Dark Secrets, Deep Bayous

by Meg Hennessy

  Chapter Twelve

  Maisie clutched Aurèlie’s hand as they deboarded on Rampart Street in New Orleans. Aurèlie was excited as well. Regardless of the new American laws, she hoped to introduce Maisie, and perhaps even Jordan, to the gaiety of her city.

  Having experienced only plantation living, the house Jordan bought her was far more than she had expected and the thought of owning it brought a slight thrill to her heart.

  The house was two stories, whitewashed with broad black shutters for the two casement windows and two doors with fan lights, and two window dormers above. Aurèlie waited under the abat-vent as Jordan unlocked one of the front doors. He stood back and held the door for her to enter.

  Aurèlie stepped into the porte cochère of her own house. She followed the gray flagstone path along potted plants and roses. She passed under an archway into the courtyard. The walls were of red brick trimmed with lace ironwork. A tall white statue of the goddess Venus stood behind a fountain with a tangle of vines grown over her. The house proper stood two stories tall with a balcony surrounding the courtyard. All the windows were draped with heavy batten blinds of cypress to keep out the heat.

  “Like?” Jordan opened the door to the house proper after directing Loul where to park the rig.

  She smiled. “I do, I do so much. Did you buy it so furnished?”

  He nodded, looking around. “I bought it a week or two before our marriage, per your mother’s request.”

  “I have no need for a house like this.”

  “I am obliged to maintain you in a state of affluence, Aurèlie.”

  “And you do.”

  “You still wish for me to sell it?”

  “I do.” Seeing the look of disappointment rub out his expression of hope, she added, “But we stay here tonight, oui?”

  “We do.”

  After the baggage had been off-loaded, they left the house with plans to visit the market. Aurèlie stopped and picked a blooming yellow rose from the courtyard of her new house. After removing the thorns, she pinned it in Maisie’s hair. “To go with the soft yellow dress, oui?”

  Maisie bounced along ahead of them. Jordan glanced over at Aurèlie. “She never mentioned yellow to me. When did she tell you she intends on getting a yellow dress?”

  Aurèlie stiffened, realizing she had caught a flash of a yellow dress when she had combed Maisie’s hair in the morning. “I only take a guess.”

  Jordan shook his head. “I know, you misspoke.”

  Relieved to see the issue pass, Aurèlie nodded that she had and hesitantly placed her hand in the crook of his arm, enjoying the feel of his strength beneath her fingertips.

  He looked grand. Beneath his Wellington, he wore a black velvet coat, silver waistcoat, tawny breeches that highlighted every well-sculptured muscle, and high Hessian boots. Beneath the cravat, the ever-present silver chain would sometimes catch the light and sparkle.

  As they walked the banquettes toward the French Market, Jordan pulled Aurèlie in close to him. She inhaled, having grown accustomed to the lavender fragrance he wore when dressed in his finest, and allowed the warmth of his touch to soak through her shawl and calm her shivers.

  The roads were thick with mud and as the cooler, wet days of winter approached, a foul smell hung over most of the streets of Vieux Carré. The cypress-lined ditches along the road had nearly overflowed with water mixed with sewage from recent rains.

  Jordan lifted Aurèlie in his arms and scooped Maisie up as well. As he carried them over a large puddle of thick dark water, both squealed aloud.

  Some white woman noted Aurèlie walking with Jordan Kincaid but few would risk a disparaging look due to his presence. She had obeyed the law and wore a proper tignon over her hair, but it was made of silk and from it, dangled gold bobbles and colored jewels. Her earrings were made of gold and inlaid with different glasses to catch every color of the tignon. According to the law, she must wear one to disguise her beauty. Today, she considered the scarf a badge of honor.

  The market was abuzz with activity. Maisie was in complete delight, searching out sweet cakes with every turn. Strolling along the riverfront, Jordan stopped to buy a rose.

  “Look, Aurèlie, Papa has a rose for you, too!”

  Aurèlie looked at the rose, a beautiful white rose. She reached out to take the ruffled flower from his hand, afraid she understood the significance of white. “Maisie’s is yellow for her yellow dress. Does this mean you wish for me to wear white to look American?”

