Though This Be Madness

by Penny Richards

  Lilly suspected that Mrs. Abelard was interested in the doctor. Robbie confirmed that he had seen her coming from Henri’s room in the dead of night, and once he’d peeked into Patricia’s room and saw that Mrs. Abelard had dressed in her mistress’s clothing, parading around the room and acting as if she owned the place.

  So Hedda Abelard appeared to be sleeping with the doctor. Had she agreed to an affair believing that if Henri were rid of his wife he would offer her something more than the housekeeper’s position? Had she helped him to get rid of Patricia in some way? It was a common enough tale, and certainly provided a motive, but there was nothing so far to solidly bring to court.

  Besides, Cade couldn’t see Ducharme tying himself to Hedda Abelard if he did wind up with all the Fontenot money. Henri would not rid himself of a wife with long-standing ties to society just to take up with the housekeeper, especially when she was willing to dally with him on the side. His gut told him there was something else at play here, and so far money was the only viable motive for the doctor’s behavior.

  Always, in the end, everything came to money.

  * * *

  When Lilly went to Mrs. Fontenot’s room the following morning, the overwhelming stench of gastric upset assaulted her the instant she opened the door. The old woman’s small frame was curled into a fetal position, and she was making sounds of distress.

  “Madam! What is it?” she asked, rushing to the bedside and placing a palm on her employer’s forehead. She felt clammy and cold.

  “I seem to have eaten something that does not agree with me,” she replied. “I’ve been up half the night with vomiting and . . . other gastric problems.”

  “Shall I fetch Dr. Ducharme?”

  “Absolutely not. The last time this happened, he gave me some medicines that didn’t help me a whit. I would rather die on the spot than have that man treat me.”

  Well, Lilly thought, that was a rather staunch stand. “You’ve had these symptoms before?”

  “Yes, shortly before Patricia was . . . sent away.” She sighed and tried to smile. “I’m just getting old, Brona. When you get old you find that you often can’t eat the things you’ve always enjoyed without suffering for it later. I’ll be fine soon enough.”

  Lilly wasn’t so sure of that. The older woman looked terrible. “Let me get everything cleaned up, and I’ll see if Lamartine has any idea what to do.”

  * * *

  Lamartine literally wrung her hands and paced the kitchen when Lilly told her of their mistress’s dreadful night. The cook whirled suddenly and pinned Lilly with an unwavering look. “It wasn’t anything she ate, Brona. Not in this house. Ever since she got sick before, I’ve been careful to see that whatever she eats goes straight from this kitchen to the table and her mouth.”

  Lilly couldn’t help the widening of her eyes at the statement. “Why would you do that?”

  Lamartine placed her hands on her slender hips and looked at Lilly as if she didn’t have a lick of sense. “Too many things been happenin’ to the women in this house for my likin’. I aim to make sure that nothing happens to Miz Fontenot if I can help it.”

  So, the suspicion that there was something nefarious going on was shared by the help as well as Mrs. Fontenot and Cassandra. Wasn’t that interesting? “Could it have been something from Sunday?”

  Lamartine shook her head, and the jeweled pin on her tignon glistened in the sunlight streaming through the window. “If it was something she ate, it wouldn’t take this long to make her sick.”

  “What do you think it is, then?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t intend for it to happen again. You throw out all that medicine the doctor gave her. I’m sending up a pitcher of water. She needs to drink as much of it as she can. Oh! And a glass of milk. That seemed to help her last time. Soothed her stomach and all.”

  Lilly nodded. If Lamartine was so certain that the things the elderly woman had ingested were not the culprit, what else could it be? Mrs. Fontenot is most likely right. It’s probably nothing more than she’s just an old woman with gastric upset.

  Possibly. But Pierce had always said he didn’t believe in coincidence, and the more she dealt with crime, the more inclined she was to agree. There were too many unanswered questions surrounding the legitimacy of Patricia’s so-called insanity, especially coming on the heels of the unexpected and unusual death of her daughter at a suffragist rally.

