by Nan Ryan
“No!” she said emphatically, shaking her head, setting the points of her white tignon to dancing. “I intend to stay right here with you until Madeleine and Montro are back home.” She took a seat on the leather sofa.
Colfax smiled indulgently at this loyal black woman of whom he was so fond. She had been with him for more than thirty years and he had no better friend.
He said softly, “You don’t fool me any more than I fool you. You’re concerned about my safety, isn’t that it?”
Her dark eyes flashing, she stated, “Montro shouldn’t have gone to the opera, he should have stayed here to look after you.”
“I was the one who sent him with the children, Avalina,” he pointed out. “And I’m glad I did. While there are always dangers out on the street, I feel confident that here at home we are all quite safe.” He smiled and said, “Now go on out to bed.”
Avalina pursed her lips, but she rose from the sofa. She crossed the room, turned and softly said his name. “Colfax.”
“Yes?”
“Get up out of your chair this minute. Walk with me and as soon as I’ve gone out the door, lock it behind me.”
Rising, he said, “I swear, the women in this house are getting mighty bossy.” But he followed her down the hall.
At the front door, Avalina again paused, looked at him and said, “I could just stay and keep you company until…”
“No,” he said resolutely. “And you needn’t be scattering any of that magical voodoo powder of yours around the door, either.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily.
Colfax laughed accusingly and she laughed, too. He knew all about her strong belief in black magic and sometimes he teased her about it, but he was never really scornful or derisive. He patted her upper arm affectionately.
“Nothing is going to happen to us,” he said, still smiling. “Good night, Avalina.”
Throughout the performance of La Traviata, Madeleine fidgeted. She was too agitated to appreciate that the diva who was playing Violetta perfectly executed portamentos and roulades. She wished they hadn’t come. Wished it was time to leave. She felt overly anxious, worried. And she was feeling increasingly conflicted. She had begun to strongly consider telling Lord Enfield that she could not marry him. That would, she knew, be the decent thing to do.
Unable to sit still a moment longer, Madeleine leaned over to Lord Enfield well before the opera’s end and said, “Can we please leave, Desmond?”
Surprised, he fished his gold-cased watch from his evening-vest pocket, opened it and checked the time. Eleven o’clock. “Why, certainly, darling.”
By the time they reached the town house, Madeleine was extraordinarily nervous. Her hands were icy cold and there was an insistent pain in her stomach.
When Big Montro unlocked the front door and stepped back, she rushed anxiously into the house shouting, “Uncle Colfax, we’re home! Where are you?”
“Dear, he’s probably in bed asleep. Perhaps you should stop shouting,” cautioned Lord Enfield. He glanced over his shoulder and was annoyed to see that Montro followed them inside.
“Uncle Colfax, answer me!” her voice lifted as she hurried toward his study.
She came to an abrupt stop in the open doorway and screamed. Colfax Sumner lay unmoving on the floor in front of the flickering fireplace. Montro stepped swiftly around her and went directly to the prostrate man. He fell to his knees and laid a hand on Colfax’s face. The skin was chilly. Montro moved his fingers down and checked for a pulse in the throat.
There was none.
“Montro, is he…?” Madeleine was now on her knees beside Montro.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Madeleine,” said Big Montro. “He’s gone.”
“Oh, dear God, no, no!” she began to sob uncontrollably, taking one of her uncle’s lifeless hands in both of hers and pressing it to her cheek. “My uncle is dead! Desmond, Uncle Colfax is dead!”
“Are you certain?” asked Lord Enfield, joining Montro and Madeleine on the floor, bending to press his ear to Colfax’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. After a long moment, Desmond raised his head and said, “He is dead. My God, he’s dead.”
Rising to his feet, Montro said quietly, “I’ll wake Avalina and then go get Dr. Ledette.” He turned and left, his eyes filling with tears.
“It’s my fault,” Madeleine cried, nearly hysterical, “I shouldn’t have left him alone.”
