The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

“It helps Mortimer to receive a little income, and it helps me,” Sydnee said, offering no more information.

  D’anton was making final arrangements for a trip with Tristan to Saratoga when she arrived that afternoon. As an attorney, he had been appointed by Mortimer to lease the livery. There had been little interest in the property until today, and it surprised D’anton that it would be Sydnee who would want to rent the building. He handed her a pen to sign the papers. Thinking that she was merely being a solicitous friend, D’anton shrugged and gave her the keys.

  She left the square feeling satisfied and almost ready to approach Mother Baptista once more. As she walked through the streets with the dogs, she noticed New Orleans was emptying out. The searing days of summer were on the way, and the months for illness were looming on the horizon. She knew that many women would be widowed after the summer epidemics, and there would be many new orphans.

  Sydnee remembered suddenly that today Isabel was taking Tristan to the convent to meet the three-year-old orphan she wished to adopt. Although the little girl had been malnourished and neglected, she was starting to thrive under the loving care of the Ursulines. Like Isabel and Tristan, the little girl had blue eyes and blonde hair. Tristan had delayed his trip to Saratoga for several weeks to spend time with the infant. They were both very excited. Sydnee smiled. She was happy for them.

  She unlocked the service door in the back of the livery and stepped inside the empty stable, followed by the dogs. The livery was dark and smelled of hay. Mice scampered into the corners as they walked. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the low light, and she looked around. Mortimer had left it clean and in good repair. The stalls had been swept, and all the tack and medical supplies had been removed. Aside from the two hearses left by Schinden in the back of the building, the livery was empty.

  Sydnee walked into Mortimer’s personal quarters. All the furniture had been removed leaving the room hollow and lifeless. Her heels clicked loudly on the bare hardwood floor. She walked over to the fireplace wistfully remembering the evenings she dined here with him, discussing sick animals and exchanging remedies. Frequently Isabel joined them, and they would speak of their hopes and dreams, exchanging confidences meant only for friends. When the fire burned low, Sydnee would say goodnight and leave the two of them alone.

  She pressed her eyes shut a moment longer, trying to savor the memories before harsh reality returned. She sighed and looked around. She must attend to the present. She would have to make these rooms comfortable for others. A table and chairs would be needed as well as a bed, a cradle and perhaps a trundle bed for an older child. There must be wood on hand for a fire and a few cooking utensils. Bedding and even some clothing must be obtained. Although she planned to house the runaways for only a few nights, they must have ample supplies because they could not leave the livery.

  Everything seemed to be falling into place. Yesterday Sydnee booked passage for Memphis to visit Mortimer to enlist his help. She was eager to see her old friend once more, but her visit to him was not just social. She was going to approach him about finding places of employment and housing for refugees.

  He too had been abandoned as a child, and she knew the beatings he endured from Schinden had scarred him for life physically and emotionally. She believed that he would be sympathetic to her cause and offer assistance.

  D’anton had given her Mortimer’s address and told her that he had opened a small livery in the center of town. He said that he was already making a success of himself. Sydnee was not surprised. She knew that before he left he already had many customers in Tennessee and that his skills were renowned throughout the South.

  Memphis was just one place she planned on taking women in need, and she was also considering the Natchez Trace as an escape route up to Nashville. She knew that every few miles there were abandoned stands, and these would be perfect hiding places for a journey to the North. Her biggest problem was finding a trustworthy escort.

  The last problem for her to solve before returning to Mother Baptista was transportation within the city. Sydnee rubbed her forehead. She knew that she could not use her carriage. Riding horseback did not provide enough cover, and walking was too dangerous. She considered purchasing a wagon, but too many people would recognize her dogs riding in the back. Putting her fist to her lips, she walked out into the stable, trying to think. Suddenly her eyes rested on the hearses in the corner. Of course, she thought. They were private, enclosed with curtains and the community was used to seeing hearses going in and out of this building. They would assume a new undertaker was housing his vehicles here.

