My chest felt hot and heavy as I rose.
"Where's Pearl?" I asked quickly.
"She's in her nursery with Mrs. Ferrier, madame. They just went upstairs."
"And Monsieur Andreas?"
"I think he's still upstairs, madame."
"Please fetch him for me, Aubrey. Quickly," I said.
"Very well, madame," he said, and hurried out. I looked at Mrs. Swann, who stared at me with curious eyes.
"Troubles?" she asked.
"I don't know. I don't know," I mumbled, and let my feet carry me slowly toward the foyer. Beau appeared on the stairway just as I arrived in the foyer and saw the attorney Martin Bell and another man at the door.
"What's this?" Beau cried, hurrying down the remaining steps.
"Monsieur and Madame Andreas?" the taller of the two men in suits inquired. Beau stepped forward rapidly so he would be at the door before me. I saw the nurse who had come the day before standing behind them and my heart sunk.
"Yes?"
"I'm William Rogers, senior partner of Rogers, Bell and Stanley, As you know from Mr. Bell's previous visit, we represent Monsieur and Madame Octavious Tate of Terrebonne Parish. We're here under court order to take the infant Pearl Tate back to her grandparents," he said, and handed Beau a document. "It's been signed by the judge and must be carried out."
"Beau," I said. He waved me off for a moment while he read.
"This is not true," he said, looking up and attempting to hand the document back. "Madame Tate is not the child's grandmere."
"I'm afraid that's for a court to decide, sir. In the interim this court action," he said, nodding at the document, "will be enforced. She has primary legal rights to custody."
"But we're not the uncle and aunt. We're the mother and father," Beau said.
"The court understands otherwise. The child's parents are both deceased and the grandparents are the primary legal guardians, therefore," Mr. Rogers insisted. "I hope this doesn't become unpleasant," he added. "For the child's sake."
As soon as he said that, the policeman moved up beside him. Beau gazed from one face to the other and then looked at me.
"Ruby. . ."
"No!" I screamed, backing away. "They can't take her. They can't!"
"They have a court order, but it will only be temporary," Beau said. "I promise. I'll call our attorneys right now. We have the best, highest-paid attorneys in New Orleans."
"This court action will be conducted in Terrebonne Parish," William Rogers said. "The child's legal residence. But if you have the highest-paid, best attorneys, they would know that anyway," he added, enjoying his sarcasm.
"Beau," I said, my lips trembling, my face crumpling. He started toward me to embrace me, but I backed farther away. "No," I said, shaking my head. "No."
"Madame, I assure you," Mr. Rogers said, "this court order will be carried out. If you truly have any concern for the child, you'd better adhere to the order smoothly."
"Ruby . ."
"Beau, you promised! No," I screamed. I struck him in the chest with my small fists, pummeling him. He grabbed my wrists and embraced me tightly.
"We'll get her back. We will," he said.
"I can't," I said, shaking my head. "I can't." My legs gave out and Beau held me up.
"Please," he said, turning to the lawyers, the policeman, and the nurse, "give us ten minutes to prepare the baby."
Mr. Rogers nodded and Beau literally carried me along, up the stairs, whispering assurances in my ear.
"It will be ugly," he said, "if we physically resist. Once we explain who we are, it will all end quickly. You'll see."
"But, Beau, you said this wouldn't happen."
"How did I know she would be this vicious? She must be crazy. What sort of a man is she married to for him to let her do this?"
"A guilty man," I said, and sniffed back my tears. I looked toward Pearl's nursery door. "Oh, Beau, she'll be terrified."
"Only until she gets to Cypress Woods. She knows all the servants and--"
"But they're not taking her to Cypress Woods. They're taking her to the Tates."
Beau nodded, the realizations deepening in him, too. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I could kill her," he said. "I could put my hands around her neck and choke the life out of her."
"It's already been choked out of her," I said, nodding. "When Paul died. We're dealing with a woman who's lost every feeling but one, the desire for revenge. And my child has to go into that household."
