The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (21 page)

As I reached the bottom of the stairway, I saw that the door to Edward’s study was ajar. A kerosene lamp burned upon the desk, illuminating the portrait of Racine. A draft from somewhere deep inside the room made the tiny flame curl and dance.

A banging sound came from inside the study, making my heart leap and pound. Without warning, the door to the little adjoining room where Edward kept his mask collection had suddenly slammed shut.

“Edward?”

No voice replied to my call, yet I knew that someone was in the little room beyond the study. I thought of Nicholas waiting restlessly for me outside. But some instinct told me to have a look inside the study. I felt the presence of an intruder, sensed that something was wrong.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and peered into the little room that harbored Edward’s bizarre collection of masks. A flighty gust of wind tugged at my clothes and hair. The window was wide open.

Disbelief, then a sense of horror gripped me as my gaze moved from that open window to settle upon the wall just above where Edward’s mask collection hung. Between the grinning skull and the bloody face of the dead man hung an empty peg. The voodoo mask was gone!

Chapter Fourteen

Nicholas was sitting upon the stone fountain base, waiting for me. The spread wing of the crouching gargoyle threw part of his face into shadow, making his features blurred and indistinguishable—all but his eyes, which gleamed like quicksilver in the moonlight. Wrapped in his dark cloak, he seemed at one with the elements, the restless night.

“I thought you’d decided not to come,” he said. The cloak swirled about him, making him appear taller in the darkness as he came forward to meet me.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” The ominous words I had read in Grandfather’s journal sent a ripple of fear through my heart. I was reluctant to meet his eyes, afraid that because of my secret knowledge I would find him changed, transformed.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He drew closer still, and a smile lit his dark eyes. No evil stranger, but Nicholas, the same Nicholas who I had grown to like and trust. The smile faded as he studied my face. “You look troubled, Louise. You must tell me what is going on in the house.”

“Lydia’s nephew, Ian Winters, arrived this afternoon,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, as if nothing serious was wrong.

“I know the man.”

“And the packet of letters from my grandfather that Edward gave me—the ones I was going to show to you—have disappeared from my room.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Do you think Ian took them?”

“I don’t know. But this evening I caught him snooping around upstairs. It seems uncanny, my meeting him in New Orleans, and then having him appear at the house so soon.”

A dark brow arched in surprise. “Ian was in New Orleans?”

“Yes, I met him soon after I came off the steamer.” I explained to Nicholas how Ian claimed Lydia had sent him to watch over me.

“I don’t trust him,” Nicholas said shortly.

“Neither do I. But he’s not the one trying to frighten me away. My fall on the horse occurred before Ian had even arrived at the house. And he couldn’t have been the one wearing the voodoo mask.”

“Voodoo mask?” A bright, disturbing gleam flickered in Nicholas’s eyes. “What are you talking about, Louise?”

The breath caught in my throat. How much did I dare tell him when he might be the one behind it all? “My first night in the house, I saw this face in what I thought was a dream.” I could not still the slight tremor of my voice as I described that ghastly face peering down at me, the twisted features and blood-red, evil mouth.

“When I saw the Mardi Gras masks in Brule’s cabin, I realized that the face I had seen in my nightmare was strangely similar to the ones that he had carved. That’s when I began to wonder if what I had seen had been a dream, after all.”

“This evening, when I encountered Ian in Grandfather’s room, we discovered the mask. It was hidden in an old wooden chest. The face was exactly the same as the one that I saw in my nightmare. Only it wasn’t a nightmare—it was real! Someone put the mask on to frighten me—the same person who cut the binding on my saddle. Christine said she saw someone out by the horses when we were at Brule’s cabin, but she didn’t get a good look at them. It could have been either a man or a woman.”

Nicholas’s skin seemed suddenly pale beneath the tumbling darkness of his hair. He must know the mask, recognize it as the one discovered in the ashes after the fire.

“Where is the mask now?”

“Ian took it back to Edward’s study. Only, Nicholas, it’s gone!”

“What do you mean?” His voice was tense with alarm.

“When I passed Edward’s study, I heard the door to the small room slam. The window was open and the mask was gone.”

