The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (26 page)

When they arrived at the gate, there was no one there. Sydnee waited a few moments, and then stepped out of the carriage with Atlantis. She had a sinking feeling that Clotilde and the woman did not want to be seen and were just inside the gate. She did not want to go in.

“Wait here please, Amaury,” she said.

Memories of All Soul’s Day came back to her, flooding her with fear. Reluctantly she closed her eyes and opened her mind to the spirits. She had to know if that vacuum of despair still churned here.

With her arms at her sides, she turned her palms up and tilted her head back. Sydnee waited for the tumult to begin and the moaning to fill her ears, but there was nothing. She continued to channel the spirits for several moments more, but all was silence and peace.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked around. Atlantis was watching her expectantly. “Very well, my friend, we go inside but not too far.” 

The black gate towered over her, and Sydnee stepped forward pushing it open. Yawning before her in the moonlight were the rows and rows of tiny white sepulchers. The wind moved the trees slightly throwing shadows over the monuments and statues. Sydnee started down the path, her shoes crunching on the gravel walkway. Atlantis walked at her side stiff-legged and on guard.

They walked only a few steps when there was the sound of a loud rattle behind them. Atlantis jumped and snarled.

“Aye!” a woman cried, jumping back. Sydnee knew her immediately. It was the woman she had seen on All Soul’s Day. She was much older, her wild hair was now gray, and she still wore the same flamboyant attire of a gypsy. The dark aura still emanated from her as she crouched in the bushes.

She darted behind one of the mausoleums, watching Atlantis warily.

Sydnee asked, “What do you want?”

“Call your beast off,” she hissed in a thick accent. “Or no meeting.”

Sydnee narrowed her eyes.
Was this creature part of her rendezvous with Clotilde?
She did not like it. Cautiously she touched Atlantis’ head and said, “Sit.”

Atlantis sat down but did not take her eyes from the gypsy woman. The wind started again, putting the shadows in motion once more. “What do you want?” Sydnee demanded.

“This!” the gypsy said and with a sweep of her arm, a figure stepped out from behind the crypt.

It was a tall woman with dark skin dressed in a cloak. The figure was silent and motionless. Sydnee’s heart was pounding, and she wanted to bolt.
Is this a specter, a voodoo conjuring from this wicked gypsy?

The hackles raised on Atlantis’ back and a gurgling started in her throat.

“Where is Clotilde?” Sydnee demanded.

“Do you not know me?” the phantom said, stepping into the moonlight.

Sydnee narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the features. The blood roared in her ears as the specter lowered her hood. Sydnee gasped.

“It is Giselle,” the woman said.

Chapter 25

Without taking her eyes from the specter’s face, Sydnee stepped back, and Atlantis started to snarl again. She knew of the evil that could be done with Voodoo to animate the dead, and now she was a witness to it.

“Stop, please,” Giselle said in her island accent. “I did not die that night all those years ago. Maxime and Ninon smuggled me out of New Orleans on the Railroad.”

Giselle held out her hand, and Atlantis lunged at her. She jumped back and gasped, “I am flesh and blood.”

Sydnee ran her eyes over her and asked suspiciously, “Why are you here?”

Giselle murmured, “I want to see my boy.”

The wind sighed through the trees, and the moonlight danced across Giselle’s face. Sydnee’s breathing slowed. “I will not speak with you here any longer. It is too dangerous.”

Giselle called to the gypsy woman over her shoulder in a patois which Sydnee did not understand and then said, “I will come.”

They stepped through the gate and out to the carriage. Atlantis walked behind, her hackles still raised. The lanterns on the coach were lit, but before getting into the cab, Sydnee stopped to look at Giselle. There were the cat-like eyes, the high cheek bones, and the regal bearing. Her face was drawn and etched with fine lines, but she had no doubt, it was Giselle. Sydnee swallowed hard. It was beyond unnerving seeing someone she thought was dead, alive once more.

“Where to, Mademoiselle Sauveterre?” Amaury said, glancing suspiciously at Giselle.

“We will stay right here. Thank you, Amaury.”

“Very well,” he said, opening the door. Putting out his white gloved hand, he helped the women step inside the carriage.

“This is beyond belief,” Sydnee murmured, as she sat down. Giselle sat rigidly in the seat across from her. Sydnee was in shock, and she stared at her, wide-eyed. “How did you escape?”

Giselle’s face contorted. “That hateful woman, Saint-Yves was too busy stealing my son to come back and check to see if I was indeed dead. Instead she signed the papers and informed her husband later that I died giving birth.”

“And they smuggled you out that night?”