  Sydnee nodded her head. This could work. The dogs would ride in back with those trying to escape, and she could drive the coach dressed as a professional mourner. She knew her waif-like figure would serve her well for her disguise as a boy.

  “That’s it. I’m ready,” she said. Atlantis and Baloo looked up at her with surprise. “Let’s go speak with Mother Baptista.”

  * * *

  Reluctantly Mother Baptista gave her consent to Sydnee’s plan and within days she was on her way to Memphis to see Mortimer. She leaned against the railing of the paddle wheeler and smiled. At last she was riding a riverboat as a lady. Dressed in a cream-colored gown with light green stripes and tiny pink flowers, Sydnee looked crisp and fresh, standing on the upper deck with a white lace parasol resting on her shoulder. She knew that convention dictated she wear a bonnet, but she didn’t care. She liked feeling the wind in her hair. So many bonnets looked dowdy, and they always seemed to make her head ache.

  She ran her eyes over the steamboat. The Jonas Riley was a beautiful stern-wheeler just recently constructed in Vicksburg and on its second voyage up the Mississippi. It was painted white with a bright red paddle wheel and two tall, black smoke stacks. Sydnee remembered the first time she had seen a steamboat near Natchez years ago. She thought it looked like a huge, white frosted cake, and she still thought it looked like a fancy confection.

  “Cast off the bow line!” the captain called and the whistle shrieked overhead. Passengers started to wave and call to loved-ones on shore as the big red wheel began to turn and splash. The Jonas Riley was filled to capacity, stuffed with passengers and supplies bound for the North Country and cooler temperatures.

  Sydnee’s stomach jumped. Soon, in less than two weeks, she would be knocking on Mortimer Gish’s door. She had missed him terribly but nothing in comparison to Isabel’s yearning. She was glad that Isabel had the child to distract her, but Sydnee could still see the sorrow in her eyes. Isabel asked her to deliver a letter to Mortimer, but nothing else was said about their separation.

  Sydnee looked back at New Orleans as it faded in the distance. This was the first time she had left the city since she had arrived nine years earlier with Maxime. Dear Maxime, she thought, he had changed the world for her, and now with nothing left but his spirit to guide her, she would change the world for someone else.

  A bird soaring overhead caught her eye and startled her. For a moment she thought Vivian had escaped. Marie, Sydnee’s housekeeper, was watching her friends for her while she was away. A young, free woman of color, Marie was efficient and dependable, but it would be no easy task to keep Vivian confined. Although the girl was trustworthy, Sydnee knew Vivian would try to be bossy and overbearing with her.

  Sydnee turned around and stepped through the louvered door into her stateroom. A smile flickered on her lips as she looked around. It was a lovely room paneled in white with a maple wardrobe and a small four poster bed to match. There were mullioned windows with shutters and resting on a nightstand was a large copper urn filled with water for ablutions. In one corner, there was a tiny dressing table with a glass lamp next to a floor mirror on legs. By the bed was an ornately carved chair with blue flowers embroidered on the seat cushion and back.

  Sydnee sat down on the evergreen duvet, running her hands over the fine fabric and smiled. Never forgetting how difficult life had once been, she was forever grateful for the ble
ssings she received.

  Sydnee reveled in these sumptuous surroundings. Traveling on a riverboat was elegant beyond her imagination. She spent most of that first day on the promenade deck watching the river, but when the gong sounded for supper she walked down the grand staircase to the dining room. She ran her hand along the ornately carved railing, admiring the workmanship and looked up over her head at the sun streaming through the stained glass ceiling.

  She was seated with several couples at supper, all residents of Natchez and New Orleans. They knew her by name even before she was seated and bored her with endless accounts of their wealth and social standing. Sydnee knew that they were fishing for invitations to the salon, and the more they boasted, the more she was determined not to invite them.

  She smiled graciously, pretending to listen, but she was actually savoring the delectable veal with dumplings, figs and lemon bars. A quartet played waltzes during supper and when the women adjourned to the ladies’ drawing room, they were serenaded by a musician at the grand piano. Boys with silver trays walked around the room offering beverages and coffee to the ladies while they relaxed and visited on plush divans and upholstered-back armchairs.

