The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (23 page)

Christine’s interest sparked. “Oh, you mean the one in your drawer?” Without realizing it, she had given away the fact that she had been snooping in my room.

“Christine,” I persisted, not acknowledging her disclosure, “did my grandfather ever give you anything else to post? A letter perhaps?”

She shook her head. “No. Only the big package.”

If Christine was telling the truth, then Grandfather must have sent the missing letter that should have come before the package with someone else. “Do you know who Grandfather usually trusted with his correspondence?”

She shrugged. “Edward, I think. Or maybe Lydia.” She seemed restless and fidgety. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

I took a deep breath. “Christine, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer truthfully. I promise I won’t be angry, no matter what your answer is.”

A hint of sullenness crept into her eyes. “What is it?”

“Yesterday afternoon, someone came into my room while I was out. They moved a few of my things around. Whoever it was searched through that black box that belonged to my mother. They also removed some letters that belonged to me.” Gently, I asked, “Was it you, Christine?”

“I took a peek inside the jewelry box” she replied defensively. “But I didn’t take anything. I wouldn’t!”

“Do you know anything about the voodoo mask?”

Her eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”

“My first night in the house, I woke to find someone standing over my bed wearing one of Edward’s Mardi Gras masks. Later, I found the mask hidden in Grandfather’s room. Someone was trying to frighten me away, Christine. I want to find out why.”

Christine looked genuinely surprised, even a little horrified. “It wasn’t me. I don’t know anything about it. Honest! Louise, I’d never do anything like that!”

I reached out and touched her shoulder. “I believe you” I said. Despite her moodiness, her unpredictability, I truly
did
believe her.

She stood up, restlessly shrugging away my impulsive display of affection. “There’s something in the old house I want to show you. It might be important. Will you come with me?”

Despite my own curiosity, I refused to let her lure me back inside of the old house. “We shouldn’t go back in there. Nicholas would be very angry.”

“Nick isn’t here,” she called over her shoulder as she moved toward the charred, ruined wing of the house.

“Christine, come back here! I’m not going with you!” I warned.

Her back was slightly stiff as she continued to walk away from me. I wondered if our talk had angered her. She turned at the bleak entrance, waiting. The house cast long shadows over her, throwing her slight form into darkness as she entered.

“Christine!” Despite her display of bravery, I knew that she was afraid. I had not believed that she would enter the house alone. Exasperated, I called to her, but she was already gone, swallowed up by the darkness beyond the black doorway.

“Christine, where are you?” I called from the dark entrance. My voice bounced off of the high, sculptured ceiling and thick walls, came back to me distorted, not quite my own.

I could not let her wander about in there alone. I glanced up at the rotting beams of the hallway, realizing the danger. Feeling tricked, manipulated, I followed after her, determined to find her and convince her to come back outside with me.

The hollow, empty rooms sent chilly tingles up and down my spine as I searched for Christine. I entered the old ballroom to find her gliding dreamily across the floor as if in tune to some imaginary waltz. I glanced about the neglected room with its peeling walls and broken windows, imagining the place all lit up and grand as it must have been the night of the Mardi Gras ball. My eyes fell upon the coiled stairway that led up to Elica’s room and all imaginings stopped. “We shouldn’t be in here, Christine. Please come back with me.”

Christine drifted toward me, looking like an absurd ghost in her riding habit. Her face was flushed from dancing, her hair thick and slightly tangled. “Can’t you just feel Elica’s presence?” she whispered.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you’ve had your fill of dancing, let’s get out of here.”

Christine’s gray eyes were smoky. “Don’t you believe Nick is waiting for her?” Christine insisted.

“That’s nonsense.” I turned my back on Christine and started off down the corridor.

“Wait!” I heard her call after me. “I haven’t showed you my surprise yet. If you let me show you the surprise, I promise I’ll come with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“It’s right here, Louise. All you have to do is turn around and look. Now, watch this!”

“What on earth are you doing?” I demanded. “Trying to bring the house down?” Her light, nimble fingers made hollow, tapping noises as she began to rap them here and there upon the corridor wall.

