She knocked firmly on the door of Theresa’s room. She heard approaching footsteps, and then Denise stood in the half-open door.
“What is it?” the Frenchwoman asked. Her voice contained the slight note of insolence that she always used when speaking to Elizabeth alone.
“I would like to see Theresa,” Elizabeth replied evenly.
“I cannot allow that.”
“Oh? Have you been ordered to keep out all visitors?”
Denise shrugged, and moved back to let Elizabeth enter. Theresa was sitting on the bed.
“Theresa?” Elizabeth came into the room.
Theresa did not answer, but there was a flicker of interest in her tear-drowned eyes.
“You came to see me last night, so Joseph and I have come to see you today.”
Theresa sat up. “Joseph, the baby?”
“Yes, of course.” Elizabeth tried to smile as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She stepped forward and put the baby on the bed beside Theresa. Joseph protested at being put down, and an anxious look crossed Theresa’s face, but though it was difficult, Elizabeth turned her back on him and went to the window.
She threw back the drapes, letting light flood into the room. Dust flew into the air, motes of it turning slowly in the bright sunlight and settled slowly onto the thick scum already on the furniture. Theresa blinked like an owl in the sudden light and drew back, putting up a hand to shield her eyes.
“Come,” Elizabeth said, holding out her hand after she had picked up Joseph. “We will go into the schoolroom where it is more pleasant.”
Theresa blinked rapidly, staring at the hand Elizabeth offered.
“Don’t you want to play with Joseph?”
“He—he will cry.” Her eyes were on Joseph, who had stopped fretting the moment Elizabeth picked him up.
“No he won’t. I’ll show you how to hold him.”
“Truly? You will let me hold him?”
“I promise.”
To Elizabeth’s dismay, tears welled again into Theresa’s eyes, but she placed her thin, wiry hand into Elizabeth’s and slid down from the four-poster bed.
Denise stood back from the door, watching, a grim expression about her mouth.
Elizabeth looked at her, her green eyes cold. “We will use the schoolroom for now. Will you please see that Theresa’s room is thoroughly cleaned? Thoroughly. Change the bed linen. Sweep the rug, dust the furniture, the drapes, the window sills, the bed hangings. Everything. Then have them prepare a bath.”
Denise did not move. Her heavy dark brows met over her nose as she frowned.
“You do not have to do my bidding, that is true,” Elizabeth said slowly, “but you would be well advised to do it. I am persuaded that Grand’mere would not be pleased with the state of this room, even if it is a prison.”
“You have taken so much on yourself, why, I see no reason that you cannot take the ordering of the room upon yourself also,” Denise said jerkily.
“I am not responsible. You are.” Elizabeth walked to the door and opened it. Then she stood waiting.
Denise wanted to refuse. The struggle moved across her face, pride vying with caution, as she tried to decide if Elizabeth had more influence with Grand’mere than she. Caution won, but the malevolent look she threw at Elizabeth before she went out the door was that much more intense because of the defeat of her pride.
The time passed quickly. Toward the end of the visit Theresa was persuaded to hold Joseph in her arms. She stared down at the baby and slowly, carefully, she smiled. It was the first genuine smile Elizabeth had seen on her lips in a long time.
Theresa examined the baby’s fingers, toes, and ears, marveling at his fingernails, and eyelashes like a new mother. Once she looked up at Elizabeth and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she shut her lips tightly and dropped her head.
When finally Elizabeth left with Joseph in her arms, she was thoughtful. Leaving Joseph in Callie’s care, she went in search of Bernard. She was not sure what she would say to him, for surely he knew best what was necessary for safeguarding Theresa both from herself and others, but she wanted somehow to help the girl. She was certain Denise was not the best gaoler, as resentful as she was of the position. Even if it was true, as they seemed to believe, that Theresa was responsible for the things that had happened, had done them during some childish fit of temper, she did not deserve to be punished. It was not her fault precisely, not if she was mentally disturbed. Elizabeth could not admit even to herself that she was finding the idea questionable.
Bernard was not in the house, she learned from Samson. She should have known he was not likely to be in at this hour of the morning. He was not a gentleman of leisure, since he preferred to keep a personal eye on his property.
Wandering into the library, she looked at the titles inscribed in gold leaf on the leather-bound books. She was not particularly interested in reading, however, and none of them looked engrossing enough to take her mind from her problems. The humidor that Theresa had thrown at her that night had been returned to its place on the table. Elizabeth lifted the lid to sniff the fragrance of Louisiana Perique mixed with mild Virginia tobacco, and then replaced it. She touched the whale oil lamp sitting on the desk, straightened the blotter and pewter ink well, and adjusted the sandlewood box holding cigars. Swinging restlessly away she noticed the cuspidor beside the fireplace. It was brightly polished and perfectly clean. Grand’mere was so vociferously against chewing tobacco that neither Bernard nor Darcourt used it. According to Darcourt, few of their friends dared to do so in Grand’mere’s presence. She was capable of upbraiding them about that disgusting habit, one that she pronounced as unfit for gentlemen though most gentlemen were, guilty of it these days. Smoking, whether pipe or cigar, was limited to this room and the galleries. Grand’mere was likely to cough dramatically and sniff the drapes for the odor at the least whiff of smoke in the rest of the house.
