“LaRoche,” MacFarlane muttered.
“Oh, beggin’ your pardon, Miss Sydnee,” LaRoche said. “Let’s just say, he was cruel to ‘em then killed them.”
Sydnee’s mouth went dry. “What did he look like?”
John shrugged. “No one got a good look at him, but he was tall and wore a greatcoat.”
Paralyzed, Sydnee stared at him and then looked over at the fire.
The men discussed the murders a bit more and then stood up, taking their dishes over to the tub to be washed. Fletcher had been preparing balms and salves and missed the conversation. “We arrive in Memphis tomorrow,” he announced loudly to the children. “Everyone off to bed.”
He looked at Sydnee sharply. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, sitting down beside her.
She blinked as if waking from a trance and looked at him. “I-I probably should tell you,” she said, swallowing hard. “Several days back, I thought I was seeing things, but now I know the man from the orphan sale is following us.”
Locke sat up straight. “What the hell are you talking about? That Jackson character, following us way down here?”
“No, the creature who wanted to buy the remainder of the orphans. I saw him in the woods a few nights ago.”
“What!” he said, jumping to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“Sydnee, you need to trust me.”
She nodded and rubbed her forehead. “The men just said that someone killed two whores in Cairo, someone who looked just like him.”
Fletcher stared at her a moment absorbing the news and then looked at the fire, his jaw clenched. They sat in silence for a long time, both wrestling with the implications of someone stalking them.
At last, he took Sydnee’s elbow and helped her up. “We are in good hands here tonight with LaRoche and MacFarlane, and tomorrow we will be in Memphis. Now try to get some rest.”
Sydnee nodded and went to bed, but once again she slept poorly, scanning the dark woods all night, watching for the creature who she knew was watching them.
* * *
In the middle of the afternoon, they arrived in Memphis. They moored the flatboat and LaRoche jumped out, whistling for stevedores to come deliver the whisky to the proper warehouse. While they were unloading, Fletcher stayed on shore with the children while Sydnee dashed off into town to find Mortimer.
When she arrived at the livery, there was a sign saying it had moved to a different location, so she ran over to the new stable a few blocks away. It was a large two-story building, meticulously kept with a sign that said, ‘Gish Livery’ in fancy gold letters. It was apparent that Mortimer’s business was thriving.
Sydnee found him immediately, and without a moment’s hesitation, he agreed to loan them the fare for a paddle wheeler. He told her they could stay in the livery and had his stable hands start to clear out an area upstairs where the children could sleep.
When Sydnee returned to the landing, Fletcher was paying LaRoche and MacFarlane for delivering them safely to Memphis. The men said their goodbyes and started for the boat, but LaRoche stopped and turned around, taking his hat off.
“Mademoiselle Sydnee, Dr. Locke?”
“Yes, Monsieur LaRoche?”
“I-I was thinking--you know I think highly of your boy, David--”
They looked over at David who was leaning on a barrel, looking glum.
“Well, I—the Missus and me never had youngins’ and--” he hesitated, his face flushed. “Ah--”
“Mr. LaRoche,” Dr. Locke said. “Shall we ask David if he would like to go home with you?”
“That’s it! That’s just what I was tryin’ to say.”
Sydnee smiled.
They approached David, and he was frowning, shoving his toe around in the dirt.
“David,” Fletcher said. “We want to ask you something. Would you like to go back upriver and live with Mr. LaRoche and his wife permanently?”
David looked up, his eyes wide. He looked from Locke to LaRoche and back again. “Can I?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Locke. “But I’m afraid you can’t take the kite.”
David jumped up and said with a grin, “I don’t want no kite.”
LaRoche rumpled the boy’s hair. “Come on then. We got work to do before we shove off.”
The man nodded to Fletcher and Sydnee and said, “Grateful to ya.”
As they started down the landing together, Sydnee heard LaRoche say to the boy, “Did I ever tell ya the one about the Chickasaw and the gator?”
* * *
That evening after settling the children in for the night in the livery, Sydnee and Fletcher met Mortimer downstairs to explain everything. Mortimer shook his head in dismay at the size of the abduction operation. He said that he recently learned the group had been banned from Memphis because they had been marketing kidnapped slaves along with the street urchins.
“Did they catch any of them?”
“Not a one,” Mortimer said. “They slithered away like serpents.”
After that Dr. Locke asked to be shown around the livery which pleased Mortimer immensely. It was apparent from the start that the two men had much in common. They compared notes on everything to do with medicine. They discussed diseases, treatments, and folk remedies. Even though their patients were different, their love of healing was the same.
Sydnee followed behind them and after an hour of listening, it became clear that she should simply retire for the evening. They had forgotten about her entirely. The men talked late into the night.
“When I first started out,” Mortimer said, bending down to change a dressing on the leg of a mare. “Sydnee gave me remedies that she acquired on The Trace as a child. Most of them I use to this day, and they are very effective.”
“Yes, I have much to learn about this Hoodoo,” Fletcher said. “How long have you known Mademoiselle Sauveterre?”
“Since I was quite young.”
Fletcher looked over his shoulder furtively. “Do you know her well?”
