Sweet Piracy (28 page)

They were halfway down the steps when Rochefort called out “Wait!”

Anatole turned impatiently, “Yes?”

“When you catch up to Victor and your sister, and if Mademoiselle Estelle happens to be with them, what will you do? You are already overcrowded with three of you in your curricle.”

“We thought to drop Hippolyte at Bonne Chance. He will have to have his horses put to his own vehicle and come along as soon as he can.”

“That will be unnecessary if I follow you now. It is even possible that my blacks and my lighter carriage can make better time. You must admit, I do have an interest in this outing.”

“Yes, certainly. That will do marvelously, sir.”

“I think Mam’zelle would also find my phaeton has a smoother ride. Not only will she be, perhaps, more comfortable, she can speed the time while we are traveling by filling me in on a number of details which were not in the note I received.”

“Mam’zelle?” Anatole inquired.

To refuse would be churlish. It might even give rise to questions concerning her motives that were better left unanswered. “I—yes, it might be best.”

Anatole nodded and then cast an appraising eye over the blacks standing in their harness. “It might also be best if we let you lead the way. Mam’zelle will not like to breathe our dust, and there is every possibility that you will be able to outdistance us to the point where we will not have to eat yours. It will have settled before we reach it.”

“As you wish,” Rochefort agreed as he descended the steps, casting a weather eye at the overcast sky. “There is an even greater possibility that it will not be dust that will trouble us, but mud.”

They rolled sedately down the drive, but once upon the open road Rochefort gathered his horses in hand and sent them flying along. As Caroline felt her bonnet pushed back on her hair by the wind of their passage, she was reminded of Madame Fontaine, who only a few days before had sat in the seat of the phaeton holding her ridiculous hat on her head. She would not copy the woman, not if her bonnet burst its strings and took flight. Nor would she clutch at the man who was driving or hold onto the seat for dear life. With determination, she sat upright, her body absorbing the minor bounce and sway of the well-sprung vehicle. She was not in the least afraid of their breakneck speed. She felt completely safe with Rochefort in control of the ribbons, safe enough to admit to an underlying enjoyment which amounted almost to exhilaration.

Leaning toward her, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” she answered, unable to prevent a smile from curving her mouth. She thought she saw a gleam in the depths of his eyes before he turned his attention back to the road.

“How long has it been since you realized the young ladies were gone?” he asked after a moment.

“Perhaps an hour and a half. I sat down and wrote you almost immediately.”

“I am grateful that you did. Have you any idea how long it was from the time they left the house until their departure was discovered?”

“A half hour, an hour, I’m not sure. They were seen leaving by a gardener’s boy, but it takes a little time for something like that to sift through the servants, from gardener to kitchen maid to butler to ladies’ maid to me.”

He nodded his comprehension. “Then we can be certain we are at least two hours, possibly three, behind them?”

“Something like that.”

“With luck we can overcome that amount. They may not expect to be followed closely and will not push the horses. If Mademoiselle Estelle is with them they will be carrying more weight, meaning more frequent rest stops. Too, since both sets of horses are mine, I have reason to know that the grays Victor is driving, though superior to most, are no match for the ones we are behind.”

“Yes, that relieves my mind somewhat.”

“As much as I dislike to distress you, I find I can’t be easy about this entire chase. I find it extremely difficult to believe Victor would go hieing off on an elopement with, so far as I can discover, no planning or preparations whatever, and taking with him his proposed wife’s younger sister, a volatile chit just out of the schoolroom! In the first place I don’t think he would have so little consideration for the woman he loved, but, saying he felt circumstances made it necessary, I take leave to doubt he would go about it in such a way as almost to guarantee it would turn into a debacle.”

“Yes, I will have to admit it seems most ill-managed to me also. Still, if they were in a hurry—”

“My dear Mademoiselle Caroline, the wilderness of Louisiana is not the Great North Road of England, and this Indian Mission is not Gretna Green. I doubt there is so much as a riverboatman’s hostel, much less a posting house or an inn, anywhere along the route they must take. To the best of my understanding they will have to abandon the carriage for the discomforts of a canoe, and that while surrendering themselves to the doubtful competence of an Indian guide to take them through the wilderness. If they are not relieved of their valuables and abandoned in the woods, they will die of exposure or be eaten alive by mosquitoes. What the—!”

His exclamation was caused by the appearance around a curve of a horse-drawn cart squarely in the middle of the road. They swerved, brushing past the cart with no more than a hair’s breadth between the wheels of the two vehicles. The groom driving the cart stared at them in openmouthed surprise as they swept past. Rochefort, recovering with precision, would have driven on without looking back if Caroline had not called out, “Stop!”

“What is it?” Rochefort asked as he obeyed her command.

“The cart from Beau Repos, I’m almost sure of it.” Turning in her seat, she beckoned to the groom who was driving.

He climbed down, and holding his hat of woven straw against his chest, approached the phaeton. “M’sieur, Mam’zelle?” he said, ducking his head in greeting.

“The cart you are driving, whom does it belong to?” Caroline inquired.

“To Beau Repos, Mam’zelle. My
maître
, he say I must return it.”

“Your master is—?”

“M’sieur Gravier of Bonne Chance, Mam’zelle.”

“Do you know how the cart came to be at Bonne Chance?”

“
Mais oui, Mam’zelle
. It was driven
ventre á terre
by the man who teaches
les enfants
at Beau Repos. He was in the so big hurry because he wanted to catch the steamboat.”

“I see,” Caroline said. Anatole had been right. The boat had been too early for M’sieur Philippe. “Since you have the cart, I assume the gentleman caught the steamboat?”

