“I did no such thing. I left them here with Robin. She said she would deliver them to you.”
“She did not. You should never have released those to anyone but me, Reed. I can’t believe you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal. She seemed so devoted to you; I just assumed that she would do what she said.”
“I’ve got to go, Reed. I’ve got some studying to do before I see the My Haunted Plantation people tomorrow. Can you tell them I want to see them in the afternoon? I should be ready by then.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“Surely we can have them help us solve some minor family mysteries. Like what’s the deal with this ring? How do we get rid of the ghosts here and at Thorn Hill?”
He nodded, and his handsome face softened. “About the other night…”
“Must we discuss this now?” I said without a smile on my face. “To tell you the truth, I have a few other things on my mind.” I lied to his face and didn’t let on how I really felt. Of course, I’ve thought about that kiss and the ones that followed in my dreams. Who are you, Reed Dufresne? I turned and walked into the house, leaving him standing in the driveway.
I called out for Robin a few times. She never came, so I jogged up my stairs and called her from my room intercom. “Robin, can you tell me where those journals are? The ones Reed sent over from Aunt Vertie?”
“The green ones?” she called back, sounding like she was a million miles away. Something was wrong with the call box. I banged on it but lost her. Had that even been Robin’s voice?
Then a tap on my door came. I opened it, and to my surprise there was a cardboard box with a stack of green journals peeking out the top. How the heck did they get up here that fast? I caught a whiff of familiar perfume. Yes, I knew that smell. That was Edith Roberts!
I grabbed the box, slammed the door and stepped away from it. My heart was pounding in my chest. I heard the light tapping on the door and nearly jumped out of my skin. “Who is it?”
“It’s Robin! Sorry to bother you.”
With a sigh of relief, I opened the door. “No bother at all. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
Her face paled and she said, “I’m sorry about the intercom. It’s behaving badly today. What did you need? Those journals? I set them on the table downstairs, but when I went back to get them they were missing. I assumed you had picked them up, but I guess you didn’t?” She looked embarrassed, and then her face lit up. “Oh good! You found them! Thank the Lord! Anything else?”
“No…I think that’s…that’s all for now, Robin. I would like to be alone this morning. I don’t want any calls or visitors for the next few hours.”
“Okay, well, let me know if I can help you with anything. Call me if you need me. What about supper?”
“I’ll sneak down for something later.” I closed the door behind her and picked up the box. I put it on the coffee table and flipped on the television and VCR. Might as well do the whole thing. As a news anchor, I learned to take in information in strange ways. For example, I could listen to two news shows simultaneously, read three magazines and listen to talk radio. And I retained all that information. I had this weird ability to scan and process large amounts of information with just my mind and could retain most of it. I would put that skill to work for me tonight. I was going to watch the videos and read the books. I felt such an urgency to get this done. I had to! It was almost as if a life hung in the balance.
Maybe more than my own.
Chapter Seventeen
Susanna Serene Dufresne
I was sitting at the desk in the study when Ambrose began calling for me. I didn’t hurry to respond to him. I had one or two more numbers to record, and then I would close the books for tonight. The oil lamp flickered on my desk and a wind threatened to blow up a storm outside. But I’d heard the carriage come around and knew that my husband’s cousin would be leaving soon. I supposed he wanted to say goodbye, perhaps attempt to make me jealous. I could have told him he was wasting his time. Since my return to Thorn Hill, my heart had been empty of love. Love was a betrayer, not a thing to be trusted. It always led you astray, and I refused to be betrayed by it any longer.
Business continued to grow, and thanks to a few unique acquisitions this month I had no shortage of customers. The blue print fabric with the gold leaves was an exceptional find. I smiled at the memory of the recent bidding war that bolt of fabric had caused. Everyone was still talking about it. In the end, Evelyn LaGrange won the prize, ensuring that her daughter would be the one to wear it. She and no other. Silly women.
What a strange few years it had been! I always expected to become a mother and a happy wife, but in the end I had achieved neither of those girlhood dreams. At least I had this.
