to inform you of several changes,” he said, leaning forward and putting out his cigar. “First of all, you will not continue to live in the garçonnière. You will sail as soon as possible for Paris to complete your education and start your Grand Tour.”

  Tristan’s heart jumped. Once again fate had looked favorably upon him. D’anton was leaving for Europe soon too.

  “But that creature, who you have been keeping as a carnal tutor, must go.”

  Tristan set his jaw. He had been anticipating this moment for months, and he was ready. “Yes, father. I agree. It is not appr
opriate having her stay in the garçonnière any longer.”

  “Good, I am glad you are listening to reason.”

  “I will be taking her permanently as my inamorata,” stated Tristan.

  Cuthbert Saint-Yves slammed his hands on the table and barked, “You will not!”

  Several customers looked over at them, but Tristan did not flinch or take his eyes from his father’s face. “You are too late, Father. I have made arrangements for a town house on Dauphin Street.”

  “With my money?” his father said, his chest heaving.

  “No, I have my own money from Grandfather. You know that.”

  The waiter approached with aperitifs, and the men fell silent.

  “This is an outrage,” his father hissed.

  “You have a mistress, Father,” Tristan said calmly, sipping his sherry. “Why is this an outrage?”

  Cuthbert looked from side to side, afraid someone had heard. He lowered his voice and said, “Adelaide is a distinguished quadroon of refinement and breeding. Papers were drawn up--”

  “Yes, I have everything in order too. That is my last word on it, Father.”

  At that moment, the waiter approached and set down the meals. “Oh look, here is our food. Very good,” said Tristan to the server. “I have just what I want.”

  * * *

  On her sixteenth birthday, Tristan presented Sydnee with her new townhome on Dauphin Street. It seemed as if all of her prayers were answered in one day. She would not have to leave Tristan. She would have her own home, and Vivian and the dogs could live with her permanently.

  From the moment she laid eyes on it, Sydnee fell in love with her little house. It was a petite two-story stucco townhome in a good neighborhood. Although it was in need of paint, new shutters and minor repairs, the foundation was strong, and the structure was sturdy.

  Sydnee walked through the parlor, her eyes glowing. “Oh, I love it! How can I ever thank you?”

  “Thank Monsieur Girard for drawing up the papers but especially thank D’anton. He helped me pick it out,” said Tristan, holding his hat in his gloved hand. “He seemed to know just what you would fancy. With a little care, it will be the most charming house in the neighborhood.”

  “Oh, D’anton was right, but where is he?”

  Tristan’s smiled dropped. “He is having another one of his spells.”

  “How many days?”

  “Three days sleeping,” said Tristan. “I wish he would wake up. He needs to get ready for his voyage to Paris. He leaves within the week.”

  “And when do you leave?” Sydnee asked, not wanting to hear an answer.

  “Not for another month.”

  Tristan reached out and touched her arm, saying cheerfully, “Which will give us plenty of time to bring this house to life.”

  Sydnee laughed and looked around. “I am very happy.”

  “I’m glad.”

  They stepped through the French doors out into a small courtyard. It was overrun with weeds and vines, but Sydnee found a trellis and wrought-iron loveseat beneath the tangled overgrowth. She pulled back the brush and sat down. Tristan bent over, ducked in and sat down beside her. “With some raking and weeding, this too will be beautiful,” he said. “And you will never have to leave me.”

  * * *

  Every day when they were finished with their studies, Sydnee and Tristan would change into old clothes and go to the house on Dauphine Street to work. They swept the floors, knocked down cobwebs, weeded, and raked.

  Madame Trudeau had shopping in New Orleans one day, so Isabel came to help too. Knowing that her mother would not approve of Sydnee’s living arrangement, she told her that Sydnee was setting up housekeeping with her old aunt. Isabel knew that soon enough her mother would find out, but until that time, she chose to mislead her.

  Isabel washed windows, planted flowers and dusted. Then a week later, when Mortimer came in town to pick up a new mare, he assisted in repairs to the roof and balconies. Gradually they transformed the little town house from a dirty rundown shack into a charming well-kept cottage.

  One mild spring afternoon, Sydnee brushed the hair from her face and asked Tristan, “Do you think the house is ready for me to move in?”

  “It better be ready. Isabel comes tomorrow to help us decide on furniture,” was his reply.

  “I have been talking to Madame Picard, and she told me to order modest furniture of good quality and to remember that classic styles are the best.”

  When they began ordering furnishings, Tristan marveled at Sydnee’s sense of style. She had an instinct for colors and textures, fabrics and design that astounded him. Sydnee surprised herself too. She adored decorating, and by the time they were done, the house on Dauphin Street resembled an elegant doll house. The parlor was done in a pale green with cream and green toiles peintes drapes. The sofa, two chairs and carpet were upholstered in a light dusty rose. Overhead was a miniature crystal chandelier and hanging above the fireplace was a portrait of Tristan.

