The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras Page 22

  “You needn’t have worried. He was the perfect gentleman.”

  “But I’m not,” Ian declared with a roguish grin. “In fact, I’m not above stealing a kiss in the moonlight!” This time his lips claimed mine before I had a chance to turn away. His was a practiced kiss, one intended to arouse passion, yet I remained stiff and wooden in his arms.

  “Ian ...”I began, pushing him gently away. A sudden rustling sound in the nearby bushes silenced me. Ian, too, looked startled. I turned back toward the dark fountain, and my heart froze. For just a moment, I saw the brief shadow of a dark-clad shape silhouetted against the pale stone.

  “Someone is out here!” I stared out into the darkness, but that vague impression of a human shape had slipped off into the cover of darkness.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Ian said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice over the interrupted kiss.

  “Someone was hiding out there near the fountain, Ian. Someone was watching us!” Who? The person wearing the voodoo mask? Nicholas?

  “Why, Louise, you’re trembling! There, there. It was only a nightbird.” Though Ian’s voice was smooth and calming, an uneasy frown settled into his thin brows as he glanced in the direction of the now-still rose bushes. I knew then that the dark-clad figure had not been my imagination. Ian must have seen it, too!

  Ian took my arm gently. “Come, Louise. Let’s go back inside.”

  We returned to encounter Edward in the hallway. He didn’t seem quite himself. As he came toward us, I noticed a barely discernible stoop to his usually ramrod-straight shoulders, and his graying temples were ruffled as if he might have been running a distracted hand through his hair. The pouchy skin beneath his eyes made me wonder if he had not been losing sleep lately. “Have either of you seen my wife?” he asked in a strained voice.

  “Why, no. I haven’t seen Lydia all evening,” Ian answered him. “But didn’t she say something about writing a letter at dinner tonight? Have you checked the little parlor?”

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” Edward replied. His gaze focused upon Ian, cold and accusing, as if he held him personally to blame for his wife’s absence. The tension between the two men was like a living thing. “I could have sworn that I saw her in the garden a short while ago. With you.”

  “It must have been me who you saw,” I explained. “Ian and I have been out walking.”

  Edward nodded curtly. “Well, if either of you do happen across Lydia, tell her I’ll be in my study.”

  “Of course, Edward,” Ian replied smoothly. Something in his tone hinted lightly of mockery. I stole a glance at him, startled at the ugly look that had crossed his face, a look I did not quite understand.

  What was the basis for the hatred between the two of them? I knew that Edward was resentful of the flattery that careless Ian bestowed upon every woman, including his lovely, obviously discontented wife. But Lydia was Ian’s aunt! Surely, Edward could have no reason for obsessive jealousy concerning the two of them.

  “Good night, Ian,” I said as we neared the stairs.

  “Are you retiring so early?” he asked, surprised. “I thought we might sit in the parlor a while.”

  “My head is beginning to ache.”

  “Then you must rest.” The surly arrogance he had displayed around Edward was gone. He stood watching me with eyes alight, like an eager child anticipating Christmas. “You will think about letting me take you to the Mardi Gras? It would mean so much to me.”

  I hesitated. After all, he was not proposing marriage, only a simple evening of supper and dancing. We would not be alone, but with Nathan and Christine. What harm would there be in accepting his invitation?

  My instincts told me that it was not usually in Ian’s nature to be so doggedly persistent in his pursuit of a woman. Could he really be falling in love with me? If so, my acceptance would only encourage him. “No, Ian. I’m sorry. I’d rather not go with you.”

  I saw the disappointment on his face. Then the lips beneath the handsome, well-trimmed mustache parted into a smile. “The Mardi Gras is still a week away,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve plenty of time to change your mind. Sleep well, Louise.”

  I was much too tense for sleep. Once in my room, I stood for a long time at my bedroom window, staring out into the garden. Straining my eyes in the pale glow of moonlight, I could just barely make out the ghostly whiteness of the stone figure of the unfinished fountain. Who had been hiding near that fountain, watching Ian and me kiss?