  On the other hand, the human mind was at once fragile and incredibly strong. Lilly had firsthand knowledge of what amazing things it did to protect one from situations too painful to dwell on. The events surrounding her mother’s murder had been blocked from her memory until an incident during her previous assignment had caused all the hateful images to come flooding back.

  It was possible that Patricia Ducharme had gone mad after the loss of her infant son and her daughter in such a short time. Possible. But Lilly’s gut and what she’d learned since coming to New Orleans told her that Patricia was made of sterner stuff than her husband claimed.

  * * *

  The following morning, Robbie sat next to Mrs. Fontenot’s bed, watching her sleep. Lucifer lay curled up next to her, his one good eye regarding Robbie warily. Robbie had spent so much time with Mrs. Fontenot and brought the cat so many tidbits to eat that Lucifer now took the morsels from the palm of his hand on the days he was feeling charitable.

  They’d reached a truce of sorts, but Robbie was too smart to believe he’d won the vicious feline over. He had yet to touch the cat in any way, but knew the day would come. Patience was a trait worth developing when you lived on the street.

  He sat there watching the old woman breathing, wishing he knew how to pray and hoping she would wake up so she could see that he was worried about her. She had improved steadily the day before under the care of Lamartine, Lilly, and Mrs. Abelard. The doctor left her medicines, which the women who were caring for her put in the bottom of a drawer.

  Robbie wanted her to get better. He’d never had a grandmother, but if he had, he hoped she would be just like Mrs. Fontenot.

  She seemed content to take care of the business decisions that came her way, sit in her garden, and read. Robbie and Bernard joined her sometimes if they got their work done, fascinated with the stories she told of her childhood on the plantation.

  He looked around, taking pleasure from his surroundings. He liked this room. It was bright with sunshine and light colors. The paintings on the walls were scenery instead of boring pictures of people, many of them painted by Suzannah Fontenot, the girl who had been killed while out with her family.

  Though he’d never admit it, that bothered him. He’d been on the streets for so long, so confident in his own wits and skills, it had never occurred to him that anything could happen to him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew people died in shadowy alleyways every day, but hearing that a wealthy woman had been separated from her family and later found dead was scary. He didn’t understand how bad things happened to rich people.

  Someone had picked a bouquet of flowers from the garden. Bored, he picked up the vase and smelled each flower in turn, wrinkling his nose when he encountered one whose scent was not nearly as pleasing as it looked.

  Then he took up the book that sat next to a small pitcher of water. He looked at the words printed on the pages but had no idea what they said. Maybe he should learn to read now that he was becoming all respectable and everything.

  Spying Mrs. Fontenot’s gold snuffbox near a letter opener, he picked it up and ran his fingers over the raised scrollwork, marveling that anyone could make something so fancy. He held the trinket in his fist and hefted its slight weight, wondering what it had cost . . . and how much someone would pay for it.

  He opened the small box and examined the contents. It was a brown powder. Though she didn’t use it every day, Mrs. Fontenot loved a pinch of snuff now and again. He’d had a few puffs of a cigar once a couple of years ago and shared a chaw of tobacco with the kid in the boxcar with him.
The cigar had choked him and made him dizzy, and the chewing tobacco had made him sick to his stomach.

  What would snuff be like?

  He glanced over at Mrs. Fontenot and saw that she was still sleeping. Quietly, he stood and slipped the snuffbox into his pocket; then he tiptoed out of the room and down the back stairs.

  * * *

  Two days later, Mrs. Fontenot was well enough to come downstairs for breakfast.

  “I’ve decided to go and spend a few days with Cassandra at River Run,” she declared.

  Henri regarded her with a concerned expression as he slathered a piece of toast with some fresh-churned butter. “I must object, Grand-mère. You’ve been very ill, and I’m not sure you’re up to that long drive. What’s brought this on anyway? Cassandra and Preston have barely had time to get home.”

