“Mrs. Grimms?” Katherine turned at the obsequious voice at her elbow. It was one of the Bouviers’ liveried slaves, a young man decked out in a white wig and knee-breeches. He held out a silver salver with a small folded paper upon it. There was no envelope, as if the note had been sent in haste. She took the note with trembling fingers. It had to be news of Reggie. She unfolded the paper and read the brief contents, feeling the blood drain from her head at the same moment.
The slave caught her elbow, steadying her as she swayed. Grateful for his support, Katherine forced herself to breathe deeply. Now was not the time to fall apart. Reggie needed her. He had yellow fever.
Jeffrey stood in a dark corner with his arms folded. He’d been watching Anne all night. Dressed as a specter, his face covered with a chalky paste, his eyes smudged and hollowed with black greasepaint, his lips bloodred, and his form covered from head to toe by a hooded cape, he’d had no trouble keeping to himself. He looked like a corpse—like death itself.
He’d seen the way Anne and Delacroix had looked at each other while they were dancing. He’d noticed how she’d glanced Delacroix’s way all night. And Jeffrey had seen her leave the house to meet him in the garden. He’d even followed her, and while he couldn’t see them, he could hear Anne and Delacroix murmuring to each other, kissing and caressing in the shadows. It was obvious they were lovers. The damned girl had barely allowed him a little kiss, but judging by the sounds that came from behind the statue, she had allowed Delacroix access to all her charms!
The hateful feelings coursing through Jeffrey’s body showed plainly on his face, making him appear more frightening than ever. No one came near him. A superstitious lot, the Creoles especially kept their distance. He smiled grimly. Maybe they thought he really was a specter of the grave, a bad omen sent by dark forces to warn some unfortunate sinner of impending death.
The image suited his mood tonight. If he had his way, tonight would be the last night on earth for Renard. And Delacroix. Jeffrey bit the inside of his mouth till he drew blood. How could he have missed the obvious for so long? Now he knew. Now he knew that Anne didn’t have it in her to love more than one man at a time. He knew Renard and Delacroix were one and the same.
He smiled again, less grimly. But such a smile on such a face gave an evil effect. He headed for the door, surprised to see Katherine Grimms hurry out before him, her expression full of worry. Outside, an elderly gentleman assisted her into a carriage, and they drove off helter-skelter. Jeffrey’s curiosity was piqued, but he had an appointment to keep with the New Orleans Guardians of the Peace. He ordered his horse to be brought around, mounted the handsome steed he’d rented just for the night, then turned the animal west, toward Bocage.
C
arrying a low-burning lantern, Lucien and Bodine walked side by side across the marshy field, keeping their separate thoughts, as silent and secret as oysters. Bodine was probably contemplating the treat ahead, the black virgin woman-child Lucien had promised him. Lucien was going over the details of the plan in his head, again and again. Everything seemed to be in order. As one last measure of security, though, he sent a prayer winging upward.
May the saints help me do this one final favor for the abolitionist movement
, he prayed.
May the saints help keep me alive for Anne and the future I hope we will have together
.
They were just yards away from the circle of slave cabins. House slaves lived in cabins near the manor house, but field hands were logically placed in cabins close to the acreage they worked. Lucien had chosen the outlying cluster of cabins to play out his farce on Bodine. Naturally he took him to the most remote cabin of all, standing virtually by itself in a grove of trees.
As they approached the door of the small wooden building, Bodine stopped and turned toward Lucien. The lantern glow played over Bodine’s face, revealing the bloating and the deep lines of a depraved life. “This is it?”
“
Oui
.”
“There’s no light inside the cabin.”
“I told you, I don’t want the other slaves to know about this.”
“If she screams, they’ll know.”
“True.” Lucien shrugged. “But maybe she won’t scream.”
Bodine found this idea interesting enough to spur him to movement. He walked toward the door, lifted the latch. Over his shoulder, he glared at Lucien. “You aren’t going to stand out here all night, are you? I’ll take as much time as I want.”
Lucien spread his hands wide. “As much as you want,” he agreed.
Bodine grunted, then opened the door and went inside. Lucien waited. Less than a minute later he heard a dull
thunk
and then the sound of a heavy body falling to a dirt floor. Smiling, he went inside.
Armande was standing over the unconscious body, holding an iron skillet. Lucien winced when he saw the size and weight of the weapon. “I hope you didn’t kill him.”
“Of course not,” said Armande, offended. “I knew just where to hit him and how hard. He’ll be out for several hours, long enough to serve our purpose.”
Lucien looked around the small cabin. “Where is the bag?”
“Under the mattress. If something went wrong, I didn’t want the evidence in plain sight.”
“Bon
.” He pulled the burlap sack from under the mattress and untied the rope at the puckered closure. “I don’t relish this part,” he said dryly. “We have to touch him.”
Armande nodded, grimaced. “But at least by lantern glow we won’t have to see much of him.”
“True. I suppose we should be thankful for small favors,
n’est-ce pas?”
