The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras

by Vickie Britton

  I felt a thin bead of dampness upon my forehead as I sought dark corners. I even glanced under the bed, but found nothing but a pair of ragged shoes.

  I straightened quickly at the sound of voices. Christine and Brule entered the cabin, blinking from the bright rays of the sun. Brule carried several plump shrimp on a string, which he tossed unceremoniously into a bucket of water in the corner where they snapped and splashed angrily. “My supper,” he commented, a wry grin forming upon his cadaverous face.

  “Now—please tell our fortunes.” There was a frenzied eagerness in Christine’s voice.

  “Ah, yes. I shall read your futures for you.” He gestured for us to sit around the table. I waited, anxious for him to read Christine’s palm and be done with it so that we could leave. But before I could protest, Brule caught up my own hand, the one I had been resting upon the table, and began to study the palm. For a long moment he concentrated, tracing the lines of my palm with cold, skeletal fingers. The contact of those bony fingers made me shiver.

  Christine, disappointed that he hadn’t chosen her first, still looked on with interest. I had never had my palm read before, but I knew that fortune-tellers were inclined to make up flowery stories of marriage, children, and future happiness for their gullible patrons. Despite my skepticism, I was curious what kind of dream this strange man would weave for me. I was just foolish enough to hope Nicholas would be a part of it.

  Christine leaned forward eagerly in her chair. “What is it, Brule? What did you read in Louise’s palm?”

  Brule looked up at me, and I saw something unsettling in his silent gaze, something more terrifying than words. The silence grew heavy and frightening. What could it mean? Those burning, dark eyes in the skull’s face never left mine.

  “Well, what did you see in my future?” I asked in a voice that seemed hardly my own.

  “I can only tell you what I saw,” he said finally. “I cannot tell you what it means.”

  “What did you read in my palm, Brule?”

  The long silence before he spoke was tense, uncomfortable. “You will have love in your life, but a love haunted by evil, deception, and danger,” he said finally in that odd, lilting accent of his. “In your palm I see twin snakes entwined. Love—and death.”

  A dizzy, lightheaded sensation filled me, and it was a moment before I realized that I was still holding my breath. I exhaled slowly. The whole idea of palm-reading was absurd, ridiculous. Then why did it upset me so?

  I didn’t believe in fortune-telling, but all the same I wished that Brule had made up some vague, bright story about marriage and children. Still, I wasn’t about to let him frighten me! I turned to Christine with a weak smile. “Well, mine doesn’t look too bright. Let’s see about yours. Maybe Brule can tell you who will take you to the Mardi Gras.”

  Brule moved to take her hand, but she snatched it angrily away from him. “I’ve changed my mind,” she snapped, and I caught a glint of fear in her eyes. “I don’t want to have my fortune told. Let’s go, Louise.”

  I had to hurry to keep up with her as we went back to where she had tethered our horses. “I’m not superstitious or anything ...” she began. “I just—”Oh, I don’t know!” She turned to me, her eyes filled with hot little tears. “I’m sorry I made you come with me, Louise. Honest I am. Brule’s a crazy old man who loves to frighten people. I hope you didn’t believe a word he said.”

  “Of course not,” I replied quickly. “It was all nonsense.” Out here, with the sun beating down warmly upon my face and shoulders, I felt a comfortable reassurance. After all, no one could foresee the future. An ever-so-slight tremor passed through me. For just a brief moment, I had looked into Brule’s fathomless eyes and a nameless terror had gripped my heart. I had wanted to cry, to scream, to panic. For that one brief moment, I had believed.

  Turning, I reached for Sugar’s reins, but Christine stopped me. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s trade horses. You’ve been riding so well. I think it’s time you tried Thunder”

  I approached the giddy black Arabian, who snorted suspiciously at me. “I don’t think I’m ready—”

  “You don’t want to have to ride this old nag the rest of your life, do you?” she challenged. Easily, she climbed up on Sugar’s gentle, sloping back.

