The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  Tristan left Sydnee ample funds for living expenses at her new home and, with Maxime’s help, she was learning to handle money. Although Tristan had been unable to arrange further academic instruction with Maxime, she was able to continue with Madame Picard’s School of Etiquette. Maxime was occasionally at the house, and after class he would teach Sydnee about money management.

  Even though Sydnee was no longer able to receive tutoring, she was determined to continue her education. Although Madame spent hours teaching her needlework, it was academics she craved. Madame Picard was keenly aware of her hungry mind, so she gave Sydnee complete access to her personal library and spent time with her after class helping her improve her French and English skills by discussing world events with her.

  Sydnee read voraciously, studying everything from literature to politics. After only a few months, Isabel noticed the change in her. “My goodness, you know more than my father about the upheavals in Paris.”

  Sydnee shook her head. “I understand nothing. There is so much to learn.”

  “Say,” Isabel said changing the subject. “La dame blanche is opening tonight at the Opera. My Aunt Beatrice is too feeble to attend anymore, but she enjoys watching everyone enter in their finery. We sit across the street in the carriage and watch the crowd. Would you like to come with us?”

  Sydnee’s eyes grew wide. “I would!”

  “La dame blanche is based on Sir Walter Scott’s work. We must find someone who attends the performance so we can give Mortimer a recounting. Scott is his favorite,” Isabel said.

  “How is Mortimer? I miss him.”

  “He is well. His skills as physician to animals only improves. Planters from all over the county consult with him now.”

  Sydnee smiled. “Someday he will have his own livery.”

  “He will if I have anything to say about it,” said Isabel.

  That evening Isabel returned for Sydnee in the family carriage with Aunt Beatrice, a good-natured voluminous woman of later years. “Oh, to be young again,” she said as she fanned herself, looking at the girls. “Someday you two will be attending the opera.”

  The Theatre d’Orleans was a large two-story stucco building with a colonnade on Orleans Street. Greek and Roman statues lined the rooftop, lounging, reading scrolls or standing at attention.

  The coachman parked the barouche across from the entrance so they could watch the promenade into the theater. Although many arrived in carriages, the majority of the patrons strolled up on foot, coming from dining establishments nearby.

  Sydnee leaned forward wide-eyed. She never imagined such a grand sight. Everyone was in formal evening attire and sporting the latest fashion. The men were dressed in crisp coats with padded shoulders, cinched waists and dark trousers. Many of them had cloaks and carried canes. All of them wore tall hats and had curled their hair.

  As dashing as the men appeared, it was the ladies who captivated the girls. “Look at the gowns,” murmured Isabel in awe.

  “Just look at the fabrics,” echoed Sydnee.

  The female patrons wore a dazzling array of colors. Their necklines were cut wide and low for the evening with sleeves that were dropped off the shoulder, short and puffed. To cover their arms, they wore long silken gloves and carried shawls. Waistlines were emphasized and made smaller by belts and large voluminous skirts, padded with multiple petticoats. They wore their hair in knots upon their heads and ringlets framed their faces.

  “Someday I will come to the opera dressed as a fine lady,” Sydnee said wistfully.

  “Isabel, my dear,” said Aunt Beatrice, “When you marry Tristan, you must ask him to bring you here.”

  The smile dropped from Isabel’s face. She swallowed hard and said quietly, “I most certainly will.”

  On the way home Sydnee watched her friend. Isabel sat back in the shadows concealing the look of melancholy on her face. Sydnee did not try to draw her into conversation. Instead she turned and looked out the window at the streets of New Orleans. She worried about Isabel and her love for Mortimer. She was afraid it would destroy them both. Once more Sydnee felt gratitude for her quiet life with Vivian, Baloo and Atlantis.

  * * *

  The girls saw each other off and on all summer until one day a note arrived from Isabel saying that her mother would not allow her to come to the city anymore. She explained that there had been an outbreak of a disease called cholera in Paris and New York, and several infected people had carried it to New Orleans.

  “Have you heard about it?” Sydnee asked Madame Picard after class that evening.

