Though This Be Madness

by Penny Richards

  “He’s Lilly’s husband.”

  Robbie’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “Yer joshin’ me.”

  “No, he knocked her upside the head and stole all her money.”

  “Surely she don’t think he’ll give it back.”

  “No, but she’d like to see him in jail.”

  “Can’t say’s I blame her.”

  “Well, it won’t be happening anytime soon. I checked the tavern where the card game took place, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him since the night I knocked him out and he was tossed into the street.”

  * * *

  Lilly dreamed strange dreams on Thursday night, dreams of being chased through the streets of Chicago, while someone in the shadows cried and moaned as if their heart was breaking. When she woke, she felt the wetness of tears on her cheeks and wondered if they were tears of fear for the threat she’d felt during her dream, or sorrow for the anguish in the sobbing sounds she’d heard in the darkness.

  The first thing she did after checking on Mrs. Fontenot and finding that she was still asleep, was go to the kitchen where Vena and Neecie were in the middle of preparing breakfast. The two women said little beyond “Good morning.”

  “Is everything all right?” Lilly asked after a while.

  “’Bout like always,” Vena said without glancing up from the ham she was slicing. Neecie’s gaze was fixed on the biscuits she was mixing. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to serve breakfast this morning. Neecie’s feeling poorly.”

  “Of course. I don’t mind at all.” Lilly didn’t know what was going on, but something was.

  An hour later, she helped Mrs. Fontenot get dressed and down the stairs. Preston was already ensconced at the head of the gleaming cherrywood table. Cassandra, looking pale and red-eyed, sat at his right. If Lilly had to guess, she’d wager that the mistress of the house had spent a considerable portion of the night crying. Hmm. With her mind spinning with all sorts of possibilities, she settled Mrs. Fontenot across from her great-granddaughter.

  “Are you well, Cassandra?” Mrs. Fontenot asked with a concerned frown.

  Cassandra pasted a smile on her delicate features. “I’m fine, Grand-mère. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  LaRee Fontenot offered an indulgent smile. “With a petite bébé on the way, your nights of good sleep will soon be few.”

  “So they say.” Cassandra placed a crisp white napkin in her lap and Lilly began serving the morning meal.

  “Where’s Neecie?” Preston’s displeasure showed in his tone and his scowl. Lilly found his manner interesting considering the scene she’d witnessed the day before.

  “She’s feeling a bit under the weather this morning, sir,” Lilly told him, casting a surreptitious glance at Cassandra. The young woman’s face had lost its color.

  “Well, it’s early days in her confinement. No doubt she’ll soon feel better.” Mrs. Fontenot offered the comment with the certainty of one who’d experienced the same complaints.

  “No doubt,” Preston mumbled.

  The conversation turned to Mrs. Fontenot’s departure the following day and the meal continued without further incident beyond Cassandra expressing her dismay at losing her grandmother’s company.

  Lilly performed her duties by rote, thinking of the earlier conversation. Was it possible that the crying she’d thought was part of her dream had been Cassandra weeping? If so, why?

  That’s easy enough to guess, Lilly.

  Considering the situation, it did not take a genius to figure out that something had transpired between Preston and Neecie. Something that Cassandra was aware of. It did not take a mastermind to figure out what that might be either.

  It was all Lilly could do to keep her features schooled to blankness when she wanted nothing more than to slap the smug, superior expression from Preston’s face and tell him what she thought of his dreadful treatment of his wife . . . and his servant.

  Did the heartbroken Cassandra ask herself what she was lacking, as Lilly had after learning of Tim’s infidelity? Did she wonder why she wasn’t enough? As innocently as the Fontenot girls had likely been reared, she doubted if Cassandra had any inkling of a fact Pierce had imparted to Lilly: Some people were never satisfied with one lover; they needed variety in their lives.