  The Arabian, suddenly obedient, stood waiting patiently for me to mount him. “Don’t worry. I’ve been watching you all afternoon. I wouldn’t let you ride Thunder if I didn’t think you could handle him,” Christine said firmly, then tapped Sugar’s side, urging her to gallop along the trail. I didn’t know the poor old mare could move so swiftly. Again, I approached Thunder, who seemed to have accepted the fact that I was going to ride him. With only a slight shudder of impatience, he waited for me to hoist myself into the saddle.

  It didn’t take me long to discover that there was all the difference in the world between a gentle horse and a spirited one. Thunder, his head held back proudly, pointedly ignored my meek commands. I quickly lost my temper and tapped him with the whip, after which he took me more seriously. My confidence grew as we caught up with Christine. Following her lead, I urged Thunder to full speed.

  Soon I, too, was flying down the swamp path, feeling the dappled shadows of the cypress as they blurred past, trying to put more and more space between myself and Brule’s dire omen which still seemed to follow behind me like some evil spirit on the winds. I felt the breeze caress my face, the free, easy movements of the horse beneath me. As long as I keep moving, I won’t have to think—won’t have to think—

  I began to relax. The swiftness of the ride was exhilarating. The cypress trees moved faster and faster until they were only swirls of green and gray, muted reflections in the dark, glassy mirror of the swamp. I slowed a little, turning my head to glance back, surprised to see that I had left Christine far behind me. Brule’s gloomy dwelling was little more than a memory now, a dark speck hidden by the trees. Far ahead, the great ruin of Evangeline cast its shadow upon the turgid water.

  Suddenly, I heard a voice calling out my name. Surprised, I turned to see Nicholas hurrying toward me through deep tangles of green. “Louise! No!” The burden he carried fell silently to the ground as he ran. His blurred face seemed frightened, angry—

  I felt a sudden jolt and quickly turned my attention back to Thunder. It was too late. I could feel myself sliding from the high, strong back as I desperately clawed the air for the reins. But they were already beyond my grip.

  I could feel myself flying endlessly, weightlessly through space. I must have fallen swiftly, but it seemed an eternity before I hit the water with a resounding splash. A thick fluid filled my nose and mouth, choking me as I sank deeper and deeper into the swamp’s boggy recess.

  Gasping for breath, I struggled to surface, but I could not move. The thick skirt of my riding habit was trapped by something beneath the water. It felt like the stony jaws of an alligator. In panic, I clutched at the moss-covered rocks, but they were as slick as glass. Slippery mud oozed and bubbled around me, sucking me down toward the bottom of the swamp.

  “Help! Someone, help!” I cried, but my terrified pleas were muffled as my mouth once again filled up with briny water. Choking, I felt myself being pulled down toward the bottom a second time. And then the world went black ...

  I did not know how much time had passed when I became aware of the weedy taste of swamp water in my mouth. Coughing, I struggled to rise, but strong arms held me back. I opened my eyes to see Nicholas bending over me, water still dripping from his black hair.

  “Easy, now. You took quite a tumble.”

  “What happened?” I asked, wincing as he touched my ankle through the torn riding habit. “The alligator—” Fear gripped me; I dared not look down at my throbbing leg.

  Nick’s dark brows rose in surprise. Then he smiled. “I’m afraid I’m to blame for putting the fear of ‘gators into your heart. I had only to battle a cypress stump to free you. You’re lucky you landed in the swamp, you know. For the most pa
rt, it cushioned what could have been a very bad fall.” His eyes darkened again. “Christine was a fool to let you ride Thunder!”

  “I was doing just fine before you came along and scared me!”

  I was rewarded by a dark look as Nicholas tested my injured leg. “Just as I thought. Nothing broken,” he said, his voice turning cool. “Only a little swelling where that cypress stump snagged you.”

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” I tried not to think of what might have happened if Nicholas had not been there. If not for him, I might still be trapped down there, unconscious, held prisoner below murky water by the spiny cypress joint. I glanced toward the burden he had dropped so quickly, dismayed by the sight of crushed bread and broken eggs.

  He followed my eyes, seeming embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Cassa insists on paying me somehow for the wood I bring her.”

