Canal Street didn’t have a canal, but it had mud, rocks, and unmentionable things, and she had stepped on or in them all. She had forgotten how wide the street was, and by the time she reached the other side, her corset refused to allow her more breaths. A few people asked if she needed help, and she gave a polite no because they wouldn’t want the real answer. Lottie’s side ached, and her shoes were useless. If she could break out of the prison of this corset, she might be able to make it. She could see the spires of the cathedral from where she was, their white tops piercing the night air. If only they were as close as they appeared.
Intermission had long been over. She wondered what Paul was doing or thinking. Lottie gasped, bent over the little she could, held her sides, and kept repeating, “I forgot. I forgot. I forgot.” So concerned with assuring herself that Paul would not be alarmed by her being gone, she had forgotten about her grandparents. They would be concerned if she did not appear within a reasonable length of time. Which meant they would look for her, which meant so would Paul. She had to get this information to Father before Paul found her, or else she might as well have stayed in the theatre.
She hurried through one more block but had to breathe again before she could go on. If she had worn long sleeves, she could have wiped her face on them. What did it matter? She picked up her lovely, delicately embroidered skirt and blotted her wet face.
“Don’t I know you?”
She looked up into the eyes of a tall and truly dark man. Lottie was too tired to be frightened, and his eyes were too kind to be someone who wanted to cause her harm. He moved into the light so she could see him, and his face did seem so familiar. The voice—she remembered the voice.
“You were with Gabriel at my grandfather’s office. I’m Charlotte LeClerc.”
“Joseph Joubert. I thought so.” He paused. “You look, if you don’t mind me saying so, a bit ragged. I’m not used to seeing the daughters of wealthy Creole men roaming the streets at night. Is there somewhere I can take you?”
She smiled. “I have information I need to give someone, and I’m afraid I might not get there…so I probably need to start walking again….”
“Do you think I might be able to help?”
“Can you run a few blocks carrying me?”
He looked her over. “Maybe. How many blocks?”
She heard the clattering of carriage wheels and looked behind her. “Oh no. Oh no.” Paul was two short blocks away.
Lottie’s chest tightened. Her breaths came fast and shallow. If she couldn’t talk to Father, four people’s lives would be ripped apart. She was still too far away. Lottie looked at the man gaining on her and the one in front of her.
She grabbed Joseph’s arm. “I’m not going to have time to repeat this, and I’m trusting you because you’re Gabriel’s friend. Find Père François. Tell him somebody has to get to the people tonight. The Mazants. They’re slaves of Paul Bastion. Please. Please. Please.” She wiped her eyes. “They have to be safe. They have no one.”
She knew Paul was close. In a too-loud voice, Joseph said, “It was so very nice to meet you again, Mademoiselle LeClerc. I do hope you get to feeling better. Who knows? Might all be gone by tomorrow.”
“Charlotte? What is going on? Why are you with that man?” Paul demanded.
As Joseph Jobert turned to leave, the gaslamp illuminated his face and chest. The man wore a cravat. A black-and-red cravat.
Charlotte did what any self-respecting Southern girl would do when faced with something for which there is no reasonable or believable reply.
She utterly, completely, and willingly fainted.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
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When she opened her eyes, Paul was holding her, so she knew she had not died…or at least she hoped not. Because if she had died and Paul held her, then she doubted she would be in heaven.
Her head felt as if it went in one direction and her body in another. She saw her grandparents across from her and realized she was in the carriage.
Grand-père leaned over. “Lottie, we are going home.”
Lottie nodded. Joseph. The cravat. When he walked away, she’d heard Agnes’s voice saying, “God always finds a way.” And she had just witnessed it. She remembered thinking how tired she was and how she couldn’t feel her legs and how if she just let this spinning in her head alone, it would stop.
Her gown was ruined. Another rework for the orphan home. She peeked at what was left of her shoes. They could be thrown into the fireplace. Serafina. Did she throw the paper away?
“Lottie, who was that man you were talking to?” Paul said the word man as if he really meant boy but did not want to show the hand of prejudice yet.