  Most of the week, Sydnee spent reading on deck and watching the river. She noted the landscape change from cypress and swamp grasses, sycamores and Spanish moss to the darker greens of pine trees, standing out against the paper-white bark of the birch. The air seemed clearer in the north and stars seemed brighter. On several occasions, passengers pestering her with pretensions, drove her back into her stateroom, but on those nights she would wait until they retired and steal back out onto deck to enjoy the stars.

  She liked to watch the activity when the Jonas Riley made stops to unload supplies at plantations and towns along the river or when passengers needed to go ashore late at night. She loved the lights and was fascinated when the crew brought the massive boat over to a landing. She marveled at their skill navigating the unpredictable river littered with submerged trees and debris.

  When they finally reached Memphis, Sydnee was beside herself with excitement to see Mortimer. She looked around, overwhelmed by the activity on the landing. Memphis was indeed a busy river town. There were rows and rows of keelboats and paddle wheelers being loaded with timber and cut lumber, and she could hear saw mills buzzing in the distance. A large slave auction block dominated the landing, but at the moment, no sales were taking place.

  The first thing she did was check her bag at the Chancellor Hotel, pick up her skirts and start to navigate the muddy street named Beale. She had Mortimer’s address in her hand, and in no time she found Gish Livery.

  Sydnee stood across the street at first to observe. There was no question Mortimer’s Livery here in Memphis was smaller and more modest than his New Orleans’ establishment, but it was still bustling with activity. Two boys were out front helping customers, and at last when they took the horses inside the stable, Sydnee could see Mortimer. He was consulting with an elderly gentleman about a thoroughbred.

  When their conversation ended, Sydnee walked up. Mortimer glanced at her and then looked again with surprise.

  She started to giggle with excitement.

  “Mademoiselle Sydnee,” he said in his monotone voice. “Why are you here? Is Isabel--”

  “Oh, Mortimer!” she cried. “Isabel is well! Are you not happy to see me?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes,” he mumbled, all flustered. “I didn’t mean--”

  Sydnee took his hand. “I am teasing, my old friend. I am here for a short visit, but I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

  “No, this is why I have help.”

  Mortimer turned and addressed the boys. “I will be back shortly. Mind Methuselah. She needs her ointment.”

  “Yes, Mr. Gish,” they all replied.

  Mortimer took his hat and coat from a peg on the wall, offered Sydnee his arm, and they walked down to the river. It was a warm sunny day, but it felt cool under the umbrella of the trees. It smelled of evergreens, sweet grass and the moist mud of the Mississippi.

  “Why did you come?” Mortimer asked once they left the noise and bustle of town.

  “I have several things to discuss with you, and I wanted to see how you fare.”

  He stole a glance at her up through his hair.

  Sydnee’s face softened into a smile. “Isabel has adopted a child.”

  Mortimer stopped walking and looked at her.

  Sydnee nodded. “Indeed.”

  They resumed walking, and she added, “Her decline was steady after you left. I feared—we all feared for her life. But now she has someone to live for again, a little three-year-old girl. She even looks like her.”

  Sydnee could see him smile through the strings of his hair. She reached into her bag and drew out the letter. “She sent this for you.”

  He stopped and stared at the letter as if it were something sacred. Carefully he took it, his hand shaking and slid it into his breast pocket.

  They spoke at length of his business and the new life he was creating for himself in Memphis. “The livery is so small, nothing like the one in New Orleans. I hope to someday purchase something bigger.”

  “Well, I come with news on that subject too,” Sydnee said, reaching in her purse again. “D’anton has sent a check for rent on your building in New Orleans.”

  Again Mortimer stopped, thunderstruck. “Someone is leasing it?”

  “I am.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned.

  “What’s wrong, Mortimer?’

  “I cannot take your charity.”

  “Mortimer, this is not charity for you, but it is charity for others. I need your help,” and she explained everything.

