His Dark Desires

by Jennifer St Giles

  Spying the stack of decorative boxes Mignon had taken down for Ginette the other morning, I opened them one by one, searching through ribbons and buttons and old keepsakes. I found nothing odd until the last box, the blue-flowered one Ginette had asked Mignon to get for her. My fingers tingled as I reached for it and slid off the top. Inside I found a bundle of letters, and when the endearment at the top of the first page caught my attention, I froze.

  My Dearest Love,

  I thought I was strong enough never to speak aloud what my heart has whispered to me day and night since the moment I met you. I thought I would never succumb to the overwhelming desire to write you, for wisdom tells me that your youthful heart may feel you love me now, but in time, maturity will prove it to be a passing fancy.

  Yet as I look across this hellish battlefield strewn with the slain bodies of men I called my friends just yesterday, and those of men who were our brothers before this godforsaken war, I find that I can remain silent no more on what matters most.

  When the bugle sounds on the morrow, I will leave this tent. I fear, I too, will fall victim to this dark tide of senseless maiming and killing, and if such is to be my fate, then everything decent and good within me demands that I not spend my last hours huddled in fear, or spewing false hate toward the Confederate camp across this crimson valley in hopes of building enough bravado to face the dawn.

  Instead, I choose to dwell on the richness and depth of the love I hold for you and to draw my courage from that endless well. I had to tell you at least once before I died exactly what you mean to me. With each rise of the sun across God’s land, I remember the light of your smile, the warmth of your kindness, and the depth of your soul, which my words fail miserably to describe. I remember every word you spoke to me when you secretly tended my wounds. I remember your every touch and your every prayer.

  And had I the power to call forth the angels that ring in your voice and resonate in your harp, I would have no need to fear the future, for salvation would surely be mine.

  If by some miracle this letter should reach you and I survive the battle that will rage, I ask you, nay I beg you, to write to me of your life. I will fight tomorrow in hopes that a letter from you lies in my future, and that the affection you declared to me before I left still lives within your heart. I will pray that someday, when this great, sorrowful war that has divided hearth and home and blood and brother is over, our love can heal each other and what devastation man has wrought.

  Eternally Yours,

  James

  My fingers trembled as I stared at the worn page, blotched by what surely must be tears.

  There could be no doubt that the man who had declared himself to my sister was Federal Army captain James Edwin Jennison. The letter was dated six months after his regiment had left New Orleans.

  As I refolded the first letter and opened the second, my hands were shaking so badly that I had to lay the letter upon the floor to focus on it. Guilt pricked at me, but I had to know more; I couldn’t leave anything unknown until I determined who was poisoning her.

  Heart of my Heart,

  How can I accept that your love, which has kept me alive and sane through the depths of hell, may never be more than written words on a page? We have waited years, torn by war and death. Can we not find a way, now that the promise of peace has held out a loving hand?

  I beg of you, sweet Ginette, to reconsider. Come to me and be my wife. If there were any other way, I would forsake all worldly goods to be with you. But the lives of those I love just as dearly rest in my hands. I understand the struggle you and your sister wage against these desperate times, and I know how much she needs your support. But I beg you again, bring all those you love here to my humble home in the hills and marry me. I will care for your family as my own. We will build a new life for us all out of the ashes of this war.

  My heart is yours for eternity,

  James

  The letter was dated a year after the war had ended. Eight years ago, this man loved Ginette.

  Carefully, I retied the notes with their scarlet band, set them back into the box, then placed the blue-flowered lid on top. I went slowly to the chair at Ginette’s bedside, numbed by the enormity of what I had just learned. Every hauntingly sad song she had sung, I suddenly understood and felt more deeply than ever before. Music had been the outpouring of my sister’s heart, and though I had cared for her, laughed with her, dreamed with her, struggled with her, and cried with her, there was a secret part of her that loved, suffered, and sacrificed without her ever having uttered a word.

  “Ginette, please. Can you hear me? You cannot give up. You have to fight. You have to fight.” She didn’t move or respond. A sob caught in my throat.

