Iron Lace (20 page)

Of course, there was the possibility that Baptiste was not Aurore’s
ami.
Lucien had questioned Aurore and carefully watched her for the past weeks. But she was canny and secretive, and though it irritated him that she hadn’t confided her choice, he had developed a grudging admiration for her. He had deduced Baptiste’s identity from the gossip of Claire’s old friends, so there was still the possibility that Aurore might surprise him.

He found himself looking forward to the evening.

“Monsieur Le Danois?”

He turned and frowned. He hadn’t expected to see Fantome again until he stepped into the carriage.

“Monsieur Terrebonne is here. He says he must see you.”

Lucien pulled out his watch and squinted at the time. The buffet was due to be served soon. “Show him in, and hurry.”

Étienne entered the room, carrying his hat. Lucien nodded curtly. His watch remained in his hand.

“My apologies,” Étienne said. “But you know I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t an emergency.”

Unaccountably, Lucien grew more annoyed. He searched for the source of his feelings, and realized it was that Étienne didn’t seem sorry at all. “What is it?”

“Something I think you must see.”

“I don’t have time. I’m due at the Opera House.”

“Sir, I truly think this must take precedence.”

Lucien saw a young man in his best years, a strong, handsome man with eyes that brimmed with emotion. Something besides annoyance stabbed at him. He felt the first flutter of unease, and with it the speeding of his heart. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I have to show you. We’ll have to go to the office.”

Lucien knew instinctively that Étienne would not be budged. He felt some of the same admiration that in the past weeks he had felt for Aurore. He thrust his watch back into his pocket. “Very well. But you presume too much, Terrebonne.”

“I think you’ll see the reason,” Étienne said.

Lucien measured Étienne’s deference, and didn’t like his calculations. But he was powerless. If he went to the Opera House, he would wonder all night what disaster might be brewing. “Fantome will take us.”

“Yes, sir.” Étienne politely stepped aside and waited for Lucien to precede him. Lucien walked out into the hallway. He was strangely aware that his back was to Étienne. His heart began to speed faster, and even though he told himself that he had nothing to fear, his hands began to sweat.

The Gulf Coast Building was silent, musty and dark. The sudden glare of artificial light did little to warm it. Étienne
paid no attention to his surroundings or to his own speeding pulse as he closed and locked the front door behind them. Lucien had sent Fantome to the Opera House to give his regrets. They were truly alone.

“Suppose you show me whatever’s so important that I’m missing my supper because of it,” Lucien said.

“Everything is upstairs.” Étienne stepped aside, and Lucien climbed the steps, stopping near the middle to rest. In his months at Gulf Coast, Étienne had watched Lucien’s health deteriorate. Lucien thought he had hidden his lack of breath, the sweat that sometimes dotted his brow even in the coldest weather, the blue tinge of his complexion. But Étienne had seen illness claim him, and he had silently rejoiced. He wanted a slow, agonizing death for the man who had killed his family.

At the office door, a panting Lucien stepped aside to let Étienne turn on this light, too. Then he moved inside and took the chair closest to the doorway. His own office, one door away, was obviously too far. “Whatever it is, you can show me while I sit here.”

“Certainly.” Étienne went to the oak filing cabinets along the wall and withdrew a folder. He presented it to Lucien with a mock bow.

Lucien frowned, but he didn’t reprimand Étienne. He shuffled through the papers inside, then held them out. “I see nothing here that demands my attention. These are just our copies of the insurance papers on the
Dowager.
”

“Perhaps you’d better look at the signature.”

Lucien dropped the papers on the desk and began to go through them again. “I still don’t see a problem.”

“I suppose you might not see the difficulty,” Étienne said. “Since you don’t know George Jacelle’s signature at a glance.
But I can assure you that this—” he pointed at the signature at the bottom of one of the papers “—isn’t it.”

“What are you saying?”

“What you’re holding in your hands is a forgery. George Jacelle never signed that document, because he was told that you had decided to let Fargrave-Crane insure the
Dowager.
”

Lucien still didn’t seem to comprehend what Étienne was saying. Étienne felt a surge of power rush through him. He had moments to savor Lucien’s fall, to watch it slowly unfold.

“M’sieu Lucien,” he said. “May I call you that again?”

