The Scarlet Thread

By Becky Lee Weyrich

Two long-lost sisters lose their hearts to the same man in 19th-century New Orleans in a novel of the twists and turns of fate from “a master storyteller” (Romantic Times).
 
In the city of New Orleans, Desirée La Fleur, a dark-haired Creole beauty, arrives with the purpose to help the “Sisters of Sin,” the fallen women whose lives begin and end on a street in the red-light district known as the Scarlet Thread.
 
But deep inside Desirée, hiding just beneath the veil of purity, is a forbidden desire for a man who doesn’t want a wife. Armed with unwavering determination and proud innocence, Desirée will soon find herself in a world as enticing at it is dangerous—one that will reunite her with the sister she thought she’d never see again . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jun 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781626813038

Book preview

Prologue

Ascension Parish, Louisiana

May 14, 1885

From his hidden lair, a bull alligator roared through the hot, humid darkness. Desirée screamed with fear and sobbed, Wait for me, Maum Goldie! I can’t keep up. Don’t let him get me!

Desirée La Fleur’s impressionable young mind allowed the waxing moon to transform the swaying cypresses and the gnarled oaks of the swamp into nightmarish loups-garous—mythical bayou werewolves, possessed of bristling hackles, bulging red eyes, and an unquenchable thirst for blood. She knew, from tales told her by the Cajun trappers who worked their way up Bayou Lafourche, that these devil-creatures roamed the foggy bottom lands and were especially fond of tender young children. That knowledge and the enshrouding darkness spurred her pace.

Maum Goldie, the beautiful octoroon nurse whose name matched the color of her skin, paused for her young charge to catch up. Desirée scurried toward the sound of the woman’s labored breathing. She could barely hear the whimpers from her baby sister, clutched tightly in Maum Goldie’s arms, over the bullfrogs’ nocturnal trolling. The voices of other wetland creatures added to the confusing din. She tried not to think about what might be lurking in the swamp at the edge of her father’s plantation, Belle Fleur. But the burning of her face and arms was a constant reminder of the swarms of hungry mosquitoes accompanying their flight. Her heart pounded and her legs ached, but she pushed on, struggling to keep up.

Please, Maum Goldie! She was begging now, her small fingers clutching at the worn folds of her nurse’s skirt. Can’t we stop and rest a minute?

You just take my hand, child, and hold tight to it. Move them little feet like the devil hisself was breathin’ down your neck. Reckon he is at that! Maum Goldie shifted the sleeping Innocente in her arms and glanced over her shoulder. See them torches back yonder through the swamp, Desirée? They ain’t no jack-o’-lanterns! That’s your pa, come to fetch us on back.

But why’d we have to leave, Maum Goldie? Desirée whined. She was thinking more of her warm crib with its protective mosquito netting than her cruel stepmother and the sure punishment awaiting if they were caught.

I done told you and told you, child. Ain’t nothing been right since your sweet mama passed on. Your pa all the time stompin’ around, drinkin’, cussin’, acting ornery as a polecat. He don’t love you younguns like he ought to. As for that woman he married, well, I seen more than I could take this afternoon when she spanked you, honey. She ain’t never layin’ a hand on one of my babies again. Not never! Your mama say with her dying breath that Maum Goldie was to take care of her angels and, by the Lawd in heaven, I’s going to do just that!

The other reason for their hasty flight wasn’t fit for young ears, Goldie decided. Never again would Auguste La Fleur force her to his bed. Never again would that new wife of his accuse her of being a high-yellow slut. Goldie, as everyone had called the young woman since her birth, wanted better for the girls and better for herself.

Step lively now, child. We’re going to New Orleans!

Men’s shouts and the baying of hounds, which echoed their hollow warning through the swamp, seemed to come from one direction and then from another. But the men’s torches sputtered in the drizzly night, betraying their pursuers’ exact location. At times they moved so near that Desirée could smell the acrid smoke from the burning pine knots.

