The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (6 page)

I accepted a cup from Cassa. True to Nick’s warning, the coffee was thick and black as coal tar. I took a sip, choked and sputtered, tears stinging my eyes. But I was wide awake.

“The water’s gone down,” Nick said. “We can cross by way of the bridge.”

“Good.  I’m anxious to get started.  Will we go past Evangeline on the way to Royal Oaks? Maybe I’m being childish, but I’m so eager to see the house.”

Nick nodded briefly. “You’ll see Evangeline.” Quickly, he turned away from me, his eyes suddenly dark with an emotion that I did not understand. “Finish your coffee. I’ll be back as soon as I see to the horse.”

I sipped my bitter coffee and attempted to thank Cassa for her hospitality. She nodded as if she seemed to understand. “Ya, ya,” she nodded with a shake of her head.

A short time later, Nick returned to tell me that the carriage was ready.

I stepped out into a morning that, through the haunted shadows of the cypress, made vague promises of sunshine. I turned back at the doorway to find Nick still speaking to Cassa. Once again, their tones were solemn. Cassa’s eyes were filled with a devout kind of admiration as she spoke to Nicholas. Her eyes strayed to me, and she shook her head, the look in her eyes pitying.
But, surely, I must be imagining things,
I thought.
Why would the old woman pity me?

As I reached the carriage, my spirits lifted. Surely I was only being foolish. Their private conversation probably had nothing to do with me at all. Last night’s storm had washed the world clean, making everything seem shiny and new. I waited for Nicholas, anxious to be on my way. Soon, I would meet Edward and the rest of my mother’s family, would see the beautiful house where she had grown up, the house that now belonged to me.

I was glad when Nick finally joined me in the carriage. Nervous anticipation inclined me to chatter. “I’m a little anxious about meeting my mother’s family.”

“Oh? I did not mean to give you the wrong idea about your uncle. Edward can be stubborn and pompous, but he’s not a bad man.”

There’s been almost no communication between us all these years. I guess my grandfather wanted it that way.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Grandfather was a loyal Rebel. He never quite forgave my mother for marrying a Yankee soldier.”

“Is that what they told you?”

“No, but what else could it have been? Though Mother wrote to him faithfully, we never heard a word in reply. Oh, once in a while, we heard from Edward. But never from Grandfather himself.” I felt the sadness of her death pass over me like a cold shadow. “When she became so ill, I took it upon myself to write one last time on her behalf—”

“Surely he wrote then. I’ve heard that May was a favorite of his.”

“Grandfather’s letter came too late” I replied sadly. “She never even knew that he had tried to get in touch with her.”

“Your grandfather Raymond died quite recently.”

“Yes—a few weeks after my mother. I inherited Evangeline from him.” Eagerly, I continued. “Can you tell me anything about the place? I know that it has stood empty for some time, but surely it is not beyond repair. I have a little money. Tell me, Nick, are you familiar with the house? I heard that it was not in the best of condition. But is it as grand as I imagine it must be?”

The same bridge that had been flooded last night creaked and groaned with the weight of the carriage. I caught the reflection of the snorting horse and my own pale face in the murky waters as the bridge rocked as if it might break in two.

Nicholas’s face was turned away from me; only the shadow of his cheek and lashes were visible. “Perhaps it would be better if you saw Evangeline for the first time without another’s views to color your own feelings.”

“You are right,” I agreed reluctantly, for curiosity was making me impatient. “But, are we far?”

He shook his head. “Not far.” His eyes were dark and flat as the motionless waters of the swamp. All traces of the charming man he had been last night had vanished. He sat straight and silent beside me, as cheery as a hangman on his way to an execution. What could be bothering him?

In an effort to lift the feeling of impending doom that was settling like invisible dust around us, I continued to talk. “It came as quite a surprise that Grandfather left the family place to me. I really thought he would leave it to Edward. After all, Edward was the one who stayed—Are you acquainted with the Dereux family, Nicholas?”

The eyes seemed to grow even darker. “Of course. Almost as well as if I were a part of it.”

“Mother also spoke of a second brother named Pierre, but I don’t really know much about him. She said—well, that he was a bit of a rake.”

