Bal Masque (22 page)

Admiring her grandmother’s house as if she’d never really seen it before, Lucienne paused a second to catch her breath. The pale green house shed an inviting air over the oleander-filled courtyard. Ornamental trees had just begun to bloom, and their tiny white buds gave a spattered effect to the palette of greens within the stone walls. Tracery of latticework filled the long windows suggesting half-closed eyes flirting behind teasing fans. Lucienne hurried again to reach the end of the street, anxious to wrap herself in familiar circumstances.

Buoyed by the sight of the beloved home and the comforts she knew to be waiting, Lucienne approached the open gates with easier steps. Her bundles swayed in concert with her lightened mood. Her adventure was almost over and, in spite of what tomorrow might hold, she felt more relief than remorse at facing her journey’s consequences. Coming from the opposite direction was a woman also walking briskly toward the gates of the silent green house. The woman looked familiar. No, not exactly familiar, but she reminded Lucienne of someone. The sweep of the gown, the dip of plumes over a bonnet that shielded the face—they stirred a memory Lucienne couldn’t quite grasp. A neighbor, someone she’d met at Grandmère’s during a visit? Lucienne tried to pull the memory back, then dismissed it as she came to the wall guarding the perimeter of the Thierry home.

Drawing in the dampness of the dusky courtyard, Lucienne started along the stone path. Soft steps brushed the walkway behind her. Lucienne turned, expecting to see a servant, one of Grandmère’s maids, perhaps, but froze to the spot. It was as if she were facing herself. Surely that blue-and-white gown was her own, the blue plumed bonnet one she’d seen in her vanity mirror? The dusk and her confusion toyed with her comprehension. She reached out to touch the phantom in the faint light.

“Who are you?” she managed to gasp. The figure seemed about to answer. Lucienne stepped toward the outstretched hand. Vaguely she felt a movement in the bushes behind her. She started to turn. Rough hands caught her elbows, forcing her arms to her sides. She squirmed to free herself, lashing out with her fingernails, twisting against the confining grip, but found no release. Sinking her teeth into the hard hand clapped over her mouth, Lucienne kicked out at her captor. Finding nothing but air, she bit down harder. The hand jerked back, leaving Lucienne’s mouth bruised but free. The scream that rose up in her throat got no further. A rag, dry and coarse in her mouth, stopped all sound.

“Now, Miss Lucy Ann, you ain’t hurt and not gonna be, but you best try to hold still and not flap around. Just be a mite patient with all this.”

****

“I’m afraid Lucienne managed to leave the convent grounds before you arrived,” Mother Superior apologized. She put out a hand to invite the pacing man to sit, but Armand ignored the suggestion. “I did try to suggest that it would be two days at least before you could make the journey from Mille Fleur, so that she would not be tempted to run away again. Apparently I failed to be sufficiently convincing.”

“No, madame, I am sure you were quite convincing,” Armand answered. “Lucienne was simply taking no chances that your information might be wrong. Once more she has taken herself out into the world with no notion of what danger she courts.” He stopped pacing for a moment. “If I had only come home an hour earlier, or if your messenger had looked for me beyond the door of my house, maybe I could have been here in time to stop her. Now I must begin anew and hope no harm comes to her before I succeed.”

“The child had some notion of joining our order. She said she wanted to get away from any life that was managed by others. It’s possible she still has such notions. Is that any help to you?”

Armand shook his head. “Not at the moment, but it may suggest something to me once I have time to examine the thought. She truly believed there would be no one arranging her life within these walls?”

“The child has a remarkable talent for seeing only what she chooses. I have no idea what flights of fancy she may be entertaining, what direction her departure may take her. That information would make locating her a little easier, I suppose, but it didn’t occur to me to pursue it.”

Armand gave a sharp laugh. “Very likely she wouldn’t have told you if you had. I only hope I can find her and keep her safe until she develops a modicum of caution to balance her boundless courage and wit. Life with her will certainly never be boring, likely not even predictable.”

The nun smothered a small laugh of her own. “M’sieu, I had the girl in my classes for four years. I can honestly say I do not envy you the task you set for yourself. But I am most relieved Lucienne is married to a man such as yourself, who will accept and even take pride in her unique qualities. I wish you the very best in your search. Know that both of you will be in my prayers.”

