The empty stalls gaped at her as she turned quickly up one of the narrow streets surrounding the square and hurried along the slippery banquette. A light drizzle began to fall and she heard laughing voices raised loudly behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see a crowd of revelers, their faces concealed beneath strange masks, parading through the middle of the street. They stopped briefly beneath an iron-grilled balcony and called up to a young woman leaning over the railing, a lacy fan hiding the lower portion of her face as she flirted with them from the safety of her balcony high above the street.
Mara continued on, noticing more and more groups of noisy people crowding onto the narrow streets. Dressed in her dark, enveloping cape, she drew little attention from the garishly garbed masqueraders, some staggering already from the effects of their merrymaking, some still strong of voice as they serenaded their way through the old French Quarter. So this was what the season of Mardi Gras was all about. Mara remembered hearing about it from the guests at Sandrose, some of whom had seemed unable to talk of anything else.
As she crossed an intersection, her hurrying figure caught the attention of several masked men, their faces hidden behind grotesquely painted facades that leered nightmarishly in the light from the flaming torches carried by the carousers.
“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! Où allez-vous? Attendez-moi!” one of the costumed figures called out to her disappearing figure.
Mara left the revealing light and began to run along the narrow street near where she thought the hotel was. She was breathing heavily and felt a stitch in her side. She halted to catch her breath beneath the shadowy overhang of a balcony. Mara heard calling and looked nervously back down the street to see dark shapes moving along it. They were searching for her.
With a deep breath she pushed herself away from the cold stucco of the wall and disappeared into a narrow alley, leaving her seekers combing the street behind. She stumbled more than once in the darkness of the garbage-strewn alleyway but continued despite her tiredness. When she stepped out onto a street at the far end, she knew she was lost.
She glanced around frantically. It was so dark and the drizzle had now turned into a steady rain, the thunder that rumbled overhead promising more. Mara shivered with cold and fear as she saw the flickering torches dancing along the houses at the far corner of the street, and she turned in the opposite direction and headed into the darkness. Fifteen minutes later, or maybe a half an hour—Mara didn’t know how long—but she stopped at a corner and looked around hopelessly. Where was she? She quickly stepped back into the shadows as a group of people paraded harmlessly past. It was then that she saw the street sign illuminated by their torches and remembered Françoise Ferrare. She lived along this street. Mara noticed the flower cart sitting on the opposite corner, torches lighting up the woman’s display and guiding the merrymakers to her flowers. Mara laughed shakily as she realized she couldn’t be far from Françoise’s house. She trudged along the street, her package weighing heavily in her tired arms.
Suddenly Mara felt something grab her. She let out a scream as she stared up into a hideous face with bright red cheeks and bulging eyes, the nose sticking out half a foot. Sharp teeth glinted from a distorted, grinning mouth.
Mara couldn’t even hear her own scream of terror as her heart pounded deafeningly in her chest. The monster’s hands seemed to claw at her, swinging her around and around until she stared up dizzily into its demoniacal face. Mara glanced around wildly as she tried to fight free of the creature. She pushed and scratched at his scaly body, finally freeing herself as he fell back laughing. Without bothering to retrieve her fallen package, Mara ran as fast as she could up the street.
It was then that she saw the fence, and through the trees the pink shutters gleaming softly. With a deep sob she pushed against the gate, and it was then that she felt the first deep stab of pain inside her. Doubling over as it spread through her body, she staggered into the quiet darkness of the garden and then forced herself up the steps to the front door. She fell against it, sagging to her knees as if in prayer. “Oh, God, no. Please. I mustn’t lose his baby, please, no,” Mara clearly heard herself pleading before she gave in to the wave of blackness waiting to engulf her.
***
Mara opened her eyes to see daylight streaming in through the windows. She wondered where she was, for the room was strange to her. It was a beautiful bedchamber decorated with gold-flocked wallpaper and blue-and-gold-striped, satin-upholstered chairs. Mara glanced up at the matching blue and gold canopy above her head and sighed. She breathed the light lavender scent of the lace-edged pillows, allowing her mind to drift aimlessly until she heard the door open. Looking up, she saw Françoise framed in the doorway. Suddenly the events of the night before came flooding back to her, and she gave a wounded cry as her hands reached down to where her baby should be.
