The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (19 page)

Sydnee’s stomach jumped. Soon, in less than two weeks, she would be knocking on Mortimer Gish’s door. She had missed him terribly but nothing in comparison to Isabel’s yearning. She was glad that Isabel had the child to distract her, but Sydnee could still see the sorrow in her eyes. Isabel asked her to deliver a letter to Mortimer, but nothing else was said about their separation.

Sydnee looked back at New Orleans as it faded in the distance. This was the first time she had left the city since she had arrived nine years earlier with Maxime. Dear Maxime, she thought, he had changed the world for her, and now with nothing left but his spirit to guide her, she would change the world for someone else.

A bird soaring overhead caught her eye and startled her. For a moment she thought Vivian had escaped. Marie, Sydnee’s housekeeper, was watching her friends for her while she was away. A young, free woman of color, Marie was efficient and dependable, but it would be no easy task to keep Vivian confined. Although the girl was trustworthy, Sydnee knew Vivian would try to be bossy and overbearing with her.

Sydnee turned around and stepped through the louvered door into her stateroom. A smile flickered on her lips as she looked around. It was a lovely room paneled in white with a maple wardrobe and a small four poster bed to match. There were mullioned windows with shutters and resting on a nightstand was a large copper urn filled with water for ablutions. In one corner, there was a tiny dressing table with a glass lamp next to a floor mirror on legs. By the bed was an ornately carved chair with blue flowers embroidered on the seat cushion and back.

Sydnee sat down on the evergreen duvet, running her hands over the fine fabric and smiled. Never forgetting how difficult life had once been, she was forever grateful for the blessings she received.

Sydnee reveled in these sumptuous surroundings. Traveling on a riverboat was elegant beyond her imagination. She spent most of that first day on the promenade deck watching the river, but when the gong sounded for supper she walked down the grand staircase to the dining room. She ran her hand along the ornately carved railing, admiring the workmanship and looked up over her head at the sun streaming through the stained glass ceiling.

She was seated with several couples at supper, all residents of Natchez and New Orleans. They knew her by name even before she was seated and bored her with endless accounts of their wealth and social standing. Sydnee knew that they were fishing for invitations to the salon, and the more they boasted, the more she was determined not to invite them.

She smiled graciously, pretending to listen, but she was actually savoring the delectable veal with dumplings, figs and lemon bars. A quartet played waltzes during supper and when the women adjourned to the ladies’ drawing room, they were serenaded by a musician at the grand piano. Boys with silver trays walked around the room offering beverages and coffee to the ladies while they relaxed and visited on plush divans and upholstered-back armchairs.

Most of the week, Sydnee spent reading on deck and watching the river. She noted the landscape change from cypress and swamp grasses, sycamores and Spanish moss to the darker greens of pine trees, standing out against the paper-white bark of the birch. The air seemed clearer in the north and stars seemed brighter. On several occasions, passengers pestering her with pretensions, drove her back into her stateroom, but on those nights she would wait until they retired and steal back out onto deck to enjoy the stars.

She liked to watch the activity when the
Jonas Riley
made stops to unload supplies at plantations and towns along the river or when passengers needed to go ashore late at night. She loved the lights and was fascinated when the crew brought the massive boat over to a landing. She marveled at their skill navigating the unpredictable river littered with submerged trees and debris.

When they finally reached Memphis, Sydnee was beside herself with excitement to see Mortimer. She looked around, overwhelmed by the activity on the landing. Memphis was indeed a busy river town. There were rows and rows of keelboats and paddle wheelers being loaded with timber and cut lumber, and she could hear saw mills buzzing in the distance. A large slave auction block dominated the landing, but at the moment, no sales were taking place.

The first thing she did was check her bag at the Chancellor Hotel, pick up her skirts and start to navigate the muddy street named Beale. She had Mortimer’s address in her hand, and in no time she found Gish Livery.

Sydnee stood across the street at first to observe. There was no question Mortimer’s Livery here in Memphis was smaller and more modest than his New Orleans’ establishment, but it was still bustling with activity. Two boys were out front helping customers, and at last when they took the horses inside the stable, Sydnee could see Mortimer. He was consulting with an elderly gentleman about a thoroughbred.

When their conversation ended, Sydnee walked up. Mortimer glanced at her and then looked again with surprise.

She started to giggle with excitement.

“Mademoiselle Sydnee,” he said in his monotone voice. “Why are you here? Is Isabel--”

“Oh, Mortimer!” she cried. “Isabel is well! Are you not happy to see
me
?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” he mumbled, all flustered. “I didn’t mean--”

Sydnee took his hand. “I am teasing, my old friend. I am here for a short visit, but I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“No, this is why I have help.”

