“Well, now,” said Captain Tierney, stopping beside him to admire the picture. “Forgive me, Mr. Vallerand, but I don’t envy a man with a wife so comely. If she were mine, I’d keep her locked away out of sight.”
“It’s a tempting idea,” Max said, and laughed. “But I prefer having her with me.”
“I can understand why,” Tierney said fervently.
When Max discovered Lysette’s enjoyment of the theater, he began taking her to the St. Pierre, where the prominent members of the community gathered on Tuesdays and Saturdays to enjoy music, drama, and opera. Between acts, people moved around the theater to socialize and gossip.
Gradually it became the habit of many couples to stop by the Vallerands’ box and chat idly, for it was noticed that since his marriage, Maximilien had undergone a marked change in character. Although he still possessed a certain reserve, he was far more amiable and relaxed, reminding many of the charming boy he had been in the years before he had married Corinne Quérand. The old rumors lost some of their power as Creoles and Americans alike saw that Maximilien’s new wife regarded him with an obvious lack of fear. Perhaps, it was whispered, he wasn’t a devil after all. No man who doted on his wife so openly could be entirely bad.
———
“Maman,” Lysette said lightly, laying her hand on Irénée’s shoulder as the older woman bent over needlework in the parlor, “I have something to ask you.”
“Oui?”
“Would you have any objections if I went through some of the things in the attic?”
Irénée’s head remained bent. Her fingers stopped moving. It was clear she was startled. “Why would you want to do that?”
Lysette shrugged diffidently. “No particular reason. Justin mentioned that there are some interesting things stored away up there— portraits and clothes, old toys. One of these days, perhaps there will be a need to refurbish the nursery, and—”
“Nursery?” Irénée repeated alertly. “Do you suspect you might be with child, Lysette?”
“No.”
“Incomprehensible,” Irénée murmured under her breath. At first she had been mildly amused by her son’s voracious appetite for his new bride. Now she was beginning to find it vaguely appalling. Noeline had smugly attributed it to the voodoo charms she had hidden under Lysette’s pillow the first few weeks of the marriage.
Lysette smiled idly. “Now that I’ve spoken to you about it, I’ll put on an apron and see what I can find up there.”
“Wait,” Irénée said with an edge in her voice that Lysette had never heard before. “You are going up there to search through her things, are you not?”
“Yes,” Lysette admitted, her blue eyes unblinking.
“What do you hope to find?”
“I don’t know. I’m certain that it won’t harm anyone if I look through a few old trunks and boxes.”
“Does Max know?”
“Not yet. I will tell him tonight, when he returns home.”
Irénée held back her advice to wait and ask Max first. She hoped Max would be furious when Lysette told him what she had done. Perhaps then he would set the girl back on her heels, and Lysette would no longer be given free rein. Max needed to see that he was allowing the girl too much freedom. “Very well,” Irénée said evenly. “Ask Noeline for the keys to the trunks.”
———
Lysette and Justin had climbed up into the attic and cleared a place among piles of oddities. There was a set of bronze lamps and an old bayonet in the corner. Behind the trunks were a disassembled tester bed, a rocking cradle, and a wooden tub.
Lysette sneezed repeatedly, waving at a cloud of dust as she struggled with the massive lid of a trunk. As she opened it, its rusted hinges squealed. There was a protesting noise from Justin, who was rattling a key in the lock of another trunk nearby. “Sang de Dieu, don’t do that again,” he exclaimed. “I hate that sound. Worse than fingernails on a slate!”
“I had no idea your nerves were so fragile, Justin.” Lysette laughed as she pulled out a folded quilt, a sumptuous trapunto design of delicate rococo swirls, vines, and flowers. Thousands of tiny stitches and much painstaking work had contributed to its exquisite texture. “What did Philippe say when you told him what we were doing?” she asked.
“He is glad that I am with you. Someone needs to protect you if Maman’s ghost jumps out of one of these trunks.”
Lysette frowned. “Justin, don’t!”
He grinned. “Are you scared?”
