Dark Masquerade (23 page)

“Ellen—”

Bernard took a step toward her again, calling her by the name he had come to associate with her in his mind.

“My name is Elizabeth!”

She flung her head up, staring at him with wet, burning eyes, and then she turned and ran toward the door. As her hand touched the knob a knock sounded, and hard on it, the door opened. Just in time, Elizabeth stepped back.

“Dinner is on the table, Mr. Bernard,” Samson said. He bowed gravely as he spoke, though he shot Elizabeth a curious look from the corner of his eye as, she slipped behind him from the room.

By the time she had closed her own bedroom door behind her, her tears had dried and her resolve was set. She would not stay at Oak Shade another day. She could not. She could not face Celestine’s ill-concealed delight at her unmasking or witness Grand’mere’s pained surprise. Denise, no doubt, would be jubilant, smirking openly, and even the other servants would look at her with sidelong curiosity, entertained by the novelty of it. Theresa, too, would be glad. Not one of them would be sorry to see her go.

“My dear?” Grand’mere called from the other side of the door connecting the rooms. “Aren’t you coming down to dinner?”

There was nothing in her voice to tell that she had been informed. What were they waiting for? Perhaps Bernard would tell her at the dinner table.

“I’m not very hungry.” Elizabeth called back.

“Don’t you feel well?”

“I—not really. Perhaps I am catching a spring cold.”

“Can I send you anything? Some cologne for your forehead? A cool drink? Perhaps some orange flower water?”

“No—no, thank you Grand’mere. I will be perfectly fine. I’ll just rest.”

“Very well.”

She heard the old lady walk away. She was, under her acerbity, a person of great kindness and tact. Elizabeth wished it was not necessary for her to learn how she had been duped. Sighing, she turned back to her thoughts.

When she was sure that Grand’mere had gone down to dinner, she began to collect the few things that she would need, the barest necessities, into a bundle. Going into the next room, she gathered together the things Joseph and Callie would need, making another bundle of these. Joseph, asleep in his crib, moved restlessly, but did not awake. Callie had gone down to the kitchen for her dinner. The Negro nurse would have to be told, but not immediately. She might not be able to go quietly through the rest of the afternoon in close association with Grand’mere if she knew of their impending escape, especially not after her ordeal with Celestine.

When the bundles were tied securely, she pushed them under her own bed. Going to the armoire she took down her reticule and counted her money. There was enough for food for a few days and perhaps a week’s lodging if they could find a clean, cheap rooming house. There was no money left over for stagecoach fare. They would have to look to heaven for help. The prospect was daunting, but she did not shrink from it. There was no other way.

She would go south to New Orleans, she thought, sinking down on the bed. In a large town it would be easier to disappear, as well as easier to find some kind of employment. There were millinery shops and dressmakers, or she might even be able to take in laundry if they could find a permanent place to stay. She would find something to do to keep Callie and Joseph and herself. She would not lot the Delacroix have him. This house was no place for a child to be raised. There was something wrong with the very atmosphere. It was full on crosscurrents of malicious spite and suppressed violence, coupled with a heavy, uncomfortable feeling of impotence, as if there was nothing that could be done to remedy the situation that would not be worse than maintaining it.

There was much to think of, much to be done. She would attend to it in a moment. She was so tired. The masquerade had been more of a strain than she had known. It was true. She was relieved that it was over. She would be more relieved when she was far away and could begin at last to put the last few weeks from her mind. Her eyes closed.

The sun had coasted down the sky and the room was in shadow when she awoke. Her mouth was dry, and her head ached dully. She felt heavy, weighted down with sleep so deep that it had been like unconsciousness. The echo of a knocking sound lingered in her mind. Then as the sound came again she jolted awake.

“Yes?”

“It is I, Denise. Theresa wishes you to come to her in the schoolroom.” The message was given in a voice devoid of expression, but the lack of expression carried its own message of disapproval. Elizabeth tried to detect the triumph she had expected when Denise learned of her real identity, but it was not there. Obviously Denise did not know that she was an imposter. But why not?

“Now?”

“Yes, if you please. Theresa is very anxious for you to come.”

