The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (34 page)

A fine spattering of raindrops fell from the sky as I continued my search for Nicholas. I had to find him! The lights from the masquerade grew dimmer and dimmer until they finally vanished into the mist. I was wandering too far away. I should go back—

Yes, I must return to the dance and Ian. He would be worried about me by now. I would explain what had happened, implore him to help me find Nicholas. And yet something kept me from turning around.

Heavy Spanish moss draped the trees thickly on all sides, trees that seemed to crouch closer and closer together as I ventured through that damp, eerie vastness, searching for Nicholas. It was as if I had entered another world, a new dimension. Stillness gave way to the night sounds, the low-throated croak of the bullfrog, the drone of mosquitoes, the choked gurgle of the swamp. I moved toward the sluggish sound, knowing that I must be close to the wooden bridge that led to Evangeline.

Soft and pliable from the rain, damp earth sucked at my ruined shoes, hindering every step. I forced myself to move carefully down the muddy path, keeping watch for the snakes that might lurk within that teeming underbrush. But it was not the possibility of encountering some slimy reptile that frightened me. I was haunted by my own uneasy thoughts.

Mrs. Lividais’s gossip kept churning around and around in my mind with a dizzying, circular motion. Flashes of talk about Brule’s illicit romance with Elica, the rumors of an unborn baby, the whispers about the fire that might have been started by an enraged husband pounded against my throbbing head.

Had Nicholas murdered Elica—or was she still alive? Again, I recalled the look in his angry black eyes as I had come down the long stairway in Elica’s dress. Once more, I heard his anguished cry of horror as he had stumbled after the elusive phantom figure that beckoned to him from the outskirts of the dance.

My heart caught in my throat as I thought about Nicholas. My pulse raced a little faster as I remembered how the dark-cloaked highwayman had held me so closely for that one wild, breathless dance.

But had it really been Nicholas’s features concealed behind that ominous black silk scarf? It had to be Nicholas! In horror, I remembered his tortured voice as he had called out to the wraithlike phantom figure that had been waiting in the shadow of the trees.

The woman—who had she been? A vengeful ghost, some tormenting apparition? No, I scolded myself. I would not believe it, not even for a moment. There had to be some logical explanation. Still, Brule’s wild talk about how Elica would return from the dead sent icy shivers up and down my spine. I did not believe in spirits. And yet I had seen her with my own eyes!

Suddenly, out of the darkness, something moved. An obscure shape, a formless shadow was slipping noiselessly through the moss-shrouded trees just ahead of me. “Nicholas?” I followed after the fleeting shape, winding in and out of the twisted cypress, watching for a glimpse of dark cloak. I heard the faint snap of a branch or twig nearby. Then there was silence.

“Nicholas, where are you?” I paused in the darkness, tense, breathless, waiting for an answer that never came. Gradually, I became aware of a strange, eerie stillness. Then I realized that the gurgle of the swamp had disappeared. A slight twinge of panic gripped me. The lights of the masquerade were gone, and so was Nicholas. I was out here all alone, and I was lost!

The rain had stopped, leaving a steamy dampness behind. Cool droplets of water fell against my skin as feathery vines shed their moisture to the night wind. I stood still for a moment, listening for the murmur of the swamp. If only I could find the water again, maybe I could get my bearings.

Fear walked with me like some invisible companion as I ventured on through the darkness. The pathway was overgrown with gnarled roots and tangled vines, the ghostly wreaths of silvery moss; the dull glow of the moon took on the fragile quality of a dream.

A dream—or a nightmare? A nightmare about being lost in the woods. The gurgle of the swamp returned, faintly at first, then growing increasingly stronger as I moved in the direction of the sound. Suddenly, I reached a clearing in the dense trees. Up ahead, I could see the pale reflection of the moon over glassy brown water.

I gave a little cry of horror. From across the wooden bridge, the jagged, imposing silhouette of Evangeline disturbed the night sky. For a bare fraction of a second, I stood staring up at the great house. A trick of moonlight made the windows seem all aglow. To my vivid imagination, they appeared to blaze with lights, then with fire. A cloud passed over the moon, making the illusion vanish’ Quickly, I turned away from the ruined house and its vast emptiness.

