The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras Page 11

  “He won’t,” Christine laughed. “He’s got his pride.”

  “So he has. But surely he must be a little mad to want to remain here. I’d think this would be the last place on earth he’d want to stay.”

  As we talked, we moved past several empty, hollow rooms into a long, dark corridor. At the end of the hallway was a spacious room whose forlorn beauty whispered of lost grandeur. Christine paused at the threshold. “The ballroom,” she explained. “They called it the Gold Room.”

  I recognized the name. Mother had spoken of the Gold Room, of the elaborate dances and parties that had taken place there in her youth. Surely not this place? Now, scorched and peeling walls clung stubbornly to traces of shiny luster like old women in tattered evening gowns. An abandoned orchestra platform huddled in the corner near the base of a coiled, sinister-looking monster of a staircase, a reptile with a broken back.

  “The stairs lead up to Elica’s rooms,” Christine explained. “Where the fire started. Where she died.”

  As I glanced up at the fire-ravaged walls, I wondered what frightening emotion compelled Nicholas to stay here. Was it guilt or sentiment that kept him living in the place where his beautiful bride, his bride of one day, had met such a terrible death?

  “What was Elica like?” I had to know. My voice sounded thick and hollow in the gloomy atmosphere of the ruined ballroom.

  “You’ve seen her miniature, Louise. But that didn’t really do her justice. She was even lovelier.” I felt a painful tightening around my heart as she added, “Nicholas said that she had a beauty no artist could ever capture.” Christine went on, as if enjoying the talk about Elica. “When he first brought her here, a few months before the wedding, she created quite a stir.”

  “Why is that?”

  Christine shrugged. “Iberville is a small place. New faces get talked about. Elica was so beautiful she couldn’t help but attract attention. Especially when she just seemed to appear out of nowhere.”

  “I thought she came from New Orleans.”

  “She was living there when Nicholas met her. But outside of Lydia, nobody knew anything about her family or her past. And Lydia wouldn’t talk about it, not even after Elica died.”

  Christine’s smoky eyes clouded until they matched the dark surroundings. “Most of the townspeople didn’t like Elica. I think they were jealous. And Edward—he said that she tricked Nicholas into marrying her. I even heard him say once that she deserved to die for that”

  “What a terrible thing to say!”

  Christine paced the floor in front of me. “Elica should never have made friends with Brule. People are afraid of him, you know. That’s how the rumors got started. They said that she was learning from him how to work charms to keep Nicholas bewitched. Mrs. Lividais told Edward that it was Brule who helped her to trap Nicholas. I heard her say once that Elica was a witch.” Christine finished in a choked voice, “And that witches deserve—to burn.”

  Christine’s face had lost its healthy glow. Coming here had not been a good idea. I knew the sight of the ruined ballroom, the empty staircase, must bring back terrible memories of Elica’s death. I should never have let her coax me into coming in here. “Let’s go, Christine” I said.

  She seemed not to hear me. Christine was staring up at the dark rooms at the top of the staircase—Elica’s rooms. Christine’s lips worked slightly. “Even if what they said about her was true. Even if she did make charms to bewitch Nicholas—no one deserves to burn alive, do they? No one!”

  Chills crept up my arms like skeletal fingers as she added in a low voice, “I think her spirit is still here, Louise. That’s why Nicholas doesn’t want anything to happen to the house.” Christine’s voice wavered a little. “He’s waiting, don’t you see? For the Mardi Gras. Some believe she’ll return on the Mardi Gras.” She looked at me beseechingly. “Do you believe it might really happen, Louise? Do you think her ghost might really come back to him on Mardi Gras night?”

  “I’m curious to hear your answer, Miss Moreland. Are you a believer in spirits?” We both started as Nicholas came toward us out of the ensuing darkness. The shadows of the decaying mansion blended with the shocks of raven hair, spilling darkness over his rugged features. He waited, apart from us. Such an aura of pride and loneliness surrounded him that I was put in mind of a melancholy soul doomed to walk the earth in torment, a prideful, outcast Satan. At that moment, I could very well believe that such a man might wait for a ghost to return from the grave.

