Mignon herself was absent. Marie thanked the chambermaid and returned to her own room, where she took out the paper, pen, and ink she had brought from home.
Zombi was awake and pressing her pale belly against the glass, tongue fluttering to taste the foreign air. Marie went over to the tank.
“Are you hungry, cher? I will find you something soon.”
The snake stilled at the sound of her voice, then coiled away, working her way around the tank and looking out at the strange surroundings. Marie sat down and penned a quick note to Mignon, then carried it down to her room.
Her first impulse—to leave it on the pillow of the bed—she quickly rejected. Mr. Ramsey would no doubt resent any interference with his toy. She frowned, glancing around the room, and decided the best place was inside the chest, which appeared to be Mignon’s only possession. She lifted the lid, and fairly gasped at what she found inside.
She had expected spare clothing. Instead she found a small collection of books including a dictionary, and a wealth of keepsakes, many tidily labelled. Cuttings from a number of plants, carefully pressed between layers of paper and marked with their common and scientific names. A raven’s feather, “found in Jackson Square.” A drawing of Mignon, signed by Anthony. The stub of a blue candle, wrapped inside a white cloth, which Marie recognized as the remains of the makeshift altar she had made in Anthony’s room.
All these treasures spoke of Mignon’s emotions. Proof, if any was needed, that she had a soul.
Marie left her note atop the stacked books and gently closed the lid, then set out to find a meal for Zombi. She went to the sugar house, which was all alight, rather than the barn. She preferred not to catch a mouse herself, but a coin in exchange for a live mouse might be gratefully received by one of the working slaves.
She found Mr. Billings standing beside a large apparatus, some twenty feet long at the least, talking with two negroes. Mr. Wrackerby was nowhere in evidence.
Marie gazed at the machinery, which to her poorly informed eye looked like a giant, cylindrical tank lying on its side, with portholes and penetrations of copper piping at intervals along its length. She raised an eyebrow at her friend.
“This is the miraculous advancement?”
“It is,” said Mr. Billings. “Would you like a tour? Dominic here knows all about it.”
“Perhaps tomorrow. It is late and I confess, I am here on a much less lofty errand.”
She described her wish, watching the two negroes. The elder of them had the dull expression of one resigned to doing what one was told without question. The other—whom her friend had called Dominic—looked at first as if he might be insulted, then his mouth curved in amusement.
“And what could the Widow Paris want a live mouse for, ehn?”
A trace of accent told Marie he was foreign, Jamaican, perhaps. Familiar with voudon, no doubt. She smiled and lowered her eyelids.
“I thought to name it after your owner, Mr. Ramsey.”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise, then his brows drew together. “Allow me, Madame.”
He strode away toward the back of the sugar house. Marie followed, intrigued by his sudden intensity, and curious about the place where the toil of so many was converted to profit.
Taking note that she had followed, Dominic paused. A flash of danger lit his eyes.
“Madame would do best to wait here. There are no mice in this building.”
Marie glanced at the clean-swept floors. “Where will you find one?”
“In the barn.”
She’d expected that answer, but not the tension in the man’s voice. Curious, she lowered her voice.
“I wish to watch the hunt.”
Dominic frowned. “Why? I swear to catch it unharmed.”
“Oya guides me to watch.”
His eyes narrowed, but he yielded with a slight bow. Marie followed him out into the darkness, across a grassy space to the dark, looming barn. He opened the door a mere crack and gestured to her to step in, then followed and closed it.
Darkness enfolded them. She heard Dominic breathing beside her, opened her eyes wide to urge them to adjust to the lack of light.
“How did you come to be here?” she whispered. “You belong in the city.”
“I was happier there. Marsh Ramsey bought me to run the vacuum pan.”
“I thought Wrackerby was the foreman.”
“He runs the whole sugar house.”
“So you know the pan better than he?”
“I know all of it better.”
She could hear the sneer in his voice. A proud man, and intelligent.
“You should not be a slave.”
He did not answer at once. When he did, the bitterness resonated even in his whisper. “I will not be for long.”
He seemed to regret saying it; she sensed him turn to her, felt his hot breath on her face as he caught her by the wrist. “Say nothing. Stay here.”
She heard him move away. She let out her breath silently, waiting.
She was beginning to see dim shapes: large tanks and tangles of piping. Confusing until she remembered that the old sugaring equipment was being stored here.
A startled squeak told her of Dominic’s success. She waited, but instead of his returning footsteps, she heard a soughing like a shifting of cloth. Curious, she walked toward the sound, keeping a hand against the barn wall. Twice she bumped against pieces of metal and had to step around them; fortunately she made no noise.
The soughing continued, much nearer now. Marie heard a soft clank as well. Her curiosity piqued, she withdrew her lucifers and candle from her pocket and struck a light.
Dominic’s head spun around toward her, eyes glaring in fury. In his hands were two large rings, one perhaps three feet across, one nearly double that, with canvas hung between them. Marie could not fathom what it was.
