Authors: Jennifer St Giles
"Neither have I," I whispered.
"All of life pales to the beauty of being in your arms," he said softly.
I knew exactly what he meant Stephen spent most of the night with me, though I awoke alone to the dim light of dawn and the memory of heated passion. Rolling from the bed, I pulled on my robe and went to my door. Stephen sat in the chair outside of my room as I expected, looking rumpled and wonderful.
"Mornin,' angel," he said softly, his eyes telling me that last night was no dream.
"Have you slept at all?"
"And miss any moment of heaven?"
"You are an impossible romantic."
He lifted a questioning brow. "Doth the lady protest too much? Or"—he reached for the front of my robe—"does she need reminding?"
"What the lady needs is not to have her head all a muddle, a condition you induce with a mere look. I need to see about Ginette."
"The nurse has good news. Ginette moved restlessly in her sleep last night and spoke, as if she dreamed."
"Then she is regaining some level of consciousness?"
"That is what the nurse thinks. Dr. Marks will be here in an hour. Everyone else still sleeps, and there was no trouble during the night."
"I had best bathe and dress, then."
"Quickly, or else temptation is going to win over my common sense. There is something about you in silk that not even a saint could resist, and we both know I am far from saintly." He reached for my robe again, tugging it just enough to expose a breast to his view.
"Stephen," I gasped as he stood, a familiar, determined gleam lighting his eyes.
Snatching my robe to my chest, I decided prudence the better part of valor and ducked back into my room.
The door flew open and then closed again behind Stephen. "Heaven can't wait," he said. "Fortunately, it will only take five minutes to get there."
My eyes opened wide. "
Dieu
. Five minutes?"
"Make that four," he said, pulling my robe open.
I think it took seven. I rushed down the hall a short while later, my body still tingling from the pleasure he brought me. I'd gone from famine to feast in a night's span and thought I might expire from the bounty of it.
Mama Louisa, Mignon, and Andre were all in the kitchen when I arrived. Breakfast was well on its way and
Mon Amie
yipped a greeting from the comfort of her padded box. Dawn had given way to the sun of a bright day in a world washed new by the rain. The cool air drifting into the window carried a hint of blooming jasmine to mingle with the scent of baking biscuits and sliced oranges.
"I need to show everyone something important. Mama Louisa, where is Papa John this morning?"
"At the market, but he'll be back before long."
"Then I will let him know later." I motioned for everyone to gather around the kitchen table, where I placed the papers from Mr. Goodson. "What we have here is proof that Jean Claude never deserted us or the army, but that some evil men betrayed him on his last mission." I put my arm around Andre's shoulders. "Your father was killed two days after braving capture to see us."
I hugged my son tighter as I saw tears gather in his eyes. Though this was painful, in so many ways it was a release, as if the dark cloud over our lives had finally moved on.
Andre picked up the letter, holding it as if it was his most precious possession. He walked over to the light from the window and silently read it, tears falling down his cheeks.
As I went to him, the gold wax seal that had been on the back of the letter fell off and I stopped to pick it up from the floor. When I looked at it in the light from the window, something about the intricate pattern struck me.
"He was innocent of stealing!" Andre exclaimed. "He wasn't a coward!"
I put the wax in my pocket. "He was no coward, Andre. I do not know what to say about the gold. The men who killed your father never found it. And we know from your grandfather that there was a special plan for the gold."
"Then the gold could really be here at
La Belle
." Mignon looked stunned.
I shook my head. "I do not think it likely. Monsieur Trevelyan says that much gold would require a considerable amount of space. We would have found it."
"How do you know for sure? Have we really examined every trunk in the attic?"
"I . . ." Some of the trunks in the attic
had
been moved, and Papa John said he hadn't moved them. Had our intruder been up there searching? And the ghost that I had determinedly tried to forget that I'd seen—was it here for a reason? Was it possible?
"We will begin a thorough search of the house later today."
Andre and Mignon smiled widely. Eager for the task ahead, they quickly helped prepare breakfast.
