“Raymond, stop it!” she chided, awash with annoyance, as well as pity for the way he bared his soul. Softening her tone, not wanting to deepen his hurt, she urged, “Let the past be. You can’t change it, and neither can I, though God knows I would if I could…”
“Anjele,” he said, turning to stare in wonder. “Do you mean to say—”
“No!” She quickly dashed his hopes. “You misunderstand. I’d like to be your friend, but you’re making it hard when you say such things. I’m sorry you aren’t happy with Claudia, but you shouldn’t tell me about it. Don’t you see that?” she implored.
Just then her father appeared at her side to say, loud enough for those nearby to overhear, “I’m so sorry about your headache. I can tell you’re feeling worse. As much as I hate to leave, I think we’d better.”
Anjele grabbed the bait. With fingertips pressed to her forehead, she murmured, “I know. I feel as if I might swoon any second.”
Grasping her arm, motioning to Raymond, Elton led the way to offer apologies to their hostess.
Elisabeth Hembree’s dark eyes glittered with suspicion. With feigned compassion, she told Anjele, “I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling well. By all means, run along.”
“Do invite us again.” Anjele went along with the pretense of being cordial. “We had a lovely time. You’re a wonderful hostess. We Southerners have much to learn from you Northern ladies.”
Their eyes met, held, each aware of the other’s contempt.
Raymond had gone to inform Claudia they were leaving, and she ran up breathlessly to protest. “We can’t leave now. It would be rude.”
“Your sister doesn’t feel well,” Elisabeth Hembree told her.
“Well, that doesn’t mean
we
have to leave, Raymond.” Claudia whirled on him. “We can borrow a carriage from your father and go home later.”
He tried to sound genuinely disappointed. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be safe for just the two of us to be on the road so late.”
Visibly disappointed, Claudia’s lower lip began to tremble. Elisabeth promptly intervened by putting a comforting arm about her waist and offering, “You two can stay here tonight.”
Claudia clapped her hands together in little-girl fashion, bouncing up and down and exclaiming, “Wonderful. We’d love to, and if you-all will excuse me, Captain Barlow has this dance.” She skipped back into the ballroom without a backward glance.
“I can’t leave her,” Raymond said after Elisabeth left them. “But we won’t stay the night here. We’ll go to my parents.”
Impulsively, for she felt so terribly sorry for him, Anjele kissed his cheek in parting.
Claudia, in the midst of a sweeping waltz, turned just in time to see and drew a sharp breath of anger.
Lulled by the gentle rocking of the carriage, Anjele fell asleep, awakened only by her father’s gentle shaking. “We’re home, honey,” he said.
Wilbur the butler was waiting, as always, for their return. Anjele turned towards the curving stairs and heard her father tell him as he handed over his coat, “I’m going to be in the study for a while, but you can go on out to your cabin now, Wilbur. I won’t be needing you.”
Anjele turned to say, “It’s so late, Poppa. Don’t you think you should go to bed?”
He didn’t respond, once more lost in his sorrow.
Anjele’s heart went out to him, but there was nothing she could do.
He went into his study and sat down behind his desk. Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, he let his thoughts drift away to the past once more, reliving the glory days of BelleClair…and his beloved Twyla.
Outside, Leo Cody hid among the thick hydrangea bushes framing the side of the house. He had followed the carriage on horseback as the Sinclairs went into New Orleans, then lurked about while they went to some kind of party. He felt it was a waste of time. How the hell could he be expected to know what was going on inside, who Elton was talking to? But so far The Voice was satisfied with the way he did things, and as long as he got paid, Leo wasn’t going to worry about it. After tonight, it didn’t matter, anyway, he reminded himself, because he was going to get what he was supposed to, one way or the other. He rejoiced to see that only Elton’s daughter had come home with him. Not that he was worried about the gimp-legged son-in-law or the loud-mouthed daughter. It just made things easier to know there was only one other person in the house.