  “Any American woman would pale in the presence of your beauty. I offer this white rose, the color of purity—you.” He picked up another flower, a brilliant deep red. “Red, the color of passion—your heart.”

  “You think I am a woman of passion?”

  “You are a woman with a beautiful heart filled with passion.”

  Her breath caught in her throat with a slight, nearly inaudible gasp over his poetic gesture. A kinder man, she had never met. “Merci, Jourdain.”

  An old woman selling the flowers wrapped the stems in muslin, then tied it quickly with a string. Jordan dropped a few coins in her open hand and they continued to walk.

  Aurèlie held the beautiful flowers in her hand, appreciating the poetic prose that came with them. For the first time since their marriage, she felt like a couple, like a family, and as much as that chagrinned her mind and derailed her mission, her heart bathed happily in the sheer pleasure of it.

  A woman with a basket on her head walked through the crowd.

  “Estomac Mulâtre,” she called out. “Estomac Mulâtre.”

  “What does she say, Miss Aurèlie?” Maisie raced back to walk next to Aurèlie.

  “She says she has ginger cake to sell. It is most good, buy three pieces for you, your papa, and me.”

  Jordan had already dug out the coin before Maisie took off after the ginger cake lady. “She might be sick by nightfall.”

  Aurèlie laughed. “To be sick from fun is most tolerable, if not desirable, oui?”

  Jordan searched her face. “Is that possible? To be sick from fun?”

  “Gaiety is the tonic of life. Colors. Music. Dansez.”

  Jordan took her arm and stopped her stroll. “A lot goes on here behind the fanfare. This city is a den of thieves as well.”

  Aurèlie felt a slight tug on her heart. She knew he hadn’t brought them here for dresses, but for something else, something that haunted his every thought. Their stroll down the river front, was just that, a front, but for a moment, he seemed to embrace the beauty of life, only to lose it in a fraction of time. “Much more than thievery, but a city of culture and refinery, non?”

  He shook his head. “Pure sin.”

  As they walked along the river, they tried several flavors of candied fruit and stopped at an oyster stall for fresh oysters. Jordan liked them, but Aurèlie could barely swallow them. Maisie tried one and ran screaming down the street unable to make the transition from ginger cake to raw fish.

  Leaving the oyster stall, Jordan looked around. “Where’s my daughter?”

  Aurèlie laughed, pointing ahead as they continued down Levee Street. “She waits by the carré de la ville.”

  There stood Maisie jumping up and down with excitement.

  Jordan sighed, throwing a glance toward Aurèlie. “What more could she find to do?”

  “A puppet show.” Aurèlie giggled, knowing that was probably his least-favorite thing to do, but admittedly, the child in her loved them. She spotted a small table for them to sit and watch the show, aware of Jordan’s increasing uneasiness, as he seemed to search the crowd for someone. “We watch the marionettes, oui?”

  Around the square, guitar players advertised the cabarets, sometimes drowning out the sweet-toned violins of the puppet performers. Maisie had dropped her coin into the puppeteer’s basket and planted herself directly in front of the tiny stage with several other children.

  Jordan pulled a chair out for Aurèlie, but he didn’t sit down next to her as s
he had expected. He was looking across the square. Aurèlie’s gaze followed his. To the Levee side of the square, a gentleman stood watching them. He gestured in their direction, though very subtle.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jordan, who responded with a very subtle movement of his hand that seemed to satisfy the man, who turned and walked toward the river.

  As she ran her gaze around the square, Aurèlie noted Loul standing just opposite of Jordan on the east side of the square. Having thought he had stayed at the house, his sudden appearance surprised her. He turned and walked in the same direction as the man who had just signaled Jordan. The two of them met on the corner of the Levee and Place d’Armes, immediately dropping into deep conversation.

  Jordan remained standing with his attention on Loul but he seemed to be on alert. He unbuttoned his coat, exposing a pistol beneath. Aurèlie glanced around; there were now two men talking to Loul, their discussion seemingly heated until both turned and left Loul on the corner. Jordan buttoned his coat but not before Aurèlie swayed from the sudden image of a ship being run aground and a man floating face up in the water. The same vision she had had as a child. She swallowed hard, pulling herself to the present, back to Maisie.

