The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (27 page)

Sydnee bought cups of coffee for them and stopped a vendor selling rolls and brioche. He had the tray of pastries strapped to his shoulders as he walked through the market. Pulling out her delicate pendant watch, Sydnee noticed it was time to meet Giselle.

“Let’s sit on this bench right here and eat, Charles,” she suggested, scanning the crowd. They had agreed to meet at this corner.

Sydnee’s stomach was tied in knots, and she could not eat. Being an adolescent, Charles devoured his breakfast quickly and was still hungry, so she gave him her brioche. Giselle was nowhere in sight. Sydnee looked at her watch. She was fifteen minutes late. Her hands started to perspire.

“Mademoiselle Sauveterre, how nice to see you,” someone said.

Sydnee turned hoping to see Giselle, but it was an acquaintance from the milliner’s shop with her elderly husband. They exchanged pleasantries and then strolled away. Sydnee looked around anxiously. Giselle would never come up if someone was speaking with her, but now the couple was gone and she still she was nowhere to be found.

Sydnee looked at Charles. “Are you still hungry?’

“A little,” he replied.

“Of course you are,” she said, handing him some money. “There is the baker again with his tray. Buy yourself something else.”

He ran and leaned over the tray, trying to decide. Once more Sydnee scanned the crowd. Now Giselle was a half hour late. Sydnee feared the worst, wondering if someone had recognized her.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and she looked up. It had looked like rain all morning, and she was glad she remembered her umbrella. She opened it, resting it on her shoulder.

Charles returned and sat down next to her, eating another brioche. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning, more thunder and then a downpour. The market erupted into pandemonium as customers ran for cover, and vendors pulled their merchandise under the awnings. Sydnee looked around frantically for Giselle. They could not stand in the rain waiting for her any longer.

Sydnee took Charles by the arm, and they bolted for the carriage, splashing mud all over themselves as they ran. When they reached the carriage, Amaury was waiting for them under an umbrella. He opened the door and just as they were about to duck in someone said, “Mademoiselle Sauveterre?”

Sydnee whirled around. It was Giselle. She was dressed in dark cloak with a hood. “Why, Madame Montagne, how nice to see you again,” she said, breathlessly.

Giselle was soaked. Rain was running down her face, and she was panting. Amaury gave her his umbrella and scrambled back up onto the driver’s seat where he snapped open another umbrella.

As if she was bewitched, Giselle stared at Charles, and he looked back at her, wide-eyed. He looked confused.

Sydnee asked quickly, “You were shopping at market today?”

Dragging her eyes from Charles, Giselle murmured, “Y—yes.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Sydnee said. “Madame Montagne, allow me to introduce my young friend, Monsieur Saint-Yves.” She put her hand on Charles’ shoulder.

“How do you do?” he mumbled, but Giselle did not respond. She just continued to stare at him.

The rain poured all around them, drumming loudly on their umbrellas and thunder rumbled.

Giselle ran her eyes over the boy as if she was memorizing every inch of him. “How long are you staying?” she asked him at last.

Charles did not hear her. He could not understand why they were standing outside talking in the rain. Sydnee gave him a nudge. “Madame Montagne asked you how long are you visiting us.”

“Oh, I leave tomorrow.”

Giselle’s eyes filled with tears. Clearing her throat and licking her lips, she murmured, “I hope—I hope you are happy.”

Charles was starting to feel uncomfortable. He looked up at Sydnee for help. Sydnee too was starting to feel panicked, and she urged, “Madame Montagne, please come inside the carriage. The weather is too foul to be talking out here.”

Giselle looked at the ground and shook her head slowly. Handing Sydnee the umbrella, she turned and walked away in the downpour, her shoulders hunched as if she was a very old woman.

Paralyzed with pity, Sydnee watched her, unsure whether to call her back or let her go. At last she said reluctantly, “Come Charles, get into the carriage.”

All the way back to the town house, Sydnee sat rigidly in her seat. She tried to make small talk, but Charles did not want to converse.

After they changed out of their wet clothing, Tristan joined them, and they played cards by the fire the rest of the afternoon. Charles seemed to wake up at last, laughing and chattering once more, but Sydnee could not shake the melancholy.

When they left, she went straight up to her bed chamber and stared out the window at the pouring rain for a long time. It was early evening, but she pulled the covers back and crawled into bed. She wanted this day to end.

Chapter 26

Summer was approaching, and Sydnee was starting to worry. Already several cases of yellow fever had been reported, and they had done little work to the orphanage. Dr. Locke had been gone most of the spring to his estate in Natchez, so they had only visited the new house twice, and it was already the middle of May. Sydnee knew that once the epidemic started, Dr. Locke would be unavailable, so time was of the essence.

He came back in town the last week of May and sent her a note which said, “I commissioned someone to oversee renovation of the orphanage. They have money for supplies and will start tomorrow.”

Sydnee breathed a sigh of relief. Something was happening at last. She had finished collecting donations from her friends before the summer exodus, so she could now turn her attention to purchasing furniture and supplies for housekeeping. Everything from bedding, to fabric for clothing, to cooking utensils was needed. Dr. Locke would provide medical necessities.

