* * *
Sydnee did not sleep that night. She did not need to consult the spirits to know that things were changing for the worse. When she walked the dogs past Gish Livery in the morning, Mortimer would not speak with her. Every day for a week she asked to meet with him but was met with refusal.
D’anton stopped by that evening and told her that Monsieur Trudeau had taken ill, and that it seemed to be quite serious. He was having trouble speaking, and his walking had become palsied. “The doctors believe that he has suffered an apoplectic fit,” he said.
Frantic with worry, Sydnee tried to see Isabel, but she too was refusing visitors. Tristan told Sydnee that she would not rise from her bed and would not eat. He assured her that he was staying by Isabel’s side and that she would recover soon, but Sydnee could see the doubt in his eyes.
Sydnee felt so helpless. All she could do is appeal to the saints and light candles for them all. Then early one morning, a boy brought a message from Mortimer. The note said that he had closed the livery permanently, and left for Memphis. Mortimer enclosed a letter for Tristan and one for Isabel which he asked Sydnee to deliver.
She sat down on the front step and hugged Baloo’s neck, her eyes filling with tears. “Our dear old friend is gone, Baloo. Our world seems to be getting smaller and smaller.”
* * *
Gradually over a period of months, Isabel recovered but her father did not. He died the following March, and Isabel blamed herself for his demise. Madame Trudeau having a kind and forgiving nature, reached out to her daughter, but Isabel withdrew from the world never leaving her bed chamber. She grew pale and fragile, yet when Sydnee saw her, she seemed more beautiful than ever. Tragedy had etched character into her face and added depth to her azure eyes. But there was little solace in her beauty; she was desperately unhappy.
One day Sydnee had an idea which she decided to present to Isabel. She had Tristan sneak her into the house late one night to speak with her. He ushered her to a small sitting room off Isabel’s bed chamber and left the two women alone. The room was draped in heavy fabrics of burgundy and gold and had been shut up for so long, it smelled of stale rosewater and dead flowers.
Isabel sat down on the edge of a chair. She was dressed in a light green dressing gown with her hair tied back, several wisps framing her face.
“Isabel,” Sydnee said, pulling her gloves off and sitting down on a divan. “I want you to take a moment to consider what I am about to say before casting my idea aside.” Sydnee swallowed hard. “I think--I think you should adopt a child.”
Isabel stared at her a moment and then looked down at the carpet. “I am in no condition to care for a child. You know that.”
“You can hire a nanny,” Sydnee countered eagerly. “It would give you someone to love and turn your attention away from your troubles and loneliness. You have the means to provide a home and food for a little one.”
“No, Sydnee. Too many of these children come from questionable--”
“Remember,” Sydnee interrupted. “Tristan was adopted.”
Isabel pushed herself up from the chair and said, “Thank you for coming and for thinking of me, Sydnee, but I don’t feel well. I must return to bed.”
Holding her drawstring bag tightly, Sydnee stood up, ready for the final assault. Her voice was gentle and soft, but her words were like cold steel. “Isabel wait,” she demanded. “Have you ever considered what Tristan may want? He has been ever patient and kind, taking care of you for months now. Perhaps he would like a family. I believe you are being selfish, and you forget that he too is a victim here.”
Isabel was thunderstruck. She stared at Sydnee with her mouth open, blinking at her audacity. “How dare you!” she gasped.
Sydnee looked her in the eye. She was not about to back down. “If you care for him at all, ask him what he wants for a change.”
* * *
Sydnee knew she would win. Tristan, of course, embraced the idea of a child and several weeks later, Sydnee and Isabel were headed for the Ursuline Convent to inquire about adoption. Tristan had to leave town on business for a month, but he encouraged Isabel to speak with the nuns, and when he returned, he would be a part of the final decision.
The day of the appointment, the women dressed in modest attire and wore hats with dark veils to cover their faces. They must not be seen together in public, and they definitely did not want anyone to suspect their errand.
The Ursuline Convent was a sprawling complex of buildings by the river housing an orphanage, a hospital, school and chapel. Two stories high and lined with large shuttered windows and gardens, the structure was imposing.
Sydnee and Isabel stepped out of the carriage and swept through the front door, lifting their veils as they stepped into the dark entryway. They were greeted immediately by a novice who escorted them to the office of Mother Baptista. It was an austere room with an oak desk, two chairs and a crucifix. The plaster walls were painted a dreary beige.
Mother Baptista stood up to greet them. She was a humorless woman of middle years who looked stern and imposing in her long black habit. She mustered a smile and invited them to sit down. Taking a chair behind her desk, Mother Baptista picked up Isabel’s letter and ran her eyes over the page. “You and your husband are unable to have children?”
“That is correct, Mother,” Isabel replied, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“And where is your husband today?” the woman asked.
“Away on business, but he will join me next time. He was a foundling here himself long ago.”
Mother Baptista raised her eyebrows. “Indeed?”
“Yes, with his older brother.” Isabel shifted nervously in her chair. “Do you have children right now, Mother Baptista?”
“We always have children, Madame Saint-Yves.”