“The next morning when the mistress did not return to identify a body, no questions were asked. You know how quickly bodies must be buried in this heat.”

Giselle looked Sydnee up and down. “Clotilde told me you have become very powerful in this city and that secretly you help women escape.”

“Yes, but I am not part of the Underground Railroad.”

“That is not why I am here. I want to see my son. I want to just look at him.”

“Giselle, this is impossible,” Sydnee said emphatically. “If the Saint-Yveses find out you are still alive, they will clap you in chains.”

“Do you think I am stupid?” she hissed. “I know the risks. I travel with forged papers saying that I am a free woman of color.”

“Nevertheless, it took me a moment, but I recognized you. Besides, your boy is not even here. He resides in Natchez.”

“Clotilde told me that he is coming to stay with his uncle in less than week.”

Sydnee frowned. It had been over a month since she had spoken with Tristan, and she knew nothing of Charles’ visit. Sydnee surmised there must be informants at
Saint-Denis
. “What you ask of me,” Sydnee said, rubbing her forehead. “It may be beyond my powers.”

Giselle narrowed her eyes and sneered, “Pampered little white girl. You know nothing of losing a child.”

Sydnee felt the blood rush to her face. “You know nothing of me. If you want my help, you will ask for it, not demand it.”

Giselle stared at her a moment and then dropped her eyes. Her demeanor softened. “I just want to see him once, just for a moment.”

They were silent, and at last Sydnee said, “I will see what I can do. I will not come back to the cemetery though for a rendezvous. You must provide another means of contact.”

“Through Clotilde?”

“Very well.”

Giselle was about to get out, but Sydnee stopped her. “Where have you been living?”

“North of St. Louis on the east side of the river in Quincy. We are free in Illinois.”

Sydnee nodded, considering what she said and how it may benefit
her
cause. “Now I ask for
your
help. Can you read and write?”

“No, but my husband is a free man of color. He can.”

“Have you heard of children being bought and sold along the river?”

“Yes.” Giselle shrugged. “Everyone in Quincy knows of it. Many buy orphans to help on their farms.”

“Well, I want to know how and where they sell these children and who is at the head of this operation.”

Giselle nodded. Before she closed the door she said, “I will be waiting, Mademoiselle.”

*                    *                    *

The next day, Sydnee sent a note to Tristan, suggesting they meet at Antoine’s for supper. One of the first things he told her was that Charles was coming to visit. He expressed his concern again about his mother smothering the boy and his wish to expose Charles to new experiences. Sydnee said that she was delighted and wanted to be included in things. They agreed on an outing to
Saint-Denis.

It was a beautiful spring day when Sydnee, Tristan, and Charles rode out to the plantation. With the landau open, they whisked through the countryside enjoying the fresh scent of wildflowers and the breeze. Sydnee was dressed in a light pink-striped gown and carried a white lace parasol.

“Couldn’t you have worn something fancier?” Tristan asked sarcastically, looking at her dress.

“
Pardon?
” she called over to him, and Charles started to laugh. Uncle and nephew were sitting across from her, dressed in coarse trousers and boots, ready for a day of fishing. They had removed their jackets and were in their white shirts and vests.

Tristan smiled and shook his head. “Nothing, my dear friend.”

The moment they pulled up to
Saint-Denis,
Tristan jumped out and went to the kitchen to have the cook put together a picnic lunch for them. Sydnee and Charles went to the gazebo and sat down to wait.

“Aunt Isabel knows about you,” Charles said, looking at Sydnee out of the corner of his eye.

She was adjusting the lace on her sleeve, and she looked up. “Does she?”

“I mentioned you by accident this morning, and she smiled.” He wrinkled his nose. “I would think she wouldn’t like you.”

“Charles, this is a very delicate subject and not the sort of topic a young gentleman should be discussing.”

He dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet. “I apologize. I am always doing something wrong.”

“Nonsense,” Sydnee said. “You are young and curious and in time you will understand our ways.”

He nodded his head.

“I tell you this. The reason your Aunt Isabel smiles when you mention me, is that we were best friends many years ago. Life has changed for us both, but there is little animosity between us.”

“There are so many things I don’t understand. Sometimes I wonder about my parents too.”

Sydnee was aware that Charles knew the truth about his mother, nevertheless she was not at liberty to discuss it. “You must ask your uncle. Perhaps he wonders about
his
parents too. You know that he was an orphan.”

Charles looked up at her. His eyes were so blue and his lashes so long. Sydnee was certain that he would be a handsome young man someday. He asked eagerly, “Shall I ask him today?”

“By all means and look,” she said standing up. “Here he is with lunch and some fishing poles. We are off.”

