The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  Madame Picard was about to take a sip of her absinthe but stopped midway, lowering her goblet. She turned and studied Sydnee for a moment and then a smile flickered on her lips. She looked pleased.

  “There can be more, but it will be revealed to you by the good Lord in his own time.”

  Chapter 16

  New Orleans

  1838

  The next three years flew by quickly for Sydnee. Tristan and D’anton visited her frequently, introducing her to many of their business associates and friends. They were all young, ambitious members of the New Orleans and Natchez aristocracy who were interested in animated discussions about art, politics and philosophy.

  Although many people sought their company, the three friends were careful who they befriended. Tristan, D’anton and Sydnee wanted men and women who were not just witty and charming but interested in looking at the world in different ways and with open minds.

  They discussed the coronation of Victoria, studied Victor Hugo’s works and dissected the relationship of George Sand and Frederic Chopin. They revisited the philosophies of Kant and Rousseau, argued about the policies of Van Buren and speculated on a new invention called a telegraph. The world was changing quickly, and they were glad to be a part of it.

  Over time, the town house on Dauphin Street became known throughout the South as a great salon of enlightenment, rivaling that of Paris and London, and Sydnee Sauveterre was at the very heart of it. She was a gracious and dignified hostess, encouraging all perspectives and ideas, creating a setting ripe for discourse. If anyone scoffed or indulged in snobbery, she never invited them again. Even though Madame Picard’s influence was apparent, the success of the salon could be attributed to Sydnee’s generous nature and respect for others.

  Sydnee had come a long way since the Natchez Trace. Over the years she had evolved from a homeless waif to the toast of New Orleans. Her fashion and style were emulated throughout city, her hospitality and grace known across the South. Over time she surpassed the fame of even Madame Picard, who was Sydnee’s greatest devotee. She was proud of her student and overjoyed at her success.

  Tristan was ever her loyal companion and always Sydnee’s generous sponsor. He never forgot that she was integral to the illusion that gave him complete freedom to pursue his relationship with D’anton.

  In spite of this new life filled with adulation, Sydnee never forgot her roots, her life with Margarite, the kindness of Maxime, or the guidance of the spirits. They were with her always, whispering in her ear, guiding her course. Tristan offered to purchase slaves for her service but Sydnee politely declined, suggesting servants instead.

  Several nights a week, Sydnee held soirees. They would dine on oysters or sip aperitifs in the courtyard and discuss events of the day. The salon guests were all pleasant, well-mannered acquaintances, witty and intellectual, but none of them knew intimate details about Sydnee, Tristan and D’anton’s personal lives. The three friends made sure to keep them at arm’s length, telling them nothing of their arrangement. Everyone speculated about their relationships, and many longed to be closer, but no one was admitted into their private circle.

  Ironically, Sydnee found a certain freedom in masquerading as Tristan’s mistress. Her lifestyle was already considered unconventional, so she did not have to hide the fact that she came from humble origins.

  Isabel and Sydnee had to meet in secret though. The young women would include Mortimer when he was in town, but never were they seen publicly, and never did the entire group of friends gather as a group anymore.

  Frequently Sydnee would meet Isabel in the courtyard of Madame Picard’s home, where they would visit for hours, laughing and sharing all the latest news. Isabel told Sydnee that she was happy with Tristan. Although their relationship was platonic, the bond of friendship and love between them was unbreakable.

  The young women would arrive after dark in covered carriages for their rendezvous at Madame Picard’s home, but the past two weeks Isabel had been ill. Tristan told Sydnee that it was a malady of unknown origin, but at last Isabel started to improve. When she finally came to Madame Picard’s home again, Sydnee was shocked to see how thin she had grown. Her face was drawn, and her blue eyes looked pale.

  “What was your illness, Isabel?” Sydnee asked, drawing her down into a seat under the arbor. Isabel’s hands felt as cold as ice. “Was it the fever?”

  Isabel shook her head and dropped her eyes. “It was not yellow jack.”

  “What was it?”

