PHANTOM IN TIME (42 page)

Isabella
patted Bella's hand and regarded her compassionately. “Don't fret, dear. The
doctor keeps me comfortable enough. I've had a good life. I'm at peace with my
fate, and with my God.”

Bella
struggled to swallow the painful lump in her throat. “Gran, don't say that! I
need you. Heavens, how could I have left you again—”

“You
did not have a choice, did you, my dear?” Gran asked wisely.

Miserably,
Bella shook her head. “But I have a choice now . . . and I'll not leave you
again.”

The
old woman's lined features twisted with concern and compassion. “What about
Jacques LeFevre? You've been with him, haven't you?”

“Yes.”
Quickly Bella related the events of the past days, telling Gran of her reunion
with Jacques and the frightening attempts on his life.

Afterward,
Gran's expression was anxious. “My, he does appear to be in some danger. Where
do things stand now?”

Bella
wrung her hands. “Gran, I don't know which way to turn. I showed Jacques the
article detailing when he will be murdered. He refuses to take the threat
seriously, even though the date of his death is only three days away in the
past—”

“Then
you must go back to him at once and save him!” Isabella exclaimed..

“Gran,
please!” Hearing her struggle to breathe, Bella propped an extra pillow behind
her neck. “Please, you must rest for a moment. You're straining yourself.”

Waving
a hand, Isabella did not resist. For a few minutes only the sounds of her
wheezing filled the void. When at last her breathing grew less labored, she
spoke. “But don't you love Jacques LeFevre?”

Bella
hesitated, not wanting to exhaust Gran, but realizing her grandmother might
become dangerously agitated if she refused to conclude their discussion. “Yes,
I do love Jacques,” she confessed. “But he's headed for destruction. He
stubbornly refuses to give up the opera, even though I’ve informed him his
decision will result in his death. I can't save him, Gran—it's best I stay here
with you.”

“You
can't save me, either, dear,” Gran said gently. “Your place is not here.”

Bella's
features were fraught with terrible anguish. “But, Gran, how can you know
that?”

Isabella's
smile was ironic. “Suffice it to say I'm very close to some sources of eternal
wisdom right now.”

Hearing
a thready note creep back into Isabella's voice, Bella patted her hand. “Rest
now, Gran. We'll discuss this more tomorrow.”

Isabella
yawned. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Gran
drifted quickly off to sleep. Bella lingered by Isabella's bed for a long time,
her heartache and confusion unbearable . . .

***

“Bella,
where are you?”

Jacques
stood in Bella's dressing room, staring in torment at her lacy camisole tossed
across a chair, her Valkyrie costume heaped on the divan. On the dressing
table, jars of rouge, cold cream, and makeup sat open, and hairpins, combs, and
ribbons were strewn about.

To
Jacques, it seemed the ultimate cruelty to be in this room which bore her
imprint, her personality, her scent; to feel as if she might at any second
burst through the door; yet he knew she was gone.

For
the past hour everyone in the company had been searching the theater for her,
to no avail. Helene had just left for the apartment in the futile hope of
finding her there, but Jacques knew better.

She
was lost to him. During one of the scene changes tonight, he had watched her
spin away into the shadows, then vanish before his very eyes! The experience
had shaken him to the depths of his being. If he had ever doubted she could
travel through time, he did no longer. The pain of losing her was unbearable.

Had
she been swept back to the present a second time because she had again pulled
away from him emotionally? He suspected as much. Of course, he could not begin
to comprehend the forces that had taken her back and forth in time, he only
knew now, with an awful certainty, that those forces did exist. And he feared
that a capricious, cruel fate was determined to dash his and Bella's love,
their future hopes, whether through his death, her disappearance, or some other
calamity, he was not sure. He only knew he felt a terrible sense of despair, of
impending disaster.

Oh,
why had he not been wise enough to anticipate tonight's events? When Bella had
rejected him a second time, why had he not realized the ramifications and
insisted at once on a reconciliation? Why had he not abandoned his stupid pride
and given up the theater for her? Was she not much more important than his career
and the attainment of fame? How stupid, shallow, and vain he had been to insist
on having everything his way!