Fear trembled out of Maum Goldie’s cold fingers. Desirée tried to press close to her nurse, but jutting cypress knees, bramble vines, and her own stumbling tore them apart time and again. Panicked, Desirée cried out whenever she lost her hold on Maum Goldie’s hand. Her sounds of distress worked their way to the baby’s consciousness. Innocente began to wail.

Hush that, Desirée! Maum Goldie whispered hoarsely. This baby going to give us away if you keep frettin’ her like that. You a big girl. Act like one!

Desirée squared her thin shoulders and tried to be brave. But the threat of capture and punishment, the screaming swamp, and her natural fear of the dark made her efforts poor at best. The moon went out suddenly, its guiding luminescence extinguished by great, soggy clouds. They trudged on, moving slowly now, unable to see the root snags, broken limbs, and watery pits that lay in their path. Time and again Desirée tripped and fell only to be dragged to her feet once more.

Suddenly the shouts grew louder. Desirée could hear what the men were saying.

I think they went that way, Mr. La Fleur.

No, there’s a scrap of Desirée’s pink gown over here on this bush. Follow me, you men!

I don’t think it’s any use, Mr. La Fleur. We’ll never find them. It’s too dark now.

Damn you, Goldie! Auguste La Fleur shouted. You bring my children back here, you yeller whore!

At these words Desirée felt a shudder run through the lovely octoroon woman, and despite her best efforts, the child cried aloud.

I heard ’em, Mr. La Fleur. Over thata way!

Loose that hound when I say, Jasper. He’ll find them. Then La Fleur yelled again, You hear that, nigga’? I’m fixin’ to sick my dog on you. This is your last chance to answer me!

The fear of attacking dogs sent Maum Goldie rushing blindly ahead, dragging Desirée in her wake. The child fought to regain her balance. She tried desperately to get to her feet and run, but her strength had vanished through fear and fatigue.

Get up, Desirée honey! Please! Maum Goldie begged. That dog’11 be on us any minute!

Desirée struggled up out of the mud and plodded on, clutching at her nurse’s skirt. The moon sailed out of the clouds for a moment. They could see a break in the trees ahead. The levee and safety lay beyond. New strength flowed through Desirée. Only a few more steps… through the shallow stream, up the bank, and then…

The snarl of an attacking dog and a prehistoric bellow shook the earth simultaneously. To Desirée, it seemed that everything happened in an instant—the flash of teeth and fangs, the terrifying sounds in the blackness, the rush of cold water, and the sucking mud holding her fast.

Desirée! she heard Maum Goldie scream.

She tried to answer, but something struck her chest with such force that she was thrown out of the water and onto the low bank of the stream. She lay there stunned, unable to move, unable to breathe. After a moment, hot fingers of pain shot up her spine. A second later, she felt cold and numb all over. She saw yellow eyes, seeming to travel toward her, but she couldn’t move… couldn’t escape. She heard the men’s shouts, but she was unable to answer. She knew water was washing over her feet, but it didn’t matter.

I got to leave you, Desirée, she heard Maum Goldie sob. Sweet Baby Jesus hold you to His bosom. I can’t save you, child. Abruptly, Maum Goldie’s voice and Innocente’s wails faded into the night. Desirée was slipping through the mud back into the water. She felt the wetness washing over her. The men’s loud shouts made her head pound. Then there was a bright circle of light stinging her eyes. A moment later, the smell of liquor she always associated with her father roused her senses.

Damn gator killed my hound! she heard him say. Best dog I ever had, too.

Never mind that, Auguste. What about Desirée?

Haul her out of the water, Doc. Let’s see.

Desirée was aware of being lifted, but could neither feel the strong arms about her nor speak to Dr. Colomb, the man holding her.

Goddamn gator must have whacked her with his tail—probably caved in her chest, Auguste La Fleur observed. She never had a chance.

She’s still breathing, Auguste. Let’s get her back to the house.

You reckon she’ll live, Doc?

Desirée’s future is in God’s hands now, Auguste. But what about Goldie and the baby?

