There was nothing for it, the theatricals would have to be abandoned. As compensation, however, Caroline led Estelle in a raid on the outdoor kitchen. They brewed a pot of hot chocolate, plundered in the larder for a plate of cakes, and then carried the booty back to the sitting room where they ate and drank the whole while playing euchre for picayune stakes.
Caroline, never a great one for cards, was beginning to yawn uncontrollably when a commotion was heard outside.
“That will be Anatole and Hippolyte returning,” Estelle said, frowning darkly in the direction of the noise.
“Good heavens! Can it be so late?” Caroline exclaimed. “I had no idea.”
Estelle directed a look at the pile of notes by Caroline’s elbow. “No, time passes quickly when you are winning, I make no doubt.”
“Oh, these!” Caroline swept the slips of paper from the table and pressed them into a wadded ball with one swift gesture. “So much for your debts.”
“Mam’zelle,” the girl said, a look in her brown eyes so like her mother’s it was startling, “it is easy to see you will never prosper.”
Caroline would have argued, but a loud thump was heard from the gallery. She got to her feet. “What can they be doing? They cannot mean to come into the house at this time of night.”
“Something may be wrong,” Estelle ventured.
“Something will definitely be wrong if they think to remove from the garçonniére in your parents’ absence. I have accepted much, but not this.”
“I’m sure Anatole would not think of it, nor Hippolyte.”
“Perhaps not. We shall see,” Caroline told her and marched from the room on her way to unbolt the front door. Estelle, candlestick in hand, brought up the rear.
Colossus had gone to his well-earned rest long before, or they might have let him see to the disturbance. As it was, they had to remove the heavy crossbar and turn the enormous key themselves. Taking a deep breath, Caroline swung the panel wide.
At the sound of squealing hinges badly in need of oil, Hippolyte whirled about. He blinked foolishly in the sudden light, then a smile spread over his features as recognition dawned. “Mes hommages, Mesdemoiselles,” he said, sketching an elaborate bow that had to be abruptly curtailed when he nearly lost his balance. “Anatole, old man, get up. It’s your sister and Mam’zelle Caroline.”
Anatole was sitting on the top step of the staircase, his head in his hands. “Not so loud, mon ami, you will wake someone,” he whispered.
“I am telling you they are already awake. Stand up, or they will think you have had trop des petits coups.”
“He is inebriated,” Estelle said in fascination. Never had she seen such a thing. To appear in such a condition among ladies was to be placed beyond the pale.
“You see? What did I tell you?” Hippolyte said.
This had the effect of getting Anatole to his feet. By main strength of will, he conquered a tendency to away. “Behold me,” he said, his gaze fixed somewhere just above the top of Caroline’s head. “I am in perfect control.”
“Yes, I see,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“Where else but Felicity. There was une petite la partie, you understand?”
A little card party, gaming for high stakes. She understood perfectly. What she did not understand was why she was surprised.
“Did you lose much?” Estelle asked.
“I did not lose — or at least no more than a trifle. Rochefort said I was much too favored by Dame Good Fortune to be permitted to play for the stakes they held at his table. Said he would rather watch Madame Fontaine, and — and so should I.”
Rochefort was still possessed of some good instincts, it appeared, if he had managed to dissuade Anatole from playing for high stakes without setting his back up.
“Watch Madame Fontaine do what?” Estelle queried, coming forward to take her brother’s sleeve and lead him to a chair.
“I — Hippolyte, mon ami, what did Madame Fontaine do for us?”
“They don’t really want to know, Anatole. Tell you what. We shouldn’t be here. Better for us if we toddle back where we belong.”
“You have truth, my friend. Still, it was a most interesting performance. A classical scene, was it not? I wanted to tell my little sister about it.”
“Yes, that was it. Now can we go? My head feels most peculiar.”
“Oh? Are you just a trifle piqué, my friend Hippolyte? Shame on you. What will Mam’zelle Carolina think?”