“Jacques,
where is Bella?” cried an agitated voice.

He
turned to face Etienne, who strode inside the room, his features fixed in a
scowl. “I wish I knew.”

Etienne
flung a hand outward. “The impetuous baggage has disappeared again! She failed
to appear for three final numbers tonight. How can she do this to me—and to
you? Has she no sense of respect, of gratitude? Why, I've already ordered a
special cake to honor the two of you next Saturday night, when we announce your
engagement at the soiree
I'm hosting for Maurice and Andrea Bloom.”

Jacques
drew his fingers through his hair. Would he and Bella ever celebrate their
betrothal? “Heaven forbid that you must sacrifice a cake,” he muttered
irritably.

“Why
couldn't you have chosen someone more sane and responsible?” Etienne demanded.

Blinking
in sudden fury, Jacques took an aggressive step toward the other man. “Who I
choose to love is none of your damned affair! Furthermore, Bella is perfectly
sane . . . and reasonable.”

Etienne
rolled his eyes.

“I'm
sure she will show up in due course,” Jacques continued, but without
conviction.

“Yes,
and the Martins, the Morgans, and the Vanderbilts will all dance a jig at our
next performance,” Etienne mocked, turning and leaving the room.

Jacques
sighed. Neither he nor Etienne had believed his claim that Bella would soon
return. What could he possibly do to find her?

All
at once a chill gripped him. Could he somehow pursue her through time? He
scowled at the thought. Instinct argued that since the kaleidoscope had taken
her back and forth through time, it was only in the kaleidoscope that he might
find her, or even discover a way to join her in the present. Although he had
scoffed at that suggestion when she had made it, that was before he had come to
his senses, before he had lost her a second, agonizing time.

If
the answers were to be found in the kaleidoscope, that meant he must continue
to perform—and possibly risk his own death on Tuesday night—

He
laughed bitterly. Why not? If he couldn't find Bella, he might as well be dead,
for life without her had no meaning.

Chapter Thirty-nine

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Bella
lingered close to Gran during the next two days. She was heartened to see signs
of Isabella springing back to life. Although the old woman remained very weak
and fragile, she depended less on oxygen, and her appetite perked up. Even Dr.
Humphries found Isabella improved enough that he ordered nurses for her only at
night; he told Bella that her grandmother seemed to be rallying at her return.

Agreeing
completely with his assessment, Bella became more determined than ever not to
leave Gran's side again—although her heart ached over Jacques's fate. Recalling
how previously, she had been whisked back to the past before she could contact
Professor Howard Peabody or read his book,
Phantom of the French Quarter,
she looked him up in the New Orleans phone directory and called his home, only
to get his answering machine. She left a message saying she needed to speak
with him on an urgent matter and asking that he call her back as soon as
possible.

Otherwise,
Bella stayed away from the opera house, fearing that if she went there she
might see Jacques's ghost again and be lured back to watch his murder, a fate
she could not seem to forestall. Both Dixie and John called her, insisting she
explain her strange comings and goings; Bella assured both that she was fine,
but could not talk due to her grandmother's frail health.

Late
in the afternoon on the second day following her return, Bella felt restless.
While Gran dozed in bed, Bella paced near the French doors in her room. After a
moment, she strayed outside onto the balcony, inhaling the sweet scent of the
roses and listening to birds chirping. Painful longing filled her. The lush
garden reminded her of Jacques's courtyard, and the romantic times the two of
them had shared on his balcony after making love. How she missed him and ached
to go back to him! But could she help him if she did? How could she possibly
leave Gran?

“Bella?”

The
sound of Gran's raspy voice brought Bella in from the balcony. She closed the
doors and hastened over to Isabella's bed, noting her smile. “How are you
feeling?”

The
old woman struggled to sit up, and Bella gently assisted her, propping several
pillows behind her back. “Oh, I think I'll have Yetta wheel me downstairs for
dinner.”

