“I suppose he can. I don’t know. But the legality of it doesn’t matter. Out here in the middle of nowhere he could prevent me taking him by force if I tried to defy him. I confess that is what worries me more than the legal aspect. But Callie, where would we go? What would we do? I used the last of the bank draft Grand’mere sent for material for proper mourning clothes and our stage fare. There is not enough left to keep us more than a day or two in a town.”
Callie was silent for a long moment. “You could hire me out as a washerwoman or to a hotel for a chambermaid. Or sell me.”
“Oh, no. You know I couldn’t do that. We have been through too much together. Besides, who would take care of Joseph?”
“You could get by,” Callie insisted doggedly. “He could be weaned. He’d make it with milk to suck on a rag.”
“It isn’t necessary, Callie.” Then she added to convince her, “Anyway, Bernard says you are no longer mine to sell. You belong to Joseph now—and Bernard has control of everything that belongs to Joseph.”
The Negro woman’s face paled and her eyes widened. “You mean that man could sell me, whenever he gets ready? Sell me away from you and my sweet baby Joseph?”
As she heard the anguish in Callie’s voice, Elizabeth wished that she had never spoken. What good did it do for Callie to know that her fate rested with an indifferent master, one who had no understanding of her worth, one who did not care how she felt?
“I don’t know Callie,” she said unhappily. “That is the way it has to be as long as I pretend to be Ellen. Strictly speaking you don’t really belong to me either, you know, but to that man back in Texas who foreclosed on our mortgage. Once Bernard started inquiring into it he might discover that, and then I suppose he could send you back. No, I think our best course is to go on as we started and see what happens. There is some money, twenty thousand dollars, that Felix left as a kind of widow’s portion for Ellen.”
“Lord, that’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, if we ever see any of it,” Elizabeth agreed wryly, and went on. “But if worse comes to worst we might get away. Once we are away from the plantation we could go to New Orleans. We could lose ourselves in a large town like that. The hard part would be getting away from the vicinity of Oak Shade without being overtaken.”
“We could! I know we could.”
“But that is so hazardous, Callie, especially with Joseph. Just think how much worse off we would be if we were caught and brought back. There is no way of knowing what action Bernard might take. No, we must stay here and wait and see, at least until the money is ours.” She was thoughtful a moment, and then she smiled wearily. “It is strange, isn’t it, that I have very little more independence than you?”
Callie did not answer. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.
“Don’t fall into a fit of dismals now, Callie,” she said, reaching out to pat the other woman’s hand, trying to infuse some humor, and with it some hope and confidence, into her voice. “We will be fine. We made it before and we will this time. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“No’m, I know you won’t,” Callie said with simplicity.
Elizabeth kept to her bed the rest of the day. She played with Joseph, propping him up on her raised knees in bed, making him coo and gurgle, and kissing the tender softness of his neck. It was a warm spring day. The windows stood open to the gentle sun and the fresh flower-scented breeze lifted the lace curtains. The soft rustle of the new leaves on the oaks mingled with the calls of the birds, bringing a nebulous sense of relaxation. Despite the bruises on her body, the scratches and wounds from the thorns, Elizabeth felt a drowsy contentment induced entirely by the season. She tried to think, to decide what she was going to do, because it seemed that this state of affairs could not go on indefinitely. But her thoughts turned in circles without reaching any conclusions. In the afternoon, when Joseph fell asleep in the curve of her arm, she found herself yawning and her eyes began to grow heavy. She let herself drift into sleep, one arm around the baby, the other flung above her head.
She came awake abruptly, aware of a strong feeling of being watched. Turning her head slowly so as not to wake the sleeping baby, she saw that a draught from the window had caused the door into the hall to swing open. In the doorway stood Bernard.