  Isabel murmured, “I lost a child.”

  Sydnee’s jaw dropped.

  “I didn’t tell Mortimer this time. He worries so.”

  Sydnee looked at Isabel, blinking. “There have been other times?”

  “Yes, I lost one several months back. I was not far along.”

  “Does Tristan know?”

  “No,” said Isabel. “He would not object though if I had a baby, so I must keep trying.”

  Sydnee’s eyes grew large. She was flabbergasted considering the implications, Tristan raising Mortimer’s child, Mortimer watching from afar, and Isabel playing the part of dutiful wife and mother, to say nothing of the ramifications of inheritance. It all seemed so fantastic.

  Sydnee stood up and walked to the fountain, rubbing her forehead. She turned and looked at Isabel who seemed so small and frail. “So—so you will try this again?”

  Isabel looked at her with surprise. “Why, of course, Sydnee.” In the half-light coming from the house, her eyes looked feverish and wild.

  “Oh, Isabel,” Sydnee gasped. “So much can go wrong!”

  Isabel jumped up and snapped. “What would you have me do, Sydnee?”

  “There must be another—“

  “Another way? And what would that be?” Isabel interrupted. “You are quite happy with your salon and all of your friends while I remain home alone and lonely.”

  Isabel picked up her drawstring bag and started down the walkway out of the garden. When she opened the gate, she stopped walking. There were tears rolling down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she turned and ran back to Sydnee throwing her arms around her. “Oh, my friend I am so sorry,” she sobbed.

  “I am so sorry too for not understanding,” Sydnee said, her words muffled in Isabel’s voluminous hair, but she was still uncertain. “We will see this through together.”

  * * *

  For years, Sydnee had seen the way Isabel and Mortimer looked at each other. She had witnessed the love between Tristan and D’anton, and sometimes she wondered why she did not have an intimate relationship herself. When she was young, the thought disgusted her, but with time and adulthood she found herself wanting to find love as well.

  So far the gentlemen who frequented the town house bored her. Although they were handsome and intelligent, they seemed predictable and lackluster to her. They sensed her indifference toward them and this inflamed their ardor. The gentlemen flirted outrageously with Sydnee, competing for her attention, bringing her gifts, or flattering her. But again and again, she rebuffed them.

  For a brief time in the spring a dashing French emissary had awakened a flood of passion in her, and she indulged herself for several months, but when he became hungry for more intimacy, she refused. She used the excuse that her heart belonged to Tristan.

  Last month there had been a planter from Natchez that caught her eye, but she stopped that too, telling herself that she must be cautious and appear as if she belonged to Tristan.

  Years ago, she asked Madame Picard if being an inamorata was all there was for her in life, and she told Sydnee to wait for the spirits to show her more. Since that time she had been waiting for a path to be revealed to her, but nothing happened.

  “Allenger will be disappointed if you are not here tonight, Sydnee,” said D’anton one evening at her townhome. He was smoking a cigar in the parlor waiting for the guests to arrive for supper. He looked dashing, dressed in a black suit with a red vest and black cravat. He had his arm slung over the ba
ck of a chair.

  Sydnee wrinkled her nose. “Foolishness.”

  “The man adores you,” D’anton teased, as he bent down to pet Atlantis.

  Sydnee shook her head and swept across the room in her royal blue gown. It was the latest fashion, closely fitted around the upper arms, full at the elbows and tight at the cuffs. It was trimmed in military fashion with gold braid. She adjusted her hair a moment in the mirror and then checked the humidor for cigars.

  Suddenly she turned to D’anton and said, “I am so weary, D’anton. I am tired of all the witty conversation, flippant attitudes and--”

  His eyebrows shot up. “So you are serious. Say no more, my dear. You are entitled to a night of peace and quiet.”

  Sydnee sighed, walked over and kissed his head. “Thank you for understanding.”

  He chuckled. “God knows, I understand. I take breaks for days at a time.”

  “That is different, and you know it.”

  He shook his head slightly and murmured, “Not really.”

