The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras

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The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras Page 32

by Vickie Britton


  At first, I was aware of a faint sound, as if someone might be calling my name. Then a terrible pounding. Through the haze of semi-consciousness, I struggled to open my heavy lids.

  The room seemed to dance crazily before me, and it was too bright. The brightness hurt my eyes. I opened my mouth to cry out, but the smoke had closed up my throat and I could only make hoarse, choking sounds. The giddy, light-headed feeling grew stronger as I swayed unsteadily to a sitting position.

  The voice—Had I only imagined someone calling my name? For a moment I struggled with blurred reality. And then I remembered Christine. I looked down and saw her lying in a crumpled heap upon the floor beside me. Mesmerized, I watched the spider-legs of orange and crimson inch steadily toward her, hungrily reaching for the edges of her tattered blanket. The smell of scorched wool filled my nostrils. In another moment, the blanket would burst into flames!

  Fear propelled me into action. With a cry of alarm, I tore the smoking blanket away from her and began to beat at the exploring fingers of crimson. Reluctantly, the fiery tendrils retreated. Exhausted, I brushed damp, tangled hair from my forehead. We were out of immediate danger. But for how long?

  I cast a frightened glance about a room that was rapidly shrinking. Already, new trails of fire were branching out from the window, spreading across the wooden floor toward us. It was only a matter of time—

  “For the love of God, Louise!” The voice again. Tears of relief filled my eyes. Nicholas’s voice. Violently, he pounded against the panel door. “Answer me!”

  “Nicholas?” Blindly, I groped for the door.

  The wood rattled angrily as Nicholas worked the latch. Then I heard his storming oath. “Louise, listen to me. The catch is free. But the door is still jammed. I can’t get it open!”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “There must be a piece of wood holding it back on your side of the room. You must find it!”

  I knew that our very lives depended upon my success. With shaking fingers, I explored the track of the door until I located the obstruction. My hands trembled uncontrollably as I tore at the splintered piece of wood which had jammed the door. With one final, frantic motion, I tore it free. “I—I think I’ve got it,” I cried, ignoring the spasms of pain that rippled through my bleeding fingers.

  “Now!” Following his urgent instructions, I began to help him push against the solid oak wall. Slowly, inch by inch, the wood began to give away. Then the door burst open and he entered in a gust of flames. His clothes were singed, his face blackened with soot and ashes. An angry bruise darkened one eye, discoloring his forehead where Racine must have struck him with some heavy object.

  For a moment, he glanced wildly about the burning room. Then, hastily, he scooped Christine up in his arms and flung her over his shoulder. Then he grasped my hand.

  Blindly, I clung to him as we groped our way up the cellar stairs toward the ballroom. The twisted staircase that led up to Elica’s room had caught fire. Bursts of crimson danced with the gold of the burning walls. Once again, Evangeline was going up in flames! Fire roared and crackled all around us as we ran through the smoky corridor that led out into the sweet night air.

  Nicholas’s carriage was waiting. Black horses reared and stamped their feet, frightened by the smell of fire. Gently, Nicholas lifted Christine up into the carriage and Nathan’s anxious arms. Then he turned back to me.

  “My love.” Black eyes looked down at me, filled with such emotion that I felt my knees grow weak and shaky. My eyes searched fondly for the dark fleck, which some had called a devil’s mark. The mark had proved to me beyond a doubt that the face behind the mask was not Nicholas’s. This knowledge had allowed me to guess Racine’s identity, to delay him. It had saved our lives.

  Nicholas’s lips met mine in a tender, savage kiss. Weary and soot-stained, we clung to each other, aware only of being alive and together. Behind us, fire still blazed and dark wood toppled to the ground, but neither of us looked back at the shattered ruin of Evangeline.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Edward’s garden was warm and peaceful in the soft rays of the morning sun as I walked out to meet Nicholas. So much had happened last night that I could still barely grasp it all. The events of Mardi Gras night were beginning to seem more and more like some ghastly nightmare.

