His Dark Desires

by Jennifer St Giles

  “Did it you?” I asked.

  I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but I heard his sharp inhale. Rather than answer, he asked gently, “Why did you lie to him?”

  I sighed. “How do you tell a three-year-old that his father is a thief and a coward? I asked myself the same question when he was five, then eight, then ten, and I still could not tell him. There was no proof Jean Claude was guilty, just gossipy rumors. I believed with my whole heart that he’d died in the war, and began calling myself a widow.”

  We sat quiet for a moment, his arm pressed warmly against mine, and I leaned his way.

  “Why have you been hiding out here in the shadows?” I asked.

  “It is cooler here than in my room. And I can watch the back of the house from here, see anyone leaving or going in, without anyone seeing me.”

  “Are you expecting Jean Claude?”

  “Maybe. But he may not be our only threat. In chess, you never assume you know exactly what your opponent is going to do. You base your moves on a number of possible scenarios. Do you have another room to rent?”

  “Only a small one next to the bath. I would hardly call it a room. Why do you ask?”

  “As of tomorrow, you will have another boarder. His name is Phelps. I have hired him to help protect you and your family. He will be pretending to be a lawyer for Trevelyan Trading Company.”

  “Oh,” I said, drawing a quick breath. “I hadn’t realized that such lengths were necessary.”

  “With that much gold at stake, I am not willing to bet otherwise. Men have killed for less. Much, much less.”

  11

  The crash of thunder awakened me and I sat up straight, a sharp pain cramping my neck. I’d fallen asleep in the large chair in Andre’s room, clutching the soft, blue baby coverlet he’d always slept with. My gaze went immediately to his bed as yesterday’s events washed over me, and only when I saw Andre still there sleeping could I breathe.

  Last night, after leaving Stephen in the courtyard and speaking to Mignon, I returned to Andre’s room and found him asleep. But when I saw the coverlet my mother had made him thrown into the empty hearth, I couldn’t leave his room. The uncertainty that he would still be here when I woke had been too great.

  Heavy rain and a lashing wind now whipped against the house, making the rafters groan in protest. I huddled deeper into the chair, resting my cheek on Andre’s blanket, catching his scent mingled with soap. It would be all right. It had to be.

  Lightning flashed a jagged swath across the room, and I looked up, startled. My throat convulsed at the ghostly figure swaying in the doorway.

  “Juliet, Nonnie told me that Andre heard…I am so sorry.”

  “Bon Dieu, Ginette. You gave me such a fright. What on earth are you wearing?”

  “My robe and a scarf. I am chilled and cannot seem to get warm. I am scared. For me. For Andre. For you. What is happening to our lives?”

  I went to her, wrapping Andre’s blanket and my arm around her shoulders. Shivers wracked her slight body, and my pulse leapt with alarm. Seeing her like a ghost in the night made me feel as if an omen of doom had slapped me in the face, telling me that this was fate and I could do naught to change it. I thought of those moments when a chilling cold had stolen into my body. Could it be possible that some sinister spirit stalked La Belle and had settled itself in Ginette? The thought was not just far-fetched, it was too horrible to contemplate during the hours of the night.

  “Come sit with me for a little while and we can keep each other warm. This storm has brought a chill to the air,” I said. We scrunched into the oversized chair together, much as we used to do when we were very little. The old chair had been the favored place for reading bedtime stories for generations. I’d spent many an evening in it myself with Andre.

  “How long have you been awake?” I asked her.

  “Only since the storm began. I left Nonnie sleeping on the divan. She was exhausted. I feel so bad for not doing my share of the work.”

  “Don’t worry about such a thing. All of your thoughts need to be consumed with getting better.”

  Ginette didn’t say anything and I hugged her tighter to me. “Did you hear me, Ginny?”

  “Yes.” Her whisper was a sob. “I can hardly work my embroidery anymore, and I wanted so much to finish the tapestry. It tells of my life, of so many things I can never say. It has been so long in the making that I swear it has collected dust.”

