The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  The old man raised his gun, but it misfired. When Underwood slammed into him, the weapon fell to the ground, and the horse bolted. They locked together in a struggle. Underwood’s coat was soaked with blood from the gunshot. They staggered down the embankment slogging through the mud, each trying to break free. Underwood was weakened from the wound, and when his grip slipped, Saint-Yves put his hands around his neck. The two men dropped into the water.

  Sydnee backed up the embankment, watching, and then turned and ran. She ran down The Trace around the edge of the swamp and looked back. The two men were still wrestling in the water, splashing and kicking. She saw Saint-Yves try to stand, but Underwood pulled him back down and pushed his head under water.

  Something along the shore caught Sydnee’s eye, and she saw an alligator slip into the water. Across the swamp, another one crawled in as well.

  Cuthbert broke free and staggered to his feet, drenched and covered with weeds. The men continued to struggle and then fell back into the water. All at once there were garbled screams, a heavy churning of water and then silence.

  * * *

  Sydnee ran and continued to run for what seemed like hours. Even though she knew the men were dead, she was still terrified and would not feel safe until she was inside Fletcher’s home with the doors locked.

  When she was too spent to run any longer, she staggered down the road by the light of a full moon. The rain had stopped, and the skies cleared. She was not afraid of the The Trace after dark. It would always be her home.

  The spirits accompanied her all the way back to Natchez, urging her forward and guarding her. She was deeply thankful to them for rescuing her and promised good works and offerings as gratitude.

  It was late by the time she stumbled up to Fletcher’s house. She knew that at this hour it would be locked, so she went around to the kitchen where she saw a light.

  “Mademoiselle Sauveterre!” Questa exclaimed when she opened the door. The servant was banking the fire for the night. “What happened?”

  Sydnee told her nothing, saying only that she visited someone on The Trace and had gotten lost. Questa brought water, and after bathing, Sydnee dropped into Fletcher’s bed, sick with exhaustion.

  She slept late into the next day, and when she opened her eyes Fletcher was standing over her. He sat down on the bed and put his hand to her cheek. “What is it? Are you ill? I have been so worried.”

  Sydnee sat up and hugged his neck, overjoyed to see him.

  “When did you return?” she asked.

  “Early this morning. Questa said that you were lost on The Trace, and I knew that was a lie. What happened?”

  She pushed the hair from her face, sat cross-legged on the bed and told him everything. Fletcher listened wide-eyed. In less than an hour, he learned about Sydnee’s relationship with Tristan, the love affair between Mortimer and Isabel and the death of D’anton. When she told him about Cuthbert Saint-Yves and Underwood, he grew pale. Overwhelmed with all the information, he would pace and then sit back down, then pace again. He shook his head in disbelief and would gasp with astonishment.

  “All this happened in just a few days, Sydnee. I am in shock.” He looked her over anxiously. “Have you been hurt in anyway?”

  “Mosquito bites, and that’s all,” she said with relief.

  Fletcher was dumbfounded. Standing up, he went to the window. “Tomorrow I will retrieve the horse and wagon, if they haven’t been stolen.”

  “I want to go with you,” Sydnee said.

  “No, you should not go back there.”

  “That shack on The Trace was probably Underwood’s hideout,” she explained. “I believe he may have taken the ledgers there. Even though the ringleaders are dead, I want those ledgers, and I want the authorities to know of the operation so others like Brother Jackson cannot resurrect it.”

  Fletcher sighed. “Very well.”

  They pored over and over the events throughout the day and slept in each other’s arms that night. Fletcher could at last put his mind to rest about Sydnee’s devotion to him, and Sydnee felt secure once more.

  The next morning they rode out to where Underwood had taken Sydnee and found the horse grazing along the road still hitched to the wagon. “I am surprised she wasn’t stolen or attacked by a panther,” Fletcher said, dismounting.

  “I am surprised too,” Sydnee said, looking around the area with a frown.

  “Where were they fighting, Sydnee?”

