by Andre Norton
“What is called voodoo, yes. Now—you must remain here for the present while I make certain arrangements.” But still she stood regarding the paper. “This raises—” Again she broke off, then continued, with her first warmth of tone. “I shall return as soon as I can. No one must know you are here. Such a house as this is not recognized by the ladies you move among. Do you understand me? You must not, for the sake of your good name, be seen by any of my guests.” Her warning was seriously meant, I could see.
“But I can't stay here—”
“You can and must, until you can leave unobserved. Did I not say that I owed your father a debt? I shall not involve his daughter in any action which will blacken the Penfold name. Talk is cheap, as the old saying goes. There is always a lot of idle talk here, mainly mud-tinged. We shall be what we can to find Miss Sauvage, though it would seem that she has ventured into very dark ways indeed.”
Mrs. Pleasant did not give me back the drawing. She still held it as she left me. A moment later I was sure I heard the turn of a key in the door lock. Was she making sure I would not be intruded upon by one of her famous “guests,” or was I to be kept secure to save me from flouting her warning? The fact was that at that moment I could not have fled anyway. My limbs were as heavy as my eyelids, and a languor, born of fatigue and nervous exhaustion, pushed me into a dream-filled sleep.
When I awoke I was not in the chair by the fire, but lay at greater ease on a divan, a shawl over me. I was still drowsy but not so much that I did not see Mrs. Pleasant once again by the tea table, her head resting against the chair back. She was intent upon a small object she held in a pair of tongs.
A pair of tongs—as Alain had held the gris-gris he had burned! Alain! I sat upright with a muttered exclamation and my hostess turned her head to look at me.
Then, as if she did not want me to see what she had been holding, she thrust the tongs’ burden into the very heart of the fire. Again I was reminded of Alain's action. Where was he? Had he returned to find me gone? I must get back to the hotel as quickly as I could.
“Victorine—what have you found out about her?”
“Only a little. She is not with the man of whom you spoke. He is here in the city, however, and is being watched—well watched.” Mrs. Pleasant's voice was decisive. “It is my belief he has hidden her someplace. That we must discover before he realizes his presence is known.”
“You can do that?”
“Given time—yes.” She spoke with such confidence I believed her.
“Time—how long have I been here? Alain—Mr. Sauvage—has he returned?”
She smiled and worked her magic again. I was soothed, reassured.
“It is five o'clock. And Mr. Sauvage had not arrived. Submit reports the telegram missed him in Virginia City. He had already left to visit another mine farther north. But a messenger has been sent after him.”
“I must get back to the hotel—” I pushed away the shawl still covering my knees. Though I would not admit it, I felt a little giddy.
“You need not worry. I have sent a note to Mrs. Deaves. She knows you are not only safe but are striving to find Victorine.”
Mrs. Deaves—who had called this quiet, smiling woman wicked. If Augusta Deaves thought I was in league with “Mammy” Pleasant what story would she bear to Alain? I stood up to look for my cape and my hat.
“Now you are disturbed, but why? You have nothing to fear from Augusta Deaves. She understands now that she must aid instead of hinder you.”
“But she spoke as if she hated you!” I was so amazed I blurted that out before I thought.
Mrs. Pleasant's gentle smile never changed. “She has no reason to hate me, child. I have pointed that out to her but she will not believe me; mainly because fear feeds fear. Sometimes people indulge in foolish actions and someone learns of their folly. Then follows fear of exposure. However, I know many secrets and keep those well. Mrs. Deaves has no reason to fear me, every reason to aid you and Miss Sauvage. She will do all she can to help.
“As for your leaving here—that cannot be done as yet. My guests are arriving, and you must remain unseen. Later we shall provide a way for you to go unnoticed. Also, it is better you stay until we learn where Miss Sauvage is so we can bring her out of hiding. Perhaps by this time she will be better advised of the character of D'Lys, will be very grateful for being found. If he has not gone too far—”
“You mean taken such action that she will have to marry him?”
