PHANTOM IN TIME (10 page)

But
Jacques LeFevre wasn't supposed to be standing, in the flesh, next to those
jaunty columns, and flirting with his Victorian groupies! Everything seemed so
unreal!

“He's
quite a ladies’ man, Jacques LeFevre,” Bella commented to Helene.

“Oh,
you have no idea,” she replied, directing a forbearing glance toward Jacques.
“And do be careful if Etienne accepts you into the troupe.”

“What
do you mean?”

Leaning
toward Bella, Helene whispered conspiratorially, “Jacques's mission in life is
to sample every fair belle who joins the chorus. He claims to be looking for
the woman of his destiny, but we all know better.”

“I
see,” murmured Bella. “Has he ever tried to—er, make advances toward you?”

“No.”
Helene laughed. “Red hair and freckles are not Jacques LeFevre's cup of cafe au
lait.”

Bella
giggled at the analogy. “I don't see why he wouldn't pursue you. I think you're
lovely.”

The
girl beamed back. “Fortunately, so does my gentleman friend, Tommy.”

“Good
for him,” Bella declared.

“He's
working tonight, or he'd take us out to celebrate the Fourth.” She paused,
pointing toward the west. “My apartment is that way, off Jackson Square.”

As a
new burst of fireworks lit up the distant skies, Bella followed Helene down Royal Street, an unfamiliar expanse paved by cobblestones and bisected by trolley tracks. A
young family in Victorian attire trooped past them, the two small children
laughing and waving tiny American flags.

Bella
got a very creepy feeling as they continued past darkened stucco buildings with
shutters and iron gates. The antiques shops, hotels, bars, and neon signs of
modern-day Royal Street were absent here. Although gaslights winked on the
corners, the familiar outlines and lights of the skyscrapers along Canal were
missing.

Bella's
mind, reeling at the contradictions, questioned whether she was even in New Orleans. Had she been transported to some obscure locale in Europe?

Yet
a European setting would not house the St. Charles Opera House. As they passed
other Royal Street landmarks—the Lalaurie House, the Gallier House, the
Cornstalk Fence—Bella couldn't doubt that she was still in New Orleans, only
the New Orleans of a much earlier time!

The
two women turned down St. Ann Street, passing an open carriage filled with
Fourth of July revelers waving flags, sparklers, and noisemakers. Bella gasped
as they arrived at Jackson Square, where a group of teenage boys were whooping
loudly and setting off firecrackers. She recognized the familiar statue of the
hero of the Battle of New Orleans, as well as the stately St. Louis Cathedral;
but the Cabildo and Presbytère, which had housed museums back in the present,
were courthouses here. The boutiques and restaurants that had lined the square
in the present had been replaced by unfamiliar shops and eateries; the formerly
posh Jackson Brewery shopping complex now appeared to be simply a darkened
brewery.

Shivering,
Bella glanced again at the boys, who had slicked-back hair and wore
old-fashioned white shirts and striped trousers with suspenders. “My God, I've
stepped into a time warp.”

“Bella,
are you all right?” asked Helene. “It's only a little farther to my apartment.”

“I'll
be fine,” Bella assured her new friend, flashing a frozen smile.

But
she already knew her life would never be the same again.

Chapter Ten

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“Well,
here we are.”

Seconds
later, Bella and Helene arrived before the building Bella recognized from the present
as the Lower Pontalba Building; its twin, the Upper Pontalba Building, was on the opposite side of the square.

As
had been the case in the present, the imposing four-story red-brick Italian
Renaissance structure sported distinctly Creole, black iron lace balconies, and
occupied the entire northeastern side of the square. But as Bella had noted
before, none of the businesses on the ground floor—which included an attorney,
a bakery, and a gumbo cafe—was familiar to her.

“How
nice that you live right here in the Quarter,” she remarked.

“Yes,
it's quite convenient for me to walk to the opera house.” Helene opened a door
with peeling black paint and motioned for Bella to precede her inside. The two
walked down a narrow, stone-floored corridor lit by a clear, naked light bulb
like the one Bella had seen at the theater. They exited the passageway through
a curtained French door and emerged into a vibrant patio. Wall sconces emitted
low light, a fountain tinkled softly, and a huge banana tree provided a dark
splash of color. Carolina jasmine, gardenias, and roses filled the night air
with their tantalizing perfumes. Flanking the fountain, a wrought iron table
with chairs invited pleasure-seekers.

