Authors: Jennifer St Giles
"My apologies for bringing up an unpleasant subject, but you really should let me direct you in these matters."
"I am more than capable of deciding what I need to do," I replied.
His cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat again. "The offer to buy at this price will stand for two weeks." He straightened his spectacles and hefted his ample girth from the brocade armchair. Then he stepped uncomfortably close to me and lowered his voice to a forceful whisper. "You won't get a better offer, Mrs. Boucheron, so be careful whom you insult. There are other ways to get what I want."
The threat sent a shiver of fear through my irritation. "Not here, I can assure you of that."
"Is there a problem, Miz Julie?" Papa John, outfitted in his best "butlering" suit, appeared in the doorway and stepped imposingly next to me. Though gray-haired and worn with age, his tall stature could still make a man pause.
"Monsieur Latour was just leaving."
Mr. Latour nodded tightly, plopped on his hat, and left.
"Good riddance," I said, finally feeling as if I could breathe.
"It's more like bad riddance iffen you ask me, Miz Julie," Papa John replied. "Something about that man don't sit right with me."
"Next time he calls, please tell him we are indisposed."
Mignon glanced anxiously at the door. "I fear we have already offended the gentleman."
"With good reason, Nonnie." Ginette patted Mignon's shoulder. "He was not being very gentlemanly himself." She met my gaze, reading the worry I'd unsuccessfully tried to hide. "What are we going to do, Juliet?"
"The first thing we are going to do is to stay calm. Mr. Goodson is investigating the rumors about Jean Claude, and I'll speak to Monsieur Maison about protecting our inheritance when I meet with him today."
"You'll be seeing Monsieur Davis, then," Mignon said, biting her lip.
Mr. Davis was Mr. Maison's new assistant and had recently been calling on Mignon.
"Most likely," I said. "Why?"
"He mentioned last night that he is lonely, being so far from home and knowing so few people. I wondered if we should invite him to dinner."
I winced at having to face his garrulous nature two evenings in a row. "Do you want to see him again so soon?"
No special smile lit her eyes as she spoke. "I just hate for anyone to be sad."
"You cannot save the world from every scraped elbow," I said gently.
She sighed. "I know."
"Besides, we've enough problems of our own." Ginette rubbed her temples as if another of her recent headaches plagued her. Her pale, heart-shaped face contrasted starkly with her shadowed eyes.
I set my chin at a determined angle. "My biggest question is, why now? Why, after all these years, is Monsieur Latour so insistent on buying
La Belle
?"
Mignon's eyes danced. "Perhaps we have a pirate like Jean Laffite in our family, who left a map to buried treasure hidden here. Just think, if we find it, we could go abroad and see the DePerri castle and meet handsome princes and—"
"And fold the laundry," I said, before Ginette could add more. The pair of them could spin a tale faster than the devil could lie. "We've no more time to waste today. One of you needs to help Mama Louisa in the kitchen and the other must get Andre to assist with the laundry."
Both Ginette and Mignon groaned. Getting my son to help with domestic chores was the hardest task of all.
Papa John cleared his throat—not a sound 1 associated with good news.
"Please tell me Andre is still at his lessons?" I asked.
"That boy is as wily as a hunted fox," Papa John said, shaking his salt and pepper head. "He must have high-tailed down the magnolia tree outside his window, because he ain't nowhere to be found."
"He knew he had chores. Ginette, I don't suppose you would go look for Andre and—"
"I am sure Mama Louisa is awaiting me in the kitchen,
non
?" She ducked out of the room and ran.
"Mignon, could you—"
"The laundry,
oui
? I must hurry, for it is very late." She dashed from the room.
I looked at Papa John. He shrugged. "A boy's gotta run a little wildness out of him every now and then."
Lately, it seemed there had been a whole lot of wildness that needed running off.
