“Thank you.”
Mrs. Lividais patted me kindly on the shoulder as she handed me my wineglass. I felt suddenly stifled, crowded. Edward had reluctantly moved away to make room for Ian. Christine sat chattering at my left elbow, jealously guarding her role as my caretaker. Ian and Mrs. Lividais had joined her excited talk about the coming Mardi Gras. Only Lydia sat in the corner, silently sipping her wine.
“You look pale, Louise,” Christine observed. “Maybe we should go up to your room now. You can rest while I unpack your things.”
“Yes, that does sound nice. I am a little weary—”
Ignoring Ian’s disappointed look, I moved away toward the stairs. Christine followed close behind me, talking about the fabulous costumes she had found for us.
I sank gratefully into the soft feather bed, watching as Christine scampered from one end of my room to the other, peering into my closets as she unpacked my clothing, sampling the tiny new bottle of cologne before she set it down upon my vanity. “This must be from Ian. He likes you, doesn’t he?” Almost in the same breath, she added, “You will try the dresses with me, won’t you?” She turned toward me, her eyes shining with excitement. “I’ll bring them down from the attic after you’ve rested. You will at least try them with me?”
“Oh, I suppose,” I replied with little enthusiasm. The small amount of wine had made me drowsy. I felt no match for Christine’s energetic company.
“I wish we had some jewelry,” she remarked as she unpacked my hairbrush. “If you’re to be a queen and I a princess, we really do need some pearls. But Lydia won’t let me borrow any of hers and Mrs. Lividais is still angry because I lost her strand of blue beads. It wasn’t really my fault that they broke, and they were only glass beads at that.” She paused, frowning. “Louise? Are you listening? Why are your eyes half closed? You’re not really tired, are you?”
“I’m sorry, Christine. Of course I’m listening. I’m just a little fatigued—”
Christine came to stand near the bed, her dark gray eyes troubled. “Louise, you don’t think I meant for you to get hurt, do you?”
The question caught me by surprise. “I didn’t say so, did I?”
“Well, Edward thinks so. And Lydia, too. That’s why things have been so terrible around here, Louise. And Edward’s still accusing me of hiding his precious voodoo mask. As if I’d even touch the dreadful thing! To be honest with you, Louise, I’m a little bit scared of it!”
I glanced up at her curiously, finding it difficult to imagine Christine afraid of anything. But the shiver that shook her slight frame was all too real. Christine was watching me closely, the large gray eyes misted with tears. “I think maybe Edward’s serious about not letting me go to the Mardi Gras “ she said.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
A dimple appeared upon Christine’s cheek. “Surely he’d relent if you agreed to be my chaperone,” she coaxed.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Her face fell. “Oh, Louise! You just have to say yes or you’ll spoil everything. I’m really sorry I lost my temper and locked you in that old cellar. But I would have let you out. Honest! If the door hadn’t already been open when I came back, I would have unlocked it then and there!”
“The door to the cellar room was open?” I asked in alarm.
She nodded her head, making the chestnut-colored hair swirl. Her eyes were bright and feverish as she added, “I guess the catch must have sprung open. So you see, you weren’t really locked in after all.”
A tingle of apprehension swept over me as I remembered pounding upon that solid oak door. The catch had been wedged into place so tightly that the door would not budge even a fraction of an inch. There was no way that it could have sprung open without help.
That meant either Christine was lying, or someone other than she had opened the panel door. There was no doubt in my mind now that the menacing figure wearing the voodoo mask had been real!
Christine turned back toward me, smiling. “I’ll go now to get those dresses. I can hardly wait until you see them. I’ll be back before you know it!”
I settled back upon the feather bed with a weary sigh, hoping that she wouldn’t hurry. I was in no mood to try on old clothes, though I knew that the coming festivities meant a great deal to Christine. And, as for myself, perhaps a distraction was just what I needed. Something to keep my mind off the questions that kept bothering me.