  “Mère?”

  Biting my lip, I turned to see my son hovering in the doorway. He held the injured puppy in his arms.

  “Come here. Ginette is sleeping.” I held my arm out to my son, and he stepped into my embrace. It was a minute before I could speak again. “It appears that the puppy has received more doctoring.”

  “Dr. Marks gave Mama Louisa and me a box full of real bandages to care for Mon Amie.”

  “So you have named her already.” The puppy was a curly mass of black fur with shiny eyes, a button of a nose, and a pink lapping tongue. She smelled warm and snuggly. Andre glanced at Ginette.

  “Ginette is very sick,” I said, not bothering to brush away my tears.

  He tightened his hold on me. “Don’t cry. She is going to get better. I am sure of it.” He spoke so fiercely, I believed him.

  “I hope so.”

  “Monsieur Trevelyan believes it, too. I heard him tell Dr. Marks just a few minutes ago. He said, ‘Mark, she is not going to die. Do you hear me? Whatever you have to do to assure that, do it. I’ll not have her death on my conscience, as well.’ They are even having a special lady who helps Dr. Marks come to nurse Aunt Ginette.”

  Mon Amie wiggled in his arms and whimpered. “She might be hungry. I need to take her back to Mama Louisa to feed her.” Having to care for a little one who needed him so badly brought out a wealth of responsibility Andre had never exhibited before.

  Mignon marched into the room a short while later, anger bristling her every movement. “Her tapestry,” she cried. “What vile, evil monster could do such a thing?”

  “What is it, Nonnie?”

  “Ginny’s tapestry, which she has been putting her heart and soul into. Apparently she has been putting her life into it as well. Dr. Marks has found a fine powder dusting the tapestry and her threads. Not so much that would make anyone suspicious under normal circumstance, but considering Ginette’s hands, he is almost positive it has been poisoned. We were searching the house looking for anything Ginette did with her hands, when I remembered her embroidery. And the more I thought about it, I realized that anytime she became worse, it was shortly after working her tapestry. He has taken it with him to his laboratory to see if he can determine what kind of poison. Meanwhile, he is sending back a nurse who has experience in tending to patients with exotic illnesses. Dr. Marks wants Ginette to drink as much water as possible.”

  “How? She has yet to awaken.”

  “That is why he is sending the nurse. She has a way to help Ginette drink. But I fear we have another problem. Monsieur Gallier and Monsieur Fitz are waiting for you in the parlor. No one knows where Mademoiselle Vengle is, and they are quite upset.”

  By four o’clock that afternoon, Ginette still remained unconscious. I had contacted the authorities about Ginette’s poisoning, and when they came to investigate the situation, Miss Vengle’s name and circumstances were also brought to their attention. It was suggested we check her favorite stores in town and contact the police again later in the day. Mr. Fitz, the Galliers, and Mr. Phelps had departed for town to search and had yet to return.

  Dr. Marks had been back twice to check on Ginette, but hadn’t determined what poison she had been exposed to. He seemed to think that every hour she passed wi
thout her condition worsening was a good sign, yet my worry for her deepened. I knew once Ginette awakened, I could not allow her to imprison herself in my life any longer.

  I’d just left the nurse with Ginette, and found Stephen with his hand fisted against the window frame as he stood looking out at the rain, tension filling the parlor.

  “If you want to go look for Mademoiselle Vengle, I am sure we will be fine here.”

  Stephen looked over his shoulder as I came into the room, tenderness easing into his shadowed eyes. “And be so far from you? No. You look exhausted.”

  This was the first moment we’d been alone together since this morning in my room, and an odd awkwardness washed over me. The intimacy we had shared was unlike anything I had ever known.

  I moved to the rosewood armchair and nervously fingered the delicately crocheted threads of a throw. “Andre overheard your conversation with Dr. Marks about Ginette earlier today. Why do you think yourself responsible for Ginette’s illness?”

  I turned to find Stephen directly behind me. I cupped his chin in my palm. “You carry too much guilt, blaming yourself when you shouldn’t.”