“There’s little time left,
mon ami
. We’d better get busy.”
“
Oui,”
said Lucien, then bent to the task.
Anne watched from behind the thick trunk of a sycamore tree. She was breathless from catching up with Lucien as he left the grounds of Rosedown. She had stealthily followed him and Bodine as they crossed the field to Bocage. Then she had seen Bodine go inside the cabin, and a moment later watched as Lucien followed. The cabin was softly lit from the inside by a low-burning lantern, but thin curtains covered the windows. She decided to wait and watch from a safe distance. She didn’t want to jeopardize Lucien’s plan, whatever it was. She just wanted to be on hand in case she was needed.
She’d been waiting only fifteen minutes or so when the cabin door opened and Lucien and Armande emerged, carrying between them the body of a large man. Anne bit her lip. The body of a large, lifeless-looking man!
My
God
, she thought,
they’ve killed him! They’ve killed Bodine!
She knew he wanted to stop Bodine’s abuse of his slaves before ending his career as Renard, but she never dreamed he’d do something so drastic.
They carried the body around to the back of the cabin. The lantern dangled from Armande’s elbow, illuminating a small patch of ground at his feet and casting thin, jumpy shafts of light over his sober face. Lucien was in darkness. They moved surprisingly fast, considering their luggage, and soon they were yards away from the cabin, surrounded by cypress woods.
Anne followed, keeping the same safe distance as before. Twigs caught and tore at her skirt, bark scratched her exposed skin, wet leaves rubbed against her face, and insects circled her head like buzzards around a carcass. Her slippers sank in the mud. Without the straps around her ankles, she’d have lost them completely.
She was sure they were close to the bayou by now. She wondered if they were going to bury Bodine, or perhaps leave him for the alligators. The thought made her sick to her stomach. Suddenly they stopped moving. She heard the soft snort of a horse. Lucien and Armande whispered to each other, then made grunting sounds, as if they were making a concerted effort to lift a large object. Were they putting Bodine on a horse? Why? Where were they going to take him?
The trees were close together, and what little moonlight had shone through the foliage before was now blocked by overhanging tree branches thick with Spanish moss. The lantern Armande carried didn’t help her to see them better, either; the dim beams bounced erratically off objects, not shining long enough on anything for Anne to get a good look.
Then she realized that there was more than one horse. In fact, there were probably three. The lantern was swinging at least four feet above the ground. She saw the dark, sleek flanks of the horses, a brief flash of a horse’s bit. She heard the suck of hooves in mud, the soft squeak of leather. Armande and Lucien were mounted, and Armande held the tether of the horse that carried Bodine. They turned north and trotted briskly away—or as briskly as they could through the swampy cypress woods.
It didn’t occur to Anne till it was over that she’d been left quite alone in the habitat of alligators and snakes. It hadn’t occurred to her, either, to call out to Lucien as he rode away. She was in shock, she supposed. Shocked that Lucien could commit murder…
If not for her fond wish to survive to a ripe old age, and her dislike of creatures that slithered up a person’s leg uninvited, Anne might have stood there numbly for hours, contemplating what this new development meant to her relationship with Lucien. Instead, she turned and headed back toward the slave cabins.
It didn’t take her long, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the clearing came into view. Her relief was short-lived, however. She saw horses picking their way slowly across the marshy sugarcane field. It was too dark to make out who the riders were, but she could bet they were the police. She counted five altogether. Had they somehow learned that Lucien was planning murder tonight? Did they know he was Renard? Had the snitch in his organization gone to the police with information that could put Lucien in prison for life?
They’d seen her; she heard murmurs among them as they approached. She stood there, tense, waiting. Then one rider separated from the others and pulled up in front of her. His cape billowed out behind him. His white face glowed with preternatural eeriness in the faint moonglow. Her heart nearly stopped. She was staring at the mask of death. Visions of voodoo and gris-gris and strange sacrificial rites flashed through her terrified mind. Then the specter smiled.
“Hello, Anne,” said Jeffrey. “Out for a stroll?”
“Jeffrey,” she said faintly. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first.”
“You’re with the police…” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“As if you didn’t know,” he said in an undertone, then turned to one of the officers. “She’s a friend of mine. I’m going to take her up on my horse. It’s dangerous leaving her out here alone.”
The police officer moved his horse closer, staring down at Anne. “You don’t think it would be even more dangerous to take her with us?”
“No,” said Jeffrey. “I’ll keep her well out of harm’s way.”
Anne was sure of this. After all, Jeffrey always managed to keep
himself
out of harm’s way.
“Who are you, young lady?” asked the officer who was apparently in charge of the patrol.
“Anne Weston,” she answered.
“What are you doing traipsing around in the middle of the night?”
“I was at the Bouviers’ ball,” she began, but she didn’t know how to explain why she was walking the outskirts of Bocage, so fell silent.
