The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras Page 5

  “Is that what they told you?”

  “No, but what else could it have been? Though Mother wrote to him faithfully, we never heard a word in reply. Oh, once in a while, we heard from Edward. But never from Grandfather himself.” I felt the sadness of her death pass over me like a cold shadow. “When she became so ill, I took it upon myself to write one last time on her behalf—”

  “Surely he wrote then. I’ve heard that May was a favorite of his.”

  “Grandfather’s letter came too late” I replied sadly. “She never even knew that he had tried to get in touch with her.”

  “Your grandfather Raymond died quite recently.”

  “Yes—a few weeks after my mother. I inherited Evangeline from him.” Eagerly, I continued. “Can you tell me anything about the place? I know that it has stood empty for some time, but surely it is not beyond repair. I have a little money. Tell me, Nick, are you familiar with the house? I heard that it was not in the best of condition. But is it as grand as I imagine it must be?”

  The same bridge that had been flooded last night creaked and groaned with the weight of the carriage. I caught the reflection of the snorting horse and my own pale face in the murky waters as the bridge rocked as if it might break in two.

  Nicholas’s face was turned away from me; only the shadow of his cheek and lashes were visible. “Perhaps it would be better if you saw Evangeline for the first time without another’s views to color your own feelings.”

  “You are right,” I agreed reluctantly, for curiosity was making me impatient. “But, are we far?”

  He shook his head. “Not far.” His eyes were dark and flat as the motionless waters of the swamp. All traces of the charming man he had been last night had vanished. He sat straight and silent beside me, as cheery as a hangman on his way to an execution. What could be bothering him?

  In an effort to lift the feeling of impending doom that was settling like invisible dust around us, I continued to talk. “It came as quite a surprise that Grandfather left the family place to me. I really thought he would leave it to Edward. After all, Edward was the one who stayed—Are you acquainted with the Dereux family, Nicholas?”

  The eyes seemed to grow even darker. “Of course. Almost as well as if I were a part of it.”

  “Mother also spoke of a second brother named Pierre, but I don’t really know much about him. She said—well, that he was a bit of a rake.”

  A dark brow raised with sudden interest. “A black sheep, eh? Now this is getting interesting.”

  “I can make it even more so,” I boasted, glad to see him smile. “Mother told me that he was involved in smuggling and other criminal activities before he got himself killed in the war. And that he left behind a son who was as much of a scoundrel as himself. Edward mentioned last time he wrote that the son thinks Evangeline belongs to him. I’m afraid he might contest the will.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Nicholas replied.

  “Oh, I’m not worried! Even if Grandfather once promised the place to Pierre, his son has no right to it. If need be, I’ll give him a fight. You see, he has no legitimate claim. Edward was careful to point out to me that he was a bastard son and not really a part of the great Dereux family at all.”

  “I see.”

  “At least Grandfather never claimed him as part of the family.”

  “Your grandfather,” Nicholas observed in a strange voice, “was not a very forgiving soul.”

  “No,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “But he must have had some redeeming quality. My mother never stopped loving him. She never forgot her life here. She wanted so much to return. If she had but lived—”

  “Is that why you have come?” I was taken by surprise by the roughness in Nicholas’s voice. “Tb live out her life for her? That can’t be done, you know.”

  “I only want to meet the people she once knew. I want to know the South as she knew it. Is that so wrong?”

  “That all depends on how you go about it.”

  How could I expect Nicholas to understand what I was ashamed to even admit that what I really hoped to find here was a sense of belonging. Mother and I had kept to ourselves, lived isolated and apart from the others in the small flat in St. Louis. I had no suitor, no friends. With Mother gone, I was without root or anchor. I was totally and utterly alone.

  “Things have a way of changing, you know.”

  “Mother said that Evangeline was the one thing in the world that would never change.”

  “Then you’re in for a rather shocking surprise.”