  “Indeed I have,” she said, frowning as she put away chairs. “It is most troubling. We are just coming out of yellow fever season, and now we have this malady. They say it is most virulent.”

  “Are people dying?”

  “Yes and very quickly, in a matter of days, sometimes hours.”

  Sydnee had a lump in her throat. She asked in a small voice, “This cholera was in Paris. Do you suppose Tristan has it?”

  Madame Picard straightened up and rested her blue eyes on Sydnee. She reached out, touched her cheek and said, “Oh, little one, worry not. He is young and strong. Usually these things take the very old.”

  But Madame Picard was wrong. Cholera swept New Orleans that fall of 1832 like a hurricane. It took the young, the old, the rich, and particularly the poor. The city became a ghost town as people left for the country, fleeing the “miasmas” or infected air.

  The first thing that Sydnee did was make Margarite’s sickness tea. For as long as Sydnee could remember Margarite told her when there was contagion to drink only raspberry leaf tea with some black pepper and to eat nothing but bubbling hot gumbo. When asked why, Margarite would shrug and say that the spirits had advised it.

  Business in the city came to a stand-still. Madame Picard cancelled class until further notice and people stayed indoors. Small bonfires were built at each intersection to purge the air and every half hour there was a deafening blast from a cannon to cleanse the atmosphere.

  Sydnee found it unnerving. The heavy stench from the fires seeped into her home, and the cannons startled her every time they blasted. After a week of seclusion, Sydnee decided to go to market. She was in dire need of food. Planning to stock up so she wouldn’t have to go out again, she strapped baskets on the backs of Atlantis and Baloo and stepped out into the street.

  The usually busy thoroughfare was empty. The town was more deserted than it had been during yellow fever season. She noticed a fire smoldering near the curb, adding heat to the already sweltering temperature. There were smoke pots smoldering in front of houses giving the city a surreal landscape.

  An elderly gentleman walked down Dauphin Street with a handkerchief tied around his nose and mouth. When he saw that Sydnee did not have her face covered, he crossed the street.

  Looking around self-consciously, she reached into her drawstring purse and pulled out a hankie to hold over her nose and mouth as she walked.

  The market was deserted as well. A few tenacious vendors turned out, standing with their carts, eager to make some kind of sale. Sydnee made her purchases and hurried home.

  On Bourbon Street she passed a funeral, but there were only two mourners. The coffin was covered heavily with flowers to absorb the diseased air emanating from the remains.

  Sydnee was grateful to be home, and she stayed inside for another week enduring the heat and the isolation. The days were gradually getting shorter and this pleased her. She did not want to see the funeral processions go past her front window or see the carts full of corpses. Darkness did not give her complete relief though, she could hear the gravediggers ring bells and call, “Bring out your dead!”

  She worried constantly about Tristan and wondered if Isabel and Mortimer were safe residing in the country. She longed for news about the progression of the disease but did not dare go out to ask questions. The farthest she ventured would be into her courtyard and even then she had to come in at dusk because the night a
ir was thought to be dangerous.

  There was a restlessness in the spirit world too, akin to her experience in St. Louis Cemetery on All Soul’s Day. She felt a darkness gathering like a thunderstorm, and it lessened only when she went into the sunlight of her garden. It disturbed her sleep as well, and one night in early October it jolted her awake several times. It was a vision that presented itself repeatedly. In the nightmare she was standing in front of the garçonnière which was shrouded in mist. She opened the door and walked inside the schoolroom. It was too dark to see anything, but there was a disturbing presence within the room. Then she would wake up.

  The third time the vision occurred Sydnee sat up in bed and cried out. The dogs jumped up terrified. Sydnee clutched her head, gasping, and her gown was soaked in perspiration. When her breathing slowed she realized that she must go to the garçonnière and investigate or this nightmare would rob her of her sanity.

  Swallowing hard, she threw the covers back, slid out of bed and dressed. The dogs watched her expectantly. “Come along,” she said to them. “We must put an end to this thing.”

