by Nan Ryan
Madeleine’s eyes opened and she again stared into the fire. It would, she realized, be easy to fall helplessly in love with Armand de Chevalier. And she could well imagine the agony that would come with loving the carefree Creole. She had seen the way women, young and old, beautiful and plain, looked at him with barely disguised longing. She supposed dozens of women had been in love with him. She seriously doubted he had ever loved any of them. One woman would never be enough for Armand. He loved all women.
Unless one enjoyed having a broken heart, falling in love with the Creole would be the worst thing that could possibly happen.
Well, it wouldn’t happen to her. She’d had her heart broken once, long ago, when she was a young, impulsive girl. She was far too wise to ever let it happen again. While the Armand de Chevaliers of this world might be charming and exciting and almost impossible to resist, they were, just as she’d known from the first moment she’d set eyes on him, nothing but trouble.
Armand had promised that from that day forward he would leave her completely alone. But she held out little hope he would actually do so. Promises meant nothing to him. She couldn’t count on him to obey her wishes. Which simply meant that she would have to be very strong. Much stronger than she’d been in the past. Strong enough to rebuff any future advances.
Madeleine sighed wearily and shook her aching head. She couldn’t fully trust herself to be that strong. So she knew that she must never again—under any circumstances—allow herself to be caught alone with Armand de Chevalier. She would take the necessary precautions to prevent such an occurrence and if it meant having to rudely insult him, then she would…
A knock on the door drew Madeleine out of her painful reveries.
“Yes?” she said, not rising from her chair.
“It’s your old uncle,” he spoke through the door. “Are you all right, child?”
“Yes, Uncle Colfax. I just have a splitting headache and didn’t feel like coming down for dinner. I’ll be fine by morning.”
“Did you eat the meal Avalina brought up?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. No, not a thing. Don’t worry about me. I just need a good night’s rest.”
“Then I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said and went back downstairs to his own room.
The next afternoon—a cold, damp day with leaden skies and a raw wind off the river—Colfax Sumner, the collars of his coat turned up around his ears, left his Canal Street office early. He had a bad case of the jitters—an impossible-to-shake feeling that something was amiss.
And it was not the first time he had been plagued with such an unsettling feeling. Even his sleep was often disturbed of late with frightening nightmares.
When he reached the security of his town house, Colfax stepped into the foyer and called out. “Madeleine? Avalina? Anyone home?”
No answer. He shrugged out of his coat, hung it on the coat tree and called out again. Then he remembered. No one was home. At breakfast that morning Madeleine had reminded him that she, Avalina, and Montro would be out that afternoon. She had an engagement with the city’s most talented daguerreotypist. The New Orleans Picayune had requested a daguerreotype to run with the formal announcement of her engagement.
Well, they should be home soon.
Colfax began to relax. The house was quiet and empty, but a warming fire burned in his study and the lamps were lighted. He went to the fireplace, stretched out his hands to its welcome warmth. The uneasy feelings he’d had earlier were lifting. He exhaled with relief.
Colfax stretched, yawned, turned away from the fire and crossed to the mahogany bar. He took down a cut-crystal decanter of fine Kentucky bourbon and a leaded shot glass and poured himself a stiff drink.
Across town, inside a neat white house on Rampart Street, Lord Enfield’s quadroon mistress was also alone on that dark, wintry afternoon.
The curtains were tightly drawn over the windows. The doors were securely locked. Naked, Dominique sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of her small sitting room.
Around her, in a perfect circle, were tall white tapers in crystal dishes. Carefully, one by one, Dominique had lighted the wicks and the darkened room had brightened, the candles’ tiny flames casting wavering illumination on the shadowy walls.
Dominique had shaken out the sulphur match and dropped it into a dish. She now put her hands on her spread thighs, tilted her head back and called on the spirit god, Legba. She patiently waited until she could feel his power beginning to flow into her tense, naked body. Her nipples stiffened. Her belly tightened. Her entire body tingled. Legba was taking her over, making her his own.