  Sweeping his arm, he commanded, “Now go! Your little Marie will serve supper, and Tristan will handle the entertaining.” He took a puff of his cigar. “Tonight Madame Girard is bringing the latest Dickens novel. I plan to be the first to read it.”

  “Something Twist, isn’t?” Sydnee asked as she draped a shawl over her shoulders.

  “Yes something like that. Love you darling,” he said kissing the air in her direction.

  “You too,” she said, closing the door behind her. She ducked out into her carriage before the guests arrived and set off for Madame Picard’s house.

  The women dined on capon and new potatoes that evening, ending with a rich éclair and coffee. It was good for Sydnee to be near her dear friend once more. Madame had been away for months visiting friends near St. Louis, and Sydnee missed her terribly. It seemed as if she was spending more and more time away from home lately.

  “Are your St. Louis friends well?” Sydnee asked.

  “Yes they are. I also visited Maxime’s sister. She has recently purchased her freedom. She is setting up housekeeping just outside of town.”

  “I didn’t know that he had a sister,” Sydnee said, about to take a bite of dessert.

  “Yes, he would be proud to know that his sister is free. He never could afford his own papers. He was too brilliant and valuable for his own good.”

  Sydnee looked down at her plate. “I still miss him.”

  Madame Picard nodded. “I do too. More than you can imagine.”

  The rest of the night the women talked by the fire and when the hour grew late, Madame told Sydnee to take one of the guest rooms. She was tired and complied willingly. Unsure how late the soiree would last, she did not want to return to a house full of guests.

  Sydnee set down the lamp and looked around the guest room. It had not changed since Maxime had died. The sheer curtains were still on the window, the plush Turkish carpet was on the hardwood floor, and the light blue duvet was on the bed.

  She undressed to her chemise and slid under the covers. It was difficult pushing back the memories, but eventually she fell into a dreamless sleep. She slept for several hours and then was awakened suddenly by someone banging on the door downstairs. Sydnee sat up, her heart hammering. When she heard Madame Picard start down the stairs, she grabbed a dressing gown and rushed down after her. When she reached the landing, Madame Picard was just putting the lamp down on the entry table. When she opened the door an elderly white man with a gray beard was standing on the step. He had a huge build and was dressed like a farmer.

  “Thou must flee,” he said breathlessly. “They know.”

  He looked at Sydnee, suspiciously.

  “She is a friend,” Madame Picard explained. “How much time?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “My bag is ready,” she replied.

  The man returned to his wagon.

  Madame shut the door, picked up the lamp and glided quickly up the stairs with Sydnee behind her. “What is that man talking about, Madame?”

  Ninon Picard calmly walked into her room, opened the wardrobe and pulled out a gripsack which was already packed. “Sydnee, that man is a Quaker and my friend. I must flee with him tonight. And you--” she pulled a brown woolen traveling gown over her head. “You must go home, right now.”

  Sydnee stood in the room shaking. She was in her bare feet with her arms folded across her chest. “What is happening? Why are you in danger?”

  Ninon stopped buttoning her gown and looked at her. “Sydnee, I help slaves escape to freedom. I have been doing this for many years.”

  Opening her jewelry box, Madame Picard emptied the contents into her bag along with a wad of notes she pulled out of the back of a book. She looked around the room one last time, took Sydnee by the wrist and pulled her down the stairs behind her. When they reached the landing she faced her. “My little one, do you remember Maxime’s words before he died?”

  Sydnee’s lips parted and she nodded, wide eyed. “He said I must help them.”

  Madame Picard nodded. “He said it again to me just before he died. He said, ‘Sydnee must help them.’ So I taught you everything I know so you too have the power to change lives.”

  “I must help slaves escape?” Sydnee asked desperately.

  “Only you can answer that question.”

  For a moment Sydnee thought she was looking into Margarite’s eyes.

  Madame Picard brushed the hair from Sydnee’s eyes and said gently. “Listen to your spirits. They will help you find your way.”

