The hot drink in the thick mug Dorcas brought didn’t taste as good as Mama’s chamomile tea, but within minutes Lucienne found her eyes drooping shut. She curled into a ball behind the swirls of netting and drew a deep breath. As if she had fallen into a dark well, sleep closed over her. Somewhere, through the gray mists taking her away, Lucienne heard some garbled words. “I didn’t want to do it, Miss Lucy Ann, remember that. I didn’t want it to be this way.” Lucienne struggled to push back the fog, but sleep’s unyielding grip held her. She couldn’t form the words, couldn’t ask the question. She slipped further into that mindless haze and knew nothing more.
Hours later, Lucienne called back that half-forgotten apology. She stared, disbelieving the testimony of her own eyes. The cabin was empty; she was alone. The bed opposite, where Dorcas had spent the night, held only a mound of tumbled covers. All the other passengers were gone and their bags and satchels as well. Not even Dorcas’s neat bundle or the Turkey red valise left in her care came into sight. In her half-buttoned night rail, bare feet scuffing the red carpet, Lucienne searched the cabin. With a head as wooden as the compact shelves beside the beds, she examined every inch of storage. Empty, all the shelves and bins were empty. No Dorcas, and no valise, clothing, or jewelry. She had nothing left.
Lucienne paced the room, each step jarring her head, trying to make sense of something she couldn’t believe. Lucienne finally had to accept the truth, wildly implausible as she found it. Dorcas was gone and must have taken the valise and all Lucienne’s belongings with her. How could the girl be so ungrateful? Papa would deal with her and her father most severely when he heard of this. She’d taken Lucienne’s locket and ring as well, the little thief!
The riverboat bumped against something. The movement was small, but it was enough to topple Lucienne onto the bed. She groaned as a wave of nausea swept her. What had been in that cup Dorcas brought her? Not chamomile tea, she was certain. She lay still, letting the sick green feeling fade a bit. The cabin bobbled with a tiny rise and fall. From the slight motion, she guessed the boat had docked. Dorcas and her father had been gone some time, leaving as soon as they had robbed their unsuspecting companion, she supposed. Lucienne climbed up on a sofa and raised the curtain’s edge to look out, her head just clearing the bottom of the open window. Dock smells of fish and tar and water-logged wood met her. She gulped back the acrid taste rising in her throat. The sun was high, the glare reflecting on the water adding more anguish to her muddled senses. Clapping a hand over her eyes, she shut out the sight. The day was well advanced. Probably the Prices’ ship had departed hours ago. And the duel! Philippe could be wounded, even dead, and she was miles away. Frustrated, fearful, with flashing agony in her temples, she kicked a sofa cushion to the floor.
“How can I get to Philippe when Dorcas took my clothes?” Lucienne picked up a tumbler from the low table and heaved it the length of the room. It smashed with a satisfying tinkle of glass against the paneled wall. “Philippe needs me! How could Dorcas leave me like this? Taking my things! All of them! How dare she? She knew I had to get to Philippe.” Lucienne’s voice went up a notch. She looked around for something else to throw. “Philippe may be wounded—or worse? What can I do?”
“Missy, you just hold yo’ hosses.” The voice rumbled through the open window beside her. “You got no cause to go breakin' up things just ’cause sum’pin don’t suit.” A face, careworn, black, weary with work that never ended, showed in the opening. “I gots to clean that room you in. Git on out, and I means now.”
“But they stole my valise! I can’t go without my valise!” Lucienne shouted at him.
“You leavin’, lessen you got a ticket for riding back the way you come. Bossman ain’t gonna wait on you.” Lucienne started to scream a defiant answer. “Don’t mean nuthin’ to me either way, but I ’spect somebody be right put out with you iffen the law gets called.”
