Dark Masquerade

by Jennifer Blake

  The sight of the letters reminded Elizabeth of the day the invitation to Oak Shade had arrived in the hand of a passing stranger. Ellen had been in bed. Excitement had brought back some of the color to the thin face above her swollen body. They had held a conference and decided to send to the Spanish Mission for a copy of the marriage record. It had seemed at the time only a natural precaution. That it should rankle to be asked to present it now was, Elizabeth recognized, a bit of perversity.

  It had been nearly two weeks before someone, a distant neighbor this time, came by to carry the message to the mission. He carried also the letter to the Delacroix from Ellen accepting their kind invitation on behalf of herself and her unborn child. She planned to go to them as soon as she recovered from her confinement. Ellen had not been proud, or rather she had been more certain of the generosity of the Delacroix than Elizabeth. The letter had also contained a vivid description of the destitution and lack of funds for the journey, a description Elizabeth found hard to put on paper even after Ellen had told her exactly what she wanted to say. Ellen had wanted to ask that her husband’s people include Elizabeth in the invitation, but she would not allow it. She had wanted to be independent, to make her own way in the world, rather than to be a poor relation by marriage at the mansion called Oak Shade.

  Eventually the requested record, written in pure Castilian Spanish, scrolled and dangling with ribbons and seals, had arrived. The young priest who had brought it had smiled at the maternal picture Elizabeth had made standing with the baby in her arms in the doorway of their homestead. It was a natural mistake. Before he left them he baptized the baby and led them in a rosary for the girl in the grave near the house. The name he carried back with him for the death record was Elizabeth’s own. Ellen would have understood, Elizabeth was sure. Her last wish had been for Elizabeth to carry her child to her husband’s family and see that he received his proper heritage.

  The minutes passed and there was no sign of the records, nor a message from Callie. Elizabeth had not had time to grow really worried, however, when Bernard, frowning at a letter in his hand, got to his feet.

  “Forgive me, but I must leave you for a moment to speak to my overseer. A matter of business.” Without waiting for her acquiescence he crossed the room in a few strides and was gone, the letter fluttering in his hand.

  She sat alone, listening to the seconds ticking slowly by on the ormolu clock on the mantel, staring at her reflection in the crepe-draped mirror beside it. With the palm of her hand, she smoothed the arm of her chair, growing increasingly nervous and perplexed. Bernard did not return, nor did the things she had sent for arrive. At last she heard quick footsteps approaching, and she got to her feet and turned toward the door.

  There was a light knock, and without waiting for an invitation Celestine swept into the room.

  “I thought Bernard was here,” she exclaimed, staring at Elizabeth with a wide, inquisitive glance, her fun skirts swaying as she stopped.

  “He was. He stepped out for a minute.”

  “How odd, and most inhospitable of him.”

  That was precisely what Elizabeth had been thinking, but she did not say so.

  “I wonder what he is about. No telling. He is a very busy man. I’m sure he did not mean to desert you.” Celestine’s voice was smooth, but Elizabeth heard the malice, as she was sure she was supposed to.

  “I expect you are right,” she answered quietly.

  A shadow of annoyance touched Celestine’s small features. “I don’t imagine it is necessary to wait. Bernard will not expect it if he has been delayed.”

  That seemed likely. “I was thinking of returning to my room,” Elizabeth said.

  “Just what I would do,” Celestine agreed. “I will tell Bernard that he has been most rude and he must not treat you so. It will be a lesson to him.”

  That was not at all what she had intended. “Oh, no. Tell him, please, that I have gone to see about the documents he wanted.”

  “Oh, I was not going to wait for him now,” Celestine objected, her voice expressing an obvious reluctance to serve as Elizabeth’s messenger. She drew back to allow Elizabeth to go through the door ahead of her.

  Why then had Celestine come to the library if she did not want particularly to see Bernard, Elizabeth wondered as she went through the door and down the hall toward the stairs. The only reason she could think of was curiosity, pure feminine curiosity about what was keeping Elizabeth in the library so long.”