He had seen the old butler leave by the back door and head back to the slave compound, and he’d seen the lantern in the upstairs bedroom extinguished, which meant the daughter had gone to bed. The only light in the house now came from the window of Elton’s study. Leo could see him in there, looking as if he were sleeping in his chair, his back to the open window.
Leo took the kerchief from his pocket and stretched it over his nose and across his face, then tied it behind his head. Slowly, soundlessly, he stepped over the window ledge and into the room.
Elton, consumed by his meditation, was oblivious.
Leo took out his knife, and, when he was right up on him, pressed the cold steel against Elton’s throat. “Move or make a sound, and you’re dead,” he said against his ear.
Elton’s heart constricted in terror. Barely able to speak with the blade pressing into his flesh, his pleading words were barely audible. “Please, take what you want. Just don’t kill me.”
“I know you got a safe somewhere, you son of a bitch.” Leo pressed the knife harder, barely slicing into the skin. “Tell me where it is, or I’ll cut your head off and rip the place apart and find it myself.”
Elton knew he was helpless, and he didn’t care about the money and jewelry in the safe. With the knife still pressing, he managed to whisper, “Behind the door. Behind the picture.”
“What’s the combination?”
Elton told him from memory, silently cursing himself for having given his coat to Wilbur before taking the pistol out of his pocket.
“You better not be lying. Now sit still and don’t move.” Leo began backing away in the direction of the safe.
“No…no, I won’t,” Elton promised nervously. He could feel blood trickling down his neck but didn’t dare touch it. “Please. Just take what you want and go.”
Leo took down the picture. Then, holding the knife in his right hand, he used his left to work the combination. All the while, he kept glancing back to make sure Elton wasn’t moving.
At last, the door popped open. Leo saw lots of bags inside. He opened one, grinning at the contents—an assortment of earbobs and necklaces, obviously valuable. No harm in an extra bonus, he figured. All The Voice cared about was the plates. He shoved everything aside, papers scattering to the floor, intent on finding what he was after. There’d be time later to gather his treasure.
Elton dared touch his fingers to his throat. It wasn’t bleeding badly, probably wasn’t deep. He would be all right but couldn’t take a chance the intruder might decide to kill him, after all. Moving very slowly so as not to make any noise, he gripped the arms of the chair and eased himself up. He needed a weapon.
His eyes fell on the iron poker propped next to the fireplace. Keeping close watch on the man as he rummaged inside the safe, Elton reached out and grabbed the heavy piece and crept toward him.
Leo cursed, because the safe was now empty, and the plates weren’t in there. “Goddamn it, where are they—” He turned just as Elton was about to strike and leaped to the side.
The poker hit the floor with a thud, and Elton lunged for him, grabbing the arm holding the knife with one hand, snatching off the mask with the other. “Leo!” he cried, shock causing him to relax his grip.
Leo stabbed him.
Elton, eyes wide with disbelief and horror, clutched his chest. Blood streaming through his fingers, he slumped to the floor.
Leo dropped beside him. “Tell me where you hid the plates, and I’ll get help for you. I swear it.”
Elton coughed, blood running from the corners of his mouth as he bit out savagely, “Go to hell…”
Anjele sat bolt upright to stare wildly about in the darkness. She had heard something.
She swung her legs off the side of the bed and grabbed her robe, yanking it on as she raced for the door and flung it open. The hallway was dark, but as her eyes adjusted, she could make her way to the stairway and down.
All was quiet as she reached the foyer, but she knew it couldn’t have been her imagination, and she wasn’t about to go back to bed till she found out what it was.
The door to the study was closed, soft light coming from beneath it. “Poppa, are you all right?”
There was no response.
Slowly she turned the knob and peered inside to see her father lying on the floor, a knife burrowed to the hilt in his chest. “Oh, God, no…” she wailed, running to drop to her knees beside him. Her hands clutched her throat in panic, then fluttered to touch his dear face. Paralyzed by horror, she could only stare helplessly, praying he was alive.