  Just below the fountain was an obscure shape that I at first took for one of the dark shrubs. But then the shape moved. Hardly daring to believe my eyes, I stood and watched. Again, it moved, and again, it slowly glided the length of the rose garden until it disappeared from sight of my window.

  I softly opened the door to my room and stepped out in the corridor. As I descended the stairs, I saw that the massive hallway below was deserted. Edward had no doubt gone back to his study. There was no sign of Ian.

  I crossed into the small, private parlor where Lydia had slipped off to after dinner to work on her correspondence. It, too, was empty. Paper fluttered upon the desktop, indicating that she had been there. The double doors to the outside garden were swinging partly ajar. I stepped over to peer out into the night. Had Lydia seen Ian and me out in the garden together? Was it she who had been out there spying on us?

  Slipping out through the half-open doors, I crept silently down the stone path. I was acutely aware of the night sounds. Unseen birds sang from their magnolia branches. The lush green foliage was teeming with tiny buzzing insects.

  The cool breeze had stopped, making a damp, sweltering stillness all around me. The smell of jasmine closed in, suffocating me with its heavy, cloying perfume.

  The noise was faint at first, an eerie sound like the sobbing of some unhappy ghost. As I reached the stone fountain, I heard footsteps. Someone was running away, hiding in the obscurity of the thick, flowering bushes.

  The hiss of a voice broke the stillness. “Lydia! I know you’re out here. Come back to the house. Edward is looking for you!”

  The figure of a man stirred in the darkness near the other side of the unfinished fountain. As he began to move toward me, I stepped back into the shadow of the monstrous, winged creature, crouching low to avoid discovery. He was close, so close now that I could hear his even breathing, make out his features in the darkness. It was Ian.

  “Lydia!” he hissed again, his voice growing impatient.

  There was no reply.

  “Lydia! Damn your eyes! Don’t play games with me!”

  “Go away, Ian!” came a quavering voice from dangerously nearby. Sobbing filled the night air. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore!”

  “It’s too late for that now!” Ian’s voice had taken on a new deep, authoritative tone.

  Slowly, she came out of the shadows to stand before him, her face as white as alabaster above her pale, loose dress. Still crouched in the shadows near the fountain, I listened to them talk.

  “Did you get into Louise’s room? Did you find anything?”

  Her voice trembled a little. “I don’t like doing this, Ian.”

  “The jewel box—did you get a look at it?”

  “That’s the box, Ian. But the jewels aren’t in there. It was just like you said. Only combs and carnival beads.”

  “Then she must have hidden the real jewels somewhere else.”

  “I don’t think she has them, Ian. Remember that last letter—about the guardian. Maybe Raymond never sent them to her after all. Maybe he gave them to Edward or someone else for safekeeping.”

  “He died before he even posted that letter. That’s why I think he sent the jewels off to Louise just as he planned. He must have! After all, she had the amethyst brooch. She must have the necklace, too. It’s the necklace that’s worth a fortune. That—and all the rest!”

  “What are we going to do, Ian?” I heard Lydia’s voice rise in fear. “He was here again to
night—and he was angry. He’s getting more and more impatient with us.” I saw her shiver in the moonlight. “I’m afraid of him when he’s like that.”

  I listened, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest that I marveled they could not hear it. They must be talking about Nicholas!

  “You don’t need to fear him,” Ian said. “He won’t harm us—not as long as we’re in a position to help him.”

  The shadows began to move toward me. I crouched further behind the stone gargoyle, feeling the chill of its spread wing against my cheek. Uncomfortably, I waited for them to pass by, staring down into the damp, weedy darkness. My eyes fell upon the remains of broken letters carved near the fountain’s base. Absently, my nervous fingers reached out to trace the letters.

  I gasped as a loose stone suddenly crumbled beneath my shaking hands. I caught it just before it slipped from my grasp. I crouched even closer against the stone fountain, awkwardly holding the loose stone to keep it from falling as they came within a hairs breadth of me. I could hear the silken sweep of Lydia’s dress as she passed by me.

  As soon as they had disappeared into the shadows of the magnolia, I let the loose stone fall to the ground with a heavy thump. Then I scrambled away, hurrying as quickly as I could back to the sanctuary of the house.