Mr. Fitz and Mr. Gallier declined to join us for breakfast. Instead, they left immediately for town to make arrangements for Miss Vengle's funeral. I offered to help with whatever they needed, and Stephen did as well, telling them that the expenses would be taken care of and to choose nothing but the best. Mr. Gallier had nodded. Mr. Fitz had tears in his eyes, and I thought Miss Vengle had made a poor choice with her affections.
The shadows I saw in Stephen's eyes stayed, and every now and then I would find him studying me. I asked him several times if there was anything wrong, but he only shook his head and said that it would have to wait until a better time.
Stephen and Andre played chess in the parlor while I dusted, and Mignon swept the center hall free of the dirt and mud that had accumulated from yesterday's rain and visitors. We awaited Dr. Marks's arrival, hoping that Ginette's continued restlessness was indeed a sign that she was on her way back to us. Andre was in the middle of admonishing Stephen for making the game too easy, when Mignon cried out. Anxious, I ran for the center hall behind Stephen. We both came to a relieved stop as we saw Mignon standing unharmed, holding something in her hand.
"It is a cigar, Juliet! Here on the settee!"
"Let me see, Nonnie." I went over to her and took the cigar she held out to me. "I have the other upstairs. I am going to see if they match."
"Good Lord, you never said that you had evidence," Stephen said.
I looked back at him. "Well, you didn't ask." I hurried on, anger fueling my steps. I pulled the stub from my drawer along with the crinkled newspaper and set them on my desk. Everyone gathered around it.
"They are a match," Stephen said, even before I had focused on them.
"How do you know?" I asked.
He picked up the cigars. "Same quality and color of paper wrapping the cigars. And see this mark here?" He pointed to a faint line of script written about two finger's width from the bottom. "These are a very expensive brand and are signed by the maker, Carlo San Fuenta from Havana. Fuentas sell for twenty dollars apiece in San Francisco."
"Twenty dollars!" I gasped, shocked that someone would spend so much on something so frivolous.
"We still do not know who we are dealing with," Stephen said, looking at me with concern. "Everyone was here yesterday in the center hall and in the parlor. And truthfully, I have three of these cigars in my room as we speak. I smoke occasionally"
Mignon picked up the newspapers, spreading them out. I noticed for the first time that they had at one time been folded neatly into fourths, as one might do when putting a paper into a pocket. "The date on these is from two months ago," she said.
"
Oui
, I noticed that."
"
Mère
, wouldn't that mean the person who is trying to hurt us has been here for two months?"
"Or longer," Stephen added. "Good deduction." He nodded at Andre.
Mignon shook her head. "Why anyone would carry papers around about a political party is beyond me."
"It's about the White League," I said, looking at Stephen.
"You are thinking it's Mr. Hayes. I don't think the man patient enough or calculating enough to involve himself in skulking around."
I frowned. "You're right."
"What does the article say about the White League?" He picked up the newspaper.
"I didn't read it all. Part of it is burned, anyway."
"It's an editorial piece suggesting the White League had a heavy hand in hanging a man to warn ardent republicans what fate awaits them. I've heard that before. Where?" Stephen asked.
"Miz Julie." Papa John stood in the doorway; he looked aged and tired, and very upset.
"What is it?" I turned, immediately moving to him and setting my hand on his shoulder.
"We've a visitor."
"Who?"
"It's Captain Jennison. He has asked to see Miz Ginette."
The man I held as an enemy was standing on my doorstep? "
Bon Dieu
. However did he take the notion to come here?"
"I telegraphed, asking him to," Stephen said quietly.
C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN
I turned from Stephen, too shocked by his action to speak to him. He'd secretly invited an enemy to my home?
I could hear Captain Jennison loud and clear.
"Stand aside, sir. I have no quarrel with you, but nothing and no one will keep me from seeing Ginette, except her own word."
The deep, emotionally wrought voice boomed up the stairs, and I quickened my pace. I had to face this man from my past who had taken over my home. A man who'd fought for the army that killed my father. A man my sister loved. I would deal with Stephen later.