  Tying a hankie over her nose and mouth, Sydnee stepped out onto the street. The only movement she could see was from a lantern on a corpse cart a block away. She could hear the gravedigger ringing the bell and calling for bodies.

  Vivian swooped down and landed on Sydnee’s shoulder, startling her. She took a deep breath to calm herself and started walking with her lantern. Her shoes clattered loudly on the bricks as she hurried to the property on Rue St. Louis.

  The bell in the cathedral tolled three. Baloo and Atlantis trotted behind Sydnee, blissfully unaware of the morbid atmosphere in the city. Sydnee walked several blocks, rounded the corner and saw the charred remains of the chimneys at the former Saint-Yves residence. It was so quiet that the hinges seemed to scream as she opened the gate to the courtyard. The garçonnière stood before her, sitting innocuously in the moonlight.

  Still, Sydnee wanted to run home and hide in bed. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath and crossed the garden. The dogs were by her side, and Vivian was on her shoulder. Sydnee’s mouth was dry, and her heart was hammering in her chest as she opened the front door. All was dark, and just like in the nightmare, she felt a presence in the room. The hair raised on her arms, and Atlantis started to growl.

  Cautiously Sydnee stepped inside, holding up her lantern. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Things were as they left them. She saw bookcases, desks and papers. Chairs were scattered around the room, and she saw the stairs up to Tristan’s bedroom.

  Nevertheless something was amiss. She could feel it. The dogs approached the corner where she used to sleep. Sydnee held up her lantern, and her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was on the bed.

  It was Maxime.

  “Oh, Mon Dieu!” she gasped.

  He was on his back, and his mouth was open. His cheeks were sunken, and his clothes were covered with vomit. She had little doubt that it was cholera. When she touched his forehead, he opened his eyes. “Maxime, how is it you are here? I thought you were in the country.”

  He moved his cracked lips but no words came.

  “I will get you help,” she said quickly.

  “They--” he murmured. “--brought me here.”

  Sydnee frowned. She knew what had happened. The moment they discovered Maxime was sick, Monsieur Saint-Yves had him dumped him here alone in the city to die.

  “I must leave you for a few moments, but I will return with help. We will take care of you.”

  His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell back into a swoon. Sydnee dashed out of the garçonnière with the dogs behind her. Vivian flew overhead. She raced through the streets not stopping until she reached Madame Picard’s residence.

  Banging on the door, she looked through the entry window anxiously. She saw candlelight move down the stairs, and then Madame Picard looked out the window with her servant standing behind her. Pulling the door open, she gasped, “Sydnee what—“

  “Maxime is sick. He is alone in the Saint-Yves garçonnière.”

  Madame Picard stared at her a moment, absorbing the news. She was in her dressing gown and her servant, Clotilde was holding a candle in a glass shade.

  “Come in,” she said taking Sydnee’s wrist and pulling her inside. “I will summon Frederick.”

  Sydnee, Madame Picard and her elderly black coachman, Frederick left to bring Maxime back to the house while Clotilde stayed behind preparing a room. Maxime tried to move his parched lips when he saw Ninon at the garçonnière, but she touched his lips and murmured, “Say nothing, my dear one. I am here now.”

  After moving him to her residence, Madame Picard stayed at Maxime’s side throughout the day and well into the next night. He was in a small bed chamber next to her room. Clotilde and Sydnee answered requests, changing and boiling soiled sheets and blankets and keeping vigil while Madame Picard slept for a few hours.

  Maxime awakened seldom. He was thin and frail. He did not look like the Maxime Sydnee had known, so haughty and elegant, capable and self-possessed.

  Sydnee slept that night for a few hours and then took over for Madame Picard. She sat by the lamp reading but avoided looking at Maxime. He looked even more drawn and withered than when she first discovered him, and his skin looked like parchment.

  Suddenly he opened his eyes and tried to speak. Sydnee set her book down and put her ear to his lips.

  “I must tell,” he whispered. “Ninon.”

  Sydnee looked into his face. His eyes were glassy. “Madame sleeps. It is Sydnee,” she said.

