She was short—not quite five feet if Lilly had to guess— and there was not an ounce of extra flesh on her small frame. Her face was a network of wrinkles, powdered and rouged, but with exquisite care. Her hair was curly and as white as a fresh-washed bedsheet, with unruly tendrils escaping to frame her delicate features. Her eyes were as black as Lucifer and filled with a quiet intelligence. Unlike the cat, Lilly suspected that everything that went on in the house was of interest to the petite woman.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, Madam Fontenot. Madam, Mr. Bran Sullivan, his wife, Brona, and his brother, Robbie.”
The mistress of the house gave them each a quick once-over with those sharp dark eyes and then, smiling a smile of welcome, she said, “Welcome to New Orleans and my home. We are so very glad you’re here.”
CHAPTER 7
After a brief visit with Mrs. Fontenot, who seemed quite taken with young Robbie, the boy went off with Bernard to the room they would share, and Cade carried his and Lilly’s bags to their new room. Situated on the north side of the house, it overlooked the shaded backyard with the stables beyond.
An iron bedstead up against one wall and covered with a colorful quilt was the room’s focal point, and a narrow and simply crafted pine armoire was placed across from it. A plain pine chest of drawers and a shaving stand with a mirror atop sat on either side. A comfortable-looking chair sat near the window. Matching rag rugs lay on either side of the bed, which Lilly eyed with a sense of trepidation.
Seeing the expression on her face, Cade gave what could only be described as a disgusted snort. “Have no fear for your virtue, madam. I will be perfectly happy to sleep on the floor.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Well, perhaps happy is a bit overstating it.”
“If you think humor and a smile will soften my heart and I will agree to letting you share this bed, you are sorely mistaken,” she snapped, though the image that filled her mind left her feeling a trifle shaky.
He sobered in an instant. “I can assure you, Brona, I have seen little in our short acquaintance that leads me to believe that your heart can be softened. Whoever the man was who hurt you left nothing behind to work with.”
Lilly sucked in a sharp breath, both at the callousness and insight of his words. Was her disillusionment so obvious? Biting her lower lip, she pivoted toward the window. “The condition of my heart, sir, is none of your concern.”
“You’re right. It isn’t.”
She turned at the sound of him flopping onto the bed. He lay on his back, his fingers laced behind his head. “So what do you think so far?”
Lilly’s forehead puckered as she sorted out her impressions. She was hesitant to tell him anything since she preferred to make as much headway as possible on this case by her own wit and skill. As far as she was concerned, her “partner” was just a nuisance she had to deal with along the way.
When he just lay there regarding her with an enigmatic expression, she said, “I think Mrs. Abelard will be a hard taskmaster and that Mrs. Fontenot may be old, but she has a very sharp mind. I’m glad Bernard is here for Robbie, even though he is a bit older.”
“I agree all around,” Cade concurred. “You’ll be working a lot with Lamartine. She and Amos should be a good source of information about the family.”
She nodded. “Pierce has always maintained that the servants know as much about what goes on in a household as the homeowners, and it’s been my experience that, in general, women like to talk.”
“Tread lightly with your questions,” Cade warned. “We don’t want to rouse any suspicion.”
“Certainly,” Lilly said with a hint of asperity. Did the wretched man think she was a total nincompoop?
“I’ll do the same with Amos. He’ll know a lot about the doctor’s habits. And don’t forget Robbie.”
“Robbie?” She’d never thought of him as any real help to the investigation. She’d been more worried about him pilfering some valuable trinket and all of them getting the boot or going to jail before they could accomplish their goals.
“Yes, Robbie,” Cade said, sitting up abruptly and resting his forearms on his raised knees. “He’s very good at making himself inconspicuous. He’s also an excellent judge of character, and he has an uncanny way of finding out the most obscure things.”
“How?”
Cade’s wry smile was tinged with grimness. “I don’t know, and I’m fairly certain I’d rather not be told.” Without missing a beat, he asked, “Tell me about Pierce.”