  Opening the door, she looked both ways and then rushed down the walk. Sydnee followed her. The farmer was waiting by the wagon. There was no moonlight, and the street was dark. He had cleared a spot in the middle of the wagon for Ninon to hide among the produce.

  She stopped, turned around and put her hand on Sydnee’s cheek. “How I have loved you, my little one.”

  Tears filled Sydnee’s eyes. She shook her head and gasped, “But—but this is too fast. This cannot be happening.”

  The farmer stepped forward and held out his hand to help Madame Picard onto the back of the wagon. She stepped up onto the flatbed, laid down, and he pulled the canvas over her. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he snapped the reins, and they were off.

  Sydnee walked out into the middle of the street watching the wagon disappear into the darkness. In a matter of moments, in a whirlwind of panic and despair, her world had changed forever.

  Chapter 17

  New Orleans 1839

  It was difficult coping with the loss of Madame Picard, but Sydnee continued with the salon and her role as a consummate hostess. She carefully concealed the emptiness she felt inside, confiding with only Mortimer about Madame’s secret life, since Tristan and Isabel came from slave-holding families. Initially Sydnee was questioned by the authorities about Madame Picard’s organization, but she had nothing to hide. She had been completely ignorant of the clandestine activities. For several weeks they pressured her until she asked D’anton to put a stop to it.

  Time passed, and as Sydnee’s fame grew with the salon, so too did Mortimer’s reputation as a healer of animals. Planters all over Louisiana and Mississippi badgered Monsieur Saint-Yves for time with the young man, and eventually he tired of these petitions and encouraged Mortimer to strike out on his own.

  Isabel and Tristan provided Mortimer with the capital to buy out Carl Schinden, whose livery was bankrupt, and in less than a year, Mortimer had a successful business housing and treating animals. He was able to return the principal to the Saint-Yveses in no time and with generous interest.

  Mortimer had never been happier. With diligence and love, his dream was at last fulfilled. Gish Livery was more like a hospital than a stable. It was immaculate, efficiently run, and a clearinghouse for all the latest information and techniques on animal welfare. He employed three assistants, and they treated animals, particularly equines, from as far upriver as Memphis. Race horses seemed to be evolvi
ng as his specialty, but Mortimer loved all creatures and worked around the clock on everything from horses to cats to parrots. Sydnee would visit him frequently at his new livery, and now that she could no longer rendezvous at Madame Picard’s home with Isabel, the women would meet there too.

  One rainy afternoon in November, Tristan paid Sydnee a visit at her townhome. “Well, you are early for the supper tonight,” she said smiling, as she escorted him into the parlor. She had recently redecorated the room with freshly painted jalousies, silver-colored draperies and upholstery. On the floor was a gray and burgundy Turkish carpet.

  The moment Tristan sat down, Sydnee knew something was wrong.

  “We must cancel the supper this evening,” he said with an anxious look on his face.

  Sydnee stared at him. The rain beat on the window panes.

  “Monsieur Trudeau caught Isabel with Mortimer in his quarters at the livery.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Were they--?”

  Tristan nodded and dropped his eyes. “There was a terrible scene.”

  Sydnee gasped. “What happened?”

  “He attacked Mortimer, but Mortimer refused to defend himself against a man of his years. In the end, Isabel pulled Monsieur Trudeau into his carriage, and they left.”

  “Where is Isabel now?”

  “At home and extremely distraught.”

  Sydnee stood up and began to pace in front of the fireplace. Thunder rumbled.

  “Who told you?” she asked.

  “Isabel. Her father threatened to tell me, but she assured him that she would confess everything to me immediately.” Tristan grimaced. “Oh, Sydnee, the hideous names he called her, and the words he used for Mortimer were--I cannot repeat them. The worst of it is that he wants Mortimer expelled from the community.”

  “Oh, Tristan,” Sydnee moaned.

  He bit his lip and nodded.

  She sat down on the edge of a chair and asked, “So what happens now?”

  He shrugged. “There is little we can do. Our grand charade is beginning to unravel.”