The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (25 page)

I nodded, not daring myself to speak.

“Come closer, Louise, so that you can hear my version of the story.” Cold sweat made a sudden dampness upon my forehead as I obediently moved toward him.

“Elica was not who she pretended to be. I made a trip to New Orleans to verify the facts. I saw a portrait of her mother there. She was a very beautiful quadroon.” He turned to me, the corners of his lips curving into a smile, a skeleton of a smile laced with bitterness. “But, of course, you already knew that! And who told you? Surely not Edward. Dear Edward and his damnable family pride! And not Lydia. She loved Elica too much to reveal her pitiful secrets. Was it Christine, then?” He gave a rueful laugh. “Of course not. I doubt that she even knows herself.” A dark brow arched slightly. “But I am forgetting Mrs. Lividais. Now, who could keep a secret from Mrs. Lividais?”

He leaned close to me, so close that I was overpowered by his nearness. The hand that still gripped the edge of the scorched balustrade tightened. It was a strong hand, and powerful. “And the rest?” His eyes were shiny sparks in the darkness. “If you’ve heard one rumor, surely you’ve heard them all.” His laughter echoed eerily in the total silence that surrounded us. “Well, Louise, what do you think? The black eyes searched mine, the dark spot in his left eye, the devil’s mark, seeming to grow larger. “Do you believe me capable of murder?”

I saw pain in his tense expression, pain masked by his mocking arrogance. “You do not need to answer,” he continued softly. “Your expression—it speaks for you.” Abruptly, he turned away. “Damn!” I heard him swear, and his hand came down with crashing force against the edge of the staircase.

He moved to the top of the stairs, where he paced like a caged lion. Then he disappeared inside Elica’s room. I entered to find him standing by the window, partly in light, partly in shadow. Angel or demon? The thought came to me without words as I took a hesitant step toward him.

“I want to believe in your innocence,” I said.

He spun around to confront me, unbelieving. Then a faint ray of hope flickered across his gaunt face, softening the tight mouth, putting light back into those fathomless black eyes. “No matter what you have heard? In spite of what they must have told you?”

“Yes.” My voice was barely a whisper. I was remembering my grandfather’s journal and the words I had seen written there—words that were almost tangible proof that Nicholas Dereux had murdered his wife!

“Then I shall tell you the rest of what I know.” He ran a hand through his thick, unruly hair in a slightly distracted manner. “I met Elica in New Orleans ...”he began, his voice seeming to come from far away. “Only now I realize that ours was no chance meeting. She must have sought me out. There is so much I am just beginning to discover about her—so much I am only now starting to piece together.

“I didn’t find out until the eve of our wedding who she really was,” he continued. “It was your grandfather who first recognized her. Yes, it was Raymond Dereux who warned me—”

But of course I had known. Wasn’t it all written there, just as he was telling it, in the old man’s journal? I was suddenly afraid of what might come next. Was his talk leading up to some terrible confession? What if, here in this room where Elica had died, he began to reveal to me the details of his hideous, unforgivable crime?

My voice was barely a whisper. “Who was she, Nicholas? This woman—your wife. What was her secret?”

“Angelica Robinette by birth; Elica Robbins, as I knew her.” I caught my breath at the stark look of anguish in his eyes. “She was Racine Dereux’s mistress!”

“His mistress!” I cried out in total astonishment. “But how could that be?” I suppressed a tiny shiver of fear. The woman he loved—the man he envied.

“I will try to explain. You must remember that all of this happened nearly fifteen years ago—during the war.” Again, he began to pace before the window. “But to fully understand, we will have to go back even farther, to the time when the South was in its glory and your grandfather was a young man. You see, in those days, it was quite common for the son of a wealthy plantation owner to take a free woman of color for a mistress. Your grandfather Raymond had such a woman. No doubt he was introduced to—this woman at one of the fabulous quadroon balls in New Orleans.”

“Quadroon balls?”

“A rather quaint southern tradition. These dances were extravagant social affairs where men from well-to-do families came to be introduced to beautiful, light-skinned young ladies of color. They would choose from them, if they so desired, a mistress.”