  She pointed to the edge of the swamp. Fletcher walked over and looked at the water. There was no trace of clothing and no signs of a struggle. He murmured, “Gone, just like that. Good riddance.”

  Sydnee dismounted. “I am going into the shack.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  It was a one room broken down hovel which was filthy, smelled of urine, and unwashed bedding. Sydnee put her sleeve to her nose and scanned the room. There was just a rickety bed, table, one chair, and a few cooking implements.

  Fletcher put gloves on. He pulled the mattress up and looked underneath it, opened a dusty cupboard and then scanned the rafters. Sydnee pulled up some loose floor boards, but there was nothing under them but damp earth.

  They walked around the outside of the house which was overgrown with weeds, and Fletcher looked down into an old dried up well. He pulled the bucket up and inside was a burlap bag. “Sydnee!” he called.

  She ran over as he opened it. The ledgers were inside. “Oh!” she gasped with relief. “Thank God!”

  “Let’s go home and look at these things.”

  They took their midday meal to the library, pulled the mask out of the book and started looking at dates and names. “I recognize some of these names,” Fletcher said. “Relatives have contacted the hospital looking for these children. With any luck we can reunite them.”

  For hours they examined the documents and then in the middle of the afternoon, Sydnee thought of something. Saying nothing to Fletcher, she grabbed the earliest ledger that they had recovered. Placing the mask over several pages, she scanned the entries. Her palms were sweating, and her heart was pounding. She stopped at the bottom of one of the pages. It read,

  Newborn, Victor Sauveterre, Natchez Trace, July 1831.

  Sydnee stared at the page. Her baby had not died at birth. Holding her breath, she read the next line,

  Purchased, Denis and Magali Germain, St. Louis, Missouri, August 1831

  When she looked up, Fletcher was watching her. “What is it?”

  With clenched fists, she walked to the window. Now she knew that her father had sold her baby to the man in the greatcoat. Sometime that night when she had given birth, he had sold her child.

  Sydnee turned to Fletcher and said, “I have something else to tell you.”

  * * *

  Later that day they turned the mask and ledgers over to the authorities. Sydnee told them of the struggle and the alligator attack, and after hours of questioning, they allowed her to go. The constables said they would inform Madame Saint-Yves of the death of her husband and begin monitoring the streets for abduction operations.

  “Shall I purchase our tickets for Memphis?” Fletcher asked Sydnee.

  “Yes, I know Tristan, Isabel and Mortimer are anxious for information,” she said.

  “And you are anxious to find your child.”

  Sydnee bit her lip. “Yes, I am anxious indeed,” she said.

  “This morning I was combing the ledgers, and four children that were abducted this past year were purchased by people in the St. Louis area,” he added.

  “And their relatives are looking for them?”

  “Yes, so I will search for them too.”

  They arrived in Memphis a week later and checked into the hotel where Tristan and Isabel were staying. It was a reunion filled with tears and sorrow but also of hope.

  They decided they would discuss everything over supper in Mortimer’s lodgings that night. He was still living over the l
ivery, but his furnishings were greatly improved. In the past few months, he had added new furniture, a plush Turkish carpet, and countless leather-bound volumes to the bookcases lining the walls. It warmed Sydnee the moment she stepped into the room.

  They ate first, and Tristan and Isabel made small talk with Fletcher trying to make him feel comfortable and welcome. Although they were gracious and warm, Sydnee could see they were on edge. They were anxious for news from New Orleans.

  After Delphine went to bed, they gathered around the fire. Isabel sat with her hand on Mortimer’s arm, looking stronger than she had in years with Mortimer stealing looks at her as if he was an infatuated schoolboy. Sydnee knew their love would never waiver, and she was glad, but Tristan had changed. He looked drawn, and his eyes were no longer the brilliant blue she loved. Now they were a lifeless gray. He had aged, and Sydnee knew that he would never fully recover from D’anton’s death. She dreaded telling him about his father’s demise, but when the time came, he showed no sign of emotion. “I am sorry I brought you more distressing news, Tristan,” she said.