  My thoughts went back to that swift carriage ride home. Nathan had bundled Christine into the backseat, cradling the revived girl in his arms. He was sober now; the streaks of red paint had worn off his face. Love was shining in his dark eyes as he held her close. Christine sighed a little as she snuggled against him, at last warm and safe after our terrible ordeal.

  From my seat beside Nicholas, I could hear Nathan speaking to her in his broken Cajun tone. “We get married, yes? Very soon. Me, I’ll never touch the spirits again. I love you, Christine. Tonight, when I thought I’d lost you-”

  She had gazed up at him, her own eyes betraying the love that she had so often denied. Then, her face suddenly clouded.

  “What is wrong, ma chère?” he asked.

  “You will change your mind when you discover who I truly am,” she confessed sadly. “My mother—”

  He covered her hand with his lips gently. “Nicholas, he explain all that.” He shrugged with the nonchalance of a young man who had grown up on the bayou, indifferent to the social codes that were so important to the great Dereux family. “So our children may be cafe au lait. Who’s to care? Not my family, that’s for sure,” he added with a wry grin. He patted his curly hair. “For all I know, a streak of tar may also run through my veins!”

  I glanced up at Nicholas, admiring the handsome profile unspoiled by the dark bruise upon his cheek, the jagged cut across his forehead. One hand still upon the reins, he pulled me closer against the warmth of his strong body. For a long while, we rode in silence. But the dark, haunted look in his eyes told me that for him it still was not over.

  “Nicholas, will you tell me what happened?”

  His gaze momentarily shifted from the horses down to me. At first, I thought that he would deny his own need to talk. Then, with a heavy sigh, he began. “When I first saw that figure in blue velvet standing in the shadows at the masquerade, I was shaken,” he confessed, staring at the uneven road ahead of us. “I thought that I was seeing ghosts. And so I followed her.”

  He shook back his dark, windswept hair. “When I came upon her in the woods with Nathan a short while later, I recognized her true identity immediately.” I could see his heavy brows come together in the darkness. “Though I had noticed a disturbing similarity before, it was then that I fully realized Christine’s uncanny resemblance to my late wife. But I still wasn’t sure what it all meant.

  “Since the fire last year, I’ve known that someone has been snooping about the old house. I suspected that my nocturnal visitor must have had something to do with Elica’s death and the missing sapphire necklace. But I didn’t know who that person was.”

  So that was the reason he insisted on remaining in the ruined house. Not to wait for a dead woman to return from the grave, but to trap her killer!

  “When I visited Dominique’s in New Orleans and learned that Elica had once been Racine’s mistress, I began to put the pieces together. I realized that it must have been Racine who had stolen the family jewels in the first place, and that the sapphire necklace Elica had worn the evening of our wedding was part of the missing Dereux fortune. I suspect that Elica must have double-crossed him long ago, that she, in turn, had taken the jewels from him. It was then that I began to suspect that Racine might not be dead and that he had come back all these years later to seek his revenge upon her.”

  “But so much time had passed—”

  There was a somber look on Nicholas’s face. “Time, for Racine, stopped nearly fifteen years ago.”

  “How did you know Racine was here tonight?”

  “I was coming back through the woods toward the masquerade when he attacked me.” Unconsciously,
my gaze wandered to the wicked cut on his forehead. “I turned just in time to get a vague glimpse of him before the butt of the pistol knocked me cold. Though his face was concealed by the voodoo mask, I knew that he was too tall to be Ian and too thin to be Edward. I knew then that my suspicions were right. Racine was still alive!”

  “What happened after he left you unconscious in the woods?”

  He continued with his story. “When I came to, I discovered that my cloak and black silk scarf were missing. Because Racine was of a similar size and height, I knew that he was now wandering about the Mardi Gras disguised as me. It was then that I began to fear for you, for by this time, I knew that he was the one who had attacked you that day in the cellar.”

  “Yes, he thought I had the jewels,” I said, understanding at last. “He believed that Elica had returned the stolen jewels to my grandfather to keep her identity safe. He was convinced that my grandfather sent them to me in a black ebony box.”

