PHANTOM IN TIME (32 page)

Bella
stared at Isabella in terrible confusion. “Oh, Gran, I just don't know what to
think. I may love Jacques, but I also fear he will soon become the instrument
of his own doom. Someone in the past wants to kill him. He has provoked all
sorts of romantic jealousies in the opera company, and I seem powerless to do
anything about it. I don't really understand why I was sent back in time in the
first place, or why I've been wrenched away from him now.”

“But
I understand, dear,” said Isabella wisely.

“Do
you?” Bella laughed. “Then please explain it to me.”

The
old woman's eyes gleamed. “I always knew that the answer to your life lies in
the opera, Bella. You were drawn back to Jacques because he loves you, because
you are his destiny.”

“Then
why was I returned here?”

“Because
you refused to continue singing for him, child,” Gran declared. “You overcame
your fear and embraced the life you were meant to live, but then you pulled
away. When you rejected Jacques, you also abandoned your true destiny.”

Bella
frowned. Gran's theory did make some sense. “You really think that?”

Gran
squeezed Bella's hands. “I absolutely believe it.”

***

Bella
spoke with Gran for a few more minutes, catching up on events of the past
weeks. When the nurse returned with Isabella's tea, Bella kissed Gran good
night and went off to bed.

Yet
following the splendor of last night, her bed seemed cold and empty without
Jacques. She felt torn, confused, even displaced. She was glad to be back with
Gran, to know her grandmother was still hanging on, but she missed Jacques
terribly and was frantic about his safety. Was Gran right that her destiny lay
with Jacques, and with the opera? Would she ever find her way back to him?
Would she be able to save him, or would she have him only as a ghost? Even if
she managed to travel back to him again and save him, would there ever be a
future for them, when she still felt convinced she could never truly share his
passion for the opera?

These
questions haunted her, but as she tried to sleep, it was Jacques's warm arms,
his ardent kisses, his stirring nearness, that she missed most of all. That, and
his passion for living . . . She remembered him on that riverboat stage,
dancing the cancan with the showgirls, kicking up his heels, and devouring
life. For once she didn't feel the usual pangs of jealousy. Perhaps it would
have been a sacrilege to change him, to rob him of his joie de vivre; perhaps
there was no forestalling his date with destiny.

But
when she imagined him dying on that historical stage, his beautiful lifeblood
pouring out while she was stranded a century away, unable to deter his fate or
even to comfort him . . . then she shook with helpless sobs.

***

“Where
is Bella?” Jacques cried.

After
searching for her all over the theater, Jacques burst into her dressing room
and addressed his frantic question to Helene, who sat at the dressing table
removing her makeup with cold cream.

She
glanced at him sharply. “Jacques, I don't know where Bella is. I haven't seen
her since we performed 'Three Little Maids.' Before I came back here to change,
I hunted for her all over the wings, but no luck.”

Jacques
raked his fingers through his hair. “Damn, where could she be? No one else has
seen her, either.”

“I
know the kaleidoscope sometimes made her dizzy,” Helene replied. “Maybe she got
sick and went home early.”

Guilt
lanced Jacques at Helene's words. Had he been too rough, too demanding in his
lovemaking before the performance?  Had she gone home, hurt and confused?
The possibilities tortured him.

He
stepped toward Helene. “Give me the key to your apartment.”

“Jacques!”

“I
must go check on Bella! What if you are right and she is ill—alone, with no one
to care for her?”

“Very
well.” Helene handed Jacques the key. “Place it under the mat when you leave,
okay?”

He
nodded and tore out the door to his waiting carriage. Throughout the drive to
the apartment, he fretted over Bella's welfare and clutched the key so fiercely
that he bruised his palm. When the coachman brought the carriage to a halt, he
vaulted out, entered the apartment building, raced through the corridor and
patio and up the stairs. He unlocked the door and rushed inside, turning on
lights and calling her name.

The
parlor was deserted, and in the bedroom he only found one of her nightgowns
draped over the foot of the bed. He picked up the lacy white gown and sniffed
the heavenly essence of her. Tears burned his eyes as incredibly sweet memories
of loving her bombarded him.

