The woman stared at her.
Fearful that she may suspect something about Sydnee's identity, Tristan jumped up and announced, “Come it's time to get ready for the fox hunt.”
They excused themselves and rushed up to their rooms to change clothes. Sydnee put on her new dark blue riding habit and looked in the mirror. Even though she was not participating in the fox hunt, she would be riding horseback to the Trudeau plantation with Tristan. Running her hands over the fine fabric, Sydnee turned from side to side. She adored her new clothes and vowed to learn as much as possible about fashion from Madame Picard. Slowly her figure was filling out, and she was glad to have a waist and a bosom at last.
Tristan looked dashing in his mustard-colored jacket, dark breeches and tall black boots. Sydnee studied him as he walked down the stairs. He was indeed a handsome and poised young man. She was glad that her feelings for him did not go beyond friendship. She knew that females held no appeal for him and that any young woman who desired him would be sorely disappointed.
It was a short ride to the Trudeau plantation. The sky was clear, and the morning air was cool. Mortimer greeted them when they arrived, taking their horses. “They are ready Master Tristan. I have saddled Serendipity for you.”
Tristan put on his hunting cap, mounted Serendipity and joined the others. Sydnee dismounted and stepped out of the way to watch the men assemble for the hunt. She saw Mortimer and the stable hands adjusting saddles and checking shoes. Many of the horses were dancing around nervously. They were eager to be off, but their riders kept them reined in, laughing and shouting greetings to each other as they assembled. Everyone was in crisp new riding attire. Sydnee was amazed to see so many wealthy well-bred residents in one place.
A slave wound his way through the horses holding up a tray up so the riders could take brandy before departure. Fox hounds circled the area with their tails wagging. They were filled with anticipation for the chase.
At last a bugle sounded, signaling that the fox had been released, and the hounds started to bay loudly. There was a huge commotion, the clatter of hooves on flagstones, and they were off. Sydnee strained to see Tristan, but he was lost in the chaos as the group raced up and over the hill.
With a sigh, she turned and headed for the house to look for Isabel. The Trudeau plantation house was similar to Saint-Denis, built in the Greek revival style, and set near the river. The main house was brown brick with a white two-story gallery in front. The stables and kitchen were brick as well, but the slave quarters and out buildings were constructed of white-washed wood.
“Come in, Sydnee,” Isabel called from a side door. “I want you to meet Mother.”
As the girls walked down the hall, a woman came down the stairs holding a garland. It was Isabel’s mother, Madame Trudeau. The first thing Sydnee noticed was that she was an older version of Isabel. Although her hair had darkened into a sandy brown and her face was careworn, the resemblance was obvious.
“Thank you for coming, Mademoiselle Sauveterre,” she said to Sydnee. “Isabel told me that you are kind enough to help us with the Christmas festivities today.”
Sydnee curtsied and said, “With pleasure, Madame Trudeau.”
She followed Isabel into the dining room to arrange decorations while Madame Trudeau went outside to the kitchen to supervise meal preparation. The layout of the home was identical to Saint-Denis. The rooms had floor to ceiling windows for ventilation and were lined up and down on either side of a long hall.
The dining room table was set for dinner, so all that was left was dressing the windows with garlands and decorating the mantel with fruit, myrtle and holly. When they were done, Isabel looked over her shoulder and whispered to Sydnee, “Let's go to the stable to see Mortimer before everyone gets back from the hunt.”
When they arrived at the stable, they found Mortimer already busy. He was examining one of the horses and looked worried. Tristan was there too, helping a young man sit down on a bench. The youth had his arm over Tristan's shoulder and hopped on one foot. When he sat down, he took his hat off and ran his hand through his black hair in a gesture of frustration and pain.
“What happened?” Isabel asked.
Tristan looked up, “His mount stumbled and threw him.”
Tristan bent down to ease the young man's boot off. The youth put his head back and held his breath. He had fine aristocratic features and pale skin which grew whiter as Tristan eased off the boot. He winced and drew up his shoulders.
