Whispers in Time

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Ignacio, weary of waiting in the hot sun, had gone back to the Blue Bottle, Vic was sure. He turned and headed toward the bar to tell his friend all—or almost all—that had happened.

  When Vic finished his story, Ignacio slapped the counter and grinned. “Lady Luck, she is with you, just as you said, my friend. Otherwise, you might be lying dead in Mam’zelle Ivory’s parlor at this very moment, spilling your guts on her nice carpet. But, you see, here you stand—not a scratch on you and plenty in your pocket to wager on the game tonight. And what will you do when you win this great fortune, eh?”

  Vic thought hard for a minute. He was sure he would win, but Ignacio was right; he needed a plan of investment. “You know I’ve always wanted to buy back Golden Oaks.”

  “Oui!” Ignacio nodded. “But that would take a great fortune, indeed. Why, you would have to save money to do that, M’sieur Vic, and you are a gambler.”

  “You’re right,” Vic said, his dream deflated. Then his dark eyes lit up and he smiled broadly at the ruddy-faced barkeep. “Perhaps it is time I had a woman in my life again, Ignacio.”

  The shorter man frowned. “But you have a wife, M’sieur Vic. You cannot marry twice.”

  “I never said anything about taking another wife,” Vic replied. “No law says I can’t have a mistress, though.”

  “Not Ivory!” Ignacio looked horrified at the thought, afraid of losing the woman to his friend.

  Vic shook his head. “No, no! That would never work. I mean a young woman, an innocent woman. One with hair as dark as night and eyes that shine only for me,” he said, remembering Ivory’s words. “One whom I can shape and mould. I’m talking about taking a placée, Ignacio. I’ll win enough to buy myself a fine new suit of evening clothes, then on Thursday night I’ll go to the Orleans Ballroom. Surely there must be some young, lovely child who could make even this cynical gambler happy.”

  “Oh, oui, M’sieur Vic! What a grand scheme! And you will set her up in your house in Condé Street? Ah, I can see it all now—you coming home late after a hard night at the gaming tables and this beautiful, delicate flower waiting with open arms to pleasure you. A pretty picture, no? Shall we drink to it?”

  Black Vic smiled and winked at his friend. “Indeed! A toast to my lovely love.”

  Frank shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. His temples throbbed. His mouth and throat burned like he’d just drunk fire. He hadn’t had any booze in a long time, but you never forgot that sensation, that taste. He coughed and sputtered, feeling his head spin like a merry-go-round gone berserk.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  He blinked repeatedly, fighting off murky visions. For a time, he thought he was still under water; he was that wet and cold. Yes, he could hear the sound of it rushing all around him. Then something touched his hand—something damp and dead-feeling.

  He jerked around, ready to fight his way to the surface. At that moment, he realized the water was below him. He was standing high and dry on the dock at the foot of Barracks Street. And through the fog, he could see a face to close to his. It looked ghostly pale in the dim, predawn light.

  “Frank?” Carol’s quivery voice reached his ears. “Oh, Frank, is it really you?”

  The next minute she was in his arms, sobbing with relief, hugging him, kissing him, begging him to say something.

  “Oh, God, Carol!” he moaned. “What the hell happened? I lost you! I thought you were gone for good. And I was gone… gone somewhere else. I was in New Orleans, but I wasn’t. Damn, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  He hugged her tightly, never wanting to let her go again.

  “Come on, Frank,” she whispered, still clinging to him. “Let’s go home now. Why, you’re soaked to the skin and shivering!”

  Numb from all he’d been through and a little drunk as well, he took Carol’s hand and stumbled along with her back to the hotel, to his room.

  Once they got there, Frank sank down on the bed, staring at Carol, trying to think how to begin. He had to tell her everything—all the sights, the sounds, the feelings, the passions…

  “Don’t just sit there,” Carol ordered. “Go change out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch your death. I’ll put on some coffee.”

