With One Look (18 page)

"Aye," Murray agreed, nodding. "Everyone loves the lass—Creoles, Spanish, free coloreds and the working slaves, just everyone, it seems. I stopped at the tobacco shop today and there was Monsieur Jessen and a handful of his customers talking about Sebastian and what a bloody hero he is, and how, thank God, he had saved Jade Terese. They talked as if she was a saint! On and on about how she had solicited half the funds for the Negro infirmary and the Negro girls' school, as well as a scholarship fund for poor students. They all joked about how impossible it was to resist the young lady's honeyed pleas, how now, as soon as they spot her heading toward them, they just remove their billfolds."

Carl heard their quiet chuckles as he opened the door to inquire about a late supper. He first caught sight of Jade stirring in the bed, and he called Victor and Murray to her side. They came immediately but only to see she was not waking but rather dreaming ...

Small black boots raced up the carpeted stairs. The long plaits of her hair and the ruffles on her gold frock bounced with each step. "Mama! Mama!" She ran down the hall and stopped at the wide carved door to her parent's bedroom. Her small hand touched the latch and pulled down. The door opened to a blinding white light—

Victor grabbed Jade as she bolted upright, her hands bracing as the fierce blast of pain shot through her head. Jade's face blanched white, her whole being stiffened before she fell limp, collapsing in his arms.

"Jade!" Victor shook her but she remained unconscious and stunned. He laid her gently against the pillows. Murray checked her pulse, her breathing and then shook his head, startled by it.

"My God. There it was."

Victor and Murray were still in the room, quietly discussing the situation, when she woke less than an hour later. She sat up in bed, wearing only a chemise, her arms crossed over herself. She waited for some external sign. Where was she?

"Jade?"

Victor. She reached out for him like a lifeline as he sat on the bed, taking her into his arms. "How long have I been here?"

"It's the middle of the night. You've been here since the afternoon. How do you feel, sweetheart?"

"Were you here? Were you here the whole time?"

Victor and Murray assumed she was asking if he saw Maydrian too, if what she'd felt had been real. "Yes, I was there. I stayed the whole time, save for a visit to your Reverend Mother with my father. Since then I've been waiting for you to wake. Jade—"

"Did you see ... I mean, did you ..." "Yes, Jade, I saw it."

The shame of it turned her face away. Quietly she asked, "I suppose it frightened you." Victor Murray shot confused glances at each other.

"Please don't concern yourself with it. Heavens, but it's been so long since I had one, I half thought I was through with them. God knows why I should suffer one today, but with a little luck, 'twill be years again before I have another."

"Jade, are you talking about your seizures?" She nodded.

"Do you remember what caused it?" "Remember what?"

A shadow moved through the open doors of the balcony and stood there staring at the sleeping woman. She was dreaming. A dream that would change to a nightmare ...

In this dream Jade danced with her arms outstretched and her face tilted to a summer sun. Her laughter burst into a song that made her twirl and twirl. In her dreams, she could see. She could see the world in all the glory and magnificence of creation; a world made of buttery sunshine, the

rainbow colors of wildflowers and a rushing waterfall into a cool swimming hole. A world made of a child's simple joy.

There was no evil in this world....

Victor watched her, laughing too. He started forward. Excitement burst into laughter; she ran. He leaped after, catching her, lifting her up before he swung her 'round and 'round in his arms. They fell to the soft cushion of grass.

Then he silenced her laughter with a kiss.

She couldn't breathe, and she wondered wildly why she wasn't fainting as her mouth, her mind, her every sense melted beneath the sensuous press of his lips. The kiss deepened as he added moreF pressure. Then she was breathing hard as her head swam dizzily and a great heat burst deep within herself. A hot rush of chills followed.

The kiss broke with the sound of his name.

Jade bolted up suddenly in bed. Small beads of perspiration laced her brow. She drew deep, quick breaths as she tried to slow the racing of her heart.

A gold lamp still burned, softly illuminating the spacious room she could not see. She listened to the haunting rhythm made by a warm breeze lifting and dropping the curtains.

The erotic dream had made her skin feel hot. Her hand brushed back the loosened strands of her hair. She fell against the bed pillow with the whispered sound of his name: "Victor ..."