Nicholas inclined his head slightly toward me. “Are you shocked? You needn’t be.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “Being a mistress to some wealthy planter was no disgrace. In fact, many young women were dressed up in their finery and escorted to the elite balls by their own mothers. The mothers themselves often were, or had once been, the mistresses of white men. They knew how a good ‘second marriage’ to the right man could secure a young girl’s future. It could exchange a life of drudgery for one of silks and satins.”

He continued with a weary sigh. “Elica was the daughter of such a mother. Her father was a local plantation owner. Elica had so little Negro blood in her that her skin was as white as a lily’s; yet in the eyes of the law she was still a woman of color.” He shook his head sadly. “Educated in France, trained from early childhood for the genteel life of mistress to some wealthy planter—”

“I still don’t understand—”

“By the time the war broke out, the quadroon balls had more or less come to an end. With war so rapidly approaching, few men could afford the time or luxury of a mistress. Many young women of color, some of them quite innocent, were forced by desperation into gambling salons and whorehouse stables.” He paused before adding, “The woman who had once been your grandfather’s mistress, by her own choosing, ran such a place.”

“How—how do you know?”

“Dominique’s, it is called. In New Orleans. I spoke to her there.” He smiled faintly at the recollection. “A bold, earthy woman, this Dominique, but not without heart. She took me into her chambers and there she told me Elica, or Angelica’s, story.

“Angelica was little more than a frightened child when Dominique took her under her protective wing. Her mother was dead, her father refused to acknowledge her existence. The girl was well bred and delicate—too delicate, Dominique thought, for the life of a common whore. She spoke to your grandfather about her.

“During a lull in the fighting, your grandfather introduced the two of them, Racine and Angelica. She must have been all of fourteen when Dominique and Raymond Dereux set her up in a little room above the gambling house to become Racine’s mistress,” Nicholas finished with a heavy sigh.

“How terrible.”

“Not when you consider her options.” His smile was ghastly. “One man—or the life of a prostitute. Who can blame her?”

I did not think that Nicholas held her to blame. But could he have forgiven her?

“What else did you find out?”

He shrugged. “Nothing more.”

“How long did their—relationship continue?”

“The war was raging all around New Orleans by then. It was hard to trace Racine’s movements. No doubt he spent time with her when he was nearby.” Nicholas paused slightly. “At least until he married.”

“Married?”

“Edward wanted an heir. He had been pressuring Racine to find a wife. He was married in New Orleans in the heat of the war. The woman chose to stay with her own family while Racine was away at war. She was in poor health, and died in childbirth.”

“And that child was Christine!”

“Yes, Christine, and not the son Edward wanted. But the news of Racine’s death made her precious to him. That’s why Edward brought her here.”

“What happened to Elica?”

“Who knows?” He made a dismissing gesture. “She wasn’t heard of again for over fourteen years—until she appeared to me under the guise of someone else.”

“But when she came here, wasn’t she afraid of being recognized?”

“She was older, wiser, more sophisticated. Somewhere along the way she had learned that she could better her situation if she passed for white, as many a light-skinned lady of color chooses to do. She had a new identity, a new life. Your grandfather and Racine Dereux were the only members of the family who knew of her existence. Racine was dead, and Raymond was old and feeble. Their meeting had probably been brief in the first place. Perhaps she thought that he would not remember her. And if he did, who would believe him?”

“Such a strange story. I have to wonder, Nick, why—”

“Did she seek me out knowing that I was Racine’s cousin? Why did she risk everything by returning?” His deep voice had risen slightly. “Don’t you think I’ve asked myself those same questions a thousand times? Was it revenge upon the family that she wanted? Racine was a cruel man, perhaps a violent lover.” He was pacing again. “No, there had to be another reason.” I could see pain in his eyes, the reflection of a deep hurt. “Whatever her reasons, I knew that it was never love for me.”

With a faint tremor in my voice, I asked, “Did you love her, Nicholas?”

He moved abruptly away from me, toward the window. His face was obscured by shadows. Only the stiffness of his broad shoulders betrayed the slightest hint of emotion. “At first I was captivated, intrigued, by her. Later, when I suspected that she was using me, I began to hate her.” When he turned back toward me, I was alarmed by the change in his dark features. His eyes had grown savage. “But I didn’t kill her!”