A dark brow raised with sudden interest. “A black sheep, eh? Now this is getting interesting.”

“I can make it even more so,” I boasted, glad to see him smile. “Mother told me that he was involved in smuggling and other criminal activities before he got himself killed in the war. And that he left behind a son who was as much of a scoundrel as himself. Edward mentioned last time he wrote that the son thinks Evangeline belongs to him. I’m afraid he might contest the will.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Nicholas replied.

“Oh, I’m not worried! Even if Grandfather once promised the place to Pierre, his son has no right to it. If need be, I’ll give him a fight. You see, he has no legitimate claim. Edward was careful to point out to me that he was a bastard son and not really a part of the great Dereux family at all.”

“I see.”

“At least Grandfather never claimed him as part of the family.”

“Your grandfather,” Nicholas observed in a strange voice, “was not a very forgiving soul.”

“No,” I agreed wholeheartedly. “But he must have had some redeeming quality. My mother never stopped loving him. She never forgot her life here. She wanted so much to return. If she had but lived—”

“Is that why you have come?” I was taken by surprise by the roughness in Nicholas’s voice. “Tb live out her life for her? That can’t be done, you know.”

“I only want to meet the people she once knew. I want to know the South as she knew it. Is that so wrong?”

“That all depends on how you go about it.”

How could I expect Nicholas to understand what I was ashamed to even admit that what I really hoped to find here was a sense of belonging. Mother and I had kept to ourselves, lived isolated and apart from the others in the small flat in St. Louis. I had no suitor, no friends. With Mother gone, I was without root or anchor. I was totally and utterly alone.

“Things have a way of changing, you know.”

“Mother said that Evangeline was the one thing in the world that would never change.”

“Then you’re in for a rather shocking surprise.”

What did he mean? The gloom in Nick seemed to sink deeper and deeper the farther we went along. The carriage seemed to move at a snail’s pace. “You’ve built castles in the air, Miss Moreland. I hope you will not be too disappointed when reality rears its ugly head.”

“I don’t understand.”

The carriage slowed. “When we make this curve in the road, Evangeline will be in view,” he said. His voice was heavy, thick with forewarning.

“And, there it is,” he sighed wearily as the carriage lurched around the final curve. An air of mockery crept into his tone. “The beautiful Evangeline”

I gasped in horror. The gaunt shell that loomed before us in the glistening morning light was something out of a nightmare! Nick had stopped the carriage completely. I stepped down, still staring in disbelief.

One portion of the magnificent mansion had been dragged down by fire. An angel with a broken wing, I thought with despair, viewing the wreckage. Broken windows from the wounded side glared at me like accusing eyes from behind two stately Doric columns that rose so proudly up from the ashes. Behind them was a tangle of twisted beams and roofing, a collapsed gallery slowly crumbling into the heap of rubble below.

I could only stand and stare in total dismay. The house was obviously beyond repair! Why had Edward not warned me in his letter? He had led me to believe that the property was so desirable that Pierre’s bastard son was willing to contest the will for it. And Edward, too, had expressed interest in the property. Why had he offered such a good price to make this pitiful heap of scrap timber his own?

Still stunned, I numbly tried to swallow the bitter gall of disappointment. Then, accusingly, I whirled upon Nick, taking out my wrath, my hurt, my anger upon him. “You knew! You knew all along this place was in ruin! Then why did you allow me to go on talking? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have listened?” he answered quietly.

Sympathetic black eyes searched mine. “Do you think it was easy for me to listen to you chattering along like a magpie when I knew this godforsaken place was your destination?”

I hung my head. In his own way, hadn’t he tried to warn me with his dark mood, his silence? But I had been too caught up in my own foolish dreams to listen. A bird flew out of the empty hull of the wreckage and disappeared into the cypress groves. I willed myself not to cry. It was too late. Already I could feel the hot, bitter tears scalding my cheek. I covered my face with my hands.

“Please don’t, little cousin.” His voice was husky with emotion. In one swift step, he was cradling me in his arms. I did not resist as he pulled me protectively against his broad chest. Instead, I burrowed my face for a moment in the folds of his rough white shirt, letting the rest of the tears flow.