  She was right. He was water-logged and so cold his bones ached. It felt great to peel off his wet clothes and pull on a warm, dry robe. Moments later, Frank was back on the bed, watching Carol as she moved about the room. He still couldn’t quite believe she was real.

  Carol handed him a steaming mug. “Drink this,” she ordered. “You look like you need it. Then, when you sober up, I want you to tell me everything!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “What do you mean, ‘sober up’? I don’t drink anymore,” Frank reminded Carol. “You know that.”

  She looked at him askance. “Maybe Frank Longpre no longer indulges, but I have the feeling you haven’t been yourself of late, my friend.”

  “You can damn-sure say that again!” Frank shook his head, bewildered by the odd fragments of memory tossing around in his brain.

  Carol sat down next to him. “Then you did go back?”

  “Yeah, I guess. How about you?”

  Carol nodded.

  “Well, where the hell were you?” Frank queried. “I thought we took the boat together so I could be with you. I was supposed to protect you when we got back there. And I forgot to tell you about the snake.”

  “What snake?”

  “You were right about the mummy, Carol. She probably died of a poisonous snakebite. The marks are there.” He paused and searched her face, his eyes tense with worry. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

  “I knew it!” she cried. “I was sure that awful pain in my leg meant something. But don’t worry, Frank. There were no snakes this trip. In fact, there was no danger of any kind. I was with Fiona Le Moyne and her son, Prospere, the whole time.”

  “Fiona?” The name made Frank think of golden eyes, as dark as brandy, but his recollection went no farther.

  “She was Edouard Mazaret’s placée. Remember? I told you about her.”

  Frank rubbed his hands over his face. He still felt strangely disoriented, as if he were only half here while the other half remained somewhere back in time. Something Carol had said struck a familiar chord. He strained, trying to recall what it might be. No use, he decided. He couldn’t make the connection. Maybe it would come to him later.

  “What happened between you—I mean, Cami—and her father’s lover? Seems to me that would be a pretty uncomfortable situation all around.”

  “It was, at first. But Fiona soon took Cami under her wing and they became wonderful friends. And I think that through Fiona Cami is finally going to get to meet Victoine Navar.”

  Frank moaned and rubbed his aching temples. “All this stuff is making me crazy!”

  “Not so crazy,” Carol answered with an accusing glance. “You’ve managed to keep me talking about what I did while telling me absolutely nothing about your experiences. I want to know everything, Frank. Right now!” She gave him another sharp look to match the tone of her voice. “You might start by telling me who the woman was.”

  Frank’s head shot up, his dark eyes wide. “How’d you know about her?”

  Carol reached out and pressed one fingertip to his neck. “Right there!” she said. “That’s a monkey-bite, if I ever saw one.”

  “A what?”

  “A love-bite, a hickey. Don’t try to play the innocent with me. You know very well what I’m talking about. We both know how a person gets a mark like that, and I damn-well mean to find out who gave it to you!”

  Frank smiled innocently, adorably. “First off, Miz Marlowe, as you keep pointing out to me, when you go back in time what happens to you is really happening to another person. So, even though I may have brought this hickey back with me, by rights it belongs to someone else. Am I correct?”

  “Who?” Carol demanded, about to burst with curiosity.

  Frank
grinned, savoring his secret a moment longer. “Well, if you must know, Cami’s ole buddy, Black Vic.”

  “No!” Carol gasped. “Why, I didn’t even see him this time. How could Cami have done that without my knowing about it?” Again, she poked at the discolored mouth-print on his neck.

  “Did I say Cami did it?”

  Carol caught her breath, shocked. “You mean my Vic was with another woman?”

  “Carol, Carol, Carol,” Frank moaned in exaggerated frustration. “Black Vic is not yours! In fact, at the point in time when I was there, Cami wasn’t even around. Good ole Vic saved a lady named Ivory by fighting a scumball who’d been holding her prisoner and knocking her around. It was only natural that she should want to show her gratitude after Vic shoved the bastard and he fell on his knife. Don’t you agree?”