Armand stood for many minutes looking out the gates of the convent and into the twilight draining color from the street. He’d been so close, within an hour, perhaps, of bringing this nightmare to an end. “Lucienne, you’re so obstinate, you fight so fiercely. Why can’t you see that your real freedom lies here with me?” No answer came. Armand shook off a sense of apprehension that threatened to engulf him as he waved for the carriage waiting at the end of the lane.

****

Though Lucienne clawed and scratched at her captors, she found her arms bound to her waist and her hands quickly tied in front of her. Two men of awkward strength, reeking of fish and sweat, hustled her around the back wall of the estate toward a farm cart. Lucienne now recognized Dorcas, in the blue-and-white gown, walking ahead, watching for inconvenient witnesses to the abduction. Struggle as she might, Lucienne found she was all but immobile between the oafs restraining her. Dorcas removed the foul rag from Lucienne’s mouth. Before she could cry out, a kerchief replaced it, tied so tightly she could only squeak a protest. The men dumped her unceremoniously into the back of the cart and tossed her bundles in beside her. One leaped into the wagon and passed a heavy cord around Lucienne’s ankles, while the other helped Dorcas clamber onto the driver’s bench. The high sides of the rude conveyance kept Lucienne from seeing the direction they took, but they traveled long enough that it was dark by the time the wheels stopped rolling.

“We’ll be stoppin’ here for a bit, Miss Lucy Ann,” Dorcas announced. “Orman, you carry her into the shed while Mort puts the horse up. Mind you’re careful with her, or Pa will have your head.”

The lumbering hulk lifted Lucienne as if she were no more than a five-pound bag of meal and carried her into a rough shack beside a dilapidated lean-to. He dropped her onto a slightly moldy pile of hay and lit a tiny lantern. Lucienne kicked out at him awkwardly with her bound feet, but he jumped away before she struck the kneecap she aimed for. He casually slapped at her ankle with a hand as big as a ham, sending a lightning bolt of pain up her leg. Dorcas, her arms filled with Lucienne’s knotted bundles, ducked under the low doorway in time to see Lucienne jerk away from the blow.

“Orman! No, you let her alone!”

“She kicked me.”

“She missed. Even if she’d jumped up and down on you with both feet, she couldn’t hurt a lummox like you.” Dorcas dropped her burden, bent down, and eased Lucienne into the damp nest of hay. “There you go, miss. You just sit tight for half a minute, and I’ll get you sorted out. I can’t untie you, but I’ll make you as snug as I can.” She reached into a wooden box beside the loose hay and pulled out a fairly clean length of sacking that she spread over Lucienne. “Now, that’ll keep the night damp off you. If you promise not to yell your head off, I can take that thing off your mouth.” She paused. “Not that all the hollerin’ in the world would bring anybody, but the boys would get riled and tell Pa. We don’t want that. Promise to be quiet?”

Lucienne glared back at the mild blue eyes opposite but nodded miserably. The gag in her mouth was making her ill. As she wondered how she could ever have looked on that face as the countenance of a friend, Dorcas loosened the kerchief over her captive’s mouth.

“Bet you’re wonderin’ what on earth is happenin’ to you, ain’t you, Miss Lucy Ann?” Dorcas leaned back against the rough wall. “Orman, you go on out and keep watch with your brother. Pa ought to be along any time now, and we’ll need to git down to the boat as soon as the moon is up good. Git on out of here now, and leave me and Miss Lucy Ann to ourselves. We owe her some explanation, I reckon. She’ll likely go along easier if she knows what’s what.”

Pushing aside the knotted apron that held Lucienne’s spare clothes, Dorcas made herself comfortable on the rude bed of hay. “I was just about give up on you comin’ back to your grandma’s place. In a way it might have been best if you’d stayed wherever you was. In another day or two maybe Pa might win enough to pay our passage, and we’ll be gone. Or more likely he’ll come up with some other scheme to get us away from here.” Idly she pulled back the worn towel that covered Lucienne’s two loaves of bread. “There’s a treat.” Dorcas broke off a crusty chunk and bit into it with relish. “Oh, fresh bread! Nothin’s better.” She tore off another piece and devoured it as if she’d not eaten in days. Ripping one piece after another from the whole, the girl proceeded to consume the small loaf and then lick the tiny crumbs from her fingertips.