He looked as if he had just come from the fields. Mud caked the soft leather riding boots that reached his knees and spotted his buckskin pantaloons. His white linen shirt was open to the waist, revealing the brown column of his throat and the silver medal shining against his chest. In his hand he held his broad-brimmed, cream-colored planter’s hat and his brown silk cravat. He appeared hot and weary. Lines of tiredness were cut into his face beside his mouth, and his hair, ruffled and disordered by the wind, fell forward onto his forehead.
There was a regretful look in his eyes as he met her gaze across the room. She stared at him, waiting with a strange breathlessness for him to speak. He turned on his heel and walked away.
For a long time Elizabeth lay gazing at the place where he had stood, disquiet gathering behind her eyes. What had brought that expression into his face? What did he have to regret? Was it something he had done, or something he intended to do?
Shivering, a little, she drew Joseph closer to her and banished the image of Bernard’s face from her mind.
Like most people who are usually healthy, Elizabeth soon tired of the confinement of the bed and her one small room. Even with Joseph’s company, the evening stretched long before her. Grand’mere brought up books for her from the library, but since they were of Grand’mere’s choosing, mostly sermons and parables designed to build character, they soon palled. She felt that she would lose some of the stiff soreness of her muscles and scratches if she could move about. She was restless and bored, her nerves increasingly on edge, and since she had taken the nap in the afternoon she was certain she would never be able to sleep. But though she chafed and complained laughingly, she was forced to give in when Callie deserted her side to agree with Grand’mere that she should not get up.
Her supper tray, designed to tempt her from moroseness, took up an hour or more. As she ate, she let Joseph taste things, laughing at his concentration as he tried to maneuver a tasty chop bone into his greedy little mouth. But at last Callie came and took the baby away to his bed. The tray was removed and she was refreshed with a sponge bath and fresh dressings for her injuries. Callie brushed her hair, bringing out the highlights in the russet strands. The attention was supposed to bring about a feeling of repose, but it failed. Elizabeth was no nearer to sleep when Callie finished than when she had begun.
“You all right, Mis’ Ellen?” Callie asked as she stood at the door about to leave the room.
“Oh, Callie, I’m afraid. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t come here.”
“But you did come, and I been thinking you was right. Now you got to finish what you started. This ain’t no time to get chicken-hearted.”
“I could tell them who I really am.”
“Sure you could, but you can’t expect them to love you for it. Nobody likes to be made a fool of like that. They’ll show you the door for sure, and then who will take care of Joseph and me? Who is to know what might happen to us in this house with you gone? They ain’t caring much now, how much you think they going to mind about us if you not around?”
Elizabeth nodded, sighing, but she did not reply.
Taking the action for a dismissal, Callie went on into the room she shared with Joseph and Grand’mere and shut the door.
Was Callie right? Would it increase the danger to Joseph and Callie if she were to have to leave them? She thought again of the cloth scarf tightening around her own throat and the warm, sweet tenderness of Joseph’s small neck. Could anyone do such a thing to a baby? Would they? The thought was not to be borne. In agitation she moved about the room.
The window was tightly closed against the noxious vapors of the night, according to Grand’mere’s wi
shes, and the drapes were pulled across the thin lace curtains. The room felt stuffy, the air heavy with the smell of melting wax and burning wick from the single candle. Longing for a breath of air, Elizabeth put her hand on the drapes to fling them back, but then she stopped. There was a certain impression of safety behind the shielding drapes and fragile glass pane.
A shiver passed over her, and she hurriedly overlapped the edges of the drapes where a crack of dim light could be seen. Still the sound of the night penetrated, the spring chorus of crickets and katydids and peeper frogs mingling with the deeper bass of bullfrogs on the bayou behind the house. Always before the sounds had been welcome, a part of the season, but now they only reinforced the impression that the night was alive with things unseen, crawling with menace. But was the menace outside? Could it not be closed inside the house with her?
Giving herself a mental shake for letting such disturbing thoughts into her mind, she turned away from the window—and saw Theresa.