“I'm sorry, D'anton,” Tristan said, setting the boot aside. “I know it hurts.” He stood up and looked at Isabel, “Would you ask your mother to come down here please?”
“Of course,” Isabel replied. She picked up her skirts and ran toward the house.
D'anton sat back with his eyes closed. Tristan took out his handkerchief and dabbed the perspiration from the young man's forehead.
Madame Trudeau came down to the stable immediately and examined his ankle. She dressed it with eucalyptus salve, wrapped it tightly and had the young man taken up to the house to rest.
“There is no question, he will be staying with us until the swelling subsides,” Madame Trudeau said to Tristan later in the house. He could see D'anton over her shoulder in the library. He was propped up in a chair with his foot on a stool. “There will be no walking and definitely no riding.”
Suddenly the front and rear doors of the house burst open and riders began to flood into the hall. Madame Trudeau smiled and swept down the hall to attend to her guests. The hunt was over, and it had been a great success.
There was a flurry of activity as everyone began to dress for the midday Christmas feast. People were running up and down the stairs, laughing and greeting each other, discussing the hunt and asking about D'anton. Those who did not participate in the hunt began to arrive in carriages, including Cousin Agnes who brought dinner attire for Sydnee and Tristan.
Sydnee went up to Isabel's room and put on her best gown again. She fixed her hair up on her head with a matching ribbon and started downstairs. Isabel met her on the landing. She looked stunning, dressed in a dark pink gown trimmed in white lace. Her gigot sleeves were fashionably enlarged with sleeve plumpers. “Mother has excused us from dinner so we can take our meal with D'anton,” she announced. “Tristan is in the library with him right now.”
Sydnee was relieved. She was not ready to attend a formal meal yet, even though she had been practicing her manners in class.
When the girls walked into the room, the boys had their heads together, looking at a book. D'anton was sitting in a leather chair with this foot on a stool. Tristan was on a corner of the stool. D'anton looked more at ease now, his foot bandaged and elevated. He had changed out of his torn riding breeches and jacket into a dark frock coat and trousers. The suit was set off by a waistcoat of burgundy brocade. Tristan was in evening dress too, wearing a dark blue frock coat and trousers with a gold waistcoat.
He jumped up and introduced the girls to D'anton Delacroix. The young man greeted them in a heavy French accent. Sydnee noticed that he was indeed a dashing young man with bright green eyes, a slim physique and curly dark hair.
“D'anton has moved here recently from Paris,” Tristan explained. “He now lives in New Orleans on Chartres Street.”
“And for Christmas, are you staying in the River Country?” Isabel asked him in French.
“Oui, I stay at the Aurora Plantation,” he replied.
“Not anymore,” Tristan interrupted, looking at Isabel. “Now he stays with you.”
Sydnee watched the young men as they conversed with Isabel. Even though they spoke with her, they were only aware of each other. Tristan's face was flushed with excitement, and he continually stole glances at D’anton when he was not looking.
D'anton seemed taken with Tristan as well, laughing at his jokes and teasing him. His eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he looked at Tristan, and on one occasion he pushed him flirtatiously.
At last, Isabel said to Sydnee,
“Come, we must bring Christmas dinner back to these lazy boys.” As they walked down the hall, she said, “It seems Tristan has received his gift from Pere Noel today,” and they giggled.
Dinner was underway, and the aroma of turkey drifted out to them. They could hear guests talking and the tinkling of silver and crystal.
They turned into the serving room where the cooks made up plates for them. There was turtle soup, roast mutton and duck, turkey with oyster dressing, corn pudding and green beans with pecans. For dessert there was gingerbread and sweet potato pie. There was so much food, the cooks had to help them carry it into the library.
Sydnee had never seen such bounty. Margarite had not exaggerated when she described the wealth of the planters, in fact, it was more than she had ever imagined.
Even though the group had to balance their dinner plates on their laps, they were greatly relieved they did not have to attend the stuffy gathering in the dining room.