“Would you,” Isabel hesitated, not wanting to sound too bossy. “Would you mind telling me a little about them, Mother?”
“Well,” the nun said, putting Isabel’s letter down and resting back in her chair. “They are all ages. Some of our foundlings are products of unfortunate liaisons, some of them come from houses of ill repute and many, particularly in the summer months, come to us as orphans of disease. Some children are surrendered to us by mothers incapable of feeding and clothing them or who are afraid for their lives.”
The nun sighed. “Unfortunately most of the foundlings we have now are sick. We wish we could house them all but we can minister only to those in dire need. We would love to take in all the orphans we see on the streets but it is beyond us at this point. We know some of these children are being used for unthinkable purposes.”
Sydnee swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. She knew what Mother Baptista was alluding to and dark memories began to stir. She heard her father calling her to come up to the cabin. She could hear men laughing, and she could feel their rough hands upon her body. She could smell their sweat and the stink of alcohol on their breath.
Noticing that Sydnee had turned pale, Mother Baptista asked, “Would you care for a glass of water?”
Startled back to reality, Sydnee murmured, “Yes, thank you.”
Scrutinizing her, the nun handed her a mug of water.
At last Mother Baptista turned to Isabel and said, “Shall we meet the children?”
“Yes, I would like that,” Isabel replied, standing up.
Sydnee stayed seated.
“Are you coming?”
“No, thank you. If you don’t mind I will stay here,” Sydnee said. She was feeling a bit unsteady.
“Very well,” said Isabel reluctantly. She looked over her shoulder at Sydnee as she left the room.
Sydnee stayed in her chair for a long time, staring straight ahead, trying to make sense of the visions and voices swirling around her. Something was moving inside her world. Something was changing, and it scared her. She could hear Margarite’s voice repeating, “The name Sauveterre, did I never tell you, child? En français, it means safe haven.”
> Sydnee rubbed her temples, stood up and started to pace.
“Did I never tell you child? En français, it means safe haven,” Margarite’s voice said again.
Next it was Madame Picard she heard. “There can be more, but it will be revealed to you by the good Lord in his own time.”
Sydnee squeezed her eyes shut.
“It will be revealed to you, revealed to you, revealed to you,” Madame Picard’s voice echoed in her ears.
“You must help them, help them,” she heard Maxime murmur.
Feeling light-headed, Sydnee stepped out into the hallway. She took a deep breath and put her hand against the wall to steady herself. A girl of about seventeen was down on her knees, scrubbing the floor. When she looked up, Sydnee was startled. The girl’s face was purple with bruises, and her eyes were black. Blinking and staring for a moment, Sydnee murmured a greeting and turned away.
Still breathing hard, she walked down the hall to the entry. She had to get outside for fresh air. Just as she was about to take the handle, a small door cut in the wall caught her attention. Attached to the base of the door was a large revolving tray, half of it inside the building, half outside. The tray was on a hinge so it could rotate.
“Infants are frequently left to us on that device,” someone said behind her.
Sydnee jumped. It was Mother Baptista with Isabel. “The child is placed on the tray on the outside and swung around to the interior for us to find. Sometimes they ring the bell to alert us.”
“I see,” murmured Sydnee.
The nun turned, and they followed her back to the office to discuss more adoption details. Sydnee tried to listen but was too distracted. Before they left, she deliberately dropped her drawstring bag on the floor by her chair.
“Thank you for your help today, Mother Baptista,” Isabel said with a smile.
“God bless you until we meet again,” the nun replied formally, walking them to the door.
Isabel and Sydnee dropped their veils back over their faces and started for the carriage. The moment Isabel stepped into the vehicle, Sydnee feigned surprise and said, “Oh! I have forgotten my bag.”
Turning, she rushed back into Mother Baptista’s office. “I beg your pardon, Mother. I have forgotten my bag,” she explained. After retrieving it, Sydnee lifted her veil and said, “I have a question, if you please, Mother Baptista.”
“Yes?”
“What happens to the mothers of the foundlings?”
Mother Baptista shrugged. “Most we never see. If they do need sanctuary, we can provide it for them but only for one night. Women come to us for many reasons, not just motherhood. Sometimes they are in grave danger, trying to escape from violence. Many are young girls, fourteen, maybe fifteen years of age.”
“Where do they go after they leave here?”
“I would like to think they escape to a safe haven, but alas, I believe most return to the same situation.”
“I see,” said Sydnee thoughtfully. “Thank you, Mother Baptista.”
As she walked out of the convent, she stopped and gave the young woman washing the floor all the coins she had in her purse.
Chapter 18
Everything changed for Sydnee after that day. Her world no longer seemed empty and meaningless. At last the spirits revealed the way. She knew now that she must help women and girls find a safe haven away from lives of bondage and violence. How she would help them break free remained a mystery, but she knew that she would find a way. She managed to escape her own misery, and now she was determined to help others break free as well.
Sydnee was committed to this mission, but she was not naive about the danger it posed. The memories of her own rapes and beatings would haunt her forever, so she knew that caution and vigilance would be of the utmost importance.
