Tears of Gold (65 page)

***

Nicholas was bedridden with fever for several days, while the storm continued its deluge. Even Sandrose felt its full fury as the water crept slowly and steadily higher, but the tall pilings kept Sandrose above its damaging effects. What had happened to Beaumarais and Alain no one knew, and only Etienne, perhaps, cared about the fate of his son.

Mara stared into the flames of a cheery fire burning in the parlor fireplace. The house was unusually quiet, for Sandrose was still full of guests, but it was too early in the morning for most of them to be stirring. She found the house silent and peaceful.

Mara walked over closer to the brightly burning logs and held out her hands, rubbing them together. The brown velvet of her jacket soaked up the heat as she stood before the crackling fire. The flames threw a flickering light across her pale features as she stared morosely into them and thought of Nicholas lying helplessly upstairs. She had been able to see him only once, and that was only because she’d gone in during the late-night hours when the house slept and Amaryllis’s vigilance had been slack. For Amaryllis had left strict orders that Nicholas not be disturbed, and had allowed no one but herself access to his room.

Mara had selected her moment carefully and slipped inside the room silently, so as not to disturb the sleeping maid sitting in a chair near the bed. She had gazed down lovingly on his face, longing to reach out and touch the familiar features, but she had contented herself to stand beside his bed and watch over him for a few precious, stolen moments. Nicholas was going to be all right. He was a strong man and had fought off the deadly poison. Now he just needed to rest.

“Mademoiselle O’Flynn.”

Mara turned abruptly. She waited expectantly, her hands clasped nervously together as she watched Amaryllis walk casually into the room.

“You are up early, mademoiselle,” she said as she imperiously gestured for the maid who had followed her into the room to place the tea service near the sofa.

Amaryllis glanced up at Mara invitingly, a warm smile curving her mouth softly and making her look unbelievably beautiful. She was dressed in a morning gown of pale aqua with a wide, low neckline trimmed in elegant lace. The golden curls framing her face were held in place by two jeweled combs.

“Since you are English,” Amaryllis began, and her tone sounded very condescending to Mara’s sensitive ears, “I thought you might enjoy a cup of tea. That is one thing I admire about the English, that over a simple cup of tea they can sip away a rather uncomfortable situation. So civilized, wouldn’t you say, mademoiselle?” Amaryllis inquired as she poured a steaming cup and handed it across to Mara.

Mara took a sip, her eyes glowing strangely as she replied politely, “A trifle weak I’m afraid, but quite palatable.”

The half-smile curving her lips widened slightly at the look of discomfiture that momentarily crossed Amaryllis’s perfect features. Brendan would have been proud, Mara thought with amusement. She took another sip and returned Amaryllis’s look inquiringly.

Amaryllis’s pale blue eyes narrowed with determination as her lips twisted into a tight smile. “I had hoped to save you any embarrassment, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” she began tentatively, as though extremely uncomfortable about what she must say, but Mara was not fooled. Amaryllis was not a very good actress. “But when a guest overstays his welcome, I’m afraid it is the hostess’s unpleasant duty to have to ask them to leave.”

Mara controlled her start of surprise well as she stared without blinking into Amaryllis’s eyes. “I see. I do apologize for having not realized sooner that I was becoming an inconvenience to you. But I couldn’t leave without knowing that Nicholas would recover.”

“Quite,” Amaryllis agreed, smiling with understanding, “and it is most admirable of you. But as you well know, Nicholas will recover fully. Of course, he will need rest, and what better place than at Sandrose where he will be given all the love and care he could wish for,” Amaryllis told Mara, her meaning clear.

“I see,” Mara said softly.

“I’m sure you do, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” Amaryllis replied eagerly. “You strike me as a very level-headed and understanding woman who knows something of the ways of the world. I will not pretend ignorance of the relationship that existed in the past between you and Nicholas, for I know that he is not a man to be denied, nor one to be turned down, whatever offer he makes. But you must have realized that it could only be a temporary arrangement, especially now that he has returned to Beaumarais, and to me. You can no longer have a place in his life.”