Cozy
and isolated, the patio was walled off from the world by the four brick stories
surrounding it. Bella felt very small as she gazed upward at a vast spiral of
open stairways and long, latticelike galleries hung with lush ferns, set
against the backdrop of the black, star-dotted heavens above.

“Oh,
how lovely!” she breathed.

Helene
nodded. “The patio is definitely what convinced me to live here. It's so much
fun drinking cafe au lait down here in the mornings.” She pointed toward a set
of stairs beyond them. “My apartment is that way. We're on the third floor in the
rear.”

Bella
followed Helene up two flights of narrow steps and down an open, railed
gallery. Helene used an old-fashioned brass key to unlock the second door
facing the balcony. She stepped inside and Bella heard a switch being flipped,
followed by a flooding of light.

“Come
right in,” called her hostess.

Bella
stepped inside a large parlor with high plaster ceilings accented by a stunning
gold frieze, and walls papered with pale yellow damask. At the windows hung
amber velvet drapes with lace trim and gold tassels; a faded blue and gold
Persian rug accented the lovely wooden floor.

The
room smelled of potpourri, furniture polish, and old-time mustiness. In a
wanton display of Victorian eclecticism, the space was cluttered with a posh
velvet daybed and a tufted silk brocade settee, several wing-back chairs,
footstools stacked with scrapbooks and magazines, tea tables crammed with china
tea sets and bowls of flowers, etageres filled with cachepots, figurines, and
vases. Overheard, a handsome wrought iron and glass chandelier, which had
obviously been wired for electricity, provided a steady stream of light.

“Why,
this is charming,” Bella murmured.

Helene
beamed. “Do come in and make yourself at home.”

“I
will.”

Stepping
farther inside the room, Bella was at once intrigued by a carved marquetry
telephone stand, its base cluttered by a stack of mail weighted down by an Art
Nouveau letter opener picturing a mermaid with long flowing hair. She strolled
across the room, admiring a dining area in front of the fireplace where a
marble-topped pedestal table was surrounded by four tufted rosewood chairs.
Bella admired the beautiful cobalt-blue-and-white cafe au lait service, and
fingered a small cup.

“My,
you've thought of everything,” said Bella.

“All
the comforts of home,” agreed Helene proudly. “In fact, when Mother and Father
redecorated, they endowed me with the largesse of their former furnishings.”

“You
are very fortunate,” replied Bella. “Where do your parents live?”

“Up
the river at a cotton plantation in St. James Parish,” Helene replied, then
laughed. “Of course, I've disgraced the family by going off to the city to
become a sinful show girl. Mother is even more scandalized than she was the
time my cousin Phoebe led the suffragettes in a parade down Poplar Avenue in Memphis.”

Bella
chuckled. “What made you decide to come to the city?”

Helene
tossed her reticule on a tea table, plopped herself down on the settee, and
crossed her feet. “Oh, I don't know. I was twenty-two and thought, Why pine
away and become an old maid at the plantation, or marry some boring gentleman
farmer? I decided I wanted the city and the bright lights. And it turned out to
be the right choice. I've had great fun—especially meeting Tommy.”

“I'm
glad things have worked out so well for you.”

“Where
are you from, Bella?”

Taken
aback, Bella replied, “Oh—San Francisco.”

Features
alight, Helene sat up. “Really? How lucky you are! I've heard it's a beautiful
city, and I've always wanted to visit there. But . . . How did you wind up on a
showboat on the Mississippi?”

Stifling
a yawn, Bella replied, “I'm afraid it's a rather long story.”

Helene
nodded. “We've all of tomorrow for that.”

Grateful
Helene had taken her hint, Bella continued around the room. She glanced with
amusement at an old gramophone sitting on an ebony stand, then paused by a
table on which a beautiful violin was laid out, its wood softly gleaming. “Do
you play the violin, Helene?”

“Yes,
when I'm not singing. I was raised in a very musical family. My maiden aunt
taught me to sing and play the violin.”

“How
fortunate for you.” Bella examined the instrument more closely, noting its
flawless lines and masterful workmanship. “My God, is this a genuine
Stradivarius?”

“It
is indeed.”

Bella
fingered the rich wood. “It must have cost you a fortune!”