Mortimer stood up and looked at Fletcher through the strings of his hair. “Yes.”
Locke swallowed hard and asked, “Is she—is she in love with this Saint-Yves?”
Mortimer studied him a moment and then squatted back down again. “She doesn’t look at him the way she looks at you.”
Locke’s palms began to sweat with anticipation. What did he mean by that comment? He longed to ask Mortimer a thousand questions, but he did not dare. Just like D’anton, Mortimer had given him a glimpse inside the secret world of Sydnee Sauveterre and then slammed the door shut. So he swallowed his words and did not pry. He thanked Mortimer for his hospitality and said good night.
Mortimer watched Dr. Locke climb the stairs to bed. He liked this man and was sorry to see yet another victim of their charade. He wanted to tell him that he believed Sydnee was in love with him, but he could not. Mortimer knew that one day the grand masquerade would be over and everyone would know the truth about them all, but he was not about to hasten its coming.
* * *
Dr. Locke chose the most inexpensive paddle wheeler he could find the next morning. It was an old run-down boat used mainly for cargo but completely adequate for their purposes. They purchased a block of rooms and slept as many children per room as the steward would allow.
Even though the journey took several days, it passed quickly for everyone. After the hardships endured, the dirty second class riverboat seemed like the height of luxury.
“We have too many children for the orphanage, Sydnee,” Dr. Locke said late one afternoon.
“I have been wondering about that as well,” she replied.
“Tomorrow when we arrive in Natchez, I propose taking half the children to my home. It may take several months, but we need to set up an orphanage there too.”
Sydnee dropped her eyes and nodded. Something inside of her tightened. “It is a good idea.”
The rest o
f the day, Sydnee felt lost. A year ago, she would have put as much distance as possible between her and Fletcher Locke, but now the thought of being without him filled her with emptiness. Their arduous journey was coming to an end, and she realized she was more miserable than when they had started in St. Louis.
Her sleep was fitful that night. She refused to listen to the spirits, but they were omnipresent, whispering to her and nudging her to go to Fletcher. This time she believed common sense and logic were the best guides and must dictate her actions. She reminded herself that she enjoyed masquerading as Tristan’s inamorata, and nothing was going to upset that arrangement. Indulging in a casual liaison with Locke must not happen. She may lose herself in a whirlwind of emotion and possibly fall in love with him, and then everyone’s safety would be compromised. No, she would stand up straight, square her shoulders, and say goodbye to him in Natchez.
The next morning when the paddle wheeler edged up to the landing, Sydnee distracted herself by helping fifteen of the children get ready to go ashore. Fletcher was taking a variety of ages with him to Natchez, keeping as many children as possible together who had grown close during the journey.
When they informed the children that some were leaving, there were tears and protests, but Fletcher said when they were settled perhaps they could organize a visit to see each other again.
It was a somber moment when they walked down the landing stage to shore. The children were dirty and in ragged clothes carrying packs on their backs, tears streaking their faces. None of them were talking. Even the little ones were quiet. Several of them sucked their thumbs sensing something was wrong.
Fletcher placed his battered hat on his head and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He had not shaved in several days, and his face was sunburned. He picked up a toddler and took the hand of another who waddled down the landing stage beside him.
Sydnee and the children who remained on board lined up along the railing watching the group walk to shore. When the last child stepped on land, Fletcher turned around and pushed his hat back. He looked into Sydnee’s eyes for a long time with an unspoken farewell, and then he turned and started up the hill with children tagging along behind him.
Sydnee watched until he was out of sight, a sickening ache clutching her stomach. At last the whistle blew, and the grimy old paddle wheeler backed out onto the Mississippi heading for New Orleans.
Chapter 29
Sydnee tried to return to her life in New Orleans, but she was fundamentally changed. She pushed thoughts of Locke to the back of her mind, but the emptiness inside her grew with each passing day. Weeks dragged on with only a few letters from him with news about the orphanage in a business-like tone. He was busy looking for a building, taking care of children and acquainting himself with Natchez society. She burned with jealousy to think that maybe some attractive, well-educated coquette had caught his eye.
More than ever Sydnee’s life as hostess seemed shallow and superfluous. She was bored and unfulfilled, preferring the dirty, uncertain life on the trail to the heavily perfumed illusions of the salon. Although she knew that generating income for the children was of the utmost importance, she was tired of entertaining witty, sharp-tongued intellectuals.
Nevertheless, by September, it was becoming apparent that funds were depleting. It was time for a benefit. Sydnee made arrangements with a friend who had a plantation just outside of town to host an all-day affair. There would be a picnic in the afternoon and a ball in the evening. Everyone was returning to the city now, and Sydnee would promote it as the social event of the season, generating anticipation, curiosity and hefty donations.
She threw herself into planning the event. She made many trips out to the Fontaine plantation to discuss food, entertainment and a guest list. One evening when she returned, Marie met her at the door looking anxious. Sydnee was pulling off her gloves when the young woman said, “He was out there again today, Mademoiselle.”
“Who?”
“The man. The man in the greatcoat,” Marie said.
Sydnee thought she would faint. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought nothing of it the first time. He stood on the sidewalk petting Atlantis, but he came again today and brought a bone. I watched him from the window. He rubbed it all over his neck and then handed it to her.”