“I’ve lost it, haven’t I?” she cried out as Françoise hurried into the room, a look of concern crossing her beautiful face. “It’s gone. I killed it, didn’t I? I resented it at first, maybe even hated it. But I didn’t really mean it. Oh, God, I’ve lost Nicholas’s baby,” Mara cried in anguish.
Françoise pulled up a chair, and grasping Mara’s fluttering hands, she held them between hers. “No!” she told her firmly, her eyes bright. “You have not lost le petit bébé. He is still with you, ma chérie.” Taking Mara’s hand, she placed it over her stomach. “See, it begins to show. It is no longer flat, and soon he will grow so big you will come to despair of it,” Françoise laughed softly, her blue green eyes gentle.
Mara swallowed painfully on the tears that would not come. “I didn’t lose it,” she breathed.
“No, you didn’t lose him,” Françoise repeated firmly, relieved to see the despair leave Mara O’Flynn’s eyes. “But you gave me such a scare. Mon Dieu,” she said shaking her head, “but I thought you were dead. Never have I seen such a sight as you crumpled up on my front doorstep. I think I must have aged a lifetime when I heard you.”
“I’m sorry, but I was lost, and those horrible people were out there in the most hideous masks. I was frightened,” Mara admitted, slightly shamefaced. “I just don’t know what came over me. And then when I thought I was losing the baby…” she trailed off, the pain of it still showing in her eyes.
“Oh, ma chérie,” Françoise scolded her gently, “what on earth were you doing out so late? This is the worst time of the year to be on the streets at night.”
“I had to pick up some gowns from the dressmaker. I didn’t realize it would be like that out on the street. I know it is festival time, but still—they were so wild.” Mara shuddered.
“It is this way every year around the Mardi Gras time. Some years are worse than others, for it is the season for festivals and balls, and a lot of carousing in the streets. No respectable person would be caught out on the streets at night during all of January, especially a woman. There are usually private balls and parties to attend, but for some it is just a chance to dress up in costumes so no one will recognize their foolish faces when they romp drunkenly through the streets making noise and trouble. It is bad sometimes and people usually end up fighting and getting hurt. This is just the beginning too, I’m afraid,” Françoise said with a look of disgust. “It will continue for many days and nights.”
Mara glanced down at her hands, twisting them uncomfortably as she realized that Françoise might not know about Alain and all that had occurred at Beaumarais.
“You left Sandrose rather suddenly, causing quite a stir I believe,” Françoise spoke suddenly.
Mara glanced up. “Then—”
Françoise nodded sadly. “Yes, I know of Alain.”
For the first time Mara became aware of Françoise’s appearance. She was dressed in black bombazine and crepe, the color of mourning.
Françoise seemed to become aware of Mara’s curious look and explained softly, “Alain is dead.”
“What?” Mara asked incredulously. “I don’t understand. We lef
t him at Beaumarais. What happened?” Mara asked with quickening heartbeats as she demanded, “Is Nicholas here?”
Françoise shook her head. “Non, Nicholas is not here,” she answered, pausing strangely, “but my papa arrived yesterday and he told me all that had happened. I could scarcely believe what he was telling me, it is all so incredible, and tragic. Poor Papa,” Françoise sighed, “he is so deeply grieved by what has happened, not only to Alain, but to everyone because of him.”
Françoise rubbed her temple as she stared at Mara. “To think that Alain was capable of such acts, I am simply astounded. I always knew that he loved Beaumarais, but I never fully understood why he was so obsessive about it. To think that he was the son of Philippe de Montaigne-Chantale, and that he was the one who murdered François. So much sorrow.
“I find it hard to believe that he actually killed Philippe, his own father,” Françoise whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief, “I suppose the manner in which he died was God’s way of punishing him for his sins.”
“What happened?”
