Forever (18 page)

Eden crossed the Mississippi on the Greater New Orleans Bridge and headed west. Mae had said that the original Jefferson home was near Sulphur amongst the swamplands in the vicinity of Calcasieu Lake. Once in the area she would be able to find someone to direct her. Paying little heed to the speed limit she pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator and sped along the West Bank Expressway, her brow furrowed.

‘You see, my love, I told her,' Gussie said, pushing the swing into motion with her foot, oblivious of the afternoon's passing. ‘Why do you tease me? Why do you make me afraid?'

Allie put the empty milkshake glasses on a tray, saying unsteadily, ‘Who are you talking to, Miss Augusta? There ain't nobody there.'

‘Beau is here,' Gussie said, twisting a long strand of golden hair around her finger.

The glasses rattled on the tray. ‘Beau who, Miss Augusta?'

‘Beau Clay,' Augusta said. ‘He's always here. He likes it here, Allie. He likes the garden and the trees. He likes to stand beneath the branches and watch.' Her eyes darkened introspectively. ‘Soon he will come inside, Allie. Soon he will not be content to stay in the garden. He will come inside and take me away.'

‘Lordy, Lordy, it's time someone took
her
away,' Sabina said, removing her apron, the fat on her upper arms quivering. ‘I ain't staying here another day. That girl ain't right in the head and there ain't no one can tell me that she is.' She rammed a hat on to her head. ‘Heaven help her, that's all I say.'

‘Are you going as well?' Allie asked fearfully as Louis entered the kitchen, his jacket and waistcoat replaced by a sweater, a suitcase in his hand.

‘I'm afraid so. She talked to him all through lunch, just as if he were there. I can't take that. No matter how good the wages.'

‘But there's going to be nobody left,' Allie wailed.

‘There's Horatio,' Sabina said, throwing her belongings into a basket, ‘… and there's Beau Clay!'

Allie shrieked and buried her head in her hands, sobbing convulsively. ‘Miss Augusta won't mind if you leave,' Louis said kindly, ‘She won't even notice, Allie.'

Allie raised a tear-stained face. ‘I can't leave her. Not now. She's ill.'

‘She's spooked,' Sabina said. ‘If you'd a mite of sense you'd get yourself out of here – right now.'

Allie shook her head dumbly. She would stay. Horatio would look after her.

Gussie was uninterested in the exodus of St Michel's staff when Allie told her. She didn't want to eat anyway. Dusk fell and a breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, lifting the lightness of the mosquito netting that hung against the side of the window as she sat before her mirror, brushing her hair and staring into the glass, willing him to appear.

‘Will it be soon, my love?' she asked. ‘Will it be tonight?'

She was wearing the white silk dress her father had been so fond of. It was simple and unsophisticated. Not the sort of dress she would have worn to go out with Beau.

She crossed to the wardrobe and opened the door, running her hand along racks of dresses.

‘Which dress should I wear?'

Her hand was invisibly stilled. Beneath her fingers was the rose-pink gown she had worn on the night of his death. A little sigh escaped from her lips. Tonight she would be ready for him. Tonight she would have a lover. Tonight she would be normal again.

With great care she bathed and perfumed her body and stepped into the softness of the ankle-length gown. The colour warmed and flattered her cheeks. She set the lamp near the window and opened her bedroom door. Then she sat on the dressing table stool and waited, eyes closed, hands folded in her lap like an innocent Madonna.

Allie approached the room nervously, the glass of warm milk she carried rattling on the small tray. Miss Augusta's aunt had instructed that she was to make sure Miss Augusta drank her milk and took her sleeping tablets every night. The door was ajar. There was a stillness about the house that was unnerving.

‘Miss Augusta? Are you all right?'

Hesitantly Allie entered the room.

‘Augusta!'
The voice sighed past her, filling the room.
‘Augusta! Augusta!'

The milk and the tray crashed to the floor. Augusta leapt to her feet and imprisoned the fleeing Allie by the wrists.

‘No! Allie, wait! Watch! He's coming! Don't drive him away!'

Sheer terror rooted Allie to the spot. The room was silent again. From outside came the sound of the night wind soughing through the tops of the trees and then, unmistakeably, there came the faint sound of footsteps on the gravel of the drive.

