Sweet Piracy (24 page)

“Of course,
ma chére
.”

“Yes, and there is something you have forgotten, I think. Tante Titine was a childless widow. When I was a girl, I was her favorite niece, and she always said to me that when she no longer had a use for it. I might have her ruby-and-diamond brooch. The piece was a marriage gift from her husband. The setting is gothic, of course, but the stones are good and will be handsome once they are reset. If I do not go, if I cannot see her before she passes on, I shall never get my hands on the piece, I know it. My sister, saying it is her due since she housed Tante Titine, will beg it for her pasty-faced daughter. And if I saw anyone else wearing my stones, it would make me ill, I know it would!”

M’sieur Delacroix knew when he was beaten. He argued no more, but agreed to accompany his wife on the day-long journey to Cabanocey. Madame arose at once, leaving her coffee to grow cold while she rang the bell for her maid and set the woman to packing.

This development prevented Caroline’s own departure, of course. She could not leave with M’sieur and Madame Delacroix away from home indefinitely.

By sunrise the next morning, all was ready. The berlin carriage stood upon the drive. Dressed from head to toe in lavender-gray, followed by her maid carrying a dozen small items necessary for the lady’s comfort, Madame emerged into the hall. She had asked Caroline to arise betimes to see them off. Now as she pulled on her gray gloves, she began to issue her last-minute instructions.

“Do not let Theo overdo, if you please. He thinks he has recovered his strength, but as his mother, I know better. Do not allow my daughters to associate in any way with that
canaille
who so unfortunately occupies Felicity. I will not have them contaminated. We shall be lucky if we brush through without some stigma being attached to us after M’sieur Delacroix’s lack of perspicuity in sponsoring that — that privateer.”

The last word was delivered with a vicious sneer. How nice, Caroline thought, to be able to transfer blame so easily. She was always conscious that if she had only recognized Rochefort earlier, they all might have been spared much.

Madame was also conscious of this fact. “I shall hold you responsible, personally responsible, if anything occurs in my absence to jeopardize further my daughters’ chances of marriage.”

“I understand,” Caroline replied.

“I foresee no difficulties. Should there be any, you have Anatole to depend upon, or if necessary there is M’sieur Gravier at Bonne Chance. The younger children are all healthy at the moment, Heaven be praised, but should illness befall, I am persuaded you will be able to cope as well as I. I cannot say when we will return. It may be within two or three days, it may stretch into a week or even two. It is as
le bon Dieu
wills.”

On that pious note, she moved off down the steps. M’sieur Delacroix first handed his wife into the carriage, and then her maid. With a genial wave, he climbed in himself. The steps were taken away, a whip cracked in the soft morning air, and they were gone.

Caroline turned back into the house. Moving along the hallway, she thought she heard a soft sound, like a woman crying. She stopped, listening. The sound came from the direction of the chamber usually occupied by M’sieur and Madame. Beyond that bedchamber was the room where Amélie slept. Called the Virgin’s Bedchamber, it was traditionally used by the eldest daughter because it had no entrance except through the master bedchamber. There could be little doubt it was Amélie she heard crying.

Caroline could not ignore the distress she heard in the girl’s voice. She knocked on the door of the outer chamber.

The crying stopped, but there was no answer. She waited a moment, then went into the first room. Crossing to the door of the second, she knocked again.

“Who is it?” Amélie called in a voice quite unlike her own.

“It’s Caroline. Is anything wrong?”

“No, I — I was talking to myself, that’s all.”

Caroline knew differently though she hesitated to force the issue. “May I come in?”

“Yes, just a moment — all right.”

Caroline heard the bed ropes creak. When she opened the door, Amélie was pushing her arms into a dressing gown, sitting on the edge of the bed. As she got up, a square of white paper, which looked as if it had been hastily pushed into the pocket, fell from the wrapper. Blushing scarlet, the girl pounced upon it, crumpling it in her hand before putting her hand into the slit pocket.