  I was breathless by the time I reached the small parlor. I rested against the wall of the deserted little room with its tiny desk and windblown papers, trying to slow my breathing, the rapid hammering of my heart. Then I stepped back out into the hallway and right into Edward.

  “Louise! Was Lydia in there?” he asked, gesturing to the parlor room.

  “Why, no,” I replied.

  If my voice trembled, Edward appeared not to notice. He was still preoccupied with his wife’s whereabouts. “Funny, I’ve searched the entire house for her. It is growing late.” He gave a weary sigh. “Well, perhaps she’s retired for the night. I thought she might be—”

  He hadn’t time to finish his sentence before the door to the gardens opened and in stepped Lydia and Ian, their faces reflecting guilty surprise.

  I could not easily read the expression in Edward’s steely gray eyes. Was it curiosity, suspicion, anger? The tight, disgusted set to his thin lips made him appear suddenly much older than his fifty-odd years. With a sudden jolt, I identified the emotion that was written all over his face, from the tightness of his strong jawline to the steely eyes that glinted with cold fire. Jealousy! Had he guessed that Ian was not Lydia’s young nephew at all, but an impostor? Did he believe that they were lovers?

  I looked from Lydia’s wide, frightened eyes to Ian’s calm ones and wondered if it was true. Were they lovers as well as conspirators? Feeling almost ill, I murmured my good nights and slipped away to my room.

  I reached for the tortoiseshell brush upon the vanity and began to run it through my hair, trying to calm the myriad of thoughts that raced through my mind. The brush resisted what I thought was an enormous tangle. I tugged briskly and the forgotten rose fell out of my hair to lie upon the marble-topped dresser. It was a bitter reminder of that first rose Ian had given me in New Orleans—a traitor’s gift.

  Now I could see that it all fit together smoothly. Ian and Lydia—working together. Lydia must have told Ian of her suspicions that Grandfather had sent valuable jewels to me. She had arranged for Ian to meet me in New Orleans. Ian, posing as a helpful stranger, had been the one who had stolen my purse. It had to be that way!

  Now I knew what Ian had been after—the amethyst brooch that had belonged to my mother. Because of the brooch, Ian and Lydia thought I had all of the missing family jewels in my possession. They were the ones who had been searching my room, stealing the letters and foisting the blame on a convenient Christine. They were looking for the rest of the jewelry—jewelry that I did not have. And now a third person was getting angry!

  This third person must have hired Lydia and Ian to gain access to the house. He was the one I had seen upon two occasions—the man in the long black cape wearing the voodoo mask. He was the violent one, the one who had tried to strangle me for the journal, who had attacked me in the cellar of the old house.

  Lydia and Ian were only harmless pawns for this stronger, more powerful force. It was the other one that I had reason to fear. I shivered, remembering Ian’s hatred of Nicholas, his warnings for me to stay away from him. Who else could they be working for? Who else could it be but Nicholas?

  Chapter Twenty

  The day that all New Orleans awaited with such anticipation had come. For me, it began much like any other. The sun was making its first appearance as I came down to the dining room for my morning coffee. Only Mrs. Lividais, who I could hear singing in the kitchen, was up and about.

  I passed by the window, dismayed by the sight of a muted gray sky filled with bulky rain clouds. So many people were looking forward to the festivities tonight! I hoped the sky would clear once the sun came out.

  Suddenly, the early-morning silence was broken by the whinny of horses. A cloud of dust appeared as five masked riders swiftly approached the house. Nearly spilling my coffee, I hurried over to the window. Were they up to some mischief? Anxiously, I watched as they began to circle Edward’s chicken pen, which lay just beyond the kitchen door.

  “Mrs. Lividais!” I cried out, as first one, and then another of the men dismounted. Menacingly, they approached one of Edward’s clucking hens. Abandoning my coffee, I hurried into the kitchen.

  The kitchen, which smelled of spice and the baked goods that Mrs. Lividais was busy preparing for the feast tonight, was empty. A rolling pin lay abandoned upon the flour-bleached countertop. The door that led outside was swinging open. I moved toward it, standing in the threshold to observe an uncanny scene.