The girl stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob. She was dressed in her gown covered by a dressing gown of faded black velvet, a cast-off of her mother’s, judging from the way the folds were wrapped about her frail body.
Theresa gave her head a toss, throwing the heavy plait of dark hair behind her back. The gesture had a hauteur about it that, with the vulnerable look in her eyes, was oddly touching. It reminded Elizabeth of the first time she had seen the girl outside her room trying to blend in with the shadows, a pathetic figure. The memory was preferable to that other of screaming hysteria. It gave her the composure to greet the girl quietly.
“They told me you were hurt,” Theresa blurted out, without returning the greeting.
“Yes, but it was nothing serious.”
“Then why have you been in bed all day?” The question came with disturbing swiftness.
“I think everyone thought I needed the rest.”
“Because you had what I heard Grand’mere tell Denise was a ‘trying experience’? Because that man chased you?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Elizabeth agreed, surprised that Theresa knew of it, not caring for the avid look in her eyes.
“Were you frightened?”
Instead of answering that eager question Elizabeth asked, “Does Denise know where you are?”
Theresa made a face. “She is asleep with her hair up in pieces of stocking to curt it, and goose grease smeared all over her face. She will give some man an unpleasant surprise, if she ever marries.”
“You have given her the slip?”
“The door doesn’t always lock, especially from the outside. Denise gets in a hurry sometimes. I hate being locked in. I always try the door, just in case. I was never locked in, before you came.”
“You mean before the night in the library?” Elizabeth was encouraged to ask the question by Theresa’s calm manner.
“Yes. I wasn’t always allowed to cat with the family or go into town, but I wasn’t treated like a—criminal.” She dropped her head, staring at the floor, and then looked up again from under her brows.
“Bernard said I should apologize for that night in the library. He said what I did was—was unforgivable, but I don’t see why. Everybody loses their temper sometimes, and they don’t get locked away.”
“It depends on what you do when you lose your temper,” Elizabeth said gently.
It was as if Theresa had not heard her. “Nobody threatens them or tells them they will have to go away to the ward for the insane in the Charity Hospital in New Orleans. Nobody tells them they are mad, or treats them like an animal. They might not treat me like that either if you would go away.”
“I can’t do that.” Elizabeth tried to match Theresa’s simple, matter of fact tone so that she would be sure to understand. “I can’t because I have no place else to go.”
“You’re just saying that. Go back where you came from. We were all right before. Bernard will help you. He wants you to go, too.”
“I can’t. My home doesn’t belong to me anymore. And I have no money.”
“You can find another home. Darcourt will give you money. He gets some, sometimes. I can ask him.”
“Theresa, Theresa—” The sound of the girl’s voice, so reasonable, so determined, touched a chord of response. Elizabeth wanted to reassure her but did not know how. “It isn’t my fault, really it isn’t. I never said a word about putting you in an insane hospital. Why, I never knew there was anything wrong with you.”
She stamped her foot. “Don’t be silly. Anybody can see there is something wrong when a seventeen-year-old girl is kept in short skirts!”
“Seventeen!”
It could be true, the girl was as tall as Elizabeth, and mere had been her wiry strength that night they struggled over the lamp.
“You know, and you were seared of me, so you decided to get rid of me just as we knew you would!”
We? Theresa had used that word before.
“No, Theresa, I promise you it isn’t true.”
“Lies. Nothing but lies! Everybody lies to me!” Her voice was rising and rage invading the rational look of her eyes. She began to advance on Elizabeth.
“Theresa!”
The harsh voice of the Frenchwoman halted the girl The blue moiré taffeta of her dressing gown seemed frivolous compared to the black she usually wore. As she walked into the room with quick, angry steps the ruchings that swept the floor about her feet made a whispering sound. The small hoops swinging in her ears caught the light with a sheen, that was echoed by the goose grease on her face. Over the knots of rolled hair studding her head she had donned a wrinkled muslin mob cap.