Fear made a hard knot in my stomach. My voice was shaky, trembling. “How do you know that she was murdered?”

Once again, restless hands shifted through the tumbled thickness of his hair. “I went up to this room twice that evening. The first time, I was an anxious bridegroom of only a few hours. Elica had slipped away from the masquerade ball after just a few dances. A long time elapsed and still she didn’t return. I was getting worried, so I went up to see what was delaying her. I started to knock upon her door when I heard voices whispering to each other from inside. Angry, muffled voices. I knew someone was there in the room with her, but I couldn’t tell whether the voice was a man’s or a woman’s.

“Curiously, I called out her name. When Elica finally came to the door, she was laughing, but her face was pale. She had tossed the small silver mask that she had been wearing at the masquerade aside. She seemed so agitated. She kept fingering the necklace above the white lace at the throat of her dress as she promised me that she would be right down. It was then that I really noticed the pendant, though I knew that she had been wearing one all evening. I don’t know that much of jewelry,” he confessed, “but I’ll never forget the way the jewels in that necklace caught the light, like a ring of tiny, brilliant blue stars.”

“Nick—” I started to speak, but he didn’t seem to hear me. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered the glittering drops of blue within the lining of the old trunk. Could it have been the same necklace Elica had worn? If so, what could it mean?

Harsh, rugged lines deepened along the edges of his fierce black eyes as Nicholas continued his tale. His voice was raw, his words a torment. “When I came up the second time, the fire was raging. I saw her lying in a heap upon the floor—so still. I got close enough to her to know beyond any doubt that she was dead. The flames were licking all around her, but it was not by fire that she had died. Her head was twisted at such a strange angle. Then I saw the dark, bruised marks upon her neck where the pendant had once been.”

“The necklace was gone?”

“Not a trace of it was ever found. That small piece of jewelry is my only link between Elica’s death and her killer. A similar pendant was part of the missing Dereux family heirlooms.”

“But if it was the same necklace, then how could it have been in Elica’s possession?”

His reply was a sardonic laugh. “Racine wasn’t exactly the pariah Edward makes him out to be. He always had gambling debts. I’ve even suspected that he might have taken the missing jewels. Elica might have in turn stolen the jewels from Racine. She obviously had come into some kind of money—” He shook his head as if to deny any possibility of his words. “No, I won’t believe the worst of her—She could have come to own the sapphire necklace innocently enough,” he continued. “Racine might have given it to her as a gift. She could have worn it that night, never guessing of its origin or the fact that it might be recognized by one of the members of the Dereux family.”

“Nicholas, you said that my grandfather was the only one who might have recognized her. Do you think he might have had something to do with her death?”

“Not for a minute!” He sounded genuinely surprised. “You mustn’t even think that! Your grandfather could be a hard man, but he would never have resorted to murder. Besides, he is dead.” I gasped at the firmness of his next words. “Whoever murdered Elica is still alive!”

“How could you know that?”

“Someone has been searching the house. Many times now I’ve heard them. I keep watching, waiting, hoping that they’ll make the wrong move.”

“Then you do believe my story about someone wearing the voodoo mask?”

He nodded. “I am certain that the person who murdered Elica that night is the one who struck you down.” He began to walk across the room, beckoning for me to follow. “Let me show you something.” He stopped at the far corner where he kneeled upon the floor and began to tap upon the hollow wood as Christine had done earlier upon the corridor wall near the ballroom. Suddenly, a small part of the flooring gave away to reveal a trapdoor. Beyond that door was a continuation of the damp stone stairway that led from the ballroom into the cellar below.

“Whoever was in the room with Elica must have made his exit from here after he set the room ablaze,” he said. “Careful, now.” Nicholas took my arm and began guiding me down steep, dark steps. In what seemed like no time, we had reached the ballroom level. “From here he must have opened the panel, come out into the corridor, and rejoined the masquerade party.”

A shiver of apprehension swept over me as we continued to descend the hidden stairs that led into the cellar room. As far as I knew, there were only three people who knew of the existence of the secret passageway: my grandfather, Christine, and Nicholas himself. Grandfather was dead, and I was certain that Christine had not been the one who had attacked me. One push was all it would take to send me tumbling down the cellar stairs. A small voice kept whispering that I was being a fool to trust him.