“That—or other matters.” Mrs. Pleasant did not enlarge on the second part of her reply.
So I was forced to be content while she left and returned shortly thereafter with another tray of food. It was a superbly cooked meal, such as to tempt even a small appetite. But I chafed at my imprisonment.
I even took to listening at the door after Mrs. Pleasant left again. There was the sound of laughter, muted voices. Once a woman sang a sentimental ballad in a languishing voice, to be paid with a crackle of applause. The door had been locked again, but this time Mrs. Pleasant had been frank about that, saying she did not want anyone to intrude upon me.
I kept thinking of my own folly, that intermingled with my worry over Victorine. I shrank from picturing what Alain's return might bring. For my own part in this bizarre happening there could be only censure.
Mrs. Pleasant presented an enigma I could not solve. She had summoned me to a house where she admitted I must not be seen, yet her promise of aid was, I was sure, honestly made. Her discussion of Mrs. Deaves, was there a hint of blackmail in that? And to this add voodoo—
Amélie had been drugged nearly to death. Was Victorine a second victim, controlled by another's will? I had heard of strange drugs which produced hallucinations—could such hellish devices be part of voodoo?
I found my patience wearing very thin by the time Mrs. Pleasant returned.
“You have learned something?” I demanded even before she closed the door.
“A hint only, but one we can act upon. If she is in the place suggested to me, we can bring her away. However, that hint came to me through several sources and such rumors can be false. But I am told she believes herself to be safely hidden until D'Lys comes for her, and she is entirely devoted to him. I have no key to compel her to come away, save force, and that would bring unwelcome attention. All I can do at present is make sure she can leave if she wishes. Do you understand?”
“Where is she?” That speech had been so full of half-bints and implications it irritated me—I wanted the bare truth.
I think she was weighing the need for being frank against reticence before she answered. Perhaps it was because I was my father's daughter she did answer.
“She is, according to report, at the Red Rooster. That is a parlor house—a French parlor house.”
Though her accenting of the “French” meant nothing to me (I was not that worldly wise), I guessed at the meaning of the other term.
“But them—she—” I was filled with such horror that I could not speak coherently.
“No, she is only in safe keeping there. That is all, I swear.”
“And you are not entirely sure she is there—”
“I am as sure as I can be without seeing her myself. When this D'Lys returns—my people have lost sight of him—I do not know where he plans to take her. Nor do we know when he shall return.”
“Then we must go to her. She knows me—will listen to me certainly. She cannot be utterly lost to all that is right, she is so young—”
“If she will not listen”—Mrs. Pleasant spoke with a deliberation which gave her words deeper emphasis—“you must take measures to get her to go with you. Once we can bring her here, D'Lys cannot bother you.”
“But we must take her back to the hotel—”
“To do that before Mr. Sauvage returns would be folly. If you cannot convince her, can you keep her prisoner in her room there without courting the very notice you do not wish?”
Her logic was right. But the path ahead
seemed to me to lead deeper and deeper into trouble. Yet I had to agree, if reluctantly, to her proposal.
“You cannot come with me as you are. You must be no young lady, but rather someone likely to be seen in such a place. Not—” she read aright my start of repugnance—” one of the regular habitués. But it is customary that the maids in such houses be of Negro or mixed race. Many of them have been hired through my agency by the keepers of such establishments. Thus tonight I shall simply be calling on an acquaintance with a maid she might or might not want to hire. That will introduce us to the house. If Miss Sauvage is there, it shall then be your duty to persuade her to leave with us. If she refuses—there is another way—”
She crossed the room to where stood a tall cabinet, a beautiful piece of Chinese design, with a double front panel inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Taking a ring of keys from her seam pocket, she unlocked those doors. Within were two sections of narrow drawers, and she chose from one a paper packet.
Having carefully closed and relocked the cabinet, she advanced to the full light of the lamp, placing the packet on the table. For a moment she regarded it intently and then nodded, as if in answer to her own thoughts.