Forcing down her dismay, Caroline smiled. “I am thoroughly awake after my early rising. I thought if you were no longer sleepy we might share a cup of coffee. Colossus is up also, and I’m sure he would bring it to us if we rang.”

Amélie nodded her agreement, though there was a listlessness to the movement Caroline did not like. As the embarrassed color faded from the girl’s cheeks, it left her face abnormally pale with dark shadows beneath her eyes.

“Perhaps you would like to come to the sitting room when you are ready, then?”

That, too, was agreeable, but though she came, and though they sat for some time in desultory conversation, Amélie made no reference to what was making her miserable, nor did she mention the note she had hidden in her pocket.

Madame and M’sieur Delacroix had not been gone above a day before Anatole began to make himself at home at Felicity. Since the young man had reached the age of consent, Caroline had no authority over him, nor had she been given any instructions. She could speak to him about the matter, but she had little hope of his attending. It did seem hard that a young man who had been allowed to come and go at the plantation next door pretty much as he pleased for so long should be denied the privilege just when the goings-on guaranteed to capture his interest were beginning to take place.

His constant companion in these visits was Hippolyte Gravier. That young gentleman began to make himself comfortable in the
garçonniére
at Beau Repos, sending his curricle and horses to Bonne Chance so they would not eat their heads off in his host’s stable. When he was not with Anatole at Felicity, he was presenting himself on the Beau Repos gallery, where he kept Estelle entertained and the younger children in smiles with his antics. He was so often at meals that they began to send for him, like one of the family, when he did not arrive.

There was some discussion of the pair’s paying a visit to Baton Rouge. The main purpose of such a trip would be to see Mademoiselle Louise Roussel, who had returned home a few days after the outing to the haunted sandbar. This could not be admitted, of course, and some other pretext for traveling to that town had to be invented. In the meantime, Felicity had much to offer in the way of entertainment. It was judged best, finally, to wait until M’sieur Delacroix was in residence once more to relieve Anatole of the responsibility of the household. Then he could give his son the required permission to pay his suit to Mademoiselle Roussel.

It was the fifth day that the master and mistress had been from home. Dinner was over, Anatole and Hippolyte had gone out immediately afterward to a fête given by Rochefort. Estelle was languishing in the salon doing mayhem on the piano-forte to a tune from
The Beggar’s Opera
. Caroline was trying to finish her Berlin work by the light of a guttering candle while, on the other side of it, Amélie sat patiently stitching on a hand-held firescreen.

Suddenly Estelle brought her hand crashing down on the keys. “How dull, dull, dull everything is! I shall go mad if you two sit there sewing like a pair of Penelopes a moment longer. Let us do something exciting, please, Mam’zelle Caroline?”

“What would you like to do?”

“Oh — let us disguise ourselves and slip into the ballroom at Felicity unnoticed! That would be beyond anything thrilling. Or we could have them hitch up the carriage and go for a drive, perhaps to see Béatrice and Bonita at Bonne Chance. They will be glad of company, now their cousin Louise is no longer with them.”

“They would think us mad indeed if we came visiting at this time of night,” Caroline protested. “As for the other, I think you know it is impossible.”

“I don’t see why, if no one knows we are there,” Estelle protested, a sulky look about her mouth.

“No one can guarantee we would not be recognized, and in any case, that is not the only danger in such company.”

“I think you exaggerate to frighten us, don’t you, Amélie? But never mind. We don’t have to see Madame Fontaine’s theatricals. We can plan our own.
Maman
has a trunk full of things that are out of fashion, and Tante Zizi is certain to have some odds and ends we can use. If we put our heads together, we can make Anatole and Hippolyte Gravier regret leaving us here alone while they go off carousing!”

