Kathleen Y'Barbo (28 page)

The question remained at the edge of her thoughts as Millie turned her attention to other issues. Foremost in her mind was the puzzle of just who Sophie and Julian might be.

Sixteen

January 21, 1889

Memphis

T
he question of Sophie’s and Julian’s identity was of sufficient importance to brave a trip to her father’s library on Monday morning. Millie found him in the center of a cloud of pipe smoke, a copy of the day’s newspaper spread before him.

“Father, may I have a moment of your time?”

“Unless you wish to discuss the ridiculous conversation you had with Sir William last week, I have nothing to say to you,” was the response he offered without sparing her a glance.

Indeed, Father had been absent all day Saturday, and on Sunday Millie had attended Sunday services alone. His absence had been welcome, but only he could answer her questions about the Cope family history. “It is of some importance.” Millie inched inside. “And it does concern Sir William.”

That got his attention. “Go on.”

“Sir William once mentioned how very important family lineage is to the British.” That was the truth, though certainly not in this context. “And I realized there are certain gaps in mine.”

When Father said nothing, she tried again. “I wonder if the names Sophie or Julian mean anything to you.”

He continued to puff on his pipe for a moment and then surprised her by sparing her a glance. “No. Now go away and leave me unless you wish
to discuss how best to make your apology to Sir William.” He returned his attention to the newspaper.

Millie sighed. Perhaps a small diversion was in order. “Do you suggest I write Sir William or would a meeting face-to-face be best?”

Once again, Millie caught his attention. “I think the latter, seeing that time is of the essence.”

“Yes, right,” she said, though she had no plans to go forward with any such thing. “But first, could you tell me anything more about your family? Or perhaps about Mama?”

He paused to look at her over the page. “Very well, but only because I believe your husband would appreciate such family details. My father, Hugh Cope, came to Memphis from Virginia before the war. His people were planters, successful folk. Father took that success south to build up the family fortune with cotton and crops, but then you likely know all that.”

“No, Father,” she said gently. “I did not.”

He looked surprised. “Yes, well, there were once cotton and indigo fields on that property outside of town. My mother, Genevieve Lacoste, preferred to live in the city. Your grandmother was gently bred and had no interest in country life. After all, she had come from New Orleans where her family maintained a lovely home on Royal Street. I visited it as a child, but the building has since passed to another owner.”

The connection she sought. Millie’s heart leapt. “New Orleans? I had no idea.”

“Why do you think this house has those ridiculous balconies? It reminded your grandmother of her home.”

“Would you happen to recall the name of Grandmother Genevieve’s father?”

From his expression, Millie could tell she’d stumped her father. “I have no idea. I believe he died while she was still very young. Now, see that you make arrangements to mend your troubles with Trueck.”

No answer was required, for he had already dismissed her, going back to his newspaper with the single-minded attention of a man who did not desire to be interrupted. So there were family connections to
Louisiana that ran closer than even the fellow in the locket.

Interesting.

And a home owned by the family and yet long ago passed from her father’s hands.

Even more interesting.

Could the key open that door? Or perhaps the door to a treasure? No it was too small to be a door key, but there must be some connection.

Millie reached for the chain around her neck and weighed the cypher and locket in her palm. A trip to New Orleans might offer the answers she sought.

And although Kyle might be spending time with another woman, there was no reason why two scientists might not meet to work out the puzzle that was her family’s treasure hunt.

“Just one more thing,” she asked, though Father likely had forgotten she still stood before him. “I wonder if you know of any stories about...”

“About?” he asked impatiently.

She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sent a quick prayer up to stop her should she not need to speak of such things to her father. When no such impediment came, Millie released her breath.

“Treasure,” she said, her gaze locking with his.

His face went blank, and then slowly an expression of surprise formed. “Why do you ask?” He set the newspaper aside and gave her his full attention. “Has Sir William inquired of this?”

“No.”

“Then what sort of foolishness has you bringing up such a topic, Mildred?”

Nervous laughter bubbled within her. Under her father’s steady gaze, the years fell away and she was a chastened child again. “Well, I...”

“You what?” When she did not immediately respond, Father snatched up his newspaper once more. “Honestly, this is why I discourage reading for you. It gives you ideas.”

“So there is no connection between a treasure and the Cope family?”

“None that need concern you.”

The statement was made with the finality of a man well used to making them. Millie was still searching for a response when her father dropped the newspaper and rose.

“I believe we are done here, Mildred. And you will not ever speak of treasure or any such family nonsense outside of this room. Do you understand?”