For a long moment Dominique sat rigid, then began to jerk uncontrollably as the great god took total control. She was no longer herself, but a vessel of the mighty voodoo deity.
Dominique waited until her body stopped vibrating.
She then picked up a long, sharp knitting needle. She smiled demonically and lifted a tiny, perfect miniature likeness of Colfax Sumner.
Holding the doll in one hand, the long needle in the other, Dominique chanted a monotonic song, swaying her shoulders to and fro, feeling her long, loose hair brushing her bare back.
All once she stopped smiling, stopped chanting and said loudly, clearly, “You must die, Colfax Sumner. You will die!”
And she plunged the needle into the stomach of Colfax Sumner.
At that instant, the leaded shot glass slipped from Colfax Sumner’s hand. He clutched his stomach in severe pain and sank to his knees. Cold terror enveloped him. The frightening premonition was stronger than ever. Although Dr. Ledette had declared him in perfect health, Colfax knew that he didn’t have long to live.
Clammy perspiration dotted his face and his heart hammered painfully in his chest. He was so weak he could hardly move. With great effort, he dragged himself to the sofa and lay down. Trembling, his teeth chattering, Colfax was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. He could fool himself no longer. Somebody wanted him dead.
But who could it possibly be?
Later that afternoon, when everyone had returned home, Colfax quietly called Madeleine into his study. He offered her a drink of brandy, but she refused. Puzzled, she warily sat down on the sofa, wondering what was on his mind. Had he, somehow, learned of her terrible indiscretion? The prospect filled her with sick dread.
Colfax took a seat beside her. Wasting no time, he shared his concerns with her.
“Dear, you know I would hate to alarm you unnecessarily, but I am almost certain that my life is in danger.”
Madeleine was stunned.
“No!” A stricken look came into her eyes and she asked, “Who would want to harm you?”
“That I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I am not imagining the danger, child. Age brings an awareness of these things. I have felt a terrible sense of doom since that night last autumn when we attended the masquerade ball at the St. Louis Hotel.”
“For that long?” she said, eyes widening.
“Yes. That’s why I was late to the ball that evening. And several times since then, I’ve known that same crushing fear. Someone—something—is after me.”
“Oh, Uncle Colfax,” Madeleine said sympathetically, laying a comforting hand on his arm.
“I have been followed on more than one occasion in the past few weeks,” he continued. “Only yesterday I just managed to duck inside an apothecary shop on Exchange Street before the footsteps caught up with me.”
“Dear Lord, no,” she murmured.
“Worse,” he reluctantly informed her, “I have a strong feeling that someone has been here inside the house while we were out.”
Eyes growing even wider, she asked, “Is anything missing? Did they take valuables and…”
“They took nothing,” he interrupted. “But I’m positive that certain things have been moved—only slightly. Whoever it was just wants me to know that I am safe nowhere. Not even in my
own home.”
Madeleine was silent for a moment, then said decisively, “We must go straight to the authorities!”
Colfax shook his graying head. “And tell them what? That a foolish old man is seeing hobgoblins behind every door?”
She understood and said, “I shall send for Lord Enfield. He will know what to do.”
Twenty-Nine
When Lord Enfield arrived at the Royal Street town house, Madeleine met him in the foyer. Hoping the nagging guilt from her latest indiscretion didn’t show in her eyes, she said, “Desmond, I’m sorry about last night.”
“No need for apologies, my dear.” He was gracious. Brushing a kiss to her cheek, he inquired, “Feeling better? Headache gone, I hope.”
“Yes, much better,” she replied, nodding, then ushered him directly into her uncle’s study where Colfax awaited.
“Colfax.” Desmond smiled and acknowledged the older man. “How are you this evening?”
“Not as well as I’d like to be,” Colfax answered solemnly. He poured drinks for Lord Enfield and himself.
“Oh?” said Desmond, giving the older man a questioning look. “What seems to be the trouble?” He glanced from Colfax to Madeleine.