Who had been behind the voodoo mask? Whoever it was must have seen Christine and me enter the old house to have appeared so quickly. Had he been following us all morning, watching our every move?
It had to have been someone familiar with the house, someone who knew how to work the secret panel. Who besides Christine, Nicholas, or I knew about the hidden room?
Christine’s lively talk had made me restless. I rose from the bed and began to wander about the room. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed in my absence. Sitting down upon the chair near the vanity, I began to put away the few items that Christine had neglected. As I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, my gaze fell upon the black lacquer box that my grandfather had sent. I took it out, opening it to study the gaudy trinkets and bright baubles inside. I sighed. There was no use in being sentimental. The contents in no way reminded me of my mother. Perhaps some of the shiny strings of beads would match Christine’s costumes.
Selecting a few strings of glass beads in crystal, emerald, and pearl, I spread them out across the bed for Christine’s inspection. I was diverted from my task by a light tapping at the door. Setting the jewel box aside, I hurried to answer, marveling that Christine had returned so soon.
But it was Lydia, not Christine, who stood uncertainly outside my door. “Lydia!” I cried out in surprise.
“May I come in?” she asked.
“Of course.” I stepped back to allow her to enter. She moved across the room, a fluttering of bows and silk. Her dress was a pale mauve trimmed in vibrant purple velvet ribbon. The pronounced splash of color about her neck and throat made her face seem drawn and pale. I always thought of poor Lydia in terms of her clothing. Thoughts of her automatically conjured up some silken, sweeping concoction like the gown she displayed now—tasteful, fashionable, expensive, and pathetically out of place here in this secluded bayou land where there were so few to notice and admire.
“I must have a word with you,” she said. Her voice was rushed, breathless. Her eyes darted about the room to settle curiously upon the costume beads spread out upon the bed. An odd look of recognition crossed her face as her gaze settled upon the ebony box that had once been my mother’s.
“It’s about Christine,” she said finally, turning her full attention to me.
I should have known. “What about Christine?”
“I know you are growing fond of her. But, Louise, I am worried! I am afraid that your fondness is blinding you to the truth.”
She leaned nearer to where I stood, her husky voice barely audible. Cruel light from my opened window caught her at an unflattering angle, momentarily illuminating minute flaws, accentuating the tiny crow’s-feet that powder did not quite conceal.
“She’s an orphan, you know. She never knew either of her parents. Racine died in the war, of course. And her mother—poor woman—died in the curse of childbirth!” She added with a strange, faraway look, “It’s little wonder that she is difficult.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Lydia?” I demanded.
Her voice was but a whisper now, as if she were afraid that someone might be lingering just outside the bedroom door, listening to our private conversation. “I believe Christine caused your riding accident.”
“I’m sorry, Lydia. But I just can’t imagine Christine would do a thing like that.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what she might be capable of. She’s always resented me. One time she took a knife and ripped every dress in my closet.”
“Maybe she was jealous of sharing Edward’s attention
.”
“It was more than just a childish prank. You should have seen the look in her eyes.” She watched me closely. “Christine was with you the day you had the riding accident—just as she was with you at the old house. Something happened in there, didn’t it? Something that upset her.”
Though I did not reply, I could tell by her expression that she knew her words had gotten through to me. I could not ignore the fact that Christine had been nearby when both incidents had happened. And each time, she had been angry with me.
Lydia gave a sigh. “No matter what Edward may tell you, Racine was a devil. I knew him! And his daughter—she suffers for her father’s sins.” She moved her hands in a helpless, fluttering gesture. Away from the harsh light of the window, she once again seemed flawless, like some lovely, exotic flower. “I’ve warned you.” The words were spoken softly, but with genuine emotion. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
I was surprised to see the tears in her eyes. Suddenly, she covered her face with her hands, her frail body with its tiny, corseted waist shaking with uncontrolled sobs. “We’ve both made terrible mistakes in coming here, Louise. Neither of us is welcome. And neither of us will ever belong. Just beware of her, Louise. Beware of everyone! Elica wasn’t careful and now she’s dead!” With that, Lydia turned and rushed out of the room, leaving those alarming words echoing through my brain.