“She will think I am the soul of discretion if I take you away forthwith,” Hippolyte said, grasping his arm.
Anatole made no attempt to rise. An owlish look in his eyes, he looked at his friend. As Hippolyte made ready to shake him, Estelle put a hand on Hippolyte’s shoulder. “Wait! Let him think,” she said.
Hippolyte could not disobey this injunction, but he cast a look of such appeal at Caroline that she stepped toward them. “Do you think I should rouse Colossus?” she asked quietly.
“No, no, there’s no need for that. If only—”
“I have it,” Anatole exclaimed. “Helen! Madame Fontaine gave us Helen presenting herself before Paris to receive the prize as the most fair. Rochefort was Paris, you see? Madame Fontaine wore this short tunic which expose—?”
“I doubt Mam’zelle Caroline is interested in how she was dressed,” Hippolyte put in hurriedly.
“But I am,” Estelle declared. “Costumes interest me exceedingly. I would have liked above all things to have seen it!”
Anatole, brought to a realization of his sister’s interest, drew himself up. “Not at all the thing for you, petite soeur. Besides, Rochefort put an end to it soon enough. Refused to award the apple. That spoiled the whole thing, I assure you. Madame Fontaine went off in a temper and refused to come out of her bedchamber the rest of the evening. Nothing for it but to have another little game of cards, another little drink. Dull evening, most dull, I swear it. Should be better tomorrow night. Rochefort promised a masquerade — at least I think he did.”
Secure in the belief that he had recovered his error and smoothed over the incident, Estelle’s brother allowed himself to be led away.
9
BY THE NEXT DAY Amélie had recovered her spirits to the point where she felt able to take a walk along the drive and levee. Estelle, in a rare burst of energy, agreed to accompany her. This left Caroline free to attend to a little of the housecleaning that had been neglected in their recent round of merriment.
Watching the sisters walk away with their heads together, she felt an odd isolation, as if for some reason she were being shut out. After so many years it was strange to feel herself an interloper once more. Perhaps it was just as well that she had left her trunk packed. At this rate, there would be few ties of affection to hold her when the master and mistress of Beau Repos returned.
Although she chided herself for being stupidly sensitive, the feeling persisted through the day. When dinner was over, the ladies sat for a while in the salon, but Estelle, pleading her late night the evening before and the fatigue of her unaccustomed walk, went early to her room. She was soon followed by Amélie. The withdrawal was no great loss since the two of them had not had a dozen words between them to say the whole evening. With Anatole and Theo out somewhere about their own concerns and the younger children asleep, Caroline was quite alone.
So great was her feeling of separation from humankind that she looked up with a welcoming smile when her solitude was interrupted. M’sieur Philippe stood bowing in the doorway, the look of a man sure of his reception on his florid face.
As he advanced toward her, Caroline noted with some amusement that he had improved his complexion this evening with an application of rouge over poudre à la Maréchal. There was even a small black patch adorning the corner of his mouth. With his magnificent coat of lavender satin trimmed with silver lace, and knee breeches of pale gray, he looked a gentleman of fashion, albeit the fashion of twenty-five years before.
Hiding a smile,
Caroline offered him a glass of wine.
“No, no, Mam’zelle Caroline, you must not trouble yourself over my comfort. I hope I know enough to order a glass of Madeira for myself. Colossus will bring it soon.”
He was being very free with his employer’s wine stock, but Caroline did not demur beyond the slight raising of an eyebrow. “Won’t you sit down?”
“I trust I do not intrude at an inconvenient moment,” he said, flicking his coattails out of the way as he seated himself on the settee beside Caroline.
“Not at all.”
“I was sure you would say so. This is a melancholy time of day for someone who is alone in the world, is it not?”
Caroline was mystified by the rather pitying tone in his voice allied with his confident bearing. “It can also be a restful time when one has been gadding about for weeks.”
“The British are so stoical. I admire this quality in you, Mam’zelle, this ability to make a virtue of adversity.”