He opened pain-filled eyes, tried to focus on her, lips moving as he struggled to speak her name.
“Lie still,” she commanded, beginning to come out of her stupor. “I’ll get someone…”
She started to rise, but with his last bit of strength, he struggled to plead, “No time. Listen…”
She slipped an arm beneath his head, raising him slightly. “Tell me, quickly, so I can get help.”
Leo stood behind the door, watching and straining to hear, silently cursing, because he’d thought Sinclair was dead. He’d decided he couldn’t take a chance on him telling who had stabbed him. Quickly, he reached down and picked up the poker and crept toward her.
Elton’s eyes were rapidly glazing over. He could no longer see her through the descending veil of death. His lips moved, the whispered words disappearing in a froth of blood. She leaned down, turning her ear to his mouth in a frantic effort to hear what he was so desperate to tell her.
She heard the sound faintly but did not understand.
“Wildflowers…” Elton wheezed.
And then he was dead.
Before Anjele could grasp either the word or the actuality of her father’s death, she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. Terror-stricken, she whipped around to look up into the maniacally grinning face, saw the poker he held in his hand, raising it, about to strike…
Awareness flashed.
He was familiar.
She’d seen him somewhere before, but where, who—
The poker hit the back of her head.
And then there was nothing.
Chapter Nineteen
It was nearly nine o’clock when the Duvals arrived at BelleClair. The slave sent by Kesia to fetch Dr. Duval had ridden into New Orleans at breakneck speed, horse lathered and exhausted from being whipped into a full gallop the entire way.
Vinson was having his breakfast when Hannah, one of the kitchen servants, came to tell them there was someone from BelleClair at the back door, and the man was hysterical. The doctor ran through the house, Ida on his heels, to find the young Negro twisting his hat in trembling hands as he sobbed over and over, “The mastah’s dead…the mastah’s dead…”
Unable to learn any more than that, Vinson ordered a groom to get his carriage ready, then went and grabbed his leather doctor’s bag. Ida woke Raymond, who dressed on his way out, stepping into his trousers as he came out the back door.
When they arrived at the house, they saw a somber crowd of overseers and household servants gathered on the front porch. Ida paused to ask Mammy Kesia what on earth had happened, but Vinson swept right by them and into the house, Raymond close behind.
Wilbur was in the foyer, visibly shaken, unable to speak and could only point towards the study. Vinson ran the rest of the way, stopping short in the doorway at the bloody scene before him. The place was a shambles, and he knew, even before forcing himself to walk over and kneel down beside the body, that Elton was dead. The knife was still imbedded in his chest. Vinson closed the frozen, staring eyes, then leaped to his feet at the sound of Raymond’s anguished cry.
“Oh, God, no…”
Raymond had spotted Anjele, where she’d been placed on the sofa and was kneeling beside her.
Vinson pushed him away. Her face was covered in blood. “She’s alive,” he said, after a cursory examination, “but it looks like she’s hurt bad.”
Raymond, not wanting to look at Elton’s body, grabbed an afghan and threw it over him. Sickened, shaken, he didn’t know what to do with himself just then and began to pace restlessly about. He saw the open safe, the way the room looked torn apart, and said, “Elton must have surprised the robber, and Anjele heard the noise and came running.”
“Let’s get her up to her room. If she comes to, I don’t want her to see his body.”
Raymond, unable to assist due to his bad leg, summoned Wilbur.
As they were carrying Anjele up the stairs, they heard the sounds of more horses. Raymond peered out the open door and groaned. “Union soldiers.”
Vinson, annoyed, grumbled, “How did they hear about this? We don’t need Yankees swarming all over.”
Raymond told him he had sent Hannah to tell Claudia something had happened to her father and she needed to get home right away. “I figured the Hembrees would send someone with her, but not an entire patrol.”