A feeling of sickness moved over Caroline. On the strength of her word, a man had been shunned, branded an imposter, and held up to scorn and ridicule. She alone had turned him into an outcast in the society where he had hoped to find acceptance.
“Why?” she whispered over the tightness in her chest. “Why didn’t he defend himself? Why didn’t he tell me I was wrong when I flung the charge into his face?”
“At a guess, pride. They were always proud, the Rochefort men.”
“But to let himself be falsely accused—”
“To be falsely accused was nothing compared to being accused at all. To a Rochefort, what he is and who he is must be obvious to those who have eyes to see.”
Caroline suddenly raised her hands to her face as she remembered the arrested look that had come into his eyes as she told him she had recognized him, the bitter irony with which he had asked her to be his wife. Why had he done that? What had caused him to treat her revelation in such a manner? He had promised to whisper his real name into the ear of the priest who would marry them. Was that to have been her punishment, to discover his true identity after they were wed? Or would he have repudiated her at the altar? Worse, could he have really thought she had some such ploy to persuade him into marriage in mind when she denounced him?
“Why — why?” she whispered almost to herself.
“Why the proposal which was so rudely interrupted? I cannot say, though I refuse to think his motives are anything but honorable. Perhaps next time you will consider longer before refusing such a prize.”
“There will never be a next time, and even if there were I could not accept. How could I, when it must seem the title is more important to me than the man?”
“Such a thing is difficult, I agree, but it can be explained.”
With a wan smile, Caroline shook her head.
Such considerations had to be thrust to one side as Anatole and Hippolyte erupted into the room. “What? You are not ready, Mam’zelle? Send a maid after your bonnet and gloves at once and let’s be off. There’s no time to waste if we are to catch up to them.”
“A moment, gentlemen,” she said as Anatole took her arm. “We don’t even know where they have gone.”
“But it is as plain as the nose on your face. The Indian Mission, of course. Why anyone would take Estelle with them on an elopement is more than I can see. Silly of Amélie to think such a poor excuse for a duenna would make everything all right, but I expect she wasn’t thinking straight — fact is, she couldn’t have been or she wouldn’t have gone in the first place!”
“I tell you what I think, mon ami,” Hippolyte said. “I think she took that miserable tutor with her. She was enraged with me for daring to criticize her behavior, even threw her slipper at me, did she not? She said to my face she would rather marry the devil than me. What I mean to say is, maybe she did. There was this Philippe moaning about the place because Mam’zelle Caroline had refused him. Maybe she decided to run away with him to this Indian Mission she was in such raptures over.”
“And you think M’sieur Philippe would take her?” Anatole asked, his skepticism plain.
“Why not? I would,” Hippolyte answered simply.
“Then you should have told her so and saved us all a lot of trouble!”
“I didn’t say I wanted that kind of helter-skelter wedding,” Hippolyte protested, “only that I would have settled for it above nothing.”
Caroline hastily interrupted a scene that had the makings of a fine quarrel. “I am glad to say, M’sieur Gravier, that you are wrong in your conjecture. M’sieur Philippe did not go with Estelle, or she with him. He left us on the boat that passed the night at Felicity and steamed by here just after dawn.”
“I would think a frippery fellow like him would have a difficult time getting up so early,” Anatole commented. Then he went on, “Still, it doesn’t matter. Regardless of who Estelle was going with or what she is going for, she and Amélie must be stopped. I have been thinking, Mam’zelle, that we could put the story about that my sisters have gone to be with my parents at the deathbed of my great-aunt. Hippolyte and I, when we come up to them, can send Victor Rochefort about his business, then escort you and the girls along to the house of my mother’s brother. That should silence busy tongues, don’t you think?”
“An excellent suggestion, if you should happen to be right, and if you can overcome the objections M’sieur Rochefort is certain to put forth. He will not thank you for disarranging his wedding plans for him.”
