Bal Masque

by Fleeta Cunningham

  “We must find Armand,” she told the animal and tugged at the leather. The horse took a reluctant step at Lucienne’s urging. A fallen tree hidden by smaller limbs and debris snatched at her ragged hem. Lucienne kicked herself free, shredding her skirts to threads. More sharp splinters and twigs snatched at her. She wrenched away, veering left and right to escape their grasp. As she twisted, a low branch whipped across her shoulder. “Aaahie!” She cried out and dropped to her knees, rubbing the welt. For a moment she couldn’t move. Then, slowly, clutching at a thick branch, she forced herself up. Her only escape from this nightmare was to stay with the trail and hope to find Armand. Together they would find a way out. Her horse stood a pace or two away, cropping grass and ignoring her. Lucienne forced her halting feet over the matted ground and gathered up the reins again. Squaring her shoulders, she looked for the next trail marker and began her quest once more.

  Less than a mile farther, her road stopped. A toppled cedar, immense and ancient, blocked her way. With roots ripped from the soil, it loomed over her, branches thrust into the ground like bars of a great black cage. Fearing she would be hopelessly lost if she circled around the tree, Lucienne hesitated. She saw no way through the tangle. Heavy limbs crushed broken brush beneath an enormous weight. Splintered branches as high as the saplings around them cut into the sky. Lucienne bit her lip. She’d have to take the risk of going around.

  Sounds, a rustling in the brush beyond, alarmed her. Animals, she told herself, but images of Price and the river pirates overwhelmed her. She looked for cover to conceal her horse and herself. She had no illusions left. The horse would be a prize worth killing for, and her own life negligible if the pirates found her again. She turned, urged her horse to follow, and plunged into the thick bracken. Shuddering at the thought of snakes and other denizens of this murky landscape, Lucienne felt the ooze of mud in her boots. She cringed behind a curtain of brambles. A crunch of footsteps and the thwack of broken twigs told her someone was coming. It had to be a person; it walked on two feet. She peered through her green wall. The steps came nearer. She held her breath. She must not be seen. The steps were heavy, a little irregular. She ducked farther into her lair, not risking discovery. She had no defenses left. The steps passed, and she drew a breath. Counting slowly to fifty, Lucienne raised her head and peeped out. She came face to face with Armand.

  “Lucienne!” He reached toward her at the same moment she hurled herself through the brush between them.

  “Armand, you’re alive! I was afraid he’d killed you.” She threw herself into his arms, putting his strength between her and the ugliness behind her. “Are you all right?”

  “My head is hard, chèrie, and I’m not so easy to kill. But I was afraid I’d never catch up with you, Chou-Chou. I all but gave up when I found even this old path blocked by that tree.” His head bent over hers, and they clung to each other. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “It’s all right now, chèrie. I should have known he’d never be able to hold you.”

  “Armand, he’s up the trail, I don’t know how far, but he’s hurt. Another of those cottonmouths got him, maybe two of them. He stirred up a nest, I think. The horse bolted.” She stopped, all the explanation she could muster given.

  Armand looked grim. “The wildlife is unsettled since the storm. Especially the cottonmouths, I think, because so much of their habitat was destroyed and their natural food wiped out. If there’s a nest, we’d better find him soon.”

  “My horse is winded. I don’t think she’ll carry both of us. And yours was acting lame. That’s why Price got off, to check for a stone. There was the snake, and then, I don’t know, the horse just flew into the trees. And mine ran the other way.”

  “We walk, then, till we find Price and the other horse. Price will have to sit on your mount if he can’t walk and the other one’s lame or lost.”

  The sun had passed from overhead to below the treetops before they came on Price. He sprawled across a log less than a mile from where Lucienne had last seen him. Apparently he’d tried to walk for help but had chosen the wrong direction and was forced to turn back. She saw the grossly swollen leg above the man’s boot, and the whiskey bottle beside his outstretched hand. Armand motioned Lucienne to stand aside as he approached the fallen figure.

  “Price?” He shook the man’s shoulder. A limp arm fell against the ground. Armand leaned down and pressed two fingers under a worn collar. Slowly he stood and shook his head. Lucienne turned away.

