Gypsy Lady (37 page)

"But yes, monsieur!"
The
words were heartfelt, and Jason shared them, his eyes eagerly scanning the
familiar and beloved land. Urging his horse into a gallop, he raced down the
broad oak-lined road that led to the plantation house. The hot Louisiana
sunlight filtered through the huge old trees and the gray-green Spanish moss
hung ghostly and motionless from: their massive limbs. Abruptly the trees
ended, and Beauvais, stately and white, was before them, the tall pillars gleaming
brightly in the sunlight and the emerald lawn beckoning like a soft velvet
cloak.

Slowing
his horse to a trot, Jason guided the animal past the sweeping circular
driveway that curved In front of the house and made his way to one of several
whitewashed, low buildings that were nearly hidden by a grove
of
thick trees. Beyond them stretched acres and acres of tall sugar cane.

The sound of his
approaching horse brought several people from one of the buildings and
recognizing Jacques among them, Jason halted his horse beside him. Dismounting,
he had barely enough time to exchange greetings, when Jacques said dryly,
"Well, you're back. Have you seen the old master?"

Grinning, Jason handed the
reins to a waiting servant and answered, "No, I haven't been up to the big
house yet. Is he well?"

"Yes, but he's been
expecting you for days. You had better go make your peace with him,"

Smiling, Jason walked away
in the direction of the house, his moccasined feet making no sound on the manicured
path that led past the cookhouse and skirted a lush rose garden, the smell of
blossoms heavy in the still air. Armand, his grandfather, already alerted to
Jason's arrival, was hurrying down the broad steps of the house to meet him,
his dark eyes full of affection he had for this, his only grandchild.

For a second they eyed each
other, Jason noting with fondness that the old man appeared as lively and
cheerful as he remembered. Jason's grandfather was not by any stretch of the
imagination a large man. He barely reached Jason's shoulder and had always been
slender to the point of thinness. He had the graceful, supple movements of a
man half his age and the olive coloring of the true Frenchman. Armand was also
very vain about his seventy- one years and he was proud of the fact that while
his fine almost delicately featured face revealed a certain amount of natural
grooves and creases, his skin was as smooth and soft as a woman's.

Jason grinned at him a
moment before nearly engulfing Mm in a quick bearlike hug. Together the two men
mounted the steps and entered the coolness of the house.

Armand was, of course, like
Guy, impatient to hear news of Jason's bride. And unlike the unrevealing information
he had given his father, Jason found himself telling his grandfather the
entire story. It helped, Jason discovered, to talk of the incident as if it had
happened to someone else. Certainly from Jason's measured, impersonal tone,
Armand, who knew him well, could not guess of the pain and regret that twisted
like
a
knife inside him.-

Bleakly
Jason finished the tale, and there ¥/as little Armand had to say—what could he
say?

Armand
hesitated, wishing to offer some word of comfort, hut seeing the forbidding
expression in the green eyes, he let the subject drop.

They
enjoyed a leisurely dinner together, and as the peace and tranquility of
Beauvais stole over him, Jason felt himself relaxing for the first time in
weeks.
Mori Dieu
_s
he
thought, it's good to be back.
And later that night, talking
to his grandfather as.
they
sat on the broad
front gallery of the house, he said as much.

His
grandfather
,,
not a gray strand in his full black head
of hair, and a twinkle in his merry brown eyes, teased, "You always say
so,
mon fits.
Yet in another month you
will begin to pace the floor like a trapped swamp panther, and then you and
that Blood Drinker will be off to run wild.
N'est-ce pas?"

Grinning,
his face burnt very dark from, the hot sun, Jason acknowledged the truth of
this statement. "That is so—in the past." His voice took on a serious
note. "*l intend this time to settle
down.,
I
think chasing after wild adventure just over the next hill has lost its charm
for me."

His
bright eyes quizzical, Beauvais asked, "This wife that deserts you—she is
the reason you decide this?"

Jason,
his own eyes bleak, a puzzled look on
his
face.,
replied haltingly, "I don't know. But I suppose she's tied up in it
somewhere. I've never been confronted with anything like her before, and I've
never felt so damned helpless and frustrated in my entire life!"

Nodding
his head wisely, Beauvais murmured, "And
so
now,
you try to lose yourself—and perhaps find yourself
in hard work. Very well, it is done. I have long wished to turn over the
plantation to you, but always I feared you were not ready for it. Too often you
are like the wind—one minute here, the next, miles away. But I think you are
ready now, for you need Beauvais more than it needs you!"

It
was many hours before they parted for the night, but Jason, climbing slowly up
the stairs to
his
room, knew it would be a sleepless night, for him. His mind was busy with what
he and his grandfather had discussed, and he hoped he would not disappoint the
old man. He entered his room, and momentary surprise halted him in the doorway
as his eyes fell upon the tall figure
who
leaned with
animallike
grace against the bedpost. A smile of genuine affection crossing his face, he
quickly shut the door and eagerly shook the outstretched hand. "By God,
it's good to see you! How did you know I had returned?"

Blood Drinker smiled
slowly, his dark eyes evaluating Jason's face. A faint frown wrinkled his
forehead at what he saw. Something had happened to his friend in the months
since they had parted, and whether this thing was good or bad he could not yet
tell.

Jason's face was thinner,
the tiny lines near his eyes more pronounced, and the grooves in his cheeks
when he smiled were deeper. His green eyes bad a shadowed look, unlike their
usual bright, clear sparkle, which disturbed Blood Drinker. Bluntly he stated,
"This trip to England has transformed you. Tell me what has happened to
bring about the signs I read on your face."