  Nicholas must have been on his way back from Cassa’s cabin when he saw me crashing down the trail on Thunder. He must have known something was wrong, that the horse was getting out of control.

  Christine hurried up to us, leading a nervous Thunder. “Oh, Louise! I was so frightened! Are you hurt badly?”

  “Mostly just shaken,” I replied. As I glanced at the horse, I saw that his saddle was hanging on his side at an uncomfortable angle. Nicholas noticed it, too.

  “Broken,” Christine explained to us with a puzzled shake of her head. “No wonder you were thrown.”

  As I stared at the twisted saddle, a feeling of disbelief swept over me.

  “The binding must have given away,” Christine was explaining. “I know because it happened to me once. Not so long ago. I was riding Thunder, too. I could have been badly hurt if I hadn’t been riding slowly when it happened.”

  Was she telling the truth? I saw the open suspicion in Nicholas’s eyes as he gazed at her. Rubbing a hand across a slightly sore shoulder, I remembered Lydia’s warning. Could Christine have been in some way responsible for this “accident”?

  She was watching me now with such a worried, almost tender expression that I instantly regretted my thoughts. “Do you think anything’s broken?” she asked anxiously. “Can you ride?”

  I nodded shakily, feeling damp and stiff and miserable.

  “You ride Sugar back,” Nicholas commanded, taking the giddy Arabian’s reins from her. “I’ll see Louise home on Thunder.”

  Christine’s mouth formed into a rebellious little pout. She started to protest, then must have thought better of it, for she obediently mounted Sugar and soon disappeared through the trees.

  I saw Nick’s gaze darken as he tied up the broken binding and adjusted the saddle. He turned back to me. “I don’t believe this was any accident, Louise.”

  “What—what do you mean?” My lips trembled, but whether from fear or cold, I couldn’t say.

  “I believe the binding’s been cut.” I thought first of Christine’s anger, then of Brule’s sharp knife. In my mind, I saw them whispering together. Had Christine somehow managed to sweet-talk Brule into loaning her his knife? Or had it been Brule himself who had cut the binding?

  “Christine may not be the one responsible for this, Nicholas. I believe Brule is the one trying to harm me, or at least frighten me away. I think Edward might have hired him to track me down in New Orleans and steal the amethyst brooch that was in my purse.”

  Black brows drew together above dark eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “When I arrived in New Orleans, I was wearing an amethyst brooch that belonged to my mother. Brule must have seen me take it off and slip it into my purse.” I took a deep breath. “Edward and some of the others think that my mother took the family treasures when she eloped with Jeff Moreland during the war. Someone may think I still have them. I have some old letters of my grandfather’s—” I tried to continue, to tell him about the mysterious jewelry box my grandfather had sent, the letter I knew was missing, but either the shock of the fall or the cold made me start to shiver violently.

  “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, I want to get you home.” With a shake of his head, Nicholas mounted Thunder, drawing me up beside him. “Don’t be frightened,” he soothed. “Just cling to me”

  I pressed my soaked body against Nick’s strong, muscular back. Though his shirt was damp, the black hair still wet and curling at the nape of his neck, I drew a measure of warmth from his nearness. On the trail I saw our shadows blending, merging as one as we rode Thunder back to Edward’s house.

  We slowed near the entrance to Royal Oaks. Nicholas leaped from the horse, then helped me down. His hands lingered upon my wrists, detaining me. “Do you feel safe here in Edward’s house?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I did not tell him about the intruder in my room, the nightmare, the face that I knew now was a Mardi Gras mask glaring down at me as I slept.

  “I have to see you tonight, Louise. You must tell me everything that has happened since you set foot from that steamer in New Orleans.” His eyes scanned the gardens, as if searching for a meeting place. “I don’t want Edward and the others to know I’m here. Meet me in the gardens near the old fountain.”

  Silently, I nodded.

  “I’ll be there as soon as it is dark.”