  And what of Rollo? Did he know what was going on? How could he not? Of course he knew, but he also knew better than to make any show of retaliation. Did he cry? Doubtful. Recalling his brawny build and the intensity that radiated from him, Lilly could envision him lying in bed, his fists clenched, imagining heinous punishment on his employer . . . perhaps even plotting various means of securing his death, just as Lilly had done with Tim.

  “Oh, the tangled web we weave . . .”

  Lilly forced herself back to the present and her duties.

  “I’ve been feeling so much better since I’ve been here,” Mrs. Fontenot was saying. “I believe the country air has cleared my head and my thoughts. The house on Rampart Street is so filled with memories that it’s hard to break free of them. Here. . . well, everything seems clearer.”

  “What do you mean, Grand-mère?” Cassandra asked.

  “I mean that no matter what Henri says about how my going to see your mother would upset her, I intend to do just that as soon as I rest up from the trip. I fail to understand how a visit from someone who loves her can make her worse, and I don’t want her feeling as if we’ve abandoned her, which I’m sure she does. Even young Robbie agrees. He said he thought she would like to see familiar faces.”

  Preston rubbed his lower lip with his thumb and regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “And how do you think Henri will feel about that?”

  “Frankly, Preston, I don’t give a fig what he thinks.”

  CHAPTER 17

  That evening, the supper dishes were done and darkness had yet to settle when Lilly decided to brave the ferocity of the mosquitoes and take a walk through the gardens, which Rollo kept in exquisite condition. She was just going around the corner of the house when she saw the flash of something disappearing into the trees. She was reminded of how she’d been so frightened of the woodland creatures during her first assignment. She’d grown marginally wiser since then and figured that what she’d seen was nothing more than a fox or a deer.

  With her hands clasped behind her back, she strolled to the edge of the lake, wondering what it would have been like having the river running so near the house and if it had ever escaped its banks and flooded everything.

  She was about to turn around and go back to her room when she imagined she heard the faintest, rhythmic beating of a drum. Ridiculous! There was no reason for drums to be in the middle of the forest.

  Nonetheless, she stood quietly, her head cocked to the side, listening.... There it was again! This time she thought she heard some sort of singing. Were Vena and the other workers having some sort of get-together?

  Goaded by curiosity, Lilly headed into the forest, following a narrow but distinct footpath through the clinging vines and over the fallen trees blocking the trail. The stagnant air grew even denser as she went deeper into the undergrowth. Breathing became a chore.

  The farther she went, the murkier it grew. The thickening shadows and the humid air made her increasingly aware of the dangers hiding in the gloom, an unwelcome reminder of the fear she’d experienced as she’d walked the hazardous streets of Chicago a few weeks ago.

  The sinister silence was broken only by the unfamiliar sounds of the woodland. Rustling. The cracking of twigs and branches as unknown creatures slithered and slunk through the fetid leaves and rotting vegetation. The rat-a-tat of a hungry woodpecker searching for his supper far-off in the distance. And underlying it all, like the restless beating of a primordial heart, the hypnotic, increasingly quickening tempo of the drums. Spellbound, Lilly followed the sound until she saw a clearing beyond the trees. She stopped and peered around a huge oak, afraid of being discovered, yet compelled to stay and watch.

>   Several people were gathered in the open space near a table laden with food. Lilly recognized some of the field hands who’d come to the kitchen for one thing or another. At first glance she thought they’d gathered for some sort of feast, but an inborn sense told her that they had not come into the forest to break bread.

  At another, smaller table, a few flowers from the garden were stuck haphazardly into a tin can next to a glass of water, a white candle, and a picture of someone. A small doll lay next to the picture.

  The drum grew quiet.

  A tall, thin woman dressed all in white stepped through a break in the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, carrying a small coop with a couple of young chickens. Lilly recognized her as the woman Vena called Dahlia. She placed the pullets next to a stump where the head of a bloody hatchet was buried. Then she straightened, lit the candle, and stood with her chin lifted to a regal angle, waiting....

  At that Lilly realized what she’d stumbled onto.