“Now, dearest,” Lord Enfield comforted, as he knelt beside her and drew her into his arms, “there’s nothing you could have done. Colfax has apparently had a weak heart and…”
“No!” she protested, pulling away from him, “Uncle Colfax did not have a weak heart. His heart was sound. He was perfectly healthy, I know he was, Dr. Ledette told me he was.” Tears streaming down her cheeks, she sat down on the floor and gently drew her uncle’s head onto her lap. Affectionately smoothing his wispy gray hair, she sobbed, “Dear God, someone killed my uncle.”
“Now, Madeleine, you have no reason to think such a thing,” Desmond gently scolded. “You’re upset, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do, I’m saying that someone has murdered my beloved uncle right here in his own home,” she wailed, inconsolable. “Oh, God, we should have left Montro here with him! Why did we leave Uncle Colfax alone?”
A pale, puffy-eyed Lady Madeleine placed a lone red rose atop the new marble vault in the old St. Louis cemetery. She kissed her gloved fingers, laid them on the shiny white marble, bent and whispered a final goodbye to her dear, deceased uncle.
A veil covering her stricken face, a large black umbrella held over her head by the solicitous Lord Enfield, Madeleine allowed him to lead her away. Directly behind them, Big Montro supported the grieving Avalina as they all made their way to the waiting carriages.
Despite the heavy rain a large crowd of mourners had gathered to say their final farewells to the dear old friend they had loved and admired for so long. Armand de Chevalier stood alone at the edge of the gathering, dry-eyed and solemn. He purposely slipped away before Madeleine could spot him.
Back at the town house after the funeral, friends began arriving immediately. Montro and Avalina capably stepped into the roles of host and hostess, knowing that Madeleine was too upset for the task. They greeted the many visitors at the door and guided them into the dining room where a sumptuous spread had been laid out.
After taking a while to compose herself, Madeleine had graciously visited with the guests. Many stayed all afternoon and some well into the evening. She was exhausted when finally, at shortly after nine o’clock, the very last couple departed.
Madeleine sighed with relief, sank down onto the sofa and secretly hoped that Lord Enfield, too, would go. He did not. He stayed and after a reasonable amount of time suggested that she should—if she knew where it was kept—have a look at Colfax’s last will and testament.
“Or perhaps you would prefer to wait and have an attorney present,” he said.
“No,” she said. “As you know, Uncle Colfax’s lawyer left for Europe last week. Norris Maddox is not expected back for a couple of months.”
“Ah, that’s right. No need for a partner to step in,” he said. “So…you know where the will is and…”
“Yes, of course,” she said, wearily rising.
Lord Enfield followed Madeleine into the study. Arms crossed over his chest, he watched silently as she moved the portrait of LaFayette aside, worked the combination of the small round safe and swung the door open.
His heart hammered when Madeleine reached inside and withdrew a legal-looking document. He watched closely as she unfolded it, quickly glanced over it, then tossed it atop the desk. She again reached inside the safe and felt frantically around the chamber.
An expression of shock instantly flooding her features, she withdrew her hand and exclaimed, “Dear God in heaven!”
“What? What is it, my love?”
She shook her head, st
unned and bewildered. She leaned down and peered into the empty safe. She straightened and began to tremble violently.
“Madeleine, what is wrong?”
“The will,” she said, her face pale, her eyes wide, “it’s gone. My uncle’s last will and testament…it…it’s missing! My God, the will is not here!”
“Oh, my love,” soothed Lord Enfield, hurriedly stepping forward to move around the desk and take her in his arms. “Surely there’s a logical explanation. Perhaps Colfax placed the will in his safe deposit box at the Delta State Bank downtown.”
“No, no he did not,” she said, quickly freeing herself of his arms. “He showed me the will last summer, shortly after I arrived in New Orleans. He brought me in here and told me the combination of the safe and showed me the will.”
“I see,” murmured Lord Enfield thoughtfully. Then gesturing to the document she’d carelessly tossed onto the desk, he asked, “And you’re sure that’s not it? Have you looked at it carefully?”