  What did he mean? The gloom in Nick seemed to sink deeper and deeper the farther we went along. The carriage seemed to move at a snail’s pace. “You’ve built castles in the air, Miss Moreland. I hope you will not be too disappointed when reality rears its ugly head.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The carriage slowed. “When we make this curve in the road, Evangeline will be in view,” he said. His voice was heavy, thick with forewarning.

  “And, there it is,” he sighed wearily as the carriage lurched around the final curve. An air of mockery crept into his tone. “The beautiful Evangeline”

  I gasped in horror. The gaunt shell that loomed before us in the glistening morning light was something out of a nightmare! Nick had stopped the carriage completely. I stepped down, still staring in disbelief.

  One portion of the magnificent mansion had been dragged down by fire. An angel with a broken wing, I thought with despair, viewing the wreckage. Broken windows from the wounded side glared at me like accusing eyes from behind two stately Doric columns that rose so proudly up from the ashes. Behind them was a tangle of twisted beams and roofing, a collapsed gallery slowly crumbling into the heap of rubble below.

  I could only stand and stare in total dismay. The house was obviously beyond repair! Why had Edward not warned me in his letter? He had led me to believe that the property was so desirable that Pierre’s bastard son was willing to contest the will for it. And Edward, too, had expressed interest in the property. Why had he offered such a good price to make this pitiful heap of scrap timber his own?

  Still stunned, I numbly tried to swallow the bitter gall of disappointment. Then, accusingly, I whirled upon Nick, taking out my wrath, my hurt, my anger upon him. “You knew! You knew all along this place was in ruin! Then why did you allow me to go on talking? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have listened?” he answered quietly.

  Sympathetic black eyes searched mine. “Do you think it was easy for me to listen to you chattering along like a magpie when I knew this godforsaken place was your destination?”

  I hung my head. In his own way, hadn’t he tried to warn me with his dark mood, his silence? But I had been too caught up in my own foolish dreams to listen. A bird flew out of the empty hull of the wreckage and disappeared into the cypress groves. I willed myself not to cry. It was too late. Already I could feel the hot, bitter tears scalding my cheek. I covered my face with my hands.

  “Please don’t, little cousin.” His voice was husky with emotion. In one swift step, he was cradling me in his arms. I did not resist as he pulled me protectively against his broad chest. Instead, I burrowed my face for a moment in the folds of his rough white shirt, letting the rest of the tears flow.

  I looked up into his craggy face with its strong, high cheekbones and dark, shadowed eyes. “Who—who are you?” I whispered. “Why do you call me cousin?”

  “Pierre Dereux was the only father I’ve ever known.”

  “Then you are—”

  “The Dereux bastard,” he admitted with a slightly sardonic smile. “Though I never was Pierre’s flesh-and-blood son. He simply took me under his wing. I was abandoned by my own mother, and my father, a close friend of Pierre, was killed in a tragic accident. Pierre gave me his name, and, of course, there was talk. Though your grandfather and your uncle Edward found it hard to accept an orphan as part of the proud Dereux family, I was raised here, in
this very house, alongside Edward’s own son, Racine Dereux.”

  “Edward’s son? The young man who was killed in the war along with Pierre?”

  Nicholas nodded. “But none of that matters now. It is history.” His strong arms still held my shoulders. The eyes, black and deep and probing pierced mine. “Louise, listen to me! Please leave now! There is nothing for you here. If your grandfather left you money, don’t throw it away on this old house! You can’t live out your mother’s dreams. Go back to where you came from and find a dream of your own. There’s a curse on the Dereux name as surely as there was a curse on this house!”

  Stubbornly, I turned away from him. “When did the house burn?” I demanded, once more viewing the wreckage. “I heard that it was still standing after the war.”

  “The fire was much more recent” he added so softly that I could barely hear him. “Last year—”

  I spun around to face him again. “Only a year ago?”

  An angry shadow passed over his face. “You insist on knowing the story behind this—catastrophe? Listen, then, and I’ll tell you!”