  Voodoo!

  What she knew about the pagan practice could be put into a thimble with plenty of room left over, but she did know that despite it being forbidden, the slaves who’d claimed conversion to Christianity had often continued in the old ways, blending the two beliefs and substituting the names of saints for that of their loas, the spirits who served as protectors, helpers, and guides.

  She should leave.

  They would not take kindly to an outsider encroaching on their private ceremony. Before she could do more than push away from the rough bark of the tree, the music began again, and a couple appeared from the trees.

  Rollo and Neecie. Completely naked. Lilly’s eyes widened with surprise; then she squeezed them shut, thinking she must be mistaken. But when she opened them again, nothing had changed.

  Dahlia raised her arms above her head and began to speak, words that sounded like a prayer, asking Papa Legba for permission for Neecie to communicate with Damballa Wedo, her personal loa. After a while, Neecie took up the doll on the table and began to speak to it. Her words sounded harsh, accusatory. Angry.

  Lilly watched the unfolding ceremony, transfixed. Fascinated. Revolted. There was singing. Dancing. Praying. Dahlia took the chickens one at a time and chopped off their heads. Lilly covered her mouth to keep from crying out. When the birds began to flop around on the ground, she swallowed back her nausea. After a while, Neecie seemed to go into a trance, swaying to the ancient rhythm. Rollo moved with her, their bodies moving in perfect, erotic synchronization.

  Enough!

  This was no place for her, Lilly thought. These were not things she should be witnessing. The whole thing was too disturbing. . . in many ways.

  She whirled around, intent on heading back to the house, but when she did, she once again ran headlong into a warm, chambray-covered wall. Her heart leaped in fear and her gaze flew upward.

  Cade. Eyes wide with surprise, she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing there. Shaking his head, he placed a rough finger over her lips to silence her. She felt the heat of his body through his shirt and his thighs pressing against hers. With the images of Neecie and Rollo seared into her mind, reminding her of her nights in Timothy’s arms, and the sensual rhythm of the music pulsing through her body, the touch—though innocent and impersonal—was nonetheless disturbing.

  Her breathing quickened as he stared into her eyes. Then his gaze drifted beyond her to the swaying couple. When he looked at her again, his blue eyes had darkened with an emotion she recognized all too well, one she had seen many nights on the face of her husband. She held her breath.

  He stared at her for long seconds; then he smiled, a smile tinged with the barest hint of regret. Stepping away from her, he took her hand and pulled her behind him, back toward the house.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked when they stepped into the clearing near the house. “Where’s Amos?”

  “Feeling poorly,” Cade told her. “He sent me to bring you back. Bernard came along to show me the way.”

  “What about Robbie?”

  Cade shook his head. “Robbie’s been sick. He’s fine now,” he assured her, seeing the look on her face. “It was a rough couple of days, though. It looks like the same thing Mrs. Fontenot had. He said he’d rather stay there and check out a few things.”

  Then, as any husband who’d missed his wife might do, he slid his arm around Lilly’s shoulders and drew her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. When she stood stiffly before him, he whispered, “You really ought to act as if you’re glad to see me, colleen, just in case anyone is watching.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the hated name, but she stepped closer and reached up to touch his cheek with her fingertips. His arms went around her. She stroked the thick mustache draping his upper lip and gave it a sharp tug. “Don’t call me that,” she warned in a low growl as she smiled up at him.

  “I forgot.” And then he drew her closer still and touched her lips with his.

  The kiss was brief, light. Nothing but a peck. The merest brush of his mouth to hers. A simple kiss of welcome that any man might give his wife after not seeing her for a week. So why did it feel as if the earth was falling away beneath her?

  She felt his hands tighten on her waist and then he was pushing her away. Lilly let her hand fall to her side and looked up with a bemused expression. His face gave nothing away. Without another word, he turned and started across the lawn.

