“I’m afraid, Papa. I’m afraid for Bayard.”
Louis d’Or’s face twisted, and both women saw with shock that there were tears in his eyes. “I’m afraid, too, my dear, but we have to do something, or we’ll lose him forever.”
Simone glanced out the carriage window. “Robert, are you sure this is the right address?”
“Yes, Miss Simone,” he said from the driver’s seat. “This is the street. According to the numbers it ought to be in the next block.”
Simone looked at the broken-down section of New Orleans. She had found out from Byron Mayhew where Bayard was living, and after a week she could stand it no longer. She had to see him!
“I think that must be the place right there, Miss.”
Robert helped Simone step out of the carriage. “No place for you, Miss,” he warned. “I wouldn’t want to be here after dark.”
“That’s why I came at noon.”
“I’d better go with you inside.”
“No, you wait here with the carriage.”
“Yes, ma’am, but if you ain’t out soon, I’ll be in to look for you.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
Simone looked up at the two-story building with a faded sign reading Royal Hotel. As she entered, she smelled decay and other rank odors as well. Going over to the desk, she found herself facing a tall woman, bigger than most men, and broader. “I’m looking for Mr. Bayard d’Or.”
The woman grinned, revealing large, yellow teeth. “Up on the sec-ond floor. Room 203.”
“Could—could someone go up and get him for me?”
“This ain’t the St. Louis Hotel. You’ll have to go up yourself. You’ll be all right. If anybody bothers you, just holler. I don’t put up with anything here.”
“Thank you.” Simone walked over and climbed the stairs that were fastened loosely to the side of the wall. The treads gave under her feet, and the carpet was worn down, revealing the bare wood. She followed the dark corridor to the room and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Bayard—Simone.”
After a long time, the door opened. Bayard stood unshaven in a pair of filthy trousers and a once-white shirt without a collar. “Wel-come to my humble abode.”
Ignoring his sarcastic tone, Simone stepped inside. It was a single room with a window that had been broken and was covered with some sort of paper. She could hear the street sounds.
“Have a chair. It’s the only one,” Bayard said. He sat down on the bed that was unmade with unwashed covers. “How are you?”
Simone was disgusted and shocked at Bayard’s appearance. His cheeks were sunken in, and he looked as if he had been ill for a month. He had been away from home only a week, and yet he had gone downhill in every way: his hair needed trimming, his fingernails were grimy, his clothes were gray and smelly. He had always been a fanatic about cleanliness, and he had descended to this.
“Bayard, I want you to come home.”
“I can’t. Didn’t Father tell you his terms?”
“Are they so very bad? Would it be worse than this?”
“Yes, it would. This is bad enough, but I’ve got some prospects. I’ll be out of here soon.”
“Mother is grieving herself away.”
Bayard looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I can’t just give in to Father.”
Simone begged and pleaded for fifteen minutes but got nowhere. He was angry, she saw, and hurt. Finally Bayard stood, saying, “There’s no point in arguing, Simone. Thank you for coming, but I’ll be all right.”
“At least let me give you some money.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Simone was fumbling in her reticule, but she saw the anger in his face and knew that it would be useless to protest. She went to him, pulled his head down, and kissed him on the cheek. “We all love you, Bayard. Please, don’t do anything desperate.”
Bayard cleared his throat and said, “Thank you for coming, Simone. I’ll be all right. Don’t tell Mother how bad this looks. Lie a little bit.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Please—think about what you’re doing.” She turned and left the room, descended the stairs, and returned to the carriage. Robert opened the door. “Did you find him, Miss?”
“He was there.”
She got in the carriage, and Robert asked, “Be he comin’ home— Mr. Bayard?”
“I don’t think so. Now, take me back home, Robert.”
Chapter eleven
Simone had worried herself almost sick over Bayard, and on Thursday morning she got up and spent the day trying to put the whole thing out of her mind. This proved to be impossible, and finally, late in the afternoon, she went to her mother and said, “Marie’s invited me to come to one of the opera rehearsals. I think I’ll go.”
“Don’t be out too late, dear.”
“No, I won’t, Mother.”
Leaving the house, Simone had Robert take her to the theater. When she got out, she said, “Why don’t you go get yourself something to eat?” Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a bill and handed it to him. “Have a nice supper on me.”
“Thank you, Miss.”
Simone turned and entered the theater. There was no one at the door, and as she stepped inside, she was surprised that the theater was completely empty except for those on the stage. The stage was lit up, but the rest of the theater was dark. She had been in the opera house only during actual performances, and there was something gloomy about the rehearsal setting. She walked down to the front, aware that the orchestra was there, but only Marie and Colin were on the stage. He was speaking to her in a low voice, and Simone took her seat, wondering where the rest of the cast was. She must have made some sort of noise, because Marie looked out and saw her. “Oh, Simone, you came!”
“Yes. I thought I might like to see a rehearsal.”
“Not a very good day for that, Miss d’Or. The rest of the cast is finished. Marie and I are working on a number that’s rather difficult.”
“Would you rather I leave?”
