His Dark Desires (26 page)

I found Stephen in the center hall. "Monsieur Trevelyan, might I have a word with you in my father's office?"

He lifted a brow at my curt tone and steered me toward the parlor. "I am in need of much more than a discussion with you," he said, "but unfortunately, unless we can talk while we stroll in the courtyard, it will have to wait."

"Why?" I felt miffed. Didn't he realize how important this was?

"It concerns a hanging and a chunk of glass," he said. "I think I know who killed Mr. Goodson and mistakenly murdered Miss Vengle."

I stared at him a moment, my eyes wide and my mouth open. "Who?"

"I may be wrong, and this would ruin a man's reputation. I'll know more if I find what I am looking for in the courtyard."

He hurried through the French doors and I barreled into the courtyard after him.

He began searching the ground by the fountain. Already the humidity threatened to make the day unbearable, but not as unbearable as my frustration. I thumped him on the head as if he were a melon.

"Reputation be damned, Stephen, tell me right now! Who killed Monsieur Goodson and Mademoiselle Vengle?"

He held up a rounded piece of glass to me. The sun glinted off the ring on his finger, and I suddenly realized where I had seen the design on the ring before. Shock slammed into me, making my heart plummet. "That's Monsieur Goodson's ring, Stephen. He sealed his letters with it. Why do you have his ring?"

"Yes, Stephen, I think it is time for us to tell Mrs. Boucheron all, don't you?" came a voice from behind me.

I whipped my head around to see Mr. Davis step out from behind the camellia bush, a pistol in each hand and a thick rope hanging over one arm.

"Nice of you two to make this so easy for me. I was just about to go to the attic and wait for the night. Drop your pistol into the fountain, Stephen, unless you'd like to see a bullet between Mrs. Boucheron's pretty eyes." Mr. Davis aimed his pistol at me, and the blood rushed from my head. I grabbed for the edge of the fountain behind me. Then I heard a splash— Stephen's pistol was now useless.

"Both of you, move toward the gate. And don't even think about calling for help. We wouldn't want dear Mignon or Andre to come running into a bullet, would we? We are going for a nice walk in the park."

Putting one unsteady foot in front of the other, I nearly stumbled over the courtyard's stones. Stephen set a steadying hand to my back, drawing me close to his side. His chiseled features were frozen in a grim mask.

"You are never going to get away with this," he said harshly.

Mr. Davis laughed. "Oh, I think I will. The White League is going to have a little lynching party. Too bad Mr. Hayes won't hear about the fun until it's all over, but I think he'll feel sufficiently avenged. The gossip of Stephen attacking Mr. Hayes is all over town. Nice of you to wrap this up so neatly for me."

We exited the gate. Ahead were the mossy eaves of the rambling live oaks and the dark shadows of the park. The moment I reached the cover of the trees, I would run. The ghostly moss might be able to save us.

"Stop here and turn slowly around," Mr. Davis ordered, just before we reached the trees.

Six more feet, I thought.  So close.

Mr. Davis had exchanged one of his pistols for a long knife during our walk from
La Belle
. "I need a little insurance that you two aren't going to take the notion to run in opposite directions." He tossed the rope to Stephen.

"Put the noose around Mrs. Boucheron's pretty little neck."

Stephen threw the rope on the ground and stared at Mr. Davis.

Mr. Davis's face flushed red. "You just bought her some fancy artwork before she hangs. I only have to decide what to carve up first: her face or—"

"Sheriff Carr will be here shortly." Stephen's voice cut across the ugly threats with deadly calm. "He knows it's you: all of the pieces fit. You called the cigars Flutas rather than Fuentas when Mrs. Boucheron and I came to your office, finding you with the humidor. But Sheriff Carr will undoubtedly find them to be Fuentas that belong to Mr. Maison, and to match the butt Mrs. Boucheron found in the attic.

"Then there's the matter of the White League hanging during the spring. You mentioned it that day, too—perhaps forgetting that you had left the article about the incident with the cigar to set a fire in
La Belle's
attic. Then there is the matter of your age and your comments about the war. You are the spy known as the Shepherd Boy, who worked with Jean Claude. You met Mr. Goodson for lunch at Antoine's and then killed him on the steps of your office afterward. You must have hired someone to attack Mignon at the carnival. Playing Mignon's hero fit nicely into your plans, except she didn't fall lovingly into your arms. Your plan to poison Ginette, kill Juliet, and marry Mignon didn't quite work out, did it?"