Quickly and concisely Jason
related all that had occurred in London and France, leaving Catherine and the
events leading to his marriage until last. Blood Drinker guessed more of what
had happened by what Jason left unsaid than from what was spoken, but he probed
no deeper. There were some things a man had to overcome alone. He offered no
words of comfort or sympathy, knowing Jason would reject them with loathing.
Instead he asked, "And now? Will you become your grandfather's
shadow?"

Jason grinned.
"Hardly!
But I shall take over the reins of Beauvais—at
least for the time being. We talked long tonight, my grandfather and 3, and at
first I did think I could follow in his footsteps—he was willing for me to do
so. But as we talked more seriously about it, we both decided to give it a
trial first. He knows me better than I know myself, and so I shall remain here
for the present. When and if events change my mind, we shall discuss it
then."

When Jason finished
speaking Blood Drinker said slowly, "It is good you have decided thus. You
would never be content
to
tread the path another has cleared of all
stones."

Jason shrugged a shoulder
and changed the subject. "What did you discover about our friend Davalos?
I take it he was on his own business in Virginia?"

Blood Drinker nodded.
"It took me awhile to find it out. Bui he apparently requested leave,
claiming a family
crisis, and his captain gave him permission to be
gone from duty. I had to check deeper to ascertain if that was the true story
and not just a tale presented for our edification. It appears it
is
true."

"Where
is he now?"

A
smile crept across Blood Drinker's features. "He is at present in Mexico.
I do not know what he is planning, but I can tell you that I have had a busy
time keeping track of him while you have been gone. Did you know that he
followed you to England?"

Considerably
surprised, Jason had the sudden, queer conviction that Davalos had been behind
part of his troubles in England. He did not say the thought aloud—it was not
necessary; Blood Drinker would have already come to the same conclusion. His
companion confirmed this by saying, "Perhaps he is the man who hired the
one to search your rooms."

"Mmmm,
it could be. You say he left immediately behind me?"

"Not
immediately, but within the month. After I discovered all I could in New Orleans,
I returned to Virginia and picked up his trail there. It was then I learned of
his departure for England." A sheepish look gleamed briefly in the black
eyes. "I was angry to think that perhaps I had overlooked some clue in New
Orleans, and I feared that he was truly under orders from Spain. I found myself
in a dilemma and resolved it by writing to Jefferson about what I had learned,
and then I returned to New Orleans."

"Had
you overlooked anything?"

Blood
Drinker shook his head. "No. And after I had wasted many weeks running to
and fro like a rabbit pursued by a wolf and had gone over all I knew of
Davalos's activities, what happens? Our friend appears in New Orleans suddenly
and as suddenly disappears into Mexico. I could have saved myself much time if
I had merely waited in New Orleans as we had originally planned," he
finished disgustedly.

Jason
agreed absentmindedly, his thoughts on Bias Davalos's erratic behavior. Davalos
had to be the interested party behind the mysterious map Catherine had alluded
to. But
what
map? And what was Bias up
to in Mexico?

He
sighed, wishing again his disordered emotions concerning Davalos had allowed
him to kill the man when the chance had presented itself. He could swear to
kill him now, and yet always some silly half-forgotten memory of another time
would deflect the death-dealing blow. Jason took a deep breath, longing for the
clarity of feeling that Blood Drinker possessed.

Sensing
some of Jason's thoughts, Blood Drinker asked, "You still cannot bring
yourself to slay him, can you?"

Shamefully,
Jason admitted it. "I know he deserved killing—
needs
killing—and I yearn to do it. But I cannot coldbloodedly plan his death. In a
rage I could kill him —easily—and if he was to offer me violence or to threaten
any of my own, I would not hesitate. For Phillip, I
should
kill him, but I remember that Phillip was a man
who knew the risks he was running and who perhaps only suffered the
consequences of his own actions. I owe it to Phillip to kill him, but—"
Jason's painful words halted. He was angry at his own indecision.

The
question of Davalos was something that ate at him like some foul gangrene. Only
one other person had ever caused him such heart-rending vacillation as did this
man who had been his friend. And as if to stop one pain by suffering another
more terrible one, his mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of Catherine,
and wretchedly he said, "What a fool I am! I cannot keep a wife, and I
cannot kill an enemy. Truly, I have indeed sunk very low."

Blood
Drinker said nothing. Jason's pain was his pain, and he was helpless to
alleviate any of it. Jason glanced at him and seeing his own tortures reflected
in Blood Drinker's black eyes, laughed harshly. "This will never do! Soon
I shall be crying like a babe because the world has stepped on my toe! Bah! We
have other things to do. I am to become a gentleman planter and you—?"

Blood
Drinker hesitated before saying quietly, "I have spent many months
following your orders, and it is time now for me to tend to my own affairs.
There is much I must see to."

Jason
nodded in agreement. "Will you remain here tonight?"

Shaking
his head no, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, Blood Drinker murmured,
"Your grandfather does not know of my arrival, and there is no need to
make him uneasy. If he discovers me here in the morning, he will be certain
that I mean to tempt you away. It is better if I leave the way I came."

He
clasped Jason's
outflung
hand tightly. "When you
have need of me
. ,
. ." He left the sentence
unfinished.
Amoment
later Jason was alone in the
room.