  “There was nothing to do, chèrie. He tried walking, and that spread the venom through his system. And the whiskey didn’t help. At any rate, his wretched life…” Armand shrugged, but there was compassion in his tone. “It’s over. It ended with another foolish choice, a mistake. I think it’s only the last in a lifetime of bad choices.” He tucked her into his arms and turned her away from the sight.

  “I lied to him about Dorcas so he’d let her alone. I thought she’d be better off with him out of her life.”

  “You were right, Chou-Chou. She will be.”

  “I told her to come visit me. If she comes, I’ll have to tell her about this. It’s going to hurt her all over again.”

  “Chou-Chou, you don’t have to tell her everything. We’ll take Price back to town. Dorcas only needs to know that he died, from snakebite if you feel you must say how, but there’s no need to reveal his last actions.”

  “Take him back?”

  “Get the blanket from your horse and I’ll wrap him. The horse will carry him, but we’ll have to walk from here. It’s not too far to the Renard place. Renard will loan me his wagon. I’ll take you to Marie and then see to this other business.” He gestured at the still form. “A decent burial is all we can give him now.”

  Lucienne nodded. She’d be glad to get away from this dark watery land, out of the funereal gloom of cascading moss, and into open space where nothing lay in wait, neither man nor beast nor things that moved without legs. She stood aside as Armand took care of the grim business, and then they began once more the last leg of their odyssey.

  ****

  A faint rim of light touched the sky as the rattling wagon clattered through the streets of New Orleans. The long, grim night had passed, a night that might have been a month, at least. It seemed a lifetime since she’d run away. Lucienne leaned against Armand’s shoulder, carefully disregarding the cumbersome bundle filling the back of the wagon. He handled the reins with one hand, his other holding her close.

  “Weary, Lucienne? Tired beyond words? I’ve never seen you so silent.”

  She raised up to look around. “Are we nearly to the house?” Her monotone said as much about her exhaustion as any words could.

  He stroked her head, easing it back against his shoulder. “Just up there at the end of the street, Chou-Chou. Marie will be relieved to see you. See that she finds you something hot to eat and puts you to bed. No questions, no explanations. Those will wait till you’ve rested.”

  Armand needn’t have worried. Marie met them at the door, almost as if she’d sensed their coming. Though appalled at the state Lucienne was in, she gathered the girl into her arms and led her upstairs to a waiting room.

  “I’ve been ready for you these three days, p’tite, and it’s good that you are here. I couldn’t endure the waiting much longer.”

  Lucienne let her old companion undress her and wash her face and hands as if she were a child of three. The plate put before her steamed with food, and the girl ate it gladly, though she didn’t have any idea what it was she ate. She remembered sinking into a bed, soft and welcoming, a black kitten curled against her, and fine sheets drawn up over her. Sleep almost as deep as unconsciousness claimed her.

  Late in the day, a ray of sinking sun woke her. Lucienne stirred, pulled at her cover, and tried to recapture the bliss that had been hers moments earlier. Some magical dream had filled her with a strange joy. She felt reluctant to leave its misty comfort.

  “No, Lucienne, it’s time you rejoined
the world.”

  The voice came from a long way off, but its imperative tone reached her. “Grandmère?” Lucienne rubbed her eyes and sat up. “Grandmère, how can you be here?”

  “I came to see for myself that you were back safely.” The slight figure in its deep wine dress came into her line of sight. “You’re back and you’re safe, but your condition otherwise is not worthy of note.”

  “My condition, Grandmère?” She stretched, catlike, relishing the feel of fresh linens and a feather mattress. “I feel wonderful.”

  Madame Thierry shook her head. “Freckles, Lucienne? And your hands look as if you’ve been digging potatoes. Marie despairs of your hair ever coming clean, not in time for dinner with your husband this evening, at any rate.”

  Lucienne sat up. “Armand? Is he here?”

  “Here? Yes, of course. He’s been home some time. He left word that he’d like for you to have dinner with him, if you’re up to it. I should hope you see the need to do so. You’ve led the man a merry dance. What have you been up to, Chou-Chou?”