“Pierce?” she echoed. “Why?”
“Because for all intents and purposes, we’re man and wife, and the more we know about each other’s pasts, the more believable we’ll be.”
“Pierce is Sir Pierce Wainwright. He’s the manager of the troupe I’ve been with for several years.”
“But he isn’t your father?”
“He’s the only father I’ve ever known, and his wife, Rose, has been my mother since I was eleven.”
“What happened to your real mother?”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions, McShane?” she said, hitting him with the same reply he had given her on more than one occasion.
“Touché.” In a sudden move, as if he were suddenly tired of the conversation, he stood, the motion smooth and fluid for a man his size.
“She was murdered.”
Lilly had no idea what had prompted her to give him the information, when it was a topic of conversation she’d avoided for half her life. But ever since her memory of that day had returned at Heaven’s Gate, it seemed there was no reason to avoid the subject. The pain was there, would always be there, but time had dulled all but the sharpest and most vivid recollections.
Cade, who was tucking his shirt into his trousers more tightly, paused. “Murdered?”
“Yes.”
He was about to respond when there was a rapid knocking on the door and, without waiting for a summons, Robbie poked his head in. “Don’t nobody like the doctor,” he said with a triumphant smile.
Cade glanced from the boy to Lilly. “See, colleen. I told you.”
“Told her what?”
“That you’d be a big help to us.”
“Better help than she will, I wager,” he mumbled, shooting a dark look her way.
“It isn’t a contest, Robbie. It’s a job we’re working on together, and don’t you forget it.”
“An’ how can I be forgettin’ with you remindin’ me every few minutes?” he complained. Then he shoved the pile of black and white he was holding at Lilly. “Here. It’s your dress and apron from Miz Lagasse. She said it might be too big, but it’s all she has right now.”
“Thank you, Robbie,” she said, taking the clothing from him.
“She sent some thread and a needle and said you could have until just before supper to work on it if you like.”
“That isn’t much time.”
“You work on the dress, and Robbie and I will carry up our things,” Cade suggested.
“Thank you.” She was grateful for the help and also that her time with the theater had taught her the necessity of sewing, since the actors were responsible for their costumes for each role they played. “I’m sure it will take a while to make the adjustments.”
* * *
Cade and Robbie, along with Bernard, brought up their bags and then left Lilly while they went down to learn more of their duties. It took every minute of the time allotted to take up the dress, which was too big through the midsection and needed turning up a hem’s length.
She finished the handwork just in the nick of time and hurriedly prepared herself for her new position. The last thing she needed was to be late on the first day.
She washed up and smoothed her hair into a tidy bun. Then she donned the dress and the white apron that boasted a three-inch ruffle over the shoulders and around the edge. A bit frilly for her taste, but thank goodness she wasn’t expected to wear any kind of cap! A quick glance in the mirror told her that she looked her pa
rt, and with a deep breath and a reminder to stay in character throughout the evening, she went downstairs.
Delicious aromas wafted through the air, with the smell of baked chicken reigning supreme.
Lamartine, who was ladling green beans and potatoes into a divided bowl, looked up as Lilly entered the kitchen. After a moment’s scrutiny that raked her from head to toe, the cook gave a single nod. “You’ll do. I knew the dress would be too big, but it’s all I had. It looks like you’re handy with a needle.”
“Yes, thank you,” Lilly told her. “What can I do to help?”
“Watch and listen,” the older woman said. “Mrs. Fontenot has plenty of money, and she likes things done nice, but she isn’t one of those uppity ladies who puts on airs and does everything all fancy-like unless there’s a houseful in attendance for a meal.
“We use the Blue Willow dishes for every day, and the plain white china for formal dinners. Do you know how to set a proper table?”
“I’m afraid not,” Lilly confessed.
Lamartine got out the container that held the silverware and laid out everything the way it should be, explaining the use of the various forks and spoons as she placed them on either side of the plate, telling Lilly that they should be about an inch from the edge of the table. Next, she showed her where to place the different glasses, the salt cellars, and coffee cups.