Reckon the devil will just have to see to them!

Chapter One

The air in the Garden District of New Orleans seemed to drip honeyed sunshine that fine spring morning. Shimmering a dazzling white, the Greek Revival mansion on Prytania Street towered out of the surrounding manicured grounds, like some ancient Athenian temple miraculously transported to Louisiana soil.

Nanine Duplantier lingered over her mail and a last cup of café au lait, enjoying the fragrant warmth of late morning. An unopened letter slipped from her turquoise silk lap when she rose on hearing a familiar cry from the street. She hurried to the open window to listen.

"Blackber—ries! Fresh and fine.

I got blackber—ries. Lady!

I got blackberries!

Three glass fo’ a dime!"

Crooning the singsong words to herself, Nanine hurried into the cavernous kitchen with its gaping fireplace and rows of copper pots and pans hanging from exposed oak beams.

Amaryllis, call that vendor to the door. Some fresh berry tarts would be nice, don’t you think?

The cook, a chocolate mountain of a woman, nodded and lumbered over to the back door. Hey, you dere! Bring dem berries here so’s I can count de worms you gone try to sell dis here fine lady!

A small, black boy scampered up the back steps, two wooden pails slung over his arms and a third balanced on his nappy head. Plump, purplish berries, gleaming fresh with morning dew, brimmed from the tops of the buckets.

These here berries done rotted on the bush! Amaryllis snorted. Ain’t nothing but seed left to ’em. If you think my mistress gone pay yo’ price for dem, you got a bone in yo’ head, boy!

Nanine smiled to herself at the intense haggling that ensued between her servant and the young merchant. She knew full well that Amaryllis would procure her berries far below the going price and probably extract an extra portion as lagniappe from the lad in the bargain.

Secure in that knowledge, Nanine returned to sorting her mail—a pile to be answered immediately, those that could wait, and the ever-arriving invitations from her husband Placide’s countless Creole relations and their friends. When the three stacks were neatly piled, she spied the envelope that had slipped to the floor. Retrieving it, she read:

Mount Holyoke Female Seminary

South Hadley, Massachusetts

May 20, 1899

Dearest Cousin Nanine,

Since you heard from me at Christmas, my whole life has taken a different course. I know you were expecting a wedding announcement, but it is not to be. I am afraid my marriage to Mr. Williamson would not have been a means to an end, but an end for me. I could hardly play the role of submissive wife and helpmate without love in my heart for the man. I have struggled too long and hard to sacrifice my freedom now. I know you will disagree, but to me marriage seems the only form of slavery yet to be abolished.

I now find my heart fanned by a new flame. Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Miss Susan B. Anthony spoke at the college a few weeks ago, and their message showed me the course I must follow. Along with my teaching and writing, I plan to carry the torch of reform to the poor women of New Orleans, who strain under the yoke of White Slavery. Those Sisters of Sin must be given a new chance at life!

Before you left school to marry Cousin Placide, you very graciously offered your home as mine upon my graduation. At the time, I never expected to return to Louisiana, but I hope your offer still stands.

Assuming upon our friendship and family ties, I will leave this great institute of learning in a few days, arriving in New Orleans on June 3. Do not attempt to meet my train as schedules are uncertain. I am quite capable of seeing myself from the station to your lovely home.

Until then, my very best to Cousin Placide, and much love to you. 1 remain…

Yours with fondest regards,

Desirée La Fleur

Nanine put a slender hand to her throat and gave a small cry of delight.

"My word! Today is the third! Placide… I must call and tell him."

She ran to the newly installed telephone in the library and had the hello boy ring Placide’s office at the New Orleans Canal and Banking Company.

Hello. Placide? This is Nanine. I have the most exciting news. Desirée is coming. Today, by train.

That’s wonderful! Placide Duplantier said, after a moment’s pause. But I thought she was getting married.

