The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

When Sydnee left, D’anton said, “You look weary, Tristan. Let’s go upstairs and try to rest for a while.”

  Tristan nodded. “I don’t believe I slept at all last night.”

  “You will need to be alert. Anything can happen,” D’anton said as they climbed the stairs to their room.

  Tristan fell asleep instantly, but D’anton lay on the bed staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. It was hard to absorb everything, and his mind was racing. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not hear his wife walk into the room, not until she gasped.

  “What the hell!” he cried, bolting upright, trying to cover himself.

  Paula Delacroix stood over him wide-eyed. A big-boned brunette, she towered over the bed.

  Tristan woke up with a jolt, yanking the sheet up over his legs.

  Lucy Franklin, a thin lipped busy-body, was standing behind Paula gawking at them.

  “Oh!” cried Paula, putting a hanky to her face. “Oh, how could you, D’anton?” She dashed from the room and down the stairs with Lucy behind her.

  “Oh, Mon Dieu!” exclaimed D’anton, jumping out of bed and grabbing his trousers. “I must stop them, or we are ruined.”

  Madly pulling on clothes, Tristan ran out after him and down the stairs too.

  Neither one of them remembered to take Cuthbert Saint-Yves’ ledgers.

  * * *

  When Sydnee arrived home, Marie was crying. “They pushed past me, Mademoiselle. I could not stop them!”

  Grabbing Marie by the arms, Sydnee demanded, “Who? Who came in?”

  “Monsieur Delacroix’s wife and another woman. They went upstairs, and then I heard shouts. The women ran out and then the men after them. I rushed down to market, hoping to find you.”

  Sydnee covered her face with her hands and moaned. “It has happened,” she mumbled. “It has finally happened. Oh, Marie, I know who is behind this.”

  News of the discovery was all over the city in a matter of hours. Pedestrians were walking past Sydnee’s town house, pointing and shaking their heads.

  Well after sunset, Sydnee went to see Tristan and Isabel. Atlantis came with her. After telling the dog to wait on the step, Sydnee was shown into the parlor by the Saint-Yveses’ house slave.

  Tristan gave Sydnee a weak smile when he walked into the room. “Delphine is fussy tonight, and Isabel is rocking her to sleep.”

  “I understand.”

  The fire was dying in the grate, and she noticed Tristan’s hands shaking as he lit candles. When he looked at her, she saw dark rings under his eyes.

  “Your father is responsible for this, Tristan. All it took was a simple note to Paula.”

  He nodded. “It is the perfect way to discredit me about the orphan sales. No one will believe a sodomite.”

  He started for a drink and then, with a jolt, he realized something. “Oh no! Sydnee, in my haste, I left the ledgers at your house!”

  Sydnee’s jaw dropped. “Where?”

  “In the bedroom on the nightstand.”

  Sydnee stood up and took his arm. “I must go immediately, but listen to me. You and Isabel must flee. You need to escape to safety tonight. There is talk of imprisoning you.”

  He looked at her glassy-eyed.

  “Tristan, they hang people for this!”

  Blinking several times, he said, “Y-yes, but where do we go?”

  “To Memphis, to Mortimer. The authorities will never pursue you upriver. They will be satisfied that you have left. There is boat at dawn. Take Isabel and Delphine with you.”

  Tristan ran his hands through his hair. “But what should I take? My business is here, our lives.”

  “That is all you need to take with you, your lives.”

  “What about you, Sydnee? Surely you are coming with us,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I will leave later. We cannot carry the ledgers and the mask together. I will meet you at the landing in the morning to give you the documents and to say goodbye. Now I must go.”

  Squeezing his hand, Sydnee ran out the door and back to her house. Taking the stairs two at a time, she dashed into the bedroom and hastily lit a candle to look for the ledgers. They were not on the nightstand. She flipped the bed linens back, looked under the bed and in the wardrobe. She opened drawers and then ran down to the parlor and the dining room to search. She called to Marie. The young woman had not seen them.

  “Did you tell me that you left the house to look for me this afternoon?”

  “Yes, Mademoiselle Sydnee. I went to the market.”