“I don’t need to, I know what that is,’ she said, starting to pace restlessly. “That’s just an old, out-of-date provisional will he had drawn up years ago. The one naming you and those other gentlemen the executors of the estate when I was still quite young. It has no value.”
“No real value whatever,” Lord Enfield agreed calmly, hardly able to hide his excitement. Everything had gone just as he had planned. The vast wealth left behind by Colfax Sumner was now—or very soon would be—completely under his control. Demonstrating his deep compassion, Desmond again took the reluctant Madeleine in his arms and said soothingly, “Don’t worry about this, darling. The will is bound to turn up. The thing for you to do now is to just forget about it. Go to bed and get some rest.”
“Yes,” she quickly agreed. “I’m so tired I can’t think straight.”
“Bless your heart, I fully understand,” he sympathized. “Tomorrow we’ll look for the will and we’ll find it, I promise you.”
“You’re very kind, Desmond,” she said. “You won’t mind if I don’t see you to the door?”
“Of course not,” he replied, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, and please don’t worry. Everything will work out nicely.”
She nodded and left him, hurrying out into the foyer and up the stairs. In the privacy of her room, Madeleine paced worriedly back and forth, sad and confused, trying to figure out what could have happened. How could the will not be there? Why one will and not the other?
Only the provisional will had been in the safe. The other was missing. The will naming her, Madeleine, the sole heir to everything Colfax Sumner had owned. Who on earth could have taken that final will? And why had they taken it?
Upon leaving the Royal Street town house, a self-satisfied Lord Enfield had his driver take him directly toward the swamps below the city. Dominique could wait. He wanted to visit the Smallwood brothers.
This was the first opportunity he’d had to speak with them since before the murder. He wanted to commend them on a job well done. And, he was anxious to get his hands on Colfax Sumner’s will, the will that the Smallwood boys were to have taken from the safe on the night they’d killed Sumner.
He wouldn’t be completely content until he could watch the will burn and warm his hands over it.
At the pleasant prospect, Desmond laughed out loud and then he felt his groin stir slightly. Seeing the will go up in flames would be gratification akin to sexual pleasure.
Lord Enfield was out of the carriage the moment it came to a stop before the weathered shanty where the Smallwood brothers lived. He didn’t bother to knock, but pushed the warped door open and stepped inside.
He frowned when saw that Barton Smallwood was drinking. A whiskey bottle sat on the table before the younger brother and when he looked up at Desmond, Barton’s eyes were liquor-clouded.
Desmond, in a gregarious mood, let it pass.
He turned his attention on Burton, who rose from the table to shake hands.
“We been expecting you, boss,” said Burton, unsmiling.
“I have your money,” Desmond stated, reaching inside his breast pocket. “And I wanted to tell you how very pleased I am with the job you did. Sumner’s death was ruled natural causes and no one suspects a thing.”
Burton shook his head, smiled weakly, but nervously rubbed the long scar going down his right cheek. “We were in and out in no time,” he said.
Desmond smiled, nodded. “Good work, men. I’m proud of you both. I knew I could count on you.”
“We done just like you told us,” Barton offered hopefully.
“I know you did,” said Desmond, looking down at the seated man. “Now, where is it? Give it to me.” Barton Smallwood swallowed convulsively and quickly bowed his head. Desmond looked at Burton. Burton shrugged his narrow shoulders and a worried expression came into his eyes, but he said nothing. “Dammit to hell,” roared Desmond, “where’s that will? I want the will!”
“Boss, you’re not going to believe this,” Burton spoke at last.
“Not going to believe what?” Desmond’s face was growing flushed, “What are you trying to tell me?
“We did just as you said. We quietly smothered the old man then went right to the safe.” Burton exhaled and made a face. “There was only one will inside. That provisional will you’d told us about. That was all. Just it, nothing else.”
Desmond’s flushed face immediately paled. “Just one will—No, that’s not…that can’t be! You said you’d get that will and bring it to me! Where is it? I have to have it!”
