The Burning

by R. L. Stine

  “Look at that scarlet cape Margaret Fletcher is wearing!” Angelica exclaimed, ignoring James’s comment. “It looks like something she should wear to the Mardi Gras parade.”

  “The color scarlet becomes Margaret Fletcher. She should wear it always,” Liza said cattily.

  James turned to Angelica. She could feel his silver gray eyes studying her. “Angelica, you look beautiful tonight.”

  “Oh, James, you’re so sweet,” Angelica replied. She squeezed his hand, but her attention was on the crowd filing into their seats in the orchestra below.

  James leaned close. “Maybe some day you and I shall have an opera box of our own,” he whispered.

  “Why, James—what on earth for?” Angelica declared. “We can always use Father’s. He hates the opera!”

  “I meant—” James started, but stopped. Out of the corner of her eye Angelica saw his face go red.

  Why is James so serious tonight? she wondered. Is he getting ready to propose to me? Is that why he seems so nervous and uncomfortable? Or is his cravat too tight?

  If he does propose to me, what will be my reply? Angelica asked herself. She pulled up her long lacy white gloves and turned back to her cousin. “Liza, who are you looking at?”

  “That young man from Biloxi,” Liza replied without lowering the opera glasses. “The tall one with the charming smile and those devilish blue eyes. Remember, Angelica? You promised to introduce us?”

  “Do you mean Bradford Dues?” James asked Liza. “You wouldn’t like him. He is not your type. He is witty and charming.”

  “What?” Liza’s mouth dropped open in mock outrage.

  James and Angelica laughed.

  “I do not find your sense of humor at all amusing,” Liza replied, making a sour face.

  “I know you well,” James continued. “You like the strong, silent type.”

  “I would like you better if you were silent!” Liza declared.

  Angelica leaned over the velvet-covered railing to watch the people below. Rows of gaslights flickered brightly along the wall. The orchestra tuned up in the wide pit beneath the shimmering royal blue curtain. Dark-uniformed ushers led the lavishly dressed opera patrons to their seats.

  Two weeks had passed since Angelica’s ball. Two weeks of nonstop celebration and Mardi Gras parties.

  One party with James, then one party with Hamilton, she thought. Then one party with both of them competing for her attention, for her smiles. James and Hamilton. Hamilton and James.

  Who will it be? The question troubled Angelica, lingered in her mind like a headache that refused to go away.

  On two occasions that strange, dark-eyed young man, Simon Fear, had come to call on her at her house. The first time she ordered the servants to send him away. The second time she agreed to see him—but made sure that Liza was in the room.

  Simon had burst into the sitting room eagerly, a triumphant smile on his handsome face—as if being admitted to the house were an important victory for him.

  He strode confidently up to Angelica, took her hand, and kissed it. Angelica heard Liza gasp, shocked by the young man’s bold behavior.

  The visit had been a short one since there was no adult available to chaperon. Angelica introduced Simon to her cousin. Simon greeted Liza warmly, then ignored her, rudely staring the whole while into Angelica’s eyes.

  As they talked of the weather and the Mardi Gras and other acceptable topics, Angelica remembered their brief but heated conversation that night in the garden.

  “You will be my wife,” Simon had told her.

  Every time the words repeated in her mind, every time she thought of his intense dark eyes and the confidence, the arrogant confidence in his voice, Angelica felt a chill of excitement—and fright.

  When Simon had left, Liza tossed back her head and laughed. “What an absurd young man!” she declared scornfully. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

  “He has lovely eyes,” Angelica replied.

  Liza cut her laughter short, her expression suddenly serious. “Angelica, you cannot possibly be thinking about Simon Fear. Your father would have a fit if he knew you allowed Simon in this house! He would have the boy horsewhipped and sent back North to his home. Your father would never approve of Simon Fear—and neither should you.”

  Liza’s words brought a smile to Angelica’s face. “I do not approve of him,” she told Liza. “I do not approve of him at all ….”

  The orchestra stopped tuning up and fell silent. The gaslights were dimmed.