  As she struggled to keep up with him, Cade was busy calling himself ten kinds of fool. It was easy to convince himself that their happy husband and wife scene was a necessary part of their charade, but the truth was that when he’d come upon her in the woods and seen the latent desire in her eyes, he’d wanted very badly to kiss her. In fact, he’d wanted to kiss her for a while now. Wanted to see if those lips of hers that were so good at blunt comments, tart replies, and saucy comebacks held any sweetness at all.

  He’d found they did.

  Unfortunately.

  He was not looking for a wife, real or pretend. Was not even looking for a woman with whom to have a casual fling, but this woman had managed to burrow her way into his life in a dozen different, unexpected ways. Her kindness to Robbie. Her willingness to take on whatever the case demanded. Her intelligence.

  Blast it all!

  The best thing he could do was solve this case as soon as possible and move on to the next one, where hopefully, they would not be in such close proximity to one another.

  “What do you think that was back there in the woods?”

  It took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “A voodoo ritual of some sort would be my guess.”

  “That’s what I thought. Do you know anything about voodoo?”

  “Not much.”

  “I’m almost a hundred percent certain that Preston is sleeping with Neecie and that Cassandra knows.”

  Cade stopped abruptly. “Neecie and Preston? That seems strange. She seems so crazy about Rollo.”

  “I believe she is, but it isn’t her choice.” She proceeded to tell him about the things she’d seen and heard since she’d been at River Run.

  Cade shook his head. “There appears to be a lot of that going around.”

  “What?”

  “Infidelity.” He told her about the day trip he and Robbie had made with Henri to the cottage and the homey setup they’d found. Her eyes widened when he mentioned the name Robbie had discovered on the envelope.

  “Who do you think she is?”

  “I have no idea, but I thought it would be a good thing to check into.”

  “I agree. Cade, do you think that baby boy you saw is Henri’s?”

  “I’d say it’s either a grandchild or his and the woman’s.”

  “If it’s the latter, it certainly gives him a reason to get rid of Patricia, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.”

  He started to walk away and Lilly reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “There’s something else.”

  He turned. “What?”<
br />
  “I think the odds are pretty good that Neecie’s baby could just as easily be Preston’s as Rollo’s, and she really doesn’t want to know.”

  * * *

  Lilly rose early, but Cade was already dressed and gone, no doubt getting the rig ready to leave as soon as breakfast was over. It had felt good to have him in the room with her again. There was something comforting about hearing his soft snoring.

  She went to help prepare breakfast. When she saw that Neecie was already there, peeling potatoes, memories from the night before came flooding back. What had happened when she’d left the clearing?

  “Vena! Neecie! Get yourselves into the dining room right this minute! And send someone to fetch Rollo and that wretched boy of Lamartine’s!” The words were accompanied by feet pounding down the stairs.

  Preston.

  A very angry Preston.

  Vena dropped the butcher knife she was using to slice the slab of bacon. There seemed to be a question in her gaze as she looked at her daughter, but nothing showed on Neecie’s face. No surprise. No fear. No guilt. Nothing but calm. It almost seemed as if she’d been expecting something like this to happen and had prepared herself mentally for it.

  Finding no satisfaction in her daughter’s attitude, Vena set the hot skillet to the back of the stove and calmly wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Should I come?”

  “No, Brona. This has nothing to do with you. You just see to it that Madam Fontenot is all packed and ready to leave when the time comes.”

  “Should I finish breakfast?”

  “No,” Vena said. “Run and get Rollo and Bernard. This is gonna be an ugly mess.”

  Lilly raced through the back door and down to the stables, where she knew she would find all the men, calling for Rollo as she went.

  “Whoa there, lass!” Cade said, stepping out of one of the stalls as she ran into the dim barn.

  “Brona? What is it?” Rollo asked as he came around the corner with a bag of grain balanced on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Easterling is on a rampage about something,” she said, breathing hard. “He called for Neecie and Vena to go to the dining room and wanted you and Bernard, too. Vena told me to come get you.”