“There’s a panel” she explained, eager to impress. “That’s what I wanted to show you. A secret panel. Every old house has one. The men hid their families in them during the war. Oh, there it goes!”

I watched in awe as a blackened portion of the wall began to slide away to reveal a dark and damp opening below. Through the dimness, a cold stone stairway beckoned.

“See?” She indicated a small, almost invisible notch upon the panel. “It has a catch here so that it can be kept either locked or opened.”

Christine began to feel her way through the darkness toward the stone steps. “Come on, Louise. Let’s go down! It’s dark and musty, but there’s a window below that provides a little light.”

‘‘You’ve been down here before?” I watched her disappear down the stone steps with dread. It would serve her right if I let her go alone. But the same sense of responsibility that had made me accompany her to Brule’s cabin that day forced me to follow.

The last stone step brought us to into a damp, cell-like room. From high above, faint light filtered in through a single, tiny window. The room was cluttered with debris. Strange that the least-valued, most discardable items hidden down here had been the ones to escape the damage of the great fire. Wine racks, dusty with age, waited in the corners.

As my eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, I gave a little cry of alarm. Out of the gloom, a tiny face glared out at us.

“What is it?” Christine demanded, her eyes growing wide like those of a curious kitten.

“Oh, I see!” I pointed to what I could now tell was a china-faced doll sitting astride an old trunk. “It’s only a doll.”

Christine gave a squeal of delight. “Monique!” She picked up the stiff little figure dressed in ragged velvet, shook off the dust, and cradled it in her arms. Her voice sounding almost dismayed, she said, “Funny how I forgot all about her. I just left her sitting here all alone.”

“She was your doll?”

Christine nodded. “When your grandfather and Nicholas began restoring the old house, I discovered this secret room. I used to slip away from Royal Oaks and come down here to play.”

“Such a lonesome place for a child.”

“Oh, but I liked it! It was private, a place I could call my own.” She began to pace the length of the small room. “I used to come down here often—just to think or to be alone.” Suddenly, a tremor shook her slight frame. In a voice that was barely a whisper, she added, “Then something happened and I never came back again—not until today.”

“What happened, Christine?”

“A short time after the fire, I came down here to see if the secret panel still worked. It did, and soon I was standing right here, in this very room. And then, all of a sudden, I got this queasy feeling that I wasn’t alone anymore. Like someone was watching me.” She shivered slightly. “I knew someone was there, just outside the panel door,” she continued. Her eyes had grown larger and luminous. “At first I thought it was Elica come back from the dead. But it couldn’t have been a ghost because I heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. ‘Who’s there?’ I cried out, but there was no answer. Then, the panel door began to close.”

I wondered if she was making up the entire story to frighten me. But one look at her pale, intense face made me realize that the story, to her, was all too real.

“I screamed, I banged upon the wood, but it would not open. And then I heard it. Laughter. Crazy laughter, Louise. Such terrible laughter!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just your imagination, Christine?”

Her eyes narrowed, and I knew immediately that I had said the wrong thing. The eyes were suddenly too wise, too old for the fourteen-year-old face. “Oh, no! Someone locked me up in here on purpose!”

“Surely, you don’t believe that!”

“They hate me, Louise! They would have left me to starve if your grandfather hadn’t found me!” Everyone hates me! Edward and Lydia—even you!” Her voice had risen to the point of hysteria. Too late I was reminded of Lydia’s warnings to beware of her. As she whirled upon me, I found myself looking into the wild eyes of a changeling, a young girl possessed. “Do you know what it was like to be locked up in here? Do you want to know how it feels?”

Sobbing, Christine darted for the stone steps. I hurried close behind, reaching the last step just as the panel began to slide shut.

“You are just like the others,” I heard her sob from the other side of the door. “All those questions about me snooping around in your room and stealing your letters and wearing a mask to frighten you! You’re just like all the rest! You only pretend to be my friend!”

