Night of the Candles (6 page)

“No, but the dog…” But perhaps that was easily explained by the fact that he had frightened her earlier. The dream had been so real. There was something about it she felt she should remember, but it had faded away as dreams do in the light of morning. All she could recall was the great dog … and Amelia, wearing the collar of Harmonia.

“Marta?”

“Ja, fraeulein?”

“What became of the collar of Harmonia … the necklace?”

“Necklace?”

“I had it in my hand when I fell. Did someone pick it up?”

“I have seen nothing of a necklace, fraeulein. No one has said anything to me of it.”

“Would you look in my reticule?”

“Ja, that I will,” she answered and getting heavily to her feet, moved to the armoire and took down the small petit point purse. But though she turned the contents out onto the foot of the bed, there was no sign of the necklace.

“It could be that the master picked it up,” Marta suggested.

Amanda nodded but in her thoughts she added … or Sophia. The woman had wanted the necklace badly. What was to keep her from pocketing it on the spot, hoping that once it was in her possession Jason would relent and allow her to keep it? She had no right, no right at all. Or did she? Perhaps if she and Jason were planning to wed? But could that be so? Jason seemed so torn with grief. Amelia had been dead only a few months. It seemed unlikely that he could propose marriage again so soon. And yet Sophia had insinuated by her actions that there was some relationship between them. Men were human, and Amelia had been ill a long time. Sophia was an attractive woman, and she had been living under this roof nearly a year, according to Theo. She was not a girl anymore. If she was going to marry, it must be soon. There was no denying that Jason was a catch, a man still in possession of his home and with the necessary men and equipment to work the land, an attractive man, no more than thirty-five. Women, for the sake of security, had given themselves in marriage, many times before to men with much less to recommend them. Would Sophia stay on here at Monteigne if she was not sure there was something to gain?

“Have you eaten, Marta?” Amanda was not used to constant care. Privacy had always been important to her, and it made her nervous that Marta sat watching her so that she could anticipate her every need.

“Ja, fraeulein.”

“Is there nothing you need to do? I could entertain myself, reading perhaps, if you do.”

“There are many books in Herr Jason’s study. Shall I bring one or two?”

“Yes, please. Marta…”

“Ja?” She turned at the door.

“How long will it be before I can get up? I won’t stay here, imposing on Mr. Monteigne’s hospitality, a moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“I cannot say, fraeulein. It would be better if you did not leave your bed for two or three days, perhaps more if your headache does not leave you.” She closed the door gently behind her.

Two or three days. Amanda let her shoulders sag against the pillow. She couldn’t stay that long. Two or three days of strain, of feeling like an intruder, of stirring up the memories of the dead girl who had occupied these rooms, and who even now seemed to be keeping them alive. She couldn’t bear it.

Marta returned with the books, but the effort of remembering, of speaking, and of trying to concentrate on the answers had made her head begin to ache again. She lay back with her eyes closed.

A short while later a knock came on the hall door. Marta moved to open it, and Amanda heard the murmur of a masculine voice.

“Marta?”

“It is Herr Theodore. He was asking after your health.”

“Oh, would you ask him, please, about the necklace?”

“Certainly, fraeulein.”

Amanda could hear snatches of the conversation, enough to know that Theo was denying all knowledge of the missing piece of jewelry. She sighed, a frown flitting across her brow. It could not have disappeared.

When the door was closed, Marta came toward her. “Herr Theodore wishes me to convey to you his sorrow that you were injured, his joy that you are going to stay on for a time at Monteigne, and his most fervent hope that you will be able to come downstairs soon.”

Amanda smiled a little as Marta heaved a sigh of relief at having delivered her message.

The nurse began to grumble, smoothing the coverlet and patting the pillow. “Don’t fret yourself, fraeulein, about the bauble. It will turn up; you will see.”

The morning passed. Marta braided Amanda’s hair, plied her with pungent tisanes of mint and spices and currant syrup, and insisted on laying a cool cloth over Amanda’s forehead. Amanda submitted to her ministrations in the hope that she would be that much closer to returning to town — and from there back to her own life on her grandfather’s plantation, her packing — and her plans for the wedding.