  Nicholas’s dark eyes turned curiously upon me. “Is it true?”

  “No, but I know that at one time he planned to. Then something made him change his mind. He wrote me a letter saying that there was a change of plans—that he would not send the jewels, but trust them in the hands of a guardian of some sort until I arrived. Though he died before he posted the letter, he evidently had time to go through with his plans.”

  “Who do you think he trusted the jewels with?”

  “I don’t know. But Ian and Lydia got ahold of the letters. They, too, have been trying to find out.”

  “Of course. Lydia and Elica were good friends. Elica must have confided in her. In turn, Lydia must have told everything to her lover, Ian. Ian must have convinced Lydia to get involved. The two of them have been working with Racine to find the jewels all along. I suspected Ian was a part of it when you said that he was there, in New Orleans.”

  “Do you think they might have found the rest of the jewels?”

  “We’ll know soon,” he said with a dark look. “But I don’t give a damn about the jewels.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m just glad that I found you and Christine in time!”

  “But how did you know where to look for us?”

  “When I couldn’t find you at the masquerade, I began to search the woods. There I came upon Nathan. From him, I learned about how the two of you had discovered Christine’s ribbon floating in the water and how you had gone off to look for her.” Horror was reflected upon his dark face as he added, “And then I saw the blaze from Evangeline.

  “I feared that you might be trapped inside. But I didn’t have the slightest idea where to look. Once I thought I heard your voice, but with the roar of the fire all around me, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It was such torture, knowing that you must be trapped there inside that burning house, yet not knowing where to find you. And then the china doll flew out and landed at my feet. I knew at once that it was a sign from you, and that you must be trapped in the old cellar. I was trying to think of some way to reach you when Racine attacked me from behind.”

  Shivering, I recalled the fierce battle I had witnessed just outside the tiny cellar window. A shadow fell across Nicholas’s face as he said quietly, “I’ll never forget the way he looked tonight. His eyes were wild, his face twisted with such bitter hatred. Since our childhood, he has considered me his rival, his enemy. I believe that is why—” Nicholas’s voice had grown low and wary, as if he had been on the verge of relinquishing a carefully guarded secret.

  “Nicholas, please continue—”

  There was pain in his eyes, pain in his voice as he said softly, “Tonight isn’t the first time Racine has left me for dead.”

  “Oh, Nicholas—”

  “That night during the war, the night Racine disappeared, Pierre, Racine, and I were playing cards outside our tent, biding time while we waited for some sign of the Yankee soldiers. Tempers were hot that night, the tension high in the air. Racine and Pierre began arguing over the cards. Pierre accused Racine of cheating. Racine pulled out his gun and shot him. Then he turned on me. He left me for dead. He knew, of course, that our deaths would be taken for an enemy attack. Then he disappeared into the swamp, where, ironically, he must have been captured by the real Yankee soldiers who were hiding nearby.”

  “But—all these years—Why did you keep your silence?”

  His voice was flat, emotionless. “I thought Racine was dead.”

  “If you had only known the Racine I remember,” Nicholas said sadly. “A laughing, devil-may-care young man with a brave soul and a fascinating kind of charm. If it hadn’t been for the madness—” The words seemed to choke him. “The madness that made him turn against Pierre—and me. I could almost pity him—”

  I saw Nicholas’s jaw suddenly clench in fierce rage. “Until tonight. When he picked up that burning torch and began setting fire to the tall weeds just outside the cellar window, I would have killed him with my bare hands! I still remember his taunting voice. After all these years, he was still my rival, still fighting a battle between us that had never really existed except in his mind. His words will always be with me: ‘Neither of us will have the jewels now, Nicholas. And you’ll never get to Louise and Christine on time.’ ”

  I had to know. “Nicholas, did you—kill him?” Nicholas shook his head. “I lunged toward him, and then he lost his balance and fell against the burning gallery.” He stopped talking suddenly and, still managing the horses with one hand, he used the other arm to pull me close. “It was horrible the way he died. Thank God I found you in time!”