  The marionette delighted the children and seconds after the final act, the puppeteer offered small hand puppets for purchase. Maisie searched the crowd for her papa.

  Distracted, with his attention far from his little girl, Jordan had started to walk away.

  “Jourdain…” Aurèlie motioned toward the hand puppets.

  He hesitated, pulled a few gold coins from his pocket, and put it on the table in front of Aurèlie. “I’ll be back in a while, buy her whichever one she wants.”

  Aurèlie refused, pushing back the money. “Little girls like their père to buy them things, I think.”

  Jordan glanced over to Maisie, who stood with her hands clasped together, just holding in her excitement. “All right, which one do you want, little girl?”

  “I don’t know, Papa; I like them all.” She ogled the box of puppets, until one caught her eye and she fished it out. “Look! This one is so pretty, like Miss Aurèlie.”

  “Then we shall buy that one.” Jordan winked at Aurèlie.

  Aurèlie smiled, seeing Jordan’s enjoyment with his own daughter. The child longed for his love and enjoyed innocent fun but there was so much unsettled about Jordan’s life.

  Maisie shared her new puppet with Aurèlie. “Isn’t she pretty, Miss Aurèlie?”

  It was an adorable little puppet, about twelve inches long. She had long black hair that reached her feet, pink slippers, and a pink dress. Atop her head, she wore a pink hennin, draped by a matching veil.

  “She is a princess, Maisie, oui?” Aurèlie examined the small figure with the painted face and jointed wood body.

  “A princess must have her prince.” Jordan pulled out another puppet about the same size. The doll had short brown hair, wore a silver crown, purple cape with black leggings and slippers.

  Maisie squealed with delight. “He looks like you, Papa.”

  “Well, I’m hardly a prince,” he said under his breath. Aurèlie caught the quick glance he sent her direction. If only he knew, that in Maisie’s little world, he was indeed her prince.

  “Can I have him, too, Papa?”

  “Sure.” He added coin to the outstretched hand of the puppeteer. “Otherwise your princess might pout all evening.”

  Jordan returned to sit next to Aurèlie, puppet in hand. Without hesitation, his puppet suddenly kissed the princess, sound effects and all. Shock lit up Maisie’s face. Laughing, she held her stomach as if her loud guffaws hurt.

  Aurèlie turned her puppet away and spoke in a stilted tone. “Please, monsieur, you must behave in front of the child.”

  “Really, princess, I’m only a puppet, just what do you think I can do in front of a child?”

  Aurèlie’s puppet turned back to face the little prince. “I kiss you, and you turn into a real prince, non?”

  Jordan laughed, a nice relaxed chuckle, a sound almost foreign to her ears.

  “I doubt it. I wasn’t very expensive,” the little prince replied.

  Aurèlie put the princess on the table next to the little prince. “I think priceless, oui?”

  With Jordan’s fading smile, a subtle sadness washed away his carefree expression of a moment ago. “Do you think it is possible…for life to be like this?”

  “Like what, Jourdain?”

  He shrugged uncomfortably with a hint of regret, again glancing around to find Loul. “I don’t know.”

  Moisture blurred her vision. Hattie had said his heart was closed, but Aurèlie sensed that was no longer the case. Instead, the darkest corners seemed to be opening with light and he was at a loss as to what to do with the host of new emotions flitting about.

  She reached over and stroked the side of his face, wishing she could somehow protect him from whatever haunted him, that forced life to elude him. The silver medallion was beneath his shirt but the chain holding it caught the sunlight and reflected into her eyes. Her fingers tingled remembering the intensity of the silver piece, anticipating the rush of images with just a touch. He had never asked why she had removed it the night he had almost made love to her. Was he not curious? Would he understand her powers? Dare she risk such an admission?

  …

  Every Sunday evening, near the ramparts, Fort St. Ferdinand held a fireworks show. Maisie was so excited. Aurèlie laughed when Jordan was most relieved when the charging dragon lit only the squibs and nothing more.