  Carol groaned at Frank’s grin. She threw up her hands in dismay, then rose and paced across the room. “Oh, Lord, I don’t believe this! Here I thought you and I really had something together, Frank. Then I let you out of my sight for an hour and you fall into bed with some floozy named Ivory.” She turned and faced him, her hands on her hips. “This really hurts, Frank. I mean, all that stuff you told me about your guilt. What am I supposed to think now? Ivory! Who was she anyway—some prostitute you and Black Vic picked up on Bourbon Street?”

  “Carol!” Frank placed one hand over his heart and drew back as if the accusation both offended and bewildered him. “Why, darlin’, you cut me to the quick!” Then he laughed.

  “Frank, you obviously aren’t taking any of this seriously.”

  “Sure, I am.”

  He tried to put his arms around Carol, but she moved away. Dream, vision, whatever he’d experienced—it was making for jolly fun, teasing Carol. He decided to have a bit more sport with her.

  “Ivory was better than your common run-of-the-mill prostitute,” Frank confided. “She had her own house in Dumaine Street—a real neat place. And she had this china cat in the window—the most amazing invention…”

  “Oh, be quiet!” Carol stormed. “I don’t give a damn about her house or her cat!” Carol knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t help herself. She really felt so much for Frank, and she’d been so terrified when he disappeared. Now, come to find out, all that time he was off gallivanting as Black Vic, lolling around in bed with a damn hooker! The very thought of him with some other woman drove her wild. The fact that he had been Victoine Navar at the time made little difference. “You’d just better tell me what happened, Frank Longpre. Every detail! I mean it!”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Frank said with a quick shake of his head and another boyish grin. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. It’s just not kosher.”

  Carol turned back to him, the green of her eyes demanding the truth. “Are you saying that’s all that happened? You only kissed her?”

  “Well, actually, there was more, but…”

  Carol freaked. With a most unladylike curse she threw a pillow at his head, then lurched toward him. “You no-good two-timer… you…”

  Figuring he’d teased her enough, Frank met her halfway. After a brief tussle, he managed to get hold of her. Gripping her upper arms, he pulled her almost roughly to him. His kiss was hard and sweet and quite convincing.

  “Do you think I could ever want any other woman now that I’ve met you? If so, then, darlin’, you must have lost your psychic powers somewhere along the way. I love you, Carol, only you.”

  Carol tried to laugh, but it came out as a soft, little sob. “I’m being foolish?” It was both a question and a declaration. “You’re right, of course. None of this really happened to you. It was Black Vic—the scoundrel, the rogue, the skirt-chaser!” She ended her tirade in a contrite whisper. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Frank.”

  Frank’s joking and teasing ended abruptly. “How much do you know about this Navar character, Carol?”

  She thought it over for a second. “Not much, really. Cousin Morris told Cami that he came of good family, but managed to lose everything. Fiona was horrified when Cami said she wanted to marry Vic.”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “That’s not surprising.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s already married.”

  “No, he can’t be!” Carol felt the words twist her heart as if that part of her still belonged to Camille Mazaret. She was stunned. How cruel fate could be! She had sensed that Fiona was keeping something about Vic from her. Now she knew what it was.

  “You really didn’t know?” Frank asked. “But how can that be? I thought you knew everything that was going on back then, even if Cami didn’t get the whole picture.”

  Carol sighed. “I guess I didn’t want to know,” she admitted. “It’s a pretty painful fact to face, caring about what happens to Cami the way I do. If I knew, I must have just blocked it out.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, honey, but he’s married all right. His wife left him several years back; I think it must have been around 1830. Their long separation doesn’t change the legality of the marriage, though. Unlike nowadays, marriage back then was forever.”

  Frank had a sudden clear flash. How similar Black Vic’s dilemma was to his own!

  “The hardest part for Vic must be that his wife took their son,” Frank continued. “Vic’s searched for both of them for a long time. I gather, though, that he’s about ready to give it up. So now I guess he’s in a real bind. Divorce wouldn’t have been a consideration in those days, so he’s stuck with a wife who really isn’t one. You can’t blame the poor guy for bedding down with a willing beauty when he gets his chance.”

