Mysterious Mister Part I, a Historical Mystery set in 19th century New Orleans

New Orleans, 1803

Marguerite Hasting was not what polite society would consider a lady…she was somewhat vulgar in her manner of speech but could affect proper speak if the situation deemed, she wore pantaloons, a calico jacket, a rather billowy white blouse that she thought gave her a somewhat dangerous, rakish appeal, and perfectly polished leather boots.

In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and three, a woman wearing men’s attire was frowned upon in most circles however, Marguerite’s important connections throughout New Orleans allowed her to carry on as she pleased and own and operate her detective agency, "M.H. Detective Service". Many people thought it also strange that a women should run such a business, however Marguerite loved her work and was damn good at it. She was intelligent, fluent in French, English, and Spanish, stubborn, tough, and quite beautiful which helped her out of tough scrapes more times then she’d care to recall.

She had opened up her agency 4 years ago and had solved cases ranging from the recovery of lost jewelry, missing persons, murder, and very discreet issues of paternity between members of the New Orleans affluent community.
As she was walking briskly down La Coviex Avenue she was humming to herself as she nodded politely to passerby’s with the tip of her new felt hat she had jauntily perched on her head. She was in a rather good mood as today was her twenty-third birthday and she knew her group of bawdy friends had a party planned for her later that evening at Queen’s tavern, one of the roughest locals in New Orleans as it was next to the docks and populated by sailors, whores, and generally any other kind of ne’er-do-well. Marguerite loved the place.

This morning she had a meeting with a new client, Edward Posey, an English tradesman or so she was told by her Spanish secretary Artula who was the former cook at the convent Marguerite grew up at in France . During the later part of the French Revolution, the convent, St. Therese’s, came to New Orleans and joined with a local parish. Soon after, Marguerite was old enough to leave the convent and was somewhat scared to do so as she had no family to speak of and little prospect of a respectable marriage without a dowry, which she was glad for. The day she was to leave, the mother superior asked to see her.
Marguerite entered her office and was instructed to sit,
"Marguerite, s’assesoir", said mother superior, Sister Maria, an old, permanently sour faced woman.
She then told Marguerite of an unknown benefactor who had recently sent 15,000 pounds for Marguerite to have when she reached eighteen. Although Marguerite appeared undoubtedly French, she was actually borne Margaret Hasting in Birmingham , England . She was found at the door of St. Agnes Church in Birmingham with a note that read:

I am sorry, May God forgive me and my wife.
-M.H.

The sisters then decided to give the poor child a name that represented those intials M.H., so voila…Margret Hasting. When she was four, the convent closed due to lack of funding and she was sent to France to St. Therese’s and began being called Marguerite, which she preferred.
Out of a sense of duty for her years of care she gave the church five thousand pounds. With the rest of the money she opened her agency, hired Tula , and that was all she wrote…almost.
She often wondered, while she was alone, what circumstances surrounded her abandonment and of course she wondered about the large sum of money she received years ago followed by five thousand pounds every year on her birthday, always in English currency. She knew it had something to do with her family, but she had never been able to discover any information to substantiate that.

Marguerite swung open the door, bringing with her a gust of warm, moist air.

"For the love of all that is holy Marguerite, how many time I have asked you, open the door carefully. Too much hot air get in and I am overheated for the whole day"!
Marguerite smiled, when Artula got upset her English got worse. "Oh Artula, must we start the morning with complaints, mon amie. Has Monsieur Posey arrived yet".
Artula gave Marguerite an exasperated look, they often argued but there was only mutual respect and love between them as Artula was the closest thing to a mother she had.
"Yes, Madame boss" she said sarcastically. "There is also a message from Mayor Tabenaut about accepting that invitation. I told him you have been very busy but will give an answer today".
"Yes, yes… send a message saying I will be at the blasted party." She sighed, she of course could not refuse his invitation, he was one of her supporters who made it possible for her to keep her business and to bend and practically break the rules other women were forced to obey. (She helped him in one of the above mentioned ‘paternity issues‘…)
Artula nodded dutifully, although she had already sent a messenger to accept the invitation more than an hour ago.