“Nicholas and I have always known where we stand with each other,” Mara said in such a cool voice and with such unconcern that Amaryllis was momentarily disconcerted, not realizing that it was taking every ounce of the young Irishwoman’s acting ability not to give away her feelings. It was Mara’s greatest performance, and would not be equaled ever again. “He need not have sent an emissary in his stead. It was quite unnecessary, for I had already made plans to leave Beaumarais as soon as possible. In fact, Nicholas and I had discussed the matter just a few days ago.”

“My dear,” Amaryllis reassured Mara with a patronizing look, “of course he didn’t need to send me, but you see it was precisely because he was worried about you that he asked me to have a private word with you. He’s been so ill that it hasn’t been wise for him to see anyone. He will have to stay in bed for at least a week. So I’m afraid it has been impossible for him to speak with you personally. He wished to, my dear, but that is quite out of the question.

“He really hates to see you wasting your time around here when he knows how much you wish to return to New Orleans, and then from there to—where was it? Oh, yes, England? You will have noticed that the floodwaters are rapidly receding and already many of my guests are making plans to return to New Orleans. Edward, Mr. Ashford has already sent for the riverboat. In fact,” Amaryllis paused meaningfully, “if you can manage to be ready it should be here tomorrow morning.”

Mara eyed Amaryllis through lazily lowered lids. Had she not already made her decision to leave Nicholas, then nothing Amaryllis could have said or done would have driven her from his side. Amaryllis would have had to fight for Nicholas’s affections, and Mara O’Flynn was an adversary the gentle-bred Amaryllis St. Laurens had not met the likes of before.

But this was the chance Mara had been waiting for. She would be able to leave Nicholas’s life without his knowing of her love for him…or the child she carried. Yes, she would leave tomorrow. Mara wasn’t surprised to hear that Edward Ashford would be leaving as well, for Amaryllis’s treatment of him the past few days had been nothing short of rude, now that she had Nicholas within her reach.

As Amaryllis saw the half-smile on the Irishwoman’s lips, she started to pat Mara’s hand, then thought better of it as she caught the warning glint in her tawny eyes. “My dear, to be perfectly frank, I’d really prefer not to have one of Nicholas’s ex-mistresses attending the wedding. We will be getting married as soon as possible. We are a bit provincial here in Louisiana, especially upriver here on our plantations. I’m sure it would offend most people to have you still here.”

With admirable control Mara placed her teacup and saucer down on the table as she smiled across at her hostess. “I do understand completely, my dear. I’m sure you know as well as I do how fond memories of the past have a way of lingering on,” Mara said with a commiserating look at Amaryllis. She stood up. “And I should really hate to be a constant reminder to Nicholas of,” Mara paused delicately, her cheeks flushed slightly from the fire, “other times.”

Amaryllis stared up at the beautiful Irishwoman in growing fury. “Will you need assistance in your packing, mademoiselle?” she inquired stiffly.

Mara shook her head. “I think not, thank you. I assume you have arranged for my travel accommodations?”

“You may rest assured that there will be space for you on the boat, Mademoiselle O’Flynn,” Amaryllis promised her.

“Thank you,” Mara murmured with a light smile, “you are too kind, madame.”

Amaryllis stared in frustrated rage at the door that had closed behind the regal figure of that infuriating Irishwoman. She had the distinct impression that she had been bested during the exchange. Yet, Mara O’Flynn was leaving Sandrose—and Nicholas. That was the only important thing, Amaryllis reassured herself.

Chapter 15

“Well, ’tisn’t the St. Louis Hotel, for sure,” Jamie said disagreeably as she looked around the dingy room. Its paint was peeling off in long strips across the walls. A chipped washbasin and matching pitcher sat squarely in the center of a scarred table. “I’ve seen better places along the docks in Dublin.”

