The Mask of New Paris ✓

XXIII. The Curtain Starts to Fall

At the mention of Cilia's name, Griffin suddenly freezes in confusion. "Are we talking about Cilia Drysdale?" He asks.

Unbothered, Joane nods her head as she puts on her coat and reaches for her purse. "We are, Griffin. Now come, before we are too late."

"Wait," I interrupt. Joane throws me an annoyed glare. Her thick lashes nearly touch from her murderous squint.

"You are not coming with me, are you?" I continue.

In utter frustration, Joane lets out a heavy sigh accompanied by a throaty groan. "Listen, Annabelle. We don't have time for this nonsense. This is not the time to act like a hero. We are all coming with you and we're going to get Reed and your sister safely back home. You can go live in your swamp estate, your sister returns safely to the other side of the Green, and I continue to live on, knowing that my father's murderers are caught and punished." Joane rambles, inhaling deeply at the end. Her hands are shaking as she clenches them to her sides.

"I can't ask you..." I counter but Joane rolls her eyes and raises a single hand.

"I don't want none of your chivalry, Annabelle. This is not the time nor the place to throw yourself in the lion's den. Please stop that extremely annoying pity and self-importance. This is bigger than you!"

Silence engulves us as Griffin, Farah and I gawk at Joane. The normally eerily calm woman is flushed a vibrant red. Her blue eyes are blazing with fury. "You can't do this alone." She says, pointing one shaky finger towards me in a threatening move. "I'm not going to let you ruin my chance at vengeance because suddenly you feel like you can't sacrifice our safity. We already risked it, Annabelle. Probably even before you stood at the bottom of my staircase at Cavanagh."

Trying to regain her calmth, Joane runs her hand through her short, blonde hair. "So..." she says filling the empty air around us. "No more whining. Accept that we go along and don't mention it any further."

As I fail to respond, Griffin behind me coughs drawing our attention back to him. "I am with you, Annabelle. You don't have to go alone."

"But the note..." I say but even I realize my words are useless. Even though the message said I had to come alone, I knew I didn't stand a chance. In the worst case, if I would disappear, nobody would notice in New Paris. But if something happened to both Griffin Carmody, manager at Jennings and Joane Boudrot, daughter of the sugar giant, things would look suspicious. Shaking off the built up frustrations and doubts, I regain my footing. The Annabelle of Eauville wouldn't have never let it come this far that the mention of someone's name would make her quiver and drop out in fear. It was time to get back on my feet and deal with this.

"Good." I decide. "As a group we're stronger anyways. Let's get Cilia and confront the Drysdales. I am not leaving their estate without Reed and Judy."

❖❖❖❖❖❖

We pick up Cilia at the Garden of Eden and take off to the tram station in the Inner City. The sun is setting when we're all stepping into the compartment. The tram with destination Distribute Dock is almost empty as the dockworkers return to their homes in the city. A few lights flicker on when we leave the bustling Inner City behind and shake our way through the swamps all the way onto Distribute Dock.

Griffin glances awkwardly from Cilia after an awkward introduction at the doorstep of the Garden of Eden. His eyes look from underneath his lashes at Joane. The latter has her arms crossed in front of her chest and stares out of the window at the passing view of greenery. Cilia silently observes her perfectly red painted nails, unaware of her curious spectator. Griffin's feet nervously taps on the floor of the compartment. Farah sits in front of me, a stoic and silent image of loyalty. An immense feeling of gratitude overwhelms me, realizing these people are all risking their lives for me, someone they barely know after all.

I shake my head. They aren't helping me for my own sake. Joane wants revenge for her father's death, Cilia wants her parents failure. Griffin and Farah are here for Reed. They're all here for their own reasons.

The tram slows down as we reach the wooden platform known as Distribute Dock. Ever since we left this morning, the people have returned home as it is almost deserted as the moon is reflected on the water that surrounds the dock.

The five of us get out of the tram, to be greeted by the silent night of the bayou. Loyal servant are standing near the flag poles, indicating each estate of the Bayou Plantations. We all circle together, waiting for some clue to get going.

Cilia looks nervous as she tucks her hands deeply in the pockets of a brown fur coat. Her copper hair is spilling from underneath a vibrant yellow cloche hat. Her untameable curls knot at the nape of her neck.

Even Joane shows signs of uncertainty. Enforced by the efforts of the last days, her blue eyes look tired for the first time since I've met her.

Farah as per usual, remains calm and silent, not a single emotion showing on her aging face.

It is Griffin who takes the first step. With a tired voice, he brings us back to the reality we're facing. "Let's get this over with." With those few words, he turns around on his heel and strolls towards the farthest jetty. As Griffin talks to the footman, the man dressed in dark black attire hoists the flag of the Drysdales. A golden background embroidered with a black bear.

Cilia's eyes lock with the piece of fabric as it climbs higher and higher, a lone lamp at the top of the pole illuminating the sign. "Isn't it the most pretentious flag of all?" She mutters more to herself but not silent enough for the others not to hear.

A skiff approaches the jetty, its motor echoing in the silence of the cicadas. As it stops, we all ascend, sitting side by side as the driver silently drives us deeper and deeper into the swamp. A lone lamp brightens the way before us, reflected on the surface of the water. I catch Joane calmy placing her hand over Cilia's. She gives a reassuring squeeze to the Drysdale daughter.

Cilia suddenly sucks her breath between her lips. We all turn to look at the looming Plantation. Drysdale Plantation isn't guarded by thick brick walls, even more it is completely open. To us is revealed the place where Cilia Drysdale grew up until she had reached the age of seventeen. She was banished from this place with high grass and cypresses. The piece of dry land is stretched before us as we approach it. A lone white mansion dooms from the fogs. With massive columns and big windows it seems out of place in the neglected gardens that surround it.

The skiffs bumps against the jetty, causing us to lose our balance. A man stomps his way onto the jetty, thick heavy boots echoing. His lantern doesn't reach far enough to decipher his features.

"Welcometo the Drysdale Plantation, cousin."