The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  Sydnee did not know it, but Maxime watched her as she moved around the room. He studied her as she drifted along the book shelves and examined the globe. There was something about the waif that fascinated him.

  Tristan was distracted by Sydnee too. He would write a few words, steal a look, write a few more words and steal another look at her. He liked everything about Sydnee; her quiet demeanor, her large chestnut eyes but especially her little stocking feet peeking out from under the green dress.

  “It is time to dismiss for our rest period,” announced Maxime, closing his book and standing up. “We resume at four.”

  Sydnee bit her lip, unsure how to tell when it was four o'clock. Maxime did not notice her quandary, but Tristan saw it. Immediately he knew that she could not tell time. He said, “Just in case you fall asleep, Mademoiselle Sydnee, I will come for you at four.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she said, “Merci.”

  * * *

  True to his word, Tristan came for Sydnee at four, and they spent the rest of the day listening to Maxime talk about ancient philosophers and the great art of the Renaissance. Promptly at six, Maxime gathered his books and left Sydnee and Tristan alone together in the classroom. The moment he left, the two became self-conscious. Tristan fiddled with his pen while Sydnee looked at her hands in her lap.

  At last he asked, “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” she replied.

  “Oh, I'm sixteen.”

  Sydnee kept her eyes on the floor, tongue tied.

  “What manner of books do you--” and he stopped, remembering that she could not read. “Oh, I am sorry.” There was another long pause. He swallowed hard and said, “I saw your dogs.”

  Sydnee's face brightened, and she looked up into his blue eyes. “Do you like dogs?”

  “Yes, I do” he said rather loudly, eager that they found common ground. “I especially like large dogs.”

  “Would you like to meet them?”

  “Yes indeed,” Tristan said, standing up.

  The moment they stepped into the courtyard, Baloo and Atlantis bounded up. Tristan bent down and rumpled their fur, talking to them. She noticed his fine blue vest and his white silk shirt. His pantaloons were crisp, and his shoes were a rich brown leather. She found it hard to believe that anyone so refined and genteel would speak with her. Her favorite part about Tristan was his hair. The soft curls grew just over the tops of his ears and were the color of sunshine.

  Sydnee walked to the fountain. The water bubbled out of an ornamental pineapple, overflowed the first basin and then splashed down into the second and larger third tier.

  “Has anyone shown you the house?” Tristan asked, coming up alongside her.

  “No, not yet.”

  “We will start at the front door as if you are a guest.”

  They went out through the carriage gate and up the front steps. He pushed open the heavy front door, covered with brass fixtures, and took Sydnee into the entry where the tall wooden box stood. This time she stopped to examine the small painted landscape on the face.

  “That is our grandfather clock,” Tristan said. He leaned close to her ear and said confidentially, “I will teach you how to read it.”

  Sydnee looked at him and smiled.

  Walking into a huge corner room, Tristan explained, “This is where we entertain guests, if they ever come.”

  Sydnee gasped. Floor to ceiling windows lined three walls of the parlor. They were adorned with long, sheer curtains which moved slightly in the breeze. The walls were painted a cool white, and a huge, gilded mirror graced one wall reflecting the crystal chandelier overhead and several girandoles on the walls. Chairs and divans upholstered in colorful patterns were grouped around two fireplaces.

  Sydnee leaned into the room, not daring to step inside.

  “Come in,” coaxed Tristan, standing by a piano. “You won't hurt anything.”

  Cautiously Sydnee stepped onto the plush patterned carpet, walked over to the piano and then looked at the porcelain figurines on the mantel. One was a basket of flowers and the other was a tall elegant woman with a dog.

  “Come along. There is more,” Tristan encouraged.

  Doors were open across the hall so a breeze could pass throughout the first floor. They crossed into the next room. This was the library and had a more masculine look. “This is where my father takes brandy and smokes with the men,” Tristan explained. The walls were lined with books, and the furniture was darker, sporting a more solid appearance. “This is nice, but I prefer the library at Saint-Denis.” he said.

  “What is Saint-Denis?” Sydnee asked.