  “You see ...” he began softly. “I, too, once had great plans to restore this house to its rightful grandeur. For years after the war, the place lay empty, prey to the elements. Edward wanted it torn down, but your grandfather insisted that it be restored. He was never happy at Royal Oaks with Edward. His one desire was to see the house made habitable again before he died. Since he was old and crippled, he needed an able body to help him carry out his plans. Your grandfather financed the entire operation, while I did the labor for him. In the end, we were to have shared the house. I made several trips to New Orleans to hire workmen and to bring back furnishings for the house. It was on the last trip that I met her—”

  Met who? I wondered, but I dared not interrupt him. His eyes had gone dark, clouded with painful memory.

  “I brought her back with me from the city. My fiancée fell in love with the house at once. We were to be married on the Mardi Gras” He gave a short laugh. “Mardi Gras—the time of joy and celebration.” His voice was thick with irony.

  “There was a masquerade ball that evening following the wedding ceremony, the ‘grand debut’ of the new Evangeline.”

  His voice was low now, filled with anguish. “The night of the ball, the house caught on fire. I lost my bride of barely four hours.” He attempted a rueful smile. “That is the end of my story. Your grandfather blamed me for the entire fiasco. He went back to live with Edward until his recent death. Now I live here alone with my guilt and my memories.”

  “You live here?” I echoed, looking at the great ruin of the house—my house—with sudden horror. “Why wasn’t I told any of this? Uncle Edward did not mention you at all in his letter, nor did he tell me about the fire—”

  “Edward is not always entirely honest. Not if it can benefit him more to be otherwise” Nick touched my arm. “Let me take you back to the dock, put you on the next boat. Forget you ever set eyes upon this damnable place. Let it fall back into ruin!” He shook his head adamantly. “You should never have come!”

  I glanced over at him, suddenly frightened. The way his dark eyes glittered made my heart pound against my chest. This was all wrong. It had to be some mistake. But in my heart, I knew that it was the truth. Last night in the storm, I had discovered the man they called Mad Nicholas. And he was living in my house!

  Chapter Five

  “I will not leave until I’ve spoken to my uncle,” I insisted, stepping firmly toward the carriage. Nicholas stood motionless, lips tightening, the corners of his mouth white with emotion. His black eyes shot fire. For a moment, I was afraid that he would refuse my request.

  “I see that you are as stubborn as the rest of your family,” he remarked at last. With a heavy sigh, he moved back to the horses. “Very well. I will take you to see Edward. I only hope that you won’t be sorry.”

  The carriage now moved rapidly away from the ruin of Evangeline, crushing through root and tangled vine. We crossed another wooden bridge, even more worn and shaky than the first had been. The narrow black ribbon of water below was thick with shadows.

  Nicholas sat brooding and silent beside me, paying sharp attention to the horses. It was no matter, for the enthusiasm to chatter had left me. The sight of the charred, broken ruin of a house had left me speechless.

  We moved on through a tangled web of trees. Soon the land cleared, the fields took on a tamer, more cultivated look. Moments later, a rooftop sprang suddenly into view from behind a host of bowing cypress. “Royal Oaks,” Nicholas explained.

  I blinked, almost unwilling to trust my eyes. But what stood before me was no mirage, no illusion. Edward’s large, white-columned house was almost a perfect replica of Evangeline! As we moved in closer, I saw that a few modern touches had been added here and there in place of some of the useless, yet terribly impressive ornamentations that the older house had once boasted. Toward the bayou I could still make out the charred ruin of Evangeline, a silent, watchful ghost that cast a wary shadow from where it stood at the water’s edge. I shivered. Though Edward’s Royal Oaks was no small house, it appeared somehow dwarfed by the ominous, skeletal remains of its sister.

  A short while later, I followed Nicholas up the wide steps of the lower gallery, which someone was still in the process of painting. Rough, splintered boards showed through near the doorway where the painter still had not reached. A trail of glowing white led to a brush and several empty buckets off to the side, but the workman was nowhere in sight.

  Nicholas stepped forward and pounded upon the massive oak door. As it swung open, I caught sight of a pale, slender woman. Her wide green eyes seemed to grow even larger as her gaze swept from me to Nicholas.