  She had put her foot on the bottom stair when a sound near the top made her glance up. She stopped, frozen into immobility, afraid to make the slightest sound.

  At the top of the stairs, his blanket trailing over the edge of the top step as he kicked and waved his arms, lay Joseph.

  3

  Footsteps echoed in the hall. Elizabeth hardly heard them.

  “My apologies,” Bernard began as he came in sight from the back of the long hall, then he stopped as he saw Elizabeth’s rigid stance.

  “Bernard, mon cher,” Celestine greeted him, ignoring the other girl as she moved toward him with her arms outstretched. “I was looking for you.”

  At the top of the stairs the sound of their voices had attracted Joseph. Turning his head he saw Elizabeth and with a wide grin began to squirm, trying to turn over.

  “Don’t!” she cried, and picking up her skirts started up the stairs at a run. She hoped the harsh sound of her voice would hold his attention long enough for her to get to him. Hampered by the fullness of petticoats and dress she tripped, going down to one knee, catching at the bannister. She saw the baby turning and knew even as she jerked the skirt from under her feet and started on again that she could not hope to reach him before he rolled down the stairs.

  Suddenly she was pushed aside as Bernard raced up the steps two at a time. But even he was not quite fast enough. With a muffled thud followed by the rasping, throat-tearing cries of a small baby Joseph fell face down onto the next stair step.

  Bernard stopped his fall as he hung half off the step. By the time Elizabeth reached his side Bernard had the baby against his shoulder.

  “Give him to me,” she said when they had gained the landing in the upper hallway.

  Blood stained the baby’s lower lip where it was already beginning to swell, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. He soon stopped crying as Elizabeth rocked him against her pounding heart, murmuring to him softly. But as her anxiety eased, anger and suspicion took its place.

  “Who did this? Who in the world would do such a thing? And why?”

  “I imagine your nursemaid put him down on a pallet and he got there himself,” Celestine said as she leisurely climbed the stairs.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Elizabeth snapped. “Four-month-old babies don’t crawl.”

  Celestine shrugged. “Where is his nurse then? It seems very careless to me. Perhaps you should bring in another woman for your nephew, Bernard. Someone dependable.”

  Bernard did not answer. Nor did Elizabeth, though Celestine’s question was a good one. Where was Callie?

  Turning sharply she marched across the hall with the baby in her arms. She skirted the stairwell and stepped to the door of Grand’mere’s room. She pushed open the door that hung ajar but there was no one inside.

  “Callie?” she called.

  There was no answer. The only sound that trespassed on the silence of the room was the buzzing of a fly trapped behind the lace curtains over the window.

  “Callie?”

  Where could she have gone? The blankets in the cradle at the foot of the old lady’s bed spilled over the high wooden side, dragging onto the floor. The sticky porridge dish from Joseph’s breakfast still sat on a small table, and damp, wadded cloths from the baby’s bath were piled on the floor beside a pan of water already forming a cold soap scum. Elizabeth had the feeling that some time had passed since anyone had used these things, though they had not been there when she passed through the room before breakfast.

  Bernard st
epped into the room behind Elizabeth. Celestine trailed after him, though her face wore a look of ill-concealed impatience. For some reason their presence was an annoyance to Elizabeth, and she moved farther into the room away from them.

  Her action brought her in fine with the open door of her own room. She glanced in, and then stopped, her eyes wide. From where she stood she could see Callie’s feet, in her brown lisle stockings and black slippers, sprawled out on the floor with her long dress twisted around her.

  “Callie—” she whispered, and the next moment she was kneeling beside her.

  Callie lay on her back near the bed with one of Elizabeth’s nightgowns clutched in her hand. Her face was gray and drawn, a harsh contrast to the bright madras tignon, or kerchief, she wore tied about her head. With the baby in the crook of her arm, there was little Elizabeth could do to help the Negro nurse. She was glad when she found Bernard beside her slipping an arm under Callie’s shoulders to raise her head. As he moved her the tignon slid backward onto the floor and Elizabeth cried out as she saw that the back of it was wet with blood. There was a grim look on Bernard’s face as his eyes met hers, and then his eyelids masked his expression as he curtly told Celestine to send for brandy and a vinaigrette.