No, the wedding is off. She’s coming to New Orleans to find a position, I suppose. Probably teaching at Madame Picard’s school. Please be home early, dear. I’m going to have a small dinner to welcome her.

A deep chuckle on the line greeted this news. Planning to shove her right into the social flood, eh, darling?

Well, Placide, we can’t have her mooning about, brooding over the wedding that was to be. She’s quite bitter, I can tell. She even wrote of remaining single forever. But that will change. It’s time she married. And what better place to find a proper husband and settle down than right here in New Orleans.

I presume you’ve already given serious thought to finding her a ‘proper husband,’ my dear?

Oh, Placide! How could he always read her thoughts? she wondered. Of course I’ve been thinking of a dinner partner for her, but only someone to make her first evening with us pleasant.

Yves L’Enfant is returning to town today, Placide suggested. He’s always jolly good company.

Nanine frowned into the receiver. I don’t know, Placide. He’s such a moody fellow. I’m not sure he’d be right for Desirée.

Again her husband laughed. I thought you said you were only choosing someone for dinner, not for a lifetime, darling.

I told you I’m not planning to marry them off to each other. Still… Placide could hear the musing tone in his wife’s voice. She should make a match soon. I’d thought perhaps she’d enjoy meeting Roman St. Vincent. I know I certainly find his company stimulating.

Roman, eh? He seems to be your favorite guest these days. Are you sure you’re inviting him to amuse Desirée and not yourself?

"How dare you say such a thing, Placide? I’m not planning to invite Dr. St. Vincent because I enjoy him! It’s just that he’s such a lonely man since his wife died. He’s the sort who needs to be married."

I fully agree, darling. I was only teasing you.

Well, I don’t like that kind of teasing, Placide.

Forgive me? he whispered into the phone.

You are forgiven, yes. But only because I’m certain Roman and Desirée will make the perfect couple. I know he claims he’ll never marry again, but the right woman will change his mind. Just wait and see. And if things work out between the two of them, we can have a huge engagement party and invite everyone in the city. Won’t that be lovely, Placide?

Indeed it will, my dear! Placide, as much a romantic as his beautiful wife, was caught up in her plans now. He could almost see his cousin as the good doctor’s bride.

I’m going to ring off now, Placide. Be home early. Goodbye.

Nanine waited for her husband’s quiet "adieu" before she replaced the receiver. She sat staring for a moment, quite in awe of this newfangled instrument. Tucking a wisp of wheat-colored hair into place, she quickly began organizing plans for the evening.

Felicity, Nanine called to the young maid who was clearing the table, you’ll prepare the south guest room at once. Then, not waiting for an answer from the girl, Nanine hurried into the kitchen to consult with Amaryllis on the night’s menu and to advise the cook that the household would soon add one to its number.

Amaryllis nodded and went on with the pastry crust for the blackberry tarts. One extra mouth to feed ain’t hardly worth mentioning around here, Miss Nan. Seem like ever’ time I sets the table there’s two, three guests turns up unexpected. But I ain’t never seen no one leave this house hungry yet.

Well, I should hope not, Amaryllis! Nanine said, with an appreciative smile. "Besides, it’s all your fault we have so many guests. Everyone in the city knows of your talents. They come for your cooking, not our company!"

Lordy, Miss Nan, if you ain’t a caution! Amaryllis bellowed with laughter until her big bosoms quaked. You got a way with words that makes folks do what you want, and they never know but what it was their very own idea. And you always so nice about it they just go right along with you.

Nanine offered her cook a conspiratorial smile. Let’s hope Cousin Desirée and Dr. St. Vincent go along, as you say, Amaryllis. If they do, we may soon be planning a wedding.