Squaring her shoulders, Millie forced herself to meet his gaze. “I have questions, Father. There is nothing wrong with asking them.”

“Indeed you have asked. And you have had a response.” He pressed past her to step out into the hall and then stopped to spear her with an irritated look. “And now you are to understand that any further discussion on this topic will be met with silence by me. Should your husband wish a conversation on this or any other matter, he may come and speak to me himself.”

As she watched him walk away, Millie briefly entertained the idea of going to Sir William and asking him to speak to Father on the topic. Given their breakup, however, the idea was quickly tossed aside.

If Silas Cope knew anything about treasure, be it Lafitte’s or anyone else’s, he was keeping the information to himself. The conversation had not been a total loss, however, for she had learned there was a Cope home in New Orleans. Or, rather, a home owned by the family of Genevieve Lacoste Cope. Given that the books she read about Lafitte placed him in the city at approximately the same time her family was there, she had at least forged a tentative connection between the two.

A door closed at the far end of the house, adding to the finality of the situation. Or did it?

Millie looked around and found herself quite alone. Carefully she closed the door behind her. Though her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet beneath her feet, Millie tiptoed toward the telephone and slowly lifted the receiver. With no time to retrieve the card containing Kyle’s information, she relied on her memory to give the correct number when the operator answered. As the call rang through, Millie held her breath. And then the same fellow answered with the same bland greeting, and her heart soared.

“I wish to make use of Kyle’s workshop for scientific purposes as offered by him upon our previous meeting,” she said with an assertiveness she did not feel.

Though there was static on the line, she could hear what sounded like the scratch of a pencil as he wrote down what she said.

“Is there anything else, miss?”

“Yes,” she said as she gripped the phone and forced herself to sound as mundane as she could manage. “Please tell him I am willing to offer a negotiable portion of the proceeds for his services. He is to name his price and then—”

“What are you doing?”

Millie slammed down the receiver and pivoted to see her father standing in the open doorway. “Father, I thought—”

“Leave off telling me what you
thought
and enlighten me with what you were
doing
, Mildred.”

“I was...” She glanced down at the telephone and then back at her father. “I was using the telephone.” She eased into a reasonable explanation by starting with the truth. “How else will I learn if I do not practice?”

He crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded her. Then, by degrees, his expression softened. “With a husband in your near future and a houseful of servants to do things for you, you have no need of the telephone. Any attempt on your part to learn to use the machine is a waste of time.”

Mildred bit back what she knew would be a useless protest. “I suppose you are right. I only thought that perhaps in case of emergency I might—”

“In case of emergency I would not rely on a woman, especially one of your age and abilities, and thus, I repeat, any attempt on your part to learn the use of the telephone is a waste of time. As is reading and all of that nonsense you do when you should be doing womanly work. Now leave me to privacy.”

“Yes, Father.” She scooted past him and hurried upstairs without so much as a backward glance.

A negotiable portion of the proceeds.

Kyle read that twice, and both times he grinned. So Millie Cope wanted to partner with him to solve the mystery of the Lafitte treasure. Life was indeed sweet.

The question was how to proceed. He had spent the last four days
going over the Arnaque property with his metal detecting device and found nothing beyond a growing stack of Civil War–era cannonballs, pots and pans, and quite a few tools and implements that must have been missing from the barn for at least twenty years, given their deteriorated condition.

If any Cope treasure existed, Confederate or otherwise, Kyle could say with absolute certainty it was not buried within the boundary markers of the Arnaque farm. And so he had been praying as to how to proceed when the message came in from Millie.

God’s perfect timing again. Or at least Kyle hoped so.

That the call had been interrupted bothered him, as did the fact he had no idea how best to contact her. With Silas Cope as the prime suspect in what could become an investigation with far-reaching consequences, he couldn’t exactly walk up to the front door of the house on Adams Street and knock.

And with the flying device temporarily grounded, he couldn’t fly to her and carry her away for a private discussion, either. Notes might be intercepted, and she had no regular routine that might allow him to happen upon her.

He would just have to wait until the right moment to respond, but with the clock ticking on a March 4 deadline less than six weeks away, he couldn’t afford to wait long.

There was also the problem of the steamboat ticket in his satchel. Though he was tempted to let Millie know he would soon be in New Orleans, instinct told Kyle it would be far more prudent to go and do the investigative work demanded of him first and then send for her.

He smiled as he rose to stretch out the kinks. Four days with the heavy metal detector had left him stiff and aching from the weight of the boxlike structure. He had already made notes on how to lighten the frame and would likely make that project his priority after the repair of the flying machine.