Night of the Candles (8 page)

She shivered a little, becoming aware of the chill of the room. On her right was the fireplace from which a little warmth still emanated, she could feel it against the skin of her arm. Strange, she thought as she took up a hairbrush, how you noticed little things like that at times.

Carefully she brushed her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders, curling the ends around her fingers and pulling tendrils free of the mass to curl about her temples and before her ears. Taking up a scent bottle she sniffed the glass stopper, violets. It was a lovely fragrance, light but lasting, memorable. She touched the liquid to her wrists and the hollow of her throat, then passed it over the shining strands of her hair.

With deft hands she opened jars, applied softening cream to her face, her hands, and arms. She used rice powder papers to remove the shine from her face and then, humming a snatch of a lilting song beneath her breath, she touched a bit of oil of carmine to her lips.

There. That was much better. She could do with another length of ribbon to go around her hair but she now looked much better.

The thought and her soft singing broke off as a faint sound came from behind her. Her heart fluttering in her throat, she turned on the stool.

A man stood in the doorway in his dressing gown.

“I heard someone moving about in here, and I thought perhaps you were ill,” he said, a frown between his eyes, his eyes bleak and withdrawn despite his words of concern.

“Jason!” she said, jumping to her feet and going toward him, her bands outstretched and a teasing light in her eyes. “Jason, my love, don’t you know…”

But she had not taken more than three steps before the fragile darkness caught up with her, and she sank, like a boneless doll with a white china face, to the floor.

“WHY, fraeulein, were you perhaps uncomfortable in the other gown? You should have called me.” The nurse smiled, surprise in her eyes as she moved into the room, then her face changed and she stared fixedly at Amanda as she came closer to the bed.

“You … you didn’t … you weren’t in this room last night?” Amanda asked, her eyes wide.

“No, fraeulein, not after I left you when you dozed off.”

“You didn’t attend me, not at all?”

Marta shook her head slowly.

“Who did?” There was an undertone of anger combined with a touch of something like fear in her voice.

“I don’t know, fraeulein, I heard nothing after I retired to my own small room at the back of the house.”

“Marta, please. I … I woke up this morning wearing this gown I have never seen before, my hair was down, and I can’t remember how it came about! I can’t remember!”

“The gown, fraeulein, it belonged to Madame Amelia. It was one of her favorites. Herr Jason chose it for her on his last trip to New Orleans.”

Looking down, Amanda plucked at the green satin ribbon, “Marta … if you didn’t help me … Why can’t I remember? Is there something you aren’t telling me? Have I been in a delirium and you are afraid to let me know of it?”

“Oh, no, fraeulein, nothing like that.”

“Perhaps Sophia … but no, I would still remember it even if it was necessary for Sophia to help me to change.”

“I am sure you could not have awakened her without waking me,” Marta said.

“Then … I must have done it myself … and yet, I wouldn’t dream of going through Amelia’s things. I would certainly never think of wearing them.”

“Look, what is this?”

The nurse moved to the foot of the bed where she removed a handkerchief that had been tied about the post. “Why, it is one of Madame Amelia’s handkerchiefs. See, it has her initials embroidered in the corner, surrounded by a laurel wreath.”

As Marta turned it first one way, then the other, in her large hands Amanda stared at it. It reminded her of something. Oh, yes. It was only a ridiculous childhood memory.

It had been a game she and Amelia had played the rainy summer during the first year of the war. They had pretended they were spies for the confederacy. The top floor of their grandparents’ house had been enemy territory. Amelia most often took the active part, spying out the lay of the land while Amanda lay on watch across the river, the lower hall. They had nearly driven their grandparents mad with their skulking and peering around doors. When Amelia had discovered something she had thought worth reporting, she would creep out and tie her handkerchief to the banister as a signal. Have information. Am returning. Then she would sneak down the back servants’ stairs while Amanda tried to meet her outside on the gallery. If at any time either of them were seen, they were “caught” and were assumed to have paid the extreme penalty for spying, death.