I had barely time to settle my nerves before Christine returned, singing in her delight, a heap of slightly worn ball gowns thrown over one shoulder. She tossed them triumphantly upon the bed. “There they are. The costumes I was telling you about. All three of them. Aren’t they just perfect?”
Luxurious folds of satin trailed the floor as I held one of the gowns up in front of me. “But where did they come from?” I asked. Then, with sudden alarm, “Surely they aren’t Lydia’s—”
Christine threw back her head and laughed. “Did you think I’d ransacked her closet? I found these packed away in the attic. They’re just old clothes.”
“Do we have Edward’s permission to use them?”
“Why, of course,” she retorted with a particularly disarming smile. “Dare I even breathe without Edward’s permission?”
The dress I held before me was a frothy concoction of bright yellow satin, bows, and lace. Christine held up still another gown, a deep, rich emerald in color. It was a more sophisticated dress, with a slightly daring neckline. The bodice was trimmed with pale lace gone ivory from being closeted away too long in a dark place.
“Oh, you did find some jewelry!” Christine squealed with sudden pleasure as she noticed the array of necklaces upon the bed. Greedily, she snatched up the green strand of beads. “Do you have earrings to match?” Dragging the emerald dress along, she hurried over to the vanity mirror.
“These pieces of jewelry belonged to my mother, so please be careful with them.”
“Oh, I’ll be ever so careful!” Christine promised as she preened in front of the glass.
Christine and I tried on the first two dresses, laughing at our reflections in the mirror. The light diversion was just what I needed. Her emerald dress, in desperate need of alteration, dragged the floor, while my yellow one with its layers of satins and bows was definitely a fiasco.
“Now let’s trade,” she said, taking the yellow one from me. As she pulled it in an eager and most unladylike fashion over her petticoats, she exclaimed, “Louise! Look at me! Why, I look like a wedding cake all covered with frosting.”
“And I didn’t fare much better,” I said. The emerald dress, which had almost fit Christine, hung on me like an old sack. In the short time that I had been here, Christine’s girlish form had filled out, while I had lost several pounds. Now I was astonished to discover that she was slightly larger than me.
Almost at the same time, we both turned back toward the dress that had lain neglected upon the bed. Not as bright and eye-catching as the other two, it had been overlooked by both of us. Now, Christine held it out with a speculative frown, tugging at a small tear upon the sleeve.
“It’s only a seam, and can be mended easily,” I said, taking the dress from her to inspect the tiny rip.
“Then why don’t you try it first, Louise?” she insisted. “Blue becomes you.”
“Why not?” I slipped the dress over my petticoats, aware of its comfortable fit. Though not as showy as the other two, the dress was styled to perfection, from the elegant trim of beaded satin to the fashionably tight-fitting sleeves.
“Why, it’s beautiful!” Christine exclaimed minutes later as I paraded in front of her. “You wear that one, and I’ll wear the emerald gown. We’ll find some eye masks and matching scarves to disguise our faces. Yes, this will be just perfect!”
Yet, the reflection in the mirror disturbed me. There was something wrong about the tall, dark-haired figure that stared back at me. My eyes seemed large and sunken in my thin face. And since when had I grown so pale?
The dress accentuated the slimness of my body, hugging every curve in a flattering way. Yet, somehow, I felt extremely uncomfortable. Though I was enchanted by the way it made me look, I was also a little awed and frightened by the change in my appearance.
“See? I told you that you’d look just—bewitching!” Christine exclaimed. “May I try it on, too?” she asked.
“With my blessing.” I slipped the dress off quickly, glad to exchange its sensual, mysterious appeal for my simple brown skirt and white shirtwaist.