Smiling a little, Elizabeth walked to the windows. The sun high overhead had gone behind a strip of clouds, dimming the room. It would soon be midday. Surely Bernard would return for the noon meal. He usually did. While she was here she should thank him for coming to her rescue. She never had. She hated to broach the subject, however; it gave her an unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. The confusion of doubts and suspicions that she had shoved to the back of her mind made her want to forget the incident.
Fingering the lace panels at the windows, she stared unseeingly over the lawn. She felt a sense of indebtedness toward Bernard. Whatever his reasons, he had pulled her from among the thorns that night. Once or twice, she had felt the impulse to give him her permission to use the money that he had wanted, a gesture of gratitude, she supposed. An empty gesture, perhaps, from his point of view, since he had told her he did not really need her permission. Still, it was an admission that she had been spiteful in withholding it in the first place. That should mean something to him.
Last night he had kissed her hand. Slowly she closed her fingers over the scratches on the palm where his lips had touched. He had kissed her hand before, a casual salute identical to that he would offer any other married woman. A gentleman did not kiss the hands of unmarried ladies, at least, not in public. But bad that salute been different, or was it her imagination? Did she want it to be different?
The thought shocked her, yet how else could she explain her behavior? By coming here to this room, with the intention of interceding in Theresa’s behalf and actually thinking the man who might have been the one who attacked her—and by thinking of offering him the use of the money Felix had left Ellen—she was going against her own best interests. Was her desire to remain at Oak Shade so strong that she was willing to placate those who had tried to harm her and sacrifice the welfare of Joseph and Callie?
She could not do that. What was she thinking of, to have come so far toward that betrayal? She could not in any way afford to be that trusting.
Footsteps coming toward the door made
her turn. So confused were her thoughts that she ran her eyes around the room looking for a place to conceal herself, feeling completely unable to explain what she was doing waiting there. She was afraid that in her state, if she were forced to try to explain her presence she would say the wrong thing. Then, taking a deep breath, she stood still. An appearance of dignity must be preserved at all costs. She must not appear flustered. She composed her face.
The door opened. Darcourt sauntered in and Samson closed the door soundlessly behind him.
“So here is where you got off to. Grand’mere was wondering.” Stopping at the desk he lifted the lid on the sandalwood box, took a cigar, and let it close with a snap. He asked her permission to smoke, and when she gave it he reached into the holder on the desk and took out a handful of matches.
Seeing her gaze, he said, “Oh, I never take just one. The things aren’t all that trustworthy, you know. Just as likely to fizzle out on you as not. Better than the old flint and tinder contraptions, though.”
Grateful for the small talk to cover her tension, Elizabeth answered with a smile, “I think so too, but Grand’mere will give you a different opinion.”
Darcourt laughed. “The devil’s work. She doesn’t trust them. Natural, I guess, for the old not to trust new things. Come to think of it, she doesn’t trust much of anything.”
“A wise old lady.”
“Oh, come now. Cynicism is unbecoming at your age. Wait for your gray hairs.”
“Does age have anything to do with it?”
He spread his hands in mock ignorance. “You ask me, a golden-haired child?”
“You are very bright, after your gloom this morning,” Elizabeth said. Then she regretted her impulsive words, since they might remind Darcourt of the unpleasantness with his mother that she and Grand’mere had witnessed. She need not have worried.
“It doesn’t take much to put the sun back into my sky.” His grin was wide, filled with a bubbling merriment.
“Have you heard of a new thoroughbred to back then, or found a twenty-dollar gold piece?”
Realizing suddenly that he could not sit as long as she stood, she walked to the couch and sank into it, glancing up at him quizzingly.
“Nothing so frivolous.”
“Oh?”
He lowered his voice to a near whisper, though the smile never left his eyes. “I’ve discovered the way to make my fortune. All that the thing needs is a few details.”
“Congratulations. Is it a secret?”
“For now, but not for long. I’ll take Theresa and my mother away from here, and the rest of the Delacroix can—except for Celestine who will I hope go with me—but I had better wait until it’s done before I make plans.”
“I imagine so.”
“That’s what I like about you. No purely idle phrases. Most girls would have said something nonsensical, like, ‘Oh, it doesn’t hurt to dream,’ or else assure me that I’ll be a great success without knowing the first thing about it. Not you.”
“No, I would never say that,” Elizabeth replied, staring for a moment over his shoulder.
“I had an idea you were one of the ones who know better.”
She glanced up quickly, meeting his tawny gold eyes. Then she laughed shortly, not at all sure she liked that impression of herself.
“What would most girls say to that?”
“They would turn coy, I expect, even Celestine. Coyness evasiveness, either is a good tactic for avoiding unwanted personal comments.”
“Even Celestine?”
“You think she would speak her mind?” He shook his head, a bitter twist appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Never. A devious woman, is Celestine. Beautiful, but devious. Also mercenary. She is determined to lead Bernard to the altar, but does she entice him, persuade him with honey? Oh yes, but she doesn’t depend on it. She holds the whip hand and she knows it. The lash that will finally goad Bernard into matrimony is honor, the Delacroix honor.”