In the flickering light of her flame, Dominic shoved his apparatus beneath a large vat and turned to her. Marie had been so surprised that she had not lit the candle, and now the lucifer scorched her fingers.
She dropped it. A flame leapt up from the straw-covered floor.
Gasping, Marie stamped at the fire, extinguishing it before it could become a conflagration. Darkness blinded her again, and the smell of burnt straw rose around her. She felt Dominic come up beside her, heard his own feet scraping at the straw on the floor.
“That was foolish.” Anger vibrated in his voice, still low, though no longer a whisper.
“Yes. Forgive me.”
“Go back, now.”
“I cannot see my way.”
A hand grasped her arm above the elbow, roughly guiding her. The route was different; straight across the barn rather than around its edge. Marie stumbled over a loose piece of piping that clattered loudly.
A scrabble and a squeaking followed, then subsided. A cow lowed somewhere near. Dominic moved forward, dragging Marie after him.
“You should be free,” she repeated, somewhat out of breath. “I can help.”
“Help?” His voice was scornful, then suspicious. How?”
“I can raise money. Have you been able to save anything?”
“Ramsey will never sell me, and even if he would I am too expensive.”
“What did he pay for you?”
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
Marie caught her breath. He was right; it would take her years to raise such a sum.
“I can help in other ways.”
“What do you mean?” His voice was a hiss, angry.
She understood his suspicion. For all he knew, she was sent by his master to discover any scheme of escape he might have. An intelligent slave could be expected to break for freedom.
“You are building something,” she said. The fingers on her arm tightened, and she hastened to add, “Do not tell me what. Tell me instead what you need. Materials? I can bring them from the city.”
He was silent for a long moment, then abruptly a door opened behind Marie and D
ominic pushed her through it, out into the yard. The sugar house stood a few yards away, light gleaming from its open doors.
“Silk,” he whispered.
An odd request. She could not begin to imagine his need for costly fabric.
“How much?” she asked.
“Six bolts.”
Marie bit back an exclamation. Was he planning a ball? Did he mean to dress every slave on the plantation in riches?
“And fifty spools of heavy thread, and silk cord, a thousand feet of it.”
“What colour?”
“Colour doesn’t matter.”
Why?
Marie resolved not to ask. While it would be expensive, the materials he wanted were within her means to provide. She would be more than willing to provide them...on one condition.
“If I bring you these, will you take one other with you?”
The light from the sugar house showed her his frown. “Who?”
“Mignon.”
He laughed. “A machine?”
“That is my price. Her freedom, along with yours.”
Dominic frowned. She watched him breathe three times before he answered.
“Done.”
He released her arm. Marie resisted the urge to rub at it.
“I will go tomorrow, and return with the materials.”
A smile curved his lips. He reached into his pocket and withdrew something small and squirming.
“Don’t let it bite you.”
Marie took the mouse by its tiny scruff, stroking it to soothe it. It stilled beneath her hand.
“Hello, Mr. Ramsey,” she cooed.
She departed the following day, claiming an urgent calling summoned her back to town. Her reputation was such that no one questioned it, although Adele raised her brows in surprise.
Mr. Billings protested. “I haven’t finished the notes for my article!”
“Lend me your carriage. I will bring it back in three days.”
“Well of all the—”
“And I will bring you a case of brandy, as well.”
Grumbling a little for form’s sake, he yielded, and Marie went off to pack. As she was just finishing, a knock fell upon her door. She opened it to find Mignon outside.
The maid looked unchanged, except for a shadow in her eyes. Marie peered into them, though the maid would not meet her gaze.
“You are unhappy.”
Mignon’s brows drew together slightly, then she nodded. No tears. Nothing so human.
“I am working to free you,” Marie whispered.
Astonishment came into the mechanical eyes. The rose to meet Marie’s. “How?”
Marie raised a finger to her lips. “You must be patient. Promise you will not give up hope.”
Another nod. “I promise.”
“Good. Now you may help me by asking two of the boys to come up here and carry Zombi’s tank.”
The maid looked at the tank, then stepped to it and lifted it from the table where it rested. Marie’s heart lurched, but Mignon seemed to have perfect control of the unwieldy thing.
“To the carriage?” Mignon asked.
Marie hastily cast Zombi’s shawl over the tank. “Yes. Carefully, please.”
She followed Mignon down the stairs, grateful that Zombi was in a digestive stupor at present. Keeping her farewells brief, Marie swore to Adele that she would lead the promised dances upon her return.
The journey to New Orleans was uneventful, and in three days’ time Marie had purchased the silk, thread, and cord that Dominic wanted. She packed all of it into a large steamer trunk. Christophe, her lover and the father of her children, observed her preparations with bemusement.
“But what is it for, cher?”
“I have not the slightest idea. Have you ever seen anything like this?”
She sketched for him the apparatus she had glimpsed in Dominic’s hands, telling him the while of the slave’s brilliance and ambition.
Christophe frowned at her drawing. “I am sure I have seen that before. Metal rings, you say?”
“Yes. Made of leftover pipe, I suspect.”
