The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  “May I help you, monsieur?” the maître d’hôtel said.

  Dr. Locke ignored him and stepped forward, “Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle Sauveterre, is that you?”

  Sydnee turned with a look of surprise.

  “Why?” he blurted, running his eyes over her. “Why are--”

  “I am meeting a friend, Dr. Locke,” she interrupted.

  He looked confused and then recognition spread over his face. “Ah ha,” he said slowly. He assumed she was out to meet a lover. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Of course, I understand now.”

  Sydnee did not like his tone but had to make the best of it. “Yes,” she snapped.

  “Frolicking with the pedestrian element for a change?”

  Sydnee’s eyes narrowed. Oh, how she itched to slap this man, but then she remembered the woman in danger at the livery. She must remain prudent and hurry. Swallowing hard, she turned toward the maître d’hôtel and asked, “Would you hail a cab for me please?”

  “Nonsense,” Locke interrupted. “I will see her home.”

  Sydnee did not want to be escorted home by this insolent Englishman. “Thank you but you were about to dine,” she countered.

  “I can join them later,” he said, stepping out the door to hail a cab.

  There was a hackney carriage nearby, and they ducked in just as it was starting to rain. Sydnee settled into her seat, refusing to look at Locke. She stared out the window instead.

  He did just the opposite, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. “Spurned?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Sydnee asked curtly.

  “I say, did he spurn you?”

  “Dr. Locke, if I am required to discuss my personal life as payment for this cab, let me out now.”

  “No, no,” He said, putting his hands up in mock protest. He turned away to look out the window, still smirking.

  Sydnee stole at look at him. He cut a fine figure in his evening attire. He was wearing a close fitting dark cutaway and trousers, and a white shirt with a loosely tied plum-colored cravat. She suspected he was used to fine clothing and was of the English aristocracy.

  Sydnee had heard many unflattering accounts of the conceit of the British landed gentry, and so far Dr. Locke fit this description perfectly. Yet, something confused her. It seemed inconsistent that he would be interested in helping children and victims of yellow fever. Sydnee shook her head and went back to looking out the window.

  Suddenly it dawned on her that maybe Locke could help her runaway at the livery. Although she did not know what the woman’s ailment was, there was no question she was too weak to travel right now and needed help. The rest of the way home she wrestled with the idea, weighing all the pros and cons. When they arrived at her townhome, she decided not to compromise the anonymity of the mission, and would contact Locke later if she needed him.

  The driver opened the door, and Dr. Locke stepped out with Sydnee walking her to the front door. The rain had stopped.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He bowed as she went inside and shut the door.

  Lighting a cigar, Locke took his time walking back to the hackney. He had to admit, this courtesan fascinated him. The Louisiana French were indeed unusual. He strolled down the flower-lined walkway puffing his cigar and considering their lifestyles. Without a doubt, their morals were questionable, but he had to admit, the English were not much better. They were just more discreet.

  Before getting into the cab, he turned one more time and looked up at the house. He saw candlelight appear in the upstairs window. Her bed chamber, he thought. He speculated a moment on what activities might go on in that room. Puffing of his cigar, he blew out the smoke thoughtfully. This Sauveterre woman was undoubtedly attractive and certainly an enigma. She appeared to be every inch a lady, but there was something else, something that went beyond the apparent breeding and refinement, but he could not identify it. He shrugged and threw his cigar into the wet gutter. Stepping into the cab, he sat down and rapped on the ceiling. The driver snapped the reins, and they disappeared down the street.

  Chapter 21

  Sydnee summoned Frederick and went to the livery immediately. When they pulled into the stables and closed the doors, she approached him. “Frederick,” she said. “Something happened this evening that has led me to reconsider having you drive for me.”

  The old gentleman looked at her with surprise.

  She sighed and shook her head. “I cannot allow you to continue. Forgive me for saying this but not at your age. It is far too dangerous, and I have never discussed fully with you what I am doing or the risks involved. I am sorry but thank you for your loyal service.”