She drew a quick breath and began, “Desmond, Uncle Colfax and I need to speak with you about something that is of great concern to us both.” Lord Enfield frowned, puzzled. Lady Madeleine sat down on the sofa and said, “Please, sit down.”
Taking the drink Colfax offered, Desmond sat beside her and waited tensely to learn what was going on.
“Someone is threatening Uncle Colfax’s life,” she stated simply.
“What? But that can’t be!” Lord Enfield declared, registering shocked surprise. “Why, I can’t believe it. Surely you’re mistaken, my dear.” He looked from her to Colfax, who stood before the fire, quietly drinking his whiskey.
Colfax nodded his gray head. “She’s not mistaken, nor am I.”
“We need your help, Desmond.” Madeleine drew his attention back to her.
“Why, certainly. You shall have it,” he said without hesitation. “Now, tell me exactly what has happened. Tell me everything.”
Together Madeleine and Colfax told an attentive Lord Enfield all the strange things that had taken place—that someone had followed Colfax on the streets, that someone had been inside the house—revealing all the events that had given them cause for concern.
When they had concluded, Colfax Sumner said, “I realize it all sounds quite foolish and that we certainly don’t have anything concrete to take to the authorities, but I’m telling you, my boy, someone means to take my life.”
His brows knitted, Desmond nodded. “Surely no one actually means to harm you, Colfax. But, obviously, someone is attempting to badly frighten you. Why, I cannot imagine.”
“I’m telling you, Desmond, someone in this city means to kill me,” said Colfax. “And I’ve a terrible sense of foreboding that whoever it is will be successful.”
“No. No, that isn’t going to happen,” Desmond stated decisively. “While I agree we can’t very well go to the police with nothing more than we have, we can and will take greater precautions than we have in the past.” He rose from the sofa, went to the bar and poured himself a fresh drink. Turning, he said, “We will immediately implement a plan of action to ensure your safety. First, Colfax, you must never be here in the house alone. Further, you must insist that Big Montro escort you to your office each morning and back home each afternoon.”
“Yes,” Madeleine wholeheartedly agreed. “You can’t be out on the streets alone, Uncle Colfax.”
“And,” Lord Enfield continued with impressive authority, “Madeleine and I will start spending all our evenings here with…”
“No, no, Desmond,” Colfax interrupted, shaking his head. “That’s not fair to you two and surely it’s unnecessary.”
“No arguments,” said Desmond, smiling now. “Tell him, my dear.” He looked at Madeleine.
“Desmond’s absolutely right, Uncle,” Madeleine quickly seconded the idea. “We will spend our evenings here at home with you, starting tonight. Should it be necessary for us to attend important social events, you will go with us.”
“Exactly,” Desmond agreed. “Mardi Gras is coming up and it would look suspicious if we failed to attend various parties and balls. So the three of us will go to those events together. We don’t want whoever is threatening you to know we are on to them, now do we?”
“No, we don’t,” Colfax acquiesced.
“There you have it,” said Lord Enfield to Colfax. “Meantime I will check around to see if I can learn anything.” He paused, rubbed his chin thoughtfully and continued, “It’s so hard to believe that anyone would actually want to harm you, but…” He shrugged his shoulders.
Madeleine smiled at Desmond. She was grateful that he was so understanding and sympathetic to her uncle’s fears. Once again, he had displayed the kind of admirable character that made her more ashamed than ever that she was not half as honorable as he.
“How is he? Is he dead yet? Is he sick?”
“Scared, but perfectly healthy,” Lord Enfield reported, stepping into the Rampart Street cottage. “I left there not fifteen minutes ago and Colfax Sumner was feeling just fine.”
“Damnation!” the disappointed Dominique swore, whirling about to stalk off to the bedroom, muttering under her breath as she went. “I don’t understand. When I stabbed the pin into the Sumner doll, I could feel the awesome power of the Legba flowing through me! I was so certain that the old man felt the terrible pain of the sharp needle going through his stomach! He should have immediately fallen ill!”
