Dark Masquerade (26 page)

“Will they believe you? Will they, Theresa? You have been peculiar for years, everyone knows that. Everyone knows you have been worse since Elizabeth came.”

“That wasn’t me, that was you! You and Denise, she admitted she put the spiders in Elizabeth’s room for you, just to scare her. You lied to me about Elizabeth. She isn’t at all like you said. She brought the baby to see me, she likes me and trusts me. If you do this I—I will tell them about our step-father. I’ll tell them I saw you push him off the top of the new house during the storm! I will. I will, Darcourt!”

“By all means, tell them. But you see I have already seen to it that they half believe you had something to do with that. Do you think they will believe you when I apologize sadly for the ravings of my insane sister that I love so much, my poor darling sister?”

Elizabeth remembered again the scene in the schoolroom that afternoon when Denise had denounced her as an imposter. Darcourt had wanted it to happen. He had wanted to upset Theresa. It was no part of his plans that she grow better. He had needed her insane to take the blame for the murder that he had been contemplating even then.

“You are a fool if you think you can get away with it,” Bernard told Darcourt in cold contempt.

“Oh, I admit it is going to seem a bit odd, that you let a young girl get the better of you. But then you always did have a soft spot for Theresa, for a foster brother. I win remind them of it. No doubt she took you unawares. But yes, I think I will get away with it. In the process I shall also get away with the better part of this estate. But you won’t mind, will you, Bernard, not after we put you away in the family mausoleum behind you. I consider it poetic justice, if you can credit that.” Darcourt was almost laughing, certain that he would triumph.

“I was supposed to inherit Felix’s property according to the will he made before he left for Texas, but the birth of a legitimate heir nullified that. Now, with his brat dead, without heirs, that will can go into effect. And you, Bernard. Who is there to inherit your property? Grand’mere, I think, is your next of kin. It shouldn’t be too hard to gain control of it from a grief-stricken old lady. If I don’t have most of this estate in my own name by the time the dear old soul goes to her reward I’m not the man I think I am.”

Bernard took an angry step toward him, but the muzzle of the pistol he had been holding so negligently came up.

“There is no hurry, foster-brother, but both guns are cocked and if you are impatient—?”

Elizabeth put her free hand on Bernard’s arm, looking at Darcourt. “You have made a slight miscalculation, I think. You have three of us to kill and only two shots, one per gun.”

“That is true, Elizabeth. But you know, I don’t think I will have any difficulty snuffing out the life of one small infant once you and Bernard are dead.”

“No,” Theresa whispered. “No—No—No!” As her screams rose she threw herself at Darcourt, reaching for his eyes with clawing fingers.

He jerked back, the hand holding the gun going up to protect his eyes, an expression of stark disbelief on his face.

Bernard was close behind Theresa. The three grappled, struggling, twisting in the lantern light. Suddenly an explosion shattered the night as one of the pistols went off. Darcourt was thrown backward as if struck by a giant fist. Theresa shrieked, then reeled away, falling to her knees with horror printed on her face, her eyes wide and staring and her mouth soundlessly open.

Bernard threw up a hand in front of his face. In that hand he held a pistol. As the echoes of the shot died away among the trees, he walked slowly to where Darcourt lay sprawled upon the ground.

From where she stood, Elizabeth could see the great hole in Darcourt’s chest that was fast turning his nightshirt black with blood. She stood watching Bernard, rocking Joseph in her arms. She did not breathe, did not relax, until she saw Bernard, his face a mask of contempt, turn his back on the figure lying so still on the ground.

Minutes after the shot had sounded they were joined by three of the menservants Bernard had sent out to search the grounds in case they were not in the chapel. One of them was sent for the carriage. Theresa was in a state of collapse, trembling, crying, blaming herself for killing her own brother though Bernard held her against his chest and told her repeatedly that he himself had pulled the trigger. Though she accepted the support of his arms, Theresa could not seem to understand what he was saying. It was obvious that she could not walk back to the house.

Elizabeth was not at all sure that she was any better able to do so. She was not tired so much as weak, and once it had been confirmed that Callie was dead, she leaned against a tree holding Joseph to her as if for strength, waiting.

The trees around them swayed, their leaves streaming in the wind. The open door of the chapel creaked back and forth, and dried leaves scurried across the ground like live things pursued.

Elizabeth looked at Bernard trying to calm Theresa’s hopeless weeping, and he glanced up as if he felt her gaze upon him. There was an inscrutable expression in his eyes that reminded her of her first impression of him. She had thought then that he would be hard to deceive, and she had been right. She had also thought that he would be slow to forgive. He had not shown a moment of concern for her. It was a frightening thing to know that this dark Creole would be the one who would decide what was to be done with her.

Grand’mere met them at the front steps, leaning heavily on a cane. Behind her came Denise, searching among them with anxious eyes, and to one side stood Samson with a lamp in his hand.

In a few terse sentences Bernard told what had happened. When she heard that Darcourt was dead, Denise seemed to crumple, to shrink both in size and in spirit. Grand’mere had to speak to her a third time before she blinked and took charge of Theresa as the old lady commanded.

“Give me my great-grandson, and come into the house,” Grand’mere said, turning away. “I think what we all need is a stimulant. Samson, brandy.”

She barely looked at the butler, who inclined his head, waited until they had preceded him into the house, and then went to do her bidding as quickly as his dignity permitted.

Grand’mere led the way into the library. In the light of three lamps, she examined Joseph to be sure he had taken no injury. The brandy decanter and glasses were brought on a silver tray, and then Samson departed silently, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Though ladies ordinarily do not take spirits, my nerves have been sadly shattered since I discovered Joseph gone from his bed. I’m sure you must be quite done up, too, Elizabeth.” Grand’mere took a small sip from the glass Bernard handed her.