The three walked down to the lake, and Tristan unlocked the boat house. When they pulled the rowboat out, Sydnee gasped. “It looks terrible, Tristan!”

The paint had worn off. It was full of cobwebs, and it appeared as if mice had been nesting in the corners. Tristan frowned and surveyed it. “She’s a bit old and in need of paint, but it won’t sink.”

Sydnee rolled her eyes.

“Besides we can all swim, right Charles?”

“I can, Uncle Tristan.”

“You can too, Sydnee,” Tristan added.

“With this gown, I will sink like a rock. Nevertheless, let’s go.”

They brushed it out and pushed the rickety boat out onto the lake. It still floated. Sydnee stepped in and sat down, adjusting her parasol. This reminded her of Isabel when they first met and went boating together. Sydnee smiled wistfully. How little they had known about where life would lead them that sunny day so long ago.

Charles was thrilled to be on the lake. He insisted on being the first to row, sending them round and round in circles until they all laughed, and Tristan corrected him.

The boy was eager to fish too, and his uncle showed him how to bait a hook. When he at last caught a catfish, he was amazed when Mademoiselle Sauveterre reached out and skillfully took the ugly, black creature off the hook. She seemed fearless, and he stared at her in awe. To Charles, she was the perfect woman, elegant and refined but unafraid of life. When Tristan saw the boy gazing at her, he nudged him and murmured, “I told you she was marvelous.”

After lunch they relaxed and were quiet, drifting lazily from one end of the lake to the other. They dozed in the sun, listened to the birds or took turns reading out loud.

“Uncle Tristan?” Charles asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever wonder about your parents?”

Sydnee opened one eye and looked at Tristan.

He scratched his head and said, “Yes, I have often wondered about them. I used to make up stories about them when I was young. They were always grand and good looking. Why? Do you wonder about your parents?”

Sydnee straightened up and brushed off her lap, swallowing hard.

“Sometimes I wish I knew them,” the boy admitted. “I feel like I know my father, but Grandmamma will not talk about my mother.”

Tristan sighed. “I knew your mother but not well, Charles. She was quiet and reserved, tall and stately. I was just a little older than you when she died. I wish I could tell you more.” Changing the subject, Tristan asked, “Are you having a good time today?”

Charles smiled and nodded.

Sydnee chimed in, “Tristan and I did this sort of thing when we were your age. Do you have friends in Natchez?”

“Not really. Grandmamma does not like boys my age.”

Tristan shot a disgusted look at Sydnee. “Well, we will see about that,” he said.

As the sun began to set, they rowed back to the big house. Everyone was tired on their return to town, and Charles slept most of the way home leaning on Sydnee’s shoulder.

*                    *                   *

Sydnee did not sleep well that night, worrying about how to arrange a rendezvous with Giselle. She worried that the woman might reveal herself to Charles on impulse, so the next morning, Sydnee wrote to Clotilde insisting on complete restraint and anonymity for everyone’s safety. Coordinating anything with a fugitive slave was a risky and dangerous affair.

After several messages back and forth, it was agreed that Sydnee would bring Charles to the market for a coffee on Sunday morning after Mass. A “chance encounter” was arranged with Giselle who would be known as Madame Montagne. At that time, she could meet Charles, visit briefly and leave.

Sunday morning after Mass, Sydnee had Amaury take her to market where she would meet Tristan and Charles. Since it was Charles’ last day in New Orleans, Sydnee requested an outing just for the two of them.

“I will meet you later at the house for cards,” Tristan said, as Charles’ climbed out of the landau.

“If you dare,” said Sydnee. “I am going to take your money.”

“You already are,” he called as he rode away, waving.

Sydnee raised an eyebrow and then glanced at Charles to see if he understood the double
entendre
, but he was gazing wide-eyed at the activity in the market. It was almost an hour before Sydnee had to rendezvous with Giselle so they walked through the marketplace first.

There were throngs of people after Mass, and the market was filled with a cacophony of sights and sounds. People of all colors and from all walks of life were crowded together shoulder to shoulder, making purchases, examining meats, inspecting produce, and haggling with vendors.

Sydnee and Charles pushed through the crowds, stopping to watch a juggler, and then turned back under the awning, strolling down the produce aisles where Sydnee bought some okra and onions. She stopped to savor the aroma of boiling crayfish. The steam rolled up thick with spices filling her nostrils with delicious scent. Huge barrels of coffee beans were nearby filling the air with the dark aroma of the tropics. Charles was a few steps away, mesmerized by five parrots sitting on perches in the rafters of the market building. They seemed entertained by the crowds as their owner sang their praises trying to seduce buyers into a purchase.