Mortimer turned and addressed the boys. “I will be back shortly. Mind Methuselah. She needs her ointment.”

“Yes, Mr. Gish,” they all replied.

Mortimer took his hat and coat from a peg on the wall, offered Sydnee his arm, and they walked down to the river.  It was a warm sunny day, but it felt cool under the umbrella of the trees. It smelled of evergreens, sweet grass and the moist mud of the Mississippi.

“Why did you come?” Mortimer asked once they left the noise and bustle of town.

“I have several things to discuss with you, and I wanted to see how you fare.”

He stole a glance at her up through his hair.

Sydnee’s face softened into a smile. “Isabel has adopted a child.”

Mortimer stopped walking and looked at her.

Sydnee nodded. “Indeed.”

They resumed walking, and she added, “Her decline was steady after you left. I feared—we all feared for her life. But now she has someone to live for again, a little three-year-old girl. She even looks like her.”

Sydnee could see him smile through the strings of his hair. She reached into her bag and drew out the letter. “She sent this for you.”

He stopped and stared at the letter as if it were something sacred. Carefully he took it, his hand shaking and slid it into his breast pocket.

They spoke at length of his business and the new life he was creating for himself in Memphis. “The livery is so small, nothing like the one in New Orleans. I hope to someday purchase something bigger.”

“Well, I come with news on that subject too,” Sydnee said, reaching in her purse again. “D’anton has sent a check for rent on your building in New Orleans.”

Again Mortimer stopped, thunderstruck. “Someone is leasing it?”

“I am.”

“
You
are?”

“Yes.”

He frowned.

“What’s wrong, Mortimer?’

“I cannot take your charity.”

“Mortimer, this is not charity for you, but
it is
charity for others. I need your help,” and she explained everything.

That afternoon, Mortimer returned only briefly to the livery. They talked long into the night in his rooms above the stable. Over the next week, he introduced Sydnee to several trusted friends, two of whom were Quakers. They were willing to provide temporary food and housing for the women and children when they came to Memphis. They had many options for employment too, domestic situations, farm labor and shop keepers. The Quakers informed Sydnee that Memphis was a growing community and opportunities for advancement were everywhere. Sydnee suspected these people were also involved someway in housing runaway slaves, but she would never compromise their safety by asking them directly. She wondered if they knew of Madame Picard.

The time spent with Mortimer was too short, and before she knew it, she was back on the paddle wheeler heading for home. The spirits seemed to be hurrying her and urging her forward to complete her plans. Sydnee also had the nagging feeling that something more was about to happen to her, more than just smuggling women and children out of New Orleans. This intuition gave her great anxiety.

Chapter 19

There were fewer passengers on the return trip to New Orleans. No one wanted to venture into the suffocating heat and disease of that city in the summer. The shortage of travelers suited Sydnee completely. She could sit on deck unmolested, watching the shoreline or reading. Occasionally there would be a greeting from a lady, or a gentleman might tip his hat, but few people stopped to visit.

Suppers were relaxed and leisurely in the main dining room, and the ladies in the drawing room were cordial. They did not try to dominate Sydnee’s attention. All in all her first journey on a riverboat as a lady had exceeded her expectations.

The last day on the Mississippi, they stopped in Natchez, and Sydnee watched from the deck as a handful of men and women boarded. She looked at the rundown flop-houses and taverns along the waterfront then looked up at the bluff lined with grand homes and plantation houses. She found the contrast disturbing. She could just make out the steps of the whore house where she met Maxime so long ago. She sighed. So much time had passed and everything had changed.

Everyone agreed to dress for supper their last evening on the riverboat, so at eight, Sydney emerged from her stateroom in a copper-colored satin evening gown. It had short sleeves and a deeply cut neckline which highlighted her long graceful neck. The color complemented her hair which she swept high onto her head with several amber bejeweled hair combs. Sydnee adored fashion and stayed abreast of all the Parisian trends. Dangling amber bobs decorated her ears.

She looked up as thunder rumbled. Knowing that storms in the evening with this heat could turn violent quickly, she started to walk briskly along the deck toward the dining room. All of a sudden she heard a girl shriek from the deck below, “Keep your hands off me!”

“I’ll teach you!” a man said.

Sydnee heard a slap and then another.

“Go to hell!” the girl screamed. There was thumping on the deck as if there was a struggle, and then the man roared as if in sudden pain.

Alarmed Sydnee bent over the railing but could see nothing. Next there was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs. A girl about the age of thirteen with dirty blonde hair, tattered clothing and bare feet jumped onto the deck and started running toward Sydnee, followed by a burly crew member with a bald head and blood streaming from his ear. The girl raced past Sydnee with the man behind her.

