With One Look (17 page)

Jade lay unconscious on the floor.

In one swift movement Victor lifted Jade in his arms and carried her out. It had all gone too far now, much too far.

*****

Sister Benedict found the Mother Francesca deep in prayer in the chapel at the convent.

She interrupted the Reverend Mother and quickly led her out, barely able to speak. "Hurry, do hurry, Mother. Tragedy has befallen us again. Father Nolte and Monsieur Nolte await in your chambers."

The Reverend Mother could not see Sister Benedict's hands until they had passed through the dark narrow corridor and the woman reached for the lever on the door to her chambers. With alarm she saw the tremble there. She stepped inside the room, bracing, as Sister Benedict shut the door behind her—a sound like the slam of a judge's gavel. For part of her knew before the words had been spoken....

Monsieur Nolte stood at the window overlooking the darkened gardens, the width of his back put to her, his head lowered as if he was trying to collect his thoughts. Father Nolte stood facing her. She found concern and worry in his familiar dark eyes and she stiffened visibly, her hands clasping the small wooden statuette she always carried.

The small figure had been carved in Africa. It was a woman shrouded in neat classical robes and a hood. The tiny face was marked by an inexplicable joy, and yet sadness, the very duality of Mary herself. It was a small miracle of human creation. When she had first laid eyes upon it, her breath was literally swept away. In a strange magical way it served as an emblem of her faith more than her rosary beads.

She rubbed her thumbs over its smooth lines now. Dear God, help me—

"Jade's servant was found," Father Nolte said. "Dead. Please sit down. The details are hideous. I must be blunt"

She stared as if he spoke an altogether unintelligible language. She didn't understand how this was happening. Years ago, in the days following the Devon tragedy, she had tried desperately to understand the nature of evil. Finally, after many hours of meditation and prayer, one night she had found herself in a dream: She stood in a dark room, trying in vain to light a candle. She could not. She stood there staring into a darkness that was so deep and dark and impenetrable...

Now the candle was being lit.

The Reverend Mother silently went to her desk chair and sat down, terrified to hear of these hideous details ...

"She was hung upside down with her throat slit, her body discovered in Jade's small entry

hall."

Turning around, Victor watched the color drain from the good woman's face. For a moment, she seemed to teeter, and he started toward her to catch her fall, but no. She rocked back in the hardwood chair with the shock before she straightened, alerted. Then she lowered her eyes as she placed her trembling hands in the folds of her gown.

She stated as if a fact: "No..."

"The worst part about the murder," Father Nolte's strong clear voice rose, "is that Jade's house had been checked this very morning and Sister Benedict, I believe, had been there to fetch Jade some clothes. This means the body had been left"—he paused for a second as a hand went to his forehead—"and arranged in that gruesome manner in broad daylight. The family next door, the Mordants, had been out on various errands, but two servants had remained home. Neither of them saw anything. The same is true of the house behind hers. No one saw anything. There is no explanation possible. And yet obviously we must face the fact that someone, for some unholy reason, is threatening Jade Terese."

Very unholy reasons echoed in the Reverend Mother's mind. She was shaking her head. Jade Terese was threatened and so, then, was she. Perhaps God had not absolved her after all? "I don't understand what's happening...."

Victor and his father exchanged glances.

Father Nolte turned and paced, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. His eyes were intense and probing, focused hard on the older woman before him.

"These men—whoever they are—are killers. Jade's situation is, to say the least, extremely dangerous and will remain so until we discover just who is doing this and why." He looked at Victor. "My son is extending his protection, of course. He insists that Jade stay at his country estate until the murderers are apprehended. I must say, I quite agree. With only Father Lahey and the convent gardeners here, there is no one who could possibly protect her from a threat of this diabolical a nature."

The Reverend Mother seemed to collapse all at once, the magnitude of the situation hitting her like a blow to the head. She alone knew no one on earth—not even a man such as Monsieur Nolte—could possibly protect Jade Terese from this threat, but then there were no words that conveyed this. No words to explain the inexplicable ...