“Again?” Lucien looked momentarily dazed.

“Yes. I used to call you M’sieu Lucien. A long time ago. Don’t you remember?”

“What are you talking about?” Lucien’s uncertainty gave way to anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Signatures I know nothing about, and now this gibberish!”

“You’ve always disliked the feeling of not being able to take hold of a situation, haven’t you? There’s so little that’s out of your grasp. Even fate.”

Lucien tried to stand, but Étienne put his hand on Lucien’s shoulder and pushed him back into the chair. “What’s wrong, M’sieu? Have you grown so feeble I’ll have to take command?”

“As of this moment, you no longer work here!”

“As of this moment, I no longer need to.” Étienne leaned closer. “Look at me, M’sieu. Look carefully, and tell me what you see.”

“A madman,” Lucien said, but his eyes betrayed fear.

“Nothing so predictable. If I were mad, you might be able to soothe me and escape. But I’m the one who’ll escape and leave you here to make sense of what’s left of your life.”

“You’re truly mad!”

“Look closer. And think of a small boy named Raphael.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. Étienne saw denial there, then a deepening fear. “Raphael?” he whispered.

“Come back from the dead.” Raphael smiled. He could be Raphael now, Raphael forever. “Not Étienne. Never Étienne again. Haven’t you always wished you could have known me as an adult? For a time, you were like a father to me.”

“I buried Raphael myself!”

“Apparently you didn’t.”

Lucien tried to stand once more, but this time it was his own body that betrayed him.

“I suppose you’ll want to know about my mother and sister,” Raphael said. “It’s too bad, isn’t it, that they can’t be here for our reunion? But you did bury them. In a grave along with dozens of others, and you didn’t even stay to erect a headstone. Marcelite Cantrelle, beloved mistress of Lucien Le Danois. And Angelle Cantrelle. Beloved daughter.”

Lucien rested his head in his hands.

“There are details you’re probably curious about,” Raphael continued. “You’ve probably wondered how my mother and sister died? I’ll tell you. After you cut the tow rope, our boat rushed out toward the Gulf. You saw that much yourself before you sought shelter. We were on the crest of a wave when Angelle was pulled from Maman’s arms by the wind and thrown into the water. Maman dived from the skiff after her. She never reached her. They didn’t even die together.”

Lucien’s words were barely audible. “What is it you want?”

“Nothing I don’t have already.” Raphael took the papers and walked to the window to look out over the river. He knew that Lucien wouldn’t find the courage to leave until he had found a way to silence him. Lucien still didn’t understand.

The room was very quiet. Raphael stared toward the river. He knew the time to the minute; he had checked it repeatedly on their journey here. When the room was rocked by the sound of an explosion, he didn’t remain at the window to see the results. He turned.

“What was that?” Lucien asked. His head jerked away from his hands. His eyes were wild, and growing wilder.

“That was the sound of vengeance, M’sieu.”

The syllables Lucien strung together had no meaning. Raphael shook his head. “She was a beautiful ship. Too beautiful to be yours.”

Lucien managed to stand and find his way to the window. The river was spouting flames. He couldn’t form words.

“The
Dowager,
” Raphael confirmed. “And now do you understand about the signature?” When Lucien moaned, he continued. “You put me in charge of the paperwork to insure the
Dowager.
I was to have it prepared by Jacelle and Sons. And you took care of your obligations to Fargrave-Crane by allowing them to insure the rest of your fleet. That way you thought you could save money and save face. You even stopped attending social gatherings or business meetings where the subject might be raised again.”

Lucien was finally coherent. “You bastard!”

“You signed the new documents and dispatched me to carry them to Jacelle and Sons. Instead, I carried regrets that you had changed your mind and would continue on with Fargrave-Crane. Then I forged Jacelle’s signature on our copies of the documents. I told him that pressing his case would only antagonize you. If he hoped for Gulf Coast’s patronage, he should show gentlemanly restraint and wait until I informed him another bid was welcome. George Jacelle is a gentleman.”

Lucien turned, as if to run. Perhaps he had hopes of saving something of the ship that had been the culmination of his career, but Raphael’s next words stopped him.