“Indeed yes, Mam’zelle, though he would not have if the Captain had not been waiting the so long time for Madame Gravier to finish her letter to her sister in Nouvelle Orléans. Even then he might have been left behind if the young lady who was with him had not screeched for the boat to stop with a noise fit to raise the dead.”

“The young lady?” Rochefort said quickly. “Was she known to you?”

“But yes, M’sieur,” the man said, enjoying the close attention being paid him. “It was Mademoiselle Estelle Delacroix of Beau Repos.”

“And there was no one else with those two?”

“No one, M’sieur.”

Her disappointment plain on her face, Caroline watched as Rochefort flipped the man a coin and motioned with his whip for him to step away from the horses.

“A moment, M’sieur,” the man said, looking from Caroline to the shine of silver in his hand. “You seek, maybe, the elder sister of Mademoiselle? She too came to Bonne Chance. With my own eyes I see her with a gentleman in a carriage fine like this one.”

Rochefort took another coin from his watch pocket, weighing it in his hand. “You saw the direction they took, perhaps?”

“But yes, M’sieur. They inquire after the younger sister, and learning she is on the boat, drive away very fast after it, but very fast, M’sieur—”

“Yes, I know,” Rochefort said, tossing the coin.
‘Ventre à terre.’”

“
Mais oui
, M’sieur. Thank you, M’sieur,” the man said, stepping back.

“Beware of another carriage coming behind us. It will also be traveling fast,” Rochefort called as he gave his horses the office to start.

“But yes, M’sieur.
Ventre à terre!
” the man shouted, grinning as he watched them on their way.

“Well?” Rochefort said as she sat frowning at the ears of the horses.

“I cannot imagine why Estelle would take the steamboat with M’sieur Philippe. She is not at all attached to him, quite the opposite, in fact. She was always mocking him behind his back and scarcely ever had two civil words to say to him at the same time. As for any romantic feeling, I find that almost laughable. I seem to remember she considered you ancient; him she must think hovering on the brink of the grave.”

“Pray don’t think of my vanity,” he instructed.

“No, but it is Hippolyte Gravier Estelle cares for, and he seems to think she might be running away because she was angry with him for scolding her. Because of her conduct in coming to your house last night in disguise, you understand.”

“And you think that unlikely,” he said with a helpful air.

“Very.”

“So do I. As much as I dislike to introduce her name into the conversation when we were going along so well, I fear I must tell you that Madame Fontaine was also on that steamboat. There was some discussion among her entourage last evening of leaving when the steamboat so conveniently presented itself, discussion which Estelle may have overheard. A — conversation I had with Francine — Madame Fontaine, after you had gone, made her departure this morning a certainty.”

It was none of her affair what manner of conversation he had held with Madame Fontaine, Caroline told herself firmly. “If Estelle chanced to see Madame Fontaine as the boat passed this morning, she may have decided on the spur of the moment to — to take advantage of the invitation extended her. She has had a fascination with the stage for some time now.”

“So I understood from one or two hints let drop in my company.”

“It was most improper of Victor to attempt to see Amélie so early this morning — but suppose Amélie had discovered her sister’s absence or even chanced to see her leaving. If Victor had been to hand with his curricle, might she not have followed after in an effort to prevent Estelle from falling into another scrape such as last night’s?”

“She might,” Rochefort agreed. “I find that much easier to swallow than the idea of her and Victor, the most circumspect of couples, striking out for the Indian Mission, braving scorn and the terrors of the wilderness to be together.”

“How cynical you sound!”

“No, no, merely practical. What will do for some will not do at all for others.”

She did not like the glance he sent her from beneath the brim of his beaver but saw no way to object to it. “If they are trying to overtake the steamboat, do you think they have a chance of success?”

He gave a shake of his head. “Only if something untoward happens. The boat has the advantage of the current on the downriver run. Upstream, a team of horses could outdistance it, providing the road were passably dry and firm; downstream it’s not worth the wager.”

Caroline took a deep breath. “If we are correct, there is little need to go on. Victor and Amélie must turn about and come home eventually.”

“Yes, but we may not be correct — and there is always that untoward something that may happen.”

He smiled down at her with such warmth that Caroline felt a faint flush rise to her cheeks. It was extraordinary how secure and optimistic she felt in his presence. There was a peculiar ache in the region of her heart, and she know an unwary hope that this drive would never end.

Without warning, the light grew dimmer and rain began to fall. Thrusting the reins into Caroline’s hands, Rochefort stripped off his driving coat and draped it around her shoulders. She tried to protest, but he only shook his head, the touch of his hands firm and lingering as he settled the folds of the caped coat under her chin. Pulling the brim of his hat lower, he retrieved the reins and they sped on.

As the miles passed, the thought of the great wrong she had done Rochefort grew heavier in her mind. If for no other reason than simple justice, she knew she would have to tell him she knew the truth and make her apologies. But how to phrase it? Her newly acquired knowledge of herself where this man was concerned made her wary of revealing more than she intended. It would not do for him to suspect that her interest was personal. That she knew herself to be in love with him had nothing to do with the matter — well, very little. It was as a human being whom she had unjustly accused that she wished to approach him, not as a man whom she loved and who had, on their last discussion of this subject, asked her to marry him. His reasons for that were still obscure, but they need make no difference to the simple fact that she owed him some acknowledgement of her error.

“My lord,” she began self-consciously, “there is something I must say to you—”

Her words were drowned by Rochefort’s sudden exclamation. Ahead of them, barely visible in the driving rain, was a carriage lying drunkenly in the ditch. One of its wheels was shattered and an axle was broken. The horses had been unharnessed and tethered to a sapling. The passengers sat beneath the shelter of a large live-oak tree which overhung the road. As they drew nearer, the man rose from beside the young lady, who, draped in the protective covering of his frock coat, remained seated. Snatching off his hat, the gentleman waved at them to stop. It was Victor.