I was an independent woman now. Or as independent as the law would allow me to be. I had a business of my own, a legitimate business, and who did I have to thank for that? Ambrose. Despite his threats to me the night he rescued me from the Ramparts, he had not punished me. But I kept my end of the bargain. I never mentioned his cousin’s name, and I never again asked to see Chase.
Once had been enough.
The man I loved was gone. In his place was a black-hearted plantation owner and his beastly little plain-faced wife. She’d never darkened my doors, but many of her friends had—and the stories they told! There were no happy times at Sugar Hill, apparently. I did not pry, and many times I changed the subject pretending I knew nothing about Chase or his wife Athena. It was better to feign ignorance than become embroiled in gossip. The fear he would divorce and disown me did not loom over me as it once had. I was established; I had a name for myself. I was no castoff anymore.
Good riddance! If Chase divorced me, as the rumor mill reported he eventually would, so much the better. I could marry Ambrose or someone else to keep my freedom, if pressed to do so. I had no shortage of kind eyes upon me.
Oddly enough, thanks to Ambrose’s generosity, I had everything I needed. I had cornered the market here. If you wanted fine silk, you had to see me. Or at least visit my shop in the Ramparts. I alone determined who purchased those fine fabrics, and even the proper white women had to come to me to get the most beautiful prints! Oh, how it burned their hearts to do so! It was always a humorous sight to see their fine carriages roll up in front of my store.
Yes, the rumors still flew.
I was a left-hand wife, an adulteress in some people’s eyes, and even to this day I was living like a whore with my lover. They said all these things, sometimes to my face. But they couldn’t help themselves. Despite their disgust for me, they came with coins in hand, behaved as politely as they could during our business exchanges and left with the fabric they wanted. On a few occasions I had even refused to sell silk. It was my prerogative. Ambrose rarely came to the shop, but when he did it was to deliver some good news about a new supplier or a potential customer.
Ambrose and I were wealthy. Very wealthy indeed. So wealthy that even Etienne could not touch me anymore. I could buy her and sell her if I chose to. From all accounts she was very sick. And I wished her nothing but death. Just as she had delivered to my daughter. Somehow she had caused my daughter’s death. I knew it in my bones. Despite my requests for information, my offers of money, she told me nothing.
Rarely did a man darken my shop door. Oh no, these fine women would never allow their husbands to visit me. I laughed at their disdain. I reviewed the numbers once more and smiled approvingly at this month’s revenues.
I hated to admit it, but Ambrose was something of a genius when it came to business. He knew everyone, even though most wouldn’t admit to that. In a way, he was like me.
A castoff, an unmentionable.
Recently he had secretly moved against the Mobile businesses, singlehandedly destroying their silk trade market with a few well-placed fires. Of course, he never admitted to such behavior, unless I plied him with liquor. And even then he did not share details. Ambrose wa
s no fool. He knew better than to trust anyone.
Especially me. He felt the fire that burned in me. He knew that beneath my sweet smile and polite words I wanted nothing more than to drive a knife through his heart.
And so it was very smart of him to keep quiet. I hated him with a passion so deep it drove me to fantasize about killing him. To his face I smiled sweetly, kissed him often and did all that he asked when the lights went out, but secretly I seethed inside. His betrayal and abandonment would never be erased, no matter what good deeds he did on my behalf now. My heart and my pride demanded punishment—for them both! Both he and Chase should pay for what they had wrought in my life. My daughter was gone, and no amount of money or status could replace her—or the life I had intended for her.
Those first few months, how many times had I walked the halls of Thorn Hill in a dreamlike state, looking for her? Ambrose would find me and lead me back to bed, my tears flowing. But that did not happen anymore. I gave up my nighttime searches. I gave up the tears. I had no tears left anymore. Afterwards I walked the halls remembering the curses Sulli taught me. I cast them about like invisible nets over everything. Over every fine statue, every painting, every rug. I covered the place with my hate until I had nothing left.
