Sweet Piracy (29 page)

10

“I WAS NEVER so glad to see anyone in my life,” Victor said, pumping Rochefort’s hand.

“Are you hurt, you or the young lady?”

“No, no. We managed to jump free without damage to either of us, unless you count the blow to my ego. You have every right to call me a cow-handed fool. I was watching the river, you see, instead of where I was going.”

“Looking for some sign of the steamboat, I collect?” Rochefort said, bowing to Amélie, who colored prettily and tried to wipe the rain from her face with the back of her hand. Caroline, hurrying to her side, gave the girl an impulsive hug.

“So you know?” Victor asked. “I might have guessed. If you did not, you would not be here with Mademoiselle Caroline — that is, what I meant to say—”

“We know what you mean, Victor. Kindly spare our blushes by refraining from any attempt to explain. One supposes you were, indeed, trying to stop the boat, not catch it to arrange passage for yourself and Mademoiselle Delacroix?”

Victor drew himself up, his face flushing a dark red. “I must ask you to retract that suggestion, Jean. It is unworthy of Mademoiselle Amélie, of you, or of myself.”

“I do so gladly, but you will have to admit that taking a young lady, unchaperoned, from her house in the early morning hours, without so much as a by-your-leave, does have a peculiar look about it.”

“I suppose it must. We did not intend to be gone so long or range so far. You may laugh, but I never realized how swiftly these steamboats can travel. I was certain we could catch up to it, especially if it should be delayed by a stop or two along its way. And we might have done too, had it not been for this accursed rain storm!”

“Yes, well, there’s no time to redrive the course at the moment. We must see about getting the ladies back to Beau Repos—”

Here Caroline broke in. “In my opinion, that would be unwise after this morning’s work. Estelle must still be recovered, even if someone has to follow her all the way to New Orleans. All in all, I believe the course suggested by Anatole may be best; to continue on to the house of Madame Delacroix’s brother. When Estelle is found, she can join her family there.”

“Oh, Mam’zelle, must we?” Amélie said fearfully.

“It is the only way. I think nothing less than the request from a great-aunt for a last sight of her two nieces can account for the undue haste with which you and your sister left Beau Repos. Even that may not suffice, but if there is enough black and gloom in evidence in the next few months, it should lend credence to the story.”

“
Maman
goes into black for the most distant relatives, even to the most distant cousin and that cousin’s cat. You may be certain she will stop the clocks and turn the mirrors to the wall for her favorite aunt. What I dread is having to tell
Maman
and
Papa
why we had to come.”

Caroline could sympathize with that reason for apprehension. She did not have time to dwell on it, however. At that moment the curricle carrying Anatole and Hippolyte came splashing toward them through the rain.

“Amélie!” Anatole said, springing down from the carriage and going to his sister. “You look terrible. What has this brute done to you?”

“He has done nothing at all!” Amélie said, flaring up in a manner more like Estelle than her quiet self. “He has behaved like a perfect gentleman. He only came on this chase at all because I particularly asked to come, and I will not have him insulted and badgered and called horrid names!” With that, the girl, completely composed until this moment, turned her face into Caroline’s shoulder and gave way to her emotions.

Anatole stared at his sister with a look of mingled surprise and discomfiture. Then, with a manful squaring of the shoulders, he turned and gave his hand to Victor. His apologies were interrupted by Hippolyte. He had been walking around the wreck of the curricle in a distracted manner, and now came up to ask with some belligerence what they had done with Mademoiselle Estelle.

The answer to this set off another round of exclamations and recriminations punctuated by suggestions as to what should be done with chits who had delusions about life upon the boards. Hippolyte was objecting vehemently to the idea of such cavalier treatment of his beloved when Rochefort cut across the hubbub with the clean knife of irony.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but while you discuss the matter, the steamboat increases its distance and ladies are left standing in the rain. If I might make a suggestion?”

What that suggestion might have been no one was destined to learn. At the mention of the boat, their attention turned naturally to the river.

“Look!;” Hippolyte cried. “It’s the steamboat!”

It had to be the
General Jackson
. Only that boat had a quasi-regular run on the river, and the other craft sighted in the past half year could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

On this section of the Mississippi there were no close plantations and only the poorest excuse for a levee. With a bound, Anatole was astride the low earthen dike, waving his hat over his head. Hippolyte, snatching off his beaver, followed suit.

They were rewarded by the sight of the steamboat swinging its top-heavy prow in their direction. As it neared, they could see Estelle under the overhang on the forward deck, jumping up and down in excitement as she recognized them. Beside her was a raven-haired figure in a billowing gown of sweet-pea pink over an underdress of rose red. A parasol tipped over one shoulder, Madame Fontaine chatted with Estelle while clinging to the arm of the gentleman beside her, M’sieur Philippe Hautrive.

The gangway was let down, and Estelle, in obviously borrowed oilskin, came tripping ashore. She was followed by a brawny stevedore with a hidebound trunk on his shoulder. He set it down with a thump, accepted the
pourboire
Anatole offered, and swaggered back on board. The two who had been standing beside her, the only passengers to venture out into the weather, waved her what had every appearance of a fond but relieved farewell before turning inside. The captain of the steamboat saluted her from the Texas deck. Then, with a resounding blast of its whistle, the
General Jackson
backed its engine and headed downstream.