“Do not touch this,” she cautioned. “I shall be back very shortly.”
So swiftly and soundlessly did she move, she might have vanished as do the characters in some fantastic story. Then she was back, a handkerchief in her hand. This she spread flat on the table before she tipped onto it the contents of the packet, a saffron yellow dust. Turning up the corners of the linen square she tied those together to form a loose bag.
“If she refuses to listen to you, you will have this. Be ready to loosen it quickly—so—” She inserted one finger to prove how easily a corner could be loosened. “Then throw the powder into her face!”
“What! But what will it to do her?”
“If she is under the influence of D'Lys as we suspect, breathing this will break his control over her. She will become, for a very short time, like one who is sleepwalking. You can lead her by the hand, and she shall be as obedient to your direction as a small child—”
“But what is it?” I shrank from the idea of using such a weird weapon, even if Victorine's future depended on it.
“It is a powdered herb, or rather a mixture of herbs. The effect is not long lasting. And it is harmless, that I swear to you.”
Such was the tone of her voice that I believed her. Only the thought was so strange I hoped that I would not have to put it to the test.
Mrs. Pleasant brought out a second handkerchief to wrap the first. Then she spoke briskly.
“You must darken your skin and I shall bring you a bonnet to help your disguise. Take down your hair so it can be tightly netted under that.”
Though I shrank from all this I knew it must be done. Unhooking my bodice I allowed her to pat a soft wad of cotton, first dipped in a bowl of dark liquid, over my face and throat. When I looked in the mirror as she busied herself netting my hair as tightly as she could, I saw how much the darkening of my skin transformed me. I could indeed now pass as one of mixed blood.
The bonnet she had ready was akin to the face-concealing one Submit had worn. But added to it was a fringe of wiry black curls sewn within, so that when its strings were tied beneath my now brown skin, I had hair to match my complexion.
My own waterproof cape was discarded in place of one more worn and shabby. But my dress, she decided, would do. There came a discreet tap at the door as she submitted my person to a last searching gaze.
“Our hack is here, it is time to go. Oh, you have forgotten!” With an exclamation of annoyance she caught up the handkerchief bundle and thrust it upon me. “Tuck that in your sleeve where you can reach it easily. Your father was a man of great courage and resolution. You are not unlike him in looks; if you share his qualities of character, call upon those now.”
We descended a back staircase, passed through a kitchen filled with delicious smells where my companion paused to inspect the contents of various pans on the stove, speaking to the cook in charge of them. He was a stout man who paid no attention to me huddling back in the shadows.
“This business,” Mrs. Pleasant announced as she pushed upon the back door and we had only the faint glimmer of a single yard lantern to guide us to a high board fence, “must be resolved as soon as possible. It is only by luck that Mr. Lanthen and his family are away from the city. Were they here now, I would have to be at their house—and they are due to return soon.”
At her push a section of the fence swung like a door and I held my skirts tightly against me to squeeze through in her wake. Beyond, in an alley, waited a hack. It might have been the one which brought me here; I did not know.
Nor did Mrs. Pleasant give any directions to the driver. But he set off as if he knew exactly where to go. The drizzle of the early day had stopped, but dampness was heavy in the air. In the light of the infrequent street lamps pools of water glittered in the gutters. And now there was more traffic in the streets through which our conveyance twisted and turned.
Ahead I saw a gleam of light, fire red, not at ground level, but in the air. Now we advanced more slowly. A carriage ahead had pulled to a halt and two men, their voices loudly jovial, alighted, to enter the door under that beacon. Now I could see the light formed a rooster of bright scarlet. There was certainly no mistaking the sign.
But we did not stop before the front door. Instead our hack continued with a sober clip-clop to the corner of the block and turned left, carrying us into another dark alley where the driver at last reined in. Mrs. Pleasant got out.