  Grandmère was fishing for information, Lucienne told herself. Armand hadn’t answered all her questions or given a detailed account of the last few days to the old lady’s satisfaction. Lucienne didn’t intend to do so, either. She had other plans and a dinner dress to select. Grandmère would have to wait.

  Though the hair might not have been the perfection Marie wanted, Lucienne saw a vast improvement in her mirror. Washed three times and brushed to a high sheen, the long curls lay softly over her shoulders. A dusting of rice powder covered the worst of her freckles, though her nose still was too pink for fashion. The tub in the corner bore witness that Lucienne had had her greatest desire met. The hour-long soak in unending hot water with scented soap and lotion had eased the last of the travel grime from her skin. She felt renewed.

  “What dress will it be, then, chèrie? I had them all pressed so you could have your choice.” Marie held open the wardrobe to show a parade of colors.

  “The violet one. I’ve never even worn it.”

  “The perfect choice, Lucienne,” her grandmother agreed. “The long sleeves and pelerine will cover a multitude of flaws. Freckles, bruises, that dreadful scrape on your arm. But your hands, chèrie, those will take a season of care. Be sure to wear your mitts every minute till they heal.”

  The sheer silk framed her shoulders with wide puffed sleeves, and the tight bodice revealed Lucienne’s slight figure had lost none of its fashionable lines during her time away.

  “M’sieu Armand said you might like to wear these at last.” Marie held out a long box with a cascade of pearls gleaming against folds of black velvet.

  “The Dupre pearls! Armand had them repaired!” Lucienne held them to her cheek, loving their warm touch against her skin. “I never thought I’d see them again.” Marie took the strand and wound the shining pink orbs through Lucienne’s black curls. “What do you think, Grandmère? Am I beautiful?”

  “You’re lovely, and I’m going home,” her grandmother announced as Lucienne turned before her. “Your cousin Pierrette is with me, and she’s eaten alive by curiosity by now.”

  “You and Pierrette are staying in town?” Lucienne was surprised. She had assumed her grandmother would soon return to Mille Fleur to maintain the fiction she and Armand had created to cover Lucienne’s disappearance.

  “Pierrette is not a good conspirator, Lucienne. Remember that, the next time you lure her into your schemes. I brought her here with me to keep her from telling things she shouldn’t. Actually I bribed her. She’ll spend the season in town with me.”

  “And have a far better time for it,” Lucienne agreed, flitting her fan and spinning before the mirror. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

  “Not for a few days yet, Chou-Chou. My nerves won’t bear it. The two of you will be into some new scrape. Now, au revoir, chèrie. I’m off.” Grandmère kissed her. “I hope things turn out well for you, Chou-Chou. He’s a better man than most, that husband of yours. See if you can convince him to keep you. If not, or you can’t swallow your pride enough to ask, you know my door is open. We can withstand any gossip about your adventures if this escapade becomes public. You and I might have some very good times together.” Her silken skirts whispered through the door. Lucienne cast a longing glance after her grandmother. Wouldn’t it be easier just to go home with Grandmère?

  “Don’t think of running back to her,” Marie scolded when the old lady was well out of the house. “Your place is here with M’sieu Armand. You’ve put him to no small amount of trouble.” Lucienne watched out the long window as her grandmother’s carriage rolled away. Then, drawing in a breath and squaring her shoulders, she turned back to face Marie.

  “I gave myself quite a bad time, as well.” She picked up a spray of white rosebuds and, holding them against the shoulder of her gown, posed in front of the mirror. “But it had its compensations.” She studied the reflection. Then Lucienne laughed. She knew what she must do, and running off to Grandmère’s home had no part in it. “Have you ever been kissed by a man, Marie?”

  Chapter Twenty-One:

  Behind the Final Mask

  Lucienne paused on the staircase to look down at the figure below. He’d exchanged the doeskin shirt for a well-tailored black coat. A dandy’s fine broadcloth and linen had replaced the rougher frontier garb. The elegant gentleman in the gallery shadows had little in common with the adventurer who brought her back from the swamp. He turned as she sashayed down.