  The two dismounted men had cornered Edward’s hen near the wooden coop. Feathers flew as they lunged again and again, trying to trap the squawking bird. Startled roosters clucked their alarm as the agile bodies darted here and there among yells of encouragement from their companions.

  To my surprise, Mrs. Lividais witnessed the entire chaotic event just outside the doorway, her cheeks gone pink with excitement as she cheered the poachers on.

  A terrified hen surrendered in a flurry of feathers as the first masked rider caught it firmly about the neck, his bare hands dangerously close to the thrashing, angry beak. The chicken clucked one final note of protest before its head disappeared into a plump knapsack hanging upon the side of his horse. With a merry wave of their hands, the masked riders mounted and, joining their bizarrely dressed companions, rode away.

  “Who are they?” I asked, following Mrs. Lividais back inside of the house.

  “Men from the village,” she explained, with an indulgent smile at my bewilderment. “They are riding from house to house this morning to gather hens, ducks, and chickens for the feast tonight. It’s an old Cajun custom.”

  “Did you recognize any of them?”

  She grinned broadly. “The one who caught the chicken, he my ol’ man. He not so spry as he used to be. The hen, she give him quite a chase. He getting too old to do the Mardi Gras run! And the young boy with him, didn’t you know, he was Nathan!” With a shake of her head, she added, “A shame Christine slept late and missed all of the excitement.”

  I nodded. “She’s looked forward to this day for so long. She’s talked of nothing else.”

  “You are going with her tonight?”

  I sighed. “Of course. I let her sweet-talk me into being her chaperone. It’s the only way Edward would agree to let her go. I just didn’t have the heart to say no.”

  “You have a costume, yes?” she asked, her voice all concern, as if it were the most important issue in the world.

  I nodded. “Christine’s seen to that. She is fixing up some old dresses that she found in the attic.” Pausing a moment, I asked curiously, “Do you suppose Edward will go?”

  Mrs. Lividais, who had returned to her pie crusts, wiped a floured hand upon her apron. With a hearty laugh, she re
plied, “Well, he’s not one for merry-making, that’s for sure, but I figure if he puts up a fight, that pretty wife of his’ll drag him. Yes, even old Edward will be dancin’ to the fiddle’s tune tonight!”

  “There’s one person who won’t find much cause for celebration on this day,” I mused. A sadness fell upon me as I thought suddenly of Nicholas. I had not heard a word from him since the day Christine and Nathan had brought me back to Royal Oaks.

  Mrs. Lividais nodded her head wisely, knowing who I meant. “Poor Miss Elica! It was the last Mardi Gras for her! You could see the blaze of the fire all the way into Iberville that night, so bright it was.” Her eyes grew thoughtful, shadowed. “Unfortunate man! He’ll never be rid of the guilt. Every Mardi Gras will eat away at his soul a little more. The guilt—it will finally destroy him!”

  In a softer tone, she added, “I almost pity him. And yet, it’s justice that he live out his life in penance. After all,” she added, her voice now barely a whisper, “what he did was an unpardonable sin.”

  I raised my eyes to hers. “I still believe he might have been innocent.”

  “It can’t be!” All of the gaiety was gone from her face. I saw a flash of compassion in the sharp black eyes. “I know how you feel about him,” she confessed. “I’d like to tell you different.”

  “But, how—” I thought about Christine’s schoolgirl crush on Nicholas. In sudden embarrassment, I wondered if my own private feelings for him were just as obvious.

  “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Lividais assured me with a knowing look. “Your secret is safe with me. A woman who has as many daughters and granddaughters as me, she just gets a feel for this sort of thing.” The matronly smile disappeared, leaving her plump face strained. “You must forget him, my dear girl! You cannot help him—it’s too late for that! Elica ruined him for any other woman!”

  “The fire could have been an accident,” I persisted.

  Mrs. Lividais shook her head slowly. “No. There’s too much of a reason for it not to have been.” She leaned closer to me, the black eyes piercing mine. “Louise ... Louise. I can’t bear to see you hurt by him. That’s why I’m going to tell you what I’ve never told another living soul!”