"Gone."

"Good!" f.a.n.n.y streaked past her, turned at the steps and started toward the stable yard. Nicolette followed at a run. The summer sun bit into her arms and bare legs. She wasn't supposed to be running wild outside. The d.u.c.h.ess had told her so more times than Nicolette had numbers to count with. But the d.u.c.h.ess never tried to stop her.

The d.u.c.h.ess wasn't really a d.u.c.h.ess. She was plain old Marietta Ardoin, and she hadn't been called d.u.c.h.ess until she moved to Basin Street. There was a countess on Basin Street, too, Countess Willie Piazza, who also had an octoroon house. But since Magnolia Palace was better than the countess's house, anyone could see why Marietta called herself a d.u.c.h.ess now.

Sometimes Nicolette wished the d.u.c.h.ess would talk to her the way she talked to Violet. What Violet did was important. Nicolette wondered if she grew up one day and entertained in a room next to Violet's, if the d.u.c.h.ess would talk to her then.

Tony Pete, in a red flannel undershirt with a suspender hanging down, was in the stables, shoveling out the stalls. Nicolette flung herself at his legs, and the shovel clanged against bricks as it fell from his hands.

"What you think you're doin', Nickel gal?" he shouted. But he wasn't mad. Tony Pete was never mad at her.

"f.a.n.n.y and me wanna ride!"

"Can't ride now. None of that. And don't go bawlin', or the d.u.c.h.ess'll be out here with one of those whips of Flo's, only she'll be usin' it on me!"

"I wanna ride!"

"Can't ride now!"

Nicolette could tell he was going to let her. Tony Pete could never turn anybody down. All the women used him for errands. At twelve, Tony Pete already knew what drugstore on Bienville sold cocaine over the counter and what newsboys sold marijuana cigarettes, three for a dime. He kept a tab and collected his tips on Sundays, when the d.u.c.h.ess paid the women their third of the take. If somebody couldn't pay, he'd wait for his money without making too much of a fuss.

"I'll help you shovel," Nicolette said. "After!"

"Sure you will. Those puny little arms of yours couldn't haul enough s.h.i.t to stuff a thimble."

"Please?" Nicolette clasped her hands in front of her and tilted her head, like Violet always did when she was trying to get a man up to her room. "I'll be good to you, Tony Pete."

"You're too young to be good for a thing, Nickel." He ruffled her hair, a wild ma.s.s of curls that fell past her shoulders. "Awright. One ride apiece. Just one, and only if the d.u.c.h.ess ain't watchin'."

"She's sleeping," Nicolette said.

"Ain't! You lying!" f.a.n.n.y said. The two girls amicably argued the point while Tony Pete put a bridle on the d.u.c.h.ess's carriage horse, Trooper, an old bay mare who rarely saw duty.

Nicolette watched him scout the yard before he led Trooper outside. No one was about, and even if someone saw them from the house, it was too early and too hot to make much of a fuss. "Youngest first," he said, clasping his hands to give Nicolette a boost.

Nicolette saw f.a.n.n.y pout. She had a wide, pretty mouth-along with long, curling eyelashes-that she already knew how to use to her advantage. Nicolette thought f.a.n.n.y might be sweet on Tony Pete. He was a fine young sport when he was dressed in his best pressed trousers, strutting down the street with his thumbs in his pockets and his fingers pointing right and left.

"You can be first next time," Nicolette promised. She didn't like to disturb the delicate balance of her relationship with f.a.n.n.y. f.a.n.n.y was older, but Nicolette's father owned the Magnolia Palace. Most of the time, that made them even.

Up on the mare's back, she bounced with excitement. Her days were filled with activity, but a ride on Trooper was always one of the high points. Someday she would have horses of her own, dozens of them, and she would ride like this, just bare legs against her horse's flanks, through streets she had never seen before.

Tony Pete was taking her for her final turn around the yard when Trooper's unexpected whinny was answered by another horse. She looked toward the house and saw a carriage parked in the drive. In the evening, buggies and automobiles crowded Basin Street, and the narrow drive was often snarled by traffic. But at this time of day, activity was unusual.

By the time Tony Pete had helped her dismount, she had decided to check out the visitor. She straightened her pinafore and combed her fingers through her tangled hair. If the visitor was a gentleman caller, he might give her money to carry a message. The prettier she looked, the more money she would get.

Nicolette liked to do errands for the gentlemen who visited the house, because they always gave her coins or candy, even whiskey-soaked kisses on her cheeks. She knew she was a favorite. When her father wasn't there, she served wine in the parlor in her best dress, and sometimes she recited poems that Violet taught her. She didn't understand all the words, but she did understand that she had better not say them in front of Mr. Rafe.

She knew she had better not sing the songs that Clarence Valentine taught her, either. Not that there was anything wrong with those words-at least, she didn't think there was. But she was not supposed to go into the parlors when the gentlemen were there, and that meant she wasn't supposed to know the words to Clarence's songs. She had figured that out on her own, and she was glad. Mr. Rafe was one of the few people who didn't like her-the d.u.c.h.ess was one of the others-and she didn't want to make him even madder, if she could help it.

She walked along the gra.s.s edging the drive until she had to cross the oyster sh.e.l.ls. Her feet were tough, but she didn't like the way the sh.e.l.ls crunched under them. The d.u.c.h.ess talked about laying bricks on the drive instead, but she never had. The d.u.c.h.ess talked about a lot of things.

The carriage was closed up, which seemed strange on such a hot morning. If Nicolette had a carriage, she would open it up to the air, stick her head out the side and let the breeze cool her skin. The old man sitting on the open front seat stared as she approached. She smiled at him, smiled Violet's most winning smile, but he didn't smile back. The carriage looked as old as the man, and just as battered by time.