  * * * *

  A worried Mrs. Lividais had met us at the door that night, greeting us with her own bit of excitement. Ian and Lydia were gone! They had taken off in Edward’s carriage just moments before we arrived. And Edward, she claimed, had locked himself in the study and refused to come out.

  Her voice faded as she suddenly caught sight of us in the light of the hallway. She stood openmouthed and speechless, her bright eyes darting from my torn costume to Nicholas’s soot-streaked face. We made way for Nathan, who was carrying Christine. I heard Mrs. Lividais gasp as her sharp black eyes flew down to the bloodstains upon Christine’s dress.

  Nicholas stepped quickly forward, taking Mrs. Lividais by the arm. “You must hurry and get Cassa. I’ll explain later.” With a frightened nod, Mrs. Lividais was out the door.

  Some of the color had returned to Christine’s face by the time I had gently undressed her and bathed the shoulder wound. I was relieved to discover that once the dried blood was washed away the wound did not look too serious.

  Some of the sparkle was beginning to return to Christine’s eyes. By the time Mrs. Lividais returned with Cassa, she had revived to the point where pain had given away to excitement. As Cassa administered the wound, I marveled to hear her chattering endlessly about her wedding plans.

  After the commotion had died down, I slipped from the room. Christine, finally lulled into drowsiness by Cassa’s tender care, was sleeping peacefully now, Nathan watching anxiously over her.

  I paused in the hallway by Edward’s closed door. I raised my knuckles as if to rap upon the wood. Then, from within, I heard the rasping sound of a man’s bitter weeping. Was he mourning his son’s death, or the desertion of his young wife? I wondered if Nicholas or Mrs. Lividais had told him about Racine. Again, I moved as if to knock, then let my hand fall to my side. Edward was not a man who liked to be caught in his weakness. Tomorrow he would need my love and support. But tonight I would leave him alone with his sorrow.

  It was only later when I went up to my room to bathe and change from my torn, bedraggled costume that the frightening events of the night began to catch up with me.

  I thought about the journal I had burned, imagining Grandfather’s shocked horror when he first recognized Nicholas’s intended bride for who she really was.

  I remembered the words I must talk to her tonight. Before the wedding. Before it is too late. Elica must have known that she was i
n danger and had hinted in some way to my grandfather that she was frightened. Up to that point, Grandfather must not have even suspected that Racine was alive. He must truly have believed that Elica was afraid of Nicholas.

  And then, some time before the Mardi Gras ball, Elica and Grandfather had talked. Elica must have returned the jewels to him then. Had she known that Racine was looking for her and that she was in danger? Or had she relinquished the jewels in order to bribe my grandfather into keeping her true identity from Nicholas? It was even possible, I conceded, that she had wanted to return what Racine had stolen. Whatever her reasons, she had given the stolen heirlooms back to Raymond Dereux—except for the sapphire necklace.

  Why had she kept the necklace? Was it out of greed, as Racine would have had me believe? Or had it had some sentimental value to her? It was too late to guess her motives. The mistake had cost her her life.

  I remembered the other disturbing entry in the journal. Who could hate a child—Because of Mrs. Lividais’s gossip about Elica and Brule, I had naturally assumed Elica was carrying another man’s child and that Grandfather feared for her life should Nicholas find out.

  Now I knew that the scrawling passage must have been written after the Mardi Gras and Elica’s death. By that time, Grandfather must have discovered that Racine was alive. He knew that Racine had murdered Elica and feared that Christine, too, was in danger.

  If Grandfather knew that Racine was still alive, then why had he not told Nicholas or Edward? Had he been trying to protect Edward from the knowledge that his adored son was not only alive, but scarred and mentally twisted? Or was it Racine himself, his beloved grandchild, that the old man had been protecting? That would explain why, throughout the journal, no name appeared to identify the person he spoke of—only the impersonal “he.” A “he” that I had naturally taken to mean Nicholas.

 

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