  Nicholas sat watching as, now limping only slightly, I climbed up the porch steps. Then he turned Thunder toward the stables, where Christine was waiting. The slight pain in my leg reminded me of my bedraggled condition. Running a hand through my damp, tangled hair, I hurried on inside.

  Lydia was the only one in the parlor when I entered. She had been lounging on the chaise, a Harper’s propped up in front of her. She glanced up and watched open-mouthed as I unbuttoned my damp shoes and left them at the doorway.

  “What happened?” she cried at last, her voice mingling horror and suspicion as I came past the chaise.

  “Just a little accident,” I murmured. Again, I remembered her warnings. By her expression, I could tell that she was already blaming Christine.

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, but just at that moment Christine returned from the stables, chattering like a guilty magpie. “See what happened, Lydia?” she finished. “Louise has had a fall.”

  “So I see.” Lydia’s eyes narrowed as she regarded her step-daughter. “Christine—what part did you play in all of this?”

  “Why, none at all!” Hers was the voice of innocence as she took up a rather defiant stance.

  “No doubt you were egging her on, encouraging her to ride too fast for a beginner?”

  “No, she was doing fine. You should have seen her, Lydia. She’s a natural-born horsewoman. It never would have happened if Thunder—”

  Lydia paled. “You let her ride Thunder?”

  “She was handling him well enough!” Christine replied impatiently. “She never would have fallen if—”

  Edward stepped into the parlor just in time to hear the last of her sentence. “What’s this about a fall?” he demanded. He came forward, staring speechlessly at my damp hair and soggy clothing. “Good Merciful Heavens, what’s happened to you?”

  “As I was just telling Lydia,” Christine retorted, “Brule made her fall!”

  I had been ready to slip away. Now I stood still by the stairway, mindless of my damp clothing, almost as shocked by Christine’s revelation as Lydia and Edward appeared to be. What was she saying? Remembering the gleaming knife, I wondered if maybe she was going to tell them that she had seen Brule tamper with Thunder’s saddle binding.

  What she did say was even more incredible. “We stopped there to get our fortunes told,” she explained swiftly. “I wanted to get my palm read so that I could find out who is to take me to the Mardi Gras ...” She paused, then finished, her voice silken innocence. “It was Brule who made her fall. He must have used his magic to bewitch her horse.”

  “Bewitched her horse, indeed!” Edward snorted. His mouth was set into a tight, angry line as he gave a firm order. “Christine, I don’t want you taking those horses out again with
out my permission. And as for Brule, you’re not to go near his place! Now, you may go to your room. And as to your worry concerning who will escort you to the Mardi Gras, let me set your mind at ease. You will be going with me, and you won’t leave my side all evening!”

  “But that’s not fair—”

  I could hear the two of them still arguing as I limped up the stairs to my room. No sooner had I entered than a knock sounded. The young, dark-haired girl introduced herself as Camille, another of Mrs. Lividais’s many daughters. She was younger than Odele and older than Marie Francine, she explained as she drew a much-welcomed bath for me.

  After draping a thick towel over the chair and sprinkling a sweet-smelling solution of rose into the water, she slipped cheerfully out, promising to return for my torn clothing.

  The damp leather of the riding habit had become tight and uncomfortable. I struggled gratefully from my drenched clothing and into the steaming tub. I had a long soak, finished dressing, and had just commenced to brush the tangles from my hair when timid knuckles once more rapped upon my door. “Come in,” I called, expecting Camille had returned for my ruined clothing.

  Instead, Christine stood hesitantly in the doorway. “There’s something I have to tell you, Louise,” she said. I continued brushing my hair. She stepped further into the room until she was standing next to me. “Someone was out by the horses.”

  “What?” I turned to face her, brush suspended in midair.

  “At Brule’s cabin, when I went out to tether the horses, I saw someone slip back into the trees.”

  “Who was it, Christine?”

  “I don’t know. All I saw was a shadow. It could have been either a man or a woman. But I know someone was out there with our horses.”

  “Why are you telling me this now, Christine?” I demanded. Was she telling the truth, or was this just a ruse on her part to draw suspicion away from herself? Was she capable of having planned all this, even to the changing of our horses?