“Mrs. Abelard has already set the table, but make sure you do it just this way, ’cause she’s the fussy one.” The pretty black woman gave a disdainful sniff. “She tries to impress the doctor,” she noted. “As if anything will ever come of that.”
The instant Lamartine said the words, she shot a mortified look at Lilly, who feigned nonchalance and adjusted one of the glasses the slightest bit.
The awkward moment passed, and Lamartine finished her explanation. “The sherry is on the table. Mrs. Abelard will carve the meat, and the two of you will serve everything else from the sideboard. Normally, it will be just one person serving. One servant for every two people, but she wants you to learn. You Catholic?” she asked suddenly.
“Uh, not a good one, I’m afraid,” Lilly fabricated.
“Well, Madam gives up meat for Lent, and during Holy Week, she only takes one meal a day, at night. Since today is Good Friday, she’ll only take bread and water. Now, in the morning, she’ll most likely have hot chocolate and a bite of toast. That’s not considered breaking fast,” Lamartine explained. “But I’m sure you already know about that, even if you’re a bad Catholic.”
“If Mrs. Fontenot won’t eat anything, what’s all this food for?”
“The doctor. He ain’t no kind of religious from what I can see. And you and your family has to eat, and me and mine.”
Lilly nodded.
“If we have guests, coffee is served in the parlor, and the gentlemen go to the study for their brandy and cigars, but since it’s just Madam and the doctor, he’ll have his coffee at the table along with his dessert. She hasn’t been goin’ to evening mass much since Miz Patricia’s been gone, so she’ll go back to her room as soon as she eats. She don’t like spendin’ more time with him than she has to.”
Again, the cook seemed to know she had said too much to the new help.
“I take it Madam Fontenot and Dr. Ducharme aren’t close,” Lilly commented, making sure to use her Irish brogue. “It seems there’s a bit o’ that in every household.”
Before Lamartine could answer, Mrs. Abelard’s heavily accented voice sounded from the doorway. “What’s the holdup, Lamartine? Madam and the doctor are already seated.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Abelard,” Lamartine said in a diffident voice. “I was just trying to explain to Brona how you like things done.”
“I like things done at the proper time, as you well know,” the housekeeper snapped. “Brona, you bring that bowl of vegetables, and I’ll bring the chicken. Lamartine, you carry the gravy boat and the bread.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the two underlings chorused. Dishes in hand, the trio filed into the dining room, where the two household members sat, Henri Ducharme at the head of the long table and LaRee Fontenot, dressed in a gown of unrelenting black, seated at his right.
The doctor, who Lilly knew was forty-seven, was indeed a handsome man. Of medium height, he had a bladelike nose, arresting blue eyes, a dimpled chin, and a mouth that most would describe as sensual. He had no mustache, and his slightly curly dark hair had gone gray at the temples. It was easy to see how a certain type of woman might be drawn to him.
As soon as the items were placed on the sideboard, Lamartine disappeared into the kitchen and Mrs. Abelard set about carving the perfectly browned hen. “Watch carefully how I do this,” she said sotto voce.
With low instructions and watching her superior, Lilly took careful note of how things were done.
As they served the meal, it was easy to see that Lamartine was right. Hedda Abelard was definitely aware of the doctor, whose every smile sent a blush rushing into the cheeks of the austere German. When the meal was served, she and Lilly stood at the ends of the sideboard, their hands folded, waiting.
“How are the preparations for Sunday’s lawn party coming along?” Henri asked Madam. Even as he spoke, his gaze met the housekeeper’s.
“It is my understanding that they are coming along nicely,” Mrs. Fontenot said. The expression on her wrinkled face looked as if she’d taken a bite of a green persimmon. She laid aside her crust of bread. “I really wish you would call this party off, Henri.”
“Now, Grand-mère,” he said in a voice reeking with condescension.
