The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras

by Vickie Britton

  She stood back to admire her efforts. “You look perfect,” she said, her eyes bright above the shimmer of her emerald silk. Then she added, dark brows coming together critically over her gray eyes as she noticed the pendant I had selected. “Except for the necklace. It’s too bright and heavy to wear with the combs. We’ll have to find something else!” With a loud exclamation, she turned toward the black lacquer jewel box with its inlay of mother-of pearl that rested upon the vanity.

  I could hear the sound of voices downstairs. It was almost time to go. “Christine, the others are waiting for us.”

  A sudden gleam came into her eyes as she looked at me. “I know! Well trade. I’ll wear the heavy pendant, and you can wear my locket.”

  “But, Christine, are you sure?” I had never seen her without the locket about her neck.

  She slipped the delicate silver-chained miniature over her head. I’ll trust you not to lose it,” she said as we hastily traded. Eagerly, she tugged at my hand. “Come on, let’s go. We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  “But I’ve barely had a chance to look in the mirror!” I cried out. Curiosity rather than vanity made me protest. With all of Christine’s last-minute administrations, I had caught little more than a vague glimpse of myself in the tiny hand mirror.

  She laughed indulgently. “I’ve told you, you look perfect. Let their expressions be your guide.” Impatiently, she tugged me toward the door. She slipped the emerald veil over her eye mask to better conceal her features and instructed me to do the same with my blue one. “Remember the surprise, Louise?” she whispered, as we started down the stairs together. The gauzy blue film of scarf distorted my vision. “Well, it’s Nicholas! Since he won’t be going to the celebration tonight, I rode out this morning and invited him here to view our costumes!”

  “Christine, you didn’t!” I cried out, alarmed at her boldness. But she was no longer listening.

  Surely he would not come! He had made it clear to us that he wanted nothing to do with the Mardi Gras. I could only hope that her impulsive invitation had not angered him.

  “Here we come,” Christine announced loudly. “Queen Louise of France and her lady, Princess Christine!”

  I could hear the sound of polite laughter. The others, also dressed in costume, were gathered at the foot of the stairs as if waiting for our grand entrance. I first recognized the stout Mrs. Lividais wearing her smiling, apple-cheeked mask, colorful tignon, and bright Gypsy skirts.

  Near her was Lydia and, close by, Ian. Lydia wore the spotted gold-and-black dress of a leopard trimmed with real sable fur about the collar. The glamorized feline appearance suited her. Except for sinister arched cat’s brows which rose so ominously above her pointed golden eye mask, she was almost beautiful. Ian was jauntily dressed as a prince in tights and a royal purple robe. On his head was a yellow paper crown bedecked with pasted-on jewels. He was barefaced; the dark mask he intended to wear dangled from his hand.

  Edward, wearing his usual dark suit, seemed stark and austere in contrast to the others. Though he had agreed to accompany his wife to the feast and dance, he had assured us yesterday that he would take no active part in such foolishness as a masquerade.

  I scanned the small group, surprised to find myself searching for Nicholas’s tall form. Of course, he was nowhere in sight. I knew that it was foolish of me to have really expected him to appear this evening. But, like Christine, I could not keep from secretly hoping that he might join us.

  My first thought was that Christine must have done a remarkable job with our costumes. The tiny ripple of laughter had stopped. Absolute silence fell over the room as we descended the stairs, I in my blue velvet, Christine in her emerald silk. Was it the enchantment of Mardi Gras night that made them all so still and somber? Where was the mirthful reaction that I had come to expect? Why, not even Ian had a smile for us beneath his paper crown.

  I caught my breath as a tall, dark shape suddenly stepped from the parlor to join the others. My heart hammered in my chest. Nicholas! So he had accepted Christine’s invitation to come and admire our costumes after all! I wondered if his unexpected appearance wasn’t responsible for the subdued atmosphere below.

  His rough, homespun clothing stood out as sharply as Edward’s plain dark suit in the midst of the garish Mardi Gras costumes that surrounded him. I could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were, how proud and tall he stood.