  “Don’t be sorry, Sydnee. He was never a father to me. I can honestly say that I am relieved he is gone.”

  “And what now?”

  He sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well, I will have to meet with mother to discuss selling our properties and holdings in Louisiana and Mississippi. I assume she will not want to stay in the area.

  “Have you decided yet where you will live?” Mortimer asked.

  “As you know, I have been giving it a lot of thought,” Tristan said. “And for now, I will travel and possibly get involved in some new business ventures. I believe rail transportation is the future of this country, and I am going to invest heavily in it.” Then Tristan looked at Sydnee. “Just as steamboats put an end to The Natchez Trace, so too will railroads be the end of the paddle wheeler. I plan on being the first to make money on it.”

  “But you must not stray too far from Delphine,” Isabel added.

  “I could never stay away from her or from Charles. I think I will start out in Saratoga. If mother refuses to come with me, that is her choice, but I will bring Charles. He is of age and ready to spread his wings.”

  “And we too are spreading our wings,” Isabel said, smiling. “We are moving to St. Louis.”

  Sydnee’s eyebrows shot up. “Leaving here?”

  “Oh no,” Mortimer said. “I am opening another livery up there. The city is bursting at the seams, and needs care for all the horses and oxen going west.”

  “And it is a town with all sorts of people coming and going all the time,” Isabel said. “I will live there as Mortimer’s wife, and no one will care. There will be no more insular Creole society choking us to death. Now more than ever I realize that we must cling to happiness while we can.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment thinking of D’anton.

  “And what of you, Sydnee?” Isabel asked.

  “Oh, my life is still in New Orleans,” she said looking at Fletcher. “But first I must pay a visit to St. Louis.”

  * * *

  A few days before they left Memphis, Sydnee posted a letter to Giselle telling her about Tristan’s plan for Charles, the discovery of Cuthbert Saint-Yves’ involvement in orphan sales, and his demise. She also told her she would be visiting St. Louis soon, where she was staying, and her reason for coming. “Just like you, I am searching for a child. Now more than ever, I understand the grief and pain you have endured over these years.”

  It was early November when they arrived in St. Louis and gray clouds hung over the city. After settling into the hotel, Sydnee put on her blue plaid dress and navy jacket with braid.

  “You really think it is cold?” asked Fletcher. “You would not do well in England.”

  “I think it would be very difficult for me,” she admitted. “I am born and bred a Southern girl.”

  “Are we ready?” he said, offering his arm, and they started for the courthouse to search public records. Sydnee was anxious about what they might find and wondered how she would feel if she found her daughter after so many years. She realized that she didn’t even know her name.

  It did not take long to locate the Germains. They owned a home in a respectable neighborhood of St. Louis, not far from the city center. “Well?” Fletcher said. “What would you like to do?”

  “Let’s walk past the house,” Sydnee replied, swallowing hard. “We will take a look.”

  It was a short walk along the river and past the cathedral. They wound through the streets looking at addresses. Sydnee had been too distracted the first time they were here to notice the houses were very different from New Orleans. They were constructed of wood and did not have enclosed courtyards, galleries or balconies. Most of them were flat-faced dwellings with shingle siding and dark shutters. Although they looked new and were very practical, she thought they were plain and lacked style.

  Fletcher stopped in front of one of the houses. “Here it is, Sydnee.”

  The Germain home was a tidy wood frame dwelling with white-washed siding, green shutters and lace curtains in the windows. Instead of standing in front of it staring, they walked across the cobblestone street and stood under an elm tree. Pedestrians walked back and forth, carts and wagons rolled by, but no one emerged from the house.

  Fletcher wondered how long Sydnee would stand there in silence. She stared at the house as if memorizing every detail. She wondered if her daughter was still there, if the family was good to her, or if they passed her off to someone else who was in need of low cost labor. Sydnee longed for a glimpse of someone, but no one emerged. The longer she waited, the more melancholy she became. At last she gathered her jacket around her as if she was chilled and said, “I am done.”