"No one must know," she finally said in a whisper of fear. "We must create the pretense that Jade is leaving Orleans for a convent in France or Spain. We will not name the place. I alone will forward her correspondence. No one will know."

At first Victor assumed she meant this to protect Jade's reputation from the impropriety of a young unmarried woman's living in his household, but no. The secrecy was meant to further protect Jade. "Yes," he said. "Of course." He approached the place where she sat. Their eyes locked. Gently he said, "Now, we understand you are naturally distressed but I'm afraid we must ask you a few questions."

The Reverend Mother managed a nod but no answers to these questions could come from her. For she, like the two men in the room, had always believed in a rational explanation of the universe. God himself was the awe of human experience, a small but meaningful transcendence that occasionally and miraculously rose like a brief shining light above the senseless struggle of daily life. She had always believed the supernatural was superstition, a refuge of the ignorant and naive. Until now. Until a dead woman rose from her grave to threaten and terrorize her and Jade Terese.

"I understand Jade's parents died in a devastating fire?"

"Yes." She nodded, clearing her parched throat. "A devastating fire ... five years ago June.

But—"

"June? In the summer?" Victor said, interested in this. "It happened at night?"

"No." She shook her head. She felt a tremble start in her voice and she tried to clear it

again. "It happened between morning and noon, an hour or so after their slaves had left for the fields."

"A kitchen fire, then?" Victor assumed, knowing kitchens were the cause of most fires, what with the hot stoves and wood structures.

"No." She shook her head again, her voice still strained and tremulous. "The kitchen was one of the few remaining structures on the plantation. You had to have seen it," she said, staring off into space as she spoke. "A circle of charred earth that raced through the cane fields like a torch from hell—"

Father Nolte begged the question: "If it was a summer morning, no hearths or lamps or even a candle would have been lit. If not in the kitchen, how, then, did it start?"

"No one has ever discovered the cause." The ominous words hung in the silence.

"And Jade?" Victor asked. "What about Jade Terese?"

"Jade was found on the perimeter of the fire unconscious. She had a slight bump on her forehead, that was all. Yet when she woke up she was blind. And she had no memory of the fire or the hours preceding it."

The Reverend Mother withdrew a set of keys from her pocket. She separated a tiny gold key from the others. She valiantly attempted to insert it in the desk with a trembling hand, finally managing. Victor stood behind her. The drawer opened. Inside sat a red leather Bible. He watched her hands shake as she withdrew the Bible. Cushioned between the pages was a letter.

Quietly she said, "This is a letter I received from a doctor at Cambridge. It was in reply to an inquiry I made concerning Jade's health."

Victor took the letter and brought it to a lamp hanging over the desk. He ignored the formalities of correspondence and got right to thrust of it, reading out loud for his father's benefit.

"I find the case you describe fascinating and if it is at all possible, I'd very much like to examine the young lady in question. However, having not had such opportunity, I can only offer my learned opinion of the case as you describe it.

"First, it is not possible, as you suspect, that her loss of sight is the result of having seen something frightening, no matter how terrible. Do reflect but for a moment: If that were possible, I daresay, we'd all be blind.

"Furthermore, blindness as the result of a head injury is indeed rare—I have only seen one such case—and contrary to conventional wisdom, it could occur only from a severe blow to the back of the head, not the front. Since the accident caused injury to the front of the young lady's head, I must conclude her seizures—"

Victor stopped and looked up. "Seizures? What seizures?"

"Jade suffers from seizures that send her into a faint. She experiences excruciatingly painful seizures for no reason anyone knows." Softly she added, "She has not had one for over two years now. We are hoping it is a thing of the past ..."

After a momentary contemplation of this unpleasant fact, Victor continued reading the

letter:

"I must conclude her seizures are the result of the head injury and her blindness the result

of her seizures. I can only guess that her loss of memory is also the result of the seizures. I have

never heard of a similar case and to be certain of my conclusion, I would first have to rule out epilepsy.

"My prognosis is not favorable. I suspect the seizures have caused irreparable brain damage and that the young lady's blindness is a permanent condition. However, upon reading your description of the pain accompanying her seizures, I would recommend you take every precaution to prevent them. Her activities and life should be restricted; she should never be allowed to become overly excited ..."