"Do you want me to do this?" he asked, looking at the nursery.
"No. I'll do it with you so we can comfort her as much as possible."
We went in and explained to Mrs. Ferrier that the baby had to go to her grandparents. Beau thought that was best for now. Pearl knew the Tates as her grandparents, so I sucked back my sorrow and hid my tears. Smiling, I told her she had to go see her grandmere Gladys and grandpere Octavious.
"There's a nice lady to take you to them," I continued.
Pearl gazed at me curiously. It was almost as if she were wise enough to see through the deception. She put up no resistance until we carried her down and actually placed her in the backseat of the limousine with the nurse. When I backed away from the door, she realized I wasn't coming and started to scream for me. The nurse attempted to comfort her.
"Let's get moving," Mr. Rogers told the driver. The two lawyers got into the car and slammed the doors shut, but I could still hear Pearl's screams. As the limousine pulled away from the house, the baby broke loose from the nurse and pressed her little face against the back window. I could see the fear and the torment in her and I could hear her screaming my name. The moment the car disappeared, my legs went out from under me and I folded too quickly for Beau to stop me from crashing to the tile and the comfort of darkness.
16
All Is Lost
.
"Well," Monsieur Polk said after he heard Beau
describe our story, "this is a rather complicated matter. Very," he added, and I nodded emphatically, jiggling his jowls and his loose double chin. He sat back in his oversize black leather desk chair and pressed his palms against his bear-size chest with his fingers intertwined, the large gold pinky ring with a black onyx oval stone glittering in the afternoon sunlight that came pouring through the thin, white blinds.
Beau sat beside me and held my hand. My other hand clutched the mahogany arm of the chair as if I thought I might be toppled out and onto the dark brown carpet in Monsieur Polk's plush office. It was on the seventh floor of the building, and the large windows behind Monsieur Polk's desk looked out on the river with a vast view of the boats and ships navigating in and out of New Orleans harbor.
I bit down on my lower lip and held my breath as our attorney pondered. His large, watery hazel eyes gazed down and he was so still, I feared he had fallen asleep.
The only sound in the office was the ticktock of the miniature grandfather clock on the shelf to our left.
"No birth certificates, you say?" he finally asked, just raising his eyes. The rest of him, all two hundred forty pounds, remained settled in the chair, his suit jacket folded and creased in the shoulders. He wore a dark brown tie with lemon dots.
"No. As I said, the twins were born in swamp country, no doctor, no hospital."
"My grandmere was a traiteur, better than any doctor," I said.
"Traiteur?"
"Cajun faith healer," Beau explained.
Monsieur Polk nodded and shifted his eyes toward me and stared a moment. Then he sat forward and clasped his hands on his desk.
"We'll move quickly for a custody hearing. It will be conducted like a trial in this situation. The first order of business will be to find a legal way to establish you as Ruby. Once that is accomplished, you will testify to being the father of your child, which you will own up to," he said to Beau.
"Of course." Beau squeezed my hand and smiled.
"Now let's look at the face of this," Monsieur Polk said. He reached ov
er to a dark cherry wood cigar box and flicked up the cover to pluck a fat Havana cigar out of it. "You," he said, pointing at me with the cigar, "and your twin sister, Gisselle, were apparently so identical in looks, you could pull off this switch of identities, correct?"
"Down to the dimples in their cheeks," Beau said. "Eye color, hair color, complexion, height, weight?"
Monsieur Polk listed. Beau and I nodded after each item. "There might have been a few pounds difference between them, but nothing very
noticeable," Beau said.
"Scars?" Monsieur Polk asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully.
I shook my head.
"I have none and my sister had none, even though she was in a bad car accident and was crippled for a time," I said.
"Bad car accident?" I nodded. "Here in New Orleans?"
"Yes."
"Then she was in the hospital for a time. Good. There'll be a medical history with records about her blood. Maybe you two had a different blood type. If so, that would settle it immediately. A friend of mine," he continued, taking out his lighter, "tells me that in years to come, from blood tests, using DNA, they'll be able to identify who is the parent of a child. But we're a number of years away from that."