Nanine left the cook still chuckling and hurried upstairs to dress. Her mind was on Desirée all the while. They had been as close as sisters through school. Their classmates at Mount Holyoke had teased them often, because although they were inseparable, they were exact opposites. Nanine was the gay one—flitting through her studies the way a butterfly darts through a field of daisies. Desirée had been more serious, always concerned with the problems of others before her own. But underneath that serious facade, Nanine knew that mischief lurked deep within her friend. She still shivered at the thought of some of the pranks they’d played in school—the nights they’d sneaked in after curfew, the tadpoles they’d caught at the pond and put in the music master’s water pitcher, the skinny snow woman they’d made that so resembled the house mistress. If they’d ever been caught… But no one suspected the serious, studious Desirée and her innocent-looking friend. They seemed too totally opposite to scheme so well together.

Even in looks they were at odds: Nanine with her light hair and silvery-blue eyes, Desirée with hair as black as polished teak and fool’s gold eyes—unfathomable hazel with glittering starbursts circling each pupil.

Their goals had been different as well. Nanine had lived for the day when she could marry and have a home and children. She’d found her dream lover in Desirée’s cousin, Placide. But Desirée’s early life had been far different from Nanine’s close family circle. Desirée had lived with a father who cared more for his hounds and horses than he did for his daughter. She’d suffered an unloving stepmother who had two daughters of her own to pamper. Desirée had been sent away to one boarding school after another once she had recovered from the crippling accident she’d suffered when she was only seven years old.

That terrible night had left scars—not on Desirée’s body, but on her soul. Nanine felt sure that the reason Desirée seemed afraid to love was because she had had so little practice at it.

But we’ll soon fix that! Nanine smiled smugly at her reflection in the mirror on the landing. She had a feeling that even Desirée would be charmed by Dr. Roman St. Vincent. And the reverse, she was sure, would be true. The thought pleased Nanine immensely. After Roman’s unfortunate marriage and his wife’s tragic death, he needed someone to love.

She hurried up the wide, mahogany staircase to make sure Felicity didn’t forget to place fresh vetiver in the guest room armoire. Everything must be perfect for Desirée’s arrival.

Desirée La Fleur gazed out of the begrimed window of the coach to catch her first glimpse of the city. Lake Pontchartrain blazed a reflection of mirrored blue from the unblemished sky. Ahead she could see the church spires jutting up from the hodgepodge of French, Spanish, and American architecture that typified New Orleans’s polyglot society.

The ‘City of Sin’! she whispered with a slight shiver. She had been here once as a girl to visit Placide’s family, but now she viewed the place in a new, more exciting light. This was where she belonged, where she could do her best work. Surely, there were changes to be made, and she was just the person for the task.

For a fleeting moment, Desirée’s thoughts turned to Maum Goldie and Innocente. On that fateful night so long ago, their nurse had declared their destination to be New Orleans. Where were they now? Desirée wondered. Alive? Dead? Maybe the two of them were right here in New Orleans still! No one had heard a word from or about them since the night they fled the plantation fourteen years ago. But then, Desirée’s stepmother had made it known that she wanted no news of them.

She sighed. All of that was history now. Even if she met Innocente on the street, she wouldn’t recognize her. Why, she’d be a grown woman, almost eighteen! A fleeting moment of sadness gripped her as she realized she and her sister would have nothing in common except their parents, and now they were both gone, too.

She thought back to the stiffly worded note she had received from her stepmother that first year at Mount Holyoke, informing her that her father had died suddenly, poisoned by a bad batch of whiskey. All the more reason, Desirée thought, for her present crusade.

Her father’s will had left Desirée only a paltry sum, which her expenses at school quickly exhausted. Belle Fleur, the home and plantation, went to her father’s second wife and her daughters and the younger half brother Desirée had never seen. But that mattered little. The plantation had not seemed like her home for many years.

The cash prize she’d received from winning the writing contest shortly before graduation had provided funds for her train ticket to New Orleans, leaving a small but ample sum for emergencies. By the time her nest egg was gone, she’d have a position, she told herself. She didn’t need her father’s money, and she would not accept charity from Placide.

Desirée raised her chin to a defiant tilt. She’d always taken care of herself and she would continue to do so—gladly!