Allie stifled a scream as Augusta's finger dug deep into her flesh. ‘Did you hear that, Allie? He's coming for me! It's nearly over!'

‘Holy Mary,' Allie moaned, her face ashen.

‘He's there! I know he's there!' Gussie turned to the open door, her eyes wild.

Eden roared down the avenue, the tyres screaming as she entered St Michel's drive. It was nearly midnight and she had accomplished nothing. Everyone in Sulphur knew of Leila Jefferson. Everyone had heard of the Jefferson place, but no one could tell her how to get there. And without directions it would be difficult to explore the forest and marshlands in safety. Eden would drive to Atlanta and force Mae to return with her. They would see her grandmother together. The drive curved, the oaks thinned. At Gussie's window a lamp burned, but the rest of the house was dark and silent, strangely forbidding. Her headlights flicked past the last of the trees and illuminated the porticoed entrance. A dark figure stood between the fluted pillars, his hand on the great, brass Georgian door-knocker.

The car swerved and bumped wildly on to grass. Bradley. What was Bradley doing at St Michel at near midnight and where was his car?

By the time she had regained control of the Cadillac, the doors of St Michel were wide open and a fleeing figure was hurling itself down the shallow stairs and towards her. She ran from the car.

‘What's is it? What's the matter, Allie?'

‘It's Miss Augusta! She's plum out of her mind!'

Eden seized the hysterical maid, shaking her violently. ‘What's happened, Allie? Is Augusta safe?'

‘He was coming for her, Miss Eden! I heard him myself! I heard his voice in the room and then I heard his footsteps on the gravel and then …'

Eden released her and ran into the darkened hall and up the stairs towards Gussie's room, her heart pounding, filled with an unspeakable fear.

‘Gussie!' She halted in the doorway, panting for breath.

Gussie was sitting at her dressing table, her face a mixture of rage and pain and blinding relief.

‘What's happened, Gussie?'

Gussie began to shake. ‘He came for me, Eden. He came for me but Allie was here and then you arrived.'

Eden pressed a hand against her palpitating heart. ‘Thank God,' she gasped. ‘Listen Gussie. Allie has left. I'm staying at St Michel tonight. Tomorrow I'm going for Mae. There won't be another night like this.'

‘But there
has
to be, Eden!' Gussie cried fervently. ‘He must come for me! I can't stand until I'm old waiting and waiting, not able to love anyone else. A prisoner …'

The bottle rattled against the rim of the glass as Eden poured a large brandy.

‘If he comes for you, Gussie, you'll die.'

Gussie's tragic eyes met hers. ‘I know,' she whispered. ‘Oh, Eden! I'm so afraid.'

‘So am I,' Eden said truthfully, draining the brandy and pouring another for Gussie.

‘Then you believe me? You don't think I'm mad?'

Eden sat unsteadily on the bed, remembering the dark, powerful figure so clearly held in her headlights.

‘No,' she said, fighting wave after wave of overwhelming fear. ‘I don't think you're mad. I know he's here. I saw him.'

Gussie rushed to the window, opening it wide. ‘Beau,' she called vainly. ‘Beau! Beau!'

Eden seized her shoulders. ‘He mustn't come in, Gussie.'

‘But he's in torment. All because of me!'

Their eyes held, wide with terror. Then, like children, they clung together and wept.

They rose before dawn and drank a breakfast of black coffee and Bloody Marys.

‘I wish I didn't have to leave you,' Eden said at last, her jacket round her shoulders, car keys in her hand.

‘I'll be all right.' There was no conviction in Gussie's voice. It was if she had difficulty concentrating on Eden's presence. Her eyes kept being drawn away from Eden and towards the giant oaks across the dew-wet lawn.

‘I'll be back as soon as possible, Gussie.'

‘Yes.'

Eden hesitated. It was as if Gussie kept entering another world. Last night, for a brief while, the spell had been broken but now, insidiously, it was back in full force. Cold fingers squeezed Eden's heart. Was it Beau Gussie could see standing beneath the ghostly outline of the oaks? Was he talking to her even now? One thing was certain. If he came for her, Gussie would go as unprotestingly as a bride into the arms of her bridegroom. She would be unable to help herself.