  He continued. “You must--you must help them.”

  At that moment, Madame Picard came from her bed chamber. She was rolling up her sleeves and said, “I am awake now. What is it, Sydnee?”

  “He wants to tell you something.”

  Madame said quickly, “I will attend to him. You rest now.”

  Sydnee went to her room, fell into bed and slept heavily. When she awoke at dawn, she was surprised that Madame Picard had not come for her. She noticed that Clotilde was sleeping as well. Sydnee went to Maxime’s room and gently pushed the door open. Madame was asleep in the chair, and Maxime was very still on the bed. The sunlight streaming through the sheer curtain illuminated his face. His head was back, and his mouth was open. He was dead.

  “Oh, Maxime,” Sydnee uttered, tears filling her eyes.

  She dreaded telling Madame, but it must be done. “Madame, wake up,” she said, lightly touching her arm. “Madame.”

  The woman’s skin was cold and clammy, and like a bolt of lightning, it hit Sydnee. Madame was not sleeping, she was unconscious. “Clotilde!” she screamed. “Clotilde!”

  The servant ran into the room. “Madame is sick now too.”

  Together they picked up Madame Picard and took her to her bed chamber. Frederick summoned the corpse cart, and Sydnee watched Frederick carry Maxime down the stairs. Tears were streaming down her face, and her hands were in fists. His body would be thrown into a mass grave with all the other slaves to be buried or burned. It seemed a sorry tribute to the life of a man who had given so much to this world.

  Sydnee swallowed hard and returned to Madame Picard’s side. She must attend to the living and be quick about it. Somehow she would keep this woman alive.

  * * *

  With the help of Margarite’s remedies and Hoodoo potions, Sydnee managed to save Ninon Picard’s life. Clotilde and Frederick were of great help as well, putting themselves at risk washing linen, emptying chamber pots and standing watch.

  Sydnee lit many candles, invoked the power of the spirits and allowed Madame Picard to drink only Margarite’s sickness tea. It took several days but gradually her color returned, and her eyes seemed to take on life again.

  Sydnee did not have to tell Ninon about Maxime. She already knew, and the two women suffered in silence. Although Sydnee grieved for Maxime she knew her loss was nothing compared to the emptiness Madame experienced. Sydnee knew Madame Pic
ard had lost the great love of her life, but the woman carried on, holding her head up high.

  Over time they returned to their daily tasks, but things had changed. Ninon Picard coped with her loss of Maxime by filling her life with Sydnee. She mentored her and fostered her like a daughter, teaching her everything she knew about great literature, politics, art, and the ways of polite society in the South.

  Sydnee was overjoyed with this turn of events and soaked up everything like a sponge. It took many months of mentoring, but by the time she was done, Madame Picard had sculpted a young woman ready to play her part with skill and grace in the aristocratic but deadly world of 19th Century New Orleans.

  Chapter 15

  New Orleans 1835

  Tristan stepped off the ship in New Orleans and took a deep breath of home. There was the rich smell of crayfish boiling at a stand, the heady scent of flowers wafting up from Jackson Square and the aroma of chicory so thick he could taste it. He sent the carriage driver ahead with his trunk, informing him that he preferred to walk. He wanted to stroll the streets once more and immerse himself in the rich ambiance of this flamboyant city on the Mississippi.

  Tristan returned to New Orleans a grown man. Although he was taller and his face was leaner, his hair remained as golden as sunshine and his eyes as blue as robin’s eggs. He carried himself now as a gentleman, with an air of confidence and poise. The years he spent on the Continent, he learned self-reliance and determination to succeed.

  He was also a man of means. Not only was he in line to inherit the Saint-Yves properties and holdings, but he had interests in several textile industries in Paris and London which were increasing his wealth daily. Shortly before his death, Maxime advised Tristan of three excellent opportunities in cotton which he seized immediately and turned to his benefit. Initially Tristan had devoted a huge amount of time to these ventures, but now the investments had become lucrative enough to hire business managers.