“I will be if you keep talking about ghosts!” She smiled at him ruefully. Dust motes drifted in and out of the light that came through the attic window. “Justin, will it upset you if I look at these things?”
“No, I’m as curious as you are. You’re hoping to find some clue about who might have killed her, n’est-ce pas? You’ll do better with my help. I might be able to recognize something you—”
The boy stopped speaking as he looked at the quilt she held, his eyes wide. “I remember that!”
Lysette looked down at the quilt, her hand smoothing over the intricate swirls. “You do?”
“It was on Maman’s bed. There should be a stain on one of the edges. I jumped on her bed once and made her spill her coffee.” Justin had a faraway look on his face. “She was so angry. Dieu, what a temper she had.”
“Were you afraid of her?”
Justin stared at the quilt with dark sapphire eyes, still remembering. “Sometimes she was so beautiful and soft. But when she was in one of her rages…oui, I was afraid of her. It’s strange to love someone and at the same time fear that she might kill you.”
“Justin, you do not have to stay up here with me. If it is painful for you—”
“It was odd, the way it happened,” he continued absently. “Maman was there one day, and then the next, she was gone. Completely gone. Father made certain that every trace of her was removed from sight. Grand-mère told me that she had gone away for a long visit. Then Father left for several days. When he returned, he didn’t look the same at all. He was hard and cold… he looked like the picture of the devil in one of my books— I thought he was the devil. I thought he had taken Maman away.”
Lysette’s heart ached for Max and his sons. She lay the quilt aside and delved back into the trunk, coming up with an armful of tiny baby clothes and bonnets. “It’s not difficult to guess who these belonged to,” she said. “Everything is in twos.”
Justin reached out and took one of the miniature gowns in his long, callused fingers. “You can tell them apart. Everything I wore has a rip or a stain. Everything Philippe wore is immaculate.”
Lysette laughed. As she searched the trunk, she discovered piles of lace collars, embroidered gloves, delicate painted fans. All of them must have belonged to Corinne. She picked up a pair of silk lace gloves and put them down hastily, feeling guilty at sorting through a dead woman’s possessions. To her discomfort, she was also aware of a sting of jealousy. Seeing these personal belongings made it seem real, that there had been another woman Max had loved enough to marry. He had made love to her, and she had borne him two children.
Searching through more trunks, Lysette found elaborately beaded and festooned garments, lavish gowns, dainty undergarments. The clothes were made for a tall, slender woman. Lysette’s sense of being an intruder grew stronger with each revelation. She discovered a tiny bronze box containing two dried cakes of red face paint, and an ornate comb, decorated with pearls and an egret feather. Two or three long, dark hairs were caught in the teeth of the comb. Corinne’s hair, she thought, and a cold feeling went down her spine.
“Justin,” she asked reluctantly, “are there any portraits of your mother up here?” She had to see what Corinne had looked like. Her curiosity was nearly unbearable.
“I suppose.” Justin climbed over an armoire on its side to a stack of frames covered by a canvas tied with cords. Pulling out his knife, he cut the cords and tugged at the dust-caked cloth. Lysette scrambled to her feet, sore from havi
ng been on her knees so long. She made her way to him and looked over his shoulder at one portrait after another. One was of a very attractive woman.
“Is that her?” Lysette asked hopefully.
“No, it is Grand-mère. Can’t you see?”
“Oh, yes.” She recognized Irénée’s dark eyes in the woman’s young, solemn face.
“Here is Maman,” Justin said, pulling the portrait aside to display the next one.
Lysette went still at the sight, amazed by the lavish beauty of the young woman. Her sultry violet-blue eyes— Justin’s eyes— were exotic and heavily lashed. Sable curls framed her face, one dangling artlessly against her long white throat. Her lips were red and perfectly bow-shaped, touched with a flirtatious quirk. For all her dazzling beauty, however, Corinne had possessed a soft, vulnerable quality. No wonder Max had succumbed to her heartbreaking beauty.
“Did she really look like that?” Lysette asked, and Justin smiled at the plaintive note in her voice.