“Perhaps not. We shall have to take care of that eventuality when it arises,” Anatole said, a grim look about his mouth.
“You don’t mean to use force?” Caroline asked in concern.
“If it becomes necessary — and should the gentleman object to my methods, I suppose I will have to give him whatever satisfaction he may demand.”
“Anatole, not a duel—”
“Pray don’t upset yourself, Mam’zelle. Affairs of this sort sometimes come to that. I’m not at all sure that I should not call the fellow out for daring to spirit my sister away in such an irresponsible manner.”
“I believe it is your father who has the right to demand an explanation.”
“My father is absent.”
There was no arguing that fact, but as she rang for her bonnet and gloves Caroline vowed there would be no duel if she could possibly prevent it.
There were a few things to be attended to, especially if they were to be gone for any length of time. While Anatole strode up and down the hall with his timepiece in his hand, Caroline gave instructions concerning the children and made certain Tante Zizi understood where they were going and why.
She was tying the strings of her bonnet before the mirror of polished steel in the hall when the sound of carriage wheels penetrated the house. Anatole’s curricle already stood waiting upon the drive. This could only be a new arrival.
It was Rochefort. Impeccably clad in a caped driving coat and curly-brimmed beaver, he tossed the reins of his matched blacks to a stable hand and strode up the steps. There was no need for Colossus. Anatole stood waiting in the door.
Caroline fumbled a little as she pulled her gloves on. Settling the fingers and smoothing away the wrinkles gave her an excellent reason for not looking up as he approached.
“Rochefort,” Anatole said with a businesslike economy of words. “I am glad you came before we set out. You can tell us if Amélie and your cousin are at Felicity.”
“They are not,” Rochefort replied in the same clipped tones. “Victor was disturbed in mind about the effect of last night upon Mademoiselle Amélie. He set out early this morning to try to obtain a word with her and has not returned. That is all I know.”
“Then it is the Indian Mission. Mam’zelle, if you are ready?” Anatole held out his arm to Caroline.
“The Indian Mission?” Rochefort asked, a frown between his brows. “Are you seriously suggesting Victor is taking Mademoiselle Amélie there to be married?”
“It seems so,” Anatole replied. “We can no more conceive of Amélie doing it than you can your cousin, but the facts speak for themselves. In any case, there is no time to stand here talking of it. If we are to have the least chance of catching up with them, we must be gone.”
They were halfway down the steps when Rochefort called out “Wait!”
Anatole turned impatiently, “Yes?”
“When you catch up to Victor and your sister, and if Mademoiselle Estelle happens to be with them, what will you do? You are already overcrowded with three of you in your curricle.”
“We thought to drop Hippolyte at Bonne Chance. He will have to have his horses put to his own vehicle and come along as soon as he can.”
“That will be unnecessary if I follow you now. It is even possible that my blacks and my lighter carriage can make better time. You must admit, I do have an interest in this outing.”
“Yes, certainly. That will do marvelously, sir.”
“I think Mam�
��zelle would also find my phaeton has a smoother ride. Not only will she be, perhaps, more comfortable, she can speed the time while we are traveling by filling me in on a number of details which were not in the note I received.”
“Mam’zelle?” Anatole inquired.
To refuse would be churlish. It might even give rise to questions concerning her motives that were better left unanswered. “I—yes, it might be best.”
Anatole nodded and then cast an appraising eye over the blacks standing in their harness. “It might also be best if we let you lead the way. Mam’zelle will not like to breathe our dust, and there is every possibility that you will be able to outdistance us to the point where we will not have to eat yours. It will have settled before we reach it.”
“As you wish,” Rochefort agreed as he descended the steps, casting a weather eye at the overcast sky. “There is an even greater possibility that it will not be dust that will trouble us, but mud.”