Helene
laughed. “Yes, Father complained that it cost him almost eight dollars to order
it from Sears and Roebuck.”

Bella
was speechless.

Waving
a hand across her flushed face, Helene strolled over to the front windows and
opened them. “Gadzooks, it's a hot night. I hope you'll be comfortable, Bella.”

“Oh,
I'm sure I will. You're so gracious to have me.”

“I
do have a modern bathroom and kitchen, and the landlord has promised that next
year he'll install electricity in my bedroom, too.”

Bella
tugged at the damp collar of her blouse. “You should make him install
air-conditioning.”

Helene
stared at her blankly. “What is that?”

Bella
laughed. “Oh, nothing, I'm just rambling on.”

“I
hope you won't mind sleeping with me in the bedroom,” Helene remarked. She
pointed at the Grecian couch, which was piled with fringed throw pillows. “You
could sleep on the daybed, but there's no mosquito netting, and I'm afraid
you'll be eaten alive by morning.”

“The
bedroom will be fine. You're a true angel of mercy.”

“Well,
tomorrow's a big day for you, isn't it?” continued Helene. “You'll be trying
out for the chorus. And I do think you'll have an excellent chance, since one
of our girls quit last week.”

“Really?”

In a
scandalized whisper, Helene confided, “Got in a family way, she did. Quite a
little melodrama for the entire company.”

Bella
paled. “Was it . . . I mean, did Jacques . . .?”

Helene
shook her head. “No, it was one of Etienne's assistants, and Etienne promptly
discharged the scoundrel. Had it been Jacques—well, our director never would
have dismissed his lead tenor. He could never fill the theater without
Jacques.”

“Avarice
does generally win out over honor,” Bella observed cynically.

“Well,
M'sieur LeFevre does have his talents,” replied Helene drolly. “I do hope you
won’t audition as his latest conquest.”

“Indeed
I won't,” exclaimed Bella. “From what I've seen, there are already plenty of
belles eager to be chosen for
that
role.”

“Oh,
you have no idea.” Helene touched Bella's arm. “Come on now, you can have the
first bath. I'll find you some towels and a nightgown.”

“You're
too kind.”

Bella
was amused by her moments in the bathroom, which had a pull-chain toilet and a
lavatory with ornate iron fixtures. She enjoyed bathing in the huge claw-foot
tub.

Afterward,
while Helene was bathing, Bella explored the bedroom and was enchanted by the
four-poster carved cherry rice bed with its plump feather tick, lacy linen
bedclothes, and beige crocheted coverlet. Across the room, a bentwood rocker
was piled with a lovely assortment of bisque-faced dolls that Bella presumed
were from Helene's childhood. At the windows, antique roller shades painted
with images of cherubs and flowers stood half raised to admit breezes that
rippled sheer white panels. The softly gleaming wood floor was embellished by
several white rag rugs. The entire effect was utterly charming.

At
the carved rosewood dresser, Bella brushed her hair with a silver-plated brush
and caught her reflection in the beveled mirror—a bewildered twentieth-century
woman standing in a nineteenth-century bedroom, wearing a handkerchief-linen
gown that smelled of lavender.

Maybe
this was a dream, Bella thought. Maybe if she slept, she'd awaken safely back
at Gran's house.

Oh,
Gran! she thought in sudden despair. She was surely worried sick regarding her
granddaughter's fate. And what if Gran were dying this very night, with Bella
stranded a century away?

Reeling
at the painful thought, Bella snuffed out the lamp, crossed the moonlit room,
climbed the steps to the bed, and lay down on the soft feather tick. She
clutched her pillow, feeling very small and lost. Although she was exhausted,
the room was oppressively hot, and her mind remained overburdened. She knew
sleep would elude her for a long time.

Soon
she heard Helene pull the mosquito nets around the bed and felt her climb in
beside her. Within minutes, Bella could hear Helene's soft breathing,
punctuated by the buzzing of mosquitoes at the netting, the pesky insects
obviously frustrated in their attempts to drink fresh blood. The sounds Bella
would have normally expected at this hour in modern New Orleans—garbage trucks
plowing past, car motors revving and horns blaring—were conspicuously absent.
Once in a while Bella could hear the tapping of horses' hooves on the
cobblestones, the rattling wheels of a wagon or carriage passing.