“No, but I don’t think it will be very entertaining.” Colin Seymour seemed distracted, and he turned to the orchestra leader and said, “Let’s try it again, Steven.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As the music rose and filled the theater, Marie and Colin dis-appeared into the wings, and then after a few moments Marie came out slowly. She was not wearing the costume that would be worn in the opera but a simple, cream-colored dress that set off her red hair. She began to sing, and Simone understood just enough Italian to know that Juliet was singing of yearning for her lover to return.
As Marie’s song ended, Colin stepped out from the opposite side of the stage. He stopped and looked at her and then began to sing a beautiful song. His voice was clear and very muted, soft, and gentle. As he continued to sing, the volume rose, and Marie turned to look at him with surprise. The two of them came together and blended their voices in a duet. When it was over and the orchestra was still playing, he kissed her in a lingering fashion.
Simone saw that Marie was making the best of the kiss. She was clinging to him, pressing herself against him. When the music died, Colin stepped back and shook his head. “It’s still not right, Marie. We’ll have to do it again.”
“But we’ve done it five times.”
“We’ll do it five more if we have to.”
“I need to take a break, Colin.”
“All right. Take fifteen minutes. This song is the key of the first part of the opera. It must be done right, or we’re lost.”
Marie sighed. “I’ll be back, and we’ll try it again.”
Marie left the stage, and Simone saw Colin look at her. He leaned over and said, “Why don’t you take a break, too, Steven, you and all the orchestra?”
The orchestra members began to chatter, and Colin walked down the steps and stood in front of Simone. “It’s not much like the real thing.”
“No,
it’s not. I guess I never thought about how much work went into an opera. All I’ve ever seen is the finished product.”
“Sometimes I think that’s the hardest part, the getting ready. Shakespeare said, ‘Readiness is all.’”
Colin stretched himself, arched his back, and shook his head. “I’m just about groggy with rehearsal, and by now everybody in the cast hates me. The orchestra, too.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”
Colin smiled, which made him look much younger. “Well, I guess the trick is to keep those who don’t hate me away from those who do. That way maybe we can all last without someone kill-ing me.”
“How is Marie doing?”
“Very well indeed. She has a fine voice.”
“I like the part you just performed. Tell me,” she said, “I’ve never been into drama, but I’ve wondered. That—that kiss between you and Marie. Does it mean anything?”
“It’s part of the opera.”
Simone was puzzled and did not know how to ask the question. “It seems such an—well, intimate thing to do.”
“I think professionals get over that.”
“You mean you can hold a beautiful woman in your arms and kiss her and feel nothing?”
Colin laughed and sat down on the chair in front of her. Turning around, he said, “I’d be a liar if I said that. I suppose the professional thing is to put it aside, no matter what you feel.”
“It must be very difficult.”
“Just part of the work.”
The two sat for a while, Colin speaking of the difficulties of pro-ducing an opera, when he suddenly stood and peered into the gloomy part of the theater, up toward the front doors. “What is it? Can I help you?”
Simone turned around to see a roughly dressed man enter. He was a hulking figure and wore his hat pulled down low over his face. “I’m lookin’ for a woman named d’Or.” He pronounced it Door.
“I am Miss d’Or,” Simone said. She stood. The man was obvi-ously from the lower rung of society, and she could not imagine why he would want to see her.
“I’ve got a message for you, Miss, from your brother.”
“From Bayard?”
“Yes. He’s in trouble.”
Simone’s hand went to her throat. “What’s the matter? Is he hurt?”
“Not yet, he ain’t.” The man grinned, but it was not cheerful. “But he’s liable to be if somebody doesn’t come to where he is.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s in a place over on Rampart Street. It’s called Sally’s Parlor. You know it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s just down the street from Jackson Square, like I say, on Rampart Street. You keep goin’, and you’ll see Sally’s Parlor—and don’t bring no police, neither!”
“What’s wrong with my brother?”
“Like I say, he needs help. I reckon you’d better get there pretty quick.” The man turned and left, and Simone watched him, speech-less. She picked up her reticule and said to Colin, “Excuse me.”
“Wait a minute,” Colin said as she reached the end of the line of seats. “You can’t go down in that part of town by yourself.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t. Stay right there. I’ll go dismiss the cast, and I’ll take you.”
Simone wanted to refuse, but he gave her no chance. He walked over to the leader of the orchestra, who was smoking a cigar and laughing with one of the musicians. He spoke with him, and then he turned and got his coat, picked up a cane, and put his on hat. “Come along, Miss d’Or.”
“I really shouldn’t let you do this, but I don’t have time to go get my father.”
“It sounds urgent. It might be wise to send word to the police.”
“But he said not to do that.”
“All right. As you wish. Let’s go.”
“Oh, my driver will be coming back sometime soon. He’ll have no way of knowing I’m not here.”
“I’ll leave word with one of the stagehands to tell him not to wait.” Colin delivered the instructions, then the two left the theater, and Colin hailed a carriage. He opened the door, put her in, and said to the driver, “Rampart Street. You know a place named Sally’s Parlor?”
The driver grinned and said, “I knows it. It ain’t your kind of place, sir, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
“It is today. Take us there.”
