The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (19 page)

Quickly, Christine’s hand snaked out to cover the object, and guiltily, as if anxious to conceal it from view. My curiosity was aroused. Was it something that she had taken from my jewelry box? I glanced at her, searching for a telltale brooch or trinket which might have come from the lacquer box. But her only adornment was the ever-present miniature of Elica about her neck.

I was not the only one who had noticed her indiscretion. “What in God’s name are you hiding, Christine?” Edward demanded, turning suspicious eyes upon her.

“It’s—nothing.” She clutched the object even tighter in her fist.

“You’ll show me what you’re hiding or leave the table!”

Reluctantly, she opened her palm to reveal not a piece of costume jewelry but a tiny pouch-like object of dark leather.

“What is it?” Edward asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” Christine replied with a sullen shake of her head.

“It’s a gris-gris,” Ian commented casually, tossing a quick glance at the object in question.

“A what?” Edward demanded in an exasperated tone, as if finding this foolishness unbearable.

“A love charm,” explained Ian, who seemed to be well versed in subjects of this nature. “Who is it for, Christine?” he asked in a teasing manner. “Nathan?”

“None of your damnable business!” Christine muttered under her breath, slipping the pouch back inside of her dress.

“Or is it for Nicholas?” Ian tormented, his eyes suddenly flat and hard. I glanced at Ian in surprise. I had not been aware that he knew Nicholas, or that Christine fancied herself in love with him.

“He’s twice the man you are even if his hands
are
dipped in blood!” Christine retorted angrily.

“That’s enough” Edward snapped, his face suddenly flushed. “I will not tolerate his name being spoken again. Murder is not a very pleasant subject for dinner conversation.”

“There are many unpleasant subjects for conversation around this house,” Ian commented nastily, then was silent as if he feared he might have gone too far for his delicate status as Edward’s guest.

What was Ian doing here? For an infrequent visitor, this nephew of Lydia’s seemed to know much about the family. Uneasily, I recalled my first impression of him. A gambler, my instincts had first warned me. Not to be trusted. I still found his sudden appearance here uncanny. Had Lydia really sent him to watch over me in New Orleans, or had he been following me for a different, more sinister reason?

The strained silence through the rest of the meal was more unnerving than the arguing had been. Though the
la mediatrice
had survived without my help, and the potatoes were delicious, I found that my appetite had completely disappeared. Did this newfound family of mine ever eat a meal in peace?

* * * *

I stood at the entrance to my room, staring in dismay at the jewelry box which lay empty upon the bed. Strands of glittering beads tumbled onto the pale covers, some caught halfway down, others sliding in small, shiny heaps upon the floor. I covered my mouth with my hands to stifle the cry of alarm building in my throat. Who had done this? Anger mingled with fear as I wondered who had violated my room a second time.

The idea that someone might be looking for the family jewels that my mother had been accused of taking made a flush of anger warm my cheeks. What had the intruder expected to discover? Diamonds and rubies? Then they were sure to have been disappointed!

I stepped over to the bed and began to put the contents in order. Then I stopped, noticing the empty place in the open drawer from which the jewelry box had been taken. A quick jolt of surprise filled me. The packet of letters from my grandfather was also missing!

Now I was convinced that it had not been Christine who had been through my things this second time. Christine might have been attracted to the jewelry, but she wouldn’t have been interested in the letters. Someone else must have taken them.

The creak of wood disturbed my troubled thoughts. Nervously, I glanced around me. Was someone still here, hiding in my room? I cast a frightened glance at the huge armoire.

The noise came again, a shuffling sound, near, yet oddly distant. From the other side of the wall, footsteps creaked across a wooden floor. Someone was in the room next to mine!

I stepped over to the doorway and peered out into the corridor. The door to Grandfather’s room was slightly ajar. I ventured down the hallway and stood outside the door, listening. Who could be inside? Quietly, I pushed the door open. That strange, musty odor, a combination of dust and old smoke, filled my lungs.

Heavy curtains filtered just enough light for me to see the contents of the room—the huge four-poster, the large desk, the walls lined to the ceiling with leather volumes. My eyes scanned dark objects, searching for signs of the intruder.

