ChapterOne

Renault turned the brass carriage handle sideways and stepped down the steep pedal of the silver foot brace. Once his feet were on solid ground, he unfastened his suit coat and reached his hand into his vest pocket. He drew out his diamond encrusted pocket watch, holding the glittery, round, golden shell casing close to his face as he squinted in the dark to see the position of the hands. Nine o’clock exactly. Yes, that would make sense. He’d left his manor on Lake Pontchartrain at half past seven this evening. The fifteen mile carriage trip from his home to the center of the sprawling town of New Orleans usually took a full hour and a half. He slid the watch back into his pocket, relieved that he was on time for this evening’s engagement. He could almost hear his dead father’s nagging voice in his ear, “Punctuality is a sign of good breeding. A true gentleman never disrespects his party by keeping them waiting.” He liked to think of himself as just that, a true gentleman, even if his father neverdid.

He stepped away from his carriage and walked a short distance down narrow, dimly lit Basin street. He was thankful that he had the sidewalk all to himself. It was Saturday night and very soon, the street would be littered with men on the prowl. He’d never been fond of crowds, and the older he got, the truer that was. When he reached the spiked, bronze fence with the number 1800 imprinted in black lettering on the address plaque hanging from the fence post, he stopped. He opened the gate and slowly made his way down the center of the newly groomed courtyard, which was one of the finest he’d ever seen. The colorful field of chrysanthemums on both sides of him were arranged with conservative panache, a bonny pop of purple, orange and yellow here and there, not overly theatrical and commercialized, but just enough personality and flair to make him feel warm and welcome. Like he was visiting the home of a close friend. The lattice trellis that marked the end of the garden walkway was no less remarkable, with trim, waxy vines of deep green foliage and inserts of tiny white flowers that still bore the distinctive smell of vanilla, though summer was officiallyover.

After he passed under the trellis and was out of the garden, he started his climb up the short flight of well traveled cobblestone stairs. It was when he stood on the top stair, next to the weathered door with the crackling red paint that marked the entrance to the quaint, two story building, that he found himself overcome by a sudden shortness of breath. He quickly inhaled as much of the stagnant night air as he could, exhaling in long, slow puffs and then inhaling once again until his lungs were fully expanded. Perhaps he’d climbed the stairs too fast. Or he’d drunk too much wine on an empty stomach. He could use either of these pitiful excuses to explain the reason for the onset of