The Mask of New Paris ✓

XVII. Papineau Plantation

The skiff guides us through the dense swamp until a solid white wall rises up in front of us. The driver shouts something towards a lone man standing on top of the wall that separates the plantation from the bayou. Almost immediately the iron gates open and the skiff navigates through a small, man made canal to a wooden jetty.

Immediately after descending the bayou boat, my eyes are glued to the scenery in front of us. A huge white plantation estate proudly stands, adorned by weeping willows and high grass. A pebble stone path guides the way towards the entrance. Several columns support a massive front. A servant, dressed in the same deep blue as the boy on the Distribute Dock, runs to meet us. The thin woman clasps her hands in front of her as she inquires about our information.

She offers us some tea while we are waiting for the owner of this grant domain in one of the many rooms inside the estate. Long windows give the impression we're sitting outside. A man walks past the door and returns in his tracks once he notices our presence. I expect him to welcome us in his home but instead he throws one surprised look at Farah and leaves almost immediately.

"That was the son of the Master." Farah explains to me, "Victor Blakemore. I believe he might've recognized me."

Before our conversation can continue, a door behind us opens causing the both of us to turn our heads in that direction. An old man, graying and stooping, enters the room, his walking stick echoing against the marble tiles.

"I was informed there were two young ladies waiting for my presence." He cackles. His hooked nose forms the perfect base for his big round glasses.

Before we have the chance to stand up and introduce ourselves, the old man sits down in front of us, his gray eyes lurking from behind his thick glasses, growing his eyes to a remarkable seize.

"What can I do for you, ladies?" He asks, leaning back in his couch.

I want to open my mouth but Farah starts before I even have the chance. "Sir Blakemore, I accompany Mrs. Whitacre. Her husband, Reed Whitacre, is missing." She says to the point and strict.

Mister Blakemore eyes her carefully. "Ah, and you are the maid Reed lured away from my household, I assume." He says with an amused smile causing his skin to wrinkle even deeper. The tiniest bit of shame paints Farah's cheeks a tint of red.

"I do not harbor any wrong feelings towards your departure, I assure you." Mister Blakemore continues before he demands his own cup of tea from a servant who's waiting near the door.

"Did I hear it right that Reed is missing?" He says as soon as he takes the first sip from his steaming hot porcelaine cup.

I nod my head, "Indeed, Mister Blakemore. He has been gone for over 24 hours with no one having any clue where he is. We have come to believe something terrible must have happened to him."

The pleasant stare of the old man freezes and his gray eyes become cold and calculated. He frowns and shakes his head, a forced laugh making its way through his old throat.

"Do not take this as an offense, Mrs. Whitacre, but could it not be that Reed needed to..." He hesitates, chewing his own lip before picking out the right way not to offend me "have some personal time, away from the household and marriage."

His cold words scatter off my stone expression. "If you believe that is something my husband would do, then I am afraid I could not inquire your help."

Unease lurks inside the room. Not even the servant preparing the next round of tea dares to move, her hand holding a spoon full of sugar in the air.

"It was merely a suggestion, Mrs. Whitacre. A lot of the New Paris men seek company elsewhere than their homes."

Anger boils underneath my skin "Thank god Reed isn't one of them, then." My voice shoots high, a drip of anger leaking through my armour.