  “I’ve never put much stock in the supernatural” I said.

  “Nor have I,” he answered softly. “Nor have I.” His words puzzled me. Did he know, then, that this vigil of his bordered on madness? If so, then how could he be mad? Such a weary sadness had filled his voice that I wondered if it was not guilt, after all, that kept him chained here. Maybe he was responsible for Elica’s death. In either event, guilty or mad, we should fear him!

  Indeed, Christine did tremble as he turned upon her, scolding, “How many times have I warned you not to play in here? You know it could be dangerous.” I could see in her eyes that she feared Nicholas’s disapproval, but not the man himself.

  “We—I—” For once, Christine seemed at a loss for words. Flustered, she stared down at the hem of her riding habit. “It was Louise’s idea,” she blurted out finally, her eyes defying me to challenge her. “She wanted to see the house.”

  “I thought there’d be no harm in our exploring,” I demurred, acknowledging my part of the decision.

  Laughter lit up the corners of Nick’s eyes, lifting the sadness, the slight traces of anger away. “I can hardly accuse you of trespassing, now can I, Miss Moreland?” Almost cheerful now, he added, “So now that you are here, you must see what little charm this place has left to offer.”

  In the corridor, he paused before a door that led into the other wing of the house, the portion he had claimed for his own use. With a slightly rueful smile, he added, “Forgive me if I’m not prepared to entertain two such charming callers. My lifestyle has become, out of necessity, rather primitive. However, there is coffee—Cajun style—and with luck I may find a little cream.”

  “Wonderful!” Christine exclaimed, suddenly brightening. She clasped her hands together in sheer delight, for Edward did not allow her coffee. As Nicholas moved toward the steaming pot he had left simmering upon the hearth, I stole a glance about the room he had led us into.

  Sunlight streamed in through two huge, open windows. The large, airy room, once a parlor, had not been touched by the fire. Solid pieces of furniture, some carefully covered, had been pushed casually aside to give way to crude, handmade fare, such as the heavy Cypress table where Nicholas stood pouring the steaming coffee into three chipped, mismatched cups. I felt as if we had stumbled into a Gypsy camp in the middle of a dark forest.

  There were kittens in the room, I noticed in sudden amusement as two of them crept stealthily from the hollow cavern of an adjoining room to roll and chase in front of the huge, marble hearth. Plants, which reminded me of Cassa’s warm cabin, rested upon the thick, heavy window-sills. The plants and kittens added touches of warmth to the oppressive dimensions of the room. Uncanny that I should feel more comfortable in a corner of this ruined house than in Edward’s formal parlor.

  Setting the pot back upon the hearth with a sound that sent the kittens scrambling, Nicholas turned toward us, bowing with the air of a most wealthy and gracious host. In a thickly accented southern gentleman’s voice, he demanded, “Now, what brings you two lovely belles to my humble abode?” I felt laughter rise to my lips as he gallantly seated Christine and then me at the rough, scarred table.

  Christine, delighted with the charade, replied quite formally, “Why we were just out for a little old ride, Master Nicholas, when we thought of how lonesome you must be!” She blinked her lashes flirtatiously and tossed back her wavy mass of dark, tangled curls.

  Christine missed the sudden flash of darkness in Nicholas’s eyes. Could it be t
hat she came close to the truth? I recalled how his anger at our intrusion had turned to genuine welcome. I looked about the dark house with its long shadows and quiet, empty rooms. Was Nicholas lonely enough to have found pleasure at the prospect of our unexpected company?

  “We are really on our way into town,” Christine said, assuming her natural voice. “The new bolts of material have arrived, and I want to make certain that I get first pick of them.” Unashamed by this rather selfish ambition, she added, “With Christmas and the Mardi Gras so near, I’ll need new gowns.”

  The look of pain in Nicholas’s eyes deepened at Christine’s mention of the Mardi Gras. I saw him struggle to conceal his sadness. He was remembering Elica, of course. The pupils of his eyes had become dark and constricted like those of the wary kittens who were now peering out at us from their hidden corner. Yet, bravely, he played on. “Yes? And what costume do you have planned for the Mardi Gras? Are you going as a princess, by any chance?”