Mara sent Jamie an exasperated look but could really find nothing to say. The hotel room was deplorable, but what could she expect for next to nothing. And that was about what she had in her purse. Her last few dollars had gone for these cheap lodgings and food and would have to meet their demands for the next few days.

Mara sank down on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. If she could barely afford to pay for this rat-infested hole, how could she hope to find enough money for their fares to England? Mara felt the bed sag beside her and glanced down fondly at Paddy’s dark head.

“I don’t like this place, Mara,” he said unhappily. He looked up at her with big brown eyes full of puzzled reproach. “Why did we leave Uncle Nicholas? I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye. I would’ve too,” he told her earnestly, his eyes full of bright tears. “I wasn’t still mad at him, really I wasn’t. Do you think he knows I still like him, Mara?” he begged.

Mara hugged him close. “Of course he does. He understands that we had to leave, and since he was ill, he knew he wouldn’t be able to see you to say good-bye.”

Paddy hunched his shoulders dejectedly, his lower lip jutting out as he tried to control its trembling. “I don’t see why we had to go. Didn’t he want us?”

Mara ignored Jamie’s snort and said simply, “We didn’t belong there, Paddy, me love. But soon we’ll be back in London, where we do belong. Then everything will be all right, you just wait and see,” Mara promised.

She reluctantly got to her feet, her eyes straying to their trunks piled high in the corner of the small room. “It’s too late today, but tomorrow I shall have to see about raising the money for our passage.”

“And how d’ye reckon on doin’ that, missie?” Jamie demanded gloomily.

Mara chewed her lip thoughtfully, then spoke confidently. “I’ll sell what jewelry I have. It’s good quality. It should bring something.”

Jamie sniffed, leaving Mara in little doubt of her opinion on the success of that venture. With a determined stride, Jamie walked over to her small trunk and, quickly unlocking it, dug down deep inside. Mara watched in puzzlement. Holding herself proudly, she marched over to Mara. Taking her slender hand, she turned it over and placed a small bag in Mara’s palm.

“Never had much need of spendin’ me earnings all these years. And knowin’ Master Brendan the way I did, well, I always thought I might have need of it someday to get him out of trouble. When he struck it rich in California, he was more than generous with me, to be sure. He was practically throwing it away, that he was! So I’m figurin’ now’s as good a time as any to be usin’ it,” Jamie said. Her tone of voice brooked no argument.

Mara stared down at the plump bag that contained the little woman’s lifetime savings.

“Jamie,” Mara whispered as she reached out and wrapped the startled woman in a warm embrace, the first such gesture Mara had made toward her since her mother had died in Paris. “Oh, Jamie, I can’t accept such a sacrifice from you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Jamie sniffed and drew herself up as much as she could, her thin chest puffed out with indignation. “I’ll be the judge of what’s fair or not, and I can be doin’ whatever I please with me earnings. If ye won’t be acceptin’ them, well,” she thought quickly, “then I’ll be spendin’ the money on a fur stole and muff, and maybe even a diamond tiara. Damned if I can’t see it perched on me gray curls now!”

“Very well then, Mistress Jameson,” Mara declared in mock severity, “since ye be part of the O’Flynn family, ye might as well have your say. Let’s count this out and see how much we have.”

“’Tisn’t a fortune,” Jamie cautioned her. She watched nervously as Mara opened the pouch. “But ’twill get us out of New Orleans.”

Mara stared down at the jumble of money spread out in her lap, surprised at the amount. She hadn’t really believed that Jamie could have this much. It was indeed no fortune, but it would pay for more than half the cost of their fares.

Mara looked up, a wide smile curving her lips, and at her expression Jamie sighed in satisfied relief. For the first time in her life, Jamie felt a real part of the O’Flynn family.

“Gee, Jamie’s rich, Mara,” Paddy exclaimed in awe as he fingered the pile of money.

“’Tis good money paid for honest work done,” Jamie told him, secretly pleased to be the center of attention. “Ye be rememberin’ that, Master Paddy.”

“Someday I’m going to be rich too, only I’m going to have even more money than this,” he proclaimed with an arrogant tilt of his chin, looking just like Brendan.