  Tears bit my eyes, blinding me as well. I had been so busy that I had yet to even look at the tapestry Ginette had been so diligently working on for almost a year. How could I have neglected someone I so dearly loved? I pressed my forehead to hers, pulling her even closer. “Ginny, my sweet Ginny. Don’t cry, please.”

  “What if I do not get better, Juliet? There is so much of life I have yet to live. My heart cries for it all, yet every day my headaches are worse and I am weaker, as if life is slipping from my hands. As if death awaits me.”

  I opened my mouth to refute her doubt, but a cry from the doorway stopped me.

  “Non. I won’t let that happen,” Mignon said almost angrily. “Do you hear me? I won’t let it. It cannot happen.”

  I opened my arm to her and she clambered on top of our laps. I gave them both a firm hug. “Nonnie is absolutely right. We are not going to let that happen. In fact, Monsieur Trevelyan has a doctor friend who is going to come see you. We are going to find an answer to this problem and solve it. And we are going to love Andre right through this hurt that I have caused him. We are going to be all right. I am sure of it.”

  But I had never been less sure of anything in my life. And I think my sisters felt the same, because for a long time afterward we stayed huddled together, listening to the storm and watching Andre, with his blackened eye and bruised cheek, sleep restlessly, as if nightmares edged in on his dreams.

  Ginette’s shivering eased and a sense of calm settled over us with the abating of the storm and the coming of dawn. Our arms and legs were cramped and our bottoms slightly numb, but our hearts had drawn comfort from one another. Mignon helped Ginette to her room while I stayed with Andre, waiting for the sun to rise before I woke him.

  A tap on the French doors and a familiar dark silhouette brought me out into the early morning light on the gallery. I shut the door so I wouldn’t wake Andre. A rumpled, unshaven, and bleary-eyed Stephen wearing a loose shirt, snug breeches, and scuffed boots stood there. My father, who’d been known to play a card game or two on the shady side of the Vieux Carré, would have said that Stephen looked as dangerous as a loaded six-shooter in a card game gone wrong. He’d been watching over La Belle as I slept. At every turn, he seemed to be standing between the enemy and me.

  I prayed my desire for him wasn’t masking truths I needed to see.

  “My friend, Dr…. Marks, will be here sometime late this morning. I am going to sleep for a little. Would you send Andre to wake me when he arrives, or when Mr. Phelps arrives?”

  “Oui. Thank you for watching all night. I feel guilty that you are expending so much of yourself and your time on our problems.”

  “Don’t. My time was not wasted.”

  “Still—”

  “If the roles were reversed and you could do something to help me, would you walk away or lay abed while I struggled?”

  “Non. Absolutely not.”

  He brushed the pad of his thumb across my lips. “Someday we’re going to make love again, and it won’t be rushed. You can count on it.”

  His words grabbed at my heart and sent my pulse racing. He left before I could say a word. The day, washed anew by the storm, sparkled bright with promise, and I thought perhaps my optimism for the future was not misplaced. I touched my lips with my fingers and thought that perhaps I wouldn’t be alone as I had been for so long.

  Returning inside, I found Andre awake and lacing on his boots. He’d dressed in his most worn clothes, as if he were leaving to join friends in the swamp.

  “Andre?�
�

  He looked up but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The coverlet was back in the hearth. I had made a grave mistake in lying to him, but to leave him on what appeared to be his current path would be an even graver one.

  “Good. I am glad you are dressed.” I said briskly. “As you are the man of this household, there are a number of responsibilities that I have been negligent in sharing with you.”

  “I have other things to do.”

  “First,” I said, ignoring his excuse, “you are going to retrieve the coverlet that my mother made for you. When she was dying, instead of feeling sorry for herself because life was not being fair, she spent some of her last days making that for you. You were to be her first grandchild, and her dearest wish in life was to hold you before she died. She did not get her wish, but I promised her that you would be a man she could look down on from heaven with pride.

  “Then the second thing you are going to do is determine what damage was done to your grandfather’s office. We apparently had an intruder the night before last, and we need to report the incident to the authorities. Meanwhile, Aunt Nonnie and I will tend the boarders, and await the doctor. Your Aunt Ginette is very ill.”

  He blinked with surprise.