“How can she be satisfied with a marriage like that?
“Satisfied? She will be radiant, and because she is, no doubt eventually Bernard will be well-pleased also.”
“You think so?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” He looked down at the tip of the cigar smouldering between his fingers, while with the fingers of the other hand he broke the match he had used, and bent the broken stem into a circle before tossing it into the fireplace. “Why shouldn’t he be? As I said, Celestine is a very beautiful woman.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth thought of Celestine as she had last seen her, dainty, impeccably groomed in orchid taffeta, very pretty even with the sneer on her delicate cameo face.
“You are in love with her, aren’t you?” She had thought once that it might have been a game to Darcourt, a flirtation to relieve his boredom.
“To my sorrow.”
“Why are you allowing her to marry Bernard then, if you are sure she doesn’t love him?”
“Let her? I’ve done everything in my power to prevent it except—”
“Except?”
“Kill her, or offer her money.”
“And so the need for a fortune?”
“And so the need for a fortune,” he agreed, nodding Slowly.
“Oh, Darcourt, why—?” The question broke from her, but she could not finish it for the sudden stillness that came over him and the black look that entered his eyes.
“Who can explain what draws a man to a certain woman? I can’t, can you? I wonder at times if Bernard is at all attracted to Celestine, or if he only pretends out of what he conceives to be his duty.”
“I—I wouldn’t know.”
“You might find out,” he said, frowning with a speculative look through narrowed lids. “Smile at him instead of frowning all the time. Stop avoiding him.”
“Oh, come, why should I do that?”
“To see if he is susceptible to red-haired beauty, of course, you must be aware that you already have a powerful attraction—I’m talking about your widow’s portion. When you remarry it will revert to Joseph’s estate. That, I expect, was to keep any man from marrying you for your money. Any man except Bernard, that is. Naturally when your money returns to Joseph’s estate Bernard will have complete control over it too. Twenty thousand dollars is a powerful incentive just now, you’ll agree, with banks closing their doors right and left? Added to your own charms?”
“You must think everyone alive is mercenary if you seriously think that Bernard would desert Celestine to marry me for my widow’s portion.”
“I did say he might need a little encouraging,” he reminded her, smiling.
“Oh!” Relief flooded over her. “I thought you were in earnest.”
“I was, never more so. Honor or money, a dark beauty or a red-haired one? Which will he choose?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, her brows drawn together.
“You will never know until you try.”
“I don’t intend to do any such thing.”
He shrugged. “You’re probably right not to. On second thought, I doubt Bernard would try to shorten your long mourning for Felix, or, to give him his due, expect you to believe in a sudden overwhelming passion for you. He isn’t stupid. It would be more in his style to try to soften your resolve so that you would relinquish the money of your own accord.”
“Probably,” Elizabeth answered dryly. She did not think Bernard had been trying to influence her in that manner, but now the seeds of doubt were sown. Yet she knew, though apparently Darcourt did not, that there was no need for Bernard to use subterfuge of any kind. He already had the use of her money until such time as she could prove her identity.
“I wonder, how does it happen that you know so much about my affairs?”
“Felix’s will was read to all of us, of course, along with the letter from him that told of his marriage and gave his instructions on what to do in the event of his death. A black day, that.”
“I see,” she said, as she stood up, her
lips tightening. “Then everyone knows.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Darcourt came toward her, a contrite expression on his face. “My fatal tongue. I let it ran away with me sometimes.”
“No. I’m not upset. It doesn’t matter.” It was a lie. She knew it, though she tried to convince herself that it was not. Darcourt suddenly left the room. She moved toward the door.
As she neared it the door swung open and Bernard stepped into the room. A smile of surprise crossed his face as he stood with his hand on the knob, blocking her way.
His unexpected appearance held her motionless too long. She felt that she had to say something.
“Theresa,” she said, swallowing hard, thankful for the memory. “I wanted to speak to you about her. I don’t think it is good for her to be cooped up with only Denise for company. She should have the acquaintance of young people, normal people. It can’t be good for her to dress her like a child when she realizes her age and the manner in which she should be dressed.”
His dark brows rose. “You are an unlikely supplicant on Theresa’s behalf. Why the sudden interest?”
“I—I don’t know. I feel sorry for her, I suppose.”
“After what she has done to you?”
Elizabeth made a slight negative motion with her head, unable to summon the strength to go into involved explanations without incriminating herself.
“I think you may leave it to me to judge what is best for Theresa. You, after all, have known her for only a short time.”
Elizabeth stared at her hands. “That is true. And yet, I wonder if I don’t see her more clearly for being a stranger. I can hardly believe—”
“Leave it to me,” Bernard repeated when she faltered.
Elizabeth did not answer or try to complete what she had started to say. In truth, she was glad that he had interrupted her, for she did not want to finish the thought.
When she did not go on an oddly intent look came into his eyes. “Was there anything else?”
For a moment she had forgotten what Darcourt had said. Then she remembered.
“No,” she said in a hard voice, looking straight into his eyes. “There was nothing else.”
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