Mara pushed back his disorderly curls and silently promised herself and Paddy that he would be different from Brendan, that he would never have to resort to dishonest means, or even have to use his handsome face to achieve his goals. Paddy would have it differently. He must—as would her own child.

With the money from Jamie’s savings and the small amount she’d received from the sale of her jewelry, Mara arranged passage on a ship bound for London, setting sail at the end of the week.

They managed quite well through the following days as they dined only once a day in a small restaurant near their hotel, and made do with fruits and bakery goods from the French Market for their other two meals.

Mara realized as she began to feel the tightness of her clothes that a few additions to her wardrobe would be necessary if she were to have anything to wear in the months to come. She found a dressmaker near the French Market who could make her several inexpensive gowns that would accommodate her thickening figure. But even at that low price she had been frightened by the cost. It was dark when Mara left the dressmaker’s shop. It had been her last fitting, and a few minor adjustments had had to be made before she saw the gowns wrapped securely and exchanged for her money. With the package tucked beneath her arm, she made her way across the dark marketplace, now deserted.

The empty stalls gaped at her as she turned quickly up one of the narrow streets surrounding the square and hurried along the slippery banquette. A light drizzle began to fall and she heard laughing voices raised loudly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see a crowd of revelers, their faces concealed beneath strange masks, parading through the middle of the street. They stopped briefly beneath an iron-grilled balcony and called up to a young woman leaning over the railing, a lacy fan hiding the lower portion of her face as she flirted with them from the safety of her balcony high above the street.

Mara continued on, noticing more and more groups of noisy people crowding onto the narrow streets. Dressed in her dark, enveloping cape, she drew little attention from the garishly garbed masqueraders, some staggering already from the effects of their merrymaking, some still strong of voice as they serenaded their way through the old French Quarter. So this was what the season of Mardi Gras was all about. Mara remembered hearing about it from the guests at Sandrose, some of whom had seemed unable to talk of anything else.

As she crossed an intersection, her hurrying figure caught the attention of several masked men, their faces hidden behind grotesquely painted facades that leered nightmarishly in the light from the flaming torches carried by the carousers.

“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!
Où allez-vous? Attendez-moi!
” one of the costumed figures called out to her disappearing figure.

Mara left the revealing light and began to run along the narrow street near where she thought the hotel was. She was breathing heavily and felt a stitch in her side. She halted to catch her breath beneath the shadowy overhang of a balcony. Mara heard calling and looked nervously back down the street to see dark shapes moving along it. They were searching for her.

With a deep breath she pushed herself away from the cold stucco of the wall and disappeared into a narrow alley, leaving her seekers combing the street behind. She stumbled more than once in the darkness of the garbage-strewn alleyway but continued despite her tiredness. When she stepped out onto a street at the far end, she knew she was lost.

She glanced around frantically. It was so dark and the drizzle had now turned into a steady rain, the thunder that rumbled overhead promising more. Mara shivered with cold and fear as she saw the flickering torches dancing along the houses at the far corner of the street, and she turned in the opposite direction and headed into the darkness. Fifteen minutes later, or maybe a half an hour—Mara didn’t know how long—but she stopped at a corner and looked around hopelessly. Where was she? She quickly stepped back into the shadows as a group of people paraded harmlessly past. It was then that she saw the street sign illuminated by their torches and remembered Françoise Ferrare. She lived along this street. Mara noticed the flower cart sitting on the opposite corner, torches lighting up the woman’s display and guiding the merrymakers to her flowers. Mara laughed shakily as she realized she couldn’t be far from Françoise’s house. She trudged along the street, her package weighing heavily in her tired arms.

Suddenly Mara felt something grab her. She let out a scream as she stared up into a hideous face with bright red cheeks and bulging eyes, the nose sticking out half a foot. Sharp teeth glinted from a distorted, grinning mouth.

