PHANTOM IN TIME (44 page)

Isabella
squinted at the title as she pulled her reading glasses from the pocket of her
robe.
“Phantom of the French Quarter.
Why, I've heard of it.”

“I
spent much of the day in Audubon Park reading it.”

“And?”

Bella
plopped down on the footstool next to Gran's rocker. “Gran, I know now that my
time with Jacques was real. You see, Peabody uncovered the legend of a woman named
Bella, whom Jacques loved.”

“Good
heaven!”

“He
also feels Bella precipitated Jacques's murder—or perhaps was the murderess
herself.”

Gran
frowned. “My, my! Well, we know that part isn't true, don't we?”

“I’m
certainly not a murderess,” agreed Bella, “but as for my causing Jacques's
death, I'm not so sure. I've feared for some time that I might have unwittingly
driven some other woman to such a rash act.”

Peering
through her glasses, Gran flipped through the book. “What does Professor
Peabody have to say on the subject?”

Bella
shrugged. “The book only poses theories on a number of members of the troupe,
myself included, who may have been responsible for Jacques's death. Peabody
also states that the mysterious 'Bella' disappeared after his murder.”

Looking
perturbed, Gran removed her glasses. “And tonight is the one-hundredth year
anniversary of his death . . . Do you think you can rewrite history, child?”

Bella
laughed. “Gran, you're psychic! I think I must try to go back to him tonight.
The way time has been passing in sync both in the past and the present, I'm
afraid tomorrow will be too late.”

“I
agree.”

Bella
clutched Gran's hands. “Only I feel so torn—assuming I'm even able to travel
through time again. I could provoke his death—”

“Or
you might save him,” finished Gran solemnly.

“That's
exactly the conclusion I reached this afternoon.” Bella breathed a deep sigh.
Anxiously she squeezed Gran's hands. “But how can I leave you?”

Isabella
smiled lovingly at her granddaughter. “You must, dear. Please, don't be
afraid—not for me, or for Jacques. Fear is your worst enemy. Look inside your
heart, child. I think if you do, you'll see that you love the opera, and
Jacques LeFevre, more than you can say.”

The
words brought bittersweet emotion welling in Bella. “I pray that you're right,
Gran.”

“Godspeed,
my child.”

Bella
stood and embraced her grandmother, tears spilling from her eyes. “Always
remember I love you,” she whispered in choked tones. “If I don't see you again,
please tell Mama and Papa that I'll join all of you in heaven one day.”

As
the two women drew apart, Isabella gazed at her granddaughter tenderly. “Who
knows, dear? Transcending the barriers of time and space as you have, perhaps
you'll see Mario and Carmita before I do.”

“Maybe,”
said Bella with bravado. “But I
will
try to get back one last time and
sing for you. I promise I'll try my best.”

Isabella
squeezed Bella's hand and smiled at her through tears. “I know you will,
darling. I know.”

***

“What
on earth do you think you're doing here?” demanded Lesley Litchfield.

Bella
had no sooner entered the theater wings that evening than she ran into the
irate, glowering artistic director.

Stopping
to face him in the narrow corridor, Bella flashed him an apologetic smile. “Mr.
Litchfield, I realize my behavior of late must seem strange—”

He
blinked at her. “Strange? Try bizarre, totally reprehensible! You come and go
with all the careless abandon of Jacques LeFevre's ghost!”

Bella
squelched a smile. “I realize this, but I've been preoccupied by a personal
crisis—my grandmother has been ill, you know.”

Glowering
at her, he drew out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Lord, I'm aware that
Isabella is ailing,” he admitted grudgingly. “But when I called and demanded to
speak to you this last time you disappeared, Isabella insisted
you
couldn't possibly come to the phone.”

Bella's
heart welled with tenderness at Gran's having covered for her again. “Mr.
Litchfield, it's been a difficult time for us all.”

“Indeed
it has,” he replied, stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket.
“Nonetheless, you cannot possibly consider yourself to be still a member of
this company!”

Gathering
her courage, Bella cajoled, “Actually, Mr. Litchfield, I was hoping you might
allow me to perform tonight—”

“Perform?”
Thunderstruck, he waved a hand. “That is preposterous!”