“Now the
Dowager
has no insurance, and neither do the goods piled at the riverfront. It will be interesting to see if there’s anything left of your wharf when this is over.”

Lucien stumbled and grasped the nearest chair.

Raphael shook his head. “I was surprised to discover how vulnerable you are. I’ve examined the company’s books until I understand them perfectly. You insisted Gulf Coast borrow more money than it could hope to take in for some time. You believed your investments would eventually take root and flourish. You gambled, but the odds were in your favor. Until now.”

Bells began to sound along the river. Flames shot several stories into the air. The watchman and his hirelings had done their job well.

Lucien covered his ears, as if the warning bells were the final horror. “I may be ruined,” he said, “but I’ll take you down with me! I’ll tell the authorities what you’ve told me!”

“Proof?” Mockingly Raphael held out the papers to Lucien, then he ripped them in half, and in half once more, before he put them inside his coat pocket. Lucien still covered his ears. Raphael spoke louder. “And I don’t think you’d tell the authorities everything I’ve told you, would you? If they question me, I’ll share the rest of the story with them, the way I’ve shared it with you.”

“Do you think something that happened sixteen years ago would matter to them?”

“I think stories persist. They can ruin a man’s good name, and sometimes that’s all a man has left.”

“You bastard. You should have died in the hurricane. You were meant to! Why didn’t you?”

“That’s plain, isn’t it? I survived to avenge my mother and sister.”

The room was growing warmer. Raphael didn’t expect the Gulf Coast offices to go up in flames. The wharf and the
Dowager
were distant enough that there was a good chance the office would be spared. But cotton bales were highly flammable, and the nearest warehouse was piled high with them. The stave yard, packed tight with creosoted lumber, was directly across from them. With the right combination of wind and mismanagement of the fire, the building could ignite. “You should know the rest.”

Lucien pitched to his knees. He began to gasp for breath. Raphael folded his arms and watched; his expression never changed. “I’ll tell you quickly, while you’re alive to hear it all. Your daughter’s pregnant, and the child is mine. We’re leaving the city tonight. You’ve lost both your daughters, M’sieu, and ensured that your lineage will be forever mixed with mine. My only regret is that I’ve tainted my own bloodlines.”

“You lie!” Lucien gasped out the words. “You’re lying!”

“Ask yourself if I’m lying tomorrow, when you wake up and discover Aurore’s gone. Better yet, ask yourself if I’m lying tonight, when you read the letter she’s asked Cleo to put on your pillow. She’s worth a hundred of you. And because I’m not completely heartless, I’ll leave you with a little hope. I love your daughter, because there’s nothing of you inside her. I’ll care for her as you never have. I’ll promise not to see you in any of our children. And we’ll have many, M’sieu. Many, many children to carry on the Le Danois heritage.”

Now the riverfront was a screaming confusion of noise.
There were shouts and the sounds of running feet. Horses whinnied in confusion. Fire was as dreaded here as anywhere. It had nearly destroyed San Francisco and Chicago, and more than a hundred years ago had almost destroyed New Orleans itself. But the streets near the river received heavy abuse and were still some of the worst in the city. Despite every effort, it would take time to maneuver fire engines into place.

The flames from the
Dowager
leaped higher. Raphael couldn’t see clearly, but he thought the flames were licking at the dock. Gulf Coast Steamship was going up in smoke before his eyes. He waited for the thrill of elation. He had done everything he’d intended. The small boy who had lain awake each night and plotted revenge had achieved it. His mother and sister could lie quietly in the arms of God.

And Lucien could burn in the depths of a hell on earth.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he looked at Lucien again. He was collapsed on the floor now, the color of the ashes drifting in the air. He was breathing, his fingers digging ineffectually in the rug beneath him. But there was nothing he could do except lie there and face his own destiny.

“I’ll leave you to find your way out,” Raphael said. “I’d advise you to leave as quickly as you can. This building will probably be safe, but even that’s not certain. Nothing’s certain in this life, is it? There are always surprises in store.”

He started toward the door, but he wanted one more glimpse of Lucien. He had yet to feel the thrill of victory. In the doorway, he turned and saw that Lucien was still, except for the slight rise and fall of his overcoat. He waited for joy to fill him, but he was as empty inside as he had been before he fell in love with Lucien’s daughter.