Mara couldn’t even hear her own scream of terror as her heart pounded deafeningly in her chest. The monster’s hands seemed to claw at her, swinging her around and around until she stared up dizzily into its demoniacal face. Mara glanced around wildly as she tried to fight free of the creature. She pushed and scratched at his scaly body, finally freeing herself as he fell back laughing. Without bothering to retrieve her fallen package, Mara ran as fast as she could up the street.

It was then that she saw the fence, and through the trees the pink shutters gleaming softly. With a deep sob she pushed against the gate, and it was then that she felt the first deep stab of pain inside her. Doubling over as it spread through her body, she staggered into the quiet darkness of the garden and then forced herself up the steps to the front door. She fell against it, sagging to her knees as if in prayer. “Oh, God, no. Please. I mustn’t lose his baby, please, no,” Mara clearly heard herself pleading before she gave in to the wave of blackness waiting to engulf her.

***

Mara opened her eyes to see daylight streaming in through the windows. She wondered where she was, for the room was strange to her. It was a beautiful bedchamber decorated with gold-flocked wallpaper and blue-and-gold-striped, satin-upholstered chairs. Mara glanced up at the matching blue and gold canopy above her head and sighed. She breathed the light lavender scent of the lace-edged pillows, allowing her mind to drift aimlessly until she heard the door open. Looking up, she saw Françoise framed in the doorway. Suddenly the events of the night before came flooding back to her, and she gave a wounded cry as her hands reached down to where her baby should be.

“I’ve lost it, haven’t I?” she cried out as Françoise hurried into the room, a look of concern crossing her beautiful face. “It’s gone. I killed it, didn’t I? I resented it at first, maybe even hated it. But I didn’t really mean it. Oh, God, I’ve lost Nicholas’s baby,” Mara cried in anguish.

Françoise pulled up a chair, and grasping Mara’s fluttering hands, she held them between hers. “No!” she told her firmly, her eyes bright. “You have not lost
le petit bébé
. He is still with you, ma chérie.” Taking Mara’s hand, she placed it over her stomach. “See, it begins to show. It is no longer flat, and soon he will grow so big you will come to despair of it,” Françoise laughed softly, her blue green eyes gentle.

Mara swallowed painfully on the tears that would not come. “I didn’t lose it,” she breathed.

“No, you didn’t lose him,” Françoise repeated firmly, relieved to see the despair leave Mara O’Flynn’s eyes. “But you gave me such a scare. Mon Dieu,” she said shaking her head, “but I thought you were dead. Never have I seen such a sight as you crumpled up on my front doorstep. I think I must have aged a lifetime when I heard you.”

“I’m sorry, but I was lost, and those horrible people were out there in the most hideous masks. I was frightened,” Mara admitted, slightly shamefaced. “I just don’t know what came over me. And then when I thought I was losing the baby…” she trailed off, the pain of it still showing in her eyes.

“Oh, ma chérie,” Françoise scolded her gently, “what on earth were you doing out so late? This is the worst time of the year to be on the streets at night.”

“I had to pick up some gowns from the dressmaker. I didn’t realize it would be like that out on the street. I know it is festival time, but still—they were so
wild
.” Mara shuddered.

“It is this way every year around the Mardi Gras time. Some years are worse than others, for it is the season for festivals and balls, and a lot of carousing in the streets. No respectable person would be caught out on the streets at night during all of January, especially a woman. There are usually private balls and parties to attend, but for some it is just a chance to dress up in costumes so no one will recognize their foolish faces when they romp drunkenly through the streets making noise and trouble. It is bad sometimes and people usually end up fighting and getting hurt. This is just the beginning too, I’m afraid,” Françoise said with a look of disgust. “It will continue for many days and nights.”

Mara glanced down at her hands, twisting them uncomfortably as she realized that Françoise might not know about Alain and all that had occurred at Beaumarais.

“You left Sandrose rather suddenly, causing quite a stir I believe,” Françoise spoke suddenly.

Mara glanced up. “Then—”

Françoise nodded sadly. “Yes, I know of Alain.”