The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (12 page)

“How terrible.”

“I try my best not to hate Nicholas.” Edward’s eyes had turned so dark that they looked almost black. “But how much better it would have been the other way around. Racine, alive and well, and Nicholas’s bones in the bottom of some muddy swamp.”

Edward looked away from me, his face slightly pale. “I’m sorry, Louise. You must think me heartless. But you don’t know how it hurts me. It seems a cruel quirk of fate that left my son dead while Nicholas lives. Sometimes it’s almost more than I can bear!”

“I understand your grief.”

“Since he came home from the war, Nicholas hasn’t been the same. I believe the knowledge that he lives only because of Racine’s death has eaten away at him. Through the years, Nicholas has carried a personal vendetta against the entire Dereux family. It’s as if he blames us—me in particular—for his own misfortunes. He knows of my desire to expand Royal Oaks, to build up my lands and property. I believe he would do anything to stand in my way.”

“Then you think he might be using me to keep you from gaining possession of Evangeline and its lands?”

He looked up at me with a small, tight half-smile. “You’ve had a look at the place, Louise. You know that any attempt to rebuild Evangeline would be only a fool’s dream.”

“Do you believe Nicholas is guilty of killing his wife?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Do you think that what happened during the war might have driven him mad?”

Edward glanced down, away from me. “Madness runs in the poor bastard’s veins. If you had known his father, you would understand.”

A little thrill of horror raced through me. Nicholas’s father—mad!

“And as for Nicholas, I only know that, if not for our good name, he’d have followed in his murderous father’s footsteps by swinging from the end of the hangman’s rope. But let’s not speak of this anymore. I find such talk upsetting.”

With calm hands, Edward lifted a thick white paper from the desktop. “My dear, as your uncle, I feel a certain sense of responsibility for you. I can assure you that you’ll not find another buyer willing to pay the price I am offering for a hollow shell of a house and a few acres of swampland. The only other person interested in the house is Nicholas. And innocent or guilty, mad or sane, he can offer you nothing.”

Edward edged the papers toward me. “I don’t want to rush you into a decision. But I am anxious to start clearing the lands for the next planting season. Too much time has already gone to waste.”

Curiously, I scanned the carefully drawn document. “The contract is ready for you to sign at your leisure. I’m sure you’ll agree that the terms are fair.”

I finished reading the contract quickly. Indeed, the price was more than generous. But still, I remained hesitant.

Edward handed me a quill-tipped pen. As I took it from him, my eyes happened to meet his. What I saw in those steely depths made me almost blot the ink.

He resented me! He not only resented Nicholas, he resented
me!
Though he was making an exhausting effort not to let his emotions show, the signs were all too visible. Though his lips smiled reassuringly at me, his penetrating, smoke-gray eyes were cunning and wary, like the eyes in the portrait of Racine behind him.

It was clear to me that Edward had a dream of buying up all the free land he could get his hands on. He wanted Royal Oaks to take the place of Evangeline, and only Nicholas Dereux and I stood in his way. A vulnerable young woman and a madman! The thought struck a chord of warning somewhere deep inside me. I did not believe that Edward was a man who would permit anyone to stand in his way for long.

The pen was still poised in my hand. Edward’s eyes seemed to will me to sign my name. But a stubborn force inside refused to let me comply. I wanted to have another talk with Nicholas, to see for myself whether or not the house was beyond repair. I needed to have another look at Evangeline while it still belonged to me, to wander about the wild, tangled grounds and stare up at the crumbled house of ashes, maybe even cry a little. I wanted all hope to die before I gave up my dream forever.

Edward was a good actor. Not a trace of disappointment clouded that frozen smile as I quietly laid the pen aside and handed the document back to him, unsigned.

“There’s plenty of time, Louise,” he said smoothly, dismissing the matter with a falsely casual wave of the hand. “I’m sure that you’ll eventually see the wisdom of accepting my offer. In the meantime, please make yourself at home at Royal Oaks. Your mother was my dear sister, and her daughter will always be welcome in my home.”