“Please—for
my grandmother's sake.”

Litchfield's
gaze narrowed on her. “Isabella is attending tonight?”

“She
is going to try,” Bella blustered back, hating herself for the lie, but knowing
it was necessary.

Litchfield
regarded her in smoldering silence. Finally he threw out his hands in
frustration. “Very well, you may sing in the chorus one last time—but only for
Isabella's sake. After tonight, kindly clean out your dressing room!”

Bella
heaved a sigh of relief as Litchfield stormed off. She hurried to her dressing
room.

Dixie
eyed her entrance in astonishment. “Bella!” she cried. “It's so good to see
you! The way you keep popping in and out, I never know what to expect anymore.”

“Hi,
Dixie,” Bella said, sitting down at the dressing table and opening her bag.
“Sorry I couldn't speak when you called the other day.”

“Where
on earth have you been?”

Bella
sighed and pulled out her hairbrush. “I don't think I could tell you in a
million years.”

Dixie
shook her head in mystification. “Don't you know we've all been very concerned
about you?”

Bella
touched Dixie's hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. And if I should
disappear again during tonight's performance, please remember I'm okay.”

“Bella!”
Dixie exclaimed, her expression one of wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Please,
just be a friend and don't ask.”

Dixie
gave her a woebegone look.

“I'll
be okay,” Bella reiterated, hoping in her heart that she had spoken the truth .
. .

***

Bella
was overwrought during the performance, wondering if she could make it back in
time to Jacques. Her nerves grew increasingly frayed as the evening dragged on.
What if Jacques were already dead? Every time the scenes changed, she remained
onstage, hoping against hope that she'd be swept away. But no luck. As the
final selections approached, her spirits sagged. Changing into the Victorian
frock she would wear for the finale, she caught a reflection of her worried
countenance in the dressing room mirror.

“Oh,
Jacques,” she murmured. “I'm trying to go back to you—really, I am!”

Hearing
applause thunder from the auditorium, Bella left the dressing room and hurried
toward the entrance to stage right. As she walked onstage, the scene was
changing, “Love's Old Sweet Song” softly playing, the kaleidoscope spinning its
dazzling sprays of light through the shadows—

All
at once a familiar dizziness gripped Bella, and she heard Jacques’s voice whisper,
“Come to me . . .” Joy welled in her heart. At last she would go to him, she
would! She felt herself slipping away—

But
would Jacques be alive or dead? she wondered in anguish. Would she get there in
time to save him?

God
help her, she must! She must have faith and overcome her fear, just as Gran had
urged. She must find Jacques, save him, save their love!

A
moment later, as the whirling stopped, Bella sensed she was back on the
historical stage. The kaleidoscope was still in motion there, sending sprays of
light dancing through the darkness.

Then,
in horror, Bella saw a woman bearing a knife rush toward her out of the looming
shadows—

My
God, she thought. Professor Peabody had been right. She
was
the real
target of the murderer!

Even
as Bella stood frozen in fear, she watched Jacques glide between her and the
advancing woman! Oh, heavens, it was all so unreal, so horrifying, like a
nightmare in slow motion! Jacques was going to try to save her, and would lose
his own life in the process! It would all be her fault!

“No,
Jacques!” she screamed.

But
she was too late! She stared in terror at the knife descending toward Jacques—

And
then, in the nick of time, she saw a giant iron hook on a rope sail across the
stage and hit the attacker in the head! Amid a terrible cacophony, the
would-be-murderess tumbled off the stage into the orchestra pit!

The
lights were raised and a stagehand quickly grabbed the runaway hook. As shocked
gasps rippled over the audience, Bella and Jacques stared at each other in awe
and wonderment.

“Bella,
you’re back!” he cried exultantly. “You’re safe!”

She
flung herself into his arms, and they clung together as others from the company
hurried forward to join them. With a hush falling over the gathering, everyone
turned and stared down at the orchestra pit.

Bella
cried out in dismay, flinging a hand to her mouth. Maria Fortune lay sprawled
on her back at the bottom of the pit between several overturned chairs. Her
head was cocked at an unnatural angle, and the knife was still gripped in her
hand! Near the corpse, several horrified musicians stood tensely whispering to
one another.