Sometimes, after nights with Ambrose, I imagined I loved him. But when the sun rose, I remembered the pain of yesterday and hated him all over again.
Ambrose the beautiful. Ambrose the clever. Ambrose the vain. The thief of my happiness! The murderer of my soul!
Sometimes I let my guard down and allowed myself to feel the hatred fully, to revel in it. In those moments, he would look up from his book or his letters. It was as if he sensed my white-hot hate, for he would remind me of my tie to him. “Tell me, my soul mate. What are you thinking?” I would make something up, talk about business or the latest silk shipment, and he would ask no more questions. He knew something was amiss but felt satisfied not to push me.
Tired of waiting for me now, Ambrose appeared in the doorway. “Come see me off, my love. Or won’t you miss me at all?”
“Of course I shall miss you. Who will I have to talk to while you’re gone?”
“I know you, you’ll keep busy. You work too hard, Susanna Serene. You should enjoy the fruits of your labor.” He leaned against the doorway, his hat in his hands. He wore his hair loose tonight; the dark locks looked even darker against his white shirt. As always his full lips were bright red, and he had some extra color in his cheeks, proof that he’d enjoyed a few sips of his favorite brandy not long ago. Ambrose was tall and slender with a regal bearing that made him appear even taller. He had a handsome face, and if I didn’t know the truth about his black heart, I might love him.
I slid my arm through his and walked him to the door. He continued, “I’ll only be gone for a few weeks, my dear. In the meantime, don’t work yourself to death. Do remember to come home and rest at night, Susanna. You look thin. Maybe you should visit the shop less. Let Ingrid handle the customers for a few days.”
“Oh, how can I do that? Mrs. Daugherty and Mrs. Forsythe are coming tomorrow. Ingrid would give them the store if I left her alone. You know she doesn’t have the mind for negotiations.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me. Despite my hatred for him, desire grew within me, and I knew he knew that. He smiled down at me through slitted eyes. “You do what you think is right. I’ll be home soon.” I didn’t ask him where he was going or what he was doing. I didn’t have to ask. I knew. These visits started at the beginning of spring. Ambrose had left the house and gone to the Ramparts; he said he was going to see a man there. But the truth was he had a girl there, a younger girl, Ingrid told me.
“Her name is Coquette. Mr. Ambrose messes with her. You want me to fix her?”
Of course, I had no desire to do such a thing. It was no bother to me; if he was with her, he wasn’t with me and I did not have to pretend to feel affection for him. In fact, it helped me to remember how much I hated him. My heart was a deceitful thing that I could never depend on.
I watched the carriage roll away but didn’t wave or make any friendly gesture, even when he waved to me.
It was the day before Easter, and I decided to retire early. Mass was at sunrise, and I planned to attend. I needed all the peace I could gather to keep my soul from lighting on fire. I ate a simple meal: a piece of bread and a slice of salted ham. As I slipped into my tub, I watched the lightning flash across the water.
A storm had rolled in off the Mobile Bay, and from my second-floor vantage point I could see the ships lolling on the waters. I prayed that my fabrics had been safely unloaded without damage. When my bathwater became chilly, I slipped out and dried myself off; I’d sent my servants to bed. I had no slaves—I detested the practice and insisted that Ambrose not have them either.
I wrapped my blue gown around me and tied the ribbon at my neck. Then I heard the sound. Someone was knocking at the door downstairs. I took the candle beside me and headed down to see who would call on me at such an hour. To my surprise, the door opened, seemingly on its own, and I stood watching and waiting for whomever or whatever it was to come in from the rain.
“Ambrose?”
It was not Ambrose. The man began to cough and sputter as if he had just been pulled out of the Mobile Bay. Then he fell in a heap on the ground. I waved the light over him and immediately recognized my visitor.
Chase!
I did not come to his rescue. Instead, I stood over him, unwilling to even lift him from the floor.