  Celestine left the room but she returned shortly.

  “There was no one to send,” she said, shrugging her slim shoulders.

  “Where the devil are they?” Bernard rasped.

  “Don’t growl at me. I’m sure I don’t know. I suppose the yardman has commandeered the errand boys again. He was complaining yesterday because the chickens were scratching around his precious roses again. And the maids must be finished upstairs.”

  “Then will you at least get the brandy? The decanter is on the sideboard in the dining room. There is a silver tag on it.”

  “I? Wait on a servant? Are you mad, Bernard?”

  “Then find Denise, find Grand’mere, but do something.”

  At the whiplash in his voice Celestine moved, but there was resentfulness in the look she cast at Elizabeth before she turned and went unhurriedly from the room.

  By the time she returned with Grand’mere and Denise, bearing a small glass of spirit on a silver tray, Callie’s eyes had fluttered open. Elizabeth put down the washcloth that she had been using to bathe Callie’s face, and spoke to her softly.

  Callie smiled, a vague look in her eyes, and took a small sip from the glass held to her lips. Then she tried to struggle to a sitting position.

  “I shouldn’t ought to be laying here. I’m all right,” she said, but it was patently untrue.

  Grand’mere, blaming herself for not being in her room, lamenting that she had been closeted in the sitting room, sent the French maid bustling to find bandages. Then she insisted on taking the baby while Elizabeth dressed the cut on the back of Callie’s head.

  “Can you tell us what happened, Callie?” she asked as she worked.

  The nurse seemed groggy, her eyes were still dazed, and it seemed that she would be unable to reply. Then she took a deep breath as if gathering her strength and began in a slow, halting mutter, rambling a little as if she was not quite herself.

  “Little Joseph was asleep—and I had some time—time on my hands. Didn’t know what I should do—whether it was my place to straighten the bedroom what belonged to the Ol’ Mis’. None of the maids—upstairs maids—would come in here to clean up after breakfast. Guess nobody told them to ‘tend to us. Knew how to do for you, though. I thought I would just unpack—and hang all your things in that there big wardrobe in your bedroom. That’s what I was doing when you—sent after them papers. I thought we put all the papers and books and such in the bottom of your trunk—and we did too. I was just lifting that big Good Book out when I heard something funny-like behind me. ‘Fore I could turn around something hit me. It hurt. That’s all I knowed until I—woke up just now.”

  “You heard something funny. What do you mean by funny?” Bernard asked.

  “Well—kinda like a laugh, only quiet. At least, I think that’s what it was—”

  “You didn’t hear anything, see anything, else?”

  “No, sir. Not that I can think of.”

  “The woman probably fell,” Celestine said. “We can only be thankful she didn’t kill the baby when she hit the floor. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that she has fits or spells of some kind.”

  Elizabeth was speechless with indignation, an indignation that grew as she saw Grand’mere’s frown and tiny nod of agreement.

  “No!” she got out at last. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Indeed? And why not?” Celestine demanded.

  “Because—because it’s impossible, that’s why. You don’t know anything about Callie and Joseph or you would understand.”

  “Oh? How interesting—” Celestine began, but Elizabeth paid her no heed.

  “There now, don’t listen to her, and don’t tease yourself,” she said to Callie as tears of pain rose in the woman’s eyes.

  “What she mean, about killing little Joseph? He was asleep in his bed, like I told you. That’s the truth.”

  “I know. It happened just as you said. I believe you. We have to get you to bed now, I think. This thing can be straightened out later.”

  “Oh, Mis’—Ellen, those things you wanted. They in the trunk on the bed, I expect. I must have dropped them back inside when I fell. I’m awful sorry I couldn’t get them to you.”