“Don't
look, darling,” Jacques urged, turning Bella away from the sickening scene.

She
stared up at him through tears, noting his troubled expression. “Why did Maria
try to kill me?”

He
shook his head in bewilderment and clutched her close.

Etienne
rushed up, flinching at the sight of the fallen prima donna. “My God, what has
happened?”

“Maria
tried to kill Bella,” Jacques told him grimly.

“But
why?”

Claude
Fortune arrived onstage, staring, appalled, at his wife's dead body. “Maria, my
God, no!” he exclaimed, racing off for the orchestra pit amid new, horrified
outcries from the audience.

Etienne
frowned at Jacques.
“Why
would Maria have tried to kill Bella?”

“I
don't know,” he answered.

A
white-faced Toby dashed onstage, making a beeline for Bella. “Bella, are you
all right?”

She
hugged the boy and smiled at him tremulously. “Yes.” Noting his wan
countenance, she snapped her fingers. “Toby, are you the one—”

The
boy glanced at the dead woman and grimaced. He turned to Bella, teary-eyed.
“Yes, I threw the hook that hit her. I had no choice, Bella. Didn't I promise I
would watch out for you?”

“Oh,
Toby!” Bella clutched him close and felt his young body trembling.

“I
had to stop her, Bella,” he whispered convulsively, “or she would have hurt
you. But I didn't mean to kill her—”

Bella
patted his heaving shoulders. “Hush, Toby. It's okay. No one will blame you.
You did what you had to do.”

Jacques
touched the lad’s arm, smiling as the child looked up at him. “Thank you for
saving Bella's life—and my own.”

“You're
welcome, sir,” Toby murmured.

Toby's
parents joined them onstage. After Jacques quickly explained what had
transpired, the Strausses comforted their son and led him away. In the
meantime, the audience sat hushed, horrified as Claude Fortune cried out
piteously from the orchestra pit. He was kneeling by his dead wife, beseeching
her to wake up. Finally, several male musicians began dragging away the
distraught man.

Digging
in his heels, Claude yelled up at Bella, “She did this because of you!”

“What
do you mean?” Bella cried.

“Yes—why
are you attacking Bella?” demanded Jacques.

Claude
stared up at Bella through bitter tears. “Because ever since Maria heard Bella sing,
she has been consumed with jealousy. She became obsessed by you, and told me
she had never heard a voice as brilliant as yours. She knew one day you would
take her place, and it drove her mad.”

As
Bella gasped, Jacques drew her close. “You cannot blame Bella for having a
gift, Claude.”

Claude's
crazed gaze shifted to Jacques. “You're no one to talk, LeFevre. Maria
worshipped your talent, but she knew you would forsake her. It killed her that
you felt Bella outshone her. But she hated Bella most of all. Bella drove her
to this!”

“No,
Claude,” Jacques replied firmly, “Maria did this to herself.”

Bella
trembled in Jacques's arms while Claude was finally led away. Jacques whispered
to her soothingly as Etienne stepped forward to calm the agitated audience.

“Don't
listen to Claude, darling,” Jacques murmured. “You're safe now, and that is all
that matters.”

Bella
smiled at him bravely. “
You're
safe, Jacques. You're alive, with the
time you need to live out your life, your destiny. That's all I ever wanted.”

The
two held each other tightly as the curtains were drawn . . .

Chapter Forty-one

Back
to Contents

“Bella,
tell me you are back with me to stay,” said Jacques.

“I
hope so, Jacques . . . I hope so,” she replied.

Much
later, they lay cuddled together on the settee at Jacques's town house. On the
tea table in front of them, a bottle of champagne stood in a silver ice bucket.
Next to it were two half-filled glasses.

Their
final hours at the opera house tonight had been draining. The police and the
coroner had been summoned, and all the members of the troupe had given
statements regarding Maria Fortune's death. There would be an inquest on
Friday, but from the attitudes of the authorities, Bella assumed the hearing
would be little more than a formality that would fully exonerate Toby Strauss.

Bella
felt supremely grateful and deeply humbled that Jacques's life had been spared.
But there was so much still unresolved between them, such as their future—a future
in which they would rewrite history.