"I can take a message," she said, in her most grown-up voice. "I can do just about anything."

He didn't answer, but he stopped staring. He looked away, as if the sight of her pained him somehow. As she waited, he tapped on the carriage wall. She wondered what she should do next. Then the door opened.

A woman sat by herself inside. Nicolette's smile faltered. Men were unfailingly generous with her, but women were a different story. They held on to their money the way Tony Pete held on to Trooper's reins when he led her around the yard. They might fix her hair or let her dress up in their clothes, but money was something else entirely.

The woman stared at her. Nicolette was suddenly aware that her face was dirty and her dress was sticking to her thighs. She stepped closer anyway.

"Lady?" Nicolette curtsied; it was an affectation that always made the gentlemen laugh. "Can I help you?"

The woman nodded. Her lips moved, but no words emerged. She cleared her throat. "Can you come over here?"

"Sure." Nicolette ambled closer, craning her neck to peer into the carriage. The lady was older than Violet, but younger than the d.u.c.h.ess. She was a white lady, with soft brown hair and eyes so pale a blue they reminded Nicolette of a cloudy sky.

"Would you like to sit in here with me?"

Nicolette frowned, until she remembered that she looked like a monkey when she did. Violet had showed her once in the mirror. "Is it hot?"

"Not very."

"Okay." She sprang up onto the running board with enthusiasm. In a moment she was seated across from the lady, who was looking her over very carefully.

"My face is dirty," Nicolette said. "I washed it, though. Yesterday."

"You...have a beautiful face."

"Violet says men'll pay a lot for me."

The woman dug her fingertips into the seat. "Who is Violet?"

"My best friend." Nicolette considered that. "No, Clarence is my best friend."

"And who's Clarence?"

"He plays the piano in the dogwood parlor. He sings, too. Professor Clarence Valentine. You heard of him?"

"No."

"He can play anything. Two-steps. Rags. Ja.s.s. Sometimes he sings the blues. But just late at night, when the gentlemen are gone. Do you sing?"

"No."

"White folks don't-least, not very well. Clarence said so."

"Do you sing?"

"I do," she said proudly. "Clarence says I got just enough n.i.g.g.e.r blood to make me sing real pretty."

The woman had no answer for that.

"What's you doing here?" Nicolette asked.

"I brought you something."

"Me?" Nicolette looked puzzled. "Why?" She reconsidered before the woman could respond. The question wasn't in her own best interests. "Merci. See? I can speak French. All the women at the Magnolia Palace got to speak French, 'cause some of the men want to hear it. There's a house up the street called a French house. You been there? They don't speak French, though. They do French things." See? I can speak French. All the women at the Magnolia Palace got to speak French, 'cause some of the men want to hear it. There's a house up the street called a French house. You been there? They don't speak French, though. They do French things."

"How do you know what they do there, Nicolette?"

"You know my name?"

The woman nodded. "Yes."

"How come?"

"I knew your mother."

Nicolette forgot about monkey faces and mirrors. She frowned. "I don't got a mother."

"I know. But once you did, and I knew her. And I know that today's your sixth birthday."

"n.o.body told me about any birthday." She was puzzled.

"They must have forgotten." The woman drew a small box from beneath her skirts. It was wrapped in silver paper with a white silk ribbon. "This is your birthday present."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." The woman reached across the s.p.a.ce between them and took Nicolette's hand. Her hand was as soft as Violet's, but it trembled.

"Will you open it now?" She put the box on Nicolette's lap.

"Sure." Nicolette tore into the paper. When she lifted up the top, a gold locket lay on soft cotton. "Mine?"

"Yes. But, Nicolette, this must be a secret."

Nicolette's eyes brightened. "A secret?"

"Yes, dearest. You mustn't tell anyone. Especially your father."

"Why?"

"He would be unhappy with me." The woman's voice caught for a moment. Nicolette decided that maybe she had the croup. Once Nicolette had gotten a bad cough, and the d.u.c.h.ess had made her drink wine with a candle melted in it.

"Has he told you anything about your mother?" the woman asked.

Nicolette fingered the locket. "I don't got a mother."

The woman sat back. "He hasn't, then. He was very unhappy when your mother went away."

"She died."

"Yes. When she went away to heaven. He wouldn't want to be reminded of her. And this locket was hers."

"My mother's?"

"Yes."

Nicolette held up the heart, dangling it on the gold chain. It was simple, nothing like the jewelry the women in the house wore, but six tiny diamonds set among etched roses sparkled in the sunlight. "Was she pretty?"

"Oh, not as pretty as you are. But she loved you. Very much. And she didn't want to leave you."

Nicolette slipped the locket over her curls. It tangled, but she managed to free it without the woman's help. "Then she shouldn't have gone and died," Nicolette said.

"Sometimes things don't turn out the way we plan, dearest."

"I don't need a mother, anyway. I got Violet and Clarence."

"And your father?"

Nicolette didn't know what to say about that. She shrugged. "And Mr. Rafe."

"You call him that?"

"Everybody calls him Mr. Rafe."

"Is he good to you, Nicolette?"

Nicolette was perplexed. She had never really considered that.

"Does he ever hurt you?"

Nicolette shook her head. "He'll like me better when I'm not so much trouble." She heard tapping. The woman did, too, Nicolette saw her glance at the side of the carriage.

"Do you remember what I said about hiding the locket?" the woman asked. "You must hide it, or your father will be angry at both of us."

Nicolette tried to pry the locket open.

The woman reached over and spread it wide. "See how it's done?"

"There's nothing inside."

"Someday you can put a photograph in there."

The tapping sounded again. This time louder.

"You'd better go now," the woman said. But even as the words pa.s.sed her lips, she reached across the seat to hold Nicolette there.