The carriage rattled down a Natchez street and passed in front of a tavern where a group of men stood conversing on the boardwalk. Marelda gave no notice to the gathering until she recognized the short, stocky shape of M. Horace Titch on its outer fringe. The man bobbed up and down like a bird on his short legs as he maneuvered for a better position, but for the most part the other men seemed to ignore him. She had always considered him a rather comical character and had often made fun of him behind his back, but she had also noticed his adoring stares following her about. Perhaps she might be successful in persuading him to do her bidding with only a smile as a reward. She could hardly see how she could fail.
Marelda spoke a word to her driver, and the closed landau was brought to a halt beside the boardwalk. Leaning out the window, she waved her handkerchief to gain the squat little man’s attention. “Mr. Titch! Yahoo! Mr. Titch!”
Horace glanced around and, seeing who hailed him, beamed in sudden delight. Immediately excusing himself from his companions, he hurried toward her carriage with his short-legged duck walk and was nearly breathless with elation when he arrived. “My dear Miss Rousse! Ah’m delighted to see you!”
The stage had truly been deprived of a great artist when Marelda chose to pursue the pampered life of a wealthy heiress. Her greatest act was that of the properly demure lady. Of course, even if she had been less skilled with her performance, Horace would never have noticed as those dark eyes swept downward above a coy smile. “You’re very gallant, Mr. Titch. You make a lady seem so special.”
“But you are special, Miss Rousse,” he responded eagerly. “Very special.”
“Why, Mr. Titch. You say the nicest things. I must be careful not to let you turn my head with such sweet flattery.”
Horace was nearly bursting with enthusiasm. “Oh, it isn’t flattery in the least! You’re the finest lady in all of Natchez! And may I say the most beautiful?”
Marelda cast her eyes downward again and smiled, feigning nervous embarrassment. “I fear you’ll make me blush if you continue, Mr. Titch.”
Horace thrust out his rounded chest, threatening the buttons of his large checkered vest. Never before had he brought a heightened color to any woman’s cheeks, except of course by anger, and the idea that he could accomplish such a feat with the beauteous Marelda Rousse was an invigorating boost to his ego. As he bathed in this moment of bliss, the realization began to dawn on him slowly that a distressed frown had replaced her smile and that she had begun twisting her handkerchief between her hands in a distraught fashion. He finally remembered that she had summoned him and made a cautious inquiry. “Uh…may I assist you in some way, Miss Rousse?”
“Oh, Mr. Titch, I wouldn’t want to trouble you….”
“I assure you it would be my pleasure.”
“Well, if you’re sure it would not be too much of an imposition…”
“Certainly not, Miss Rousse!” he declared. “Ask anything at all, and if it’s within my power, your wish will be granted.”
Marelda affected a reluctant guise as she concocted the lie: “I just don’t know where to turn. You see, my uncle is coming for a visit…and he has gotten into the habit of taking a toddy in the evening…for medicinal purposes, you understand.”
“Oh, of course!”
In an exaggerated drawl fairly dripping with honey and cream she continued: “I clearly forgot to ask the servants to purchase a bottle or two for the larder, and here he’ll be coming this very evening. I declare, with no man in the house to attend to such needs, I’m simply at a loss. The cupboard is bone dry, and if I don’t serve him a little something, my uncle is bound to think the very worst of my hospitality. I hesitate to venture into a tavern by myself. You understand, don’t you? It’s such manly territory. But if I send my driver, he must leave the carriage unattended.”
“Oh, please! Allow me, Miss Rousse.” Horace swallowed the bait with vigor.
“Oh, would you, Mr. Titch?” Marelda loosed the drawstring of her purse, and a few coins rattled on the bottom as she began digging inside. “If you’ll just wait a moment, sir, I have the money here.”
Astounded by the opportunity to serve this beautiful woman, Mr. Titch hastened to object: “I’ll not hear of it, Miss Rousse. I beg you to let me deliver this favor as a true gentleman of the first water. It’s the least I can do.”
Eagerly Horace set out on his errand, taking short, quick steps that were closely reminiscent of a duck crossing an icy pond. Intent upon this moment of glory, he reasoned as he went that if the lady would like one bottle, she might better appreciate two or even three.
Marelda’s eyes took on a feral gleam as a whole series of thoughts enraptured her. Her love of money had not been satiated by the small fortune her sire had bequeathed to her, but here was a resource she had not considered before and one well worth tapping. The Titch family had money enough to balance out the faults of the little man, and Horace did seem incredibly pliant to her wishes. Hardly like that devil, Ashton, who had always been difficult to manage. She was so taken with the prospect of gaining greater wealth, it seemed only a few brief moments before the door of the tavern opened again and the short man teetered out, his arms filled with a large cloth sack. His rapid gait brought him to her carriage without delay, and after swinging the door open, he deposited the offering at her feet.
“Enough for a fortnight or more, Miss Rousse.” He spread the top of the bag to display four bottles. “Your…uh…uncle should not go wanting during his visit.”
“Why, Mr. Titch, I do declare. I believe you have put me in your debt and richly so. Would you like to ride with me? Perhaps I can drop you somewhere.”
“The ride itself would be my pleasure, Miss Rousse, and anywhere you choose to drop me would be fine.” He gestured down the street to a black man who sat atop a waiting conveyance. “My carriage will follow.” Hoisting himself aboard, Horace settled into the seat facing her, rather awed at being in her company.
Marelda waved her handkerchief to indicate the group of men he had left. “I hope I’m not taking you away from some important discussion with your friends.”
“Important enough to rouse fear in the hearts of every man, woman, and child in Natchez if they knew the truth. What we need now is some sort of action.”
“My goodness, it sounds frightfully important.” She fluttered her lashes to convey her bemusement. “What truth do you speak of, Mr. Titch?”
“Why, the truth about those half-wits escaping from the madhouse!”
Marelda was genuinely surprised. “Someone escaped from the asylum?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Horace was impressed with his own ability to enlighten her. “The madhouse burned, and several inmates walked away. At this very moment they’re roaming completely free around the countryside, and there’s no telling what sort of danger we might be in.”
“But when did all this happen?”
“The same night we were all at Belle Chêne awaiting Ashton Wingate’s return.”
Marelda leaned back in her seat and stared at him while her mind worked in a slowly turning cycle. Ashton had said Lierin might have escaped from a burning house, and here was news that the madhouse had gone up in flames. Was it a coincidence? Or a stroke of luck for her? She almost laughed as she mentally rubbed her hands in glee. Perhaps she had found a safe way to have her revenge after all.