  As they walked back to the hotel, Fletcher waited for a reaction. He watched her closely, but her face was inscrutable. He worried that hideous memories may flood her, or maybe she would burst into tears, but she walked beside him quietly, revealing nothing. He wanted her to talk with him, but he knew he should not press her. For all of her warmth and gentle charm, he understood that she was a private person.

  When they arrived at the hotel, the clerk handed Sydnee a note. Sitting down on the edge of a circular divan in the lobby, she read it. “It is from my friend, Madame Picard!” she gasped, looking up.

  “Your teacher?”

  Sydnee nodded. “She wants us to come to supper tonight.”

  “She is here in St. Louis?”

  “Yes indeed, to my surprise!” Sydnee exclaimed, the color returning to her face.

  Fletcher was relieved. It was good to see her smile again.

  Sydnee fluttered around her hotel room that afternoon doing her hair and trying on gowns. Everything had to be perfect. She was seeing Madame Picard again. Suddenly she dropped her arms. Giselle had been responsible for this reunion. Ever since the meeting with Charles, Giselle had helped Sydnee over and over again. For all of her cold reserve, Giselle had a generous soul indeed. She sighed and shook her head. She hoped that somehow the woman had found some peace.

  When they stepped out of the hackney in front of Madame Picard’s house that evening, Sydnee smiled. Ninon had the finest home on the block. It was not the biggest house on the street or the most opulent, but it reflected the finest taste and refinement of any dwelling in the neighborhood. It did not surprise her.

  When they started up the walk the door flew open, and Madame Picard rushed out to embrace Sydnee. Fletcher removed his hat and stepped back, smiling. He watched the women cry and laugh and babble incoherently.

  At last Madame Picard, wiped her eyes and said, “Oh, my goodness, how do you do, Dr. Locke? I apologize. My students would be appalled if they saw me. I believe I have broken every rule of etiquette today. Please come inside.”

  Madame’s housekeeper met them at the door. “I am sorry, madam. I didn’t hear them knock.”

  “They did not have a chance to knock, Francis,” Madame Picard said, laughing. “I
bolted out the moment I saw them.”

  The housekeeper curtsied and went back to the kitchen to attend to supper.

  Ninon Picard showed them into the parlor, a cozy room, decorated in soft olive greens with pearl accents. After pulling the doors closed, Madame Picard said quietly, “The name I use now is Mrs. Prouveaux. Although it is unlikely my past will follow me this far north, Missouri is still a slave state, and I must be careful.”

  Although she was still a beauty, Sydnee noticed fine lines around her eyes, and her hair was streaked with more gray. She knew it had been years since she had seen her, but she suspected Madame was still involved in the Underground Railroad.

  With her usual grace and charm, Madame Picard made Fletcher feel at home. She asked him about his life in England and his work with children in Mississippi and Louisiana. There was so much to share, and they talked about everything from Madame’s escape, to smuggling women to safety, to the opening of orphanages and at last Cuthbert Saint-Yves’ involvement in child abductions.

  “And you have a finishing school up here?” Fletcher asked at supper.

  “I do indeed. The parents are quite different from the New Orleans’ Creole, but they are just as eager for their children to learn social graces.”

  “Do you participate in St. Louis society?” asked Sydnee.

  Madame Picard took a sip of wine and shook her head. “I lead a quiet life. It is very different here and much of the population is transient. Many of their customs are alien to me, and I prefer to stay at home with my books and my needlework.”

  After their dessert soufflé, Madame Picard said carefully, “Forgive me my dear, but Giselle said you are here to search for your daughter.”

  The smile faded from Sydnee’s face, and she nodded. “We found the home of the couple who originally purchased her, but we know nothing about them or if she is with them any longer.”

  “What is the name?”

  “Germain. Denis and Magali Germain.”

  Madame Picard started. “Germain?”

  “Yes.”

  Blinking, she looked from Sydnee to Fletcher and back again. “I know them. I have their child in my class.”