DECEIVED
MAIL-ORDER
BRIDE
MARGARET TANNER
Contents:
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Author Links
About the Author
Other Books by Author
Copyright © 2019 Margaret Tanner
Thank you for downloading this e-book. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author and publisher. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoy this book, then please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.
This story is a work of fiction, and to enhance the story, some literary license has been taken regarding setting and geography. All characters are a figment of the author’s imagination.
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to my author friends, Susan Horsnell and Cheryl Wright, for all their help and support.
To my loyal readers: Thank you so much for your support. You can’t know how much I appreciate it.
Cover Artist: Charlene Raddon.
Chapter One
New Orleans, Louisiana 1876
“Your services are no longer required.”
“But why, Mrs. Moreau? I’ve worked for your husband for over five years. He promised me a job for as long as I wanted it if I moved to New Orleans with the rest of his staff.” Anna Simpson couldn’t believe she was hearing right.
“Here are your wages.” Mrs. Moreau thrust an envelope into Anna’s trembling hand. “Kindly leave immediately.”
Anna gazed into the young woman’s haughty face and saw only coldness in it. Her ice blue eyes were hard as pebbles. How could a nice old man like Mr. Moreau marry such a woman?
“What will I do? Where will I go?”
“That is no concern of mine. I’m going out and you will be gone by the time I return.”
Just like that. After more than five years of service to Mr. Moreau she was dismissed. Even if he hadn’t been away in Charleston, it was doubtful if he would argue with his new bride. He was just too besotted with her.
After he had married Lizette Durant, he had moved his law firm to New Orleans and brought most of his staff with him. Several of them had already left or been dismissed. Lizette had taken over the household and was slowly, methodically getting rid of everyone who had worked for her husband in Houston.
The injustice and cruelty of it all. Anna had been disowned by her family for coming to New Orleans. Now this.
“It’s your choice,” her father had ranted. “Go to New Orleans with that Frenchie and you are no longer our daughter.”
Pa hated the French for some reason she could never fathom. It was also a control thing, as he could never bear to have a woman in his life who stood up to him like she did. Even when she was sixteen, and working for Mr. Moreau in town, he had expected her to be docile and timid like her mother, who let him bully her. I’m glad I’m not like her. This defiance had cost her a reasonably comfortable home on a ranch, though.
After much soul-searching, she had gone to New Orleans. Now she had lost her family, her job and her home, because of a vindictive, spoilt young woman’s dislike.
What have I ever done to you she thought, blinking back tears? She had never liked the woman and was honest enough to admit it but had never outwardly showed her feelings. Always polite, hardworking and loyal. Now she was cast aside like a worn-out shoe.
Through the window she watched Mrs. Moreau’s carriage drive off. Scarcely able to drag one foot after the other and with her stomach rolling and churning, she made it to the kitchen.
Mrs. Boston, the housekeeper, gave an audible gasp. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, come and sit down. Daisy,” she called to the girl who helped out in the kitchen. “Get Anna a cup of tea.”
Between hiccoughing sobs, Anna told the motherly woman had had happened.
“I’m not surprised.”
“What!”
“That woman has always been jealous of you.”
“Jealous of me? Why?”
“Because she knows how highly Mr. Moreau thought of you. Have you ever really looked at yourself in the mirror? Those unusual bluish green eyes, your pretty brown hair, that woman was plum jealous of your good looks.”
“I’m just ordinary.”
“No, Anna, you are definitely not ordinary. Mrs. Moreau sees you as competition, so you have to go. If the Master wanted a young wife, he should have married you, and not that selfish mean-spirited, little upstart. A French aristocrat.” The housekeeper pursed her lips. “She’s no more a French aristocrat than I am.”
Anna gave a watery smile as she accepted the cup of tea from Daisy. “What am I going to do? Mr. Moreau won’t be back for three weeks, otherwise he might put a stop to it.”
“I don’t think so, he thinks the sun shines out of her. No fool like an old fool, my dear.”
Anna wiped a tear from her cheek. “She wants me to be gone by the time she gets back.”
“What!”
“Where am I going to go? What will I do? Except for the people in this house, I don’t know anyone here in New Orleans.” She had been too busy helping Mr. Moreau in his law firm, which operated from within the house, to socialize with anyone. “I’ve got nowhere to live.” She put her head in her hands and wept.
“My sister’s mother-in-law runs a small hotel,” Daisy said.
Mrs. Boston gave a slight sniff. “I’d hardly call it a hotel; she lets out rooms.”
“It’s cheap and clean,” Daisy said.
Anna raised her head. “Where is it?”
“It’s off Toulouse Street,” Daisy said.
“It’s squashed between two warehouses,” the housekeeper retorted.