  “That is our plantation home on the river. I will take you there.”

  Joining the library was a drawing room for the ladies which was lighter and airier in feel. They crossed the hall again into the dining room. The room was dominated by a heavy walnut table, sideboard and a large, black marble fireplace. The drapes were a light green and dropped in luxurious folds onto the floor. The carpet was a light green with a beige pattern.

  “In there,” Tristan said, gesturing toward some doors, “is the pantry and wine room. Upstairs are the bedrooms. Most of them are at rest since my parents are gone.”

  Sydnee did not know what “at rest” meant, but when she peeked in two of the bed chambers earlier, there was no bedding on the beds and much of the furniture was covered with sheets.

  “Where is Maxime's room?”

  “The quarters for darkies are over the stable,” Tristan explained.

  They returned outside and took their supper at the little table in the courtyard. It was a great relief for Sydnee not to worry about finding food, and she was at peace knowing that Vivian and the dogs were gorging themselves on table scraps by the stable. She noticed that they had been sleeping a great deal, renewing themselves after the journey.

  Tristan and Sydnee were at last able to talk more easily with each other. He was eager to hear about life on the Natchez Trace and asked her many questions. She told him about the beauty of the back country, the wildlife, the people, and her life with Margarite, but she carefully avoided her job at the stand satisfying men. She knew that Maxime told him her role, but she was not comfortable speaking of it. She was extremely anxious about approaching Tristan as a paramour. They were becoming friends, and it did not feel right.

  Tristan told Sydnee about his life in New Orleans and on the plantation. “I have no siblings so I read a great deal. I read all kinds of books. I also like to study insects, particularly butterflies. Do you like butterflies?”

  “Very much,” Sydnee responded. “There were many butterflies around the stand where I lived.”

  Tristan said suddenly, “I am glad you have come. There was a boy schooled here before you came. Our fathers were business associates and we became friends,” and his face reddened. “But he was sent to Paris to finish his education.”

  Tristan lowered his eyes as if ashamed. Sydnee wondered if this boy had something to do with the reason she was here.

  Trying to cover his embarrassment, Tristan said brightly, “But I have another friend who lives on a plantation next to Saint-Denis. I want you to meet her. She is our age, and her name is Isabel.”

  The sun had gone down, and it was starting to drizzle. “Come see where I live,” Tristan said, jumping up. She followed him up the staircase in the garçonnière to a hexagon-shaped room. There was a small fireplace with a sitting area and on the opposite wall was Tristan's bed, an intricately carved half tester with snow-white bed linen. There was a large oak wardrobe and a small balcony with French doors.

  Sydnee walked to a window and looked out over the courtyard. “Was that you doing a puppet show last night?”

  Tristan's eyes grew large. “You could see that?”

  Sydnee grinned. “It was good. I liked the swan the best.”

  Tristan started to laugh. “I didn't know I had an audience. Shall I teach you?”

  She nodded and he dashed over, droppin
g the curtains to darken the room and lighting candles. They sat side by side for over an hour making shadow puppets and laughing. Sydnee was glad she had come here to live.

  * * *

  The next day, Maxime informed Sydnee that she was to help the women beat carpets outside and not attend class. Tristan was indignant. “But Maxime, she is my new friend. I want her to attend class with me.”

  Maxime lifted his chin and stated, “Out of the question. She is a female, and I am here to give you an education not some mendicant from the back country.”

  “Yes, but she is supposedly my cousin. How would this look, you sending a family member to work with the darkies?”

  Maxime sucked in his cheeks, clearly annoyed, but he knew Tristan was right. If they were to convince everyone that Sydnee was a cousin, she must be treated like a cousin.

  Seeing that he was gaining ground, Tristan added. “I will help teach her, Maxime. If I instruct her, I will learn as well.”

  Maxime sighed and said, “I don't like it. I don't like it at all, but I will allow it only if you spend extra time on your own studies.”