I saw his jaw clench and tighten. “You must go back inside, Louise. It is getting dark. I will walk you as far as I can without being seen.”

I studied his face in the moonlight, the taut skin over high cheekbones, the strong set of his wary muscles. My voice, startled, frightened, was little more than a whisper. “Do you know who took the mask?”

“I have my suspicions.” The hot glow of his eyes made my knees feel weak and trembly.

“Who, Nicholas?”

He did not answer. “You must go inside,” he said.

I was aware of his closeness, the longing in his eyes as we stood, reluctant to part. My gaze fell upon his full, sensual mouth. And though my conscious mind still heeded my warnings, something deep inside me thought only of what it had been like to be kissed by those hard, searching lips. A part of me remembered his promise of more kisses to come, and would not be denied.

I detected a slight hesitation in his eyes. Then, as if responding to my need, he crushed me hard against him. My lips parted against his, returning his kisses with unbridled passion.

For one long moment we clung together, one shadow in the still, dark night. Then, with an anguished moan, he pushed me away from him.

I stood staring at him, my lips still burning from his kisses. With his wild black hair and melancholy eyes, he seemed to belong to haunted places, to ruined mansions and the night. “I’m sorry, Louise.” He ran a hand through his dark, disheveled hair. His eyes were infinitely sad. “I’m not free to love you.”

The melting warmth of his kisses dissolved into a feeling of dread and fear. There could only by one explanation, and now it made perfect sense to me. “She’s alive, isn’t she? Elica is still alive!”

Roughly, he caught both of my shoulders in his strong arms, his hands biting, painful after the loving embrace. “Never say that, Louise. Never! Elica is dead!”

“Then why do you stay there in that ruined house? Why?”

“There’s a promise I must keep,” he said.

Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “A promise to a dead woman?”

“Louise—” His voice was desperately gentle. “There’s so much that you don’t understand about my relationship with Elica—my past.”

“Maybe I understand more than you think I do.” In anger I took the little black journal from my pocket and, from memory, quoted the words that I had read there.
I
must talk to her tonight. Before the wedding. Before it is too late!

I saw Nick’s face pale at the words. His eyes were blacker than the night. ‘Where did you get that?”

“I found it in Grandfather’s room. It’s his journal.”

He stared at the journal, stricken.

“I need to know the truth, Nicholas. No matter what it is. I want to know what really happened the night of the fire.”

“I’m sorry, Louise.” He turned his gaze away from me. “I’m not able to tell you—not yet.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Then there can be no future for us.”

“Louise, darling, you don’t understand—” He reached his arms out toward me, and it took all of my willpower not to go back into them.

“No, Nicholas! Not until I know the truth.” Blindly, I rushed away, leaving him standing motionless near the winged gargoyle. He made no effort to follow, only stood staring after me as if he, too, had turned to stone.

For an endless time, I wandered restlessly through the garden, following the circular stone path. An image of Elica rose up in my mind, laughing, tormenting me. Nicholas’s words kept coming back t o haunt me “I’m not free to love you—not free to love you.”

I remembered Nicholas’s startled, angry reaction when I had told him that I believed Elica was still alive. It had to be so! Despite what I had read in Grandfather’s journal, I could not believe that Nicholas had killed her. He must be hiding her there in the old house, then, trying in some way to protect her. Elica
must
be alive!

I turned and walked back the way I had come, intending once more to beg Nicholas to tell me the truth. I wound my way through mimosa, oleander, and rose vine, back to the fountain. My heart sank. Only the grinning gargoyle waited to greet me. Nicholas was gone.

I sank down upon the stone bench, staring off into darkness, hoping that he would come back. But the longer I waited, the less likely his return seemed. The wind upon my hair and face carried beads of dampness.

Wearily, I rose and with heavy steps moved back toward the house. I hadn’t gone far when I sensed that I was not alone. Someone or something was following me through the garden.

I spun around just in time to see a distinct movement in the tall oaks behind me.

“Nicholas, is that you?” I whispered. My voice sounded thin and frightened in the darkness.