Sydnee’s jaw dropped. She darted to the window and looked outside. Even though the street was empty, she called Atlantis in, locked the doors and had Marie check the windows. “From now on Atlantis stays in the courtyard. This man is trying to gain her trust so he can--” and Sydnee checked herself. “He is not to be trusted.”
“You know him?” Marie said, wide-eyed.
Sydnee nodded. “I met him once years ago.”
“What is he up to?”
“That is what I would like to know.”
A few days passed by, and they did not see the shadowy creature again, but Sydnee felt his presence. She could feel the hatred emanating from him, and her intuition told her that this man was familiar with the dark arts. She realized that is why his presence at the stand, so many years ago, had signaled immediate danger.
* * *
The last week of September arrived, and it was the morning of the benefit. It was a glorious day and a perfect temperature. Tristan and Sydnee took the landau out to the Fontaine plantation that morning, and they were in high spirits. “This is a wonderful idea,” Tristan said to Sydnee.
“I hope everything goes well. Any word from Isabel?”
“She returns in a few days. She said that she is eating a bit more, but I am not sure I believe her,” Tristan said.
Sydnee nodded, and they were silent for a while. Isabel’s health was in decline again. She had gone to her parent’s plantation with Delphine to recuperate for a few months.
At last, Tristan said with a smile, “You will never believe this, but D’anton will be out later with his wife.”
“Paula Devereaux is actually coming to an affair that I host?” asked Sydnee.
Tristan laughed. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Her friends pressured her to come, and she yields only because it is for a good cause.”
Sydnee rolled her eyes.
The landau pulled up to the front steps of the Fontaine house, a glorious plantation home. Lush sprawling lawns led down to a cargo landing on the Mississippi which had been transformed into a terrace for guests decorated with Chinese lanterns.
The wealthiest and most influential residents of New Orleans and the surrounding parishes began to arrive by midafternoon. Sydnee and Florence Fontaine had tables and chairs set up outside for the barbeque, or guests could take blankets and sit on the lawn. Slaves roasted pork and beef on a spit near the kitchen as freshly baked breads were pulled from the oven and salads prepared. Cool juleps stuffed with mint were served as well as gin, absinthe and iced tea.
Florence Fontaine was a consummate hostess. She was an attractive woman about Sydnee’s age who was unflappable and poised. With a talent for making each guest feel completely at home, Madame Fontaine genuinely enjoyed entertaining.
After the picnic, guests lounged in the gardens or in the gazebos. Some couples took rowboats out onto the lake while others played lawn games. Early in the evening, everyone changed into formal attire for supper and when the sun set, the ball began. The Fontaines had a huge ballroom on the second floor with French doors that opened out onto a gallery that wrapped around the house. After dancing, guests could stroll out to enjoy the night air or walk down to watch the moonlight on the river.
Sydnee especially liked the landing by the river. It looked beautiful in the muted light of the lanterns, their orange glow reflecting in the water. A light breeze carried strains of music down to the river along with the scent of autumn flowers.
It was not until late in the evening that Sydnee danced with Tristan. She was wearing a copper-colored gown of embroidered silk, and her hair was dressed with pearl combs.
“You look beautiful tonight. I ha
ve not seen this gown before, have I?” he asked.
“No, you have not, thank you.” He twirled her around in the waltz, and she asked, “Have you talked with Paula yet?”
“I have been putting it off.”
“I spoke with her briefly, but she--” Sydnee broke off, looking suddenly over her shoulder.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
“I thought I saw—oh, never mind.”
On the next turn around the floor, Sydnee looked again and gasped. It was Fletcher Locke, dressed in formal attire, standing by the French doors speaking with a couple. When Tristan waltzed her again around the floor, she flashed Fletcher a dazzling smile.
He glared at her, took his drink and went outside.
When the waltz ended, Sydnee fought the impulse to chase after him. She was confused and angry. What was the problem? Why was she met with such animosity? They had parted on good terms in Natchez, and she had answered all of his letters. Sydnee ground her teeth. The man is not even back an hour, and already he is upsetting me.
She visited with a few other guests before walking out onto the terrace. It was getting late. There were few people outside, and thunder was rumbling in the distance. Following the lamp lit walkway down to the river, she found Fletcher alone on the landing, smoking and looking out at the water. In the dim light of the Chinese lanterns it was hard to see his expression, but Sydnee could feel his anger.
“I had no idea you were coming tonight,” she said. Her mouth was dry, and she was on edge.
“Word travels far about Mademoiselle Sauveterre’s soirees,” he said sarcastically. He ran his eyes over her gown and then took a puff of his cigar. “You and Saint-Yves make a striking couple.”
Sydnee realized at that moment that Fletcher had never seen her with Tristan before.
Ignoring his comment, she asked, “Are you staying long in New Orleans?”
“I leave tomorrow,” he said flatly and then threw his cigar in the river.
Thunder rumbled again and Fletcher looked up at the sky. He took his dress coat from the railing and started to roll down his sleeves. “It’s going to rain. I’m heading back to the city.”
The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Page 32