Grateful that the high window kept the deck hand from seeing her state of undress, Lucienne scrambled from her perch. She had to get to Philippe, but she couldn’t leave in her nightgown, this gaping, half-buttoned nightgown. Philippe—even if he was in dire need—Philippe wouldn’t want her to be seen in such a disreputable state. She ran back to the bed in the corner. She’d have to improvise something. In the welter of covers she noticed a scrap of faded brown. She tugged it out. The worn brown plaid dress she’d given Dorcas fell in a limp heap on the unmade bed. The sight of it flooded her with fury once more. She wanted to rip it, tear it to rags, but practical necessity stopped her. She’d wear it. She had to; there was nothing else but her indecent nightgown. Beneath the bed she saw a bit of brown leather. Scrabbling for the narrow toe, Lucienne pulled out her own pair of half-boots.
“Too small for that longboat foot of yours, Dorcas?” Lucienne tugged the shoes on over bare feet. She struggled into the worn gown and fastened it as best she could. It fit like a sausage skin, too tight, too short, the waist barely meeting in the middle. Just as well she had no petticoat. The dress would never have fastened over another layer. She’d never worn anything so miserable. Across the room an elegant pier mirror caught her reflection. She stared. Long black braids fell over her shoulders to the too-short waist of the washed-out frock. Bare legs peeped between boot top and frayed hem. She might have been a twelve-year-old farm urchin. A few hours ago, another face had looked back at her from a mirror, the rebellious face of the Mille Fleur heiress. Neither one, not the pale, defiant daughter or the sickly ragamuffin looking back at her now, looked much like pampered, secure Lucienne Toussaint.
“Missy, you ready to get off this here boat, or is I comin’ in and toss you to the fishes?”
Chapter Nine:
In Pursuit
Marie quaked, trembling at the wrath she was about to unleash from the man smoking in the murky gallery. “M’sieu Armand?” The words stuck in her throat. She tried again to get his attention. “M’sieu Armand, Lucienne is not in her room. From the disarray, I think she’s run away.”
Armand stepped from the shadows. His hand touched Marie’s shoulder but not with force as she expected. “Lucienne? Ran away?” He tossed his cigar into the flowerbed below. “Umph,” he snorted, a sound somewhere between exasperation and resignation. “I suppose I should have anticipated that.”
“M’sieu?” Marie took a step back, still awaiting the anger she expected to erupt.
Armand motioned to her. “Let’s go to her room before someone sees us here and asks questions. We may be able to tell where she’s gone and stop her before she does something even more foolish.”
Marie couldn’t think what folly the little vixen could commit that would be greater than the present one. Thinking she could comfort Lucienne by relaying Philippe’s last words, and perhaps make her understand he’d made a valiant choice, Marie had brought a tray of sweets and fruit for her. The vacant room and the note she’d found shocked her. It had taken some minutes for her to think what she should do about Lucienne’s irresponsible action. Now she led the way in the darkness to Lucienne’s doorway. Pushing the door aside, she gestured to the ransacked room. “As you see, it’s the aftermath of a storm.”
Armand crossed the threshold and drew Marie in behind him. “Who else have you told?”
“No one, m’sieu, no one. I came to you first, hoping you could take care of this disaster without further alarm.” She held out both hands in entreaty. “She must be found and returned before anyone knows of this. She’s courting disaster if not danger. The scandal alone, m’sieu, the gossip—it will ruin her.”
Armand stepped over a small pile of discarded things, then bent down to retrieve a round object between the floorboards. The glistening globe in the palm of his hand showed faintly pink in the lamplight. He looked around until he spotted the covered box shoved to the corner of the vanity. “Apparently she didn’t want the Dupre pearls any more than she wanted the Dupre name.” He dropped the bead into the box with the rest of the broken strand and slipped the box into his
pocket. Examining the litter strung across the bed, he drew out a shirt and some masculine linen. “But she did make use of my valise, it seems.”
Marie guessed the man was making a survey of the room and its condition to give himself time to think. She felt his concern, even the aggravation in his tone, but there was something else, almost a hint of admiration in his demeanor.
“But what’s to be done, m’sieu? Shall I raise the household, tell M’sieu Toussaint to form a search party? Lucienne may find herself in harm’s way, out alone this time of night.”
Armand gave a sharp laugh. “Marie, I think I’d be as concerned for the brigand who tried to interfere with Mam’selle Lucienne’s plans as I would for Mam’selle herself.” He scooped his scattered belongings into the rumpled shirt and tied the sleeves and tails together to make a bundle. “She went alone, you suppose?”