  He frowned, and replied in his thin voice. “Mademoiselle, I am a free man of color and make my own choices. I have understood from the beginning what you are trying to accomplish and the risks involved.”

  Sydnee studied his gaunt, heavily creased face and kind brown eyes. “Do you realize that you could lose your life?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  She nodded hesitantly. “Very well,” she said and then turned away, but he stopped her.

  “Mademoiselle?”

  “Yes?”

  “There are things that I have not explained to you either,” and he hesitated. “My--my daughter was beaten to death by her husband ten years ago. That is why I am here.”

  Sydnee’s jaw dropped.

  He swallowed hard, lifted his chin and straightened up as if at attention and said, “I am at your service.”

  She searched his eyes. Behind the wrinkled face and frail exterior, she saw a man of strength and determination who grieved deeply for his daughter. Sydnee did not want him to see her cry, so she patted him on the arm and walked to the groom’s quarters.

  A lamp was lit on the nightstand shedding a dim golden light on the bed. The woman was still fully dressed in Sydnee’s clothing and stretched out on top of the bed. Shoes were still on her feet.

  “Madame,” Sydnee murmured.

  Her eyes fluttered and opened.

  “I will help you into some night clothes. You will be more comfortable.”

  She sat up, and Sydnee helped her change. It was obvious the Ursulines had taken excellent care of her. She was clean and there were fresh bandages on her injuries which were minor. There was a laceration on her leg and one on her hand. Multiple scratches covered her ankles, but what was alarming was that she was covered with hundreds of red bumps and sores everywhere on her body.

  “Did the nurses tell you what ails you?” Sydnee asked.

  The woman licked her dry lips and said, “Hunger, fatigue,” and she pointed to the red sores. “These are mosquito bites.”

  “Mais non! You were left outside?”

  She nodded. Sydnee helped ease her back down onto the bed and then covered her with a blanket. “I will feed you and make a tea for you that will help fight the venom. When you are well enough, we will set you up with a new life elsewhere. Well away from the person that did this to you.”

  A smile flickered on the woman’s lips.

  Sydnee built a fire and hung a tea kettle to boil. She also arranged a spider trivet over the coals so she could fry some salt pork and eggs. When the meal was ready, Sydnee pushed pillows up behind the woman’s back and gave her the tray of food and tea.

  “Thank you. This looks delicious,” the woman said. After eating, she seemed stronger and began to explain to Sydnee what had happened.

  “That is not necessary right now,” Sydnee said. “You must rest.”

  “No,” the woman said, reaching out. “I must tell someone.”

  Sydnee was reluctant but sat down to listen.

  “We were very happy when we were first married. I could not have asked for a better husband. But as the years passed, something happened to him. He started staying out late. When I asked him where he was or what he was doing, he would tell me to shut up and slap me. Each time, he would hit me a little hard
er.”

  The woman stopped, trying to catch her breath.

  “A few days ago we had a terrible argument, and somehow I knew that he was done with me. He tied me to a wagon and took me deep into the country, far out into the bayou and left me there. He said if I tried to follow him, he would kill me.”

  She looked at Sydnee and smiled weakly. “I don’t know how long I wandered there, but an Indian found me and brought me to the edge of town.”

  “How does he know you are still alive?”

  “With the last ounce of strength I had, I went back to the house to get money so I could leave him forever, but that was a mistake. I collapsed a few blocks from home, and someone brought me to the Ursuline hospital. Once he discovered the money was missing, it was easy for him to find me.”

  * * *

  It took many days before the woman was strong enough to make her journey out of New Orleans. During that time, a mother with two children needed shelter in the livery as well, but they did not stay for long. The mother decided to return home and reconcile with her husband.

  Sydnee was used to this outcome. Women would frequently forgive the beatings and return home. The idea of starting a new life was daunting, but unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before Sydnee saw them again.