  The old woman sighed. “I’m well aware of that, Henri, and the truth is that I’m feeling my age. My common sense tells me that it won’t be too many years before I’m unable to travel, so I might as well do it while I can.” She smiled, a trifle sadly it seemed to Lilly. “Besides, it’s lonely here without Patricia and Suzannah. I miss them dreadfully, as I’m sure you do.”

  “Well, of course I do,” he said, managing a look of affront. “Despite what you may think, I haven’t forgotten that I lost a son and a stepdaughter or that Patricia is still my wife. I suppose their absence doesn’t weigh so heavily on me since I have my practice to take my mind off things.”

  Lilly sensed that his indignation was nothing but a sop to the old woman’s grief.

  “I was simply referring to the fact that Cassandra and Preston just left, and since she is expecting she may not be up to having visitors.”

  “You’re right of course,” she conceded, “but I thought that since she is feeling so poorly with the pregnancy and seldom gets out these days that I might be some company for her. She confessed to feeling quite neglected since Preston spends all week in the city in order to take care of his law practice.”

  Lilly could only imagine that a woman alone on a plantation with no one around but the help for company could get very lonesome.

  “Well, she’s a married woman now. They’re expecting a child. That is a huge responsibility. Perhaps she should grow up and realize that a man must do whatever he has to in order to take care of his family.”

  “You’re right, Henri, but she’s young,” Madam Fontenot said in a gentle voice. Lilly noticed that she kept her gaze fixed on her plate.

  “Of course, of course. You have a point,” the doctor said. “And I know you well enough to know that when you make up your mind, there is no changing it. When will you be leaving?”

  “By midmorning.” She glanced at Lilly. “If it won’t be difficult to get things together, will it, Brona?”

  “Not at all,” Lilly assured her. “I’ll let Mrs. Abelard know so that she can pack for you.”

  Wearing an expression that Lilly could not quite fathom, Henri looked up from the piece of ham he was cutting.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t make myself clear,” Mrs. Fortenot said. “I’d like for you to come with me instead of Mrs. Abelard. She gets all atwitter if she has to leave here for longer than a day.”

  “Yes,” Henri added with a little smile. “She thinks this place will fall down around us if she isn’t here to oversee things.”

  Mrs. Fontenot gave Lilly an apologetic smile. “I hate to drag you away from your handsome husband, and there was a time I’d have happily made the trip alone, but I’m afraid I’m still a bit weak.”

  “Certainly, Madam Fontenot,” Lilly was quick to say. “I’ll tell Bran as soon as we finish with breakfast.”

  Lilly was almost to the hall door when Mrs. Fontenot’s voice stopped her. “Oh! Will you ask Mrs. Abelard if she’s seen my snuffbox? I seem to have misplaced it.”

  When Lilly went to the barn to tell Cade of this newest development, he slid an arm around her shoulders and led her out into the spring sunlight. “I don’t like it.”

  She turned to face him, escaping his disturbing touch. “Why? Maybe I can learn something from the servants while I’m there. There was no time to do much talking at Easter.”

  “You may be right, but I don’t like the idea of us being separated. I haven’t found out enough about either of these men to have any idea what they might be capable of.”

  “I understand, but I don’t see that we have a choice. Mrs. Fontenot wants me to go. Besides, I think you’re borrowing trouble. I thought we’d decided that at worst, Preston is a good-for-nothing, and Henri, who we think is the real culprit, will be here for you to keep an eye on.”

  “You’re right, but I don’t have to like it.”

  “I’m actually not crazy about the notion either. Oh. By the way, would you let Robbie know that Mrs. Fontenot’s snuffbox is missing and see how he reacts?”

  Cade looked horrified. “You don’t think he took it, do you?”

  “I’m just telling you the facts. I would hate for us to get the sack because he couldn’t resist a pretty trinket.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, Amos, Bernard, and Robbie had loaded the family brougham and Cade helped Mrs. Fontenot up. To Lilly’s surprise, before he handed Lilly inside, he took both her hands in his, leaned forward, and brushed his lips to hers in the briefest of kisses. She might have been angry if she weren’t so shocked.

  “Have a safe trip, wife,” he murmured in a low voice.