I looked up into his craggy face with its strong, high cheekbones and dark, shadowed eyes. “Who—who are you?” I whispered. “Why do you call me cousin?”

“Pierre Dereux
was the only father I’ve ever known.”

“Then you are—”

“The Dereux bastard,” he admitted with a slightly sardonic smile. “Though I never was Pierre’s flesh-and-blood son. He simply took me under his wing. I was abandoned by my own mother, and my father, a close friend of Pierre, was killed in a tragic accident. Pierre gave me his name, and, of course, there was talk. Though your grandfather and your uncle Edward found it hard to accept an orphan as part of the proud Dereux family, I was raised here, in this very house, alongside Edward’s own son, Racine Dereux.”

“Edward’s son? The young man who was killed in the war along with Pierre?”

Nicholas nodded. “But none of that matters now. It is history.” His strong arms still held my shoulders. The eyes, black and deep and probing pierced mine. “Louise, listen to me! Please leave now! There is nothing for you here. If your grandfather left you money, don’t throw it away on this old house! You can’t live out your mother’s dreams. Go back to where you came from and find a dream of your own. There’s a curse on the Dereux name as surely as there was a curse on this house!”

Stubbornly, I turned away from him. “When did the house burn?” I demanded, once more viewing the wreckage. “I heard that it was still standing after the war.”

“The fire was much more recent” he added so softly that I could barely hear him. “Last year—”

I spun around to face him again. “Only a year ago?”

An angry shadow passed over his face. “You insist on knowing the story behind this—catastrophe? Listen, then, and I’ll tell you!”

“You see ...” he began softly. “I, too, once had great plans to restore this house to its rightful grandeur. For years after the war, the place lay empty, prey to the elements. Edward wanted it torn down, but your grandfather insisted that it be restored. He was never happy at Royal Oaks with Edward. His one desire was to see the house made habitable again before he died. Since he was old and crippled, he needed an able body to help him carry out his plans. Your grandfather financed the entire operation, while I did the labor for him. In the end, we were to have shared the house. I made several trips to New Orleans to hire workmen and to bring back furnishings for the house. It was on the last trip that I met her—”

Met who?
I wondered, but I dared not interrupt him. His eyes had gone dark, clouded with painful memory.

“I brought her back with me from the city. My fiancée fell in love with the house at once. We were to be married on the Mardi Gras” He gave a short laugh. “Mardi Gras—the time of joy and celebration.” His voice was thick with irony.

“There was a masquerade ball that evening following the wedding ceremony, the ‘grand debut’ of the new Evangeline.”

His voice was low now, filled with anguish. “The night of the ball, the house caught on fire. I lost my bride of barely four hours.” He attempted a rueful smile. “That is the end of my story. Your grandfather blamed me for the entire fiasco. He went back to live with Edward until his recent death. Now I live here alone with my guilt and my memories.”

“You live here?” I echoed, looking at the great ruin of the house—my house—with sudden horror. “Why wasn’t I told any of this? Uncle Edward did not mention you at all in his letter, nor did he tell me about the fire—”

“Edward is not always entirely honest. Not if it can benefit him more to be otherwise” Nick touched my arm. “Let me take you back to the dock, put you on the next boat. Forget you ever set eyes upon this damnable place. Let it fall back into ruin!” He shook his head adamantly. “You should never have come!”

I glanced over at him, suddenly frightened. The way his dark eyes glittered made my heart pound against my chest. This was all wrong. It had to be some mistake. But in my heart, I knew that it was the truth. Last night in the storm, I had discovered the man they called Mad Nicholas. And he was living in my house!

Chapter Five

“I will not leave until I’ve spoken to my uncle,” I insisted, stepping firmly toward the carriage. Nicholas stood motionless, lips tightening, the corners of his mouth white with emotion. His black eyes shot fire. For a moment, I was afraid that he would refuse my request.

“I see that you are as stubborn as the rest of your family,” he remarked at last. With a heavy sigh, he moved back to the horses. “Very well. I will take you to see Edward. I only hope that you won’t be sorry.”