“As long as it’s clean, I can put up with it.” Anna fought to pull herself together. She needed to find somewhere quickly that wouldn’t cost much. A small amount of savings and the money in the envelope would have to tide her over until she found another position. Maybe she could work as a maid somewhere until Mr. Moreau came back. Surely, he would at least give her a reference, could perhaps recommend her to one of his legal colleagues even. With her mind in turmoil she couldn’t come up with any other idea.
“Pack your trunk and hide it under the stairs until you get settled at this place. Let me know and I’ll get someone from the stable to deliver it,” the housekeeper said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Boston.” She gave the middle-age woman a hug. “You too, Daisy.”
“I’ll help Anna with her trunk, if that’s all right, Mrs. Boston?”
“Yes, good idea, no telling how long Mrs. Moreau will be away, and you need to be gone by then. She’s vicious enough to set the law on to you.”
Anna, with Daisy a few steps behind her, climbed up the stairs leading to the loft rooms under the eaves where the female staff lived. She didn’t have much to pack, two dresses, two nightgowns and two changes of undergarments, a shawl and a coat, plus a second pair of shoes. Not much to show for twenty-one years on this earth.
She placed a nightgown, her hairbrush and a change of underwear and a few personal items into a carpet bag and glanced around the room that had been home for over twelve months.
Poor Mr. Moreau, fancy bein
g married to a woman like Lizzette. A fifty-five-year old man marrying a woman young enough to be his daughter. Anna couldn’t think it was anything other than his money that made him attractive to Lizzette.
Carrying her carpet bag, Anna used her free hand to grab hold of one handle of the trunk with Daisy holding the other. With much straining and grunting they managed to get the trunk downstairs and stowed in the cupboard under the stairs. Anna was panting by this time, Daisy also.
In the kitchen Mrs. Boston had wrapped up left-over pancakes and biscuits for her to take.
“Something for you to nibble on,” she said. “I would have liked to cook you something more substantial, but I dare not in case she comes back.”
“I understand and thank you for everything.” She couldn’t risk the housekeeper losing her job if Mrs. Moreau discovered her still here.
“Goodbye and good luck, my dear. I know where the place is, so I’ll try to drop by and see you.”
“Thank you, I’d like that, but don’t risk your job because of me. You’ve been a great help and I’ve valued our friendship.”
“I’ve arranged for young Phillipe to drive you. He can be trusted. He hates her even more than we do. Any wonder, he might only be a stable hand, but the way Mrs. Moreau beats him around the shoulders with her riding crop is inexcusable.”
Phillipe, a Creole boy poked his head around the kitchen. Ya be ready, Miss Anna?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A buckboard sat out the front of the imposing cream brick mansion, and the youth helped her up into the seat.
“I don’t want to risk getting you into trouble.”
“I’ll be picking up a few bags of oats for the horses so no-one will know.”
“I’ve got to go to a house off Toulouse Street and….”
“I know the place. Ma worked there for a while. Madame Hazel is nice enough.” He lapsed into silence as the horse clip-clopped down the winding drive.
As they drove through the black wrought-iron gates Anna glanced back. The double storied mansion had several huge pillars holding up the long porch, and it looked mellow and serene in the sunlight. The dormer windows in the loft area had dark brown shutters, the same as the two downstairs levels, and her room had looked directly out into the garden. Huge ornamental trees guarded the immaculately maintained flower beds. How many times had she sat under the leafy foliage to read a book in her free time?
Forget all of that she scolded herself. Look forward, not back. It’s the only way you are going to survive.
Within a short time, they were pulling up outside a red brick, two-storied house squashed in between Lempriere’s Garments, and Monsieur Caruana’s Tools of Trade, whatever that meant. “Thank you.” Phillipe waited while she went to the front door.
The woodwork around the windows badly needed painting as did the posts holding up the front porch. The small square of garden was full of weeds. The place looked tired and shabby like the area, but not bad enough to have her scurrying away.
After knocking on the door, she waited with tension building up inside her. If Madame Hazel didn’t have a spare room, she would be in dire straits. This would have to be the worst day of her life, except for when she was banished by her parents.
Chapter Two
The door swung open with a grating of hinges and Anna stared in open-mouth shock at the sight of a huge Creole woman, who must be all of six feet tall and two axe handles wide.
“Madam Hazel?”
“Yes, who’s asking?” She spoke with a slight French accent.
“My Name is Anna Simpson. I used to work for Mr. Moreau. Daisy, one of the maids suggested your place to me.”
“I do have a room on the first floor. I charge three dollars fifty a week. Can you pay?”
“Yes, for a little while even if I can’t get a new position.”
“I supply breakfast, tea or coffee, ham and eggs, croissants or baguettes. For supper, well I cook a nutritious two course meal.”
“Thank you, I’ll take it.” She hurried out to the buckboard to pick up her carpet bag. “Thank you, Phillipe.”
“Good luck Miss Anna. It will probably be me who brings over your trunk.” He drove off and left her to, well she wasn’t quite sure what.