  At long last, when the bites and injuries healed and the woman’s strength returned, she boarded a paddle wheeler for Memphis. Sydnee was especially grateful for this escape since she experienced first-hand the brutality of this woman’s husband. She was glad to finally put it to rest.

  By the spring of 1841, Sydnee’s escape organization had expanded and was growing, but her role as the first lady of New Orleans’ society had changed little. She continued to give soirees and suppers, attend operas and make secret visits to see Delphine.

  Sydnee loved watching the little girl grow. The child was thriving and healthy, and she cherished each visit, cuddling her and playing with her. Sometimes grief for her own departed children would flood Sydnee, but she buried her despair and savored each moment with Delphine instead.

  She knew that it was only a matter of time before she would have to stop seeing the child. Delphine would start to recognize her, and if she saw Sydnee in public, it would be difficult to explain how the little girl knew her father’s mistress.

  “Sydnee, come with me tonight to Antoine’s,” D’anton said one evening in April. “You look tired. You have been entertaining too much. It’s time someone entertained you.”

  “Oh, D’anton, I don’t know,” she replied. She had been looking forward to a quiet night at home.

  “Please?” he whined.

  “Oh, very well,” she said wearily. Sydnee could never refuse D’anton. He grew more charming and handsome every day. He was tall and thin, always dressed in the latest fashion and had sparkling green eyes. When Sydnee looked at him, she found it hard to believe that when his “spells” were upon him, he would take to his bed and not eat or bathe for days at a time. When he was lucid though, D’anton was unmatched in Louisiana for his wit, charm and appeal.

  Even though she was fatigued, Sydnee was glad to be going to Antoine’s Restaurant again. It had opened only a year ago and was already considered the finest restaurant in all of New Orleans. It had the light airiness of an outdoor Parisian cafe with crisp white curtains in the front windows, pastel décor and the finest cuisine in the city.

  What Sydnee did not know, was that Fletcher Locke was among the party that was gathering with D’anton at Antoine’s that evening. D’anton met him less than a month ago when Locke hired him as an attorney, and they had become fast friends.

  Locke arrived earlier with several other couples. They were sitting in the back of the main dining room, sipping aperitifs waiting for everyone to arrive. Tonight he was escorting Renata Olmos, the lusty widow of a wealthy Creole cotton broker. He had been seeing the woman for several months now, but for all of her dark beauty and fire, he was bored and disinterested.

  Fletcher was angry with himself. When he left England he was sick of all the pretentious snobbery, but here he was immersed in it again in Louisiana. He tried escaping it over the Christmas season, traveling to his grand home on the bluff in Natchez, but there he was pursued too, especially by mothers eager to make good matches for their daughters.

  He sat back and sipped his drink.

  “You seem out of sorts tonight, darling,” murmured Madame Olmos. When she was done speaking, the dark skinned brunette blew seductively into his ear. He moved his head away irritably and puffed on his cigar.

  The other couples were engaged in a discussion about the woman D’anton was bringing to supper, but Fletcher was not listening. He wanted no part of it, but they continued to drag him into the gossip. “Fletcher, I cannot believe you have not heard of her. Her salon is known throughout Europe.”

  He shrugged.

  A woman chimed in saying, “And her style is emulated throughout the South. You would never know her beginnings were humble--”

  Suddenly something caught Fletcher’s eye. Madame Olmos turned to see what had interested him, and the smile dropped from her face. It was Mademoiselle Sauveterre on the arm of D’anton Delacroix.

  “There she is,” one of the men said at the table.

  Sydnee looked stunning, dressed in a gown of yellow brocade silk with short lace sleeves draping delicately onto her arms. Her hair was swept up in simple knot encircled by an intricate braid. Wispy bangs framed her face, enhancing her large dark eyes. D’anton was the picture of fashion as well, in a dark cutaway suit with a gold double-breasted vest.