  The Pierce family box was near the stage, high above the orchestra. It was the perfect place to see and be seen, which in Angelica’s mind was the main reason to attend the opera.

  James smiled at her. “It is about to begin. You and your cousin will have to stop gossiping for a while.”

  “Oh, good heavens! Look who is here!” Liza exclaimed. She handed the opera glasses to Angelica, then pointed below them.

  “Who is it?” Angelica asked, raising the glasses to her eyes. “Oh!” Angelica uttered a soft cry of surprise as in the dimming light she spotted Simon Fear. He was in a seat beneath her box—staring up at her!

  Realizing that her glasses were trained on him, Simon smiled wide and waved up at her.

  Angelica lowered the glasses and sank back in her seat. “Such arrogance!”

  Liza tossed her head. “The opera is supposed to be for society people,” she said snootily.

  “Who is it?” James asked Liza. “Have you found yourself another young man from Biloxi?”

  “It is just someone I know,” Angelica replied.

  Something about Angelica’s tone of voice roused James’s curiosity. “Someone you know? A boy?” He leaned forward and peered down, his hands on the railing.

  “James, please,” Angelica whispered. “The opera is about to begin.” She reached out to pull him back.

  But to her surprise James rose to his feet, still leaning over the railing.

  “James—what on earth—!” Angelica whispered.

  James turned to her, his silver gray eyes wide in an expression of terror. His hands came off the railing. They rose stiffly in front of him, and he turned and started climbing onto the box railing.

  “James—come down!” Liza shrieked. “James— get off there!”

  James balanced awkwardly on the balcony railing for a moment, his mouth open in a silent scream. His arms began thrashing wildly at his sides. His legs trembled.

  “James, you’re going to fall!” Angelica cried.

  She grabbed for him with both hands.

  Too late.

  Without uttering a sound, he toppled over the rail.

  “James! James!” Angelica shrieked, her arms still outstretched.

  She called his name again and again, not believing her eyes. Not believing that he was gone. Not believing the empty space beside her.

  And then her high-pitched screams blended in with the other startled cries and shrieks of horror that filled the darkened hall.

  Chapter 6

  Simon watched the body plunge from the box. It hit with an echoing thud in the aisle.

  Then, as horrified screams rose up in the darkness, Simon tucked the silver pendant under his dress shirt and quickly made his way to the aisle.

  A few moments later he entered the private box to find Angelica and her cousin comforting each other, their tearstained faces filled with disbelief.

  Liza’s shoulders heaved as she sobbed. Her face was buried in her gloved hands.

  Angelica gazed up, startled to see Simon. She brushed away the tears from under her eyes.

  “I am so sorry for you, Angelica,” Simon said softly, his dark eyes locked sympathetically on hers. “So sorry … so sorry.”

  “Did you—did you see him fall?” Angelica asked Simon. “Is James alive? I cannot bear to look.”

  Simon lowered his head sadly. “I am so sorry, Angelica. Your friend is dead.”

  “Nooooo!” Angelica uttered a wail of
horror.

  “He fell so far, so rapidly,” Simon reported in a whisper. “I saw him land on his head. I am sure he died instantly.”

  Angelica shuddered and shut her eyes.

  “He did not jump!” Simon heard Liza cry in a shrill, frightened voice. “Why would James jump? Why did he climb onto the railing?”

  “If I can be of any help … ” Simon offered Angelica, his hand placed lightly on her trembling shoulder. “Please know that you can always rely on me.”

  Angelica leaned against her father and allowed him to lead her into the sitting room. As they walked, she pulled off her black bonnet and tossed it onto a chair.

  “It was a good funeral,” Henry Pierce said in his gruff rumble of a voice. He was a burly, red-faced man with a thick black mustache, and his appearance was as gruff as his voice. “Until the horse pulling the hearse cart tossed a shoe. I cannot understand why they do not inspect these horses before a funeral starts.”

  “Yes, Father,” Angelica replied weakly. She made her way to the long couch and sat down.