“Is this all the luggage you have?”
“No, the housekeeper where I was previously employed is keeping a trunk for me. I didn’t want to bring it along with me in case you didn’t have a vacancy.”
“I have five other guests, all women. No men visitors allowed.”
“I understand.” Anna followed the woman, who huffed and puffed up the stairs leading to a long hallway with doors on either side.
When they got to the last door, Madame Hazel unlocked it. “Clean and comfortable, and you will be required to keep it that way. When you get yourself settled, come downstairs to the kitchen and I’ll sign you in, that’s when you’ll pay me a week of rent in advance. From then on you pay me weekly.”
“Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Madame handed over a key. “My guests can help themselves to tea and coffee at any time.” She waddled off.
Anna glanced around. The room was shabby with dull paintwork, the floors just bare boards. A dresser had a china jug and basin resting on it. A chair, a closet and a double bed was the only other furniture. The room overlooked a weed-filled back garden with a couple of wooden structures that a good puff of wind could blow over.
Anna sat on the bed and bounced up and down a couple of times. The mattress appeared soft. Everything was clean, albeit shabby.
She took off her bonnet and placed it on the dresser. The face staring back at her from the large mirror was pale, with worry lines creasing her brow.
With a reference from Mr. Moreau, she should be able to obtain a position as a bookkeeper. Without one, she wasn’t so sure. At the very worst, she could get a job as a maid or cook. Ma had trained her in all aspects of housekeeping, fortunately.
She blinked back tears. It was terrible being so alone. “Pull yourself together Anna Simpson. At least you have a roof over your head,” she scolded herself. “Only while you can afford to pay for it.”
Pushing a wayward curl behind her ear, she ran her hands down the sides of her dress in an endeavor to remove the creases before venturing from the room. She found the kitchen by following her nose, and the appetizing aroma of something cooking. The kitchen was quite a good size with a scrubbed pine table and eight high-backed chairs. Obviously, the meals were eaten here. Madame Hazel was stirring a pot of stew that smelled so rich and spicy her mouth watered. Supper she hoped.
Madame Hazel suddenly swung around. Her hearing must be very acute as Anna was normally soft footed as a cat.
“All settled in?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“At supper you’ll meet the other young women. Well, three of them. Two of them sleep during the day as they work at the Lucky Star Gambling Palace.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t worry, they’re quiet and respectable, otherwise I wouldn’t have them staying here.”
“Sorry, I thought gambling places were really a front for bordellos.”
“Some are, but many aren’t. We have all kinds of entertainment here in New Orleans. Would you like a coffee?”
“Yes please, cream and one sugar.”
Madame brought the coffee over. “Now, tell me what happened to you.”
Anna didn’t like gossip, but felt she had no choice except to tell the woman the whole sorry story.
“The housekeeper was right. The wife was jealous of you. Thought you might become a threat to her.”
“I liked Mr. Moreau, he was a pleasant man to work for, that’s all.”
“The wife obviously wasn’t prepared to take the risk.”
This woman was shrewd, Anna realized.
“So, until Mr. Moreau returns what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.” Anna took a sip of coffee. “I need to get a job, anything just to tide me over.”
“Factory work or being a maid should be easy enough to find. Try the factories around here maybe.”
“Thank you I might.”
“Don’t go anywhere near Poydras Street, though. It’s near the docks and respectable women would never venture there. Immigrants and the dregs of New Orleans live there in dingy, tumbledown houses.” Madame Hazel gave a theatrical shrug.
“Sounds awful.”
“It is.” She produced a brown leather covered ledger and a small box containing pen and ink.
Anna signed her name and handed over the money. Madame wrote the date and the word ‘paid’ beside her signature.
“Would you like another coffee?”
“Oh, Madame, that would be wonderful. I’m starting to get a headache from all the worry and tension.”
The woman patted her hand. “I’m sure you will quickly find yourself another position. Don’t go to Lempriere’s Garments whatever you do. The man is evil, preys on young women. Rumor has it that he forces himself on them, gets them with child and dismisses them.”
Anna gasped in horror. “How awful.”
“Most of the women working there are desperate, come from the area past Poydras Street I was telling you about. Rest up today, you’ve had a bad shock. Look for a position tomorrow when you’re fresh and in a calmer state of mind.”
“Thank you, I will.”
****
Next morning after breakfast, Anna perused the paper looking for employment. There didn’t appear to be much on offer. A position for a maid at the Centurion Hotel, which was near the station, sounded reasonable. At least it was a well-known, well-respected establishment. Her hands shook on spotting an advertisement for young female factory workers at Lempriere’s Garments.
A wave of nausea swept over her on remembering what Madame had said about the place. A fiend like him should be in jail, not allowed to advertise for more victims.
Deceived Mail-Order Bride Page 1