Lucienne struggled to hold back the rage that swept over her. Her bread—her own bread that she had made with her own hands!—and Dorcas sat there gobbling it as if entitled. The cords around her wrists bit into her skin. Lucienne ignored the burns they left as she kicked with futile fury at the sacking that covered her. “Leave my bread alone and let me out of here!” It was what she intended to say but her tongue felt like wood and the words were only garbled sounds.

“Now, Miss Lucy Ann, you’re just wearin’ yourself out for nothin’,” Dorcas said, her tone as mild as if she were correcting a fussy child. “Pa’s gonna be here right soon now, if the cards were good to him, and you’ll be goin’ on back to Mister Dupre’s nice house tomorrow or the next day, for sure.”

“Let me go! How dare you do this to me?” Her tongue was still thick from the gag, but the sounds were audible. Dorcas made frantic hushing sounds.

“Don’t do that, miss,” she pleaded. “Honest, if you make a stir, we’ll both be in for it. Pa, he’s not always as sweet tempered as he might be, and if he don’t get a good run of luck tonight, he’ll be pretty ugly. You don’t want to catch the back side of his temper, believe me.”

Anger loosened Lucienne’s tongue at last. “Your family problems are no concern of mine, Dorcas Price. You let me out of here. And give me back my things—my clothes and everything else you took from me. And leave my bread alone. I didn’t bring it for thieves.”

Dorcas gave the limp towel a guilty look. “I’m sorry, Miss Lucy Ann. I didn’t mean to eat the whole thing, but I hadn’t had another bite all day. Pa didn’t leave me anything when he went off, and I didn’t dare ask. He was in a high temper this mornin’. The cards were runnin’ bad for him last night.”

Lucienne stared at the girl. She wasn’t pretending; Dorcas really feared her father’s anger. Some glimmer of understanding reached Lucienne. She could remember being hungry and having no place to turn. She’d have taken a loaf of bread without a second thought if she’d seen a way a week ago when her world became so different. She’d been as hungry and scared as Dorcas that day. “He made you do this, steal my things on the boat and then drag me away at Grandmère’s, didn’t he?” The words sounded raspy and hoarse but understandable. Lucienne swallowed and tried again. “Why did he make you do it, Dorcas?”

“You know I’d not do anything to you on my own, Miss Lucy Ann, but Pa has the gamblin’ fever. It’s like he cain’t help hisself when he gets that old urge, and it won’t let go. Your pa gave us the wages Pa had comin’, and it should have been enough to get our passage to the islands. But Pa had a mad on at your family, ’cause they sent us packin’ when they found out he’d been sellin’ off stores to other folks to pay his losses. He made me take your things on the boat, said I ought to have some pretty things and you had plenty. I wouldn’t ever have done it on my own, you know that. You been good to me always, but Pa wouldn’t hear a word I said. Well, we had a couple of hours before our ship was to leave, and Pa got it in his head he could play a hand or two and win some extra money before we left. He didn’t, of course. The cards were against him, like they usually are, and he lost all we had, our passage money and ever’thing.”

Lucienne couldn’t imagine a father forcing his daughter to become a thief or gambling away what little security they had. Her own sweet Papa would have beggared himself before he saw his wife or daughter put to such shame.

“I had to sell all your pretty things,” Dorcas was saying. “It just broke my heart to let strangers have those petticoats with all the lace, and that stylish dress. But I guess the thing I hated the worst was taking your necklace and ring and sellin’ them. They was just about the prettiest things I ever had in my hands. Pa let me keep this one dress and the bonnet, so’s I could go into places where I could ask more money and not have somebody guess I was sellin’ stuff I stole.”

Necklace and ring? The delicate filigree of that locket and ring glowed in Lucienne’s memory. In the days since she’d run away, she’d forgotten the elaborate trifles Armand gave her to mark their betrothal. Relief flooded her as she blessed the caution that had kept her from taking the fabulous Dupre pearls. Price could have sold them for enough to gamble for the rest of his days, had they fallen into his hands.

“Surely the ring and locket gave you enough to take passage out of the country.” Those two pieces alone should have given father and daughter a good start anywhere in the world.

“I s’pose they would have,” Dorcas agreed, “but by that time Pa had borrowed and lost half a fortune. It took most ever’thing just to pay back the folks who’d staked him. And Pa owed men who he didn’t dare not pay back. He’s goin’ ’round to some pretty lowdown places, I’ll tell you.”

“What has all this to do with me? I don’t have anything to do with your papa’s troubles.”