Tears of Gold (66 page)

For the first time Mara became aware of Françoise’s appearance. She was dressed in black bombazine and crepe, the color of mourning.

Françoise seemed to become aware of Mara’s curious look and explained softly, “Alain is dead.”

“What?” Mara asked incredulously. “I don’t understand. We left him at Beaumarais. What happened?” Mara asked with quickening heartbeats as she demanded, “Is Nicholas here?”

Françoise shook her head. “Non, Nicholas is not here,” she answered, pausing strangely, “but my papa arrived yesterday and he told me all that had happened. I could scarcely believe what he was telling me, it is all so incredible, and tragic. Poor Papa,” Françoise sighed, “he is so deeply grieved by what has happened, not only to Alain, but to everyone because of him.”

Françoise rubbed her temple as she stared at Mara. “To think that Alain was capable of such acts, I am simply astounded. I always knew that he loved Beaumarais, but I never fully understood why he was so obsessive about it. To think that he was the son of Philippe de Montaigne-Chantale, and that he was the one who murdered François. So much sorrow.

“I find it hard to believe that he actually killed Philippe, his own father,” Françoise whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief, “I suppose the manner in which he died was God’s way of punishing him for his sins.”

“What happened?”

“Papa says the river finally reclaimed the land where the great house had sat so royally for all those years, mocking the muddy waters below. Beaumarais is no more, it is gone,” Françoise told her simply.

“Gone?” Mara repeated.

“The foundations of Beaumarais apparently could not resist the great weight of the waters flowing around it. In the past it must have eaten away underground where no one could see, and so she crumbled into the swamp she was built from. Alain was still in the house when it caved in. There are one or two columns still standing, but not much more. All is gone. Nicholas went back to Beaumarais to confront Alain, and it was he who found the house that way. The waters had risen above the middle of the stairs, which were still standing, only now they lead nowhere. It was beneath them that they found Alain’s body,” she ended, her voice thick. “Alain wanted Beaumarais so badly that he killed for it, only to have the house end up as his grave. Even though I know what I do about Alain, he was still the brother I grew up with, and I grieve deeply for his death. And I mourn because of the pain he caused for the people at Beaumarais, especially for Nicholas.”

Beaumarais was destroyed. Nicholas had finally managed to return to his birthplace, only to have it stolen from him again. He had lost the house, but at least he had found the truth of the past. That would be some consolation to him, Mara thought sadly, wishing she were with him now to comfort him. But she wasn’t, and never again would she be able to put her arms around him.

“How is Nicholas?” Mara asked hesitantly.

“Papa says that he is well recovered from the snakebite. Of course he is greatly upset by the loss of Beaumarais,” Françoise told her, her blue green eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she gazed at the distracted woman.

“H-he is still at Sandrose?” Mara asked without meeting Françoise’s eyes.

“Mais oui,” Françoise laughed harshly, “you do not think that Amaryllis would let him out of her sight now that she has him there?”

At Mara’s stricken look Françoise swore beneath her breath. “My cursed tongue. I am sorry, but since you are here in New Orleans and Nicholas still at Sandrose…well, I assumed you did not love him. Especially since you left so abruptly, and without saying good-bye to Papa, which upset him greatly, ma chérie. I am sure he will have something to say to you about that,” Françoise warned Mara with a twinkle. “I am still confused, for now that I know you are to have Nicholas’s child, ah,” Françoise sighed, raising her eyes heavenward, “I have done it again, non? Nicholas does not know about the baby, eh? Or that you are so much in love with him? Mon Dieu, but it did not seem like Nicholas to turn you out knowing such a thing. What fools men can be at times. Bah, if he cannot see who is the better woman, then he deserves to be tied to that she-wolf.”

Mara closed her eyes as she tried to block out the painful vision of Nicholas at Sandrose with Amaryllis. “It is difficult to explain, but although I love Nicholas with all of my heart, I know that he does not love me. Nor did I ever expect him to. I do not blame him, for he has reasons for the way he feels. But the one thing I will not have him feel for me is pity, and that is all that he would feel if he found out about the baby,” Mara said. “I know now that I want his child more than anything else in the world. But Nicholas must never know about it.”