Nearing the station, the train slowed, and Desirée came out of her reverie. The man across the aisle, who had boarded at the last station, was staring at her. She turned and gave him a cold look, but he only smiled mockingly and nodded to her. She turned away. She was tempted to say something to him—to tell him she found his blatant observation of her in the poorest taste—but she couldn’t quite work up the nerve.

He probably thought that she should have done as the conductor had suggested and taken a seat in the ladies’ coach. Well, he could think whatever he liked! Neither Mrs. Stanton nor Miss Anthony would have shut themselves away in a part of the train where only women and children were allowed. Desirée La Fleur would not either!

She turned and looked again. He was still eyeing her. Is there something I can do for you, sir? she demanded in a caustic tone.

He chuckled softly. Oh, I’m sure there is! But this is neither the time nor place, Garnet.

Desirée gasped softly and turned away, her cheeks flaming. So much for trying to shame him! She wanted to tell him that he had obviously mistaken her for someone else, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him again.

The train chugged and sparked its way into the station. Putting the insolent stranger from her thoughts, Desirée smoothed the creases and stray cinders from her dove-gray serge skirt before she stood to retrieve her hand baggage from the rack overhead.

Let me help you. The man who had been ogling her jumped to her aid.

That’s quite all right, thank you. I’m perfectly capable of managing these few parcels. She scorched him with an annoyed gaze, then added, Besides, a lady doesn’t accept assistance from strangers.

He gave a low chuckle and ignored her protests. When he reached up to the rack, his hand brushed hers. At the same time he pressed his body close, blocking her escape. Desirée tried to shrink away, but he had her trapped.

So, I’m a stranger, eh? Come off it, Garnet! He laughed deep in his throat and allowed his dark eyes to take the most disgraceful liberties with her body. But have it your way, my dear. If you want to pretend we’ve never met, then do allow me to present myself, Mademoiselle. Yves L’Enfant of Black Oak Plantation. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. You are, of course…

She jerked her hand away. "I am a lady, sir, and one who enjoys her privacy, if you don’t mind!"

He stepped slightly away, a sardonic smile still creasing his smooth face, but not reaching up to warm his black eyes. He seemed amused by whatever game he was playing. The train jolted to a stop just then, throwing Desirée forward into his arms.

Ah, so you can’t resist my charms after all, he mocked. I was sure you would come around, even if you don’t want the other passengers to guess your true identity.

He pulled her closer, tightening his arm around her waist. Desirée, for one mortifying moment, thought he was going to kiss her. His lips curled back, and the tip of his tongue flicked out nervously at his pencil-thin mustache. She was having trouble breathing, and she could feel the flame in her cheeks.

Please release me at once! Her demand came out like a weak whisper.

He chuckled and drew her even closer. I’ll let you go for now, but later, when there’s more privacy…

Desirée uttered a horrified cry and fought her way out of his arms. Gathering up her bags, she rushed for the exit. The man was mad! It was as plain and simple as that.

The terror she’d felt a moment before subsided in the bright hustle and bustle of the station platform. Cart boys loaded luggage for passengers, hack drivers called out for fares, street vendors hawked everything from fresh-brewed coffee to steamed crabs and crayfish.

Desirée forgot all about Yves L’Enfant, her full attention now centered on another man. He wore an outrageous yellow and green plaid suit and diamond studs flashed in his shirt front. His shiny derby sat on his head at a rakish angle. She noticed that he met every male passenger from the train and pressed a pale blue book into each hand. Then with an expansive wave, he indicated the row of houses across the street. Desiree, thinking the free publication a guide to the city’s historical sites, asked for a copy.

Sorry, ma’am, I’m fresh-out. Quickly, he concealed the blue bound pamphlets, which were guides to the various pleasure palaces of Storyville, behind his back. But the moment she turned away, he began distributing the books to the men once more and calling their attention to the row of houses.

Desirée glanced in that direction and read the sign on the corner Basin Street.

She looked at the intersection of Basin and Iberville and noted a crowd of customers milling in and out of two establishments. The gaudy lettering over the doors identified these as the Terminal Saloon and the Fewclothes’ Cabaret.