“I don’t believe I take your meaning, sir,” she said, her gray eyes cool.
“A week ago you were dancing. Tonight you sit alone.”
“Very true. And I find I like both. Contrary of me, isn’t it?”
“No, enchanting,” he said, and picking up her hand, he made as if to raise it to his lips. He stopped halfway as he saw the needle she still held turned uppermost in her fingers. Carefully, he replaced her hand upon the sewing in her lap.
“You are too kind, M’sieur,” she murmured, slanting him a glance from the corner of her eye.
“No, no. It wounds me to see you trying to keep up an appearance of cheerfulness. This is something I want to speak to you about.”
“Yes?” she said encouragingly, though she returned her attention to her Berlin work.
“Mam’zelle—” he began, only to be interrupted by Colossus entering the room with a tray holding the Madeira and a glass. M’sieur Philippe tasted the wine, pronounced it excellent, then waited until the butler had taken himself off before continuing.
“Mam’zelle, a short time ago I said to you that our relationship would proceed at your pace.”
“I recall that incident.”
Oblivious to the dry note in her voice, he went on. “Since that time the situation has changed.”
“In what way?” She spoke more to stave off what she feared was coming than because she wished to know.
Tossing off his wine, he set the glass aside. “Surely you must realize that everyone knows of your trunk which sits fully packed in your chamber? It is so, I assure you. From the faithful Colossus to the meanest stable boy, they all wonder when you mean to depart and where you intend to go.”
“I see.” Certainly she should have realized it even if she had not.
“That being so, I am come this evening to save you from the ignominy of leaving under a cloud. I am come to lay my heart at your feet, and ask you to accept the protection of my name!” So saying, he slipped from the settee to balance on his bony knees at her feet.
“Leaving under a cloud?” Caroline asked with a frown.
“Because of what some are pleased to call your forwardness in passing time alone with the man who called himself a marquis. I, for one, have good reason to doubt these tales, knowing as I do of your great and true modesty.” M’sieur Philippe winced a little as he shifted on his knees.
Her face sober, Caroline nodded. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
“I have cause to know it is not the false Marquis who holds your interest, do I not? Let us prove it to the others. Say you will be mine!”
Before Caroline could open her mouth, the door swung open again to admit Colossus. If he saw the tutor scrambling hastily to his feet, the butler gave no sign. “Pardon, Mam’zelle, I thought you would wish to know. The maid of Mam’zelle Amélie has just come from her bedchamber. She is not there, nor is Mam’zelle Estelle in her bedchamber.”
“Perhaps they went out onto one of the galleries for a breath of air?”
“I have looked, Mam’zelle. They were nowhere to be found. The maid believes there is a ball gown missing from the armoire of Mam’zelle Amélie, and also a domino.”
A domino, she thought, the kind of long, hooded cloak with matching mask preferred by the ladies of New Orleans for the many masked balls held every season. What was it Anatole had said? Something about Rochefort promising them the pleasure of a masquerade. She should have guessed Estelle would determine to go, especially after mentioning the possibility the evening before. If she had been less involved with her own emotions and concerns, she might have realized what was in the wind.
Looking up, she asked, “Has a vehicle been taken from the stables?”
“I will inquire, Mam’zelle,” Colossus replied and left the room.
She turned to M’sieur Philippe. “I may have to request your escort to Felicity.”
“With the greatest pleasure. You suspect the young ladies may have gone in that direction?”
“I fear so.”
“It is too bad of them to worry you so and to go upsetting everyone as if we all had nothing better to do than chase after them.”
“I imagine they would just as soon no one came after them,” Caroline said with hardly a glance in his direction.
“You have the right of it, of course. But Mam’zelle, before you embark on this quest, can you not give me your answer?”
“My answer? Oh, to your proposal. I am sorry, M’sieur, but I did tell you I had no affection for you.”
“It cannot be true. I have been told you were not indifferent to me, that you were, in fact, most enamored.”