The man had made a shrewd guess, Marie thought. “You mean, is she with Philippe Pardue?” She shook her head. “No, she didn’t leave with him, though he must have figured in her plans. M’sieu Pardue stood at the window and watched your marriage ceremony with me, M’sieu Armand. He said I should tell her she’d married the better man. And then he rode for town alone. I saw him galloping down the River Road as hard as that big horse of his can run. He went by himself. That much I know.”
He motioned her closer. “Could Lucienne have gone with her cousin? Would Pierrette help her to get away? The girl was here for a time, I know.”
Marie hesitated. “Pierrette has some hand in this, I’m sure of that. That spineless little miss always follows where her cousin leads.” She considered the idea, then shook her head. “The girl is asleep in her bed. M’sieu Gaston insisted she remain the night. He means to take her home himself, come morning, and have his sons bring his saddle horse later. She couldn’t have been party to all this.”
“Then we can assume Lucienne didn’t have an accomplice, since you clear the most likely suspects, Pardue and little Pierrette. It stands to reason no one else is aware of this adventure, I think.”
“And you have thought of a way to keep it so?” Marie made a swift appraisal of the calculating look in his eye.
As if making up his mind about something, Armand turned to face her, a stern look in his eyes. “Marie, how strong is your loyalty to the family? Can I trust you to carry out a plan, possibly the only plan that will stave off gossip and scandal for our girl?”
Incensed that he would even ask such a question Marie drew herself stiff and tall. “M’sieu, Capitaine Thierry rescued me from the rivers of blood running through Paris when the revolution took my parents. I was a terrified child when he gave me over to Madame Thierry. I have always been a companion to her and her daughters. When Charlotte lost her first baby, the boy that died, I came to help her though her grief. We thought she might die, as well, and she would have if the second baby, Lucienne, had not come along so soon. If I take care of Lucienne, it is by my own choice. I owe this family my life and would give it for any one of them. Do not question my devotion, m’sieu!”
His hand made a hushing gesture. “No, Marie, I don’t question it, not when I can feel the power of your concern.” He glanced around the room. “Can you find me pencil and paper in this disaster? While I write a note, quietly go and wake”—he thought a minute—“not Madame Toussaint, no, no. Go and wake Grandmère Thierry. We will need a trustworthy confederate to make this work out.”
“Madame Thierry? She’s very old to become part of a conspiracy.”
“To her mind, Madame is the youngest person here, next to her granddaughters,” Armand answered with a grim chuckle. “And she’s close to Lucienne. I think she’ll act in the girl’s best interests, however unconventional the circumstances. Go quietly, but as quick as you can. I have some misleading of my own to do here.”
It took some minutes to waken Madame Thierry and get her into a wrapper and shawl against the damp night air. Once alerted to Lucienne’s escapade, she moved quickly, however, and made a silent entrance into the disorderly room behind Marie.
“So the little minx slipped away, did she?” Madame took the low chair Marie cleared and draped her shawl like an afghan over her lap. “I suppose you’re furious with her but will take her back to avoid the gossip?”
The bed creaked slightly as Armand sat on the edge. “On the contrary, Madame, I am in awe of a young lady so self-possessed and spirited. No man could have thought more swiftly to extricate himself from a situation not to his liking. She was reluctant about the marriage at first, I know, but I thought she had grown to care for me a little and was pleased with the life I offered her. She seemed past her infatuation with Pardue. Obviously I misjudged her feelings, and for that I am furious at myself.”
The old lady sniffed her disbelief. “But you are concerned about the scandal this creates.”
“For myself? No, if I’m vain enough to think a woman cares for me when she is only doing what duty demands, I deserve the gossip and whispers that will follow me. My wife doesn’t, but she’ll be outcast, nonetheless. I’ll go after her, madame, for her own sake. Once she is safely returned?” He shrugged. “Perhaps I may yet win the lady’s heart.”
“In that case, young man, you’d best be starting, though how your absence and hers will be taken, I don’t know. Charlotte and her fool husband will expect to see you both here, at least some sign of you, for the next week or so.”