  Sydnee threw her head back and sighed. The house had been empty. Even Atlantis had been gone. The dog went with her to the landing when she purchased a ticket. Saint-Yves must have been watching the house and entered when no one was home to take the ledgers. She put her head in her hands and moaned.

  “I am sorry, Mademoiselle Sydnee,” Marie said.

  Sydnee shook her head. “No, Marie. You have done nothing wrong.”

  Dismissing her, Sydnee, went to her bed chamber to think. Pacing, she tried to gather her thoughts. Without the ledgers and the mask together, we are lost. There is absolutely no proof against Saint-Yves, and he has won. She clenched her fists and growled. But it cannot be. There must be a way.

  Sydnee realized suddenly that she was completely alone. Tristan and D’anton could no longer offer their help. She knew that she must go to Natchez immediately. She must get away from the dangers in this city, and once there, she would tell Fletcher everything. Together they would continue the fight.

  The night seemed endless, and Sydnee slept little. Just before dawn she set out with Atlantis for the landing to find Tristan, Isabel and Delphine. The sun had not risen yet, and the streets were still quiet. The sound of her heels on the pavement was deafening and a heaviness was upon her.

  As she approached the landing she noticed a crowd gathering at the end of the street in front of D’anton’s office. Filthy gossips, she thought, taking pleasure in other’s misfortune. But as she came closer she saw the look of concern on their faces. People were murmuring to each other and pointing.

  “What is it?” she asked one of the men.

  “The lawyer, Delacroix hanged himself last night.”

  Sydnee stood paralyzed, staring at the man.

  “Madame?” the stranger said anxiously. “Madame, are you well?”

  “H-how do you know?”

  “They just brought him out. Someone found him hanging in his office.”

  Elbowing her way through the crowd, Sydnee asked a constable, “What’s happened? I am a friend of Monsieur Delacroix.”

  He said, “I am sorry for your loss, madam,” and pointed to the door. “They are about to put him in the hearse.”

  He helped Sydnee move through the crowd and just as she reached the front, she saw the undertaker reach down and fold back a sheet for Paula Delacroix to see the body.

  It was indeed D’anton, his head rolled to one side limply. A sob escaped Sydnee, and she clutched her stomach. Paula said nothing. She just turned and walked away. The undertaker’s assistants put D’anton’s body in the hearse, shut the door and drove off.

  Sydnee staggered to a tree and began to retch. Dark spirits swirled around her like a vicious maelstrom. There was ringing in her ears and darkness before her eyes. I must not let them win. I cannot. This will not happen!

  Straightening up and opening her eyes, she saw Atlantis watching her anxiously. “It’s all right, my friend,” she murmured.

  Taking a deep breath, Sydnee collected herself. She had to get to Tristan and Isabel before the boat left. Picking up her skirts, she ran toward the landing, clutching her side with Atlantis at her heels. She wanted nothing more than to tear her corset off and run full speed. Nevertheless, as difficult as it was, she reached the paddle wheeler without fainting.

  The sun had just broken over the horizon, a blaze of angry red as passengers filed up the landing stage. Sydnee scanned the crowd and found the Saint-Yveses
at the end of the line. Tristan was holding Delphine, and Isabel was standing beside him.

  When Isabel saw Sydnee, a look of relief spread over her face. Sydnee dashed up and hugged them. “My friends, my dear friends,” she said.

  When she looked into Tristan’s face, she knew that she could not tell him about D’anton’s death. In his agony and despair she knew that he would stay in New Orleans to bury his friend, and it was far too dangerous.

  “Bon voyage, my friends and be safe,” Sydnee said.

  “You will join us shortly?” Isabel asked.

  “Indeed I will.”

  “Sydnee,” Tristan said. “Did you bring the ledgers?”

  She grimaced and hesitated.

  “What is it?” he urged anxiously. “Tell me.”

  “They’re gone.”

  “What!”

  “I believe your father came to the house yesterday and took them.”

  “Oh, Mon Dieu,” he gasped. “Are you certain? Did you look everywhere? I left them on the nightstand.”