“Papa says the river finally reclaimed the land where the great house had sat so royally for all those years, mocking the muddy waters below. Beaumarais is no more, it is gone,” Françoise told her simply.
“Gone?” Mara repeated.
“The foundations of Beaumarais apparently could not resist the great weight of the waters flowing around it. In the past it must have eaten away underground where no one could see, and so she crumbled into the swamp she was built from. Alain was still in the house when it caved in. There are one or two columns still standing, but not much more. All is gone. Nicholas went back to Beaumarais to confront Alain, and it was he who found the house that way. The waters had risen above the middle of the stairs, which were still standing, only now they lead nowhere. It was beneath them that they found Alain’s body,” she ended, her voice thick. “Alain wanted Beaumarais so badly that he killed for it, only to have the house end up as his grave. Even though I know what I do about Alain, he was still the brother I grew up with, and I grieve deeply for his death. And I mourn because of the pain he caused for the people at Beaumarais, especially for Nicholas.”
Beaumarais was destroyed. Nicholas had finally managed to return to his birthplace, only to have it stolen from him again. He had lost the house, but at least he had found the truth of the past. That would be some consolation to him, Mara thought sadly, wishing she were with him now to comfort him. But she wasn’t, and never again would she be able to put her arms around him.
“How is Nicholas?” Mara asked hesitantly.
“Papa says that he is well recovered from the snakebite. Of course he is greatly upset by the loss of Beaumarais,” Françoise told her, her blue green eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she gazed at the distracted woman.
“H-he is still at Sandrose?” Mara asked without meeting Françoise’s eyes.
“Mais oui,” Françoise laughed harshly, “you do not think that Amaryllis would let him out of her sight now that she has him there?”
At Mara’s stricken look Françoise swore beneath her breath. “My cursed tongue. I am sorry, but since you are here in New Orleans and Nicholas still at Sandrose…well, I assumed you did not love him. Especially since you left so abruptly, and without saying good-bye to Papa, which upset him greatly, ma chérie. I am sure he will have something to say to you about that,” Françoise warned Mara with a twinkle. “I am still confused, for now that I know you are to have Nicholas’s child, ah,” Françoise sighed, raising her eyes heavenward, “I have done it again, non? Nicholas does not know about the baby, eh? Or that you are so much in love with him? Mon Dieu, but it did not seem like Nicholas to turn you out knowing such a thing. What fools men can be at times. Bah, if he cannot see who is the better woman, then he deserves to be tied to that she-wolf.”
Mara closed her eyes as she tried to block out the painful vision of Nicholas at Sandrose with Amaryllis. “It is difficult to explain, but although I love Nicholas with all of my heart, I know that he does not love me. Nor did I ever expect him to. I do not blame him, for he has reasons for the way he feels. But the one thing I will not have him feel for me is pity, and that is all that he would feel if he found out about the baby,” Mara said. “I know now that I want his child more than anything else in the world. But Nicholas must never know about it.”
Françoise stared at the proud Irishwoman helplessly, knowing there was nothing she could say. “I will bring you some hot tea and a little breakfast, non? And then you will feel better. I will have a bath prepared too, it will help relax you.” Françoise told her as she stood up.
“Oh, my God!” Mara cried out suddenly. “Paddy and Jamie! They won’t know where I’ve been. They’ll be worried sick with fear. I must get back to them.”
“Now, now,” Françoise calmed her. “I will send one of my maids with the news that you are here. Where are you staying? The St. Louis?”
“No, at a place called Par Bonheur.”
Françoise raised her elegant eyebrows incredulously. “Mon Dieu! C’est impossible that you could be staying in such a place. It should be called Par Malheur instead, for only by ill luck would someone step through its doors,” Françoise spoke contemptuously, then with a look of utter contrition she clapped her hand across her mouth. “Mon Dieu, but I have done it again, non? I am so sorry, mademoiselle. Please forgive me, but I did not mean to insult you,” she continued with increasing embarrassment.