Shrugging out of his heavy coat, Desmond tossed it over a chair back and followed his thwarted mistress into the bedroom. He smiled indulgently as she paced about, arguing that Colfax Sumner should be dead or dying. She had done exactly what Mama Cecile had told her to do.
“Darling,” Lord Enfield said, catching her arm and drawing her to him. “Listen to me. This mumbo jumbo voodoo foolishness of yours is simply not going to do the job.”
“Don’t say that! The spirit god will hear you! It will work. I know it will.” She was adamant. “Perhaps I forgot something, did something wrong. Maybe we should go back to Mama Cecile and ask…”
“We’re not giving that old charlatan one more cent,” he stated emphatically. “Be reasonable, Dom. I gave you your chance. It didn’t work and that’s the end of it.” He released her, stepped back and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Now we will do things my way. Sit down and listen to me.”
Reluctantly, the frustrated Dominique sank down onto the edge of the mattress. Her dark eyes flashing with anger, she said, “I am tired of waiting for…”
“Be quiet!” Desmond warned with such firmness, she blinked up at him. He stepped close, calmly took his shirt off, and dropped it to the carpet. Then he sank down onto his knees before Dominique, took both her hands in his, and said, “My darling, we’ve been over all this before, but I will point out one more time exactly how it is going to be. You will listen and you will not interrupt me.”
She nodded, afraid to speak.
“As you are well aware, Colfax Sumner is one of the wealthiest men in America and I mean to lay claim to all that is his. In order to do so, I must marry his niece and sole heir, Lady Madeleine.” He paused, and a hint of a smile touched his lips when he continued, “The marriage is necessary, unless, that is, the old man’s last will and testament should mysteriously disappear.”
Dominique withdrew a hand from his, laid it on his cheek. “If that were to happen, you wouldn’t marry her, would you?”
“I would not,” he assured her. “There would be no need. If the final will—the one in which the entire estate goes to Madeleine—were to disappear, the provisional will would take effect.” He began to grin cunningly. “All other executors of the provisional will are…deceased. I alone would have control of Colfax Sumner’s vast holdings and the power to dispose of any
and all of those holdings as I saw fit.”
Dominique skimmed her thumb back and forth over his bottom lip. She said, “We would be very, very rich, wouldn’t we, my love?”
“Beyond your wildest dreams,” he replied.
“But when?” she asked.
“Soon. Very soon,” he promised. “A month from now it should all be settled.”
She smiled, pleased. “You intend to steal the will?”
“Indeed,” he said, and together they laughed.
When the laughter subsided, Dominique asked, “Then why must you continue to be engaged to Lady Madeleine?”
“Ah, because I leave no stone upturned, my love, you know that. I cover all bets. Should something, God forbid, go wrong, should I be unable to get my hands on that final will, then I’ll simply marry Madeleine.”
Dominique made a face and pressed forcefully on his lip. “I don’t want you marrying that pale British bitch.”
“Silly girl,” he scolded. “You needn’t be jealous. I have no intention of staying married.” He playfully bit Dominique’s thumb and said, “Louisiana is one of the few states wherein a woman can inherit and own property in her name. Upon his death, everything Sumner owns will be Madeleine’s.” He grinned wickedly and added, “Until, that is, her loving husband can convince her to be the devoted and dutiful wife and have everything transferred into my name.”
Dominique studied his smiling upturned face and murmured thoughtfully, “First—before any of this can happen—we must get rid of Colfax Sumner.”
“Leave it to me,” he said and slowly rose to his feet. He reached out, twisted a long, thick portion of her lustrous dark hair around his hand and said, “Are we going to talk all night or make love?”
“Why wait?” asked the bearded, grinning Barton Smallwood before he took a long swig of whiskey from a half-full glass and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Barton’s right,” said his scar-faced older brother, Burton. “Hell, we’ll just go into town and take care of him tonight.”