  “I promise,” Tristan said, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

  Sydnee returned to the classroom, this time in a proper-fitting beige, floral print day dress and shoes. She was thrilled to be a part of the classroom and listened eagerly to Tristan's alphabet instructions. Maxime resisted teaching Sydnee, but Tristan was overjoyed and took charge. By the end of the day, she had painstakingly reproduced half of the alphabet and could tell time on the clock. Maxime loaded Tristan with extra reading and Latin exercises, but the boy didn't care. He adored his new pupil.

  After several days, Maxime relaxed his resentment about teaching Sydnee and started tutorials for her. This pleased Tristan. He appreciated the fine skills Maxime had to offer, and he watched Sydnee move, in a matter of weeks, from fundamental identification of letters to entire words and then sentences. They introduced basic arithmetic to her, geography and even some Latin. Maxime coached her in speech, helping her with her stammer and gradually Sydnee began to speak more fluidly.

  Every evening Sydnee would join Tristan in his room and together they would work on assignments. One afternoon, when class was dismissed, Maxime asked Sydnee in private, “Are you fulfilling your obligations with the young gentleman?”

  Sydnee paused and then nodded hesitantly. In reality there had been no physical contact between them.

  “I notice that you visit him in his room every evening. Tres bien, I am glad there is progress. I shall write to Monsieur Saint-Yves apprising him of the situation.”

  Sydnee nodded, swallowed hard and walked away.

  * * *

  Sunbeams filtered through Tristan's blinds, casting stripes of light on his bed in the garçonnière. The boy rolled over and opened his eyes. Today there was no school and after daily Mass, he crawled back into bed. He stretched, hearing voices in the courtyard below. Throwing back the sheet, he walked to the French doors and listened.

  “You must do something about the stench,” he heard Maxime say.

  Tristan looked outside. Maxime stood below the balcony with a handkerchief to his nose, talking to Sydnee. The dogs were sitting at her feet.

  “I want these creatures bathed immediately. It is to be done by the time I return.”

  “Yes, Maxime,” Sydnee said.

  Tristan yanked the sheet off the bed, and draped it over his nightshirt. Dashing out onto the balcony, he made sure Maxime was gone and then called, “I will help you.”

  Sydnee looked up, nodding as she put on her apron.

  Tristan pulled on his clothes and raced downstairs.

  “You will ruin those,” she said.

  Tristan looked down at his silk shirt and pantaloons. “I don't care.”

  Sydnee smiled and shrugged.

  “What do we do first?”

  “Have you ever washed a dog?”

  “I have never done anything like this in my life,” he announced with excitement. “A young gentleman must never dirty his hands,” he said and rolled his eyes.

  “Well, we need soap and plenty of water. Are there wash tubs?”

  “Yes, by the laundry.”

  “Get some rope to hold the dogs, and I'll get water,” she ordered.

  Tristan ran into the stable, and Sydnee walked to the back of the house with the dogs behind her. There was a laundry area with large crucibles, wash tubs and a clothes line. It was getting warm, and Sydnee was grateful for the large fronds giving her shade. She gathered soap and rags and started to fill the tubs with water from the cistern.

  One of the kitchen workers walked past and said, “Don't use that good water from the cistern, Mademoiselle Sydnee. Them barrels over there is full of river water. Use those.”

  Sydnee nodded. She hoped the woman would not tell Giselle. The head housekeeper did not like anyone touching her supplies.

  “I have rope,” Tristan announced coming around the corner.

  “Good, help me finish filling the tubs, and then you wash Baloo, and I will wash Atlantis.”

  After filling the tubs, they started. Unsure of himself, Tristan mimicked Sydnee's every move. He was clumsy and fumbled with Baloo, trying to get him to step into the tub. He pulled him with the rope, and then pushed the dog from behind, but the mastiff would not budge.

  Sydnee stopped washing and yanked Baloo's rope sharply. “Come!” she demanded, and the dog stepped in the tub.

  Tristan sighed and said, “Yes, now we begin.”

  Rolling up his sleeves, he poured several buckets of water over Baloo. The dog instantly shook all over him. The boy's shirt was soaked, his pantaloons were wet, and dirty water was spattered all over his face.