* * *
Usually I savored the long walk to town, enjoying the cool breath of air off the Mississippi, the languid warmth of the sun, and the bustle of life in New Orleans. But today not even the shade from the lush magnolia trees relieved the heat. As I reached Blindman's Curve, a swampy area where the foliage grew so thick and the road turned so sharply that no one could see more than a dozen feet ahead, I realized something was wrong. The crickets, usually silent this time of day, suddenly throbbed with a deafening sound. I came to an abrupt stop and gripped my parasol, alarmed at the noise. A dark shadow fell over me, bringing a deep chill. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, speak, or even move my feet, as if an unseen force pressed against me, keeping me from moving forward or crying for help.
Then, equally swiftly, the shadow and the cold disappeared and the crickets fell quiet. I stood there stunned and frightened for a moment, then I ran. It wasn't until I reached the outskirts of the city and saw people going about their normal business that I slowed to a gasping halt. Bright sunshine filled the sky and whispers of clouds brushed the horizon.
At Rue Royale, in the heart of the Vieux Carré, I paused outside Madame Boussard's Dress Shop to compose myself as I brushed the dust off my pleated skirts; disquiet clung to me as uncomfortably as the worn silk of my cinnamon dress stuck to my skin. The shop door opened and I turned with a start, finding myself face-to-face with a woman I had counted as my best friend until my husband's disappearance.
"Letitia," I said before thinking.
Letitia Hayes wasn't alone. Two other ladies, dressed just as stylishly as Letitia, stood behind her. Letitia didn't even look at me, but commented to the other ladies on how insolent the help was these days.
Though fire burned my cheeks, I held my shoulders straight and smiled. "Didn't you wear that gown to my wedding? My, how the years have flown. Good day, ladies."
Ignoring Letitia's gasp, I marched down the street to Mr. Maison's law office, opening the door more forcefully than I meant to.
"Good heavens, Mrs. Boucheron, you gave me a fright! I thought the door was locked," Mr. Davis said.
"
Bon jour
" I said, forcing a cheerful note. Mr. Davis stood on a ladder and appeared to be cleaning the upper shelf of a bookcase; stacks of gold-embossed books were pushed out of place. Setting the book he held on the shelf, he quickly climbed down, brushed off his shirtsleeves, and straightened his tie. Then he peered through his round spectacles. "Surely you are not alone?"
An odd question. "Is there a problem?"
"Did you not hear?" He looked nervously about, shut the door to the street, and lowered his voice. "A man was stabbed in the back right here on our doorstep in broad daylight yesterday. It was terrible."
A strange tingling pricked my scalp, making my mouth go dry. "
Mon Dieu
. Who?"
"A gent visiting on business, I was told." Mr. Davis shook his head. "Imagine, dying like that in a strange city."
My mouth dried as I pictured such a fate.
"Forgive me, Mrs. Boucheron, I quite forgot myself. What can I do for you?"
"Monsieur Maison asked to see me. 1 told him I'd stop by before my suffrage meeting this afternoon."
"I'm sorry. I don't have you on the schedule; otherwise I would have sent you a note. Mr. Maison left for Washington early yesterday to attend to a sudden problem. He will not be back until the end of the month. Perhaps I can be of assistance"
"I haven't a clue why he wanted to see me." I drew a breath and gathered my thoughts, deciding not to speak about my husband and my inheritance. "If you would, please tell Monsieur Maison that I stopped by."
"Certainly."
"
Merci
." Shifting my parasol, I turned to leave, then swung back. "Will you be in correspondence with Monsieur Maison during his absence?" The idea of waiting a month knotted my stomach.
"I expect to be, as soon as he is settled."
"Then I will check with you later," I said, moving to the door.
"Wait, Mrs. Boucheron, a woman alone, after yesterday's murder ..." He shivered. "You must allow me to escort you to your meeting." He moved toward me, worry creasing his brow.
The knot inside me tightened. "It's only a few blocks over to Chartres."
"Nevertheless, it may not be safe and I'd never forgive myself if something happened."
I swallowed my refusal. "If you wish. But I must warn you, the heat is grueling."
"Like the devil has made himself at home."
His words so aptly described the feeling settling around me that I studied him more closely as he slid on his brown frock coat and square-crowned bowler. He didn't give the impression of being extraordinarily perceptive behind the thick lenses of his spectacles, and he didn't act as if he'd said anything of note.