“I’m telling you straight, boss, someone beat us to it,” Burton said. “The will was not there.”
Desmond felt suddenly sick. His knees buckled. He pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. If the will was not in the safe, that meant somebody had already taken it.
But who?
And why?
Thirty-Two
A long and sleepless night.
Come morning, a haggard, but determined Madeleine had dressed and set off to visit the law offices of her uncle’s attorney, Norris Maddox. With Big Montro at her side, she had walked the few short blocks, arriving at the Orleans Street building at 9:00 a.m. sharp.
Inside Blake Forester’s plush, paneled office, Madeleine sat quietly as the silver-haired attorney carefully studied the provisional will.
Forester frowned and looked at her in alarm.
The attorney said, “Surely, Lady Madeleine, this is not the last will that your uncle…”
“No. There was another, drawn up much later. It was kept in the safe at home, along with this one. But, mysteriously, the final will is missing.” She looked Forester squarely in the eye. “Please, sir, tell me exactly what this unexpected turn of events means to me.”
The attorney hesitated. Then he explained that unless the last will and testament was found, the provisional will would stand. He paused, frowned and admitted, “It means, Lady Madeleine, that the Sumner estate—lock, stock, plantations, warehouses, sugar refineries, gins and presses, everything—will be controlled by the only surviving executor, Lord Enfield.”
“No…that can’t be,” she choked.
Attorney Forester gave her a fatherly smile and soothed, “Now, now, surely there’s a copy of the other will in Norris’s office which will, of course, make this one null and void. We’ll go in right now and have a look.”
There was no copy of the final will in Norris Maddox’s office. A thorough search turned up nothing.
Seeing the look of growing distress on Lady Madeleine’s pale face, Forester said, “We’ll send a letter to Norris in Europe. It will take a while, but…” The attorney shrugged.
Madeleine rose to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Forester.”
“We’ll get a post off to Norris today. If there’s anything else I can do…”
“You’ve been most helpful,” she said, rising un-steadily to her feet.
Dazed, Madeleine exited the law offices. Montro stepped forward, saw that she was
upset. “If you’re not up to walking home, I can—”
“No, I am. I’d rather walk, try to clear my head,” she stated, exhaling heavily.
They started home. Montro waited for her to speak. Soon they were discussing the sad events of the past couple of days. Considering him a loyal friend, Madeleine told Montro of the missing will.
“The only thing that was in the safe was an old provisional will written years ago,” she explained. “The other will was there late last summer. Uncle Colfax showed it to me.”
Montro listened carefully, nodding, asking a question or two, trying to help her solve the puzzle. “Why didn’t the master destroy the provisional will?”
“He meant to, just never got around to it.” Thinking out loud, she mused, “Who would have taken the will? Who could have taken it?”
“A good question,” Montro responded. “Who, besides you, had the safe’s combination?”
“Well, Uncle Colfax’s attorney, Norris Maddox.”
“Maddox is in Europe. Who else?”
“No one that I know of. Just me and…and…well, Desmond.” Montro’s eyebrows knitted and his eyes narrowed. Madeleine easily read his thoughts. She immediately stopped walking. Montro paused beside her. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she defended Desmond. “Lord Enfield is above reproach! Why, he’s the one who insisted on carefully watching over Uncle Colfax. He had been a good and loyal friend to both Uncle Colfax and to me. How dare you suggest that Desmond—”
“Lady Madeleine,” Montro softly interrupted, “I didn’t.”
“You did. You didn’t say it, but I know what you’re thinking.” She started walking again. He followed.
“With the final will missing,” he asked, “who stands to gain control of Colfax’s entire estate?”
Madeleine made a sour face at him. “Desmond, of course, but he—he—” She paused, swallowed, and added, “Lord Enfield would never take advantage of me! Besides, he is a very wealthy man and…”
“Is he? Are you certain of that, Lady Madeleine?”
For a long moment Madeleine stared at the giant who was raising unsettling questions in her mind. “Yes, yes I am. Desmond has made wise investments and—and—”