  “You look very pale,” her father muttered, narrowing his blue eyes as he studied her. “I wish you were stronger, Angelica.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You have stood up very well under this tragedy,” he remarked, shaking his head sadly. He tsk-tsked, his mustache rolling up and down. “James Daumier was a fine young man.”

  Angelica sighed. She wished she could change her dress. The heavy black wool was hot and uncomfortable.

  “Hamilton Scott will be a very suitable husband for you,” Mr. Pierce said, striding to the window. “I have spoken to his father, who approves the match wholeheartedly.”

  “Father, please do not force me to think about marriage now. Not on the day of James’s funeral,” Angelica said in a quivering voice. “I feel so light-headed and fluttery. I am afraid I may swoon again.”

  “Save your strength, daughter. We will discuss it when you are feeling stronger.” Mr. Pierce pulled back the window curtains. Bright yellow sunlight streamed into the room.

  Angelica blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the brightness. “Ah, Liza—here you are!” she cried, turning to the door.

  Liza entered the room unsteadily, her black bonnet still covering her head, the hem of her black dress grazing the floor. “Funerals are so sad, Angelica!” she wailed.

  “The funeral of a fine young man is especially sad,” Mr. Pierce agreed solemnly. “Would you girls care for tea? I shall alert the staff.”

  Angelica watched as her father left, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “It—it was a pretty funeral,” she stammered, motioning for Liza to sit down beside her. “All those flowers.”

  Liza pulled off her long black gloves and let them fall to the floor. She sat down beside her cousin and put a hand gently on her arm. “How are you, Angelica?”

  “I feel better now that Father has left my side,” Angelica admitted, covering Liza’s hand with hers. “He means well, but he cannot stop talking about Hamilton Scott.”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean with James dead—” The word caught in Angelica’s throat. “With James dead,” she started again, “Father is urging me to accept Hamilton. Father thinks it best that Hamilton and I announce our betrothal and marry as quickly as possible.”

  “But do you care for him, Angelica?” Liza asked.

  Angelica replied with a pained sigh. She squeezed her cousin’s hand. “Simon has been such a comfort these past few days,” Angelica offered, focusing on the window. “He has been so considerate, so understanding.”

  “Angelica!” Liza exclaimed, unable to conceal her disapproval. “I had no idea you were seeing Simon Fear.”

  “He has paid me visits,” Angelica said, still avoiding her cousin’s stare. “He has been very kind. I do not know why you are so suspicious of Simon, Liza. Just because he is a northerner and does not come from wealth—”

  “I do not trust him. That is all,” Liza replied sharply. She shifted her weight on the couch. “You avoided my question about Hamilton. How do you feel about Hamilton, Angelica? Do you care for him?”

  Before Angelica could reply, the butler appeared in the sitting room doorway. “Mr. Hamilton Scott is here,” he announced. “Shall I show him in, miss?”

  Simon Fear leaned against the white picket fence and stared at the sprawling mansion. From his vantage point Simon could see clearly into the sitting room window.

  How considerate of Mr. Pierce to pull the curtains back for me, Simon thought.

  A carriage came clattering by, pulled by two handsome black horses. Simon bent and pretended to clean something off his boot. When the carriage had passed, he took his place again beside the fence.

  He saw Hamilton Scott enter the room and make his way to the couch where Angelica and Liza were seated. Hamilton bowed low and kissed Angelica’s hand.

  How very gallant you are, Hamilton, in your boyish way, Simon thought cruelly, feeling the three-clawed pendant heat up under his shirt.

  How unfortunate for you, Hamilton, that the next funeral will be yours. And then I shall be the one in the sitting room, bowing low to kiss dear Angelica’s hand.

  Chapter 7

  One month later Angelica was holding on to Hamilton’s arm as they pushed their way through the laughing, celebrating crowd. “Wait for me! My shoe is caught in a plank!” Liza called.

  Angelica called impatiently back to her cousin. “Hurry! We don’t want to miss Aunt Lavinia!”