  Maisie had fallen asleep in the rented hack on the way to Aurèlie’s house on Rampart Street. Aurèlie tucked her in with both dolls the moment they arrived. For the first time all day, she and Jordan were enjoying a moment of peace…like parents.

  A soft breeze wove through the courtyard and the stone fountain tinkled into the starlit night, relaxing her body and by Jordan’s posture, his as well. She wanted more days and nights like this as a family, to step free of propriety and simply enjoy being together. The day had given her a glimpse into her mother’s world, that Aurèlie had so often envied. But today wasn’t her mother’s life, it was her own with Jordan and Maisie.

  Aurèlie held her small bouquet of roses to her nose, inhaling their sweet scent, appreciating the sentiment that had come with them. Jordan had surprised her with the flowers and what they meant to him. Passionate and purity, he had said. Kind words, but she hadn’t missed the stirring tenderness in his eyes or the arousing pull of his heart. She realized how her feelings for him had grown. Her desire had shifted away from the land toward Jordan and her love for his little girl. Would this all be real if they had been allowed to marry legally? As it stood, they were not. Could she risk falling in love with a white man? Or was it too late? Had she already fallen? “Maisie have a good time, n’est pas?”

  “So it seems, but I swear they’ll burn this town down again with fire shows like that.”

  “They would build again.”

  He laughed, another peek into a different Jordan. He even raised his head slightly to accommodate the free-reined chuckle. She was beginning to like this new person so much more but just as quickly, he became serious. “Aurèlie, tomorrow I have some business I have to take care of at the Navy Hotel—”

  “The Hôtel de la Marine?” After sensing the danger today and not knowing how she could help, she had no intention of letting him off on his own. His demand for secrecy would force him to capitulate.

  He blinked in surprise. “Ah…well, yes.”

  “Oh, this is perfect.”

  “Perfect, why?”

  “I go with you. I wish to see the one-act that is playing there.” She fished out a flyer she had picked up in the city and handed it to Jordan. “See, it is called, Husbands are Always Wrong Even When They are Right. I wish to see. This to be funny, non?”

  “No.”

  Aurèlie burst out laughing at his sour expression. “It is funny
already, n’est pas?”

  …

  Aurèlie couldn’t wait for the stage act to begin. White chairs for the audience packed the large courtyard of the Hôtel de la Marine. Jordan had rented a suite at the hotel with a small balcony that overlooked the scene. There were three adjoining rooms to the suite with a small salon. A large glass door led to the small overhead gallery. On that gallery sat an iron laced table and chairs. The hotel stretched nearly two-thirds around the courtyard with winding staircases that went up to the sleeping rooms.

  Jordan had ordered Aurèlie a rum-based cordial before the play started. The rich fruit taste made that drink go down much too easy and soon he had ordered her another. As the courtyard filled with patrons, excitement rose to mingle with the constant chatter.

  Aurèlie could hardly wait for the play to start, having heard from the staff that the play was indeed…funny. Jordan sat with her, a bottle of whiskey on the table and a small glass in his hand, scanning the crowd constantly and like the square yesterday, she knew he searched for someone.

  He seemed to think, since she lived out in the bayous, that New Orleans was a new adventure for her. Somewhat true, having not ventured to the American side of Canal, but Vieux Carré she knew much of the city, especially the reputation of the Navy Hotel.

  It was a safe haven for the privateers of the Gulf, a lair for outlaws and smugglers. Nevertheless, since Jordan was white, she and he could stay together without a raised eyebrow. She never considered any danger. Jordan was with her and little Maisie. The child, having become engrossed with her new marionettes, sat in the salon playing.

  A quiet hush fell among the crowd as the curtain rose over the small stage off center of the courtyard. Candles and flaming torches bathed the stage within a ghostly light. As the actors promenaded on stage and sent their witty prose over the crowd, someone knocked on the door.

  Aurèlie started to rise out of her chair, when Jordan stopped her.

  “I’ll get it, I don’t want you to miss your play.” Jordan rose from his chair and walked through the salon to the hall door. Aurèlie could barely hear. In spite of having a desire to see the play, she couldn’t stop her senses from drifting toward the door and picking up the low tones of two men speaking.