My housekeeper Nicole ran into the room, her gown half open. “I thought I heard—Miss Susanna! Who is that? Oh my word! It is a gentleman by his clothes! Did he say anything? What happened?”
Nicole wanted details, but I had nothing to tell her. “Call the doctor. Have John take him to the doctor. He doesn’t belong here.”
“Miss! You can’t take him back out in the rain! Look at him! He’s very near death, I think. He’s not even awake!” She reached down and touched his forehead. “This man is burning up. We’ve got to get him to a couch or a bed. Somewhere warm.”
“No!” I set the candle down. My hands were shaking too much to hold it. “He’s not staying here! Put him outside and get John. Tell him to take him to Sugar Hill. They’ll know what to do with him.”
“Oh my Lord! Is this Chase Dufresne?”
“Do it, Nicole, or you can go too.” I said quietly, evenly. I had never been anything but friendly to her before. “Take him away and mention nothing to anyone about his being here. Especially Ambrose.”
“Very well, miss. But I hope you know you are sending him to his death.” She made the sign of the cross as if it would protect her from anything that happened to him.
“I understand. Do as I ask.” My heart bounced in my chest like a rabbit. What did this mean? As I began to climb the stairs, Chase began to call me.
“Susanna! Please, Susanna…”
I froze knowing that if I turned around, if I helped him, it might melt my heart. No, it wouldn’t. I couldn’t allow that, but I couldn’t allow him to die either, could I? What would Ambrose say? What would he do if he were here? We never spoke of Chase, and I had no idea of his feelings for his cousin. Not truly.
“Please…”
His voice found it. The one small portion of me that cared whether he lived or died. I didn’t want to be with him, and I didn’t want to care about him, but I also did not want him to die. I walked down the stairs and called after Nicole, “Let’s get him to the couch. Stoke the fire and ask John to fetch the doctor.”
“Look, miss! He’s bleeding! He’s been shot or something!”
I fell on my knees beside him and pulled back his clothing. Yes, he had been shot. Gut shot. If he lived it would be a miracle. “Give me your gown!” Obediently Nicole stripped herself naked, and I used the garment to staunch the bleeding. “Get dressed and tell John to go find the doctor!” She scurried out of the room, and I sat on the cold floor with my dying husban
d.
“Susanna, forgive me,” he whispered. His blue eyes were full of pain, and his blond hair was wet and sticky with mud. He must have fallen down a few times before he arrived at Thorn Hill. I lifted his head and put it in my lap, keeping one hand on the nightgown. Thankfully, the bleeding was slowing. Or so I hoped.
“Hush now, Chase. Don’t talk. Keep still.”
“I have wronged you. Forgive…” His words faded as he passed out, but his intention was clear. He wanted forgiveness. He wanted my forgiveness. This I had not expected. I had not dreamed this would happen.
Then the tears came. They slid down my face like two rivers. By the time the doctor arrived, Chase was barely breathing but still alive.
But for how long, and what would happen if Ambrose knew he were here? I couldn’t think about that now. I had to think of Chase. He had to live!
No matter what it cost me.
Chapter Eighteen
Handsome Cheever
“Toting water up a hill with a bucket that’s got a hole in it—that’s what this is, Miss Billie. That’s exactly what this is. But I got to go. You know Handsome has to go now, but I’ll be back, Miss Billie.” He packed the items in his bag and stepped outside his old wooden house. He did not have a fine home, nothing like Sugar Hill or the Rose Cottage, but it was his own place. And there were no ghosts there, only his angel, Miss Billie Holiday, who sang to him when trouble stirred up around him. It was stirring now for sure!
Ooh, what a little
Moonlight can do.
Ooh, what a little moonlight
Can do to you.
“I know, lady, but I don’t have no choice. There’s no moonlight, but I can’t stay. Don’t be mad at Handsome, Miss Billie. I have to go. I promised her I would. You know I have to.”
You’re in love.
Your heart’s a-fluttering
All day long.
The Hauntings Of Sugar Hill: The Complete Series Page 32