"And by then it would be too late!" I complained. He nodded and lit his cigar, leaning back to blow the puffs of smoke toward the ceiling.
"Maybe some X rays were taken. Did she break any bones in the accident?"
"No," I said. "She was bruised and the shock of it did something to her spine, affecting the nerves, but that healed and she was able to walk again."
"Um," Miinsieur Polk said. "I don't know if there would be anything discernible by X ray. We'd have to have X rays done of you and then find a medical expert to testify that there should be some residual evidence of the trauma."
I brightened. "I'll go right to the hospital for X rays."
"Right," Beau said.
Monsieur Polk shook his head. "They might very well locate an expert who would claim X rays wouldn't pick up any residual damage if the problem was cured," he said. "Let me research the medical records at the hospital and get one of my doctor friends to give me an opinion about it first."
"Ruby had a child; Gisselle did not," Beau said. "Surely an examination . . ."
"Can you establish Gisselle did not beyond a doubt?" Monsieur Polk asked.
"Pardon?"
"Gisselle is dead and buried. How can we examine her? You'd have to have the body exhumed, and what if Gisselle had been pregnant sometime and had had an abortion?"
"He's right, Beau. I would never swear about that," I said.
"This is very bizarre. Very bizarre," Monsieur Polk muttered. "You worked at convincing people you were your twin sister and did it so well, everyone who knew her believed it, right?"
"As far as we know."
"And the family, Paul Tate's family, believed it and believed they buried Ruby Tate?"
"Yes," I said.
"There was actually a death certificate issued in your name?"
"Yes," I said, swallowing hard. The vivid memories of attending my own funeral came rushing back over me.
Monsieur Polk shook his head and thought a moment. "What about the doctor who first treated Gisselle for encephalitis?" he asked with some visible excitement. "He knew he was treating Gisselle and not Ruby, right?"
"I'm afraid we can't call on him," Beau said, deflating our balloon of hope. "I made an arrangement with him, and anyway, it would ruin him, wouldn't it? His being a part of this?"
"I'm afraid that's very true," Monsieur Polk said. "He put his name to fraud. Any of the servants we can call upon?"
"Well . . the way we worked it, the doctor and myself. . ."
"They didn't know what was happening exactly, is that it?"
"Yes. They wouldn't make the best witnesses anyway. The German couple don't speak English too well and my cook saw nothing. The maid is a timid woman who wouldn't be able to swear to anything."
"That's not an avenue to pursue, then." Monsieur Polk nodded. "Let me think. Bizarre, very bizarre. Dental records," he cried. "How are your teeth?"
"Perfect. I've never had a cavity or a tooth pulled."
"And Gisselle?"
"As far as I know," Beau said, "she was the same. She had remarkable health for someone with her lifestyle."
"Good genes," Monsieur Polk said. "But both of you had the benefit of the same genetic
advantages."
Was there no way to determine our identities to the satisfaction of a judge? I wondered frantically.
"What about our signatures?" I asked.
"Yes," Beau said. "Ruby always had a nicer handwriting."
"Handwriting is an exhibit to use," Monsieur Polk said with a bit of official-sounding nasality, "but it's not conclusive. We'll have to rely on the opinions of experts, and they might bring in their own expert who would develop the effectiveness of forgery. I've seen that happen before. Also," he said after another puff of his cigar, "people are inclined to believe that twins can imitate each other better. I'd like to have something more."
"What about Louis?" Beau asked me. "You said he recognized you."
"Louis?" Monsieur Polk asked.
"Louis was someone I met when Gisselle and I attended a private girls' school in Baton Rouge. He's a musician who recently had a concert here in New Orleans."
"I see."
"When I knew him, he was blind. But he sees now," I added, hopefully.
"What? Blind, you say? Really, monsieur," he said, turning to Beau. "You want me to put a man who was blind on the stand to testify he can tell the difference."