“It looks like some of the skirts in the new mode. The big, full ones.”
Marie gazed at the drawing. “I see what you mean. Perhaps he is hosting a ball after all.”
Christophe chuckled. “I am tempted to accompany you, just to see what comes of it.”
Marie cast the paper aside and embraced him. “Do. I may be there longer than I thought. Whatever Dominic’s plan is, I am determined to see it through.”
He kissed her, then sighed. “Alas, I have business. Perhaps I will join you later.”
Disappointed but unsurprised, Marie prepared to return to Laurel Grove. She had the steamer trunk strapped to the roof of the carriage, and the case of brandy set on the floor at her feet. She half feared the additional luggage would be questioned when she arrived at Laurel Grove, but fortunately the spectacle of Mignon carrying Zombi’s tank back into the servants’ wing drew attention away from the rest of the baggage.
Marie whispered in Mignon’s ear as the maid was leaving, “Come to me again as soon as you can.”
Mignon nodded. Marie spent the evening in her room except for a visit to the sugar house early on, in which she contrived to ask Dominic where he wanted the silk.
The slave looked startled, then told her to bring it to the barn and cover it with a certain blanket. Marie returned to her room to wait. Near midnight she concluded that Mignon would not be coming that night, and went to bed.
“Madame?”
“Gracious!” Marie sat up in bed, heart pounding. “What is the hour?”
The shadow beside her stood uncannily still. “Three. I could not get away sooner.”
Mignon. Marie gave herself a moment for composure, then nodded.
“It is well, for I need you to do something that no one must see.”
Mignon had no difficulty carrying the steamer trunk, even though it was larger and heavier than Zombi’s tank. Holding it easily before her, she moved silently down the stairs and out into the light of a hazy moon. Marie led the way to the barn, then paused in the open doorway, straining to see.
“Do you see a blanket with black stripes?”
“Yes,” said Mignon. “It is there, to the left.”
“Put the trunk there and cover it with the blanket.”
“Never mind,” said a man’s whisper.
Marie jumped, then recognized the voice. “Dominic. You were waiting?”
“Working. This is the only time I have for it.”
A small scrape preceded a blaze of light from a lantern that had been covered. Against the mass of cluttered equipment in the barn, Marie saw a framework of pipes, bent into a rough cube perhaps four feet to a side. Between the pipes, rising halfway up the frame, was a weave of basketry.
Marie’s curiosity increased. Whatever was he making?
Mignon set the steamer trunk on the floor without a sound. Dominic looked at her, seeming impressed.
“I have brought what you asked,” Marie said, opening the trunk and showing him the silk and cord. “How soon can you keep your part of the bargain?”
Dominic’s face went wry. “Months yet. There is much work to do.”
“What sort of work?” Mignon demanded. “I need no sleep, and work faster than humans, in general.”
A slow smile spread on Dominic’s face. “How are you with needle and thread?”
It was not months, but only four days before Dominic told Marie in a whisper, as she was admiring the new vacuum pan in the sugar house under his guidance, that he was ready. All his hesitation concerning Mignon had disappeared; he now spoke of her in reverent tones. Neither had told Marie what they were constructing at night in the barn. She was curious, but wished to preserve Dominic’s trust.
Now he leaned toward her, pointing toward one of the small view-ports in the side of the vacuum pan, which were for the purpose of observing the boiling of the sugar within. “I need he
lp once more.”
“What now?”
“A distraction.”
Marie raised her brows. “Where, and when?”
“At your convenience. It must draw the attention of everyone on the plantation for perhaps an hour.”
Marie smiled. “Well, I can think of only one way to do that, short of setting the barn alight. Fortunately I have already promised to lead a dance.”
Adele received her pronouncement with joy. “Tomorrow night? Bien! I will tell the cooks now—they have been saving up for this.”
The occasion quickly became much grander than the simple evening dance Marie had envisioned. Apparently the whole plantation had been anticipating Marie’s dance with delight, and the occasion became a full-blown festival. A goat was slain and roasted in a pit. The kitchen was a beehive of activity.
Mr. Ramsey wisely gave his slaves permission for the ceremony, though not until the working day was done. Marie learned that he intended to watch the festival from the gallery at the back of the house, despite a slight indisposition that he had suffered of late, and which had kept him in his bed for a few days.
The ceremony must therefore be held where it could be seen from the gallery. Marie disliked this, for it meant the dance must be far closer to the barn than she had intended. She had no choice but to yield gracefully, however. She hoped Dominic and Mignon would be able to make their preparations without being observed by the household.
She dressed with care, in the white skirt and blouse she wore for the annual ritual at Bayou St. John. She tied her favourite scarf into the seven-pointed headdress that spoke to those who understood of her status, and wore the St. Therese medal that Christophe had given her on a chain around her neck.
At the altar she had set up in her room, she lit candles and prayed for the protection of all the slaves at Laurel Grove, but most especially for Dominic and Mignon. As she finished, a tingle of anticipation ran down her arms.
Shadow Conspiracy Page 18