Armand passed her a folded sheet of paper. “I think this will give us some time. You give it to Lucienne’s parents late in the morning. It just says that Lucienne and I have decided we’ll have more privacy at my house in town. We’ve taken my carriage, with Marie to look after the bride, and will call on them in a few days. The idea being that in this house, filled with family and guests and servants, we’ll find no seclusion. My father left on his business trip immediately after the wedding, so my house offers privacy. My servants will conceal Lucienne’s absence if anyone asks. It’s irregular for us to leave, I know, but then, this entire wedding has been a little out of the ordinary.” His smile had a rueful twist. “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.”
Marie clapped her hands together. The man was a marvel. “M’sieu, Lucienne has married well, even if she hasn’t the wit to realize it.” She looked about the room. “But if we’re to carry this charade off, I must put this room to rights. No one would believe a happy, newly married couple left this place. It looks more like wild Indians attacked it.” She began sorting items to go back into the wardrobe.
Armand stopped her. “No, you have another task to perform right now.” He picked up his shirt-wrapped bundle. “I’ll go and wake my coachman. You need to find Lucienne’s trunks and get them to the side door so they can be loaded. And gather your own things, as well. We’ll go as soon as the horses are ready. Above all, keep your activity quiet.” He turned to Madame Thierry. “Grandmère, I impose on you once more. Will you put this room to rights so that Marie is free to help me? It’s imperative that we go as soon as possible. Otherwise someone may wake and notice that our departure doesn’t agree with the note you have.”
“I’ve tidied a room or two in my time, young man. I think I’m up to doing it again.” She put her shawl aside and began picking up the scattered bits around the room.
“But how will you find Lucienne? By what Marie told me, the girl didn’t leave with anyone. You’ve no idea which way she may have gone.”
“No, but someone must have seen her; some traveler along the road may have noticed a woman alone. I’ll send Marie on to my house in town but keep my saddle horse and ride till I find a sign of her.”
Marie held her words. Armand Dupre had enough before him. He didn’t need the knowledge that Marie had tucked away. She bit her lip. Yes, he did need it. If he was to find Lucienne, he had to know her mind, and he didn’t need to waste time scouring the byways in the wrong direction.
“M’sieu, I suggest you find Philippe Pardue.”
Armand caught her sh
oulder. “But you said she didn’t leave with him.”
“She didn’t. I told you Pardue hinted that she planned for him to take your place at the wedding under cover of disguise. I believe she was altogether surprised when the unmasking revealed you were not the bridegroom she expected. Somehow Lucienne expected him to exchanges places with you. M’sieu Pardue told me that honor demanded he leave the field to you, but I believe he also chose to change plans for reasons of his own. A duel, I think. Lucienne may believe he failed in his part because of the duel and is attempting to follow him. If he is wounded—or killed…”
“Yes, she was most agitated about Pardue’s involvement in that affair. What a cool head she has. I never suspected her flirtations during the ball were not directed at me. And to maintain her composure when the truth was revealed! Astonishing in one so young. To have the heart of such a woman! And Pardue turned it down.” Armand gnawed his lower lip. “Pardue showed judgment in spite of his reputation. I knew the man had mettle. Lucienne wouldn’t have come to care for a mere coxcomb. I hope he survives his encounter and learns to avoid such events in the future.” He folded his arms in thought. “Lucienne must have had some destination in mind, likely the Pardue house in the city. So she must have gone by horse and will be taking the road toward New Orleans. The ride will take most of the night, but my horse is fast. We may well overtake her.”
“But she may not have taken the river road,” Grandmère reminded them. “She could have gone by water.”
The consternation in Armand’s face alarmed Marie, and the thought shook her, as well. In addition to riverboats, skiffs and pirogues ploughed up and down the river all day and night, some run by river pirates. Could Lucienne have signaled someone to pick her up along the wharf? River pirates plied their trade in the dark of night, preying on smaller vessels by creating logjams in the water, then swarming aboard to loot any cargo. They were known to carry women off, sometimes for ransom, sometimes for sport, when they could overwhelm the men on board.
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