  “I feel like a fool,” he said, looking up at his likeness. He was mounted on a gelding dressed for the hunt.

  Sydnee smiled a crooked smile. “If we are to convince the world that I am your inamorata we must have a portrait of you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, turn it to the wall when there are no guests here.”

  They picked out a mahogany table with six chairs for the dining room and the master bedroom had an oak half-tester bed with blue and cream-colored curtains and spread. The other two bedrooms were also done in soft pastels.

  “What time do we go to the plantation tomorrow?” Sydnee asked.

  “First thing in the morning. But we will not stay long. I have so much to do before I sail in two days. Does Mortimer know we are bringing the dogs and Vivian back to live with you?”

  “He does,” Sydnee replied.

  The next day they travelled to Saint-Denis so Tristan could say goodbye. Isabel was there, tears streaming down her face, and Mortimer disappeared deep into the stable when it was time to say goodbye. Tristan frowned and looked at Sydnee. “I want to go home. This is too hard.”

  Sydnee nodded and whistled to the dogs who jumped into the landau, and Vivian flew along behind the carriage. They were quiet on the way back, knowing that their lives were about to change.

  * * *

  The sky was fair the day of departure as Sydnee and Maxime stood on the landing waiting for Tristan to return from checking his trunk. The docks were teaming with activity as passengers boarded vessels and crews loaded cargo. It was noisy as draymen roared past, whistling and cracking whips and peddlers hawked their wares.

  Sydnee ran her eyes over Tristan’s ship. She had never been close to an ocean going vessel before. It was completely different from the square sturdy steamboats that lined the landing all around it. This craft was oblong with three poles standing upright in a row which Maxime called masts. Attached to these masts were sails which, she was told, caught the wind and propelled the craft. From her studies she learned that the oceans were even vaster than the mighty Mississippi River, and if this was true, this vessel seemed very small indeed. She tried hard not to think about the fate of Guy Saint-Yves on his voyage to Europe and that her friend may be at risk.

  Tristan approached Maxime. “Everything is in order,” he said. “They are ready to depart.”

  “Your father sends his regrets,” Maxime said apologetically. “He is very busy today.”

  Tristan shrugged. “Those who matter to me are right here.”

  He took a breath and looked away, holding back tears. “How will I know what to say and do without my dear teacher?”

  Maxime swallowed hard and tried to speak, but he could not. Instead he took Tristan’s hand, squeezed it hard and walked away.

  Then Tristan turned to Sydnee. They looked at each other a moment and then collapsed into an embrace. At last Tristan pushed her away and ran up the gang plank onto the deck stopping at the railing to look back at her.

&
nbsp; Sydnee wiped her eyes and waved. The crew burst into action, getting ready to set sail. Some of them stayed on deck while others climbed aloft to loosen the rigging. “Let fall,” she heard someone call, and the white sails dropped.

  Passengers crowded around to shout good bye to loved ones on shore. Some were waving hankies and others were crying, but Sydnee did not notice them. She could only see Tristan.

  Suddenly the sails bulged with harnessed energy, and the ship began to creak and move away from the landing. As the vessel moved downriver, the crowds gradually dispersed on the landing. Families crawled into carriages and others departed on horseback, but Sydnee did not move. She remained motionless determined to watch Tristan until the last.

  He stayed where he was too, never taking his eyes from her. She looked so small and helpless standing there all alone, and suddenly he panicked. Had he left her enough money? Would she be safe? As the vessel rounded a bend and he lost sight of her, he took comfort in the fact that as tiny and as frail as his dear friend appeared, she had the heart of an Amazon.

  Chapter 14

  It took weeks for Sydnee to adjust to life without Tristan. He had become such an important part of her existence that she felt lost without him. Tears would fill her eyes unexpectedly throughout the day and at night she would lay awake worrying about his long voyage across the Atlantic. Many mornings it was hard to pull herself out of bed, but her loyal companions, Vivian, Atlantis, and Baloo reminded her that someone still needed her for their happiness.

  In spite of her loneliness, Sydnee was grateful for her new life, thanking the spirits often. Her home on Dauphin Street was a satisfying distraction for her, and she worked long hours trimming and manicuring the shrubs and flowers at the front entrance and in the courtyard. On several occasions Isabel visited her, and together they planted hibiscus, Indian pink, bee balm, and bright blue iris.

  Sydnee planted an herb garden by the back door where she could harvest plants for cooking and for medicines. She had memorized Margarite’s recipes for gumbo, soups and cassoulets and began to hone her culinary skills. Sydnee also made Hoodoo powders and oils in her small stillroom off the courtyard in case of accidents or disease.