“Yes, belle-mère. But you are just as pretty.”
Lysette smiled ruefully and sat on a trunk. A cloud of dust wafted upward and swirled around her. She heard Justin snicker.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Your hair is all gray. So is your face.”
She returned Justin’s smile, observing that his black hair was covered with dust and spiderwebs, and his face was streaked with filth. “So is yours.”
He grinned crookedly. “Have we seen enough for today, belle-mère?“
“Yes,” she said fervently. “Allons, Justin. I am ready to leave now.”
She began to climb down from the attic through a square opening framed with beams, to a ladder propped against the wall below. Justin cautioned her to mind her balance, as it was a long distance to the cypress floor below. “Careful,” he èaid, watching her descend the first few steps. “There used to be a railing, but it was broken.”
“Why doesn’t someone fix it?”
“Because no one ever comes up here.”
Lysette made no reply as she concentrated on placing her feet securely. Suddenly the silence was broken by a startling shout.
“What are you doing up there?”
Her entire body jumped at the unexpected noise. Terrified, Lysette felt herself lose her balance and sway backward. With a sharp cry. she reached out frantically to save herself, but her fingers clutched empty air. Swiftly Justin leaned over the attic open ing and grabbed for her, crushing her wrist in a bru tal grip. She gasped as she felt herself dangling in midaii, suspended only by Justin’s hand wrapped around her arm.
Glancing downward, she saw a man with dark hair below them. “M-Max!”
But it wasn’t Max. It was Bernard, who repeated his furious shout.
Lysette reached for Justin’s arm with her free hand. “I have you,” the boy said roughly. “You’re not going to fall. Can you reach the ladder with your feet?”
She strained, but could not touch it.
“Uncle Bernard… help…” Justin gasped, but a searing pain in his side prevented him from speaking further.
Bernard was strangely slow to move.
Lysette felt the grip around her arm slip a little. “Justin!”
“I’ll help,” Bernard murmured, moving beneath Lysette.
However, Justin had used every ounce of his remaining strength to pull Lysette up to the opening of the attic. Her stomach slammed against the exposed beam, and she lost her breath. Justin kept pulling until she was halfway across his lap. She lay without moving while Justin pried her fingers away from his trembling arm and dragged his sleeve across his face. He blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite focus properly.
Bernard appeared at the top of the steps. His face was dark with rage. “You could have waited for me to assist you.”
Justin moistened his lips and spoke with an effort, his young face gray with pain. “You wanted her to fall, Bernard.”
“What kind of insane accusation is that? I was coming to help!”
“You took your damned time about it,” Justin said hoarsely.
“Explain what you two were doing up there,” Bernard demanded.
Ignoring him, Justin bent over Lysette and urged her to sit upright. Dazed, she held her stomach and breathed deeply. “Justin,” she said, realizing what he had done, “are you hurt? Your wound— is it bleeding?”
He shook his head impatiently.
“You were searching through Corinne’s belongings, weren’t you?” Bernard shouted. “You have no right to do such a thing. I forbid it!”
Justin began to retort hotly, but Lysette silenced him with a touch on his shoulder. She stared coldly at Bernard.
“You forbid?” she repeated. “I was not aware, Bernard, that you were in a position to forbid me anything.”
“Or me!” Justin added, unable to keep quiet.
“It’s not decent,” Bernard said savagely. “Pawing through her possessions just to satisfy your petty jealousies, prying and staring. By God, I hope she curses you from the grave!”
His words lashed through the silence. Until now Lysette had never seen evidence of Bernard’s temper. She found it curious that his wrath had been aroused on behalf of his dead sister-in-law.
She kept her voice very soft. “Why are you so upset, Bernard?”
He ignored the question. “I’m going to tell Max about what you’ve done as soon as he arrives home. By the time I’m through, he’ll beat you— as he should have a long time ago.”
“We’ll see,” Lysette said. “Now please leave so Justin and I may descend without further mishap.”