Eden ran to her car. Its tyre marks blazed across several feet of perfectly tended turf. If she needed any evidence of the reality of the events of the previous night, the tyre marks supplied them. She was not highly strung; she was not of a nervous disposition; she was not over-imaginative. What she had seen, she had seen. A tall, lean, powerful figure caught in the headlights of her car as he tried to enter St Michel.

She headed out of New Orleans on the Eastern Expressway. It would be a long haul to Atlanta and she would have to be back by nightfall. She dare not leave Gussie alone in St Michel. She fumbled on the seat beside her for her bag and opened it. Her address book was there, thank God. She could always ring Dr Meredith. At the thought of what exactly she would say to him, she blanched. He wouldn't believe her. She couldn't expect him to. Only Mae would believe her. And Leila Jefferson. Her diary was there as well. She flicked it open and caught her breath. June twenty-second. Nearly a year to the day since they had sat, giggling and light-hearted, in Gussie's bedroom. Was that why Beau was making his presence increasingly felt? Was he waiting for Midsummer's Eve? For the anniversary of his death? She fought down the sobs that rose to her throat. She had to reach Atlanta quickly and she could not do so in a state of near-hysteria. She had to calm down; forget about Beau Clay and concentrate on the road ahead of her.

With relief she left Louisiana and entered Mississippi. It was still early morning and so far she hadn't picked up a ticket for speeding. Not that she gave a damn for tickets. She would probably be festooned with them by the time she reached her destination. All that mattered was that she arrived. Fast. And that Mae return to New Orleans with her.

Gussie, her eyes blank, had watched Eden's car disappear down the drive. Only Eden and Allie had prevented Beau from claiming her. Now Eden was gone and so was Allie. Tonight Beau would triumph. Almost mechanically she walked out into the dawn chill and plucked a rose. No limousine appeared at her side. Had Horatio left St Michel along with Louis and Sabina? Today was important. Today she had to leave her rose at the Clay mausoleum. He would know if she did not do so. He would be angry.

Panic seized her. She began to run towards the corner of the white stuccoed mansion, down the side, towards the garage. There was no sign of Horatio. The cars shone sleekly, keys in the ignitions. She opened the door of her Chevrolet. Horatio never left the keys in the car. Doing so was his way of telling her he was leaving. Had left. She reversed into the pale light of dawn. She was sorry Horatio had gone; and Allie. She had liked them. An early-morning paper boy waved blearily to her as she motored towards the city. No one else was about. She was glad. Her dawn visits to the cemetery were private. She wanted no one to see her; no one to intrude. The cemetery was wreathed in a haze that presaged heat. She left the car and walked swiftly towards the ornate magnificence of the Clay tomb.

‘Augusta, Augusta!'
His shadow enveloped her, possessive and demanding.

She stretched her hands out before her but her fingertips met only air.

‘Will it be tonight, Beau?' she asked desperately. ‘Will you come for me tonight? Will we both be set free?'

‘
Augusta
…' The voice was a faint, vanishing whisper. The shadow was gone.

She began to cry. He gave her so little comfort. She remembered the mocking lines of his mouth, the hint of cruelty. Did he torment her on purpose?

‘Oh, Beau,' she wept. ‘I'm sorry. I was a child. I didn't realize the enormity of what I was doing.'

The silence taunted her. Dejectedly she left her offering and returned to her car. It was nearly over. Soon he would have his heart's desire. She slid behind the wheel and pushed her hair away from her face. He had been her heart's desire, too. Why, then, did she feel no joy? Why did terror stalk her, rendering her helpless, clouding her mind? Early morning traffic was beginning to pour into the city. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple and eased her Chevrolet into the empty, northbound lane. It was as if what strength she had possessed had deserted her. She felt weak and tired; too tired to garage the car. She left it, engine still running, door wide open, and made her way to her room and her unmade bed. Allie was beginning to make her absence felt. Uncaringly she drew the crumpled sheets around her shoulders and slept.

The knocking on the door awakened her. She blinked, disorientated. Why didn't someone answer the door? The brass knocker slammed again, the noise reverberating through the empty house. She groaned. Louis had left. Allie had left. There was no one to still the insistent banging but herself.

Reluctantly she hurried bare-footed along the landing, and as the knocking increased in ferocity, ran lightly down the stairs. She would have to give Jim Meredith a key. He still called in each morning. Nothing was achieved by his visits but it kept him happy. Or at least Gussie supposed that it did.