  “And I want to get a good look at this paddlewheel boat!” Hamilton declared.

  Liza managed to get her shoe free from the dock and moved quickly to her cousin, holding up the hem of her long gray dress.

  “Do you see Aunt Lavinia?” Angelica asked. “There are so many people here to see the boat off, it looks like Mardi Gras all over again!”

  As they moved closer to the boat, Angelica could see that a red carpet had been spread down the gangplank. Smiling passengers, their arms loaded with farewell presents, stopped on deck to wave goodbye to friends and family on shore.

  A brass band played march music beside the gangplank. White and yellow streamers had been strung along the top of the pier. Horse-drawn taxis pulled up to let off more passengers.

  “There she is!” Liza exclaimed. “Aunt Lee! Aunt Lee!”

  Angelica and Hamilton pushed past a man pulling an enormous black steamer trunk and hurried up to greet Angelica’s aunt Lavinia.

  “Why, there you are!” Aunt Lavinia cried happily. “My goodness. I thought I missed you!”

  Angelica’s aunt was a large, robust-looking woman. Her blue traveling bonnet matched the blue of her eyes. Her round cheeks were flushed with excitement. She had traveled to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, but now was returning home to Memphis.

  There were hugs all around. Angelica introduced Hamilton, who said something, but his words were drowned out by an ear-shattering blast from the boat whistle.

  “Oh, my, I had better be boarding!” Aunt Lavinia exclaimed. “It was so nice of you to see an old aunt off!”

  More hugs. Then Angelica’s aunt gathered her belongings in her arms and started toward the gangplank.

  “She is a dear,” Liza said, waving to her aunt.

  “This boat will make it upriver to Memphis in no time,” Hamilton remarked. “Look. It has two paddle wheels. That should double its speed.”

  Another blast of the whistle made Angelica cover her ears. She tugged on Hamilton’s arm. “There is no one on that pier,” she said, pointing. “Come on. We can get a better view when the boat pulls away. We shall be right on the water.”

  Liza hesitated. “That pier is roped off, Angelica. I do not think they want us to stand there.”

  “We can stand there if we want,” Hamilton said. “Come on. I want to be as close as I can when the boat starts to move.”

  With Hamilton in the lead, the three of them ducked under the rope and stepped out to the edge of the pier. Below t
hem the water lapped against the wooden pilings, the water green and golden, shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight.

  “I can see fish down there. Look. A whole school of them,” Hamilton said, bending over the edge of the pier and pointing into the gently rocking water.

  “I—I don’t think we should be here;” Liza stammered. She glanced around uncomfortably.

  “No one cares if we watch from here,” Angelica told her cousin.

  The last passenger had boarded. Angelica saw. The gangplank had been pulled on board. Two young sailors in white suits were rolling up the red carpet. The band started braying out another march.

  Angelica shielded her eyes with one hand and searched the deck for her aunt. She felt a tap on her shoulder. “Turn around,” Liza instructed in a hushed voice. “Look who is here.”

  Confused, Angelica followed her cousin’s gaze. To her surprise, Simon Fear was standing at the edge of the crowd. He had a hat pulled down over his forehead. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of a gray coat.

  How strange, Angelica thought, staring intently at him. Why is Simon here? He doesn’t appear to be seeing anyone off.

  With two short blasts of its whistle, the paddle boat began to pull away from the dock, its wheels spinning slowly, churning the water.

  Peering back toward the crowd, Angelica saw Simon pull something from his coat pocket. The silvery object caught the light of the sun. Simon raised the object high.

  Angelica shook her head, then turned to watch the boat depart. What a strange young man he is, she thought, an amused smile spreading across her face.

  Another blast of the whistle. The boat began to pick up speed. Behind Angelica the crowd waved and cheered.

  Angelica watched the twin paddle wheels turn, creating two frothy waterfalls as the boat pulled away. She glanced back. Simon hadn’t moved. He still held the silvery object high in one hand.

  “Hamilton, this is exciting, isn’t it?” she asked. “Hamilton? Hamilton?”