It had been a harmless game. Amanda smiled a little, remembering their excitement and pleasurable sense of mock fear. It was ridiculous to connect such a childish message to the handkerchief tied about the post of her bed. What was she thinking of? She must have been more affected by the blow on the head than she realized.

Amanda was a practical young woman with very little superstition in her make-up, and yet, as she watched Marta put the handkerchief away in the armoire, she shivered.

“Perhaps … perhaps I put the handkerchief there at the same time that I took her gown. I … I must have. There is no other explanation.”

“Fraeulein…”

“Yes … what is it?”

“Have you ever sleepwalked?”

“Never.”

“Well, try not to worry, fraeulein. Injuries to the head are strange sometimes. It is not uncommon to find forgetfulness associated with them.”

Amanda did not reply, but the distress died out of her face, leaving her calmer.

It returned, for a moment, when later that morning as she ate her breakfast she touched her lips with her napkin and it came away with a trace of lip color, something she never used. She stared at it for a time, but she did not mention it to Marta.

She did speak of it to the doctor when he arrived.

A middle-aged man with gold rimmed spectacles, a paunch, mutton-chop whiskers, and wearing gaiters with his charcoal gray suit, he pursed his lips, staring at the floor as he spoke.

At last he said, “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. As the nurse pointed out, amnesia, the loss of memory, is not too unusual a complication with concussion.”

“But, Doctor, why did I do things I wouldn’t ordinarily think of doing? It is this that disturbs me more than the fact of the forgetfulness.”

“I can’t give you an answer to that. We don’t know too much about it actually. In any case, it is not so great a thing. I would advise you to forget it. It may not happen again.”

“But it could?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it could. We have no way of controlling these periods of amnesia. You must not frighten yourself by giving rein to an overactive imagination. There is probably some perfectly rational, normal explanation for your behavior, you have only forgotten what it is. I’m going to give you some drops for the headache. They are to be taken only when you need them, and I will leave them with the nurse here. She will see to it.”

He glanced up at Marta standing back out of the way near the fireplace. “You are … ah … familiar with this?”

She gave a curt nod without speaking, her eyes going to Amanda who grimaced. That the good doctor should treat her like a child or someone wanting in sense was an irritation. She was not ordinarily a nervous person, and she didn’t believe she was being overly concerned. It was only the vague feeling that there was something more to the incident the night before than had yet come to light.

Now the doctor was staring at Marta. “Are we acquainted?” he asked suddenly.

Marta’s face took on a stolid, almost bovine look. “I’m not sure, Herr Doktor. You did not, I believe, attend Madame Monteigne in her last illness.”

“No. My practice is in the next parish. My colleague is out of town for several weeks. During his absence I’ve been holding a surgery twice a week for his patients in town, in addition to my own. I make no secret of the fact that I will be heartily glad to see his return. I’m still persuaded this is not our first meeting. I have a good memory for faces. Comes from recognizing patients, you know. If we have met before, I’m sure it will come to me.”

“Yes, Herr Doktor,” Marta replied politely.

The man picked up his bag. “Well, young lady, I want you to take care of yourself, don’t be too anxious to be up and about. Time is a great healer, you know, a great healer.” With a few more similar bromides he got himself out the door.

When he had gone down the stairs where Sophia waited to give him some light refreshments before she showed him out of the house, Amanda lay staring at the ceiling. What did the man think, that she was a hysterical female, glorying in her illness and determined to dramatize it? It was a weird enough tale, but she had not imagined it. The gown, the cosmetics were there as proof, or had been before she had removed them.

Marta was very quiet. Amanda glanced at her, seeing her frown of preoccupation. What was she thinking? It was hard to tell what might be going on behind that broad white face. The woman had been most attentive, she was grateful to her. But she could not help remembering what Sophia had said, that Marta was extending herself for the sake of her job and her position at Monteigne, not for any liking she might feel toward Amanda herself.