  “This is Lydia Dereux, Edward’s wife. Lydia, Miss Louise Moreland,” Nick introduced me, undaunted by her reaction. She was still staring at him, her face drained of color, as if she had just seen a ghost.

  “So pleased to meet you.” The startled eyes showed no such pleasure as she reached out a hand that was as soft and delicate as a sparrow’s wing. Her complexion, too, was lily-white, making the deep green of her eyes all the more vivid. Perfectly styled, red-bronze curls capped the delicate chiseled marble of her fine features to fall in waves over the rose pattern of her high-waisted silk dress. I tried to conceal my surprise. Why, she couldn’t be much over thirty. I had not expected Edward’s wife to be so young.

  “Please—come into the parlor,” she said in a breathless voice, her eyes once more drifting from me back to Nicholas. As she spoke, she leaned momentarily against the carved doorframe as if her frail body needed its support. I wondered if she were suffering from some malady. The pale lips trembled as she said, “I’ll go find Edward.”

  A short time later she returned. At her side walked a stout and sturdy man who I would have recognized, with no introduction, as my uncle Edward. A golden watch chain dangled from the pocket of his waistcoat, catching the light as he stepped over to take my hand in a firm, strong grip. He was just as my mother had described him; a striking man, rather than handsome. His brown hair was barely touched with silver at the temples. Sharp, steely-gray eyes raked over Nicholas. Then he turned to me, studying me unblinkingly, as if the sight of me both pleased and disturbed him.

  I watched thin lips beneath the pencil mustache pull into an oddly familiar smile. A sad, haunting sensation tugged at my heart. Just for a moment, I saw something of my mother in this stranger’s face. “Louise. We’ve been so worried about you.”

  “Then you did receive my wire?”

  “Yes. We sent one of our men out after you last night, but he couldn’t get past the bridge. He had to travel miles out of his way. By the time he got to the dock, you were gone.” His hand still held mine in a tight grip.

  “‘Nicholas came to my rescue soon after the storm began,” I explained.

  Edward’s brow raised. He eyed Nicholas with suspicion. “Then where—”

  “No need for you to
worry, Edward.” Nicholas’s laugh was dry and cold. “Louise spent the night with Cassa, in her cabin.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—“ Edward faltered, turning his attention back to me.

  “I’ve been anxious to meet you and the rest of Mother’s family,” I said, hastily changing the subject. I glanced over at Lydia, who still stood silently at Edward’s side. An unlikely pair, those two, I could not help thinking. Lydia was still a young woman, while Edward, for all his strength and vitality, was old enough to be her father.

  “And then there’s the matter of my inheritance to settle. I’ve seen Evangeline,” I confessed, struggling not to let my bitter disappointment show.

  “Oh, no! Nicholas didn’t—” Edward seemed at a loss for words. “I had planned to take you out there myself. I did try to prepare you in my last letter, once I knew for sure that you were coming. I hope you weren’t too disappointed.”

  “Of course not” I managed softly.

  “The girl had great plans for the house, I’m afraid.” Nicholas contradicted boldly. My eyes met his, silently imploring him to keep my secret, the secret of my grand and foolish dreams. But he continued. “Did you know that she had intended to fix the place up, to make it her home? I think it was damned cruel of you not to tell her about the fire!”

  Edward’s arm went about my shoulder in a consoling manner. “I am truly sorry. I had no idea you were so interested in the old house,” he said, drawing me further into the parlor and away from Nicholas. “It’s only the land, you see, that’s of any real value. I had hoped to have this all settled before you came. That’s why I made you the offer by mail. To spare you al! of this.”

  “I just don’t understand why Grandfather willed me that—that monstrosity!”

  “Do you think it was some kind of jest on his part?” His gray-blue eyes searched my face. “I hope not. You must not think too unkindly of the old man, Louise. He was old and in his dotage. He had lost everything dear to him. His poor mind could never quite accept the destruction of Evangeline. In his mind’s eye, Evangeline remained the glowing symbol of power and wealth that it had always been. He thought—he thought he was giving you a gift of great value.”