That one night together haunted her sleep, weaving the memories into erotic dreams. Never before could she have imagined a passion that stole thoughts and transformed dreams! It was so consuming, so powerful! His every word, the sound of his laughter, every slight touch, sent her heart pounding with a strange and new excitement.

Being with him had become a furious battle to keep her mind from the memory of his hot hard body against her skin, the feel of his lips on hers, and somehow when he drew close, all she could think about was his touch. It was all much worse at night.

Her other problem was far more maddening and baffling. Everyone was so afraid for her! Victor rarely strayed from her side unless Sebastian took his place. Victor stood by her during the tearful partings with all her friends, Maydrian's funeral, meetings with the two Sisters who would take over her music classes, the packing. Like a mother cat he was, watchful, questioning everyone as if he might find those men who had murdered poor old Maydrian among the circle of her friends. She just didn't understand why everyone thought she was in danger still. She didn't understand why

Mother Francesca, Father Nolte, even Sebastian and Mercedes, were so certain she would only be safe far away at his country estate, and why it was necessary to tell everyone that she was withdrawing to a convent in France. She was quite certain those men who had ruthlessly kidnapped her and murdered Maydrian were a thousand miles away by now.

Not that she minded going to stay at Victor's country estate. Mercedes would go with her and it sounded like a wonderful holiday. Father Nolte and Reverend Mother had both absolutely insisted. Victor had insisted. "Jade, the need to keep you safe is like the need to draw breath.”

Now Mercedes and her trunks were packed and waiting on board a ship. Tomorrow they would board this ship, which Victor had discreetly arranged to have stop some fifty miles downriver, where they would meet him and Sebastian for the roundabout journey to his estate.

What else could she do? She supposed time would make them see there was no hidden danger— A slight creak in the floorboards alerted her. She froze, listening intently. "Victor?"

Another creak sounded. It was him! He was teasing her. She would feel his arms before she heard his voice.

Anticipation made her swallow her laughter.

An odd scent alerted her. Dried herbs and burnt wood. Not Victor. Not Mercedes or Dr. Murray. Not Agnes or Belle, the two upstairs maids. She stiffened, drawing the pillow against her chest. "Who is it? Who's there?"

There was no answer. The scent grew more pungent. Someone got onto the bed. Jade waved her hand in front of herself. "You are scaring me—"

A curious hiss of a whispered voice sang:

“Run, little girl, run Your mother is hanging, Your father used a gun, Run, little girl, run”

Jade's screams died in her throat as she clasped her head against a blinding white light and unbearable pain.

Victor climbed the steps of his house. Carl opened the door. "What happened?"

Carl just shook his head, looking quite stricken. "You should hear it from Mademoiselle Mercedes."

He opened the door to his bedchamber. Dawn was just stretching into the room through the open balcony windows. Jade slept in bed. Sebastian, Mercedes and Murray gathered around her sleeping form as if she were on her deathbed. Mercedes wiped her eyes, clinging protectively to Jade's hand.

He came slowly to the bed. In a ontrolled whisper: "What happened?"

"Oh, Victor." Mercedes shook her head, still trembling with the aftermath. "Jade and I had retired early, so excited were we about tomorrow. I was just getting up for a glass of water—the water pitcher in my room was empty. I was passing this room when I heard Jade speaking to someone inside. I knew 'twasn't you, you said you would be at the shipyard through the night. She was saying, 'Who is it, who is it?' I reached for the doorknob. And then, then I heard this voice ... singing a song, like a child's nursery rhyme, only—I opened the door and a man was kneeling over Jade. I thought he was going to kill her! I screamed—"

Victor's gaze flew to Sebastian.

"We didn't find anyone," Sebastian said. "We searched five blocks. Nothing. He got away."

Fury filled Victor where he stood, a bright murderous rage that had no outlet, and it only got worse when Murray said: "The words, you have to hear 'em. They sent the lass into a seizure; she's out cold and ten to one she won't remember a thing on the morrow. Tell him, Mercedes."

She shook her head, tears sprang into her eyes. "I can't ... say it again."