“Nicholas ...” But there was no reply. The rustling had stopped. Probably just a bird or night creature, I told myself. Yet an image of that empty peg where the voodoo mask had hung made my imagination suddenly run wild.

Taking a deep breath, I began to quicken my pace as I hurried along the rough stone path toward the house.

Suddenly, it came again. My nerves on edge, I whirled around, and this time I saw a dark shape blend into the shadow of the tall bushes that edged the path.

“Who’s there?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice from growing shrill. My heart froze as a low, chuckling sound answered my call. Horror twisted my stomach as the sound seemed to grow all out of proportion. It was the laugh of a lunatic, mindless and hollow.

And then I saw him.

“No!” A choked cry escaped me. It couldn’t be! Surely my mind was playing tricks on me! My legs were frozen to the spot, refusing to obey my command to run as the dark shape moved quickly toward me. A figure wrapped in a black cloak. My eyes were riveted to the pale, unyielding shield that covered the face—the black-rimmed eyes, the blood-red, evil mouth of the voodoo mask.

The black-cloaked figure sprang out unto the path, blocking my way. “Give me the journal!” The voice behind the mask was muffled and distorted, impossible to recognize. With one quick movement, the intruder grasped my shoulders, shaking me fiercely.

“The journal! Where is it?” In terror, I fought to push away the strong hands that now sought to clamp around my throat. I could feel my own grip weakening, giving way until angry fingers found their mark, pressing with brute strength against my windpipe. Spots of black dimmed my vision as I struggled to free myself from those merciless hands.

Fear gave me the strength to break away from that crushing death embrace. Bursts of pain pulsated in my throat with every breath as I fled, without looking back, toward the house. With shaking fingers, I opened the hallway door, let myself inside, and secured the lock behind me.

The wild pounding of my heart filled the empty hall. Breathless, I stood leaning against that locked, closed door, my fingers curled tightly around the journal still tucked safely in my coat pocket. Then I hurried away to the sanctuary of my room.

* * * *

It might not have been Nicholas behind the mask. I clung to these words like a drowning man clings to a raft—they were my only source of hope as I inspected my bruised throat above the white dressing gown. Two faint, plum-colored marks the shape of thumbs discolored the skin. I would have to wear a scarf tomorrow, or answer many questions I would rather leave unasked.

Still feeling weak and shaky, I sat huddled in front of the small fireplace, glad that one of Mrs. Lividais’s daughters had remembered to light the fire. The night was not cold, but there was a dampness in the air, a dampness beneath my skin that reflected the cold fear in my heart. My aching throat was a constant reminder of the attack on my life. I shivered at the thought of those angry, bruising hands. If I had not broken free, I was certain those hands would have choked the life from me. I would not let myself believe that the brutal hands belonged to Nicholas!

But if not Nicholas, then who else could it have been? Ian also knew about the journal. And he had been in the study when Edward had put the mask back in its place. Had Ian seen me go out into the garden to meet Nicholas? Had he slipped on the mask and a dark cloak, then concealed himself in the trees, waiting?

Edward also had been in the study when Ian returned the mask. Unless Ian had told him, he didn’t know about the journal. But he could have been hiding in the garden, listening to Nicholas and me talk.

Anyone could have been listening. Anyone listening would have known that I had the journal. I stared down at the black, frayed book in my hands. Someone wanted it badly enough to kill to get it back!

My fingers trembled as I opened the book that had almost cost me my life. I felt compelled to read the remaining entries, to disclose the secrets of the book’s pages. I suppressed a little shiver, remembering what I had read earlier. Did I really want to know the truth?

I flipped through the blank, yellowed pages until I came to the spot where the faint penstrokes started up again. These entries, separated from the first part of the journal, had been added at a much later date. The first of them was dated only two months ago—just shortly before my grandfather’s death. I glanced down, startled at the sight of my own name.

Sept. 3, 1880: Today I wrote Louise one last letter. She must reply soon as there is so little time! Could it be that she has inherited her grandfather’s stubbornness—has she ignored my urgent pleas? Ah, this family pride has cost us dear! The lives that have been touched by it! So many things to regret! So many mistakes! If only I had known then what I know now. My darling May didn’t take the jewels—HE did!