It was just before luncheon that Sophia came to see her.

“How are you?” she asked without preamble as she swung through the door, her brown eyes without warmth.

Marta looked up and a queer expression crossed her normally stolid face. She got to her feet.

“I’m much better,” Amanda said, but Sophia was hardly listening.

“Is there anything you wanted to do, Marta?” she asked coolly. “I’m sure Amanda doesn’t need a nurse at her side constantly, but I will be happy to stay for a few minutes if you have something that needs your attention.”

“Yes,” Marta licked her lips. “I was wishing for a bit of busy work to occupy my hands, not that I’m that much of a seamstress, but the time does lag.” There was a nervous flutter in her voice but the look in her eyes as she let her gaze slide over Sophia was malignant. She moved through the door that Sophia had left open, closing it behind her with a slam.

Sophia laughed then turned toward the bed. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Reading — a little. Talking with Marta.”

“I’ll wager you have. What has our invaluable Marta been telling you?”

“Nothing really, we spoke of Carl and of the big dog, Cerberus.”

“Oh, Cerberus, Amelia’s pet. He’s a vicious brute, but I don’t suppose he can help it since it was Amelia who made him that way.”

“Amelia?” Amanda couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Yes, dear Amelia. She couldn’t stand to have him care for anyone else, even Jason. She was like that. Of course, Jason can control the beast by sheer strength of will, but Cerberus has no feeling for him or for anyone else now that Amelia is gone. If it were left to me, I’d have him destroyed.”

“Amelia, my cousin Amelia, made him brutal? I can’t believe it.”

“No? I find that odd. You must not have known her as well as you thought … or … how long is it since you saw her last? Two … three years? People change.”

“Amelia could never hurt anything.”

“I never said she deliberately set out to hurt anyone,” Sophia protested. “But there was something about her that inspired a fanatical loyalty. Well, look around you. There is Jason, hating you because you are not her. There is Marta, pathetically grateful to be allowed to serve you because you were connected with her. And Carl, worshiping at your feet because he thinks you are she. No one escaped her spell.”

“Except you.”

“Not even I. Look at me, twenty-six years old and a housekeeper, unnoticed, unappreciated by the only man I ever loved. She took him from me, took him, bound him to her so tightly that even in death she holds him. No, she had no hold on me. I hated her too much.”

“Are you sure it isn’t hate that has made you see her as you do?” Amanda asked quietly.

“Am I … oh, I see. You are another one of her dupes. After three long years you still remember her as gay and beautiful and happy. Well then, forget it. Forget I said anything. She is dead now. She can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Sophia, her face hard, walked to the window.

After a while, to ease the strain, Amanda asked, “Where is everyone this morning?”

“Jason planted sugar cane this year, not too much, just enough for syrup for the family and plantation workers. There is a coolness in the air after the rain, the first hint of fall, perfect syrup weather. They are down below in the barns now, crushing the sugar cane and boiling the juice. Would you like some of the fresh juice? We have some in the outdoor kitchen.”

“I don’t believe so, thank you. Marta has been bringing me hot liquids all morning.”

“This would be cool and pleasantly sweet. No? Then let me apologize for inflicting my views of your cousin on you…”

“Wait. I … the collar of Harmonia … the necklace,” Amanda explained as Sophia stopped, a blank look on her face.

“Yes, what of it?”

“It’s gone.”

Sophia frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Marta looked. I had it in my hand when I fell, but now we can’t find it. I thought that you might have picked it up for me.”

“No … no, I haven’t seen it. I remember that you had it … but I have no idea what happened to it. We were so concerned about you.”

There was nothing in her face to make Amanda think she was telling anything but the truth. Still, the necklace had not simply vanished. If neither Sophia nor Theo had taken it, there was only Jason and, perhaps Carl, left. “I … I hate to be a bother, but would you mind asking Jason about it when he comes in?”

“Yes, of course, I will. Don’t trouble yourself over it. A beautiful thing like that couldn’t be lost. I expect Jason is holding it for you.”

“Thank you. I … do appreciate your asking him for me.”

“Not at all.”