And then I saw him. Near the corner bookcase, a man was kneeling in the darkness, as if in prayer. He was holding something in his hands, close to his face, as if straining to read fine print in the semidarkness. It was Ian.

I stepped nearer, and prepared to confront him.
He must have been the one who searched my room. He must have crept in here to read my stolen letters!

Ian turned, startled. As I took another step in his direction, I saw him push the slim, dark volume he had been holding far back into the obscurity of the crowded shelf. Were my letters hidden inside? He moved toward me, empty-handed, pretending to brush dust from his clothing. His voice was at the same time guilty and accusing. “Louise. What are you doing here?”

“My room’s just down the hallway,” I explained. “I heard a strange noise so I came to investigate.” I glanced about, feeling uneasy. Twilight spilled in through the curtains, casting a muted glow over the contents of the dreary room. “I could ask the same of you.”

That familiar, convincing smile glistened in the darkness. “I got restless sitting downstairs in that stuffy parlor listening to Edward’s endless balderdash,” he explained. “I came up here to—find something to read.” He shrugged, feigning disappointment. “Unfortunately, the old man and I don’t share the same taste in literature. Nothing in here but moldy histories. I like an exciting story.”

“How did you get in? Edward keeps the door locked.”

Ian shrugged. “The door was open.”

“I see.” I could tell by his vaguely uneasy manner that he was lying about his reason for being here. He had been up here searching for something, but I did not believe that it was anything as simple as an adventure tale.

Ian wandered toward the window. “Interesting man, your grandfather,” he commented. He pulled the cord to the draperies to let more light into the room. Evening sunset slipped in through thick, wide windowpanes, spilling orange light over rich tapestries, illuminating dim portraits and scattered objects that had been hidden by the darkness.

“You knew my grandfather, then?” I asked, slightly surprised. Ian seemed to know everyone!

“I was acquainted with him for a brief time. Lydia introduced us, of course. I was there the night Evangeline burned.”

“You were at the masquerade the night of the fire?”

He nodded. “I came with Lydia. She and Elica were great friends back in New Orleans. When Lydia received the invitation to Elica’s wedding, she insisted that I come with her.” Ian wandered aimlessly about as he spoke. “Did you know that Lydia met Edward for the first time at the masquerade? Oh, sorry day! Shortly after, Edward made a special trip to New Orleans to court my lovely auntie, to introduce her to this family of madness—”

“I’ve met Nicholas. I can’t believe the rumors that he started the fire on purpose.”

“Oh, it’s true!” Tawny flecks glittered in Ian’s eyes. “He murdered Elica as sure as I’m standing here.”

“But why? What motive would he have?”

“Elica was not who she pretended to be”

“Oh, I’ve heard the gossip about her questionable bloodline. But surely that would be no justification for murder!”

“How little you know about the arrogant pride of your own family!” He began to move toward me. Though not a large man, his shadow seemed huge against the window. Beyond him, I could see the gardens, the vague outline of the fountain where I was to meet Nicholas tonight. “How little you know about Nicholas Dereux.”

He stood, resting his arm upon a curious, coffin-shaped chest which lay upon the marble-topped table. “At the time, Nicholas had hoped to inherit Evangeline from your grandfather. Do you think he’d have welcomed a black boy for an heir?”

“But Elica had so little Negro blood ...”

Ian’s voice grew ugly. “It only takes a drop to make a black baby. And Nicholas was raised every ounce the Dereux, with the same inbred Creole snobbery, the same pride and ugly temper.”

“I don’t see him that way at all.”

“Then there’s a lot about Nicholas Dereux that you don’t know.” Ian’s thin, tapered hands idly worked the brass catch of the chest upon the table. “He’s two people, Louise. You’ve only seen one of them. I’ve seen them both.”

“What are you saying, Ian?”

“That the stories about him are true. He’s mad, Louise. Mad.”

I stepped back a pace, suddenly catching Ian’s reflection in the gilt-edged mirror beyond the table. He was watching me closely, too closely. Perhaps it was only the aged glass of the mirror that made me imagine a sinister look in his tawny-gold eyes.