Estelle stood fluttering her handkerchief after the departing vessel. When it was hidden by a mist-like curtain of rain, she pivoted slowly to face the silent group behind her. She scanned their faces uneasily, then blanched a little as she saw the overturned carriage.

“Was — was anyone hurt?” she croaked.

“No!” Anatole said in accents of strongest condemnation, “no thanks to you! Would you like to tell us what maggot got into your brain to cause you to go racing off like that?”

Estelle glanced at Hippolyte, then looked away again. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “I was angry, and when M’sieur Philippe told me he was going to New Orleans, it seemed like a lark.” Her eyes lighted on the bandbox at Amélie’s feet. “You found the box with my best bonnet! How clever of you to bring it!”

“It was lying in the hall, an instant giveaway if anyone else had seen it.” Amélie said distractedly. “I was in such a rush I just brought it with me.”

Anatole sent them a look of exasperation. “Didn’t you know we would all be worried sick about you?” he demanded.

“I didn’t consider,” Estelle said. “I — I thought it would be the most famous thing possible if I could go with Madame Fontaine. I thought she would help me to become a great actress. I would be famous and have jewels and carriages and a big house and go where I liked when I liked, and — and I would not have to worry about propriety, or proper behavior, only about amusement. Then — then Madame Fontaine told me she would help me if she could, but it was just as the Marquis had tried to tell me. It would be a long time before I could be famous. I would have to work hard and stay in dirty lodgings and not have much to eat, and I could not do what I wanted because I must spend all my waking hours either at the theater or else studying for my part. It did not sound at all amusing. It sounded much worse than being in the schoolroom with Mam’zelle Caroline, and I will soon escape from there!”

“Oh, but Estelle, you can’t just come back now as if nothing had happened,” Amélie pointed out in distress. “What will people say? It will soon be known to all that you set out alone on the steamboat.”

“Oh, that is no problem. I told the Captain I was going to visit my
grand-père
and
grand-mère
in New Orleans, but my governess, who had a matter of business to discuss with M’sieur le Marquis, was supposed to have boarded the steamboat at Felicity.”

“Surely they didn’t believe such a faradiddle?” Anatole demanded.

“Not perhaps at first, but Madame Fontaine kindly upheld me by saying that she knew it to be a fact, and no doubt Mam’zelle was too occupied with the Marquis to realize the boat was leaving. Then of course I made a to-do about how improper it was for me to travel alone, and how afraid I was and how grateful I would be if the Captain would only turn back. He called me a silly little goose, but he agreed at last because he said
Papa
had promised to freight his raw sugar to New Orleans by steamboat, and it was part of his job to keep the goodwill of the plantation owners along the river.”

Caroline felt as if she had been dealt a blow to the heart. Beside her, she could sense the tension that held Rochefort rigid.

“Estelle—” Amélie breathed in disbelief.

“You, my dear sister, deserve a beating,” Anatole told her, taking a step forward as if he intended to carry out the sentence he had just passed.

Bewilderment clouded Estelle’s sherry-brown eyes. “What — what do you mean?”

Her pale face earnest, Amélie caught Caroline’s arm, communicating by touch her sincere regret and sympathy. “Don’t you see, Estelle?” she said. “You have blackened Mam’zelle Caroline’s good name for the sake of your own.”

~~~

IT WAS A GRIM cavalcade that returned to the road when the rain faded away. Their number was shortened by one. Victor, despite his ardent wish to continue with Amélie, mounted one of the horses of the wrecked carriage and, leading the other, turned back in the direction of Felicity. He carried with him a letter for Tante Zizi which would set her mind at rest, insure that a trunk was packed and sent on for both Amélie and Caroline, and guarantee that the proper tale concerning the morning’s activities was given circulation. With any luck, they should be able to squeeze by with no one the wiser. In a few days the Delacroix family would return home and all would go on as before, or almost all.

The sun came out to make the trees and grass sparkle and to dry their clothing. There was some discussion of stopping along the way; hospitality could have been theirs for the asking at any of the numerous plantations that fronted the river. It was decided, however, that the fewer who had firsthand knowledge of their journey the better, and so they rested in the shade of a wood outside a small German settlement while Anatole and Hippolyte went in search of something to stave off the pangs of hunger.

Rochefort walked a little way apart from the ladies to lean with his shoulder against a tree. Estelle seized the chance to move closer to Caroline.

“Oh, Mam’zelle, I am so sorry,” she said for the dozenth time. “I could cut out my tongue. I just did not think; at least, I thought of no one except myself, selfish beast that I am.”

“A perfectly natural reaction under the circumstances,” Caroline told her with a weary gesture. In truth, she did not blame Estelle. She had possibly brought the whole thing on her own head by behaving with so little ceremony. True, she had never visited Felicity alone, but she had gone there more than once with a minimum of chaperonage. She had had excellent reasons for doing so, or so she told herself, but that did not matter.

“It’s just that I never thought of you in that way, as someone who must observe the conventions. One doesn’t consider that a duenna could need a duenna, or that she must beware the company of
certain
men.”

There was such emphasis on Estelle’s last words that Caroline was recalled to the fact that the two girls were still not aware that Rochefort was, in fact, who he said he was. That was one mistake she could rectify, and she did so without delay. As Estelle and Amélie exclaimed, she looked up to find Rochefort watching her, a speculative glint in his green eyes and a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.