French Silk by Sandra Brown
Prologue
A blue jay swooped in and perched on the naked cherub's toe. Too conceited to splash in the fountain with the abandon of the lowly sparrow, the jay took one sip of water, then jetted from the courtyard. He seemed disdainful of the serenity enclosed within the old brick walls which were covered with clinging, flowering vines. Bumblebees buzzed industriously among the pastel blossoms. Hanging baskets of ferns still dripped from a predawn shower. On the waxy leaves of philodendrons and camellia bushes, drops of rainwater glistened in the bright sunlight.
"So Rapunzel let down her cascade of lovely, golden hair, and the prince used the heavy locks to scale the stone wall of the tower."
Claire Laurent, who'd been listening intently, looked skeptically at her mother. "Wouldn't that hurt, Mama?"
"Not in fairy tales, darling."
"I wish I had long, golden hair." The girl sighed wistfully.
Mary Catherine patted her five-year-old daughter's tumble of russet waves. "Your hair is too lovely for words."
The tranquility of the courtyard was shattered abruptly when Aunt Laurel barged through the screen door. "Mary Catherine, they're here again! And this time they have a paper saying they can take Claire away."
Mary Catherine stared vacantly at her aunt. "Who's here?" Claire knew. Even if her mother did not, Claire remembered the man in the dark suit who smelled of wintergreen breath mints and oily hair cream. He'd come twice to the house, contaminating Aunt Laurel's parlor with his offensive odors. A woman carrying a large leather satchel always came with him. They talked to Aunt Laurel and Mary Catherine about her as though she were deaf or not there at all.
Claire didn't understand all the words, but she grasped the nature of these conversations. They always left Aunt Laurel distraught, but her mother suffered terribly. After their last visit she had stayed in bed for three days, crying incessantly. It had been one of her worst spells and distressed Aunt Laurel even more.
Claire scuttled behind the wrought-iron chair where her mama was seated, trying to make herself small and invisible. Fear clutched at her throat and made her heart pound in her narrow chest.
"Oh, dear. Oh, dear." Aunt Laurel's chins were wobbling. She twisted the handkerchief clutched in her pudgy hands. "I don't know what to do. Mary Catherine, what can I do? They say they can take her."
The man appeared first. His hawkish eyes darted around the courtyard authoritatively; he was as territorial in bearing as the blue jay had been. Finally his eyes pinpointed the lovely young woman who sat like a living portrait against the picturesque backdrop.
"Good morning. Miss Laurent."
Watching from her hiding place behind her mother, Claire saw him smile. She didn't like his smile. It was as insincere as the garish grin on a Mardi Gras mask. Even outdoors she could smell his sickeningly sweet hair tonic and breath candy.
Aunt Laurel's words had terrified her. Take her where? She couldn't go anywhere without her mama. If they took her away, who would look after Mama? Who would pat her shoulder and sing softly to her when she got sad? Who would go after her when she sneaked out of the house during one of her spells?
"You no longer have a choice regarding your daughter's guardianship," the drab woman in the ugly gray dress told Mary Catherine. She spoke harshly, and the leather satchel weighed down her arm. "This is not a good environment for your child. You want what's best for her, don't you?"
Mary Catherine's finely boned hand fluttered to her chest and fingered the strand of pearls that lay against her lace collar. "I don't understand these things. It's all so … confusing."
The man and woman glanced at each other. The man said, "Rest easy, Miss Laurent. Your little girl will be well taken care of." He nodded brusquely at the woman. She stepped around the chair and seized Claire by the arm.
"No!" Claire yanked her arm from the woman's hot, damp grasp and backed away. "I don't want to go with you. I want to stay with my mama."
"Come on now, Claire," the woman cooed through a brittle smile. "We're going to take you to a house where there are lots of other children to play with. You'll like it. I promise."
Claire didn't believe her. She had the pointed nose and furtive eyes of the rats that scurried through the garbage in the alleyways of the Quarter. She wasn't pretty, soft, and good-smelling, and, even though she was attempting to speak kindly, her voice didn't have the melodious rise and fall of Mama's.
"I won't go," Claire declared with the obstinacy of a five-year-old. "I won't go anywhere without my mama."
"I'm afraid you must."
The woman reached for Claire again. This time her grip held, although Claire struggled to free herself. "No! No!" The woman's fingernails dug into her arm, breaking the skin. "Let me go! I'm staying with Mama and Aunt Laurel."
Screaming, she wriggled and kicked and flailed her arms and dug the heels of her black patent maryjanes into the bricks and everything else she could think of to do that might break the woman's hold on her, but it was inexorable.
Aunt Laurel had regained her composure and was berating the man for separating a child from her mother. "Mary Catherine suffers from spells of melancholia, but who doesn't? Hers are just more deeply felt. She's a wonderful mother. Claire adores her. I assure you, she's perfectly harmless."