At the top of the stairs, I saw Mr. Phelps blocking the way of a man that I hardly recognized. The youthful, dark-haired Federal officer had been replaced by a man who'd aged a score in a decade. There was gray streaking his hair and a dark somberness to his rugged features. I felt Stephen come up behind me, but I ignored him.
"Monsieur Phelps, Captain Jennison has a history of intruding rudely into our home, but this time he has been invited by Monsieur Trevelyan—whose liberties, it would seem, are as boundless as his glib tongue." Even if Ginette had asked Stephen to send for Captain Jennison, the fact that Stephen hadn't told me hurt.
Captain Jennison looked up the stairs, his handsome face starkly haggard. "Where is she? I have traveled four days without stopping, and I will not wait any longer. Shoot me if you must."
I drew a deep breath. "There has been too much bloodshed already. She is in her room. You may see her, but then we will talk."
Mr. Phelps stepped aside, and Captain Jennison took the steps two at a time, his determined chin set at a grim angle. "What happened to her? A fever?"
"Someone poisoned her."
He blanched and a knife-sharp glitter hardened his gaze. "Who?"
"We don't know yet."
"Why?" His voice rang sharply, as harsh and stark as his eyes.
"We think it was because of missing gold from the war. Men killed my husband for it, and apparently haven't found it yet."
"Will the curse of evil upon this country never end? God help whoever did this."
Captain Jennison took one look at Ginette, swore as he crossed to her, then lifted her, covers and all, into his arms.
The nurse jumped up as if she was going to battle for her patient, but sat back down when Captain Jennison settled into the large wing chair, cradling Ginette against his chest. He kissed her reverently on her forehead and began talking to her in so low a voice that I could not make out his words. Given the tears flowing down his cheeks, I knew I was not meant to. Tears gathered in my own eyes and I turned away, quietly leaving the room.
Pulling the door closed behind me, I motioned Mignon, Andre, and Stephen down the hall so we would not be overheard.
"Yesterday, I inadvertently learned through some correspondence that Ginette has affections for Captain Jennison, and that for a number of years after Captain Jennison left our home, they wrote to one another."
"I knew it!" Mignon's face lit with interest. "I knew there was someone, but I could not figure out who. This is wonderfully scandalous. Dear, quiet Ginette and a Federal Army captain, no less."
"Mignon, your enthusiasm is not very heartening at the moment," I said, feeling at odds. How could Mignon have suspected Ginette's secret when I hadn't? "Though I think Ginette better, her recovery is not assured."
Mignon shook her head. "I think it more assured now than ever. How could love like that fail to save her?
Dieu
, it has been years since they have seen each other."
"I agree, Mignon," Stephen said. "How can love fail to save?"
"He's a Yank?" Andre said, his brow furrowing. "Monsieur Hayes says they are taking everything over and need to be hang—uh—sent home."
"I have to see Mr. Phelps about a matter. I will be right back," Stephen said suddenly, his voice grim.
I focused on my son. "Andre, you were four years old when the war ended. There were many reasons, good and bad, for both the Confederate cause and for the Federal cause. Until you know what those reasons were, you cannot rightly make judgments. Monsieur Hayes and his ilk are looking for an excuse to further their own importance, by demeaning, defaming, and destroying others. You are a better man. You need not follow in the steps of another man's poor choices."
"Are you not angry over what they did?"
"
Oui
, but to what end? I've no wish to be like your Aunt Josephine. When all the issues on both sides of the war were brought to light, there were more wrongs on the Confederate side when it came to the rights of human decency. Yet it was in the Southern states in which President Lincoln abolished slavery, long before he did so in the North, which makes his reasons at the time related more to the war than to the just rights of men to be free. It is time we all move beyond the past, especially grown men like Hayes, who are still caught up in their own petty importance. Now—as it is getting close to lunch, would you go help Nonnie and Mama Louisa in the kitchen? I need to have a discussion with Monsieur Trevelyan."
"Come along, Andre," Mignon said. "We can even fix a special puppy treat for
Mon Amie.
"