“No!” Sydnee cried jumping in front of the man. He slammed into her with such momentum, that she almost toppled over the railing. Blinded by rage and bent on catching the girl, he ran on and caught the girl by the collar, throwing her down onto to the deck.

“You little bitch!” he snarled straddling her. He back handed her once and then again.

“No!” screamed Sydnee lunging for him, but before she could reach him someone picked him up and pushed him to the wall.

A tall gentleman with shaggy dark hair, pinned the crew member against the wall with such force that his eyes bulged. “You’re finished here,” the gentleman snapped in a British accent.

Panting, the crew member nodded. The gentleman let him go, and the crew member staggered. “That hellcat is a stowaway,” he barked, clutching his ear. “And she bit me.”

Frowning, the gentleman looked over at the girl as Sydnee helped her up. The waif was dirty and bleeding. “I’ll take that up with the captain,” said the gentleman. “Now go,” he demanded of the crew member, jerking his head toward the stairs.

The man lumbered off, holding his ear.

There was more thunder, and it started to pour.  The gentleman turned to the girl and shouted over the wind and the rain, “Is this true?”

“Yes,” she snapped, brushing blood from her lip.

The gentleman pushed his hand through his thick mane of wet hair impatiently. He looked at Sydnee and demanded, “Who are you?”

The rain drumming on the deck was deafening. “I was here when they came up on deck,” Sydnee shouted over the din. Her hair stuck to her forehead and rain soaked her gown.

“Come along,” he said, taking the girl’s arm. “We are going to see the captain.”

“Keep your goddamn hands off me!” the girl barked, jerking her arm free.

Sydnee saw the man’s eyes flash, but he did not try to restrain her. “Go then!” he roared, flinging his arm.

The three ran up to the pilot house. The crew member who assaulted the stowaway was just leaving the bridge and pushed past them with a surly look.

Captain Petosky was leaning over a desk when they stepped inside. He was a leathery-skinned man in his middle years with graying hair. “I am sorry but I must have you wait a moment. You understand with this weather--” he said apologetically.

The pilot handed them some towels and rejoined the captain to look at some charts.

They began to dry themselves. The girl was soaked to the skin. Her face was bruised, and her lip was bleeding.

Sydnee watched the gentleman as he peeled off his wet suit coat. He was probably in his early thirties, tall, broad shouldered, and well dressed in fine evening attire. He wore a white dress shirt with a cravat and a dark vest. He had long unkempt dark hair, very light skin and frown lines on his face.

Feeling her studying him, he turned and glared at her as if she was being rude. Sydnee looked away quickly.

She noticed the girl was shivering, and she wrapped a towel around her shoulders. With her head down, the waif watched everyone, her eyes darting from one to the other, like a cornered animal.

At last Captain Petosky looked up. “Good evening Mademoiselle Sauveterre. I am sorry about this altercation on your last night with us. These things happen, but the crew is supposed to keep these problems on the lower decks.”

Sydnee shrugged, dismissing it.

“Dr. Locke, I am sorry that you have been involved in this too.”

“If there is some problem, I will pay her fare,” Dr. Locke offered, reaching into his pocket.

“That won’t be necessary,” Captain Petosky assured him. “She will be dealt with when we reach New Orleans.”

Sydnee’s stomach lurched. After what she had seen on deck, she shuddered to think what punishment awaited the girl ashore. She noticed the look of concern on Dr. Locke’s face as well, and he said, “No, Captain Petosky. There has been a misunderstanding. She is--this is my servant girl.”

“
Your
servant girl? I did not see her board with you earlier,” the captain said suspiciously.

“I, ah--I had my brother purchase her ticket up north.” He turned and asked the girl, “Did you not receive it?”

The girl darted a look around at the men, and then shook her head.

“There you have it, Captain. My apologies,” said Dr. Locke cheerfully.

Captain Petosky knew that he was lying, but did not press it further. He sighed and said to the girl, “Very well. Where did you board?”

“Hannibal.”

“Hannibal!” Dr. Locke exclaimed. Covering his mistake, he said quickly. “Y-yes, my brother has a farm up there.”

Captain Petosky told him the cost of the fare, and he reached into his pocket, starting to count his bills. “I believe I am short. Would you take a sight draft, Captain?”

Sydnee jumped in. “What is the remainder, if you please? Dr. Locke and I are old friends. It would be my pleasure to be of assistance.”

“I will gratefully return your money when we arrive in New Orleans,” Locke said to her and Sydnee gave a little shrug, opening her bag.