“Even if it were so,” Caroline said astringently, “it would be in bad taste to throw it in my face, don’t you think? However, it is not so. I am afraid you have been the victim of Mam’zelle Estelle’s rather unusual sense of humor.”
“You mean — it was no more than a foolish jest?”
“I am afraid that is about the size of it.”
He grew visibly paler. Drawing himself up, he turned toward the door.
“M’sieur Philippe? Where do you go? We may have to leave for Felicity on the instant.”
“Forgive me. I find I cannot escort you.”
“But why?”
“I must think. To be so used! It passes my understanding. How could I possibly be considered in such a light? I am not at all comical! Jest indeed! I cannot, I will not, tolerate it!”
So great was his indignation that as he shook his head his small black patch fell from his face. He searched frantically for it among the ruffles of his shirt and the silver lace of his coat. Then, conceding it lost, he dismissed it with a flick of his fingers. That action dislodged the minute patch from his coat sleeve where it drifted to the floor. Instantly he was upon it, capturing it like a dog finding a flea. Holding it between two fingers, he got to his feet, straightened his shoulders, and with his nose in the air, minced away.
No animals were missing from the stables, no vehicle from the carriage house. How Amélie and Estelle had departed the plantation remained a mystery, but there was one thing certain, they were gone.
Caroline took a deep breath. “I suppose you had better tell them to put a horse to the cart,” she told Colossus.
“It is being done. Jim the groom will have it at the front steps by the time you are ready, Mam’zelle.”
Was there sympathy in the voice of the huge butler? She could not tell from his impassive countenance. “Very good,” she answered and went away to find her bonnet, shawl, and gloves.
It was a bright, moonlit night. There was no need of the lantern of pierced tin that Jim carried to see the road, but it helped to dispel the mystery of the silver-coated leaves which shook to no discernible wind and the mournful cries of nightbirds deep in the woods.
Compared to the cool, pure moonlight, the yellow torchlight and candle glow that bathed Felicity had a garish look. Adding to the impression was the well-lighted outline of the steamboat from Natchez, tied up for t
he night beside the still hulk of the Egret. The river was too treacherous for travel after dark; no doubt the few paying steamboat passengers were availing themselves of Rochefort’s hospitality.
That quite a few people were doing so was plain from the clamor of voices that rose above the strains of music. As Jim brought the horse to a standstill, Caroline stared up at the house, a look of quiet grimness in her eyes. A boy ran forward to take the reins of their horse, but Jim refused to relinquish them. He got down and went to the horse’s head, standing there as if he intended to wait forever, his eyes puzzled but wary as he stared at the house where his ankle had been set and made whole again.
The front door opened at Caroline’s approach. Head high, she asked to see Rochefort, then accepted the offer of a small salon in which to wait.
It was a charming room, faintly feminine, done in pale green and silver with touches of Chinese yellow. It had an eastern aspect to catch the morning sun. Caroline was studying a group of glass animals set to capture the first rays of morning light when the door opened behind her.
Rochefort paused with his hand on the knob. His gaze raked her from head to toe, then he quietly pushed the panel to behind him. “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked, his deep tone laced with irony.
Caroline was suddenly aware of how dowdy she must look in the gray cambric gown she had donned early that morning to supervise the cleaning. Her bonnet of chip straw with a tartan ribbon could not be said to match by any stretch of the imagination. Throwing a paisley shawl over her shoulders had done nothing more than point up the inadequacies of her toilette. By contrast Rochefort was the image of sartorial perfection. His shirt points were stiff with starch, his cravat intricately tied but without an unnecessary fold or wrinkle. His coat set upon his shoulders as if molded to his form, and his evening pumps glittered with a mirror-like shine.
Caroline clasped her hands together to hide a betraying tremor. She opened her mouth to apologize for taking him away from his guests, and then the implication of his manner of dress struck her. “I thought you were having a masquerade,” she said bluntly.
Sweet Piracy Page 18