  She stopped as she came to the last step. “Pardon, m’sieu. I mistook you for someone else.”

  “Indeed, madame? If you described this person, perhaps I could help find him.”

  “Oh, like you, he is very handsome and tall, but not so well dressed.”

  “And what would you do with this poor man if you found him, madame? Lure him into danger, toy with his affections, perhaps find a thousand ways to tangle up his life?” Before she could answer, Armand drew her arm through his. “Let’s go into the garden. Perhaps we will find him there.”

  Armand led her through tall louvered doors into an enclosed courtyard. Buds just opening to the fullness of spring perfumed the air. A cascade of clear yellow covered one stone wall. Lucienne recognized the tiny flowers—forsythia. They made a perfect background for the small table placed between two ornamental trees. Crisp linen and table settings of crystal and silver gleamed in the fading light.

  “We’ve dined so often in the open, Chou-Chou, that I couldn’t bear to think of dinner inside.”

  Lucienne drew a long breath, inhaling a sweet fragrance that carried no hint of the cloying swamp. “It’s a far more civilized setting than the last dinner we shared.” She sat carefully in the delicate chair he held, spreading her violet skirts and snapping open her fan.

  “Now about this man you were looking for, Chou-Chou. He seems to be very careless. What kind of man would leave such a lovely woman alone?”

  Lucienne looked up through her dark fringe of lashes. “That is the thing about this man, m’sieu. He’s unreliable. You never know where he’ll be. He’s here, he’s there. He comes and goes. Just when you think he’s nowhere around, he appears. He’s unpredictable but very persistent.”

  “Like a troublesome gnat. But handsome, you said?”

  Lucienne fluttered her fan and lowered her look. “Oh, most definitely. Handsome in a way that makes all other men look insipid. And he has another talent, m’sieu. Would you like to know?”

  Armand held up both hands to stop her words. “I think not. It’s bad form to praise one man to another in such glowing terms, you know? We gentlemen have fragile egos and are easily stirred to jealousy, madame.”

  Lucienne tapped his hand with her fan. “None of that, m’sieu. I won’t have unseemly displays of jealousy. Perhaps we should discuss something else.”

  “Yes, perhaps we should.” Armand moved his chair closer. “Did I mention how very lovely you look tonight? That color suits you, and the pe
arls in your hair are perfection.”

  “A gift from an admirer, the one we agreed not to mention.”

  Armand lifted her hand to his lips, then held it in both of his own. He stroked the sheer lace that covered the palm roughened by her labors of the last weeks. His fingers encountered the wide gold band beneath the lace. “Another gift from an admirer, chèrie?”

  “Oh, m’sieu, you’ve found me out. Though I masquerade as a mere jeune fille, a girl just recently out in society, in fact I’m a married woman.”

  The intensity of his look brought the blood to Lucienne’s head. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “A married woman? Married but planning to slip away from the bonds of a union not to your liking, perhaps?”

  Lucienne shook back the curls that had fallen forward and looked into his eyes, eyes that challenged her to answer. “No, m’sieu, the union suits me very well. My husband is very wise. He knows how I chafe at pointless restrictions. He has told me I never have to abide by the silly rules that society decrees. The outlandish things I say don’t distress him.” She flipped her fan open so that only her eyes were above its lacy edge. “He’s not even scolded me for running away from him like an idiot after our wedding, though I think now I was tempting fate.” Lucienne dropped to an entreating tone. “Why would I leave such a man, only to go home to my parents or to my grandmère and create gossip?”

  With arms crossed, Armand frowned at her. “You make him sound a paragon, madame, but you’re very young. You could be misled. Perhaps he’s only a tedious ninny who has managed to deceive you with a beguiling mask.”

  “No, no, no, m’sieu.” Lucienne snapped her fan closed. “It is the face of the tedious ninny that is the mask. I have learned to see past the disguise he wears in public so no one will know him for the gallant adventurer he is. It was the true man, the dashing champion in leather, who won my heart.”

  Armand shook a finger at her. “We seem to be talking about that man again. You’re determined to wound me by praising his exploits.” He leaned back and sighed in resignation. “Is there anything more you must say, or have you told me all?”