Demon rum! she seethed, feeling the fire of righteous indignation ignite in her breast. Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony were right about this place!

She spied another popular watering hole on the corner, Anderson’s. Down that block of Basin stretched a line of three-story mansions, two in particular standing out because of their graceful cupolas. The shades in these handsome houses were drawn and the windows shuttered. Odd, she thought, that there was not a sign of life in that whole block. She wondered about the people who lived there.

Ah, Storyville! Home at last, eh, Garnet?

Desirée turned when the all too familiar voice spoke close to her ear. It was Yves L’Enfant once more, but he couldn’t have been speaking to her. She started to walk away. He caught her arm, guiding her across the tracks toward the seemingly deserted mansions.

Please, Garnet, allow me to escort you. I think this little charade of yours has gone far enough. I went along with your act on the train to save you embarrassment. But we’re home now. We don’t need to pretend any longer.

I don’t want to have to call a policeman, she threatened, but L’Enfant either didn’t hear her ragged whisper or chose to ignore her words.

Heaven on earth, he said expansively. Basin Street—the scarlet thread running through the very heart of New Orleans. And the ladies who weave that thread into the cloth of magic—Flo Meeker, Marguerite Angell, Antonia Gonzales, Jessie Brown, Josie Arlington, Lulu White, and of course my own dear Garnet Gold.

Desirée, confused and quite honestly frightened by this time, had only been half listening. Most of her energy went into trying to fight her way free from this man.

Take your hands off me this instant, sir!

This is getting quite tiresome, Garnet! His voice was deadly. Haven’t you had enough of your little game?

"Game! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, let me go!"

L’Enfant ignored her words; he only gripped her arm tighter and hauled her along. I’m taking you home before you get arrested again. I have plans for tonight, but they’ll all go to hell if you wind up in the calaboose. The law’s the law, and it applies even to you. I don’t see why you keep slipping away from Storyville this way and causing trouble for me and the good doctor.

Desirées mind whirled. She had no idea what the man was talking about or where he meant to take her. And who was this Garnet Gold? She struggled against him. Several men nearby stared and made lewd comments. Then a policeman stepped out of the crowd. Desirée felt relief flood through her. She was about to be saved.

Afternoon, Mr. L’Enfant, the officer said, tipping his hat. The little lady giving you some trouble, is she?

No problem, O’Reilly. I’m merely escorting Miss Garnet back to Lulu White’s where she belongs. We wouldn’t want Mayor Flowers or Alderman Story to find out one of their soiled doves has flown the coop, now would we? I’ll just see her to Mahogany Hall. And let’s keep this between the two of us, O’Reilly.

The red-jowled officer winked and chuckled. It’ll be our little secret, Mr. L’Enfant. He turned and started to walk away, ignoring Desirée’s frantic struggles and pleas for help.

Wait, officer! she screamed. This man accosted me on the train. I want him arrested!

Quiet, Garnet! L’Enfant ordered, giving her arm a painful jerk. Do you want to land in jail for sure?

"My name is not Garnet!" she wailed.

A jeering crowd gathered, hoping for some sort of interesting action. Officer O’Reilly pushed his way back to where L’Enfant and Desirée stood. He looked thoroughly disgusted.

Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. L’Enfant, but it looks like I’d best haul her in before we have a riot on our hands right here in front of half the town. These girls have got to learn sooner or later. They can’t just go roaming about the streets, drumming up business. Come along quietly now, Garnet. We’ve all had enough excitement for one hot day.

Yves L’Enfant shook his head at Desirée as if she were a naughty child and handed her over to Officer O’Reilly. I tried, he said, before he turned and vanished into the crowd.

Desirée’s immediate relief at seeing the last of Yves L’Enfant melted in the hot sun as the policeman propelled her toward his horse-drawn paddy wagon.

Where are you taking me? I demand an explanation!

"Now don’t go gettin’ sassy