They rolled sedately down the drive, but once upon the open road Rochefort gathered his horses in hand and sent them flying along. As Caroline felt her bonnet pushed back on her hair by the wind of their passage, she was reminded of Madame Fontaine, who only a few days before had sat in the seat of the phaeton holding her ridiculous hat on her head. She would not copy the woman, not if her bonnet burst its strings and took flight. Nor would she clutch at the man who was driving or hold onto the seat for dear life. With determination, she sat upright, her body absorbing the minor bounce and sway of the well-sprung vehicle. She was not in the least afraid of their breakneck speed. She felt completely safe with Rochefort in control of the ribbons, safe enough to admit to an underlying enjoyment which amounted almost to exhilaration.
Leaning toward her, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly,” she answered, unable to prevent a smile from curving her mouth. She thought she saw a gleam in the depths of his eyes before he turned his attention back to the road.
“How long has it been since you realized the young ladies were gone?” he asked after a moment.
“Perhaps an hour and a half. I sat down and wrote you almost immediately.”
“I am grateful that you did. Have you any idea how long it was from the time they left the house until their departure was discovered?”
“A half hour, an hour, I’m not sure. They were seen leaving by a gardener’s boy, but it takes a little time for something like that to sift through the servants, from gardener to kitchen maid to butler to ladies’ maid to me.”
He nodded his comprehension. “Then we can be certain we are at least two hours, possibly three, behind them?”
“Something like that.”
“With luck we can overcome that amount. They may not expect to be followed closely and will not push the horses. If Mademoiselle Estelle is with them they will be carrying more weight, meaning more frequent rest stops. Too, since both sets of horses are mine, I have reason to know that the grays Victor is driving, though superior to most, are no match for the ones we are behind.”
“Yes, that relieves my mind somewhat.”
“As much as I dislike to distress you, I find I can’t be easy about this entire chase. I find it extremely difficult to believe Victor would go hieing off on an elopement with, so far as I can discover, no planning or preparations whatever, and taking with him his proposed wife’s younger sister, a volatile chit just out of the schoolroom! In the first place I don’t think he would have so little consideration for the woman he loved, but, saying he felt circumstances made it necessary, I take leave to doubt he would go about it in such a way as almost to guarantee it would turn into a debacle.”
“Yes, I will have to admit it seems most ill-managed to me also. Still, if they were in a hurry—”
“My dear Mademoiselle Caroline, the wilderness of Louisiana is not the Great North Road of England, and this Indian Mission is not Gretna Green. I doubt there is so much as a riverboatman’s hostel, much less a posting house or an inn, anywhere along the route they must take. To the best of my understanding they will have to abandon the carriage for the discomforts of a canoe, and that while surrendering themselves to the doubtful competence of an Indian guide to take them through the wilderness. If they are not relieved of their valuables and abandoned in the woods, they will die of exposure or be eaten alive by mosquitoes. What the—!”
His exclamation was caused by the appearance around a curve of a horse-drawn cart squarely in the middle of the road. They swerved, brushing past the cart with no more than a hair’s breadth between the wheels of the two vehicles. The groom driving the cart stared at them in openmouthed surprise as they swept past. Rochefort, recovering with precision, would have driven on without looking back if Caroline had not called out, “Stop!”
“What is it?” Rochefort asked as he obeyed her command.
“The cart from Beau Repos, I’m almost sure of it.” Turning in her seat, she beckoned to the groom who was driving.
He climbed down, and holding his hat of woven straw against his chest, approached the phaeton. “M’sieur, Mam’zelle?” he said, ducking his head in greeting.
“The cart you are driving, whom does it belong to?” Caroline inquired.
“To Beau Repos, Mam’zelle. My maître, he say I must return it.”
“Your master is—?”
“M’sieur Gravier of Bonne Chance, Mam’zelle.”
“Do you know how the cart came to be at Bonne Chance?”
“Mais oui, Mam’zelle. It was driven ventre á terre by the man who teaches les enfants at Beau Repos. He was in the so big hurry because he wanted to catch the steamboat.”