Murray repeated the words flatly. "'Your mother is hanging, your father used a gun.' What the hell does that mean?"

Victor's gaze widened with outrage; he swore with soft viciousness as he turned to the wall and braced his long arms there. A man broke into his house, into his bedchamber, bent on tormenting Jade with a sick string of words before he what? Raped her? Killed her?

An impotent violence rose inside Victor. He rammed his clenched fist into the wall with a resounding rumble. The wall cracked, and he withdrew his fist with a curse.

The violence stunned Murray. He had witnessed that kind of anger only once before in Victor, the time he was told that sweet young Tessie had been raped by one of his stable hands. Most men would not think long on one of their colored servants being raped in their house, but Victor responded as though Tessie was his own daughter. The man was held in a small cagelike room until Victor arrived at the country estate. Without ever saying a word to the man, he kicked him once in the groin with such violence that the man passed out. Victor then had him stripped and sent into the bayous, to the middle of the swamps, miles from civilization, it was not likely the man survived. "To live like the beast he is," Victor had said, adding to the other workers. "This is not ever to happen in my house again."

Victor did not even stop there. Every once in a while, when he stayed in the country and had a free hour or so, he called Tessie out to the lawn and gave her instruction in the strange Oriental ways of self-defense. Sebastian, Murray, Carl and the other servants rolled with laughter until the lessons began to work. Tessie, a skinny slip of a girl, had learned how to throw a grown man from her person. More important, Victor's concern—so much like a father's—made Tessie feel safe again. If only there was some way to protect Jade!

Jade stirred as the ugly words sang in her dreams.

"Run, little girl, run, Your mother is hanging, Your father used a gun, Run, little girl,

run ..."

A scream sounded silently in her dream.

A warm sun shimmered over the levee and the marketplace as Victor wondered if half the

town had not appeared to say good-bye to Jade Terese. Everyone but Mother Francesca, who had had a private audience with Jade in her chambers. He watched carefully from the ship rail with Mercedes, who was still quite shaken from all that had happened. Jade's music students gathered around her, each girl dressed in a crisp white school frock as Jade went from one girl to the other, smiling and kissing each caramel-colored cheek, many of these wet with tears.

"They love her so!" Mercedes said.

Dozens of shopkeepers and store owners crowded around her, the gens de couleur. Jade Terese embraced Madame Deubler, then her two daughters, and stood for Monsieur Deubler's kiss, her smile and manner as bright as the summer sun above.

She remembered nothing. Mercedes had begged them all not to tell her of the intruder.

Victor had resisted the idea until Jade Terese had descended the stairs, full of happiness and excitement over the beginning of this adventure, a happiness that affected him physically and made him understand Mercedes's inclination. Indeed, it felt impossible to ruin her gaiety and replace it with fear and apprehension. And what if, dear Lord, it brought on another seizure?

She would be safe now....

Your mother is hanging/Your father used a gun....

The scenario suggested that the intruder was quite disturbed. He wanted to make Jade suffer as much as he wanted to kill her.

Victor's father had arranged for a grave digging. Perhaps the remains of her parents' bodies would lend a clue. At the very least it could confirm the terrible suspicion. He had three agents investigating Philip Devon's debts. In time he would get close to the answer.

In the meantime he would keep her safe. Upon my life ...

Victor's gaze scanned the crowd, watching as the beautiful young lady moved from the gens de couleur to where Lucretia Josset stood with a handful of Creole ladies waiting to say good- bye, Jade passing blindly from colored to white. Literally. The other night she had explained it was impossible for her to make the distinctions everyone else made instantly. At first she had been scorned for her many trespasses: for taking tea at Monsieur Deubler's or singing with the colored chorus, or when attending a baptism or wedding, she somehow always ended up sitting in the wrong section—as at the opera—soon everyone came to accept that somehow, by some unspoken consensus, she was exempt from these conventions of society.

Jade knew many people by their scent: Mother Francesca smelled of the rose oil used in the church's lanterns; Father Nolte of his tobacco, ink from writing and the faintest musky scent of old books; Marie Saint smelled deliciously of flowers; and Sister Catherine, too, of roses, for she tended the convent rose garden herself; and so on.