“Why did your family move here from Paris, D'anton?” Isabel asked before taking a bite of turkey.
“My father has business here. I will live in New Orleans only a short time and then return to Paris to complete my education and take the Grand Tour.”
“You will be on your Grand Tour soon too,” Isabel said to Tristan.
He nodded and shrugged. “It is expected.” Suddenly, he looked up. “Has anyone taken dinner to Mortimer?”
“Sydnee and I will take him something,” Isabel said. “I have a gift to give him anyway.”
The boys went back to talking, and Isabel looked at Sydnee, rolling her eyes. “They have forgotten about us already. Let's go.”
“Do you suppose the kitchen will have any leftovers for the dogs?” Sydnee asked, brushing off her skirt.
“Without a doubt. We will send a package home with you.”
The girls took a plate of food down to Mortimer who was getting ready to return to Saint-Denis. “You cannot leave yet,” Isabel said. She handed him a plate with a napkin over it. “We have dinner for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, stealing a look up at her through his hair. He took the plate and fork and sat down on some hay in a corner.
In spite of her fine gown, Isabel sat down next to him. Sydnee was unsure whether she should sit in the hay, but she followed Isabel's example.
“How is D'anton's mare?” Sydnee asked.
“She is unhurt, but I applied some liniment to her leg just in case.”
“You must be hungry, the way you gobble your food,” Isabel observed.
Mortimer nodded with his mouth full. He swallowed, picked up a turkey drumstick and asked, “Where is Tristan? I haven't seen him all day,” asked Mortimer.
The girls looked at each other and laughed. “Oh, he is smitten with D'anton,” Isabel said. “The boy who was thrown from his horse today. He is up at the house with him now.”
Mortimer looked from one girl to the other and mumbled, “Oh.”
He took a last bite, sighed and leaned back on the stable wall. He had cleaned his plate. “It was good.”
“You're not done yet,” Isabel said, reaching behind her back. She pulled out a brown paper package. “This is for you. Joyeux Noel!”
Mortimer looked at the gift, and a smile flickered on his lips. Sydnee noticed his face flush.
“Open it,” Isabel said.
He carefully unwrapped the package, held up a book and smiled. “The Talisman. You remembered that I like Scott. Thank you.”
Isabel was beaming. “Now that you live near us, we can talk books together every day.”
“Now it is my turn,” Mortimer said, rising.
Isabel looked surprised. He walked over to his saddlebag, pulled out a battered leather notebook and handed it to her. “It is all I have to give.”
Mortimer sat back down stiffly. He seemed nervous.
Isabel opened the notebook, read one of the pages, and her lips parted. She looked up for a moment at Mortimer then read another page. With tears in her eyes, she said, “It is your poetry.”
Mortimer looked down. He was embarrassed and mumbled, “It isn't very good, but—but I mean what I say to you.”
“To me?” Isabel's eyes grew wide.
Suddenly Sydnee felt uncomfortable. It was not right to be part of such an intimate moment. She stood up and announced, “Isabel, I am taking your dogs for a walk.”
Isabel continued to stare at Mortimer, and he returned her gaze. They never heard Sydnee.
Calling the dogs, she walked swiftly out of the stable. As she walked along the river that Christmas afternoon, she considered the plight of her new friends. Sydnee could see that each one of them was walking a dangerous path to fulfill their dreams. They were sharing their most intimate and tender feelings with someone forbidden to them. She realized then that although they lived in a world of wealth and opulence, it came at a price.
Chapter 13
The festivities continued until Twelfth Night when friends and family gathered once more at the Trudeau plantation for farewell toasts and King Cake. This signaled the end of the Christmas season for everyone, and they now turned their attention back to work and business.
Tristan and D'anton had been inseparable during the holiday. In the landau on the way back to New Orleans, Tristan told Sydnee that he was in love.
“I am happy for you, but you must be careful,” she warned. “Your parents return tonight.”
“Yes, and they return months early. I will have to find a safe way to see him.”
“Is his ankle improved?”
Tristan nodded. “It is almost completely healed. He returns to the city tomorrow.”