  “You would have known that if you had been here. You would have known that if those who have cared for you all your life were as important to you as you are to them.”

  Andre looked at me as if he wondered who I was, and I couldn’t blame him. I hardly recognized myself. He didn’t say a word, but he gathered his coverlet from the hearth and placed it carefully at the end of his bed. Then he followed me down the stairs.

  After I set Andre to cleaning up the office, I walked into the kitchen to see Mignon, Mama Louisa, and Papa John looking at me as if I were condemned.

  “Ginette needed another pair of woolen stockings,” Mignon said. “When I got them from your drawer I found some disturbing things.” She held up the telegram from Mr. Goodson. “Why did you not tell us about this?” Then she held up the post from Jean Claude’s sister. “And Jean Claude is alive and he’s back?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” I whispered, unable to breathe.

  “I knowed somethin’ was wrong. And it ain’t right you didn’t tell us.” Mama Louisa clutched a dish towel angrily, her eyes more troubled than I had ever seen them.

  “She’s right, Miz Julie. And I’m mighty disappointed. You should have told us, so we could help,” Papa John said, shaking his head.

  I found a stool next to the butter churn to sit on. “I planned to tell everyone when I knew more. Why cause all of you worry when I didn’t yet know what there was to worry about?”

  “That argument don’t hold water, Miz Julie. That’s like not telling your neighbor the Yanks are coming cause you don’t know who’s leadin’ them to your door. We needed to know so we could be on the watch. Even after some scalawag done broke into the house, you didn’t say a word.”

  “We are in danger and you did not tell us,” Mignon charged.

  “What of the cigar and the charred paper? What do they have to do with this?” Mignon held up those as well.

  “I found them in the attic. I think our intruder might have tried to start a fire.”

  Everyone gasped. Mignon stamped angrily toward me, and I winced again. I’d never really considered how my actions would appear to them.

  “You did not think to tell us? You do not trust us,” she shouted, tears welling in her eyes.

  Tears filled my eyes, too. I caught hold of her fingers as I took the telegram. “That’s not true. I love you all dearly. Of course I trust you.”

  She pulled her fingers from my grasp. “Non. You may trust us not to cause you harm, but you do not trust us enough to share your burdens. Loving is sharing,” she said, then ran from the room.

  Mama Louisa shook her head and went back to the stove.

  “She’s right, and you know it in your heart, Miz Julie,” Papa John said. “I am mightily disappointed.” He left the room, shaking his head.

  I stared down at the butter churn, tears falling. In my desire to protect my family, I’d brought them nothing but pain. My good intentions had paved the way to a Hades full of hurt, and reparation wasn’t going to come easy.

  Midmorning, I called a family meeting in my father’s office. Bundled up in a quilt, Ginette lay upon the settee. Mignon stood to her right, Papa John and Mama Louisa on the left, and Andre sat on the hearth rug, lingering hurt in his features.

  “We are waiting for one more person,” I said.

  “Who?” Mignon asked, puzzled.

  A sharp knock sounded on the door, and I let Stephen in. He saw everyone gathered, lifted an inquiring brow, but didn’t comment. He didn’t look like a man who’d been up all night. Dressed in a suit that spoke more of business than elegance, the underlying edge to him seemed sharper than ever.

  “Monsieur Trevelyan, please have a seat and I will get started.” He joined Andre near the hearth, leaning against the mantel.

  “In my desire to protect all of you whom I love so dearly, I have been the one to cause you pain. It is time for all of us to be truthful with each other. I have asked Monsieur Trevelyan to join us, because as of yesterday, he has committed himself to helping us determine who is threatening our home and our lives.”

  I explained the events beginning with the telegram, and told them our suspicions that the gold Jean Claude had stolen might be at La Belle. When I finished, no one said a word.

  Mignon recovered first. “For years I have prayed for excitement and adventure, but this is too much.”

  “My father is here and he hasn’t come to see me!” Hurt and anger filled Andre’s voice.

  Stephen settled a hand on Andre’s shoulder. “We don’t know that, lad. Not until Jean Claude is actually seen. All we know is that someone is threatening your home. Everything else is supposition, but we have to start with the facts.”

