had a warm, friendly smile.
The maid's name was Sally Petersen. She was a tall, thin woman in her mid-forties with a long face that had eyes as big as half dollars and a thin nose that dipped over her pencil-thin mouth. I saw that being a maid was a profession to her, not a job. She appeared to me to be a very responsible person, a bit hard, but efficient.
Our cook was a light-skinned quadroon woman who said she was sixty, but I thought was closer to seventy. She called herself Mrs. Swann and said she rarely bothered to tell people her first name these days because it made her sound too rich, Delphinia. She was a short woman, not more than four feet five, with rolling-pin arms and a chubby face. But I imagined she was once a very pretty young lady. She had full, dark liquid eyes, coral lips, and teeth of pearl. She had worked in the homes of two wealthy Creole families most of her life. I had the feeling that she had retired and then became bored.
Once the servants were hired, Beau thought we should look into the nanny for Pearl; but I was reluctant about throwing another person at Pearl so soon.
"It's something Gisselle would do
immediately," Beau reminded me.
As luck would have it, a friend of his knew of a Frenchwoman who had worked as a private tutor as well as a nanny, and was now unemployed. Her name was Edith Ferrier. Beau had her come to the house the next day. During the interview I found out she had been married, but for only a short time. Her husband had died in a train accident, and the traumatic effect had left her terrified of forming another romantic relationship.
She was a soft-spoken woman of fifty-four with short, black hair streaked with gray, a soft, gentle mouth, and warm, almost sad brown eyes that brightened at the sight of Pearl. Caring and nurturing other people's children had become her whole life, every one of them replacing the children she never had. Pearl was a little suspicious of her at first, but Mrs. Ferrier's soothing voice and happy tones perked up her interest, and in a short time she was letting Mrs. Ferrier show her how to do a new picture puzzle.
Beau had met with all of these candidates before I had and he had explained the situation to them: how we were caring for my sister's child. Few questions were asked, and since none of them had ever known my sister, I didn't have to put on any performances. Beau emphasized with each of them that confidentiality about the family and its affairs was of primary importance. Anyone who talked out of school would be released immediately.
Both of us were happy about the people we had hired. Establishing our new lives seemed well under way, but before I could take a breath and relax, Beau reminded me that his parents had arrived and our dinner was arranged for the following evening.
I had never really gotten to know Beau's parents when I lived in New Orleans. Right from the beginning, because of my stepmother, Daphne, they treated me like common trash. They were people who were quite in love with their own place in high society, the sort who constantly had their names in the society columns and their pictures in the newspapers for attending or sponsoring charity balls and other affairs.
"You can choose something to wear that is more in your character, if you like," Beau told me. "Gisselle knew how my parents were and at least made some small effort not to antagonize them by wearing one of her outrageously sexy outfits. She would wear some of Daphne's jewelry, too. And she would be a little less heavy-handed with the makeup."
"I'd rather wear my own. Your parents won't know the difference." I didn't want to touch anything that had once belonged to my dreadful stepmother, even though her things were expensive and quite chic.
We decided it would be easier for us if we left Pearl at home. My knees were practically knocking together when we drove up to the Andreas mansion on Chestnut Street, which was one of the famous old houses, dating back to the 1850s. It was a classic example of Greek Revival architecture and had double front balconies with Ionic columns below and Corinthian above. Beau emphasized how proud his father was of their home, never missing an
opportunity to describe its historical significance to the Garden District.
"Gisselle showed little interest in his lectures, once even yawning while he spoke about the `dep' windows," Beau said.
"What are they? If I don't remember. . ."
"I wouldn't worry about that. Gisselle barely listened to our conversations, and my parents knew it. Dep windows serve as doorways when a wood panel beneath them is opened. Don't worry. My father won't show you around. He showed Gisselle around and was disappointed in her reactions."
"Then they didn't like Gisselle any more than they liked me, did they?"
"Not much," he said, smiling. He was amused, but all this made me even more nervous. How was I to behave knowing his parents weren't happy he had married me?
The butler let us in and we walked down the long corridor to the sitting room where his parents waited. His father, after whom Beau took the most, had grayed considerably in the temples since I last saw him. Beau had inherited his father's Roman nose and sharp jawline. He was an inch or so taller than his father, who kept his figure quite trim for a man of his age. Tonight he wore a white dinner jacket and a black silk ascot. He had color in his face, which brought out his deep blue eyes.
Beau's mother, a woman almost as tall as Beau's father, had gained some weight since I had seen her last.
Her hair was still that bleached light brown shade and she kept it styled and lacquered. She never let herself get even slightly tanned, coming from that generation of upper-class people who believed a tan made a person look common, like a street worker who was in the sun most of the time. Her best feature was her emerald eyes, which gave her tight, firm face some radiance.
"You're late," his father said, folding his paper and standing.
"Sorry. Hello, Mother," Beau said, and went to kiss her. She turned her face so he could press his lips to her cheek. "Father." He shook his father's hand.
"It was the baby," I said suddenly. "Otherwise, we would have been on time."
"Didn't you say you hired a nanny for her?" his mother asked Beau.
"We did, but . ."
"She's a spoiled little girl and I had to help calm her down," I said. It was swallowing castor oil, but it was something that one might have expected Gisselle to say.
Beau's father raised his eyebrows. "You did? Well now, maybe the two of you will be thinking of having your own children soon. I'm expecting a grandson."