  Sydnee nodded.

  “Then it is over as soon as it starts,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh, Sydnee, what now?”

  The whistle blew, and she pushed them toward the landing stage. “We will think of something, but you must go. There is too much danger here.”

  They moved back into line. Two gentlemen standing next to Tristan were smoking and gossiping. “They found his body at his office,” one of them said.

  “How did he do it?” the other man asked, taking a puff of his cigar and adjusting his gloves.

  “Hanged.”

  “Hanged? What was his name again?”

  “Delacroix. You know the one who they were about to arrest for--”

  Sydnee looked sharply at Tristan hoping he had not heard, but it was too late.

  “W-what did you say?” Tristan asked the men.

  “You didn’t hear about it, sir? A lawyer by the name of Delacroix killed himself last night. Just down that street over there.”

  “What!” Tristan cried, shaking his head with his mouth open. “No!”

  The gentlemen looked at each other and edged away.

  Delphine was watching her father, and suddenly burst into tears. She was terrified. Isabel took her immediately.

  “It cannot be!” Isabel said. “Our D’anton.”

  Wild eyed, Tristan looked at Sydnee for an answer.

  She murmured, “It’s true. I just came from there.”

  Tristan clutched her arms. “But how do you know? Are you sure?”

  “I saw him. I saw his body. He is gone, Tristan.”

  Delphine was shrieking, and passengers were turning to look at the uproar.

  “I must go,” he said.

  “No Tristan!” Isabel exclaimed. “You cannot go back to the city. We must leave here.”

  Sydnee grabbed his arm. “There is nothing you can do.”

  “Are you mad, Sydnee? I must go to him!”

  He yanked away, but Sydnee held her ground. “You will not go back,” she ordered.

  When he tried to move around her, she stepped in front of him. “You are getting on that boat,” she said.

  Tristan towered over her petite frame, but she did not move. Atlantis sat nearby watching anxiously. Tristan pushed Sydnee out of the way, and she grabbed him again.

  With madness in his eyes, he raised his hand to strike her. “So you will hit me, Tristan? I will take it and stand firm. Get on that boat.”

  A sob escaped him, and he dropped his hand and then his head.

  Isabel came forward and put her arm around him. Delphine stopped crying and touched her father. “Papa?” she said.

  He looked up. “Papa is coming now,” he murmured.

  Wiping his face with the heels of his hands, he nodded to Isabel.

  The whistle blew a final time, and Sydnee ran ahead to tell the steward that they were still coming.

  The Saint-Yveses walked up the landing stage and onto the paddle wheeler headed for Memphis. The only one who waved goodbye to Sydnee was Delphine.

  Chapter 31

  Sydnee stepped off the landing stage into Natchez. It was good to be out of New Orleans and close to Fletcher once more. With him, she was safe, but when she arrived at the house he was gone. Her first thought was that they had crossed paths, and now he was in New Orleans, but his housekeeper said otherwise. “There was a change of plans, Mademoiselle Sauveterre. He had to go to Vicksburg yesterday to help with a breakout of fever.”

  Sydnee was sorely disappointed. “Did he say when he would be back?”

  “No, Mademoiselle. Please come in by the fire. There is chill in the air. I will make you something to eat and prepare a room.”

  “Thank you, Questa,” she said, pulling her gloves off. “Don’t go to any trouble.”

  The woman built a fire, curtsied and left Sydnee alone in the parlor. A steady mist fell the rest of the evening which added to Sydnee’s malaise. She grieved not only for D’anton but for the sake of Tristan. She knew that D’anton had been the great love of his life, and he would never fully recover.

  She ate and retired early, hoping that when she awoke, Fletcher would be home. Although Questa made up a room for her, Sydnee slept in Fletcher’s bed. It was comforting to have his scent all around her.

  She rose late, the morning sun being obscured by gray clouds and rain again. When Sydnee reached for the mask to tuck it into her bodice, she hesitated. Even though the ledgers were in Saint-Yves’ possession once more, the mask was still of importance, and she no longer felt comfortable carrying it. The judge in Natchez would not want it without access to the ledgers, so she decided to hide it somewhere at Fletcher’s house.