“Christine, that’s not true! Christine! Come back!” But it was too late. I had let her trick me again! A shiver ran through me as I dug with my fingernails into the panel, pushing heavily upon it with the weight of my body. It was no use. Christine had me locked in this damp cellar of a room as securely as if she had buried me alive!

I began to pace the length of my prison, finding no other way out. The small, dusty window was far too high up to offer a means of escape. I was at Christine’s mercy!

“Christine!” I called again, sharply. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for her hot temper to cool down. Then she would come back and set me free. As I settled upon the chilly stone steps, sudden doubt filled me. She did mean to come back, didn’t she? The momentary stab of fear subsided as quickly as it had come. I was beginning to know Christine well, to understand the workings of her mind. She would soon return, penitent, teary-eyed, and apologetic. I had only to wait.

Never again, I vowed, would I let her put me in this situation. She was much more difficult to manage than I had at first imagined. I would have to tell Edward that I could no longer be responsible for her actions,

The china doll in its ragged velvet dress glared up at me from the floor where Christine had tossed it. I wandered over and picked it up. It was heavy, the china face and hands stiff and cold to my touch.

I moved to replace the doll upon the trunk where it had been sitting when my eyes suddenly rested upon a decorative latch. The familiar golden head of a dragon adorned the trunk’s heavy lock. With a flush of excitement, I realized that this was the same head which had been embossed in gold upon the cover of my grandfather’s journal.

The guardian will keep our secret safe.
The words in Grandfather’s letter spun through my head as I stared down at the ornamental dragon’s head. A dragon could be thought of as a protector; a dragon was the mythological guardian of treasure! My breath caught in my throat. Grandfather had known about this room. Was it possible that he had hidden the missing jewels inside the old trunk?

With anxious hands, I pushed the doll aside and tried the lid to the trunk. To my surprise, it gave away easily to my eager tugging. With the rasping sound of rusty hinges and groaning wood, the lid creaked open. The hair upon the back of my neck began to prickle as I pried the lid open further. A cloud of dust puffed up into my face, choking me, momentarily blinding me as I tried to peer inside.

At first I thought that the trunk was empty. And then I saw it. In the corner from where it must have slipped from the rotting silk lining of the trunk, something blue glittered.

“Christine!” I cried out in my excitement. “Christine, come back here quickly.”

I heard the panel slide, and when I looked up it had opened a crack. Still, there was no answer from her, only the gradual sliding of the panel door another few inches.

I tugged at the object which was caught and tangled within the faded silk of the trunk’s lining. A necklace. I drew in a deep breath. A strand of seven shining sapphires!

“Christine!” As I turned from the old trunk, I could feel a presence directly behind me. That sudden, second sense of warning made my back stiffen. The unusual stillness, the heavy, labored breathing warned me that it was not Christine who had slipped in through the secret panel door. I turned just in time to see a hideous face hovering just above my kneeling form. Someone was wearing the voodoo mask!

I caught only a brief, terrified glimpse of that stiff, unyielding face. The eyes were burning behind the slitted black holes, the blood-red mouth was grinning down at me. I felt a sharp, blinding pain as the blackened club came down hard, cracking the side of my head near the temple. Through a misty haze of white, I heard footsteps echo down the barren hallway and away.

Chapter Sixteen

I opened my eyes slowly to find myself staring into a calm, vast expanse of blue. White feathers floated in the blue. After a while, I realized that the feathers were clouds and that I was lying upon my back, staring up at the sky.

“She’s coming to,” said a voice, and two shadowy faces bent over me.

“Louise? Louise?” I recognized Christine’s voice, loud and high-pitched with excitement.

I tried to sit up. A dull, aching throb deep inside my head forced me to wince and lie back down again, feeling faint.

“Why did you leave her, Christine?” demanded the deeper voice. Nicholas.

“I only wanted to frighten her. I didn’t mean for her to get hurt! One of those wooden beams collapsed on her. Oh, is she hurt badly?”

Lies—Lies! Thoughts drifted through a dismal gray fog. That wasn’t the way it had happened. No, that wasn’t right at all. Oh, yes! Someone had hit me. Christine! Had it been Christine?