  “Yes, all right, Callie. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find everything.”

  As she spoke she was urging Callie to her feet with Bernard’s help. She glanced at the bed, but there was no sign of the documents she sought. She would have gone on by, leading Callie toward the trundle bed set up in the large bedroom, but Callie stopped.

  “They were right there. I know they was,” she said. “I had the big Good Book in my hands and that fancy paper was on top all rolled up in its leather case.” She reached out and tipped the small hidebound trunk with its rounded lid toward her.

  “Why, Mis’—Ellen, did you get them there things out already? They was right here, but they gone now. They gone!”

  “They were here,” Elizabeth said in confusion, “in this trunk.” She could not imagine who would have stolen them. They were of no possible use to anyone but her. Who would have taken the risk of creeping into the room, striking Callie and as a last vicious gesture, leaving Joseph, a defenseless baby who could not possibly harm them, at the head of that long flight of stairs? Who would do all those things for something so worthless? She could not make even a guess, but the papers were gone and it was obvious that someone had taken them. Obvious to her but not to the others, she discovered when she voiced the thought aloud.

  “I don’t understand what you are talking about,” Celestine said with slow insolence. “It seems extremely unlikely that anyone in this house would steal from you.”

  “They were there,” Elizabeth repeated, her voice rising, “and now they are gone. Someone must have taken them!”

  “Are you quite certain? I mean, you may have left whatever it is you have lost behind,” Grand’mere suggested.

  “I did not leave them behind,” Elizabeth said with a measured distinctness as she regained her temper. “They have been stolen, I promise you.” Though she spoke to Grand’mere she looked at Bernard.

  “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Well, really!” Celestine exclaimed.

  “Oh yes, I believe you,” Bernard said. But did he? Or was he simply smoothing over what had become an awkward moment? There was nothing in his hard black eyes to tell her.

  “What is going on here? How can a person sleep with such a disturbance?”

  The woman who had been introduced as Bernard’s step-mother followed her harsh voice into the room. Her face was puffy with sleep and around her she clutched a yellow silk wrapper. She balanced her plump figure on the ridiculously slender heels of her yellow embroidered red satin slippers. In the bright morning light t
here was a blowzy over-ripeness about her face, and the faint suggestion of a dark mustache on her upper lip. Her blackish brown hair was slipping from the confines of a pink net snood.

  When they turned to look at her she pulled the wrapper closer around her. “I could hear your voices as plain as day through the walls of my room next door. I was startled wide awake, my repose quite shattered, and I hardly slept at all last night. I’m sure every joint in my body ached, and my poor head! I am certain I have a migraine coming on. It seems little enough to ask for a bit of quiet in the mornings. It is the only time I really sleep. You all know it is, I have told you often enough.”

  “So you have, Alma,” Grand’mere said, a dry note in her voice. “You must not let us keep you, however. We have had the merest accident here. Perhaps if Denise came to you and massaged your temples with cologne you could be easy.”

  “Oh yes, you are good to loan her to me. Her ministrations are helpful beyond anything I have tried. Perhaps she might be persuaded to put my hair up for me, too. Such a tedious chore and quite beyond my girl, or so it seems. She is so very clumsy, I am always surprised to find that she has not buttoned me up wrong.”

  “Yes, to be sure. Denise is a treasure and I am certain she will do all that is necessary for your comfort,” Grand’mere said impatiently.

  “Indeed yes, Madame Delacroix,” Denise said, moving with an affected stateliness to the door and holding it wide for the other woman. Alma tripped through the door and down the hall, her wooden heels clacking loudly on the polished wood of the floor.

  The old lady gave a crack of laughter as she stared after her daughter-in-law, but she did not explain what had amused her, nor did her amusement last.

  “Your father should never have married again,” she said to Bernard in a toneless voice.

  Bernard glanced toward Elizabeth, as if to remind his grandmother of her presence, but made no comment. When Elizabeth and the old lady began to make Callie comfortable on the trundle bed, he went away.