“My
God, Bella, where are you?” he cried, glancing around in bewilderment. “How
could you leave me without saying good bye? Even if you were angry with me, why
could you not have waited and given us a chance?”

Terrible
disappointment seared Jacques. Bella had appeared in his life so suddenly three
weeks ago. Now she had left him just as unexpectedly. Why? Had the
circumstances that had forced her to go on the run back on July 4
^th
spurred her to take flight once more? He should have anticipated this, should
have demanded to know more about her background.

Mon
Dieu,
what if she were tainted by madness, given to bizarre flights of
fancy? Weren't people who were delusional known to wander off or reappear
without explanation?

No,
the Bella he knew was sane, sensible, and beautiful, but also afraid to admit
love into her life, to allow music to reign in her soul. Jacques knew in his
gut that Bella was running from
him,
from their love, from their destiny
together. Well, he would not stand for it. If she truly had walked out of his
life, he would find her. He would win her back and she would become his
forever, even if he had to shake her to her senses and drag her off to the
altar before all was said and done . . .

Chapter Twenty-nine

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Over
the next few days, Bella reestablished her routine in the present. At Gran's
insistence, she resumed performing with the contemporary opera troupe, but
spent every free moment with Isabella, while also fretting over Jacques's
safety and wondering what he'd thought when she disappeared without a trace.

During
her absence,
Kaleidoscope
had continued its run in the present, and although
Lesley Litchfield had reassigned many of her roles, including her parts in “A
Bird in a Gilded Cage” and “Ride of the Valkyries,” he did grudgingly allow her
to continue singing with the chorus. Bella felt grateful for this concession,
since only at the theater could she really feel close to Jacques. Yet she was
also fully aware that Litchfield's generosity stemmed from the fact that he
didn't want to risk insulting one of the opera company's most generous
patrons—namely, Gran—and not from any beneficent feelings toward Bella.

Upon
returning to 1996, Bella had determined to her amazement that time had passed
concurrently in both the present and the past, the only difference being that
the premiere of
Kaleidoscope
had, of course, occurred three weeks
earlier in the present. Still, Bella had left the present on July 4, 1996, and
had arrived back in time on that very day in 1896. Then, she had left the past
on July 25, arriving back on that same day in 1996! These realizations boggled
her mind. Yet logic seemed to argue that both the past and the present clocks
were relentlessly ticking away toward a shared zenith, a moment in time when
Jacques LeFevre's fate would be sealed, and that if she didn't make her way
back to him before the one-hundred-year anniversary of his murder, she likely
wouldn't be able to save him, or even make him listen to reason.

Bella
knew he would be murdered sometime in August, an August that was rapidly
approaching. She was almost afraid to discover the exact date of his death, fearing
that if she did, she'd be impelled to do everything in her power to return to
him at once, abandoning a grandmother who desperately needed her. Besides, even
if she could go back in time, what guarantee did she have that she'd be able to
forestall his death?

Just
as had occurred in the past, Bella felt caught between her love and concern for
Jacques and her love for and near-frantic worry about Gran. The old woman had
definitely grown more frail during her absence and relied on oxygen more and
more. Indeed, after speaking with Gran's doctor, Bella was so concerned that
she declared she would quit the chorus. But Gran would not hear of it, and
became so agitated that Bella quickly backed down; Gran even swore she would
come hear Bella sing the first evening she felt up to an outing. And she also
insisted Bella must seek her destiny, even if it meant leaving the present
permanently.

During
performances, each time the kaleidoscope whirled, Bella grew giddy and
uncertain, wondering if she would again be swept back to Jacques. Yet during
her first days in the present, she caught no further glimpses of the world she
had left behind, except for a couple of spooky and emotional encounters with
Jacques's ghost. Once as she was leaving the stage during a scene change, she
heard him whisper poignantly, “Come to me, Bella . . .” She whirled around,
searching desperately for him, yearning to go to him, to save him somehow, but
she couldn't find him in the shifting light!