"My God," Father Nolte said. "Why was I never told of this?"

"Jade Terese begged me not to ever mention it to anyone. She is always quite certain they are a thing of the past."

With a perplexing look, trying to make sense of this troubling situation, Victor stepped forward with the next questions: "What did you mean by asking if she might have gone blind by viewing a terrible sight? The fire?"

For a long time she appeared unable to answer the question. Indeed, it was the very heart of the tragedy. She finally drew a deep breath and spread her large hands on the desk, to steady them. "I did not know. It was only a feeling I had. The seizures and, you see," she said slowly, whispering, "there are many unanswered questions about the fire. The day after the fire, the mortician, Monsieur Lawler, who buried the ... burnt remains of Jade's parents, died as well.

Madame Lawler had come to me. Her husband was found dead the day of the burial. Sudden heart seizure, the doctor told her. Yet he was a young and healthy man who, as I recall, worked with his father, the senior Lawler. She told me ... that he had been going to the constable to discuss ... to discuss the condition of the burnt bodies of Jade's parents, that he was very upset. That's all the poor woman knew."

"Yes? And what was this condition of the corpses?"

She shook her head. "No one has ever learned," she said. "It was all many years ago. The Church, Father Aglae before you, Father Nolte, had prevented a burial desecration. The matter was dropped."

"This is all so very suspicious," Father Nolte said after a moment's consideration. "It sounds as if someone started the fire to conceal a murder."

"Yes." The Reverend Mother nodded. "Indeed, and as if the same unholy hatred that started the fire has now turned on Terese and myself."

"Yourself?"

"Myself. For I do not think I could survive if something were to happen to Terese."

The emotion in the room bid Father Nolte step forward and place a sympathetic arm around the older woman, while his son said with sudden conviction, "You can rest assured I will not let anything happen to her."

The impassioned promise brought tear-filled eyes up again. If she had ever imagined a match for Terese, it would have been a young man, gentle like Terese, well bred, devout, given to books and poetry, living the quietly reflective and peaceful life. The opposite of this man, with his strength, character, and intelligence, the sheer force of will that he exercised in the world, a world many, many times removed from the cloistered sanctuary that was Jade's life. Yet even now, as his gaze did not waver beneath her scrutiny, she intuitively grasped his honesty and integrity, his father's own. Terese's safety was his primary concern.

The Reverend Mother drew another deep shaky breath, and looking at Victor still, she seemed to plead as she asked, "You will keep her safe?"

"Upon my life ..."

* * *

In the quiet of a dying light, Victor handed Murray the letter, explaining the whole. With a furrowed brow, Murray read the letter twice again.

"The whole thing is a life-threatening mystery and I don't have the first bloody clue," Victor said, and looking at the sleeping young lady, he asked, "She doesn't remember her accident or the fire because of these seizures, which then made her blind. The doctor says she should never get overly excited. What do you make of it?"

"The lass must not have them anymore. After what she just passed through, well, it seems to me, if she still had them, we would have seen one—"

"Yes, but perhaps that's what happened when she found her maid. Perhaps she is recovering now from one—"

Murray shook his head. "That is odd about the blow to her head. The surgeon is absolutely right. The center of sight in the brain is behind, not in front."

"The whole fire is suspicious," Victor replied as he sank back into the chair. "And this mortician's death—"

"That must be an unfortunate coincidence."

"Not if it happened as he was heading to the constable. We have to dig up her parents' graves."

"Bones often don't tell much of a story, you know."

"It's worth a try. I'll have to investigate her father's debts and have my agents make inquiries into her family's history. And," he said, deep in thought, still staring at the beautiful young lady in his bed, "I'm forced to put the maid's murder down to a connection to her parents and the fire that in all likelihood concealed their murder. There must be a connection to her parents' death, if only because it's impossible to imagine why anyone would want to threaten her. Jade has no fortune, no enemies, no relations; she has nothing, it seems, but the love and affection of an entire city."