Stephen was right, the pieces fit with horrifying perfection.

"Not a jury in the world will convict a man on such flimsy guesswork."

"No, but the lens of broken spectacles at the scene of a murder is evidence enough. Your glasses broke in the scuffle you had with Miss Vengle."

"That is why you were so surprised to see me," I gasped. "When you came yesterday, you came to comfort Mignon because you thought you had killed
me
. A cigar fell out of your coat when you threw it on the settee. Is Monsieur Maison alive or dead?"

"His ardent republican views caught up with him on his way to Washington. I'm sure his body will be identified as soon as they find it. Just think, I'll have a prominent business, a lovely wife with a prestigious house, and the bloody gold, for I'll not give up until I find it. The clue is in his journal, and I am sure once I live in
La Belle
, I will figure out what he wrote."

"What journal?" I asked.

"Your dearly departed husband's. I know some very intimate things about you."

My skin crawled.

"Sheriff Carr knows," Stephen said again, his voice like shards of glass.

"No, he doesn't." Mr. Davis nodded to the trees. "Mr. Phelps met with an unfortunate accident with my knife before he made it to town, and will likely bleed to death before anyone finds him. So I now have part of the lens and the letter you wrote to Sheriff Carr, and I will get the rest of the lens from your pocket after you swing."

Mr. Davis laughed, enjoying his game. "Since we are hanging men on circumstantial evidence, let's give you your trial now, Trevelyan. I'm sure it would interest Mrs. Boucheron to know you were acquainted with Mr. Goodson. She would love to know that he told you about the gold, wouldn't she? Why else would you come here under false pretenses? Why else pretend you'd just arrived, when you'd been in New Orleans for a month?"

"Stephen?" My voice cracked.

I knew he wasn't guilty of murder, but deep in my heart I knew he had lied to me about why he was here. I yearned for him to explain, say anything to refute what I feared to be true—but he didn't say a word.

"Stephen," I begged softly.

"The little lady is heartbroken, because she can see that everything you put at my door can be placed at yours, even an acquaintance with Miss Vengle. Poor Mrs. Boucheron, doomed to love traitors. You're as gullible as your husband was, madam. He never even saw my blade coming. I didn't expect that he'd already stolen the gold."

"You bastard."

"Don't sound so disgusted. Your lover here is no different than me. I would have married Mignon to get the house and eventually the gold. All Trevelyan had to do was get into your bed. Perhaps I picked the wrong sister."

A crow flew from the oaks and gave a mournful cry, catching Mr. Davis's attention.

Stephen lunged for Mr. Davis, who glanced back and feinted to the side. Stephen caught hold of his pistol hand, wrenching it. Mr. Davis slashed downward with the knife in his other hand, cutting a deep gash in Stephen's arm and knocking him down.

I cried out in horror at the blood soaking Stephen's sleeve. Mr. Davis jammed the pistol against Stephen's temple. "Put the rope around your neck or he dies now, Mrs. Boucheron."

"Don't do it, Juliet. Run, damn it! Get the hell out of here."

I picked up the rope because I had no doubt Mr. Davis would end Stephen's life the very second I ran. I slid the noose over my head slowly, my heart fluttering wildly. Cold terror seeped into my soul, and I firmly resolved that I would defeat the odds even in the face of this evil.

"Tighten the noose "

"No. Damn it, run!" Stephen cried.

Mr. Davis cocked the pistol.

I reached for the knot and fumbled with it. Then a deep chill struck me, causing me to shiver. The ghost! I couldn't get the noose tightened. Stephen's life hinged on my ability and I was failing. A gray mist seemed to hover over Mr. Davis. "It is stuck. I cannot budge it."

"Tighten it or he dies."

I jerked at the knot, forcing tears to my eyes as I struggled. "I can't, I tell you! You do it," I said, stomping toward him, holding the end of the rope out in both of my hands.

Mr. Davis's eyes widened, but before he could react, I tossed the rope over his head and jerked it hard, pulling him off balance. Stephen came up off the ground, knocking the pistol from Davis's hand and slamming his body against Mr. Davis. As I fell backward, Mr. Davis and Stephen dove for the pistol. The rope around my neck pulled taut. I reached for the noose, shoving my hands inside the loop, trying to keep the knot from sliding tighter.