  An odd, tingly sensation swept over me. The elegant ball gown, the stairway, the darkly handsome man who waited below—it all seemed so hauntingly familiar. I suddenly felt stricken by déjà vu. Yes, I had lived this very moment before, over and over again—it was like a scene right out of one of my most wonderful daydreams!

  Secretly delighted that Nicolas had come, I made my way eagerly down the stairs. Wearing the lovely dress, my hair done up so nicely by Christine, I was confident that I looked my best. With a special smile, I pushed the blue veil aside and gazed down at him. My smile faded as I saw that he was staring back at me in horror!

  All color drained from his face, leaving his skin a ghastly white in contrast to the thick shocks of wild black hair that framed his stony features. He seemed numb, frozen. Only his eyes were alive. His eyes, those frightening, wounded eyes, were burning with rage and pain. What had gone wrong? For a moment we stood staring at each other as if through a chasm of time. Then, suddenly, he whirled and rushed from the room.

  I stared after him in confused, miserable silence. It was as if he had seen a ghost! My frantic gaze wandered from person to person, but masked and unmasked faces alike revealed no inkling of what had gone wrong. Lydia, Edward, Mrs. Lividais, Ian—they all stared up at me in embarrassed silence. It was as if I had committed some unspeakable social blunder. Quickly, I glanced down at my dress to see if the petticoats were slipping or if any of my buttons had come undone. But all seemed in perfect order.

  I turned back toward Christine, searching for an explanation. She stood behind me, neither looking at me nor at the awkward, costumed gathering at the foot of the stairs. Her expression seemed as bewildered as my own.

  And then she was staring with enormous eyes at the locket about my neck. A sense of recognition, then a flush of sheer horror crept into my blood. I cupped the silver locket in my palm, studying the tiny miniature. The sad, haunted face of Elica smiled back at me. Dark waves of hair piled into a neat chignon; the rise of bare flesh above the soft blue velvet. My eyes fastened upon the neckline of the dress. It was decorated with tiny seed-pearl buttons and trimmed with soft satin.

  I raised an inquisitive hand to my hair. Surely not! But in my heart, I had already guessed what had happened. Christine, with the help of a few old clothes and a little makeup, had made me into the reincarnation of Nicholas’s late wife!

  Christine was watching me now, her lashes filmy with sudden tears. “I didn’t mean this—the way you think I did!” she exclaimed in a choked voice. “Louise, you must believe me. Louise!”

  But this time she had gone too far. It was all so terrible! The gaily dressed people at the foot of the stairs were only a blur to me as I pushed past Christine. All I could hear was her sobbing, loud and heartbroken. The hysterical sound followed me as I ran blindly back to the sanctuary of my room.

  I was still tearing the pins from my hair when the door swung open. Turning, I expected to find Christine, weeping and begging forgiveness. But it was Lydia who stepped slowly inside. The sweep of the gold-and-black leopard dress accentuated the feline grace of her movements. Her face, free of the shiny mask, seemed satirical with its carefully arched cat’s brows.

  “It’s not so much the hair,” she commented in a slightly derisive tone. “You don’t really resemble Elica at all, though I must admit that Christine was exact.” She reached out a hand to indicate the artificial beauty mark that Christine had painted upon my cheek. Oh, why hadn’t I realized what was happening? I should have suspected something when she had refused to let me get a good look at my reflectio
n in the mirror. I should have known when she had practically shoved me into the hallway near the stairs that she was up to some wild scheme. And when she had so coyly mentioned upon the stairway that she had invited Nicholas to view our costumes, why hadn’t I second-guessed her motive? I was a fool to have been so trusting!

  And Nicholas! I could hardly bear to think of his reaction to this ghastly parody. What if he thought that this mocking simulation of Elica’s clothing and hairstyle was my idea? He would despise me for it!

  “I warned you not to trust her,” Lydia said, as if echoing my own thoughts. “Of course, it’s the dress that must have really startled him. Seeing it after all this time—It’s Elica’s dress, you know. The very gown that Nicholas had made for her in Paris. It was to be part of her wedding trousseau.”

  “How terrible!” I gasped, feeling faint. I knew that the style and color were both alarmingly similar to the miniature, but the very dress—The gown seemed tight now, restrictive. I found it hard to draw breath. “But how—how could it have been Elica’s?”