  Their progress toward the table was slow because they were being greeted by acquaintances and friends. Locke’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sydnee smile and converse. Men would jump to their feet and bow low over her white gloved hand trying to dominate her attention.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, well,” he mumbled.

  “What is it?” Madame Olmos asked.

  “Nothing, my dear,” he said, never taking his eyes from Sydnee. “Nothing of consequence.”

  She scowled, tossing her head.

  He sat back and blew out cigar smoke, waiting for Sydnee’s reaction when she saw him.

  When D’anton and Sydnee reached the table, the men stood up, and the ladies smiled.

  “Good evening,” said Sydnee running eyes over the group. When she saw Locke, she held her hand out and said smoothly, “Dr. Locke, how nice to see you again.”

  He smirked and bowed low over her gloved hand. Her dislike for him was apparent to no one, and Fletcher found it disappointing. He would have enjoyed a response of some kind, instead she acted as if she barely knew him.

  “So the two of you have already met?” asked D’anton.

  “Yes,” Sydnee said, taking her seat. “On the packet from Memphis.”

  “And we met on one more occasion when Mademoiselle Sauveterre was in disguise.”

  D’anton’s eyebrow’s shot up. “At Carnival?”

  Sydnee took a sip of her aperitif and shook her head.

  “A ball I was not invited to?” D’anton said, throwing his hands into the air. “Fletcher, I don’t understand. You told me that you don’t dance, and the only exception will be when you marry.”

  “No, it was not a ball,” Locke said, looking at Sydnee. “But she was incognito.”

  Sydnee did not flinch, instead she smiled and turned to visit with the woman seated next to her.

  Fletcher suddenly found this game amusing. The night was not so boring after all. He continued to watch Sydnee steadily, impressed and fascinated with her aplomb. This is not the first time this woman has buried her dislike under a façade of smooth self-assurance. I wonder if I can crack that poised exterior.

  Sydnee could feel Locke’s eyes upon her. She could feel his challenge, and she was not going to let him rattle her. This man despised her and the life she led, and she was not about to let him publicly embarrass her.

  Locke’s opportunity came
over coffee. It was understood by everyone that they would adjourn to Sydnee’s townhome for drinks, but no one was sure if Dr. Locke would be invited. Everyone had noticed how rude he had been to her throughout supper. It was common knowledge that Sydnee was very selective about who she invited to the salon, and if you were included it was a great honor.

  “Thank you everyone for an enjoyable evening,” D’anton said. Then he looked at Sydnee, expecting her to invite Dr. Locke and Madame Olmos to the town house.

  Smiling, Sydnee turned and started talking to one of the gentleman across the table. She was not about to have that self-righteous bore to her home.

  D’anton looked confused. He had indulged in a little too much wine and could not understand why Sydnee had not invited Locke. He liked Fletcher and thought he would be a refreshing addition to the salon. “Sydnee, would you consider inviting Madame Olmos and Dr. Locke to the house tonight?”

  The table fell silent.

  Sydnee hesitated and then said stiffly, “Most certainly, I have been remiss. Would you please join us?”

  Madame Olmos’ face lit up. She had been waiting months for an invitation to the salon, and she smiled broadly.

  “No thank you,” Fletcher said. “I need to wake up early tomorrow and make a difference in the world.”

  Sydnee locked eyes with him.

  Madame Olmos’ smile dropped, her hopes of an invitation dashed. The only one who laughed was D’anton.

  When everyone stood up to leave, Madame Olmos swept out the door, leaving Dr. Locke behind.

  Again D’anton looked confused and asked Fletcher, “Is she ill?”

  Locke shrugged. “The only thing I know for certain is that she will never want to see me again.”

  * * *

  Sydnee found it hard to keep up with all the demands on her time. Arrangements had to be made for transporting the women and children; the living quarters had to be stocked regularly with food, and disguises had to be obtained for the runaways.