The sound of a gunshot paralyzed me. I saw Stephen stagger and I screamed. I thought he would fall, but he wrenched around toward me. Mr. Davis lay on the ground, unmoving, his hand on the pistol.

Fingers shaking, Stephen loosened the rope and slid it from my neck. His gaze, filled with concern and love, branded my heart.

"Dear God, woman, if you ever do that again, I'll die."

He pulled me into his arms and I clung to him, thankful to be alive, as Captain Jennison walked toward us with my father's rifle in his hand.  He’d shot Mr. Davis, saving Stephen…and me.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

Over Stephen's shoulder, I saw Captain Jennison check Mr. Davis's pulse, then shake his head.

"We owe you our lives," I said, easing back from Stephen's embrace. "How did you know to come help?"

"Hearing you shout, 'Reputation be damned, Stephen, tell me right now! Who killed Monsieur Goodson and Mademoiselle Vengle?' caught my attention. When I saw him"—Jennison nodded Mr. Davis's way—"holding a gun on you, I exited the front of the house and cut through the park. Looks like I was almost too late. That's a nasty cut on your arm."

"Nothing compared to what almost happened," Stephen said, as he pressed a handkerchief to his wound. "I owe you my life."

"Count us even," Jennison replied. "You telegraphed me. Ginette said that she only asked you to post a letter to me."

"Ginette!" I interrupted, pushing to my feet. "She's awake?"

"She woke just minutes after you left the room."

"I must go to her." I took a step, then remembered Stephen's knife injury and turned back. "Your arm." I said, bending to him.

He motioned me away. "I'm fine. Go see Ginette. I'll be right behind you." I hesitated, but he urged me on with a nudge.

"Two minutes," I said. "If you're not there, I'll come looking for you." He nodded and I hurried to the house.

"Juliet, what has happened?" Ginette exclaimed the moment I entered the room. She reclined in bed, propped up by a mound of pillows. Though still deathly pale, there was a glow shining in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips.

"So much blood!" the nurse said, jumping up.

Looking down, I saw that I had as much blood on me as Stephen had on him.

"Stephen's arm is cut," I told the nurse.

"I'll get some bandages ready," she replied. Just before she left the room, she sent Ginette a firm look. "Miss DePerri, please don't try and get up again. You are still weak and you need to give your body time to recuperate from the poison."

The nurse left, and Ginette immediately tried to rise. "James?" she asked, then fell back against the pillows.

I hurried over to the bed and took her hand in mine. "Captain Jennison is fine. He and Stephen should be here momentarily. The killer was Monsieur Davis, Ginette."

Ginette's eyes widened. "Monsieur Davis! But he's been—"

"Poisoning you and trying to kill me so that he could marry Mignon and have La Belle. He thinks Jean Claude hid the gold here." I shuddered at how close the man had come to destroying my family.

"The police are searching for Mr. Phelps," Captain Jennison said from behind me.

Giving Ginette's fingers a loving squeeze, I rose and moved away from the bed.

"I still can't believe you came," Ginette said softly, reaching her hand out to him.

"How could you doubt that I would?" Captain Jennison folded her hand in his and sat on the bed next to her.

Seeing the love for each other shining in their eyes, I eased toward the door.

"Forgive me for the pain, for the lost years," she said.

"There's nothing to forgive, my heart. What I couldn't have abided was losing you. As long as I knew you lived, I could face each day."

I slipped from the room to give them more privacy. Once in the corridor, I heard a commotion from the direction of the bath. Moving that way, I found Stephen under the crisp care of the nurse and her medical supply bag, which apparently contained a bottle of whiskey. The nurse was trying to get Stephen to drink some before she cleaned the cut on his arm and sewed it up. Stephen sat in a chair with his shirtsleeve in tatters, refusing her help and the whiskey.

"I've a good mind to let you bleed until Dr. Goodson gets here," the nurse said, pressing a towel to the wound on his arm.

Stephen grimaced. "Mark would not be so stubborn—"

"Doctor Goodson?" I repeated as a wave of shock hit me.

Stephen jerked his head toward me, and the nurse gasped as if she'd committed a grave mistake. "Dr. Mark Goodson," Stephen said quietly.