Jeffrey, who was clearly a better impromptu liar than she was, supplied her with an alibi. “I was at the Bouviers’ ball till just a few minutes ago. Don’t be embarrassed, Miss Weston. I saw you leave with that young man—someone in a red domino mask and cape?” He turned back to the officer. “It was a tryst, sir, and now the cad has gone off and left her. Isn’t that right, Miss Weston? By the way, Anne, this gentleman is Lieutenant Dutillet.”
Anne decided it was better to go along with Jeffray’s story than to deny it. She lifted her chin. “Yes. He was a cad, all right. But I blackened his eye.”
A couple of the officers snickered. “Well done, mademoiselle,” said the lieutenant. “Now get her on the horse, Wycliff. We’re losing precious time.”
Jeffrey reached down, and Anne had little choice but to allow him to pull her up on the horse. She sat sideways on the front of the saddle, with one of Jeffrey’s arms circling her waist. Despite her dislike of being in such close proximity to Jeffrey, she realized that there was no better place to be if she wanted to help Lucien. Obviously Jeffrey had turned traitor and was leading the police to Renard. She was confused, though, about what they expected to find. Had Lucien planned a slave escape tonight, as well as murder?
As they moved stealthily into the cypress woods, Anne whispered, “So, Jeffrey, you decided to go for the reward?”
His arm tightened around her waist, and he bent his head close to her ear. “I couldn’t have you.”
“Is that what you wanted? My money?”
His hands splayed on her midsection, his thumb caressing, straying much too close to her breast. “I wanted more than that, but the money made the package perfect.”
She pulled his hand away and hung on to the saddle pommel for support. “I thought you were a champion of the cause. I thought you were on Renard’s side.”
“Not after he bed you.”
Anne made a disparaging noise through her teeth. “I don’t know where you got that ridiculous idea.”
“My suspicions were confirmed tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Soon all my suspicions will be confirmed, and you’ll regret playing me for a fool, Anne. Too bad you’re so full of integrity, you can’t forgive a fellow for being a little too ambitious, for being too human for your highfalutin tastes.”
Anne had no reply to this. He was right. She couldn’t forgive him, especially now. She wondered if he knew that Renard and Lucien were the same man. Somehow Jeffrey knew she’d made love with Renard, but had he also seen her leave the ball to meet Lucien in the garden? Had he seen her follow Lucien and Bodine across the sugarcane field? Had he put two and two together and come up with the truth?
“What suspicions are you hoping to confirm tonight, Jeffrey?” she ventured, trying to lead him into saying something revealing.
“You’ll see,” was his disappointing reply. “Now be quiet. We’re getting close to the spot.”
They were on the edge of the bayou directly behind the slave cabins. No one had lighted a lantern. The only light was the dim moonshine reflected off the still, gray-green waters of the bayou. Just minutes before, Lucien and Armande had headed this way. Where were they now? she wondered, her stomach knotted with tension. And what made Jeffrey think she’d keep mum if Lucien showed up? She was going to scream the minute she saw him. She was going to warn him to ride away, even if it meant she’d go to jail herself.
As if they’d planned their strategy beforehand, without discussion the men spread out, hiding in the shadows of the huge, moss-draped trees. And they waited. For what, exactly? Oh, how she wished Lucien had confided in her, instead of keeping quiet in an attempt to protect her!
Everyone, even the horses, was perfectly still. Anne stayed as still as the others, hoping to lull them into a false security. In the silence, the sounds of the forest were magnified. There were the deep, rhythmic croak of the bullfrog, the singing of the crickets, the constant buzz of insects, and the gentle lap of water against the shore. The air was warm and dank, smelling sweet.
Suddenly there was movement down-shore. The lieutenant raised a hand and held it in the air, poised like a snake about to strike. A horse appeared out of the lush foliage on the opposite side of the narrow bayou—a black horse. Tempest?
Anne opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Jeffrey clamped a hand over the lower half of her face and held her hard against his chest. She struggled, but his grip was strong—much stronger than she expected. The rider on the horse came into view. It was Renard!
The lieutenant’s hand came down in a swift motion: the signal to give chase. The horses were spurred forward into the shallow waters of the bayou. Anne saw Renard immediately turn Tempest back into the cover of the woods, but with four lawmen chasing him, she didn’t have much hope that he could outrun them. Having to maneuver through the tangled jungle of the cypress woods would work more to the benefit of the police. It could slow Renard down just enough that they might be able to surround him.
The posse of police had splashed across the bayou and disappeared into the woods before Jeffrey removed his hand and urged his own horse forward to follow at a slower pace. Anne was startled by the first crack of pistol shots, her heart thudding against her ribs. “We don’t want to get too close to the action till the deed’s done,” Jeffrey told her, “but I do want to be there when they rope him in. I can’t wait to see the look on his face!”
Anne could say nothing. Her throat ached with fear and frustration. At that moment she hated Jeffrey. If Lucien was killed, it would be his fault! She would have jumped down from the horse on the spot if she didn’t want just as badly to follow the police. Although the air was warm, she was cold and shivering with dread. Feeling utterly hopeless, she closed her eyes and prayed to God that Lucien would escape.