“Tell her-—tell her I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Very good, Madame.”

Madame. Then she certainly did not know. It was odd. What reason could Bernard have for keeping the information to himself? Or could it be that the information had not yet filtered down to the servants?

She washed her face and smoothed her hair, and then shook out her dress. It was crumpled, but it did not seem to matter enough to change. Her nap had not refreshed her. Depression clung to her. The heaviness of regret dragged at her mind.

When she was ready to go she put her hand on the doorknob, and then as tiredness swept over her, she leaned her head on the closed door. Why was she doing this? She did not want to go and make conversation with this sullen disturbed girl, someone whom she would never see again after tonight. What would she say to her? What was there to say?

Sympathy. That was the reason. Sympathy because she knew how Theresa felt. She was caught in a trap of her own making, just as Elizabeth had been. There was nothing that either of them could do or say to undo what had been done.

Why was that so terrible? Why did it matter so much? She knew why with a sudden clarity, but she could not allow herself to think of it, just as she had not allowed herself to dwell on the way Bernard had treated her in the library. Suddenly, as if fleeing from her thoughts, she twisted the knob in her hand and left the room.

Theresa herself opened the door. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she drew Elizabeth inside. Her hair bad been put up in gleaming curls drawn back from a center part, and at her throat she wore a garnet on a fine gold chain that she kept touching as if to see that it was still there.

“Bernard has given this necklace to me. It is a symbol that I have grown up,” she said. “It belonged to his mother, and it is very precious to him and shows he trusts me. He says that I am to have my skirts let down as soon as it can be managed. Isn’t it exciting? I owe it to you for speaking to Bernard for me. I just had to thank you!”

She pirouetted, showing off her hair, gracefully balancing its weight on her slender neck. It was an amazing transformation, though Elizabeth could not help but feel that the happiness of Theresa’s smile was more important than the new hair arrangement.

“I don’t imagine Bernard has allowed you to have these things on my account,” she said easily.

“I don’t know of any other reason. Denise said that he mentioned that you had spoken to him, though she was being mean about it when she said it. He has given orders that I am to have more freedom, if I earn it. And I am to be dressed at all times as befits my age, and treated in the same way.”

“That is wonderful,” Elizabeth could not help smiling at the younger girl’s transparent joy.

“I only hope the excitement does not make the child ill!” Denise stepped from the bedroom, her back stiff, her manner unrelenting.

“I am not a child, Denise,” Theresa said, but some of the animation went out of her face, and it seemed an effort for her to hold on to her pleasure.

“Soon you will be going down to dinner!” Elizabeth spoke gaily, trying to overcome the blight Denise had cast on Theresa’s spirits.

“Perhaps I will,” she agreed.

“Will what, my sweet?” Darcourt strolled into the room, swinging the door shut behind him.

Theresa ran toward him. “Just look at me, Darcourt! I have my hair up and I’m to have long dresses. Ellen just said that I may soon be having my meals downstairs in the dining room. Aren’t you pleased?”

A strange look passed over his face. “You look very pretty, but much too grown up to be my little sister. I’m not sure I didn’t like you better the other way.” The look he threw Elizabeth held worry, as if he felt the experiment would turn out badly.

“Why did you say that?” Theresa asked, her lips beginning to tremble.

“Don’t cry, sweet,” Darcourt begged, now contrite. “I didn’t mean it. You will have to control your tears better, you know, if you are to go out into society, Of course I like your hair and I am happy for you. It was only a sentimental notion. Forgive me?”

As Theresa smiled up at him he turned toward Denise. “Before I forget, Mother needs you. She is having recourse to the hartshorn and vinegar again. I don’t imagine we will see much more of her today.”

“Is she ill?” Theresa turned pale.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a weary cynicism. “She has only been celebrating her victory with too much enthusiasm.”

“Victory?”

Consternation flitted over his features, but he was able to reply with creditable casualness, “Heavens, don’t ask me. I try not to become involved in all the domestic squabbles and feminine wrangles.”