Christine was now struggling eagerly with the buttons. The dress came over her head, then slipped down her hips and waist. When her face appeared, her eyes were shining with excitement and two high spots of color had appeared on her tanned cheeks.
She studied herself in the mirror. “I believe I prefer the emerald—I never cared for drab colors. Besides, a queen’s lady should wear the bright colors, and the queen be the more sedate, don’t you think?”
She swirled around for me, the smile disappearing from her face. “Louise, why are you staring at me like that? Is something wrong?”
“Why, no, Christine. Whatever you decide.” I had to turn away to disguise my sudden alarm. In the emerald dress as well as the frothy yellow pomp of bows and lace, Christine had looked like a child playing dress-up. But the girl who turned from the mirror to look back at me was suddenly transformed.
The dress fit her much as it had fit me, though even more snugly. The dress hugged the curve of her hips, the bodice fitting snugly and daringly about her budding breasts. The deep, rich color brought out new highlights in her dark hair, accentuating the softness of her cheeks and the sensual turn of her lips. The girl that looked back at me was no longer a child—she was a woman!
Chapter Nineteen
I slipped out into the garden to avoid Ian, who had not left my side all evening. Edward’s garden was a tranquil, beautiful place in twilight, yet as I wandered past tangles of honeysuckle and rose vine, I could not calm the vague sense of uneasiness that stirred in my breast. The sight of the unfinished fountain brought back thoughts of Nicholas and how we had met beneath its shadow, thoughts of the dark-robed figure who had attacked me shortly after.
“Louise!” My name floated through the air, a whispered, eerie sound. I started, my eyes automatically moving to the winged statue; I could almost imagine that he had shifted positions slightly.
Ian Winters stepped out from behind one of the enormous flowering bushes. Disengaging himself from their shadows, he moved toward me. “Why, Ian, I seem to run into you everywhere!” I said, trying to conceal my exasperation.
“Don’t think it’s by accident, ma chère,” he cautioned with a reckless smile. “Well, have you given the matter more thought? Will you let me take you to the Mardi Gras?”
“I haven’t decided,” I hedged, glancing away.
“You will break my heart!” There was a vague hint of desperation in Ian’s voice. “The Mardi Gras is but a week away now!”
How well I knew that! Since my return, I had heard
about nothing but the Mardi Gras from Ian, Christine, and Mrs. Lividais. Christine had, of course, persuaded me to be her chaperone. And Ian, hearing that I had agreed to go for Christine’s sake, had not given me a moment’s peace since.
“It’s a beautiful night,” I said, attempting to change the subject. “Shall we walk?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, falling into step beside me. “A lovely night, a lovely garden, and—an even more lovely lady. Now, which poet was it who said that?”
“Ian Winters?” I guessed with a laugh. He reached out suddenly to pluck one of the blushing-pink roses from a drooping branch. He handed it to me, bowing low with the flourish of an old-time cavalier.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have picked it!” Then I added quickly, “But thank you all the same.”
“I should put it in your hair.” He came closer, taking the tiny rosebud from my hand, his eyes liquid amber in the darkness. “In fact, I will!”
“I shall look foolish” I protested.
“Shh.” Ian silenced me as he placed the rosebud gently above my right ear. “Remember—in New Orleans, I promised you a rose.”
I thought about the pale pink rose he had given me as a welcome to Louisiana. I smiled, remembering how he had tossed the wilted blossom into the river, consoling me with the promise of another.
“Stunning, alluring, irresistible!” Suddenly, Ian pulled me into his arms. I turned my face away as his eager lips sought mine.
“Ian, please—”
“I’m sorry, my dear Louise. But I’ve missed you! Those few days you were gone were like torture to me.” He held me at arm’s length, looking into my eyes. “I’ve been so worried about you, knowing you were virtually alone in that dreadful house with Nicholas, fearing that he might try to take advantage of the situation—”
The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras Page 21