spoke English with a French accent.
“My name is Jacques Paul André,” he said. He gave a little bow to the table and explained that he had traveled all the way from Paris so that he could paint pictures of America.
“If anyone would like to have a portrait painted during this trip, I will be happy to oblige.” He smiled and then added, “For a small fee, of course.”
“Oh, I’d love to have my portrait painted!” said the plump, middle-aged woman that Marie-Grace had seen on deck when Wilhelmina first came on board. Now the woman and her husband, a bald man who was equally plump, introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Montjoy. They said that they were on their way to perform at a theater in Chicago.
“Reggie and I travel all over the country,” said Mrs. Montjoy, whose red-rouged cheeks looked like bright apples against her pale skin. “We do theater, magic, music—almost every kind of show.”
Mr. Montjoy looked up from his plate of venison, fish, and potatoes. “We’re known as the Magnificent Montjoys,” he said proudly. “Captain Smith has asked us to put on a magic show tomorrow night, and all the cabin passengers will be invited.”
How exciting! thought Marie-Grace. She loved music and theater, and she had never seen a magic show before. She looked over at Wilhelmina, but the girl was so busy eating that she didn’t even glance up.
Marie-Grace reached for the gravy bowl. There was only about a teaspoon of gravy left, and she dribbled it onto her potatoes. A moment later, a tall, heavyset man with a mustache settled himself in the last available chair at the table, just across from Marie-Grace.
The man looked at the empty gravy bowl and frowned. “Waiter!” he boomed. “Bring us some more gravy and be quick about it.” Then he nodded to the table. “Hello, everyone. I’m Jack Bold. I sell jewelry up and down the Mississippi River. Wedding rings, watches, ladies’ lockets— anything you need, I’m your man.” He smiled broadly. “Glad to meet you all!”
While the others at the table greeted Mr. Bold, Wilhelmina dropped her fork and stared at him. “I remember you from Monsieur LaPlante’s hotel!” she said accusingly.
“Yes, I was there—what a coincidence to see you here now,” said Mr. Bold, looking surprised. “I am very sorry about your loss.” He paused, and then asked, “Tell me, did you ever find what you were, ah, looking for?”
“Not yet,” said Wilhelmina. She glared at him, and then she picked up her fork and bent over her food again.
What was Wilhelmina looking for? Marie-Grace wondered. And why is she angry at this man?
Marie-Grace helped herself to crispy fish covered with a creamy sauce. The sauce was delicious, and Marie-Grace saw that Wilhelmina was eating it hungrily, too. “It’s good, isn’t it?” Marie-Grace whispered.
Wilhelmina glanced up, nodded, and then looked down at her plate again. When a waiter brought several pies and cakes to the table, Wilhelmina finished her fish and helped herself to a generous slice of pecan pie. She ate every morsel of the pie, and then she slipped away from the table without a word.
Marie-Grace’s heart sank as Wilhelmina hurried out of the main cabin. She doesn’t want to talk to me at all, thought Marie-Grace.
As soon as Wilhelmina was out of sight, Mr. Bold shook his head. “That poor girl!” he said with a sigh. “When I was at LaPlante’s hotel, I heard that her father had found a small fortune in gold out in California. Mr. Newman was bringing the gold back home when he got sick, and he died at the hotel while I was staying there. It was a terrible thing.”
“That’s a shame,” said Mr. Montjoy sympathetically. His bald head shone in the chandeliers’ light. “But at least his daughter got the gold.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Bold. He took a sip of his coffee. “After Newman died, his daughter arrived. She searched all through her father’s things, but she says she didn’t find any gold.”
“Could Monsieur LaPlante have taken the gold himself—before Wilhelmina got there?” Mr. Hopkins asked. He pushed his eyeglasses up on his nose. “Innkeepers can’t always be trusted.”
Papa spoke up. “I have heard of Monsieur LaPlante. He is well respected in New Orleans,” he said. “He’s known for being an honest man, and a good innkeeper, too.”
“Yes, that’s why I stayed at his hotel,” agreed Mr. Bold. “I don’t believe old LaPlante would take anything that didn’t belong to him. Still, no one knows what happened to the gold. Everyone at the inn was talking about the mystery.”
“Why didn’t Wilhelmina’s father leave a note saying what he’d done with the gold?” asked Mrs. Montjoy. She looked concerned. “That would’ve been the sensible thing to do.”
“Well, you’re right, ma’am,” said Mr. Bold. He helped himself to another piece of pie. “And maybe he would have if he’d been well enough. But he was very sick. All I heard him talk about were fairy tales and nursery rhymes, and none of it made any sense.”
Monsieur André looked up from his plate. “Then the gold is still hidden somewhere?” he asked, suddenly interested.
Mr. Bold took a bite of pie. “I suppose it could be,” he agreed, chewing thoughtfully. “But LaPlante said that all Newman left behind was his two trunks. So if he hid the gold, I guess it would have to be in those trunks.”
Marie-Grace remembered how worried Wilhelmina had been about the trunks. I guess that’s why, she thought.
“Perhaps Mr. Newman buried the gold!” Mrs. Montjoy suggested. She leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement. “He might’ve left a secret map that shows where the gold is hidden. That’s what pirates used to do!”
“I don’t know about that, ma’am,” Mr. Bold said doubtfully. “But I hope the gold isn’t lost. From what I’ve heard, Wilhelmina’s family is as poor as church mice.” Mr. Bold shook his head. “It’d be a shame if the child couldn’t find the fortune that her father worked so hard to get.”
“We’ll say a prayer for the girl,” said Sister Catherine. Sister Frederica nodded.
No wonder Wilhelmina is so upset, thought Marie-Grace. Her father died trying to bring back gold from California—and now the gold is missing!
3
A Warning
After the meal, there were scraping sounds as chairs were pushed away from the tables throughout the large main cabin. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time to play cards,” announced Mr. Bold. He looked around the table. “You’ll join me, won’t you?”
Mr. Montjoy and Monsieur André quickly agreed, but Mr. Hopkins hesitated. “I used to lose money when I played cards in college,” he said. He lowered his voice. “Besides, I’ve heard that you have to watch out for gamblers and thieves on steamboats.”
Are there really thieves on board? Marie-Grace wondered. There was a sign in the gentlemen’s area that warned:
All card playing is at your own risk.
Passengers are strongly advised not to gamble.
But Mr. Bold didn’t seem concerned. He slapped Mr. Hopkins on the back. “Don’t worry, young man, this is just a friendly game of cards. Perhaps your luck has changed.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Hopkins doubtfully. “But I think I’d better read instead.”
Mr. Bold turned to Marie-Grace’s father. “How about you, Doctor? You’ll join us, won’t you?”
“Thank you, but not tonight,” said Papa. He smiled at Marie-Grace. “Mr. Stevenson has invited us to see the pilothouse.”
“It’s