  That afternoon, Mortimer returned only briefly to the livery. They talked long into the night in his rooms above the stable. Over the next week, he introduced Sydnee to several trusted friends, two of whom were Quakers. They were willing to provide temporary food and housing for the women and children when they came to Memphis. They had many options for employment too, domestic situations, farm labor and shop keepers. The Quakers informed Sydnee that Memphis was a growing community and opportunities for advancement were everywhere. Sydnee suspected these people were also involved someway in housing runaway slaves, but she would never compromise their safety by asking them directly. She wondered if they knew of Madame Picard.

  The time spent with Mortimer was too short, and before she knew it, she was back on the paddle wheeler heading for home. The spirits seemed to be hurrying her and urging her forward to complete her plans. Sydnee also had the nagging feeling that something more was about to happen to her, more than just smuggling women and children out of New Orleans. This intuition gave her great anxiety.

  Chapter 19

  There were fewer passengers on the return trip to New Orleans. No one wanted to venture into the suffocating heat and disease of that city in the summer. The shortage of travelers suited Sydnee completely. She could sit on deck unmolested, watching the shoreline or reading. Occasionally there would be a greeting from a lady, or a gentleman might tip his hat, but few people stopped to visit.

  Suppers were relaxed and leisurely in the main dining room, and the ladies in the drawing room were cordial. They did not try to dominate Sydnee’s attention. All in all her first journey on a riverboat as a lady had exceeded her expectations.

  The last day on the Mississippi, they stopped in Natchez, and Sydnee watched from the deck as a handful of men and women boarded. She looked at the rundown flop-houses and taverns along the waterfront then looked up at the bluff lined with grand homes and plantation houses. She found the contrast disturbing. She could just make out the steps of the whore house where she met Maxime so long ago. She sighed. So much time had passed and everything had changed.

  Everyone agreed to dress for supper their last evening on the riverboat, so at eight, Sydney emerged from her stateroom in a copper-colored satin evening gown. It had
short sleeves and a deeply cut neckline which highlighted her long graceful neck. The color complemented her hair which she swept high onto her head with several amber bejeweled hair combs. Sydnee adored fashion and stayed abreast of all the Parisian trends. Dangling amber bobs decorated her ears.

  She looked up as thunder rumbled. Knowing that storms in the evening with this heat could turn violent quickly, she started to walk briskly along the deck toward the dining room. All of a sudden she heard a girl shriek from the deck below, “Keep your hands off me!”

  “I’ll teach you!” a man said.

  Sydnee heard a slap and then another.

  “Go to hell!” the girl screamed. There was thumping on the deck as if there was a struggle, and then the man roared as if in sudden pain.

  Alarmed Sydnee bent over the railing but could see nothing. Next there was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs. A girl about the age of thirteen with dirty blonde hair, tattered clothing and bare feet jumped onto the deck and started running toward Sydnee, followed by a burly crew member with a bald head and blood streaming from his ear. The girl raced past Sydnee with the man behind her.

  “No!” Sydnee cried jumping in front of the man. He slammed into her with such momentum, that she almost toppled over the railing. Blinded by rage and bent on catching the girl, he ran on and caught the girl by the collar, throwing her down onto to the deck.

  “You little bitch!” he snarled straddling her. He back handed her once and then again.

  “No!” screamed Sydnee lunging for him, but before she could reach him someone picked him up and pushed him to the wall.

  A tall gentleman with shaggy dark hair, pinned the crew member against the wall with such force that his eyes bulged. “You’re finished here,” the gentleman snapped in a British accent.

  Panting, the crew member nodded. The gentleman let him go, and the crew member staggered. “That hellcat is a stowaway,” he barked, clutching his ear. “And she bit me.”

  Frowning, the gentleman looked over at the girl as Sydnee helped her up. The waif was dirty and bleeding. “I’ll take that up with the captain,” said the gentleman. “Now go,” he demanded of the crew member, jerking his head toward the stairs.