  “A princess!” Christine turned the idea over in her mind. “Why, of course! I could have a lovely silk gown made. And I could fashion a tiara for my hair.”

  “With a crest of rubies. Or diamonds.” A smile stole about the corners of Nicholas’s mouth at Christine’s enthusiasm and lingered there like an uncertain stranger.

  “And you, Miss Moreland.” Dark, perceptive eyes rested upon me now, as if aware that I had been observing him. “What disguise have you in mind for the Mardi Gras?”

  “I haven’t decided,” I replied quickly, anxious to shy away from a subject that must cause him pain. “I might be well on my way back to St. Louis by then.”

  Did I only imagine the flash of disappointment in his eyes? “I thought you had made up your mind to stay.”

  “Oh, you’ll have to stay for the Mardi Gras,” Christine insisted.

  “It depends on many things.”

  “Has Edward spoken to you about the house?” Nicholas asked.

  “He’s made a substantial offer,” I replied hesitantly. “Far more, I’m afraid, than the old place is worth...” I paused, remembering the anxious, almost greedy look in Edward’s eyes as he had handed me the legal document to sign. Again, I recalled the keen look of disappointment upon his face as I had returned the paper untouched.

  As we discussed Evangeline and its prospective value, Christine began to grow fidgety. She toyed with her half-finished coffee cup. More than once I had seen her make a subtle face at its potent contents and several times she had reached for the pitcher in an effort to drown its bitterness with cream. Soon she began to pace the room, and at length ended up near the hearth with the kittens.

  With Christine safely out of hearing range, Nicholas suddenly leaned toward me, dark eyes flashing. “I will hold you to your promise not to accept Edward’s offer until you have first listened to mine!”

  “Of course. But why—“

  “Whatever offer he may give you, I’m willing to pay you double!”

  “Surely you’re not serious!”

  He ran a hand through thick, unruly hair. Uneven locks, perhaps cut by a knife instead of scissors, fell heavily across his forehead. Unfashionably long, and yet the result was natural and becoming. “For reasons that I cannot begin to explain to you now, it is crucial that I remain here undisturbed.”

  “Until after the Mardi Gras?” I asked in a voice that seemed hardly my own.

  “Until after the Mardi Gras”

  Nicholas’s words affirmed Edward’s hints of his obsession, his madness. A slight shiver crept down my spine. Surely Nicholas couldn’t really believe that Elica would return from the grave! But why else would he want this broken-down ruin of a place if not as a shrine to his dead wife?

  Covertly, I searched his face for telltale signs of madness. He sat poised upon the heavy chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, perfectly calm and self-assured. I found myself wondering who his mother and his father had been. The jet-black Cajun eyes, the well-muscled leanness of his body hinted of a French-Canadian origin. But his olive-bronze skin and high cheekbones showed vague traces of Indian blood. Whatever the mixture, it was a striking combination. I could not help but be aware of the virile strength, the magnetism of the man. I would have described him as proud, noble, handsome. Anything but mad.

  Suddenly I was aware that he, too, was studying me. Cheeks burning from his unchecked gaze, I glanced away.

  “More coffee, Louise?” As Nicholas reached across the table for my cup, our fingers accidentally brushed. Feeling the jolt of unexpected physical contact, I moved my hand quickly away. But it was no use. An undeniable feeling of attraction, a sudden spark of desire passed unspoken between us. Not a word had been uttered, yet the entire atmosphere of the room seemed changed. I glanced over at Nicholas, shaken and uncertain. Something in his gaze made my heart tremble and miss a beat.

  I was aware of Christine’s curious gray eyes upon us. Awkwardly, we continued to make stiff conversation. But all the same, the comfortable mood had floated away from us and burst like a huge, fragile bubble.

  Christine spoke up suddenly from the hearth corner where she had been watching us, those strange, adoring eyes fixed upon Nick’s face. “Oh, Nicholas, you must take me to the Mardi Gras!” she burst out suddenly, without warning. Her voice took on a high note. “I know Elica wouldn’t care. Please, please,” she begged, almost in tears. “Promise me you will!”