“I see,” Caroline said. Anatole had been right. The boat had been too early for M’sieur Philippe. “Since you have the cart, I assume the gentleman caught the steamboat?”
“Indeed yes, Mam’zelle, though he would not have if the Captain had not been waiting the so long time for Madame Gravier to finish her letter to her sister in Nouvelle Orléans. Even then he might have been left behind if the young lady who was with him had not screeched for the boat to stop with a noise fit to raise the dead.”
“The young lady?” Rochefort said quickly. “Was she known to you?”
“But yes, M’sieur,” the man said, enjoying the close attention being paid him. “It was Mademoiselle Estelle Delacroix of Beau Repos.”
“And there was no one else with those two?”
“No one, M’sieur.”
Her disappointment plain on her face, Caroline watched as Rochefort flipped the man a coin and motioned with his whip for him to step away from the horses.
“A moment, M’sieur,” the man said, looking from Caroline to the shine of silver in his hand. “You seek, maybe, the elder sister of Mademoiselle? She too came to Bonne Chance. With my own eyes I see her with a gentleman in a carriage fine like this one.”
Rochefort took another coin from his watch pocket, weighing it in his hand. “You saw the direction they took, perhaps?”
“But yes, M’sieur. They inquire after the younger sister, and learning she is on the boat, drive away very fast after it, but very fast, M’sieur—”
“Yes, I know,” Rochefort said, tossing the coin. ‘Ventre à terre.’”
“Mais oui, M’sieur. Thank you, M’sieur,” the man said, stepping back.
“Beware of another carriage coming behind us. It will also be traveling fast,” Rochefort called as he gave his horses the office to start.
“But yes, M’sieur. Ventre à terre!” the man shouted, grinning as he watched them on their way.
“Well?” Rochefort said as she sat frowning at the ears of the horses.
“I cannot imagine why Estelle would take the steamboat with M’sieur Philippe. She is not at all attached to him, quite the opposite, in fact. She was always mocking him behind his back and scarcely ever had two civil words to say to him at the same time. As for any romantic feeling, I find that almost laughable. I seem to remember she considered you ancient; him she
must think hovering on the brink of the grave.”
“Pray don’t think of my vanity,” he instructed.
“No, but it is Hippolyte Gravier Estelle cares for, and he seems to think she might be running away because she was angry with him for scolding her. Because of her conduct in coming to your house last night in disguise, you understand.”
“And you think that unlikely,” he said with a helpful air.
“Very.”
“So do I. As much as I dislike to introduce her name into the conversation when we were going along so well, I fear I must tell you that Madame Fontaine was also on that steamboat. There was some discussion among her entourage last evening of leaving when the steamboat so conveniently presented itself, discussion which Estelle may have overheard. A — conversation I had with Francine — Madame Fontaine, after you had gone, made her departure this morning a certainty.”
It was none of her affair what manner of conversation he had held with Madame Fontaine, Caroline told herself firmly. “If Estelle chanced to see Madame Fontaine as the boat passed this morning, she may have decided on the spur of the moment to — to take advantage of the invitation extended her. She has had a fascination with the stage for some time now.”
“So I understood from one or two hints let drop in my company.”
“It was most improper of Victor to attempt to see Amélie so early this morning — but suppose Amélie had discovered her sister’s absence or even chanced to see her leaving. If Victor had been to hand with his curricle, might she not have followed after in an effort to prevent Estelle from falling into another scrape such as last night’s?”
“She might,” Rochefort agreed. “I find that much easier to swallow than the idea of her and Victor, the most circumspect of couples, striking out for the Indian Mission, braving scorn and the terrors of the wilderness to be together.”
“How cynical you sound!”
“No, no, merely practical. What will do for some will not do at all for others.”
She did not like the glance he sent her from beneath the brim of his beaver but saw no way to object to it. “If they are trying to overtake the steamboat, do you think they have a chance of success?”
Sweet Piracy Page 20