Paying the remainder of the fare, Sydnee followed them out of the pilot house. Locke reached out quickly and grabbed the stowaway as she tried to bolt down the stairs. “Not so fast, young lady. You have a debt to repay. Charity hospital needs help, and you will do nicely.”

“I’m not working at any goddamned hospital emptying piss pots.”

“You are indeed charming,” he said sarcastically and then looked at her lip. “I must attend to that.”

“You may use my stateroom, if you wish,” Sydnee offered.

“I will get my bag and be right there.”

“Room 27A,” she said.

When they arrived at her stateroom, Sydnee had the girl change out of her wet clothes into a dressing gown behind a lacquered screen. Sydnee sat down at her dressing table and pulled the pins out of her hair. She ran a brush through her wet tresses and in no time she rearranged her hair and pinned it back up again.

“You’re rich,” the girl observed as she sat down on a footstool. Sydnee walked behind the screen to step into a fresh gown.

“What’s your name?” she asked the girl.

“Ruth Barstow.”

“I am Sydnee Sauveterre.”

There was knock on the door, and Dr. Locke stepped in holding a black medical bag. He looked around the luxurious stateroom and then ran his eyes over Sydnee’s change of clothing. She suddenly felt spoiled and overdressed.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said. “I had to attend to that crew member whose ear you bit,” he said, looking at Ruth.

“Why did you help
him
?” she said with a frown.

“I am a doctor. I cannot pick and choose who to help.”

He knelt down on one knee and took Ruth’s chin, turning her face from side to side, examining her split lip. He opened his bag and rummaged through it mumbling, “Where is my ointment?”

“I have some Balm of Gilead that should help,” Sydnee offered, stepping over to her dressing table.

Dr. Locke looked at her sharply. “There will be no African remedies used on my patients.”

“But it is most effective and from the cottonwood poplar—“

“Folklore nonsense,” he stated and turned back to Ruth.

Sydnee did not like this man. He was officious, bossy and had a high opinion of himself.

Opening a bottle, he soaked a cloth with tincture. When he dabbed it on Ruth’s lip, she jumped and swore at him.

He snapped his bag shut, stood up and asked the girl, “Why did you stowaway?”

“The old man was beating me back in Hannibal.”

“Your father?”

“No,” she said, as if he was stupid. “He’s dead. So’s my ma. I grew up in St. Louis. I was taken by a thug who sold me to a farmer up north. The bastard worked me to death.”

“Well, when we get to New Orleans, you must work too, but we will pay you wages. I won’t force you to stay, but if you want a roof over your head, you must work.”

Ruth looked at him suspiciously and then started digging in her pocket.

Dr. Locke turned to Sydnee. “I would be most grateful if you could put her up for the night. She could sleep-” and he looked around. “On the floor or something.”

Sydnee nodded, just wishing he would leave. Suddenly she smelled something and looked at Ruth. She had lit a cigar.

Dr. Locke barked, “What is wrong with you!” He yanked the cigar from her mouth, opened the door and pitched the tobacco in the river.

“Hey!” Ruth bellowed.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“From your pocket.”

Locke’s eyes grew wide, and he looked at Sydnee. “I must say, I am
most
grateful to you for taking her tonight,” and he walked out.

*                   *                    *

After getting Ruth something to eat, and making up a bed for her, the night passed without incident. Sydnee slept little, ruminating about what to do with the girl. Things had happened faster than she had planned. The spirits had been right to hurry her. She found it ironic that she had everything organized to smuggle women and children
out
of New Orleans, and now she was scrambling to bring someone
into
the city.

Initially she thought Ruth could stay in the livery, but she realized that she did not want anyone residing in the city to know of the hiding place. Ruth would have to stay at the town house until accommodations could be arranged. Sydnee also laid awake worrying about Ruth’s reports of kidnappings. It was the start of yellow jack season, and these abductors would be flooding the city soon.

The following morning when they docked in New Orleans, Dr. Locke accompanied them off the boat. He was dressed more casually this time in a white shirt, vest and a Panama hat cocked to the side. He had slung his frock coat over his shoulder because of the heat. Again he ran his eyes over Sydnee’s gown. It was saffron yellow, with short capped sleeves and cut low over the shoulders. She wore a smart black belt around her waist and carried a pale yellow parasol. Although it was daywear, it was of the latest fashion. Again she felt as if she should apologize for her appearance.

Next he looked at Ruth. Sydnee had given her a dress to wear, but the fit was poor. He scowled. “I see you found some shoes, but couldn’t you have given the girl a proper dress?”

“I will look again,” Sydnee said, her face flushing with anger. “I’m sure there’s something in my
vast
wardrobe that would suit your tastes.”

Uncertain about whether she was being sarcastic, he darted a look at her and then continued to walk down the landing stage.