The Countess Misbehaves

“You won’t laugh if I tell you where I really want to go?”

“I would never laugh at you, Madeleine,” was his gallant reply.

Her emerald eyes lighted and she said, “To Le Circus de Paris! I saw handbills posted that the circus is in town and Avalina said the show is drawing huge crowds every night. I want to go. Say we can, Desmond, please.”

Lord Enfield was indulgent. “The circus it is,” he said and smiled warmly at her.

Moments later the handsome pair stepped down from Lord Enfield’s chauffeured carriage and onto the banquette at St. Ann’s. They crossed the street to Jackson Square where a large gathering had assembled to watch the circus.

Sword swallowers. Fire eaters. Jugglers. Trained animals. Colorful clowns. All delighted the spectators. Madeleine applauded like everyone else, fully enjoying herself.

Midway through the performance, the red-coated ringmaster stepped into the center ring and raised his hands for silence.

“Mesdames et Messieurs, ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted loudly enough for all to hear, “our next performer is a man of great strength.”

A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd and they began to chant, “Big Montro! Big Montro! Big Montro!”

The ringmaster again signaled for silence and announced, “The moment you’ve been waiting for has arrived, my friends. It is with great pleasure that I present to you the amazing Big Montro!”

A gigantic man stepped into the center ring amidst loud applause and whistles and admirers shouting his name. He wore nothing but a low-riding pair of loose white linen trousers. His massive chest was bare, as were his feet.

Like everyone else, Madeleine stared in awe at the imposing giant. Knotted muscles rippled in his gargantuan arms and across his mammoth chest. He slowly turned round and round to afford everyone a good long look at him.

Ironically, his face was round and smooth—a baby face at complete odds with his powerful body. And his dark-brown hair had a little boy’s cowlick at the crown. He was smiling shyly, as if embarrassed by all the attention.

He went immediately into his act when a quartet of laughing, tumbling clowns joined him in the ring. The clowns circled the strong man, taunting and teasing him until he reached out and plucked one off the ground. Gripping both the clown’s feet in one hand, Montro lifted the laughing man high over his head, extending his long, muscled arm full-length.

The crowd roared.

In minutes Big Montro had scooped up all four clowns and held them easily on his outstretched arms, turning slowly about as the crowd screamed its approval.

For the next half hour the strong man demonstrated his astounding strength and Madeleine applauded as enthusiastically as all the others. She was so caught up in the amazing spectacle, she never noticed that Lord Enfield was not particularly enchanted by Montro’s crowd-pleasing act.

At breakfast the next morning, Madeleine excitedly told her Uncle Colfax and the attentive Avalina about the circus and how thrilling it had been.

She took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice and said, “The very best part was the strong man. Big Montro. You wouldn’t believe the things he did!” And she proceeded to tell them of the many incredible feats he had performed.

Colfax smiled and nodded as she spoke. She was, in many ways, still quite childlike, a trait he found most engaging. But she possessed another trait, one that concerned him.

She was a strong-willed woman and so she ignored the frown of worry that immediately crossed her uncle’s face when she announced, “I’m going down to the French Market this morning to…”

“Oh, child, I’m afraid a visit to the market will have to wait,” Colfax interrupted. “Unfortunately, I have an important business engagement that I simply cannot break.”

“And why should you?” she replied. “I never expected you to go with me.” She glanced at the black woman pouring another cup of coffee for Colfax. “Avalina will accompany me to the market,” she stated in tones that brooked no argument.

Colfax’s frown deepened, but he acquiesced.

Lady Madeleine and Avalina walked the three short blocks down to the French Market on the riverfront. The place was humming—women with baskets over their arms were carefully choosing fruits, loaves of bread and freshly caught fish.

Pausing before the many stalls, interested in all that was for sale, Madeleine savored every sight and smell and sound. She loved this busy market where all the varied factions of New Orleans shopped. The haughty French Creoles, the Spanish, the Germans, the Irish, the Americans. People who would normally not even speak to each other rubbed elbows here and haggled over prices.

Drawn to the booth where fresh, hot beignets were being served, Madeleine bought one for herself and one for Avalina. Rolling her eyes with pleasure, she quickly devoured the delicious diamond-shaped doughnut that was generously dusted with sweet powdered sugar.

Madeleine was having such a good time she hated to leave. But they had been out in the sultry summer heat now for well over an hour and she was beginning to feel flushed and faint. So, with their many treasures in a big basket over Avalina’s arm, the two started home.

They had gone but one short block when a trio of unkempt ruffians suddenly stepped into their path and began making crude, suggestive remarks to Lady Madeleine. One, a big, ugly brute moved in so close Madeleine could smell the strong offensive odor of stale sweat and unwashed flesh.

Horrified, her heart beating in her throat, she said with as much authority as she could muster, “You get away from me! Step out of my way or I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what, my pretty,” mocked the monster, “have a case of the vapors and fall into my arms?”

While Avalina cursed the men in gumbo French, Madeleine looked anxiously about for help.

Help appeared in the form of the six-foot-six giant who Madeleine recognized as the strong man from Le Circus de Paris. Big Montro stepped out of an alley and onto the banquette. Without lifting so much as a finger, the giant, his arms crossed over his massive chest, planted himself squarely in front of the frightened women, sending their tormentors scurrying for cover.

Once the ruffians had gone, he turned, smiled at the grateful ladies and said in a deep, surprisingly soft voice, “I am Montro. I will escort you to your home.”

They both nodded, still badly shaken and more appreciative than he would ever know.

The very next morning when Lady Madeleine and Avalina again ventured out, Big Montro was there below on the cobblestone banquette, waiting for them.

“Montro,” Madeleine exclaimed when she reached him, “I thought the circus was leaving New Orleans today.”

“It is,” he said without emotion, “I am staying here.”

“I see,” she replied. “Well, Avalina and I are going to meet with a dressmaker over on Toulesse and…”

“I will see you safely there,” he said and did.

From that morning on the gentle giant accompanied the two women wherever they went. Very soon, without any formal arrangements, Big Montro became Lady Madeleine’s faithful bodyguard.

Madeleine was somewhat surprised that her uncle offered no protests to including Big Montro in his household. It was Colfax who suggested that Montro move into the vacant garçonnière across the courtyard at the back edge of the property. And, he agreed to pay him a generous monthly salary, much more than he’d made with the circus.

The truth was that Colfax Sumner was quietly relieved that the strong man would be watching over them. Colfax would never have mentioned it to Madeleine or Avalina or anyone else, but he had felt increasingly threatened of late. Plagued with a nagging sense of foreboding that he couldn’t seem to shake.

It was as if some unseen danger lurked in the shadowy streets directly below the mansion’s iron lace galleries.

Nine

On a blistering-hot day in September, a tall, dark man stood on the wooden wharf in Havana, Cuba.

Armand de Chevalier patiently waited his turn to board the cargo ship that would take him to New Orleans. Armand was smiling, as usual. He knew how lucky he was to be alive. Plucked from the sea by a small trader bound for Cuba late that fateful August afternoon, he hadn’t complained when he learned it was headed for Havana.

“Sounds good to me,” he had said with a laugh, after having spent hours bobbing in the water under a burning summer sun.

Now, after three long weeks of rest and boredom in Havana, Armand was as robust as ever and more than ready to go home.

“Señor,” said one of the crewman, motioning him forward.