Marguerite turned the brass knob to her office.

"Ah, Mr. Posey, thank you so much for waiting."
She outstretched her small, slender hand.

"Oh it is quite alright Ms. Hasting". His booming, English voice resonated in her small office.

‘Hmm’ she thought, ‘not exactly what I pictured’.

Although he was sitting, she could tell he was quite tall from the way his legs were outstretched. He was a large man but not overly so, he looked quite powerful and definitely strong. His dark, wavy hair was worn long and tied at his neck with a blue ribbon. He had a strong jaw, prominent chin, and bright blue eyes. There was a day’s growth of hair on his face which only learnt to his mysterious look.

‘Nice’ She thought.

She sat, pulled open a cigar boxed and pulled out a long, thin cheroot. She offered the box to him and he politely refused. She lit it and leaned back slightly.

"So, Mr. Posey, let us get to the point. What can I assist you with."
He smiled slightly, revealing beautiful, even teeth.
"You don’t mince words do you Ms. Hasting. It is Ms. Hasting correct"?
She raised a slender eyes brow, "Ah, it is true. No man has yet proved strong enough to tame me. And I only am looking out for your best interest when I said let us get to the point because you are paying by the hour, and my fees are quite high." She took another drag before putting out her cigar in a silver ashtray.
"Money is such a vulgar discussion", he leaned closer to her desk. "Believe me, Ms. Hasting, whatever your fees are, I can afford them with no problem. But Alas, I will tell you why I need your help.

Two years ago I began a business partnership with a Mr. Simon Dubois. We had known each other through my cousin, Sir Geoffrey Rodgers who is a member of Parliament and had invested money with Mr. Dubois and received a sizable return, that is why I trusted him and even considered his proposition. We were to share ownership in a sugar plantation in Haiti . The owner had died with no family so the estate was put up for sale. We studied the profits from the past five years and saw that they were hefty but we planned to double our profits by planting tobacco. He went there on his own but wrote me regularly for the first six months on the progress and he had issued me three checks through his man of business in England for sums totaling ten thousand pounds. Five months ago the correspondence stopped. I went to his business man in England who had coincidentally closed shop and has not been seen since. I decided to travel to Haiti . When I arrived, there was nothing there. The plantation had no crops growing and it appeared that it hadn’t been operating in years, the house was empty of everything. I spoke with the real estate firm who was to sell us the property. They informed me they did not sell anyone the property, that in fact they just purchased the plantation from a Mr. Simon Gerbeau who they had last seen ten months before. They gave me another address for him which is here in New Orleans . I went there last week and found that the apartment is vacant, of course, but was being rented by a Mr. Simon Étienne who had not been home for at least six months. Which brings me here…"

Marguerite had been listening intently, writing down notes carefully and thoughtfully. Her method to solving mysteries was simple, first gather all the facts, then, when everything possible has been discovered form opinions and theories, never before.

"Very interesting. I am willing to take on the case. I will give you the same speech I give all of my clients." She cleared her throat and dropped her quill. "I guarantee to try my best to solve your case, in no way does this guarantee it will be solved. If I do not solve your case, I humbly apologize and of course, you are not charged."
Mr. Posey nodded, "I understand, but I believe you are being modest. I spoke with many of your satisfied customers who referred me to you."
"Oh Mr. Posey, I am far from humble. I know I am the best, but sometimes even that doesn’t always guarantee the desired result."
She stood and walked to Mr. Posey, offering her hand again. "I plan on starting your case immediately, so I will bid you good day. You can get all the minor, albeit vulgar details from my secretary Artula. Also, please leave your hotel name so I can reach you."
"Thank you, Mademoiselle".

Marguerite walked home as she thought over her mental notes. She would visit Mr. Posey tomorrow and get a physical description, she was no artist but she could create a rough sketch. She would then go to Simon’s last known residence and see if she could encounter anyone who was familiar with him and maybe get a profile of his personality. She began to think about other possible leads but she felt for now that was a good start, and as she knew, her cases would take her in many directions very quickly…