  Sharply, I drew in my breath. Why did she have to bring up that dreaded subject again? A thick, heavy silence settled upon the room. I stole a glance at Nicholas. The darkness had crept back into his eyes.

  Tm sorry,” he replied softly. “I cannot.”

  I was aware of a sudden motion. Without a word, Christine turned and stalked rudely from the room, leaving me alone with Nicholas.

  The hastiness of her exit warned me that she was angry. Nicholas’s refusal to take her to the Mardi Gras had upset her. And yet she should have known better than to have even suggested such a thing in the first place! With a sigh, I made my apologies to Nicholas and started after her.

  I was stopped by the strong pressure of Nick’s hand. “Let her go,” he said. “She’ll come back soon enough. I want to show you the rest of the house.”

  “Most of this wing escaped the fire, you know.” We left the parlor and together walked through the empty dining rooms, sitting rooms, and ghostly bedchambers. Throughout the house, heavy, brocaded draperies trapped the musty smell of old smoke, a constant reminder of the fire and the ruined right wing.

  From the traces of fading luxury that remained, the heavy bronze chandeliers swaying overhead, the smooth marble of the cold stone fireplaces, the rich wood of the floors and staircases, I could imagine the house of my mother’s childhood.

  He paused at the foot of a huge, polished staircase, a twin to the ruined one in the fire-ravaged wing. “Upstairs is more of the same. The rooms are all in fairly good condition.”

  “I believe you are right, Nicholas. Evangeline could be restored, after all,” I ventured hopefully.

  “It’s not impossible,” Nicholas replied. He gazed into my eyes as if he could see my dreams reflected there. “But you will need help. If you wait until after the Mardi Gras, I will help you.”

  My hesitant look did not go unnoticed. Dark, intense eyes caught mine, holding them captive. “Some believe I am mad because I choose to remain here.” He stood watching me, one arm resting against the polished wood of the staircase. “Do you believe them, Louise? Do you think me insane?”

  “No,” I replied slowly, the answer coming from the bottom of my heart. “Surely you have chosen to stay here for some logical reason.”

  “You are right. I cannot tell you why, but I have my reasons.” A ghost of a smile flittered across his face. “Your belief in me shows great kindness and understanding. I am glad of it.” He took my hand and held it between his own. “I wouldn’t want you to think me mad.”

  I felt a strange stirring in my heart. His nearness, our being alo
ne together in the big house, caused an unfamiliar weakness in my knees. “I really should go out to Christine now. I can’t imagine what got into her. She’s such an unpredictable girl.”

  “Not when you get to know her,” Nicholas said, and his eyes were suddenly as hard and dark as coal. “She’s moody, like her father was. Edward spoils her the way he spoiled Racine. She’s used to having her own way.”

  Though Nicholas’s voice remained calm, I saw his jaw muscle tense as he spoke of Racine. I was reminded that Nick had been the outcast, the orphaned bastard, growing up under Racine’s pampered shadow.

  “Still, I wonder what upset her so.”

  The dark look disappeared. Now, a corner of Nicholas’s mouth twitched into a becoming smile. “I’m afraid I made the mistake of paying too much attention to you and not enough to Christine.” With little modesty, he admitted, “Did you know the poor child fancies herself in love with me?”

  “Then she was jealous,” I echoed, turning the idea over in ray mind. “Of me—of us!”

  “Exactly!” The amusement left Nicholas’s eyes. His voice grew suddenly ‘husky as he moved closer. “And not entirely without reason.”

  Strong arms encircled me, drawing me against his chest. His breath was warm against my cheek as his mouth moved against mine, forcing my lips to part.

  Heart pounding, I struggled against the unaccustomed intimacy of a man’s kiss. I could not move. His large, strong-muscled body held me captive, pinioned helplessly against his own. I could feel the sinewy, rock-hardness of his chest against my thundering heart. Weakly, I turned my face away from his searching lips.

  Sensing my fear, he lifted his head back to look at me. His hands still held both my wrists, as if he were afraid that if he released me I would run away. I could see the dark fleck dancing in his eye. “Have you never been kissed before?”

  “No,” I replied, face burning. Miserable with shame, I turned away.