Theresa spun around, all expression draining from her face until she looked plain and dull-witted. Her mouth fell open but she seemed bereft of speech.
“I don’t know how you did it, my girl, but this will be the last time you get away from me. I am having bolts installed the first thing in the morning! Then we shall see how much wandering you do.”
“Denise—you wouldn’t—”
“See if I don’t. I am tired of receiving complaints of incompetence and being questioned as if my word was good for nothing. What they expect of me I don’t know, I am no gaoler. Mon Dieu! You would try the patience of a saint. I don’t know whether you are an imbecile or a demon. Non, there shall be no more complaints when I have you safe behind a bolted door!”
“I will go, to Bernard,” Theresa said in a low voice. “I will tell him how I am treated and ask him to free me. He will not be pleased at your treatment of me.”
“By all means. Go to your step-brother, if you think he will believe you before me, after the things you have done. You should have thought of the consequences before you went off on a mad tear.” A shade of triumph lit Denise’s narrow face. She was enjoying taking her spite out on the girl.
Theresa clenched her hands into fists. “You are a witch and I hate you, a beastly, ugly witch, and that is all you will ever be. No matter how much you simper in front of a mirror or make calf eyes at him, my brother will never look at you. Darcourt has more taste.”
Denise’s hand flashed out as she slapped Theresa in the face. “Impertinent little wretch. You will be sorry you spoke to me like that.”
“Denise!” Elizabeth could not help the exclamation. “Surely there was no need for that.”
The Frenchwoman’s black eyes glared at her with a maniacal anger. Spots of color flamed on her cheeks. “You know nothing of the circumstances. It is not for you to say what is necessary. It is my thankless task to control this mad creature, not yours.”
“That will do, Denise.”
The quiet masculine tone stopped the tirade short. Bernard stood just inside the room. In his hand he carried a book, his forefinger still marking his page. He wore a dressing gown over his evening clothes. Beneath its large rolled collar his white silk evening shirt could be seen, though he wore no coat or cravat.
“We will not need you any longer. Take Theresa to her room at once, and ke
ep her there. I will speak to you later.” His voice was quiet but he emphasized the last words with such clarity that Denise blanched.
Gripping the arm of the crying girl, Denise pulled her from the room.
When the sound of their footsteps had faded down the hall, Bernard still stood regarding Elizabeth with a thoughtful expression. Elizabeth fidgeted under this steady gaze, nervously aware of her bare feet showing beneath the hem of her gown. The gown itself was the serviceable type without lace or embroidery, thick, warm, and completely enveloping, but it was still improper for him to see her in it. She would have been more embarrassed if she had felt that he was equally aware of the impropriety. As it was she doubted he really saw her at all.
Trying to move unselfconsciously, Elizabeth reached for the dressing gown that lay across the foot of the bed. She swung it around her shoulders and pushed her arms into the sleeves. When she had jerked the belt fight she felt much better, as if she were armed, though against what she could not say.
As she glanced up at Bernard she caught a glimpse of sardonic humor just fading from his face. Her head came up instinctively and the green of her eyes deepened to the cold dark jade of a winter sea. The candle glow behind her framed her head in a nimbus of fiery light, sending gleams sliding along individual russet strands of her long hair.
“Well?” she said, her uneasiness made a challenge of the word.
Interest flickered in his eyes, an interest coupled with an unwilling appreciation
“It was good of you to champion Theresa,” he said abruptly.
“Good?” She was wary of the compliment.
“After her tantrum in the library the other night.”
“Oh.” She was surprised at the flat sound of her voice. It was not as if she wanted there to be anything personal in his comment, was it? She went on impulsively, “I’m glad you did not think I was responsible for what happened that night.”
“Responsible?”
“Because of What Theresa said.”
“That. No, I am familiar enough with her temperament to realize that you were probably not to blame. Usually it takes something upsetting to trigger a violent reaction. Was anything said, that you can remember, that might have set her off?”
Dark Masquerade Page 14