Mrs. Fontenot’s lips tightened.
“We’ve been through this a hundred times.”
“And I have not changed my mind on the matter,” the old woman told him in a sharp tone. “Not only is it Holy Week, but it’s far too soon to be entertaining with Suzannah in her grave such a short time. Not to mention that your wife is locked up in an asylum.”
“As you well know, I do not share your religious beliefs, so the fact that it is Holy Week is of little consequence to me,” he said, eyeing a bite of chicken critically. “Mrs. Abelard, please inform Lamartine that the chicken is a bit dry. She needs to watch it more carefully the next time.”
His patronizing attitude made Lilly want to walk over and slap the smugness from his face.
“Yes, Doctor.”
Mrs. Fontenot pinned the doctor with a critical gaze once more. “Well, what about poor Patricia? Don’t you think Sunday would be better spent in visiting her at that dreadful place you sent her?”
Lilly tried not to cringe. It was clear that the verbal jab was intentional. The little lady was courageous, she’d give her that. A sideways glance at Mrs. Abelard told her that the housekeeper was also aware of the sudden tension between the two.
Henri picked up his glass of wine, regarded the mistress of the house with a cool expression before he took a sip, and placed the glass carefully back onto the white damask cloth. “You know very well why I put her in that dreadful place, as you insist on calling it.”
“I know your reasons, yes,” she said. “But how do you think she will ever get better if she’s locked away somewhere?”
“My dear Grand-mère,” he said, “you know our lovely Patricia was suffering from severe melancholy as well as putting blame on others, which at times led to hostility. From what I’ve read and studied about these aberrations, her improvement relies upon receiving proper medications and care.”
“In other words, they’re drugging her into submission.”
“Of course they’re not,” he scoffed.
“You did.”
Hot color suffused the doctor’s face. It seemed Mrs. Fontenot was determined to goad him into . . . what? Anger? Why? What did she want to accomplish? Or was she hoping he would confess that he’d done wrong?
“On the contrary, I put her where she could get the proper care so that she would not become dependent on the laudanum, which as you well know was the only thi
ng that calmed her.”
Lilly saw the slight slump in the woman’s narrow shoulders. She’d given up. For the moment, at least.
The meal was almost over before the doctor acknowledged Lilly. She was pouring his coffee when he asked, “So, Mrs. Abelard, I see we have more new help.”
“Yes, sir. This is Brona Sullivan. She’ll be working with me on the household chores and Lamartine in the kitchen. Her husband, Bran, and his young brother, Robbie, will be working alongside Amos and Bernard.”
Ducharme gave Lilly the full force of his smile. She tried not to reveal how uncomfortable he made her.
“Welcome, Mrs. Sullivan,” he said. “I hope you’ll enjoy your time with us.”
“I’m sure I will, sir,” she said. “Thank you.”
When the meal was finished, Mrs. Abelard told Lilly that she would see to the needs of the doctor and Mrs. Fontenot the rest of the evening. Lilly was happy to let her. She wanted to think about her impressions, and she wondered if Cade or Robbie had learned anything.
The two men and the boys had joined Lamartine in the kitchen. Plates heaped with food were in front of them. Robbie was tucking into the meal as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. In a matter of days, Lilly had learned that he had a hollow leg. His favorite saying seemed to be that he was so hungry he could eat the back door buttered.
“Fix yourself a plate, Brona,” Lamartine offered. “I couldn’t get these heathens to wait for you.”
“We been working all afternoon, we have,” Robbie said, talking around the food in his mouth.
Lilly pinned him with one of those “motherly” looks and tapped her closed mouth with her index finger, a reminder that he should chew with his mouth closed, as she’d been trying to teach him. Instead, he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue with some half-chewed food on it.
“That’s enough, Robbie,” Cade said in a curt tone. “Keep your gob closed when you’re eating. Now tell Brona you’re sorry, and show her some respect.”
Though This Be Madness Page 6