“You're
sure?” Bella asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Of
course,” Isabella responded stoutly.

Restraining
a chuckle, Bella sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Yetta will be so
pleased to see you up and about.”

Gran
studied Bella curiously. “You're a restless spirit today, aren't you?”

Bella
laughed. “You know me well.”

“You're
thinking of Jacques?”

“And
you.”

Isabella
reached out and squeezed her granddaughter's hand. “Bella, go back to him.”

Bella
gasped in dismay. “But, Gran, how can I possibly leave you—now, when you're getting
better—”

Isabella
held up a hand, her eyes filled with bittersweet emotion. “Darling, I'm not
getting better. I'm only rallying to tell you good bye. Don't try to hold me
here when I'm bound somewhere else.”

Emotion
choked Bella, and for a long moment she could not speak. At last she regarded
Gran in helpless anguish. “Please don't say that. I can't let you go.”

“But
you must, dear,” Isabella said gently. “You must go back to Jacques, and the
two of you must sing for me. I'll hold on until then.”

“But—what
you're suggesting is impossible!” Bella cried.

“It's
possible. Have faith, dear.”

Bella
looked down sadly. “I can't even save him from being murdered. And there's so
little time left—”

“You
can help him, dear. Think.”

Bella
searched her mind, feeling miserably torn. “If I knew who intended to murder
him, perhaps I could save him. But I still have no idea!”

“Could
you try to find out?”

Bella
scowled. “Well, last time when I came back, I read about a Professor Howard
Peabody who wrote a book on Jacques and his murder. Peabody lives in New
Orleans, and he might be able to shed more light on the mystery. I tried to
call him yesterday, but no luck. And tomorrow is the one hundredth year
anniversary of Jacques's death. After that . . .” She shook her head,
shuddering.

“Then
you must call Peabody again, dear. Immediately. There's no time to waste.”

***

The
next morning, Bella got an eerie feeling as she parked her car in front of a
town house on Chartres Street. Her heart thumped as she approached the facade
of the address Professor Howard Peabody had given her on the phone last night.

Soon
after she'd spoken with Gran, Bella had succeeded in reaching Peabody. He had
apologized for not returning her call, informing her that he had just returned
from a vacation in Atlanta. She had explained her interest in Jacques LeFevre,
and to her delight, Peabody had invited her for coffee this morning. Although
she was a stranger to him, her mention of his book on Jacques's murder had
prompted an immediate and enthusiastic response.

Now
she was feeling slightly unhinged. Although she had never taken note of
Jacques's actual house number in the past, and this house was beige rather than
pale yellow, she was clearly standing in front of the very town house where she
and Jacques had spent so many pleasurable hours alone in the past! Only now she
could hear the whoosh of cars going past in the street behind her, rather than
the clip-clop of horses' hooves! How unreal it all seemed!

Fingers
trembling, she rang the bell near the wrought iron gate, presumably the same
gate that had been there a hundred years ago. A few moments later, a tall,
thin, elderly man stepped up to the gate. Attired in a white cotton turtleneck
and dark pants, he appeared very much like a professor with his balding head,
goatee, and twinkling gray eyes.

“Professor
Peabody?”

“Indeed,”
he responded in a deep, friendly tone.

“I'm Bella De La Rosa.”

“Ah,
yes.” He swung open the gate. “By all means, come on in, young lady.”

Bella
stepped inside, her eyes scanning the vaguely familiar courtyard, the eerie
feeling of
déjà vu
continuing to swamp her. The plants were all
different, but the scandalous fountain with its naked sea nymph was still
there, the bronze more encrusted with lichen than ever. At the edge of the patio,
the same stairway curled upward toward the balcony fronting Jacques's bedroom,
the very room where they had lain together in the throes of passion. Her gaze
shifted downward to the section of brick wall where he had once cornered her
and made love to her in the rain . . .

“Miss
De La Rosa? Are you all right?”

Stifling
a shiver, Bella turned to her baffled host, giving him an apologetic smile and
extending her hand. “I'm sorry. I'm so pleased to meet you.”