~ Separate Worlds ~

by

Nancy Minnis Damato

Tall palms and lush white, pink, and mauve hydrangeas edged the steep streets of Nice. Below, the Ligurian Sea stretched southeast in a glittering azure blue meeting with the Mediterranean Sea. Despite Taylor’s frenzied state of mind, the beauty of white-washed stone buildings banked by the clear cerulean waters took her breath. Boats of all sizes and shapes crowded the busy French seaport.

Taylor rode her mount alongside Mr. Dupaune on his, each of them leading a horse of exquisite beauty. When they left Château Rose barely enough light existed to avoid ruts and roots in the road. Now the ride had whittled away six hours. Because of the summer drought and the unusually heavy August downpours, the tumbling boulders and piles of loose rock from the sporadic white cliffs of the foothills had slowed their speed. They’d wasted hours in Marseille seeking passage.

The friends contacted in Marseille gave them the name of a reputable cargo ferry in Nice that might accept her and the horses. The listing showed an estimated sailing sometime after the market closed, around three o’clock. Little more than two hours. Taylor hardly relished the idea of three days on a packed, lumbering delivery boat, but the valuable horses would not sail without her. In Marseille, historically known as the pirate’s harbor, captains of the freighters would not permit a woman alone to travel aboard their vessel. They had their superstitions. However, shipping her horses had been welcomed and heavily solicited.

Not knowing how long she might be in Italy negotiating with Nick, Taylor decided to first visit the family lawyer in Nice and settle legal matters concerning the workings of the Château in her absence. In particular she itched to authorize documents directing French authorities to pursue and arrest the Count. After that she needed to talk with James about Amanda and convey the urgency of her plans. Her absence would demand that he set aside time for more trips to the Château. Someone must oversee the foaling produced by the seed of the white bulls she had brought from Avignon to augment the Château’s income.

Worry about her daughter made it difficult for Taylor to concentrate on the business at hand. Would Amanda be with Nick by now? Taylor’s gut tightened with fear of what the Contessa might do when Amanda arrived. Had Nick thought of that, or in his obsession neglected to paint his wife into the picture? Amanda would be afraid. She was never alone, always with family or the workers. Taylor held back a sob. I’ve failed again--and I promised not to let this child feel neglected.

At James’ rooming house, the manager chattered excitedly. “The boys have all gone down to the café to celebrate Monsieur Garnier’s send-off. The young man has enlisted.” The squat man placed his hand over his heart. “When the Lieutenant came back to store his belongings, he also ordered James and Stirling’s property sent elsewhere. They might return here, to inspect their room, but I think they left to share quarters with a new roommate. Monsieur Garnier kept babbling about the glorious war, and since the rent was paid ahead, I didn’t ask questions.”

When she reached James’ favorite café, the waiter said, “Everyone has gone to the train station for the send-off. You may find your son there, but with difficulty I assure you. Tens of hundreds have arrived to join in this little war and bask in the admiration of the coveys of girls.

Taylor arrived in time to see a trainload of boisterous young men waving happy good-byes to the cheering throng. She and Dupaune searched among the onlookers for James, but with no luck. “We’ll return to the rooming house. Perhaps the boys have finished celebrating.”

Sitting in the boarding place at the manager’s desk, Taylor dashed off a brief note, then folded and sealed the contents. She handed the paper to the squat man. “Please see that James receives this when he returns.”

She penned several more pages before sealing them in an envelope. “Mr. Dupaune, please give this to James when you meet with him.”

“I will speak personally with Sir James,” Mr. Dupaune promised. “You can be sure he won’t learn of the Count’s wickedness by some other means. I will stay in Nice until I see to it.”

“I know I can trust you to do whatever is needed at the Château. I also need you to convince James not to follow me.”

After she dashed off a few sentences, Taylor directed, “Have our barrister affix his seal, then, if needed, present this to Sister Maria at the convent in the mountains north of Nice. It’s my authorization for you to act in my stead to manage the property. If Marianne ducLaFevre should dispute my abandonment, get James in residence immediately.”

Taylor’s shoulders drooped. The pen hesitated over the last sheet. She scribbled three short requests. “See that my barrister records this.” She showed Dupaune the message:

I wish to be buried on the mountain behind

Pickett House. Amanda is to be buried

with me. If Baxter Pickett’s remains are ever

found, bury him beside me.

Taylor Louise Marianne Pickett