Bernard’s face purpled, and he went down the steps. Unfortunately, Justin’s temper was still smoldering, and he leaned over the edge of the stairwell to call after Bernard.
“Who appointed you guardian over her belongings, Uncle? She was my mother. What was she to you?”
Bernard swung around as if he had been struck, looking up at Justin with a flash of pure hatred. Uncomprehending, Justin stared at his uncle, his blue eyes bewildered.
———
Had Lysette wanted, she could have been the first to rush to Max when he arrived, to tell him her side of the story before Bernard or Irénée spoke to him. She chose not to. Opening the bedchamber door, she looked down as Max came into the entrance hall. Immediately Bernard and Irénée beseiged him, one angry, the other merely concerned, while Max stared at them both in dumbfounded silence. It was impossible for Lysette to hear what they said, but the tone of their complaints was clear.
Sighing, Lysette closed the door. She went to the large chair by the hearth and rubbed her temples to soothe a throbbing ache. Several minutes passed, but she did not move until she heard Max come into the room.
“Bon soir,” she murmured with a weary smile, knowing that he was undoubtedly furious with her. But she was too tired to argue, or win him over, or try any of her usual tactics to divert him. “Tell me right away, mon mari… how much trouble am I in?”
Chapter 13
Max’s gaze swept over her, and his stern face softened as he crossed the room. Lysette gave a sigh of relief as he gathered her in his arms. The tightness in her chest eased. The familiar scent of him was soothing and pleasant, and the strength of his body elicited a shiver of comfort from the very marrow of her bones.
His lips brushed over hers, and he sat down in the chair, pulling her onto his lap. “Madame, would you care to tell me what happened today?”
Lysette snuggled against his chest. “I did not expect one little visit to the attic to stir up such trouble. Besides, you’ve told me before that I may do whatever I please in this house.”
“Of course you may.”
“Justin was with me.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“All we did was open a few boxes and trunks.”
His warm hand moved over her back in an idle pattern. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I wasn’t looking for anythin
g. I was just looking. And Bernard behaved very strangely, Max.” Lifting her head from his shoulder, she gazed at him earnestly. “From the way he behaved, one would think that Corinne had been his wife. He was absolutely furious.”
“I understand. Bernard can be high-handed at times.”
“This was more than high-handed!”
“Let me explain my brother to you, petite,” Max said gently. “You’ve always known him to keep his emotions to himself. But occasionally they do surface, and when that happens they do so with an explosion. Today Bernard had a rare burst of temper. Tomorrow he’ll be his usual glum self. C’est ça. He’s always been like that.”
“But when he spoke about Corinne—”
“Her death, and the circumstances surrounding it, affected us all. I’m certain Bernard has done his share of wondering what happened to Corinne, and whether he could have done something to prevent it. Perhaps that is why he is so protective of her possessions now.”
Lysette pondered his explanation. In that light, the episode seemed far more reasonable than it had this afternoon. But there was a question in her mind that refused to go away, and she had to ask it, even at the risk of making him angry.
“Max, are you certain that Bernard’s feelings for Corinne were not something more than brotherly affection? Whenever Corinne’s name is mentioned, he reacts in what I consider to be an odd manner. This afternoon wasn’t the first time he and I have exchanged words about her. After I went to the old overseer’s cottage— you remember that day?— he told me not to pry into the past anymore, or it would come back to ruin me.”
Max was still, but she sensed a new tension in his limbs. “Why didn’t you tell me about that before?”
“I didn’t know you well enough,” Lysette replied in a subdued tone. “I was afraid it would upset you.” She peered into his face, trying to read his thoughts. “You haven’t answered my question about his feelings for Corinne.”
“As far as I know, there is only one woman Bernard has ever loved. Ryla Curran, the daughter of an American who settled his family in New Orleans after years of running a flatboat up and down the river. The match was an impossible one… she was from a Protestant family. But eventually they had an affair, and she became pregnant with his child. She disappeared without a word to her friends or family about where she was going. Bernard has searched for years, but he has never been able to find her.”