Sydnee left the dogs at Saint-Denis to be safe. She took comfort in the knowledge that they had acres to run and that they adored Mortimer.
When they arrived at the town house on St. Louis Street, Monsieur and Madame Saint-Yves had already returned. Tristan went right in to greet them as Sydnee ducked out through the courtyard and into the schoolroom of the garçonnière. She peeked out at the house. The atmosphere was so much like mourning that she half expected to see a funeral crepe hanging on the door.
The next morning, Maxime resumed class, and in the evening, Tristan and Sydnee returned to Madame Picard's school. Everyone seemed to settle back into a routine, albeit an uneasy one. Sydnee missed Isabel and Mortimer desperately, and it seemed to her as if the carefree days of Christmas had been a long lost dream. Although she saw Tristan daily, he was distant from her too. He was so busy trying to please his parents and preoccupied with his thoughts of D'anton, that she felt quite alone.
Another disconcerting occurrence was the sudden attention Monsieur Saint-Yves was giving her. Several times when she was alone in the schoolroom he appeared with the excuse that he was looking for Maxime. Another time he brushed past her closely in the hall when she was going to bed. Each time he tried to catch and hold her eye. Memories of the men at The Devil's Backbone began to haunt her again, and she started having nightmares.
Things had certainly taken a turn for the worse in the new year.
* * *
“Tristan,” said Monsieur Saint-Yves one night at supper. “It has come to my attention that you are acquainted with a young gentleman by the name of D'anton Delacroix.”
Tristan almost dropped his spoon into the bisque. Putting his hands into his lap to steady them, he looked up at his father. Swallowing hard, he raised his chin and said, “Yes, we met at the fox hunt.”
“His father is a business associate of mine, and they have moved here recently from Paris. Monsieur Delacroix would like his son to be introduced to other young men of good family in New Orleans. I have suggested the two of you attend one of the balls this evening.”
“Very well, Father,” said Tristan, trying to act nonchalant. He did not notice his mother purse her lips and raise an eyebrow.
Her look was not lost on Monsieur Saint-Yves though. He knew that his wife objected to these soirees. It was common knowledge that young women of
mixed race would attend these balls where a suitable match may be made with white gentlemen of property. Contracts would sometimes be negotiated for a suitable long term sexual relationship. This is where Monsieur Saint-Yves had found his mistress.
“Odette,” he said to the slave who was attending their supper. “Please pour some wine for your mistress. She needs to calm her nerves.”
Augusta Saint-Yves looked up sharply. “What is this?”
“You are correct, Madame. I don't ordinarily allow you wine at supper, but tonight you seem somewhat—anxious.”
Odette brought the decanter around to her mistress and poured her a glass. Madame Saint-Yves looked at her husband suspiciously as she tipped the crystal wine glass to her lips.
The rest of the meal was taken in silence. Monsieur watched his wife, as she refused food and consumed glass after glass of wine. When dinner was finished Odette had to help her up the stairs because she was so inebriated.
“Take her to Guy's room,” Cuthbert Saint-Yves ordered, watching them climb the steps. “She is most comfortable there.”
“What time does the carriage come around for me, Father?” Tristan asked, his face flushed with excitement.
“At half past the hour.”
Tristan dashed upstairs to get dressed. When he was ready he knocked on the door of Sydnee's bed chamber. “How do I look?” he asked. He was dressed in his finest frock coat of dark green with black pantaloons and a gold waistcoat.
“Very nice,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“To a Quadroon Ball. D'anton's father arranged it. I am guessing our fathers want us to look for mistresses.”
Sydnee went to bed that night wondering about this new turn of events for Tristan. She was anxious to ask him more about it in the morning. She fell asleep quickly but was awakened with a knock on the door. Putting her wrap on, she stumbled across the room, opened the door, and there was Maxime. “Monsieur wants to see you in his bed chamber.”
Sydnee stared at him. He gave her a look of mixed pity and apology, before dropping his eyes.
The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Page 13