Elizabeth followed suit but did not answer, letting a stiff smile suffice.

“How you came to do such a bird-witted thing I don’t know. It was quite unnecessary and not at all in line with your usual common sense.”

When Elizabeth, looking into her brandy glass and watching the liquor swirl in its depths, still said nothing, Grand’mere turned to Bernard.

“Is it true? Did the child shoot her brother as she keeps saying? It seems unlikely. She has always been abjectly fond of him.”

“I killed him. At least, that is what Theresa must be made to believe. To be perfectly truthful, I don’t know who pulled the trigger, it may even have been Darcourt himself, but Theresa must never be allowed to think that she is responsible.”

“Is that supposed to help? I know you feel that she was showing a marked improvement the last two days, but after all, what chance is there now that she will ever live normally, when her brother has died violently before her eyes and her mother deserted her?”

Bernard rubbed his eyes. “We will see. It is possible that now she is free of Darcourt’s influence she will improve. We know now what happened to make her as she was.” He told his grandmother what Theresa had said, that she had seen Darcourt kill Gaspard.

“My poor Gaspard. Who would have thought that Darcourt could have managed it?”

Bernard tossed off the rest of his brandy and set the glass down. “We all tend to think of people who will not turn their hands to anything, who prefer to loaf through life, as being somehow unintelligent, of being as lazy of mind as they are of body. It isn’t so. Darcourt would never do his share here at the plantation because he felt that we owed him something, that he had been cheated under our father’s will. He thought he should have been given at least one of the plantations that make up the estate. I have always known that he felt that way. I don’t know, maybe he was right.”

“Nonsense. Darcourt was not Gaspard’s child. It may be that my son recognized the instability in his foster children. In any case, Darcourt had an inheritance from his own father, and Alma let it run through her hands while he was still in short pants, long before she married your father.”

“That was hardly Darcourt’s fault.”

“You would excuse him? The man who murdered your father and tried to murder you and Elizabeth as well as my great-grandson?”

“Darcourt thought he had been slighted. Apparently Felix, who was much more of a brother to Darcourt than I since they had more in common, felt so too. He made out his will in Darcourt’s favor before he went to Texas. I knew the circumstances. I blame myself for the things that have happened. I should have realized that Darcourt was behind it, but poor Theresa never denied that she was responsible for the things that were happening when she was asked. Heaven alone knows what Darcourt told her to account for them and obtain her cooperation. He was always full of schemes to make a quick fortune and take Theresa and her mother away, perhaps that was it. Anyway, I’m sure Felix never expected to be killed, and in truth, I have trouble picturing Felix originating the idea of the will.

“It was Alma who talked him into it. She told me,” Elizabeth corrected him.

“Sweet Alma,” Grand’mere said dryly. “I imagine she will get what she deserves with that man. But to get back to what you were saying?”

“Legal technicalities due to the manner and place of his death held up the disposition of Felix’s estate, and then we learned that there would be an heir who naturally takes precedence under our laws. Darcourt must have been livid, to be cheated out of his fortune again. No doubt he felt justified, but it takes a strange sort of mind to contemplate killing a child.”

Grand’mere stared before her, her face hard, though there was an expression of sadness around the eyes.

“Elizabeth, though she was not Joseph’s mother, was his next of kin, next in line of succession to the inheritance, so naturally she had to die also. With the direct heirs dead then I imagine Darcourt thought that I could be persuaded to honor the intent of Felix’s first will. Or alternately, you Grand’mere, after I arrived on the scene to spoil things for him. He was always slighting the Creole conception of honor but he was always quick to take advantage of it.”

“No doubt you are right, mon cher,” Grand’mere said, nodding. “I suppose we must make an effort to inform Alma of the fate of her son?”

“I will see to it. I doubt she will be very surprised. I can’t picture her leaving without him, unless she had discovered that he was behind the incidents, and that he was planning something desperate.”

Joseph, tiring of the inactivity of lying on his back on the black silk of Grand’mere’s lap, and beginning to be hungry, started to fret.

“Oh, dear. It is a great pity about Callie. I had quite grown to like her, an excellent woman. You were quite right to take up the cudgel in her defense, chère. I think you will find that it was arsenic that killed her. I have been afraid of something dreadful happening ever since that ninny, Alma, started to use it.”

“It seems likely,” Bernard agreed, without giving Elizabeth a chance to speak.

Grand’mere went on. “We must find some way of feeding our little man until a new wet nurse can be found. I had better send to the quarters in the morning.” She gathered the baby against her shoulder, patting his back ineffectually.

“I think you will have to act sooner than that,” Bernard said, a smile curving the austere line of his mouth as Joseph howled.

“Yes,” Grand’mere said, distracted in her concern as she got up and went toward the door. “I will have to send Samson immediately; where has he got off to? Hush, hush, my sweet, it can’t be helped. Perhaps a cookie—”

She trailed off, moving toward the door. Elizabeth went quickly to help her.

“No, no. That is quite all right. I can manage. Besides, I believe Bernard wants a few words with you. I tried to tell you earlier tonight, but you put me off until morning. Well, never mind. Perhaps it will come better from him. Tact was never my strong point.”

The door closed behind her and she could be heard speaking to Samson in the hall.

Elizabeth had been able to find little hope that Bernard would relent and allow her to stay. After Grand’mere’s rather strange statement she could find none. She drank her brandy for courage, suppressing a reflex cough. Then she sat toying with her glass, watching Bernard covertly and wondering if he was trying to find the best words to use to tell her to leave.