  “Ivory was beautiful?” Carol asked, feeling another jealous twinge.

  “A damn goddess!” Frank cried enthusiastically. “Long blond hair, real pale blue eyes, and she was built like the Great Wall of China!”

  “And you—I mean, Vic—actually took her to bed?”

  “It was more like she took him.” Frank grinned, remembering. “And I’m here to tell you, that lady knows a few interesting tricks.”

  “Oh, Frank,” Carol groaned. “I hate this! I can’t stand hearing about you with that woman. Don’t tell me another word.” She covered her ears so she couldn’t hear if he did say something more. Then the next minute she demanded to know, “How was she? Really?”

  Frank moved close to Carol again and nuzzled her neck. “Not as good as you, darlin’.” Then his smile changed to a thoughtful expression. “Oddest damn thing, though. I mean, I know I was Vic at the time, but after it was all over—that was the great part. I didn’t have to deal with any guilt. I told you what hell I go through. Well, with Ivory there was none of that. Afterward, there was just a nice, satisfied, happy glow.” Frank paused and shook his head. “I liked that, you know?”

  “Oh, Frank!” Carol put her arms around him and held him close. She knew exactly why he had experienced no guilt, no depression. When he’d been with Ivory, Eileen had yet to be born, much less disappear. But she decided not to bring up that painful subject. Instead, she gripped his hand and whispered, “I wish I could give you that. I do want to make you happy.”

  “Ouch!” he exclaimed, pulling his hand from hers. “That hurts!”

  “I’m sorry. What did I do?” She reached gently for his hand. “Let me see.”

  When she turned his hand palm-up, Carol gasped at the discolored, puckered flesh around the distinct imprint of several puncture wounds. “What on earth did this, Frank? Why, those look like teeth marks!”

  “The real question is: Who did it?” Frank answered. “I think this injury actually belongs to Black Vic. Nobody bit him while I was there. At least, not in the hand.” He paused and chuckled, remembering Ivory’s little love nibbles. He pulled a straight face when Carol glared at him. “Hey, didn’t you tell me you bit him?”

  “Oh, dear God!” Carol gasped, remembering the vicious bite she’d inflicted, not realizing at the time that her victim was Black Vic. “Yes, the blood
on my face… it was the night Cami ran away from Mulgrove and arrived at Fiona’s. But that was before you went back. You weren’t Vic then.”

  Frank sighed and winced as he moved his sore fingers. “Well, it sure carried over. I guess if I’m going to bed his women, I’m going to have to suffer his pain as well.”

  “I really do apologize for taking a chunk out of you, I mean Vic,” Carol began. “But he deserved it. If he hadn’t grabbed me and kissed me, I wouldn’t have…”

  “That bastard kissed you when I wasn’t there?” Frank exploded. “That settles it; you’re not going again. He can’t be trusted. Carol, there’s a lot you don’t know about this guy. The fact that he’s married is only a small part of his sordid tale. He’s also a drunk, a womanizer, a gambler, a murderer…”

  “But,” Carol interrupted sharply, “in spite of all that, Cami is going to fall in love with Vic, Frank. With us or without us, it’s fated to happen. Maybe by being there we can make things better. Maybe we can save her from ending up in that swamp.”

  Frank gazed at Carol, a bewildered look on his face. After a time, he admitted grudgingly, “I reckon you’re right. But how did you and I get involved in all this in the first place, Carol? That’s what’s buggin’ the hell out of me.”

  She looked up at him, her hazel eyes misty and glowing. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Frank? I knew the minute I touched her there in the morgue. I was Camille Mazaret, and through some magic—maybe my psychic powers—I’ve been given a miraculous second chance to go back in order to change Cami’s fate—my own fate in that lifetime. If I’m right about this, I firmly believe that improving Cami’s former life can only mean that Carol Marlowe’s present life will be better, too.”