I was touched by the invitation. Though his resentment for me was genuine, so was his affection. I was unable to doubt his sincerity.

His voice softened, and the coolness in his eyes was suddenly replaced with a kind of warmth. “You’re very much like her, you know. Gentle and soft-spoken, but headstrong, too.”

“Mother and I must take after Grandfather.”

Edward laughed. After a long moment, he spoke again. “If I might, Louise, I should like to ask a favor of you.”

“Why, of course. As long as I stay here, I’ll want to do what I can to earn my keep.”

“As you know, my business affairs take up the good part of my time. And my dear wife, Lydia, is in delicate health. I’m afraid that Christine is used to having a free rein. She is becoming far too independent and it worries me. It’s not proper for a young lady to run wild as she is in the habit of doing. If you could spend a little of your time with her, teach her some of the genteel behavior that I see my sister did not neglect to teach you, I would be eternally grateful.”

“It will be my pleasure,” I assured him. “Already, I’m quite fond of Christine. In fact, she’s talked me into going riding with her this afternoon.”

I rose to leave, when his voice called me back. “Oh, one more small matter.”

I waited as Edward reached into his top desk drawer, pulling out a small parcel of yellowed papers held together by a faded ribbon. “These are for you”

“Letters?”

He nodded. “I found them in Raymond’s study shortly after his death. I was going to send them on to you—”

I took the parcel from him gratefully, noting the address scrawled in a fine, spidery print. Letters from my grandfather to my mother. Letters written, but never sent! “You don’t know how much these mean to me—” It had been thoughtful of Edward to have saved the letters when he could have easily discarded them. I felt a little guilty of suspecting him of trying to cheat me out of my inheritance. I was beginning to believe that there was more to Edward than met the eye.

“And Louise ...” he called out after me as I turned toward the door, treasured letters in hand. His voice reflected genuine concern. “Please heed my warning and stay away from the old house. I’ll take you out there myself if you want to go, but I must caution you about exploring the place alone. The house is barely standing. And with Nicholas still living there—well, it could be dangerous.”

* * * *

Back in my room, I settled upon the enormous bed and began to read the faded letters eagerly, hungry for any knowledge of my mother, welcoming any link with her past. The first few letters were brittle and yellowed with age. They had been written long ago, shortly after my mother had left Evangeline to go north with my Yankee father, Jeff Moreland.

These first letters to my mother seemed to be the ramblings of a very hurt, lonely old man. I felt my eyes grow misty as I read about his shock and anger following her elopement.

“ ‘At times, I believe that I have convinced myself that I understand you, my daughter. Blinded by love, you were lured away by his false promises’ “ The next part of the letter confused me. “ ‘At least, my darling May,’ ” it read, ‘I have the bitter consolation of knowing that you won’t go hungry in these troubled times ...’ ”

Won’t go hungry? Did he mean that Jeff would provide for her? Or was there some deeper meaning to his words, some meaning I knew nothing about?

Something in the tone of the next letter had changed. The anger had dissipated, dissolved into heart-rending grief. “ ‘I have a granddaughter whom I have never seen. Is she beautiful like you, May? Does she have your eyes, your hair, your smile?’ ” So he
had
thought about me! I had believed my grandfather to be a cold, uncaring old man, but these letters revealed a different side to him. A tear slipped unguarded down my cheek, blurring the next words. “ ‘If only I could swallow this foolish pride and forgive you for taking the jewels ...’ ”

Unable to believe my eyes, I reread the words. I was aware of my heart hammering in my chest, a painful pounding in my temples. How could it be? All these years Grandfather must have believed my mother had taken the missing jewels when she had gone off with Jeff! I thought of Mother, struggling by on her small widow’s pension, sometimes taking in sewing to make ends meet, and the injustice of it all cut through my heart like a knife.

And then something sparkled in the back of my mind. Once more I saw the brooch, that lovely amethyst brooch with its glittering stone that Mother had always worn. Where had such a jewel come from? Had it once been a part of the Dereux family treasure? Could Mother have sold the jewels one by one throughout the years to make ends meet, until only one was left? No! I would not believe, even under the most dire circumstances, that my mother would take something that did not belong to her!