  “How does pretending that your family will be leasing land from La Belle help?” Ginette asked.

  “Power,” Stephen said. “By blending the financial and legal resources of Trevelyan Trading Company with your family, you will be perceived as being less vulnerable. Your sister’s reputation remains untarnished, yet she will no longer be seen as destitute and alone or easy for someone to take advantage of.”

  “But if this is just pretend, how will it make a difference?” Mignon asked.

  I stepped forward. “Because only we know it’s pretend, and nobody is to tell anyone otherwise. Not even your friends, Andre.”

  “They are not my friends anymore.”

  Before I could question him, a knock sounded at the front door. Papa John went to answer it and quickly returned with a man.

  Stephen left Andre’s side, holding his hand out. “Thank you for coming. I know this is a difficult time.” They shook hands as if they’d known each other for years.

  The man glanced around the room and his eyes settled on Ginny’s pale face. “I hear you have a special patient for me.”

  “Yes. I will let Mrs. Boucheron make the introductions.” Stephen turned my way. “Mrs. Boucheron, this is Doctor Marks. He is the physician I mentioned who specializes in exotic ailments.”

  Dr. Marks appeared young, but scholarly and somber enough to inspire confidence in his abilities. After I introduced him, he followed Ginette and me to her room to examine her.

  Dr. Marks was so meticulously thorough during the exam that he instilled a kernel of hope inside me. The only comment of note that he made concerned a faint red rash Ginette had on her hands. I remembered her saying her hands itched when she was cutting the fruit yesterday morning.

  “What is your opinion, Dr. Marks?” I asked, with my heart in my throat.

  “To be honest with you, Mrs. Boucheron, I am rather perplexed. There is definitely a degenerative condition in progress, but there appears to be no determinable cause at this point. I’d like to have a few days to do some research into her symptoms
. For now, can you tell me for sure that you are not taking any patent medicines, any healing tonics or such?”

  Ginette shook her head, her eyes tearing. I, too, felt her disappointment. I had hoped he would have an answer. “Other than an occasional cup of sassafras and lemon verbena tea, and the headache powder Dr. Lanau gave me once, there has been nothing,” Ginette whispered.

  “Who prepares the tea?”

  “Mama Louisa.”

  “Good,” he said. “I will want to ask her exactly what ingredients she uses.”

  Stephen waited outside for Dr. Marks and as soon we exited, they launched into a conversation. I excused myself to go to Ginette.

  Rather than staying in her room, Ginette asked to go to the courtyard. Papa John set her up a comfortable chair and I gave Andre the task of reading Swiss Family Robinson to her while I helped Mama Louisa and Mignon prepare the noonday meal.

  In the kitchen, I had just put a thick bouillon sauce on the chicken when I heard the jaunty notes of a song being played outside. We all hurried over to the window to see. Stephen, with apparently little care to his dignity, marched around Ginette’s chair like a comical pied piper. Andre followed, looking just as silly as he smacked two stones together, punctuating the beat of “Jim Crack Corn” and then “Yankee Doodle.” Ginette’s laughter rang out. Stephen always seemed to know exactly what to do to help.

  “There’s just somethin’ about that man that does a heart good. Does a mighty favor to the eyes, too,” Mama Louisa said, pointedly. “Somethin’ you should be a takin’ note of, Miz Julie.”

  “Mama Louisa!” I said, scandalized. “I am a married woman.”

  “Marriage ain’t no written words, and it ain’t no church’s fancy ritual. It’s lovin’ and helpin’ between a man and a woman. You ain’t been married for a decade, if you ask me. And you’ve done been alone too long. That man is here, and it looks to me like he’s wantin’ to be lovin’.”

  Mignon spoke up. “Every month, you go to your suffrage meeting to discuss the rights and independence of women, yet for years you have kept yourself imprisoned, because you weren’t sure what had happened to Jean Claude. I would not sit idle for ten years accepting a lifetime of loneliness as my fate. I would choose a quiet affaire de coeur, be it right or wrong in the eyes of an unforgiving Church.”