Colin got in and sat down next to Simone. He saw that her face was pale and said, “Try not to worry. Things aren’t usually as bad as they seem.”
“We’ve had—difficulties with Bayard.”
“Well, maybe this will be a simple matter.”
“I hate to ask you to bother yourself with my troubles.”
Colin shrugged. Actually he was half-amused at his own actions. He would not have imagined himself going to any trouble for this woman who had shown him nothing but an arrogant spirit. That had been some time ago, though, and as he glanced at her, he saw the fear that kept her drawn up tight with her fists clenched. He knew that, at least for now, he had gotten past some of his animosity toward her.
Neither of them spoke until the driver pulled up in front of a shabby three-story building. “There’s Sally’s Parlor,” he said as Colin got out and helped Simone step down to the pavement. He took the money that Colin gave him and asked, “Should I wait, sir?”
“I think you’d better.” He handed him another coin and said, “There’ll be another of those if it takes longer. I’ll pay whatever your time is worth.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Taking Simone’s arm, Colin led her to the front door. “It’s a pretty coarse place. Why don’t you wait in the carriage while I go find out what the problem is?”
“No, I have to go with you.”
“Very well.”
They entered and found what they had expected, a bar with dis-reputable characters drinking and shouting and loose-looking women dancing. A burly man in a striped shirt approached the couple. His hair was slicked back with grease, and he wore a black tie. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“We got word that a man named Bayard d’Or was in some difficulty.”
The burly man grinned. “Back there—first door on the right. It’s a private party, so knock before you go in.”
“Thank you.”
Colin and Simone walked down the short hallway, found the door, and Colin knocked on it. It opened almost at once. “What do you want?” the individual demanded.
“My name’s Seymour. This is Miss d’Or. We’re looking for her brother, Bayard.”
“Well, come in, mate. My name’s Tyrone.”
Tyrone was a wolfish-looking man of some six feet, lean, with a patch over his left eye. He was dressed in the attire of a typical gam-bler but was obviously one of the rougher sort. As they stepped inside, Simone saw that there were three other men in the room in addition to Bayard, who had risen to his feet. “You shouldn’t have come here, Simone.”
“Now, don’t be like that,” Tyrone said and grinned. There was a feral quality about the man, and Simone felt repulsed at the very sight of him. His single eye gleamed as he looked at her, and his face twisted in a leering expression. “We’ve got a little problem here, Miss d’Or. Your brother here has been gambling with me for some time. I’m ashamed to mention it to you, but he ain’t actin’ like no gentleman.”
Bayard was half-drunk, at least. His clothes were wrinkled. His shirt was stained, and his hair hung down in his eyes. “Get out of here, Simone. This is none of your business.”
“But Bayard, you sent for me!”
“No, I didn’t.”
Simone looked puzzled and asked, “How much does he owe?” It was hard for her to speak, but she faced the man as squarely as possible.
“Nine hundred dollars.”
“Simone, they just sent for you to get your money. The game was crooked. I won’t pay it,” Bayard said defiantly.
“That’s
always what a cheater says,” Tyrone grinned. “Ain’t that right, fellas?” The three other men in the room looked as dangerous as Tyrone. It was clear to Simone and Colin that they comprised some sort of setup that fleeced unsuspecting victims.
“He ain’t leavin’ here until we get it, and we’re gonna rough him up if we don’t get our money right away.”
“My father will pay it,” Simone said quickly.
“No, he won’t! Don’t you ask him, Simone!”
“Be quiet, Bayard.” Simone said, “My father is Louis d’Or. He’s a prominent man in the city. I promise you he’ll pay the nine hundred dollars.”
“Well, Missy, ordinarily I would take a lady’s word, but your brother here has put this off long enough. I got to have more than a word. I’ve got to have cash.”
“Please let him go!”
“Sure. I’ll let him go,” Tyrone said. He moved closer, and Simone could smell tobacco and alcohol on his breath. “And you stay here with me. He can bring the money back from Papa.” He reached out and took Simone by the arm, but Colin stepped forward and struck a sharp blow on his bicep.
“Take your hands off the lady,” he said pleasantly.
“And who might you be?”
“Just a friend. I’ll give you some good advice, Tyrone. Let Mr. d’Or make you out an IOU. The lady says that her father will pay it. I suggest you take her word for it.” Colin felt the tension in the room and wished Simone were outside. “Come, Bayard. Make out the IOU.”
Bayard stared at him and could not think clearly. “I’ve already made out an IOU,” he said thickly.
“Then we’ll leave. I’ll promise you as a gentleman, you’ll get your money.”
Tyrone laughed. “‘As a gentleman.’ Well, that makes it all right, because gentlemen never lie, do they?”
Simone could not think clearly. She had never been exposed to real danger, and danger lay in the room thick as a blanket. She shot a quick glance at Colin and saw that his face was calm, but he did not take his eyes off Tyrone. “Please,” she said, “I promise you you’ll get your money.”
“I’ll get it all right, but I’ll take a chunk out of your brother there while we’re waiting.”
The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle Page 64