Only one letter was left. I turned the envelope over in my hands, glancing down at the address, feeling a sudden stab of excitement. This letter was not addressed to my mother—this one was meant for me! A pulse leaped in my throat as I noticed the date. While the other letters had been over ten years old, this one was dated the month of my grandfather’s death!

With shaking hands, I broke the seal. The other letters had not been sealed; it was obvious that Grandfather had never really had any intention of sending them.

I scanned the contents, alarmed at the change in handwriting. I brought the paper closer to me, straining to make out the scribbled, shaky lines. The writing was for the most part, confused and rambling.

“I am weak, Louise. Can feel myself growing weaker by the day. Why haven’t you contacted me? Don’t you understand how important this is?

Please hurry, Louise. There must be a change of plans. Until I hear from you, the guardian will keep our secret safe ...”

The letter broke off abruptly, with only a scribbled signature at the bottom. For a long time I held it in my hands, reading and rereading that disturbing message. What did he mean? Why had this strange letter been written but never sent to me?

The letter demanded to know why I hadn’t answered him. And yet there had been no word from him all these years—nothing except the single letter intended for my mother that had arrived shortly after her death.

A few days later, the package had arrived, the small box of my mother’s jewelry that he had sent.

I ran a hand across my brow, my head suddenly aching. Had there been another letter? One that was missing? A letter that was supposed to have come to me between the one he had sent to my mother and this one, which he had never mailed? A letter, perhaps, that had originally been intended to accompany the small parcel of my mother’s things? Yes, there would have been time for me to have received such a letter. But what had become of it? And what could it have said to have explained all this?

I glanced down at the yellowed papers that now scattered the white bedding, the thought occurring to me that the missing letter might never have been sent at all! My grandfather had obviously been in a confused mental state before his death. He may never have posted it.

Again, I picked up the white paper addressed to me, turning it around in my hand, pausing to run a fingernail across the seal that I had so hastily broken. A missing letter—

An eerie feeling crept over me as I realized that the letters had been in Edward’s possession. Had he read them first, even the sealed one? It would have been an easy task for him to have steamed the seal open, then replace it with another! I felt a sense of violation at the thought of Edward reading letters meant for me.

And the missing letter—Grandfather might have trusted him to send it to me, also. Suddenly I thought of all the letters my mother had sent him through the years, wondering if Grandfather had received any of them!

Suspiciously, I thought of my own message explaining the urgency of my mother’s condition. Had someone purposefully, cruelly waited until they knew that Mother was dead before allowing Grandfather to hear of her illness? At the time I had regarded the delay as an unfortunate trick of chance, but it could have been more. The letter from Uncle Edward wanting to buy Evangeline had followed so swiftly ...

I stepped over to the vanity and took the black lacquer jewelry box that had been sent to my mother from the drawer. Surely the answer to this mystery had something to do with the contents of this box. It was puzzling. Why I had received the box and not the letter. I took out the items one by one and sorted through them, studying the silver chains, the rather garish brooches and earrings, the odd little serpentine hairpin. In the bottom were beaded feather ornaments and strands of bright beads.

If Grandfather believed Mother had taken the jewels, it did not make sense that he would send her more. And besides, nothing in the box appeared to be of any real value. Unlike the missing amethyst stone, these were only pretty baubles, the kind a young girl might fancy. I must have been right all along, that these were no doubt little treasures of my mother’s that Grandfather had kept, then forwarded to me after her death for sentimental reasons.

What then was the meaning of that last letter—the one Grandfather had never sent to me? “ ‘The guardian will keep our secret safe.’ ” What did it mean? Was it meant to be some sort of disguised message? Or was it only the ramblings of an old man?

I
must talk to Edward again,
I decided. I would show him all of the letters except the one addressed to me. Gathering up the parcel of old letters, I hurried back down to the study.