  He closed his eyes and turned his head to press a kiss to my palm. “Juliet,” he said, “I need to tell you that I—”

  The front door opened so forcefully that a bang reverberated through the house. Stephen rushed to the center hall, his hand burrowing quickly into the pocket of his coat and pulling out a pistol. I stood shocked. He’d armed himself.

  I followed to find Mr. Fitz, Mr. and Mrs. Gallier, Mr. Phelps, and Mr. Latour all dripping rain onto the center hall’s polished wood floor and Eastern rug. Stephen returned his pistol to his pocket.

  “We have had no luck in town,” Mr. Phelps said when he saw Stephen. “We are going to search the area around La Belle and the park. Mrs. Vengle could have fallen and injured herself during a walk.”

  “In this rain? We can only hope,” Stephen replied gravely, making me wonder why he would hope such a thing until I read the undertones in his voice. Dread snatched my breath away.

  “We encountered Mr. Latour in town at Antoine’s Restaurant and he has offered to help,” Mr. Phelps replied.

  “Yes,” Mr. Latour said, adjusting his waistcoat. “This is really most disturbing. A young woman missing.”

  I studied him a moment, wondering why he looked different, and I realized he didn’t have his spectacles on.

  Stephen lifted a brow at Mr. Latour. “At Antoine’s, you said?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Fitz replied. “Mrs. Gallier thought Miss Vengle might have gone there for lunch.”

  “The dear girl loved the place and planned to return at the first opportunity.” Mrs. Gallier shook her head so sadly that I studied her closer. It was almost as if she had cause to pity Miss Vengle—an emotion I suspect she would not have felt if she knew Miss Vengle was her husband’s mistress.

  “Well,” Mr. Gallier said, rubbing his hands together and puffing his cheeks importantly. “I say we get on with this search, but I still think we are wasting time. Miss Vengle is most likely at a dress shop or out having tea with one of the cast members we have yet to locate.”

  I frowned. The man did not sound in the least concerned about Miss Vengle.

  When I cut my glance to Mr. Fitz, I noted he had his fists and jaw clenched as he glared at Mr. Gallier. Then Mr. Fitz looked at me, reminding me of the night I saw him staring at me from his doorway. An eerie feeling crept like a spider over my skin, for I wondered if Miss Charlotte Vengle had fallen victim to the web of deceit she had spun.

  15

  Since Stephen requested that we stay together while he helped search the grounds for Miss Vengle, Mignon, Andre, and I remained in the parlor with Mrs. Gallier. Mon Amie slept in a box at Andre’s side, basking as contentedly as any puppy ever could, despite her injuries. The loving care my son constantly gave the bundle of fluff was a balm to my heart. All of us tensely waited for news from the searchers and practically jumped at every sound, be it the chime of the grandfather clock in the center hall, or the lash of the wind against the house. The devilish rain continued to pour, making it difficult to see more than a few feet out the windows. Mignon and Andre sat at the card table close to the door, playing whist. I sat with Mrs. Gallier, trying to do something constructive.

  “I think it would be good to make a list of anyone in New Orleans who Mademoiselle Vengle might know well enough to go see, and then we can check off each person you have already spoken to,” I said.

  “If we were to count the cast for the troupe, there would be ten people. Five are staying at another boarding house on Toulouse Street, and the others had the remarkable good fortune to be acquainted with a Williams family and were invited to reside in their town house on Dauphine.”

  “Then we will start with their names. Were you able to speak to all of them about Mademoiselle Vengle today?”

  “With all of them running about to get things ready for production? No. We were only able to contact four out of the ten.”

  I was surprised. “Then Mademoiselle Vengle could very well be out with a friend?”

  “Mr. Gallier is sure of it and wanted to keep looking for her in town.”

  “Then why did you return to La Belle?”

  “Mr. Fitz was adamant that we were wasting our time in the city.”

  A hardy knock resounded on the front door, and Mignon jumped up to answer it.

  “See who is there before opening the door,” I called out as I followed.