Françoise stared at the proud Irishwoman helplessly, knowing there was nothing she could say. “I will bring you some hot tea and a little breakfast, non? And then you will feel better. I will have a bath prepared too, it will help relax you.” Françoise told her as she stood up.

“Oh, my God!” Mara cried out suddenly. “Paddy and Jamie! They won’t know where I’ve been. They’ll be worried sick with fear. I must get back to them.”

“Now, now,” Françoise calmed her. “I will send one of my maids with the news that you are here. Where are you staying? The St. Louis?”

“No, at a place called Par Bonheur.”

Françoise raised her elegant eyebrows incredulously. “Mon Dieu!
C’est impossible
that you could be staying in such a place. It should be called Par Malheur instead, for only by ill luck would someone step through its doors,” Françoise spoke contemptuously, then with a look of utter contrition she clapped her hand across her mouth. “Mon Dieu, but I have done it again, non? I am so sorry, mademoiselle. Please forgive me, but I did not mean to insult you,” she continued with increasing embarrassment.

“Please, you needn’t apologize,” Mara said with a forgiving smile, “for the place is deplorable. We are only staying there temporarily. In fact, we will be leaving New Orleans tomorrow for London.”

Françoise stared at her in dismay. “You are leaving so soon? But Papa will be most disturbed. He was looking forward to visiting with you when he heard you were here. He will hardly have time to say hello.”

“I would like to see him before I leave, but I can’t delay our departure. I’ve already paid for our fares,” Mara told her regretfully.

“Of course, I understand. I shall send someone immediately to inform these people of your whereabouts. Now, it will be best if you rest for a while. You will be quite safe here,” she reassured Mara.

“Thank you. You’ve been very kind, Mademoiselle Ferrare.”

“Françoise, please. Now lie back and think of pleasant thoughts, eh?” Françoise ordered with an appealing smile as she left the room.

Pleasant thoughts, Mara wondered. And then she smiled as she thought of her child. She knew now that she really did want him with every fiber of her being. This would be her part of Nicholas, something that no one could ever take away. She hoped desperately that it would be a boy and look just like Nicholas, with green eyes and black hair. Yes, Mara thought with a soft smile curving her lips, those were pleasant thoughts indeed.

***

“If me hair wasn’t already gray ’twould have turned that color, ye had me so scared,” Jamie complained an hour later as she helped Mara dress, her eyes going over her critically as she hid her anxiety behind a scolding voice. “Goin’ out by yourself in a town full of these hot-blooded French fools. ’Tis enough to have me wonderin’ about your sanity.”

She narrowed her gray eyes with concern when the expected retort didn’t come. With a sniff she started brushing Mara’s long hair and braiding it into a coronet. “Reckon ’tis a good thing we be leaving New Orleans after all,” she mumbled as she noticed the sad droop to Mara’s mouth. It seemed to Jamie as if the O’Flynn luck might have run out at last.

Etienne greeted Mara warmly when she entered the parlor a few minutes later, kissing her cheeks as he grasped her hands. “My dear Mara, it is so good to see you. But you gave us all such a fright! Why, my poor Françoise thought for sure you had committed the unpardonable and died on her front doorstep.”

“Papa!” Françoise complained with a laugh.

“I may have a temper, and may not be entirely respectable, but I have never been accused of poor manners,” Mara responded with some of the old spirit.

Etienne smiled at her as he settled her on the sofa. “Didn’t I tell you, Françoise, that she was priceless? It is good to see you with a smile on your lips once again.”

Mara reached out and took his hand. “Etienne, I am so sorry it had to end the way it did.”

Etienne patted her hand reassuringly. “Thank you for that, my dear. But it was the only way, perhaps the easiest way for it to end. Alain is gone, and finally we must try and forget the past for it will do no good to remember it,” he said. Then, with a sad smile, he added, “But perhaps sometimes I will remember him only as Olivia’s little boy.

“Now we pretend none of it ever happened and we talk of other things,” he declared adamantly and went on to do just that for the rest of the day and through dinner, which Françoise had insisted they stay and share. All too soon it came time for Mara to bid them farewell, sadly, not insulting them by promising to see them again in New Orleans. She knew she’d never return, and she suspected Etienne knew it too. But she did have his promise that he would see her the next time he was in London, and she believed he would keep that promise.