For days she took the dogs on long walks trying to gather her thoughts and make plans. Gentlemen and ladies on the street wondered why New Orleans’ premier hostess seemed so distracted. Sydnee would respond to their greetings politely, but she was distant and aloof. In reality, she was looking at the homeless and destitute people all around her. For the first time in years, she noticed the impoverished prostitutes leaning in doorways and waifs begging on the street. She listened to babies crying and heard the raucous laughter in taverns on the wharf. She smelled stale spirits and vomit and noticed the lurid stares of dock workers and sailors. The degradation and the suffering was everywhere, and now it was part of her life again. For a long time she tried to forget this world, but now it was back again.
One sunny afternoon in May, she decided to stop at the Ursuline Convent to speak with Mother Baptista. She knew that she needed the nuns to help her find those in need. Sydnee felt nervous, but she was not about to be deterred.
“Stay,” she said sternly to Vivian and the dogs. Vivian obediently coasted up into a tree, and the dogs sat down at attention by the entry. “I will be back soon,” she assured them.
She collapsed her parasol and pulled the bell cord of the front door. The same novice answered and took her to Mother Baptista’s office.
“Good afternoon, Mother,” Sydnee said shyly. “I am sorry to come without an appointment, but may I speak with you a moment?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle Sauveterre.”
The nun motioned for her to sit down, and Sydnee swept her skirt to the side sitting on the edge of a chair. The nun ran her eyes over the fashionable gown, the perfectly coifed hair, and the soft brown eyes.
“Mother Baptista,” Sydnee said, swallowing hard. “Ever since I visited here several weeks ago, I have been thinking about the fate of the women who come here seeking help.”
“Yes?”
“I would like to help.”
The nun nodded her head. “We are always grateful for donations.”
“No, Mother. I want to help in another way. I want to help them to safety.”
The nun frowned. “To safety? How?”
Sydnee had rehearsed her words. “I want to provide a means of transportation and a network of homes to help women and girls escape to safety and start new lives elsewhere.”
Mother Baptista stared at Sydnee, thunderstruck. It took a moment, but at last she believed she understood. Here is another spoiled young woman who needs a diversion.
She chuckled. “I see. You have been moved by the misfortune of others, but you really do not understand, Mademoiselle--”
“Oh yes, I do,” Sydnee interrupted, her eyes growing hard. “I understand much more than you realize.”
“I am very busy today,” Mother Baptista said, standing up. “Please know that you are a nice girl, and your offer is appreciated.”
Sydnee rose too, and although she was shorter than the nun, she looked her in the eye and said firmly, “If you think this is a passing fancy for me, Mother Baptista, you are mistaken.”
The nun’s eyebrows shot up at her audacity. Suddenly she remembered how pale Sydnee had grown in her office several weeks earlier when she spoke of children being used for unspeakable purposes.
They locked eyes until Mother Baptista said, “This is against my better judgment but please sit down.”
When Sydnee was seated, the woman said, “You must understand, we will never interfere with the sacred bonds of matrimony. A wife should always be at her husband’s side.”
Sydnee did not like it, but she knew the church would hold firm on this matter.
“Most of the women who come to us are married, most return home gladly, but we do see a great many prostitutes who may benefit from help. Also some of the girls are apprentices or servants being beaten by employers. These females we could refer to you, but sometimes there are girls who have run away from their parents. Those girls must return home. We cannot interfere with family matters or bonds of legal ownership. Each situation is different and dangerous. You must understand; escape is a highly unusual idea. I have not given my consent but,” and she hesitated. “If I send women to you, where do you propose to house them?”
>
“At my town house.”
“Out of the question. It is too dangerous. They are frequently followed. You need a neutral location that is private.”
Sydnee stared at her. She had not considered this possibility.
“I will make arrangements,” Sydnee assured her.
“Will you take mothers with children?”
“Yes,” Sydnee replied.
“Where will you take these women and children? You must have housing for them in their new location. You cannot dump them on the street of a new city.”
“I have considered that, and I will be making trips in the next few weeks for that purpose. I did not want to make any arrangements until I had spoken with you.”
“And what transportation will you provide from the convent to their sanctuary in the city here?”
This was another problem that Sydnee had not considered. She lifted her chin and said, “I will have that addressed along with your other concerns before we meet again.”
The nun sighed and shook her head. “You have many obstacles to overcome before you start. I will give it some thought, but I have strong reservations. We can give you no help beyond notification of women in need that qualify.” Mother Baptista studied Sydnee for a moment. She had misjudged this young woman. She knew now that something motivated her beyond mere whim. Something must have occurred in her past to give her this firm resolve.
Sydnee stood up. “Thank you, Mother Baptista.”
“One moment,” the nun said. “At some point you will have to defend yourself, Mademoiselle Sauveterre. Are you prepared for this?”
Sydnee looked out the window at her friends waiting for her outside and said, “That is not a concern, Mother. I have three weapons with me at all times.”
* * *
It did not take long for Sydnee to realize that Gish Livery was the perfect location to house the women and children before they started their escape to new cities and towns.
“What on earth do you want with a stable, Sydnee?” D’anton asked. They were sitting at his desk in his elegant office on Jackson Square.
The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Page 18