  Walking down to the library, she scanned his books. She remembered him saying once that he was reading La Vendetta, and she found it. She smiled when she opened it. His bookmark was only one quarter of the way through the book, and she deduced that reading in French proved too challenging for him. She slipped the mask inside the book and replaced it on the shelf.

  After breakfast, she walked into town and posted a letter to Fletcher, telling him the location of the mask as well as a full explanation of her discoveries. The letter could only be picked up by him. This way if something happened to her, the mask was safe.

  She took a deep breath, put her umbrella up and walked back home. She wished Atlantis was with her. The thought of Cuthbert Saint-Yves and the man in the greatcoat sent a shudder through her. She scanned the rainy streets of Natchez for the Saint-Yveses’ carriage but saw nothing.

  The rest of the afternoon, Sydnee sat by the fire in her day gown and slippers, reading. She was restless though, continually walking to the window looking for Fletcher. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach accompanied her all day; and she knew it was not only anxiety, but grief. The grand masquerade had finally ended. It had protected and sheltered them for years, but inevitably it came crashing down around them.

  Sunset came early and rather than bother Questa for food, Sydnee went to the kitchen to help herself to some soup. She brought it back to the parlor to sit in front of the fire.

  Sydnee did not see the man in the greatcoat behind the door.

  As she walked into the room, he lunged forward and clapped his hand over her mouth. Her bowl of soup crashed to the floor. Like a band of iron, he wrapped his arm around her waist and growled in her ear, “Cry for the servants and I will slit their throats.”

  Sydnee’s terror was so great, she thought she would swoon. “Where is it?” he demanded removing his hand from her mouth. His arm was so tight around her that she could not speak. He groped her body for the envelope and when he found nothing, he took a handful of her hair, yanked her head back and held a gutting knife to her neck.

  She took short gasps of air.

  “Where is it?” he snarled.

  “M-mailed it.”

  “To who?”

  “A judge,” she said, choking.

  “We�
��ll see if you’re lying,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  He kicked the door aside and backed out of the room, dragging her with him. Looking up and down the hall, he pulled her through the kitchen and out to the carriage house. After gagging her and lashing her hands tightly, he put her on the bed of a utility wagon and threw a tarp over her.

  With her heart beating madly, Sydnee listened to him hitch a horse. There was little doubt that he was taking her somewhere to either torture her or kill her. She closed her eyes and called on all the power of the spirits, “Lord God, Jesus protect me. All the angels and saints please shelter me from harm. Danbala, who delivered Margarite from this monster, please help me now!”

  Sydnee waited in terror as he drove her down the streets of Natchez and out of town. Her hands grew numb, they were bound so tightly. She knew that he was taking her far out into the surrounding wilds of Mississippi probably onto The Trace where no one could hear her. She slipped into a swoon, and when she awoke she was unsure how far they traveled.

  The wagon stopped with a jolt, and she heard the crunch of his feet. He flipped back the tarp and then rolled her over untying the rope on her hands and pulled off the gag.

  Taking her arm, he yanked her off the wagon and dragged her into the brush. They were indeed on The Trace in a swampy area thick with vegetation. The ground was soggy and littered with fallen trees and moss-covered logs. A swamp lay nearby filled with cypress, tupelo, and standing water. In the gloom she saw a shack across the road.

  Grabbing her from behind, the man put the gutting knife to her throat once more. “Where is it?” he said.

  Sydnee tried to speak but she could not. Her terror was too great.

  “Tell me or I will--” Suddenly there was a loud crack, and the man grunted. Releasing her, he stumbled backward and clutched his arm.

  Sydnee saw Cuthbert Saint-Yves climb down from his horse, holding a gun. “So you’ll blackmail me, Underwood?”

  Wide-eyed, Sydnee backed away.

  Saint-Yves continued, “You think I didn’t see you listening outside my office window that night? I watched you, and when you stole the ledgers I knew what you intended. Now you will have the mask too.”

  “You smug bastard,” Underwood growled, and he charged Saint-Yves.