“Please, you needn’t apologize,” Mara said with a forgiving smile, “for the place is deplorable. We are only staying there temporarily. In fact, we will be leaving New Orleans tomorrow for London.”
Françoise stared at her in dismay. “You are leaving so soon? But Papa will be most disturbed. He was looking forward to visiting with you when he heard you were here. He will hardly have time to say hello.”
“I would like to see him before I leave, but I can’t delay our departure. I’ve already paid for our fares,” Mara told her regretfully.
“Of course, I understand. I shall send someone immediately to inform these people of your whereabouts. Now, it will be best if you rest for a while. You will be quite safe here,” she reassured Mara.
“Thank you. You’ve been very kind, Mademoiselle Ferrare.”
“Françoise, please. Now lie back and think of pleasant thoughts, eh?” Françoise ordered with an appealing smile as she left the room.
Pleasant thoughts, Mara wondered. And then she smiled as she thought of her child. She knew now that she really did want him with every fiber of her being. This would be her part of Nicholas, something that no one could ever take away. She hoped desperately that it would be a boy and look just like Nicholas, with green eyes and black hair. Yes, Mara thought with a soft smile curving her lips, those were pleasant thoughts indeed.
***
“If me hair wasn’t already gray ’twould have turned that color, ye had me so scared,” Jamie complained an hour later as she helped Mara dress, her eyes going over her critically as she hid her anxiety behind a scolding voice. “Goin’ out by yourself in a town full of these hot-blooded French fools. ’Tis enough to have me wonderin’ about your sanity.”
She narrowed her gray eyes with concern when the expected retort didn’t come. With a sniff she started brushing Mara’s long hair and braiding it into a coronet. “Reckon ’tis a good thing we be leaving New Orleans after all,” she mumbled as she noticed the sad droop to Mara’s mouth. It seemed to Jamie as if the O’Flynn luck might have run out at last.
Etienne greeted Mara warmly when she entered the parlor a few minutes later, kissing her cheeks as he grasped her hands. “My dear Mara, it is so good to see you. But you gave us all such a fright! Why, my poor Françoise thought for sure you had committed the unpardonable and died on her front doorstep.”
“Papa!” Françoise complained with a laugh.
“I may have a temper, and may not be entirely respectable, but I have never been accused o
f poor manners,” Mara responded with some of the old spirit.
Etienne smiled at her as he settled her on the sofa. “Didn’t I tell you, Françoise, that she was priceless? It is good to see you with a smile on your lips once again.”
Mara reached out and took his hand. “Etienne, I am so sorry it had to end the way it did.”
Etienne patted her hand reassuringly. “Thank you for that, my dear. But it was the only way, perhaps the easiest way for it to end. Alain is gone, and finally we must try and forget the past for it will do no good to remember it,” he said. Then, with a sad smile, he added, “But perhaps sometimes I will remember him only as Olivia’s little boy.
“Now we pretend none of it ever happened and we talk of other things,” he declared adamantly and went on to do just that for the rest of the day and through dinner, which Françoise had insisted they stay and share. All too soon it came time for Mara to bid them farewell, sadly, not insulting them by promising to see them again in New Orleans. She knew she’d never return, and she suspected Etienne knew it too. But she did have his promise that he would see her the next time he was in London, and she believed he would keep that promise.
Once back at the cheap hotel everything seemed anti-climactic as they went about their preparations, packing for the long journey ahead.
The next morning seemed to dawn too soon as Mara dragged herself from the hard, cold bed she had shivered in most of the night. She had almost finished dressing when Jamie came bustling into the room. She had been down in the street overseeing the transfer of their luggage.
“Did ye already hire a carriage?” she demanded worriedly, her heavy cloak wrapped protectively around her thin figure and her bonnet tied securely over her gray curls.
Mara looked at Jamie’s reflection in the mirror, a doubtful expression crossing her face. “No, I haven’t had time to hire a wagon to take our trunks to the docks.”
“I said, ‘a carriage’—’cause that’s what’s sittin’ outside right now, with a coachman sayin’ he’s waitin’ for us,” Jamie told her.
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