He still leaned casually against the marble top, that familiar Cheshire grin widening his lips. “I hope I haven’t frightened you with all this ugly talk. I just wanted to warn you about Nicholas. Lydia fears you might be taken in by his charms like Elica was.”

“Lydia seems overly concerned about my welfare,” I commented wryly. “Having you watch me in New Orleans, and now worrying that I might fall for Nicholas. And yet she’s barely spoken a word to me since I came here. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Lydia’s a fine woman beneath all that silk and satin. Edward keeps her frightened and intimidated.”

Ian’s hands still nervously worked the clasp upon the carved chest. Without warning, the lid suddenly sprang open. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

Reacting to his startled cry, I looked over his shoulder. Then I gasped, recoiling in horror. From the padding of thick velvet, the face of my nightmares stared up at us with a fixed, malevolent grin.

“No need to be upset,
ma chère,”
Ian
soothed. “It’s only a mask, you see? A Mardi Gras mask.” I watched, speechless, as he lifted the hideous thing up from its bed of velvet, then placed it over his face. “Well, how do I look?” He turned to me, his amber eyes filling up the hollow, empty sockets, giving the mask a semblance of life. His laughter beneath the stiff wooden lips was sinister.

I tried to quell the feeling of panic, but seeing him wearing the mask was like reliving that dreadful nightmare. Only now I knew for certain it had been no dream. “Ian, please! Take it off!”

He pulled the wooden mask from his face. Then he looked at me, the mischievous grin on his face slowly fading. “Why, Louise, you look positively green.”

He reached out to me with his free hand. Still hanging stiffly from his other arm was the ghastly face of my nightmare!

“Let me see it,” I said, gathering all of my courage.

Reluctantly, still startled by my initial reaction, he gave the mask to me. I held it in both hands, studying the familiar aspects of that evil visage. The wood was rough, the edges of the mask worn and uneven. A faint odor seemed to permeate from the wood, the smell of the room itself, of smoke and old ashes.

Curiously, I traced the hollowed cheekbones, ran my finger over the grinning, blood-red mouth. There could be no doubt about it. This was the very face that I had seen in my nightmare!

Thick black streams of paint mocked the now-empty eye sockets. I shivered, recalling the burning madness of the eyes behind those dark sockets. It was not the mask itself but the eyes behind it that I feared!

The eyes had been real! But who had put on this dreadful mask to frighten me? It could not have been Ian, for he had not arrived until today. But Lydia could have donned the mask herself to frighten me away.

I thought about Christine and her fondness for pranks. She could just as easily be at the bottom of this. She or her friend Nathan could have put on the mask and slipped into my room to frighten me, then have been scared off by Lydia’s unexpected approach. Or had there been someone else behind the mask? Someone with a more evil motive?

“Looks like Brule’s handiwork,” Ian said, taking the mask back from me. I shivered at the thought that Brule might have been the one who had slipped into my room through the window that night. “Edward often buys from him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Edward hasn’t shown you his mask collection yet? I’m surprised. He’s quite proud of it.”

“Edward collects masks?”

“Yes. I’m certain this is one of Edward’s. Shall we go back downstairs to the parlor?”

“Please, let’s go.” I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Ian followed, still hanging onto the mask. I’ll just drop this by Edward’s study,” he said, the merry twinkle returning to his eyes. He chuckled softly. “Maybe the old fop will want to wear it Mardi Gras night!”

Chapter Thirteen

The pale hue of twilight glowed outside the windows as
I followed Ian down the stairs. Lydia was just below us.
“Tante!”
Ian called to her.

Before she could turn around, Ian raised the Mardi Gras mask playfully to his face. Lydia looked up and her green eyes widened in horror. I could see the pulse rise and fall rapidly in her pale throat. One hand fluttered up as she took a quick step backward, away from us.

“It’s only me!” Ian said, quickly pulling the mask from his face. He had obviously expected her to be delighted or at least amused by his disguise—anything but frightened.

Color returned to Lydia’s face as she made a vain effort to compose herself. She laughed, but her voice was accusing. “Ian, you’ll be the death of me! Where did you get that thing?”

“We found it upstairs. Thought I’d take it down to Edward.”

“He’s gone to his study.”