Once back at the cheap hotel everything seemed anti-climactic as they went about their preparations, packing for the long journey ahead.

The next morning seemed to dawn too soon as Mara dragged herself from the hard, cold bed she had shivered in most of the night. She had almost finished dressing when Jamie came bustling into the room. She had been down in the street overseeing the transfer of their luggage.

“Did ye already hire a carriage?” she demanded worriedly, her heavy cloak wrapped protectively around her thin figure and her bonnet tied securely over her gray curls.

Mara looked at Jamie’s reflection in the mirror, a doubtful expression crossing her face. “No, I haven’t had time to hire a wagon to take our trunks to the docks.”

“I said, ‘a carriage’—’cause that’s what’s sittin’ outside right now, with a coachman sayin’ he’s waitin’ for us,” Jamie told her.

Mara picked up her cloak and folded it across her arm, then pulled on her kid gloves. She was wearing the same amber velvet she had worn on her arrival in New Orleans, the small velvet cap sitting well back on her head and trimmed with the same Brussels lace that edged her bodice jacket. “There must be some mistake,” Mara said as she thought of the extra expense.

But there was no mistake, nor extra expense to be paid. Françoise Ferrare’s coachman, sent especially to see them safely on board their ship, helped Mara into the carriage.

“Are we really leaving New Orleans, Mara?” Paddy asked dejectedly.

“Yes, Paddy, we’re leaving New Orleans,” Mara replied softly as she stared out at the iron-grilled balconies adorning pink and yellow stucco houses.

Once on board they were shown to their quarters, Paddy and Jamie sharing one while Mara was shown to a cabin of her own. She had made sure she had enough money to purchase one, for her condition would become more and more obvious as the voyage lengthened. It would save embarrassment all around if she could retreat to the privacy of her own cabin.

But when she had reserved the cabin, she’d had no idea it would be as nice as this one, with its mahogany-paneled walls and finely etched, crystal-shaded oil lamps. A fur rug, which looked as luxurious as sable, was folded across the foot of the berth. Mara pulled off her bonnet and gloves and threw them on top of the cloak she’d dropped across a chair. She walked over to the porthole and stared out, catching a glimpse of water beyond the bow of another ship docked alongside. She heard the activity on deck as the crew made preparations to set sail. Soon they would weigh anchor and sail out into the Mississippi River, which would carry them into the Gulf and far away from New Orleans.

A loud tapping on the cabin door drew Mara’s attention from the limited view, and she turned as the door was swung open.

“We’re going to be sailing in a few minutes, Mara!” Paddy exclaimed. “Do you want to go up on deck and watch?”

Mara shook her head. “I don’t think so, Paddy.”

Paddy looked disappointed. “Can I still go and watch? Jamie said she’d come with me,” Paddy entreated.

“Yes, go on, but try to stay out of trouble,” Mara told him as he rushed from the room with a hasty thank-you thrown over his shoulder. Mara sat in the silence of her cabin unaware of the time, or the damp chill creeping slowly in.

She leaned back against the side of the berth, her head bent as she stared blindly at her hands folded in her lap. She felt a strange tightness in her chest, as if something were welling up inside of her, something that she couldn’t control any longer. She gradually became aware of the gentle rocking of the ship as it caught the current and drifted out into the Mississippi.

They were actually leaving New Orleans. Suddenly Mara realized the magnitude of it all. Never again would she see Nicholas Chantale, the Creole adventurer she had fallen so hopelessly in love with. It was all over, every dream was shattered.

Mara felt a sharp jab of pain behind her eyes as the pressure built, and suddenly her head ached unbearably. Mara frantically pulled at the hairpins holding her thick hair in place and, with a sigh, felt the heavy chignon fall into long strands around her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the thick tangle, but still her temples pounded with a merciless beat. Mara felt a constriction in her throat and swallowed painfully. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she felt a hot, burning sensation inside them, and suddenly she felt the unbelievable wetness on her cheeks and then a saltiness trickling into the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, God, it’s been such a long time,” she whispered as she began to weep, the deep sobs racking her slender body as she doubled over with all the pent-up pain and fury of her childhood, and of the last few years. She cried for Maud O’Flynn, her mother, and saw once again that room in Paris.