  Only then did she realize the kiss was meant for show. Knowing she had to play her role, she smiled up at him and then went over to Robbie, leaned down, and gave him a hug. She felt him stiffen, and for a moment she thought he might break away and give her what for, but instead, he hugged her back for the briefest second.

  She met his gaze squarely. “Take care of your brother, Robbie,” she said for the benefit of the servants who were watching.

  “Oh, you can be sure of it.”

  “Good. Stay out of trouble.” She leaned closer and whispered into his ear. “And put Mrs. Fontenot’s snuffbox back where you got it before she returns.”

  The first directive was the words that any adult might charge a child with upon leaving, but the second caught him by surprise. He met her gaze squarely. Wearing the angelic look that never failed to amaze her, he only smiled.

  With a final wave of farewell, Lilly allowed Cade to help her into the carriage. When she was settled next to her employer, Amos guided the horses toward the street. Lilly kept her head turned toward the open window until they rode onto Rampart Street and she lost sight of him. With a sigh of disappointment she really didn’t understand, she looked at her employer, who offered her an indulgent smile.

  CHAPTER 14

  It was midafternoon when the brougham turned down a shaded lane leading to the plantation house. Trees with featherlike foliage dripped Spanish moss, their knobby knees poking up out of the marsh on either side of the road. Mrs. Fontenot pointed, and Lilly saw a huge alligator slither from the bank into the murky water, barely marring the smooth surface. A grayish bird her employer called a blue heron waded along the shallow shoreline, looking for a midafternoon bite. The shimmer and dazzle of dragonfly wings sparkled in the sunlight. A kingfisher darted from an overhanging branch and swooped low to nab an unsuspecting victim.

  The river had been visible in the distance for some time, so when the plantation house came into view, Lilly was surprised to see that the waterway was nowhere in sight. Instead the house was located a distance away from a small lake.

  “Where’s the river?” she asked Mrs. Fontenot.

  “The river has a way of changing course through the years. It also has a tendency to eat away at the outer edges of a bend and deposit the soil on the other side. The lake you see is the course it probably took a hundred years ago when the house was first built. What’s left is called an oxbow pond. The river itself is just beyond those trees.”

  Before she could explain further, Amos pulled up the circ
le drive in the front lawn of a French Colonial–style house. A steeply pitched, hipped roof extended over the upper and lower galleries that spanned the entire length of the house. Square posts supported the second-story porch that boasted a railing. The wide staircase that led to the upper floor was centered in the structure.

  Huge trees, already green with leaves, dotted the lawn surrounding the house. A vine with tiny yellow blossoms scrambled among the branches of smaller trees, and a sweet floral scent permeated the air, mingling with the marshy odor of the wetlands. River Run was a simple house, a fine representation of the style, but it was a far cry from the opulent homes Lilly had seen along the way.

  The upper front door opened and Cassandra, accompanied by Preston, stepped out onto the upper gallery and waved. Mrs. Fontenot waved back, a happy smile on her face. By the time Amos stopped the carriage, Rollo had appeared to help the ladies alight and to unload the luggage. Amos would start the return trip as soon as he had a bite to eat.

  Cassandra, Preston, and her great-grandmother were soon ensconced in the upstairs parlor with cups of hot tea in hand and a delicious-looking array of cookies on a china plate awaiting them.

  Neecie showed Lilly to a small room off the kitchen, where she would sleep while she was visiting.

  Lilly set her carpetbag on the narrow bed. “It seems you and Cassandra made the Easter trip just fine.”

  “We did,” the pregnant woman said in the soft, lilting patois so common in the area. “But she’s right glad that her grand-mère decided to come and stay a few days. It’s lonesome for her when Mister is away in town.”

  “Why is he here in the middle of the week?” Lilly asked. “Someone said he stays in town for work and comes home on the weekend.”

  “He does, but some bigwig came to visit from Baton Rouge, and he didn’t leave until this morning.” Neecie shot Lilly a quick smile. “I’m hopin’ he leaves out in the morning. The rest of us like when he’s gone.”