It seemed harmless enough. But no sooner had Caroline agreed to the project than difficulties began to present themselves. Madame had locked the trunk containing her castoffs and had taken the key as well as the keys to her dressing table, her personal
secrétaire
, and her armoire. Tante Zizi had long since gone to bed and could not be aroused for such a frivolous reason. Amélie developed a headache and asked in such a piteous voice to be excused that it would have been heartless to deny her.

There was nothing for it, the theatricals would have to be abandoned. As compensation, however, Caroline led Estelle in a raid on the outdoor kitchen. They brewed a pot of hot chocolate, plundered in the larder for a plate of cakes, and then carried the booty back to the sitting room where they ate and drank the whole while playing euchre for picayune stakes.

Caroline, never a great one for cards, was beginning to yawn uncontrollably when a commotion was heard outside.

“That will be Anatole and Hippolyte returning,” Estelle said, frowning darkly in the direction of the noise.

“Good heavens! Can it be so late?” Caroline exclaimed. “I had no idea.”

Estelle directed a look at the pile of notes by Caroline’s elbow. “No, time passes quickly when you are winning, I make no doubt.”

“Oh, these!” Caroline swept the slips of paper from the table and pressed them into a wadded ball with one swift gesture. “So much for your debts.”

“Mam’zelle,” the girl said, a look in her brown eyes so like her mother’s it was startling, “it is easy to see you will never prosper.”

Caroline would have argued, but a loud thump was heard from the gallery. She got to her feet. “What can they be doing? They cannot mean to come into the house at this time of night.”

“Something may be wrong,” Estelle ventured.

“Something will definitely be wrong if they think to remove from the
garçonniére
in your parents’ absence. I have accepted much, but not this.”

“I’m sure Anatole would not think of it, nor Hippolyte.”

“Perhaps not. We shall see,” Caroline told her and marched from the room on her way to unbolt the front door. Estelle, candlestick in hand, brought up the rear.

Colossus had gone to his well-earned rest long before, or they might have let him see to the disturbance. As it was, they had to remove the heavy crossbar and turn the enormous key themselves. Taking a deep breath, Caroline swung the panel wide.

At the sound of squealing hinges badly in need of oil, Hippolyte whirled about. He blinked foolishly in the sudden light, then a smile spread over his features as recognition dawned. “
Mes hommages
, Mesdemoiselles,” he said, sketching an elaborate bow that had to be abruptly curtailed when he nearly lost his balance. “Anatole, old man, get up. It’s your sister and Mam’zelle Caroline.”

Anatole was sitting on the top step of the staircase, his head in his hands. “Not so loud,
mon ami
, you will wake someone,” he whispered.

“I am telling you they are already awake. Stand up, or they will think you have had
trop des petits coups.
”

“He is inebriated,” Estelle said in fascination. Never had she seen such a thing. To appear in such a condition among ladies was to be placed beyond the pale.

“You see? What did I tell you?” Hippolyte said.

This had the effect of getting Anatole to his feet. By main strength of will, he conquered a tendency to away. “Behold me,” he said, his gaze fixed somewhere just above the top of Caroline’s head. “I am in perfect control.”

“Yes, I see,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Where else but Felicity. There was
une petite la partie,
you understand?”

A little card party, gaming for high stakes. She understood perfectly. What she did not understand was why she was surprised.

“Did you lose much?” Estelle asked.

“I did not lose — or at least no more than a trifle. Rochefort said I was much too favored by Dame Good Fortune to be permitted to play for the stakes they held at his table. Said he would rather watch Madame Fontaine, and — and so should I.”

Rochefort was still possessed of some good instincts, it appeared, if he had managed to dissuade Anatole from playing for high stakes without setting his back up.

“Watch Madame Fontaine do what?” Estelle queried, coming forward to take her brother’s sleeve and lead him to a chair.

“I — Hippolyte,
mon ami
, what did Madame Fontaine do for us?”

“They don’t really want to know, Anatole. Tell you what. We shouldn’t be here. Better for us if we toddle back where we belong.”