Denise, her face a picture of mystified curiosity, left the room. Theresa stared after her with a dissatisfied look before she turned away with a shrug. She smiled suddenly. “I’m the hostess, aren’t I? I wonder if they would bring coffee and cakes and lemonade if I asked for it?”

Darcourt raised his brows at this rather audacious proposal from his retiring sister, but he reassured her. When Theresa had stepped to the door he looked at Elizabeth. “I am sorry about this morning,” he said softly, “it must have been an ordeal for you.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.” It did no harm to pretend.

“I wish there was something I could do. I think you would have been good for Oak Shade, and for Joseph.”

“Would have been?”

“Bernard cannot let you stay, you know. His pride, the pride of the Delacroix family, win not let him.”

“I didn’t intend to stay,” she said, anger making her careless.

“He will not let you carry the baby with you,” he warned. “Not Felix’s son. Joseph is a Delacroix and also heir to half this parish.”

When Elizabeth did not answer his eyes held steady on her face, thoughtfulness gathering deep within their gold-flecked depths. “If I can be of any service to you, you will let me know, won’t you?”

“Why should you want to do that?”

He laughed shortly. “Personal reasons. I know what it is like to look for crumbs beneath the Delacroix table. I know what it is like to want to get away.”

He did not elaborate on this cryptic statement and Elizabeth, concentrating on her own problems, did not ask him to explain. She only heard the understanding in his voice.

Theresa turned back into the room. “You should have seen the look on the face of the boy in the hall! He couldn’t have been more surprised if one of the family portraits had spoken to him; but he carried my message to the kitchen.”

Elizabeth smiled and glanced at Darcourt to see if he was aware of how wonderful it was that Theresa could laugh at herself, but Darcourt was not smiling. There was an intent look in the eyes that followed his sister.

They talked for a few minutes. Theresa was too self-conscious and Elizabeth herself too preoccupied for the conversation to be easy, but it was not as strained as she had feared. Before it had a chance to grow really easy they were interrupted.

Denise flung the door open. She stood in the frame, her hands clasped together and her eyes blazing with satisfaction.

Theresa started to her feet with a cry of surprise. The Frenchwoman ignored her, staring at Elizabeth.

“I knew it! I knew there was something peculiar about you. It was only a matter of time before I found out!”

“What are you talking about?” Theresa stumbled a little as she took a step toward Denise.

“This woman is not who she pretends to be! She is not a widow! She is an impostor! I have it straight from your mother’s lips.”

Elizabeth got to her feet. She knew there was no way to stop Denise, and so she did not try but stood without speaking, letting the raucous, jeering voice wash over her.

“No,” Theresa whispered. “She is my friend.”

“I could not allow you to be closeted with her another moment. It was my duty to return to you. There is no saying what mischief such a corrupting influence can cause.”

“No!”

“But we need not be troubled much longer,” Denise went on, ignoring Theresa’s outburst. “She will not be staying. I have your mother’s assurance that her presence will not be tolerated.”

“No! I will—will not—listen! I will not! I will not! I will not!”

Theresa’s voice rose to a scream as she raised one hand to her throat as if it hurt her. Feeling the garnet necklace she curled her fingers around it and tore it from her neck. Then in a frenzy she caught at her hair, tearing it free of its pins as sobs shook her and she cried over and over, “She was my friend, my friend, my friend—” Like a hurt animal, she bowed over, her arms clasped across her waist, and scuttled toward her room, slamming the door behind her.

Denise turned a pasty white as she saw what she had done.

“Don’t stand there, woman,” Darcourt snapped. “Get Grand’mere!”

“It’s her fault!” Denise screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Elizabeth. “She is the cause of it all, her and her new ideas. Imposter!”

Touched to the quick at last, Elizabeth moved forward to defend herself, but Darcourt turned to her. “Please! Not now. We must quiet Theresa before she hurts herself.”

Throwing Elizabeth a baleful glare, Denise hurried away. When she bad gone, Darcourt touched Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“Perhaps you had better go back to your room. I know you don’t want more trouble. I—I’m sorry.”

Elizabeth saw that he was right. “Sorry?” she repeated distractedly. “Why should you be sorry?”