After a long day of making lists and placing orders, Sydnee decided to take Atlantis for a walk past the orphanage to see how the work was progressing. Only a few blocks from her home, the orphanage looked like any other town house except that it was larger than the other row houses around it. The cream-colored structure had faded, green shutters and a balcony encircling the second story. It was starting to show its age, but that is why they obtained it for such a good price. Some of the stucco was crumbling, and the interior had broken floor boards. There were holes in some of the walls, and it was in need of a good cleaning.

Sydnee cranked the large skeleton key stiffly around in the lock and opened the front door. The moment she stepped inside she could see that no workmen had been there at all. She threw her head back and gasped with frustration. Walking outside, she sat down heavily on the front step with Atlantis beside her. The sun was starting to set, and she saw Fletcher approaching. He was walking slowly, and she knew that he was probably weary after a long day at the hospital. When he saw her sitting on the front step, he quickened his pace. With long strides he came up to her, frowning. “What is it?”

“They never came,” she replied.

He stepped around her and went inside the house. When he came out again his expression was dark. “Damn it! I suspect we will never see them again
or
the money.”

Sydnee looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched. He sat down next to her, and they were quiet for a long time, watching pedestrians and carriages go by.

At last Locke slapped his thighs, stood up and announced, “I will track the bastards down and get every penny out of them someday but for now--” He looked at Sydnee. “Have you ever cleaned a house or made repairs to anything?”

“No, I never get my hands dirty,” she said, irritated.

“Well you are about to start. Roll up those lacy white sleeves and let’s go.”

They worked side by side until late that night, prioritizing repairs and listing supplies. The next day, when Fletcher was at the hospital, Sydnee and Marie started cleaning and taking deliveries. Sydnee went to the saw mill to order lumber and the general store for hardware.

When the sun began to set, Marie and Sydnee returned home. The heat and humidity was oppressive, and she could not stand to work any longer in her corset. She could not bend over without feeling light-headed, and on several occasions she thought she was going to faint. The moment Marie unlaced her, she could breathe again. She sponged herself off, changed into an old, loose-fitting gown, covered her hair with a fresh kerchief and headed back to the orphanage.

Locke was already working when she arrived. Dressed in old trousers, boots, and an old white linen shirt, he had his knee up on a saw horse, cutting a plank for the floor. He raised his eyebrows when she walked in. “Well lo and behold, the transformation.”

“Marie sent supper,” she said.

“Good, I’m hungry.” He put his saw down, opened the basket and helped himself to a biscuit. “There is so much to be done but most importantly we should mend these holes in the floor, or I will be mending children.”

“Agreed,” Sydnee said, tying on an apron. “I will continue to clean and when you need help, call me.”

Locke continued with the floor, but every time Sydnee passed by him, he caught her lavender scent, and it distracted him. He rolled his eyes, disgusted by his schoolboy reaction. Then when she bent over to clean, his eyes ran over her figure, and he found himself wondering what it would be like run his hands over her skin.

He told himself he needed to walk outside and dump a bucket of water over his head, but instead he watched her stretch and run her hands over the small of her back. He reminded himself that she was nothing more than a well-bred courtesan, the plaything of spoiled Southern gentry, but it was oddly sensual working side by side, alone in the house with this woman.

Sydnee turned and asked suddenly, “How is it you know how to do the work of a carpenter, Dr. Locke?”

He was kneeling down working on a baseboard, and he sat back on his heels. “My family owns three collieries. I worked one summer in a mine constructing shafts.”

“But you did not go into the family business?”

“No, I did not. Coal mining exposed me to many things and one of them was inhumanity. After witnessing breathing problems, stunted growth in children and catastrophic accidents, I knew then that I had to be a physician.”

“And your father? Was he angry you did not go into the business?”

“Ha!” he laughed. “He was. Especially when I demanded he improve working conditions at the mines. I told him while we slept on silk sheets, breathing clean country air, his workers slept in lice-ridden hovels and were suffocating to death.”

“So you defied him and enrolled in medical school.”

“I did. We always had an uneasy relationship. My oldest brother was the fair-haired child.”

“And is your father still alive?”

“If you can call it that. He is very old, and his mind is now addled.”

“And what of your family?” he asked.

“They are dead,” Sydnee said, turning back to wash the windows.

*                    *                    *

The routine was the same for the next few days. Dr. Locke would work at the hospital during the day, and in the evening he would meet Sydnee to do repairs. Even though they were making progress on the house, he dreaded going there. He did not like the way this Sauveterre woman made him feel. His eyes followed her around the room too much, and he found himself making amateur mistakes when he worked. When she spoke to him, he found that he could not control his tongue. He either divulged too much information about himself, or he teased her awkwardly.

He believed there was no substance to these feelings and that she appealed only to his baser instincts, but when she swept past him, his chest tightened and something stirred within him that he had never felt before. It was disturbing and kept him awake at night, now when he needed sleep the most.

The final insult came late in the week when he was working on a broken door frame. “Come and hold this for me, will you?” he asked.