  Sydnee started to laugh. Tristan wiped the water from his eyes and laughed too. “We are going to do this, Baloo,” he said with conviction, and the dog looked at him warily. Tristan poured soap all over his back, buried his hands in the wet fur and started to scrub him briskly.

  In her own wash tub, Atlantis stood stiff-legged and resentful while Sydnee washed her. The water was black as mud.

  Suddenly Tristan yelled, “No!”

  Baloo had jumped out of the tub and was running into the courtyard with the rope trailing behind him. Tristan dashed after him. At last, he cornered him and threw himself on top of the dog as Sydnee grabbed the rope.

  Wet and covered with mud, Tristan stood up, victorious. “I did it!”

  An hour later they were finished.

  “What's next?” Tristan asked with enthusiasm.

  Sydnee pushed her damp locks off of her forehead. She was tired and hot. They were sitting in the courtyard on the ledge of the fountain. “Aren't you tired?” she asked.

  “No, I've never had so much fun!”

  Vivian swooped down and landed on her shoulder.

  “Will she sit on my shoulder?” Tristan asked.

  Vivian seemed to know what he wanted and glared at him.

  “Let's see.” Sydnee reached up and Vivian stepped onto her forearm. “Now hold my hand,” she said to Tristan reaching out to him. She tilted her arm upward, hoping to get the crow to walk down her arm onto Tristan.

  Vivian did not move. Sydnee shook her arm and said, “Go, Vivian.”

  Vivian rode up and down, not moving. When Tristan reached up to touch her, she burst into a mass of flapping wings and pecked at him.

  “Well, maybe later,” Sydnee said.

  “Do you want to look at insects?” Tristan suggested. When Sydnee agreed, he ran up to his room and returned with a large magnifying glass. He handed it to her and said, “Now look through it.”

  Sydnee bent over and looked at an insect darting around on the surface of the water in the fountain. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Look at that!”

  She wandered off, and Tristan spied Vivian sitting in a magnolia tree. “What kind of food does Vivian like?” he called.

  Sydnee was on her knees examining something on the ground. Sitting back on
her ankles she said, “Oh, I don't know, anything, corn if you have some, or meat. She's a crow. They eat everything.”

  Tristan went into the kitchen and returned with an assortment of treats on a plate. The bird was watching him closely. He held a piece of pork in the palm of his hand. “Come here. Look what I have,” he cooed.

  Vivian did not move from her perch in the tree.

  Next he held up a handful of corn and made kissing noises. Still the bird did nothing. Determined, Tristan picked up the plate and moved under the tree where Vivian was sitting. Holding up some cornbread, he murmured, “Good bird. Come and get it.”

  Vivian flapped her wings and hopped around. Tristan was pleased. He believed that she was finally warming up to him. Just when he thought she was about to fly down to his arm, she turned around, lifted her tail and dropped feces onto his neck with a splat.

  “Damn it!” he exclaimed, pulling his collar up to wipe his neck. “Damn it all! So that's the thanks I get! Well, here is your food,” and he threw it at Vivian.

  Unconcerned, Vivian flew to a different tree.

  * * *

  In the afternoon, Sydnee and Tristan moved into the school room to work on a play about ancient Rome that Maxime had assigned. Sydnee loved activities that had to do with school. Her quick mind combined with her enthusiasm for learning made her an excellent student. First they practiced their parts, and then they made costumes. They tied old sheets over their clothes for togas and made wreaths for their heads out of vines.

  When Maxime returned from his errand, he heard them practicing and smiled. He was impressed with Sydnee, and it was obvious that Tristan adored her.

  The cooks made bread pudding that evening, and Sydnee and Tristan took their dessert and orgeat drinks to the courtyard as the sun was setting. They sat down together on a wrought-iron bench when suddenly wings flapped around Tristan, and black feathers hit his face. He blinked and ducked, dumping his drink.

  “Oh!” Sydnee gasped. When she realized what was happening, she laughed and exclaimed, “Zut alors!”

  There sitting on Tristan's shoulder was Vivian.