Another
time, when she was taking her place for a number, she saw his shadowy form as
she crossed the stage. Once again he was smiling and holding his hand out to
her. Bella tried to go to him, but he vanished before her very eyes!

These
encounters made Bella feel torn apart. Jacques needed her, she knew. If she
didn't help him, he might never live out his destiny and would be doomed to
haunt the old theater forever. She wanted to be with him, but felt heartsick
over the prospect of leaving Gran again.

Nonetheless,
Bella was soon compelled to try to unravel the mystery of Jacques's death. She
even spent a day combing New Orleans's old cemeteries, searching in vain for
his grave.

At
the public library, she was able to uncover little else regarding him; then, at
the librarian's suggestion, she went to the Royal Orleans Collection on Royal
Street. A librarian showed her to the lovely research room with its huge inlaid
table.

“What
are you looking for today?” the lady asked.

“Do
you have anything on the ghost of Jacques LeFevre?”

The
woman smiled. “You mean the phantom of the French Quarter?”

“Yes!”

“What
makes you so interested? Are you writing a book about LeFevre?”

Bella
laughed. “No, I'm performing in the St. Charles Opera House and am interested
in its history.”

“Ah.
I don't suppose you've seen LeFevre's ghost as some claim?”

Bella
smiled. “Well . . . perhaps.”

The
librarian nodded. “Please have a seat. I do believe we have a file on Mr.
LeFevre.”

Bella
waited anxiously, until the woman returned and placed before her a manila
folder labeled “Phantom of the French Quarter.” Opening the folder, Bella
eagerly scanned some newspaper articles she had already read at the library,
then paused over a new clipping which included a picture of Jacques in his
toreador costume. The article was captioned:
“Phantom of the French Quarter:
A New Book Tells of the Life and Times of Jacques LeFevre.”

Her
pulse quickening, Bella eagerly read the article, dated 1985, which told of a
book titled
Phantom of the French Quarter,
written by Professor Howard Peabody.
Electrified, she read, “In dramatic prose, Peabody tells of how Jacques LeFevre
was murdered at the St. Charles Opera House on August 4, 1896. To date, the
identity of his murderer is unknown . . .”

Bella
had to pause and take several deep breaths. She set down the clipping with
fingers that trembled and placed a hand over her racing heart. At last she knew
the date when Jacques would be murdered—and it was less than a week away! Oh,
mercy! What was she to do? This was like a cruel joke. August had thirty-one
days. Why must he die so soon?

“Miss,
are you all right?”

Bella
glanced up to see the kindly face of the librarian. “Yes, I'm fine.”

“I
heard you gasp and you look so pale. May I bring you some water?”

Bella
shook her head and laughed nervously. “No, thank you, I really am okay. I
suppose reading about ghosts can be . . . well, spooky.”

The
woman smiled.

Bella
gestured toward the article. “Tell me, do you have this book,
Phantom of the
French Quarter?”

“Why,
yes, we do have a copy in our research collection. It used to be for sale in
the gift shop, but I'm afraid it went out of print years ago.”

Anxiously,
Bella asked, “Can you get the research copy for me?”

Frowning,
the woman consulted her watch. “Yes, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.
We're about to close.”

Glancing
at her own watch, Bella sighed in dismay. “Oh, dear, I hadn't realized the hour
had grown so late. I need to go home and prepare to leave for the theater. But
can you at least Xerox this article for me before I leave?”

“I'd
be happy to. And by the way, as far as I know, Professor Peabody still lives
here. I believe he's retired, but he guest-lectures at the local universities.”

“He's
still in the city?” cried Bella. “How wonderful!”

The
woman picked up the clipping. “I'll make your copy, then.”

Moments
later, with the Xerox copy folded in her pocket, Bella drove to Gran's house.
Frustration churned within her. Now she had a “when” regarding Jacques's
murder, but still no “who” or “how.” How could she hope to prevent his death
when she still wasn't sure she could get back to him—and so quickly?