  Lydia lowered her lashes. “It was one of the few personal items of hers that escaped the fire. There was a slight tear, a bad seam in one of the sleeves, which she discovered shortly before the wedding. I offered to send it to the dressmaker with some of my own gowns for repair.”

  “Christine claimed to have found the dresses in an old trunk in the attic.”

  “Elica died before I even had a chance to send the dress away. I couldn’t bear to look at it, so I had it packed up in the attic with some of my old clothing”

  “Christine may not have known the dress was Elica’s,” I ventured hopefully.

  Lydia raised one sharply defined black brow. “Oh, she knew, all right.” Then she began to move away, the smooth silk of her leopard costume rustling across the floor. At the doorway she turned, tossing me a look of pity. “Change into the yellow dress,” she suggested over her shoulder, glancing to where the extra gown, the one Christine had laughingly declared made her look like a frosted wedding cake, still lay draped over a chair. “Don’t worry,” she added, slipping the golden half-mask daintily back over her eyes. “It was one of mine.”

  When Lydia was safely out of sight, I scrubbed the damning beauty mark from my cheek. Then I combed out my long hair, allowing it to hang thick and loose about my shoulders. I wanted to destroy any resemblance between the ghastly parody of Elica and myself. When I was done with my hair, I hastily tore off the wretched velvet dress, tossing it into a crumpled blue heap upon me white carpet. The miniature of Elica seemed to burn my skin. I unclasped the locket and threw it, along with the mask and filmy veil, upon the velvet gown. Then, still in my petticoats, I sank down upon a chair. What should I do now?

  I was supposed to have ridden into town with Nathan and Christine. They had probably long since left for the water’s edge. It didn’t really matter. I had lost my enthusiasm for the Mardi Gras.

  And what of Nicholas? An image of him standing there at the bottom of the stairway flashed through my mind. Shock mingled with anger enlarged his pupils, making the dark spot in his left eye even more pronounced. Even now, the dark look of him sent icy shivers up and down my spine. For a moment, his was the angry, sinister face of a stranger’s.

  How could I ever face him again after what had happened? How could I face anyone? Wearily, I covered my damp forehead with my hands, feeling tired, lost, and alone.

  A timid knock sounded upon the door. “Miss Louise?”

  Surprised, I recognized Mrs. Lividais’s voice. “Just a moment.” Wondering why she was still here, I reached for my dressing gown, slipped it on, and opened the door. She stepped inside, an enormous Gypsy in beads, bangles, and brightly colored skirts. The stiff, empty face of her mask dangled upon a long string about her neck just below her ample chin. She cocked her head to one side, studying me with worried eyes. “Why, you’re not dressed, child,” she scolded, making a bold pretense that nothing was wrong. “You must hurry, or we’ll miss the parade!”

  “You shouldn’t have waited for me. Please tell Edward and the others that I won’t be joining them,” I pleaded, turning my back to her.

  The colored beads and bangles tinkled like tiny bells as Mrs. Lividais made her way slowly toward me. She reached out her large hand and patted my shoulder with kindly understanding. “Now, don’t you feel bad. What happened out there wasn’t your fault. We all know that it was her doing. She’s got the devil in her, that Christine!”

  “Where is she now?” I asked, suddenly remembering my promise to watch her. “Is she with Nathan?”

  Mrs. Lividais shook her head. “She took off running down the road all by herself.”

  “And I promised Edward I’d see that she stayed out of trouble tonight!” I mourned. “Some chaperone I’ve turned out to be!”

  Now that I knew she had gone off by herself, I was beginning to worry. She had seemed so agitated tonight, so feverish with excitement. Christine had a knack for stirring up trouble, and I knew that a crowd of masked, drunken strangers was no place for a disturbed young girl alone.

  “Oh, nobody can control that one. Not even Edward.” Mrs. Lividais shook her heavy head, making the hoops of enormous golden earrings jingle. “But don’t you waste your time fretting about her,” she admonished. I had to smile just a little as she added quite wisely, “She takes care of herself fine. It’s the poor man she marries someday that needs to fear!”