I was no longer lost. All I had to do now was follow the course of the swamp, and it would lead me back to the masquerade. I could see Evangeline’s huge, looming shadow in the reflection of the water as I passed by the narrow bridge.

I had only gone a few more steps when the snap of a branch made me spin around. A slight rustling in the dark trees near the bridge reinforced my fear. I could feel the skin near the base of my neck begin to prickle. Someone was out here with me!

“N-Nicholas?” And then I heard the sound. From the thick, vine-strangled trees came a low-throated, evil peal of laughter.

What creature could have made that terrible, inhuman sound? Panic made my heart pound violently in my chest. Not daring to even look behind me, I broke into a dead run.

I did not stop until my bursting lungs cried out for air. For a moment I paused, struggling to catch my breath. Fearfully, I looked back into the darkness. But whoever or whatever had been pursuing me was gone now.

Anxiously, I looked around me. Trees crowded in on all sides now; I had once again lost track of the swamp. I felt a heavy sense of hopelessness. Wearily, I plunged on through the darkness, not certain exactly where I was, or in which direction I was headed.

Then, through the dense trees, I saw a faint glimmer of brightness, then another. Tears of relief filled my eyes. Not far away, the lights from the masquerade twinkled like welcoming stars.

Chapter Twenty-four

My breath was still coming in quick gasps as I began to hurry toward the lights. The merry sound of carnival music grew louder as I approached the outskirts of the masquerade. For a moment I rested against a thick tree trunk, trying to slow my rapid breathing, to still the wild hammering of my heart. Anxiously, I glanced back into the darkness from where I had come. I was alone. And I was safe!

I stood for a moment, observing the scene before me through a shroud of drooping gray Spanish moss. Silently, from my hidden spot, I watched the costumed figures swirl and sway. My heart caught in my throat as I remembered dancing with Nicholas, his features concealed by that black silk mask.

A thrill of horror washed over me at the remembrance of that evil, deep-throated laughter in the woods. The Mardi Gras seemed suddenly a monstrous farce, an illusion. It was a threatening place where ghosts came to life and familiar people became foreign, unrecognizable. Yes, I was certain that the man I had been dancing with tonight was the same person who had been following me in the darkness. There was an empty spot in my heart as I realized that, for all I really knew about him, I might as well have been dancing with a total stranger.

Who had she been, that ghostly apparition clad in satin and blue velvet who had lured Nicholas away from the masquerade? Was it really Elica returned from the dead? Shivering, I realized that I must be standing in almost the exact spot where the phantom figure had made its ghostly appearance. I held a hand out in front of me, noticing how the glow of moonlight made my fingers seem unnaturally white. With the pale sheen of the moon behind me, I might easily be mistaken for a ghost myself if I emerged suddenly from the ethereal surroundings of the cypress trees.

The entire incident could have been a mistake, a terrible coincidence. Some woman at the masquerade could have, by chance, chosen a similar dress and hairstyle to Elica’s. Lydia had seen what she thought was a ghost, screamed, and we all had panicked.

A logical explanation. But a part of me could not quite believe it. I remembered how the woman who looked so much like Elica seemed to float in the moonlight, one ghostly hand beckoning.

What if Elica wasn’t dead? The thought seemed to come to me out of nowhere, filling my soul with sudden horror. What if she had, by some odd twist of fate, survived the fire? Again, I remembered that horrible laugh that could have either been a man’s or a woman’s. Was Nicholas hiding a madwoman behind the blackened walls of Evangeline?

Slowly, I became aware of the muffled sounds of voices and
whispers all around me. With a little start, I realized that I was not alone. Pairs of lovers who had slipped away from the probing eyes of chaperones shared private words and stolen kisses here in the darkness of the cypress grove on the edge of the masquerade.

Again, I moved toward the lights, anxious to find Ian. But I had only gone a few paces when a rough hand reached out of the darkness to grasp my arm. I stiffened with sudden horror. Was it Nicholas who held me in such an iron grip? Not the Nicholas that I knew, but some crazed stranger?

Blood pumping wildly through my veins, I whirled around to confront my captor. A swift cry of alarm escaped me as I found myself face-to-face with, not Nicholas, but the very devil himself!

And a drunken one, at that, I realized upon closer scrutiny.