When the woman had gone Amanda lay staring up at the tester above her, thinking of Sophia. She seemed bitter, a cold type of woman, and yet she had poured out her feelings for Jason and her opinion of Amelia and the others in the house with a surprising fervor. It might be because Amanda was a stranger, and she did not expect to see her again after this interlude was over. She had hinted, too, that it was because she expected Amanda to share her feelings, but how could she? Amelia was not like the picture Sophia had painted. Was she?

Thinking back Amanda could remember little things, petty bickering, a few childish tricks while they were growing up. It was only natural for the two girls, left alone in the world, to compete for the affection of the only two people who cared about them, their grandparents. Amelia had always said that Amanda had an unfair advantage since she had lived with them longer, but that wasn’t so. If her grandparents had preferred her, which she was not prepared to admit, it was because she was quieter, less troublesome, less volatile in her emotions. The elderly set great store by peace.

No, she could not accept Sophia’s view. What of the things Marta had said? What of Amelia’s pity for frail things, her rescue of a near-drowned puppy, and of Carl, a derelict? Marta had no reason to make a saint of Amelia. On the other hand Sophia’s view of Amelia, by her own admission, was colored by jealousy. Why, then, had she let herself be disturbed? It must be that she did not care for the idea of anyone spreading a false impression of someone who had been so close to her.

After luncheon she drifted off to sleep for a time, but every movement that Marta made dragged her back to consciousness. She wished the woman would go away and leave her in peace. However, no suggestion seemed to penetrate her absorption in what she took to be her duty. Amanda decided at last that she was holding on in a determination to make the most of a post that gave her importance and tended to prolong her stay at Monteigne.

Amanda had at last, in the middle of the afternoon, given up trying to sleep and taken up a copy of The Lady of the Lake when the sound of a carriage was heard in the drive.

“Who can it be?” Marta said and moved with a surprising quickness to the window looking out over the gallery. From behind the muslin curtains she stared down at the drive. Amanda, as she watched her, wondered if her own arrival only the day before had caused such naked interest.

“It is a man,” Marta informed her. “He is in his own gig. He is a gentleman. He wears a dark brown suit with a cream waistcoat and green breeches … and also a little hat like a bowl with a brim.”

“The … gig … is it black with red wheels … and is the horse black with a blaze and stocking feet?”

“Ja, ja. Do you know this man?” Marta turned toward her.

“I … think it must be Nathaniel Sterling, my fiance.”

“Your … but what would he be doing here?”

“Looking for me, I would imagine. He will be furious that I came here without telling him.”

“Do not distress yourself. I will not allow him to upset you. If he wants to take his temper out on someone…”

“Oh, Nathaniel never loses his temper. He has too much self-control.”

“I see,” Marta said in a grim tone.

“No, I don’t think you do. Nathaniel isn’t at all unreasonable. I will explain, and it will be all right”

“That is not the way he appears to me. Hah!”

The last exclamation was for the barking that erupted below as Cerberus challenged the new guest. There was shouting and a yelp.

“What is happening?” Amanda cried as Marta hurried back to the window.

“I think Cerberus has torn the arm of your fiance’s suit, and it looks as if he has struck the dog with his cane. Now he is back outside the gate, but Jason approaches from the barns. He will bring him safely in.”

Amanda threw back the covers. “I must get up.”

“Why, fraeulein?” Marta exclaimed, hurrying to put a restraining hand on her arm.

“I can’t let Nathaniel find me like this. It will be odious enough to have to tell him of it, much less having to lie flat on my back while I do it.”

“Now, Fraeulein Amanda. Only lie back down. You will find you are not as strong as you think.”

That was certainly true enough, for at the too quick movement her head had begun to whirl and the dull far-off ache at the back of her skull had moved forward. She allowed Marta to ease her back against the pillows.

“Tell Marta that you don’t wish to see this man, and I will stand guard at the door, nicht?”

Amanda raised one hand and then let it drop in a small gesture of futility. It would do no good to keep Nathaniel out. The facts must be faced some time. She had come on a fool’s errand, trusting too much to luck and her own competence. No doubt Nathaniel would not go so far as to tell her so, but she would see the truth, and the disappointment, in his eyes.