Yet it seemed to me as if something sinister had entered my life. "You are in danger, trust no one."
"Accompanying you will be a pleasure. You and your sisters are too alone in the world." He opened the door and followed me out, locking the door behind him. "It shakes me up, thinking of that man being stabbed in broad daylight."
The recesses of the old buildings seemed deeper, the shadows darker, as if the place I had lived all of my life had changed. "The man was here to see Monsieur Maison, then?"
"I cannot say for sure. I did not know anything had happened until I heard people shouting for help. The man was begging to be taken to a doctor and for someone to find his friend. As badly as he was bleeding, I hope that friend was not far."
"Then he was alive after being attacked? Why didn't you go with him to the doctor?"
Mon Dieu
, were a man to be attacked on my doorstep, I wouldn't leave his side.
Mr. Davis slowed his step and blushed. "The sight of blood has an adverse effect upon my nerves; I'd have only been a detriment. The merchant next door accompanied him instead. I learned later the man lived for a bit, but passed on before the doctor could save him. Forgive me, I should not be burdening your sensibilities with this."
"I assure you, I am not so delicate, nor are most women that I know. The war left little room for such nonsense."
"Yes, I quite admire your and your sisters' fortitude. And I have been meaning to speak to you about Mignon. She is such a lovely and amenable young woman."
I barely kept from frowning. Surely he wasn't about to ask for Mignon's hand so soon?
The Carr House, where the National Woman Suffrage Association held their meetings, was just ahead, and I smiled. "
Merci
for the company, monsieur. I am already running late for my meeting, so we'll have to speak of Mignon later. Perhaps you can come for dinner soon?"
"Could I possibly come ton—"
"Friday? With our duties to our boarders, weekends are best for social calls. Shall I tell Mignon to expect you Friday evening then?"
He looked flustered. "Yes, but Friday there will be a carnival in Jackson Square and I would like to bring--"
"What fun! We would love to come. Shall we meet you there at seven in front of the cathedral?"
“I guess—“
"Wonderful. We'll see you then.
Bon jour
, Monsieur Davis." I walked away waving, feeling as if I'd just stepped all over the man; but wanting to take my sister out for an evening, even chaperoned, was a much more serious step toward courting her than calling at our house. A step I was fairly certain Mignon wouldn't want to take but could easily be led into just to keep Mr. Davis from being lonely. And heavens . . . lovely and amenable? I'd learned during my brief years of marriage that being lovely and amenable was woefully impractical.
The meeting on women's voting rights ran so long that by the time I left, evening shadows had erased the day. I spared a few coins on a carriage to take me to the telegraph office so I could send a message to Mr. Goodson in Baton Rouge before going home. It had been two days since his telegram had arrived, more than enough time for him to have contacted me with an explanation of the mysterious danger.
Through the carriage window on my return home I studied Blindman's Curve, searching for an explanation to the chill and the shadow, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the incident troubled me, made me restless, and I decided to walk the short distance to
La Belle
once we reached my street, to calm myself.
Rue Jardin and its grand park of aged, moss-strewn live oaks and blooming wisteria were as much home to me as
La Belle
. With tall columns across her four-storied front and a dozen dormers on her gabled roof,
La Belle
had been the toast of New Orleans during her prime, and traces of her glory still clung to her. In the evening shadows I could almost pretend her white paint had not faded and cracked, that disrepair did not sully her inner courtyard, and that rust did not mar the iron railings wrapping her galleries like overworn lacy garters.
A light breeze swayed through the trees and blushed a cooling hand to my cheeks as I paused to take in the sweet smell of jasmine mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of Mama Louisa's creamy red beans, andouille, and fresh bread. Mama Louisa's cooking could warm the soul of the devil.
" 'Half light, half shade, She stood, a sight to make an old man young."'
"
Mon Dieu!
" Startled, I spun around to see who had spoken.
C
HAPTER
T
WO
A tall man stood beneath the shadows of a twisted live oak just behind me. The deep voice was unfamiliar, cultured, and sensual. I backed away several steps, chastising myself for being so lost in my thoughts that I'd been unaware of his presence and the hint of tobacco in the air.