The husky figure in the red costume laughed triumphantly as he began to force me back into a dark corner of the grove. “Why, look what I’ve found wandering about all by herself,” he mocked, the thick, heavily painted brows rising. “Are you Marie Antoinette or Venus, the Goddess of Love?”

I tried to remain calm as I struggled in his careless embrace. Could this drunken masquerader have been the one following me through the woods? “Please. Just let me go.”

The work-roughened hands remained upon my shoulders, ignoring my resistance. “A kiss first! A kiss for the old devil,
ma chère!”
The voice, with its thick Cajun accent, was beginning to sound strangely familiar.

There was brute strength in the stocky man’s grip as he drove me further into the darkness. My skin brushed the damp bark of cypress. Drunkenly, he pressed up against me, his body a deadweight upon my own. Helplessly pinioned by his muscular forearms, I fought him in vain. But it was no use. I was trapped in his unwelcome embrace.

Now other faces appeared from the cover of the trees. Their laughter was terrible, their disguises hideous. The grotesque figures they had chosen to represent this night—Jack the Ripper, Frankenstein, Dracula—gathered about like a pack of hungry wolves.

“Hurry!” urged a gaunt figure in a glittering skeleton costume. He tipped a near-empty bottle. “Show the lady how we celebrate the Mardi Gras.”

“Yes, hurry, Nate,” pressed the werewolf with an evil grin. “For I want my turn soon.”

A surge of real panic swept through me as I struggled with my absurd captor. He was far too drunk for me to try to appeal to his finer senses. Angrily, I kicked at his shins with my left foot. “That’s right, fight me,” he whispered. “Like a little wildcat, non.” His grip grew even tighter, restricting my movements until I could barely breathe. In subdued humiliation, I watched helplessly as his silly, red-dusted face grew bigger and bigger as it came nearer my own.

His lips were inches from mine. The smell of brandy was thick and heavy upon his breath. I turned my head, feeling sudden nausea as his lips, wet and clammy, brushed my
cheek, searching for my mouth.

“Nathan!”

The sound of the shrill voice made him jump guiltily. Obviously intimidated despite his drunkenness, the curly-haired devil jerked his head away from me. I looked past his shoulders into the trees, my own predicament all but forgotten. I stared, hardly daring to believe my own eyes. For there she stood, not ghost at all, but flesh and blood. The woman in blue velvet!

She waited there with her hands on her hips, the disturbingly familiar stance as well as the slightly high tone of voice suddenly betraying her identity to me. She tugged impatiently at the mask and gauzy blue veil, pushing them aside to glare at Nathan through hair that was gradually slipping from its neat chignon to spill across her face. So here was our ghost!

“Christine! Darlin’ I—I—” Lusty Satan appeared to be suffering from an acute attack of conscience.

Now I knew exactly what had happened! Christine had returned to the house sometime during the evening and had put on Elica’s dress, the one that she had planned for me to wear. “Christine, how could you?” I demanded angrily, barely aware that Nathan still had not released me.

Even though Nathan had turned toward Christine, he still had not loosened his biting grip upon my shoulders. His strong, thick fingers cut into my skin.

Christine cocked her head slightly at the sound of my voice. Then she was staring at my costume as if she hardly believed her own eyes. “Why, that’s Louise!” she announced with a mirthful laugh. “It
is
you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied quickly.

“Louise? But—“ Nathan’s words ran together as he hastened to explain. “And here I thought I had one of the carnival lasses—”

“Now that you realize your mistake,” I said with icy indignation, “will you kindly let me go?”

A sly smile crossed the exaggerated red lips. “But what about my kiss? A kiss from Miss High and Mighty!” My shoulders were beginning to ache from the steady pressure of his arms. I watched him, amazed by the change that a few sips
of brandy had made. The shy, brooding young man who was so devoted to Christine had become bold and reckless.

I turned to Christine. “Please talk some sense into—your beau,” I pleaded.

There was cruelty in her smile as she replied, “Oh, Louise, don’t be such a spoilsport. He’s only jesting. Let him have his kiss. After all, this is Mardi Gras night!” How I was beginning to hate the sound of those words!

Christine studied me again, as if only now aware of my discomfort. “Nathan,” she sighed, suddenly taking pity. “Let her go.”