Marta had not seemed to care too much for the doctor. Perhaps she was apprehensive over losing her position at Monteigne, and she was afraid that he would say Amanda had no use for her. Or it might be a kind of professional jealousy; she was miffed that, with her experience available, Nathaniel had felt it necessary to call in a doctor. Whatever the reason, Marta had certainly been less than cordial. Moreover, when at last they heard the clatter of his buggy as it went down the drive, Marta seemed to relax, allowing the tension to drain from her face and her lips to form the semblance of a smile.

She went to the window, drawing back the curtain to peer around the edge, a frown creasing her brow. She jumped, swinging about, as Sophia swept into the room.

“So,” the blond woman said with the flash of a smile, “you have the official verdict. An interesting one, I must say.”

“The doctor told you…”

“Certainly. I had only to ask him. Few men of his style are immune to a smile. About these spells, have you ever had them before?”

“Spells? You make it sound like I have some sort of seizures, Sophia,” she answered, trying to laugh. “It is only that something happened to me last night I can’t remember. I’m sure it was nothing, but I felt I should ask the doctor about it.”

“Yes?”

She obviously wanted to be told about it, but perversely, because her curiosity was so obvious, Amanda did not want her to know. It was embarrassing to think that Sophia had discussed her so openly with the doctor. She could just as easily discuss anything Amanda might tell her with Nathaniel or Theo, or even Jason. No, she would not gratify her to that extent.

She gave a small shrug. “It was nothing really.”

Sophia sent her a sharp look before she turned to Marta.

“I spoke to the doctor about you, too,” she informed the nurse with an unpleasant edge to her voice.

Marta did not speak but she raised startled eyes to Sophia’s face.

“He remembered where he had met you before.”

“Did he, fraeulein?” the nurse asked in a toneless voice but her face, if it was possible, grew paler.

“It was some years ago and in a town farther south, for, as he pointed out, you are a memorable person.”

Marta opened her mouth as if to question Sophia, then her eyelids dropped. “I have worked with many doctors in my life, but I can’t remember this man. He is mistaken.”

“I think not.” Sophia said, a malicious look in her eye as she stared at the German woman. “But we will talk about it later, tonight after dinner?”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Marta asserted, but her voice lacked conviction, and Sophia turned away satisfied.

At the door she looked back. “Oh, Amanda, I nearly forgot. Your fiance arrived from town while you were with the doctor. Jason has invited him to stay with us until you are able to travel. It will save him having to make the long trip out every day to see you. I was just going to make the room at the end of the hall ready. Marta could help me, that is, if you have no need of her.”

“No, I’m perfectly comfortable, though I can’t answer for Marta, of course. It was good of Jason to think of Nathaniel. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“Oh, yes, he said all that was proper. But then he is a very proper man, your fiance, isn’t he?”

“He … observes the conventions, if that is what you mean,” Amanda said stiffly, forced by a note of amusement in Sophia’s voice into defending Nathaniel.

“Jason may not be so proper, but hospitality comes naturally to him. You needn’t think it is a mark of favor that he has thrown his home open to you. He would have done the same for anyone.”

“I’m certain you are right,” Amanda replied. “I’m in no danger of … misunderstanding, I assure you.”

“When I left the parlor just now, I believe your fiance and Theo had formed the intention of riding over the property. However, I’m sure I heard Nathaniel mention that he would visit with you here after luncheon.”

Amanda did not answer. Sophia gave a brief nod of good-bye and, rather graciously, held the door for Marta to go before her from the room.

As she lay listening to their receding footsteps, Amanda smiled wryly at herself. Surely she wasn’t jealous of the other woman? Regardless, something about Sophia set her teeth on edge. When had she been invited to make herself free of Nathaniel’s given name? And while it was, on the surface, nice to be kept informed of the movements of the others in the household, why did she have the feeling that Sophia had had a hand in Nathaniel’s decision to put off making his appearance at her bedside until a later time?

It was not that she wanted Nathaniel to rush to her side with flowers and protestations of concern and devotion, but it made him appear callous to go off riding before even inquiring after her. Surely he could have seen that? Perhaps he had inquired. What was a man to do if he was told, possibly, that Amanda was resting …?