“Hold up your skirts, girl!” she bade me as I were indeed a would-be maid. “No sense in going to see Madame Célie all draggle-tailed.”
The warning was necessary. Here the pavement, which I could only dimly see, was noisome, the smell noxious. I watched my footing as best I could, reaching another fence where my guide opened a gate. Then we were in a small littered yard. Luckily the far wall of that was badly rotted, for there was no second opening; instead we had to squeeze through a gap to reach an area paved with brick, more stable footing than the alley had allowed.
“Be quiet, and stay a little behind me,” Mrs. Pleasant cautioned in a whisper.
I was just able to make out the outline of a door in the house wall. A single stone step was between that and the yard. Mrs. Pleasant set her feet firmly on that and knocked on the door with a series of small taps.
The portal opened and we came into a narrow back hallway, lighted only by the candle of the woman who greeted us. Of her I saw little save she was Negro and wore the cap and apron of a maid. Nor did I catch the words Mrs. Pleasant murmured to her. She turned and led us to a stairway down which filtered some light.
From the front of the house came the sound of a parlor organ, laughter, and talk. There was the smell of strong scent, the fumes of wine, and the spice of burning incense.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At the top of the stairs opened a second hall carpeted in thick red stuff, lighted by gas jets (turned quite low) in the form of gilded cupids holding aloft torches. The maid continued to the front of the house where there was the head of a wider stair, up the well of which came much louder sounds.
She opened the door of a room which must face the main street and waved us in. Thus I found myself in surroundings my untutored imagination could never have pictured for me. Here the red carpet was overlaid by a scattering of thick fur rugs dyed a golden yellow. Light was provided by amber- and topaz-banded lamps. There were no signs of windows, for crimson drapes of velvet fell, in gold-fringed folds, to hide the outer world.
Overhead the ceiling was frescoed with nude golden goddesses depicted showering trails of overblown roses. But it was the walls which astonished me the most. Mirrors ran from floor to ceiling in panels, the door through which we had entered being concealed by one such. All were framed in gold and between them were four life-size pictures of nude women painted without any restraint of taste. E
ach was plainly meant to represent a different type of beauty, one brunette, one blonde, one with brown hair, and the last with red.
The bed was very wide, its deeply carved headboard nearly touching the ceiling. Across that headboard played cupids holding more gold roses. While the sheets and pillowcases, revealed by a partly folded back red velvet cover, were of gold satin.
There was a marble-faced fireplace equipped with a gilded screen. Even the fire irons had been treated with a wash to counterfeit that same precious metal.
About were several chairs, all of gilt, with padded crimson velvet seats and backs. And the atmosphere had a thick, cloying scent which made me a little faint. I longed to go to one of the concealed windows, push aside that smothering weight of velvet, and open the panes, let in the night air. There was no sign of Victorine.
“She is not here.” I looked for the door, now so cunningly hidden behind one of the mirrors that I felt trapped.
“She is here—but not in this room. Be quiet, leave all to me.”
Mrs. Pleasant seated herself placidly on one of the chairs as if she were in her own sitting room. The calm dignity with which she moved, the elegance of her dress, put to shame this gaudy chamber. I averted my eyes from the walls, the bed, looked straight at the fireplace. How could Victorine come willingly to such a place? What had happened to her?
The mirrored door was flung open with such force as to suggest that the woman who entered was in a far from amiable temper. Small, she wore a dress as red as the carpet. And that garment was so betasseled, beaded, and sequined in gold that she glittered with every movement.
Her bright chestnut hair was built high into the most elaborate style. Small diamond stars, anchored on almost invisible wires, were entrapped in that edifice, sparkling with every movement of her head. Bracelets thick with the same stones ringed her plump wrists, and a necklace was fully displayed above a bodice cut so low as to be hardly decent.
“Vat you vant now?” Her eyes held the same hard glint as her diamonds as she planted herself before Mrs. Pleasant. She spoke with a thick accent, her voice huskily hoarse.