  The housekeeper-turned-Gypsy glanced about the room, her alert eyes falling to where the crumpled velvet dress still lay in a heap upon the floor. Then, with a delighted look, she caught sight of the yellow gown draped across the chair. “Oh, there’s the one Lydia meant!” she said, revealing that the two of them must have been discussing my plight.

  Suddenly, she pulled a dainty yellow mask decorated with white and amber sequins from her pocket. “Lydia, she said to give this to you right before she left with Edward. Now, you go ahead and put the other dress on,” she coaxed. “It’s still not too late. Ian is still waiting for you. And he intends to wait, I can tell. You don’t want him to miss the Mardi Gras. No sense in letting a naughty child spoil everyone’s good time.”

  “Why did she do it?” I demanded suddenly of the Cajun woman. “Dress me up like Elica, I mean?” Tears were brimming dangerously near the surface. “Nicholas will hate me now.”

  She nodded. “And that’s just what Christine intended.”

  Mrs. Lividais tossed her black hair, the bright baubles clinking as she turned toward the door. “Maybe it’s been for the best, after all. You saw the way Nicholas looked tonight when you came down the stairs. He belongs to Elica,” she said.

  “But Elica is gone,” I whispered.

  “Then he belongs to the dead.”

  She left, closing the door softly behind her. With reluctance, I took up the yellow gown and slipped it on wearily over my petticoats. Then I glanced briefly at my image in the mirror.

  I looked again, startled to discover what was actually a flattering fit. Once properly adjusted, the frothy “wedding cake” appearance of the princess-style gown diminished. The shiny satin and huge bows gave the dress a festive air. The radiant sun-color complemented my dark eyes and brought a warm, golden glow to my soft brown hair, which still hung loosely about my shoulders. With the addition of the elaborate mask which Lydia had provided, it served as a more than adequate costume.

  As I moved toward the doorway, I glanced back only once to the pile of crushed velvet upon the white rug. Mrs. Lividais was right. I must forget about Nicholas. The slightest tremor passed over me as, just for a moment, I remembered the horror upon his face as I came down the stairs in Elica’s dress.

  I would not think about it. For the moment, I would have to push my own bruised emotions aside. Finding Christine was most important now. The cruel jest of dressing me up like Elica left me wondering if she might be more unbalanced than I had suspected.

  I was growing more and more worried about her. I could
imagine her bright-eyed, feverish emotions running wild as she weaved her way through crowds of drunken masqueraders down by the bayou.

  A sudden connection formed in my mind between Nicholas’s anger and Christine’s hasty departure. Could she have run after him, hoping to apologize?

  Christine was so unpredictable that it was difficult to make a guess as to where she had gone. She was so obsessed by Nicholas, so hungry for his attention that, on impulse, she might have followed him back to Evangeline. But it was just as likely that she had put the entire incident from her mind and was now dancing merrily with Nathan down by the water’s edge. I didn’t know which way her fanciful mind had turned, but I knew that I would not rest easily until I found out where she was. Because if she had gone after Nicholas—

  Fragmented pieces of Mrs. Lividais’s gossip kept coming back to haunt me. Elica’s distressed appearance at Cassa’s cabin, the rumor of an unborn baby, the potion—Shivering, I realized that I had never seen Nicholas angry before. I recalled the look upon his face, the tormented passion, the pent-up rage as he had turned away from the stairs.

  For the first time, I had caught a glimpse of him as others must have seen him. And suddenly, I feared for Christine’s safety. For the look in those stormy black eyes tonight had been one of sheer madness!

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ian smiled happily as I came down the stairway to meet him. His face beneath the yellow crown was bare; the dark mask that he intended to wear to the Mardi Gras still dangled loosely from his arm. “Why, you look splendid, Louise,” he burst out, admiring my change of costume.

  I glanced about the room, searching for Mrs. Lividais, but she was nowhere in sight. “I sent her on ahead,” Ian explained, taking my arm with a look of sheer triumph. “It looks as if you’re going to the Mardi Gras with me, after all.”

  There was no time for argument. I was as anxious as he to get to the Mardi Gras. I wanted to make sure that Christine was safe. I made no protest as Ian tugged eagerly at my arm. “Well have to hurry or we’ll miss the parade. Since Edward and Lydia have taken the carriage, we must walk.”