  “It is Monsieur Davis,” Mignon said, before she opened the door.

  “Mignon, dearest, I came as soon as I heard. I am so sorry,” Mr. Davis said, stepping into the center hall.

  “Oui, it is most terrible,” Mignon said.

  “Who would do such a thing to your sister?”

  “We have yet to determine the—”

  “Nonnie,” I said, interrupting her, for I did not want Ginette’s delicate state discussed outside our family.

  “Mrs. Boucheron?” Mr. Davis peered at me, blinking as if his vision was blurred, and I noted he did not have his spectacles on.

  “Monsieur Davis, is there something wrong?”

  “No,” he said, tossing his wet coat onto the settee. “It is just that I did not see you standing there and you caught me by surprise.”

  I hurried over and removed the wet coat from the settee, giving it a vigorous shake so that I could hang it on the coatrack with the others. “Nonnie, why don’t you escort Monsieur Davis to the parlor and then help me fix tea in the kitchen? I will take some to Ginette’s nurse, as well.”

  “Ginette’s nurse?” Mr. Davis said.

  “Oui,” Mignon replied. “She is ill, but Dr. Marks is going to save her. The nurse is already helping.”

  Mr. Davis shook his head. “Oh. I hadn’t realized she was so very ill.”

  The sharp rap of the brass doorknocker startled everyone.

  Mignon turned to pull the door open. “I hope this is good news about Mademoiselle Vengle,” she said.

  I hurried forward.

  “Miss Vengle?” Mr. Davis gasped.

  I froze in my tracks. A stranger wearing a long, black coat, black hat, and an equally somber expression stood on the doorstep.

  “May I help you?” I asked firmly, before Mignon could invite the stranger in from the rain. Handing her Mr. Davis’s coat and hat, I took hold of the door.

  “I need to speak to Juliet Boucheron about an urgent matter.”

  “What do you need to see her about?”

  “I have a packet from Mr. Goodson for her, and I have strict instructions that it may not be delivered to anyone else.”

  “Your name, monsieur?”

  “Zacharias Hall. I am executor of Mr. Goodson’s estate and his attorney.”

  Executor for Mr. Goodson’s estate? I opened the door wider, hanging on to it for support. “Monsieur Hall, are you saying something has happened to Monsieur Goodson?”

  “I am afraid so…
Mrs. Boucheron? I am sorry it has taken me so long to get to you. Your envelope was mixed in with some other things and has just now been sorted out.”

  I stood staring at the man as the blood drained from my head, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.

  “Come in, Monsieur Hall,” Mignon said, stepping forward and motioning the gentleman inside. She slid the door from my numb fingers and started to close it.

  “This obviously is not the best time for a visit,” Mr. Davis said. “I will return later.”

  “That would be best,” I said, finding my voice. “Monsieur Hall, would you mind stepping into my father’s office?” I motioned down the corridor. “I will be with you momentarily.”

  The moment he left, I turned to Mignon and whispered, “Stay with Andre and keep Madame Gallier busy. I do not know how long this will take.”

  Mouth dry, I turned to join Mr. Hall in my father’s office. I found him standing by the window. “How did he die?”

  He turned, surprise arching his brow at my abruptness, but I didn’t have the time or the patience for pleasantries. “Please, I must know,” I added.

  “It is a rather indelicate subject, Mrs. Boucheron. I would not want to offend you.”

  “Monsieur, you offend me more by not being forthright with me. Now please tell me.”

  “He was stabbed on the street in broad daylight.”

  I didn’t have to ask where Mr. Goodson died, for I already knew. He’d been murdered outside of my attorney’s office just a few weeks ago.

  “Juliet,” Stephen rapped on the door to my father’s office. I could hear concern and alarm sharpening his voice.

  “Come in. Anything yet?” I asked as I turned to him.

  “They are gathering everyone to come back here. Thank God I decided to check on you first and not wait for the others. Lord, woman, not even an hour has passed and I find you alone in a darkened room where anyone could cause you harm.”