Sydnee rested her broom against the wall, walked over and put her arms up over her head to hold the frame as he nailed it. He stood facing her. Perspiration was drenching his shirt, and he was concentrating on his work when he accidentally pressed against her. He felt the soft cushion of her breasts, the contour of her nipples and even the warmth of her skin. He jumped back and dropped the nail.

If Sydnee noticed his reaction, she did not show it and continued to hold the board in place, waiting patiently for him. He fumbled around, found another nail and completed the job with his heart hammering in his chest.

The incident plagued Locke all that night. Women were usually so heavily corseted and padded that, even when he embraced them, there was no sensuality. But this time there was only a thin barrier of fabric between his skin and hers. The sensation was so unexpected that it startled him. He was not only embarrassed but angry with himself. He sighed impatiently, vowing to snuff out the infatuation once and for all. This woman was the courtesan of Tristan Saint-Yves.

Sydnee was having an equally unnerving experience. To her, Fletcher Locke was insufferable. He was opinionated and proud, always deriding her lifestyle or goading her into an argument. When she spoke to him he avoided her eyes, and when she passed near him he withdrew. The night he was nailing a door frame over her head, he brushed against her and jumped away so quickly she thought he had been bitten by something.

She knew that she had been responsible for the mishap. She had inadvertently stepped closer to him without realizing it. Locke’s musky scent mixed with the heat of his body was intoxicating, and it made the blood run hot in her veins.

All of these feelings confused her. She would be happy when they were done with repairs to the orphanage, and they could return to their own lives.

*                  *                     *

By the first of June the repairs were complete and just in time because Dr. Locke was starting to see an increase in yellow jack. It promised to be a particularly virulent year, the death toll was rising early.

Sydnee worked late every night furnishing the orphanage. Poydras House was filling up fast, and she knew that in no time there would be children coming to their orphanage. They could house forty children at their facility, but Sydnee could not do it alone. Dr. Locke had two young women lined up, ready to serve at a moment’s notice, and Sydnee hired Marie’s mother, Clemence Dugas. She would be their cook, and Sydnee had her stock the kitchen immediately. She salted meat, preserved fruit, and made all manner of foods that would keep for long periods of time.

Everything was falling into place and just in the nick of time. Late one night, there was a knock on the door, and it was a boy with a note from Dr. Locke. Poydras House was full and seven children needed beds. He would meet Sydnee shortly at the orphanage.

“Marie, I may need your help. Will you come?” asked Sydnee, as she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

“Yes, Mademoiselle Sydnee,” the housekeeper responded. “My mother will be so happy to have children around her again.”

Clemence Dugas was living full time at the orphanage.

“Atlantis come!” Sydnee called out in the courtyard. The dog came bounding up to her, eager for an outing. But when Vivian landed on her shoulder, Sydnee had to tell her to go back to her perch. “I’m sorry Vivian. You cannot accompany us tonight. You will scare the children.” Sydnee knew Vivian would swoop down and herd them like cattle and that would terrify little ones. She assured her friend that she would make it up to her tomorrow with lots of dried grasshoppers. Vivian still pouted.

Once they arrived at the orphanage, they awakened Clemence. Instantly there was a flurry of activity as they made beds, toted water for baths, and started to make a meal. Just as Sydnee was about to start up the stairs with linen, the front door opened, and there stood Dr. Locke holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. Six children of all different ages and races clung to his pant legs, and the moment they stepped inside one of them retched all over Sydnee’s shoes.

Her jaw dropped, and she looked up at Dr. Locke.

“Rotten luck,” was his reply.

Clemence swept past Sydnee, took the baby from him and held out her hand to the orphans. “Welcome children, let’s get you bathed.”

The next few hours were spent washing and feeding the children. Dr. Locke went home after a half hour to catch a few precious hours of sleep before reporting back to the hospital again in the morning.

Clemence orchestrated everything. A free woman of color, she had given birth six times in her life, but only Marie had survived into adulthood. Clemence Dugas had first-hand knowledge of how quickly disease and accidents could take children, so youngsters were precious to her. She was a large woman with gray hair, a pronounced limp and boundless amounts of energy. She was definitely a woman in charge, as Marie had warned Sydnee, and she took over management of the orphanage with a fervor.

Sydnee was neither intimidated nor offended by Clemence’s efficiency. She did not have the time to run the facility. She had her own full time job pandering to the wealthy to find and maintain benefactors for the facility. She was quick to remind Fletcher Locke of this fact when he sneered at her lifestyle as a hostess. At last he was limiting his remarks, knowing she was right.

The first part of June there was a steady flow of children coming into the orphanage, and they hired the two girls that Dr. Locke had recommended. Sydnee and Fletcher saw little of each other during this time, but they wrote letters daily. On one occasion though, they met with Mother Baptista for information on how to find safe placement for orphans. They were prepared to house these children on a temporary basis, but they could not take them long term. Every summer would bring more children, and they must find families as soon as possible.

Then in in the middle of the month everything changed. The flow of children stopped as abruptly as it started. Although Fletcher saw an increased death count from the fever, there were no orphans to house. The streets were empty of waifs.