"But he can!" I said.
"Maybe to your satisfaction, but to a judge's?"
Another balloon deflated. My heart was thumping. Tears of frustration had begun to sting my eyes. Defeat seemed all around me.
"Look," Beau said, squeezing my hand again, "what possible motive could we have for Ruby pretending to be Ruby? First, we will be exposing our deception to the world, and besides, everyone who knew Gisselle knew how self-centered she was. She wouldn't want to win custody of a child and be responsible for the child's upbringing."
Monsieur Polk thought a moment. He turned his chair and gazed out the window.
"I'll play the devil's advocate," he said, continuing to gaze down at the river. Then he turned sharply back to us and pointed at me with his cigar again. "You said your husband, Paul, inherited oil-rich land in the bayou?"
"Yes."
"And built you a mansion with beautiful grounds, an estate?"
"Yes, but--"
"And has wells pumping up oil, creating a large fortune?"
I couldn't swallow. I couldn't nod. Beau and I gazed at each other.
"But, monsieur, we are far from paupers. Ruby inherited a tidy sum and a profitable business and--"
"Monsieur Andreas, you have at your fingertips the possibility of inheriting a major fortune, a continually growing major fortune. We're not talking now about just being well-to-do."
"What about the child?" Beau threw out in desperation. "She knows her mother."
"She's an infant. I wouldn't think of putting her on a witness stand in a courtroom. She would be terrified, I'm sure."
"No, we can't do that, Beau," I said. "Never." Monsieur Polk sat back. "Let me look into the hospital records, talk to some doctors.Ill get back to you."
"How long will this take?"
"It can't be done overnight, madame," he said
frankly.
"But my baby. . . Oh, Beau."
"Did you consider going to see Madame Tate
and talking it out with her? Perhaps this was an
impulsive angry act and now she's had some time to
reconsider," Monsieur Polk suggested. "It would
simplify the problem."
"I don't say this is her motive," he added,
leaning forward, "but you might offer to sign over any
oil rights, et cetera."
"Yes," I said, hope springing in my heart. Beau nodded. "It could be driving her mad that
Ruby would inherit Cypress Woods and all the oil on
the land," Beau agreed. "Let's drive out there and see
if she will speak with us. But in the meantime . . ." "I'll go forward with my research in the matter,"
Monsieur Polk said. He stood up and put his cigar in
the ashtray before leaning over to shake Beau's hand. "You know," he said softly, "what a field day our gossip columnists in the newspapers will have with
this?"
"We know." Beau looked at me. "We're
prepared for all that as long as we get Pearl back." "Very well. Good luck with Madame Tate,"
Monsieur Polk said, and we left.
"I feel so-w--eak, Beau, so weak and afraid," I
said as we left the building for our car.
"You can't present yourself to that woman
while you're in this state of mind, Ruby. Let's stop for
something to eat to build your strength. Let's be
optimistic and strong. Lean on me whenever you have
to," he said, his face dark, his eyes down. "This is
really all my fault," he murmured. "It was my idea,
my doing."
"You can't blame yourself solely, Beau. I knew
what I was doing and I wanted to do it. I should have
known better than to think we could splash water in
the face of Destiny."
He hugged me to him and we got into our car
and started for the bayou. As we rode, I rehearsed the
things I would say. I had no appetite when we stopped
to eat, but Beau insisted I put something in my
stomach.
The late afternoon grew darker and darker as
the sun took a fugitive position behind some long,
feather
brushed storm clouds. All the blue sky seemed
to fall behind us as we drove on toward the bayou and
the confrontation that awaited. As familiar places and
sights began to appear, my apprehension grew. I took
deep breaths and hoped that I would be able to talk
without bursting into tears.
I directed Beau to the Tate residence. It was one
of the larger homes in the Houma area, a two-and-ahalf-story Greek Revival with six fluted Ionic
Landry 03 All That Glitters Page 29
