Ladies~
I
had to return to Devil’s Bayou this night on urgent matters. Please expect me
tomorrow evening. If a need arises that you must travel here, I urge you to
never leave the other alone, and always travel with Ajax. He is a good fellow,
and I think you will find yourself very safe with him.
~Jeremy
Alexandra was again baffled. What could be so urgent
that Jeremy would leave them at such a trepidatious time? Frustrated, she
crumpled the letter and sat down at Cinnamon’s vanity. She looked into the
mirror and frowned at her crazy bangs and the wisps of hair escaping from her
braid. She pulled the ribbon from her braid and picked her long, dark brown
hair out of it’s braid and began to run the silver-handled brush through
it.
The only resident of Eau D’Noir who knew what had
prompted Jeremy to leave so abruptly was a gray cat named Tybalt, who was on
his way home.
Jeremy had walked home quickly, almost at a bound.
He suspected he’d have a visitor waiting for him when he arrived home- and he
was anxious to see her as he suspected she was to see him. He pushed his way through the tangle of trees
and shrubs, furious. He’d wring her little neck! He’d wring her stupid, selfish
little neck.
Tybalt was surprised at how quickly Jeremy traveled.
He had a difficult time keeping up with him- and he seemed to know every step.
Every gulley and clearing seemed as familiar to Jeremy as if it was his
bedroom.
Jeremy took the stone steps up to Devil’s Bayou’s
front doors three at a time, and threw open the enormous oak doors with one
hand as he hastened through them. Tybalt heard him shout a name as the doors
closed behind him, just a moment too soon for the cat to sneak in unnoticed. Tybalt
crept around to the window, but heavy curtains blocked the way, so he began a
circle around the house to find a way in, or a way to observe. He found a
stained glass window high up on a ledge, on the west side of the house that he
could peer through with some effort.
Jeremy
threw off his cloak as he crossed the threshold. He forgot that the jar was
still concealed in it, and it shattered as it hit the floor. Jeremy cursed and
turned briefly to look at it, but continued on to the drawing room, where he
hoped to find his visitor.
Old Ben stood in the hallway, hobbling to meet his
master.
“Where is she?” thundered Jeremy, fire in his eyes,
“Where is she!?”
“She’s here, sir. She’s just arrived a moment ago,”
Ben glanced over his shoulder.
“I ought to kill you!” Jeremy addressed his visitor
before he even saw her, storming into the drawing room as Old Ben leaned over
to clean the glass shards from the floor.
Her laugh was like falling gold coins.
“There are lots of thing you ought to do with me,
Tarleton, and you haven’t done many of them yet,” she giggled again.
“You!” Jeremy
strode up to her and put his hand at her neck, “You little monster. You set the
witch on her.”
“Not much good it did,” the woman spat, slapping his
hand away, “At least she’s proving better sport that some others I’ve dealt
with. Although I ought to take care of a little wolf problem that’s been
upsetting me.”
Jeremy took a step back, a half smile on his face,
“I think you’ll find Ajax up to your treachery. He never leaves her side.”
The woman sank back into her chair, “Ah, yes, you
and your wolves. Honestly I don’t know what you see in the slobbering, howling
things.”
She sank back into her chair, laughing still.
“Very amusing,” Jeremy snarled.
“Oh, come now,” she smiled her pretty, feminine
smile, “It was your idea. Nobody even asked. You were just being gallant and
decided to try to save the world. How is that working out for you? Better than
last time, I hope. You’ve built a better cage for her, I hope? Personally I’d
just let her run wild. Kill or be killed, you know.”
“I know
perfectly well what you would do, you beastly villain.”
She pulled out a cigarette case with an elegant owl
engraven on the front, opened it, tapped out a long, white cigarette, and
casually lit it.
“Now Tarleton,” she chided, inhaling, “is that any
way to talk to your One?”
“I hate it when you call me that.”
She laughed, snorting smoke through her nose, “Oh
yes. I had forgotten.”
“We’re not here to talk about wolves,” Jeremy leaned
over and took the cigarette from her hand and took a drag, then threw it into
the fire.
“No,” she replied, taking another cigarette out, a
little irritably this time, and lit it, “I suppose not.”
“Leave Cinnamon alone. She’s no threat to you, she
doesn’t even know about you, she’s done nothing…” Jeremy growled, but was cut
off.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. She’s taken what is
rightfully mine, and I always get what I want,” she took a long drag from the
cigarette, “And I don’t know why you seem to be so attached to her. She’s some
silly little farm creature, not a real Rassmussen like me. You’ve never had really astute taste. Not in women, and
not in wine. Though I brought a vintage you might care for,” she lightly tapped
a bottle at her side, “It used to be your favorite, I remember, back when you
used to indulge. Sweet and thick and full-bodied, French-Creole type. Would you
share a glass with me, just for old times’ sake?”
Jeremy snorted in derision.
“Ah,” the beautiful woman laughed
softly to herself, “Still the little Puritan, I see.”
She
poured herself a glass, and sipped it slowly, looking deeply into her beverage
as if she might discern the future within it’s depths.
She looked up from her glass at Jeremy, “I should be
the one in that mansion, not her, and I’ll take what’s rightfully mine soon
enough.”
“She hasn’t taken anything. Old Rassmussen left that
to her in his will, and not to you,” Jeremy growled.
Her eyes flashed, “No. The answer is no, I won’t
leave her alone. I hate her and despise her. I’ll be rid of her soon, as well.
You’d better tell her not to let strangers in her house; I have a friend coming
into town, someone you know, I believe. She’s very…persuasive. And no amount of
dogs will keep up at bay. You can’t watch her every moment, and just when you think
you are safe… You know what fun Lala likes to have.”
Jeremy felt the cold chill of alarm rise up his
spine, but his face registered nothing.
“You don’t mean Delphine,” he said.
“I do mean Delphine. My own darling Lala.”
“She swore never to show her face here again.”
“Anyone who knows her face is dead now,” the woman
laughed, “And she hasn’t got any plans just yet. But you know how fond of me
she has grown... Now, will you be a dear, Tarleton? I’m retiring to my room,
I’ve had a long night. Old Ben will have made it up for me by now.”
Jeremy
reached his arm across her path to block her way; she lifted one eyebrow
delicately at him.
“She won’t help you. You’ll not persuade her to
return.”
“Tarleton, you don’t know how close Lala and I have
become. She would do anything for me,” she pushed past him and walked swiftly
down the hall to her accustomed quarters, taking the candelabra with her.
Jeremy clenched his fists and watched her go. A
muscle in his jaw twitched slightly. He wished he could kill that woman, but
knew that she had him in check, and for the time he would simply have to endure
her… and watch her closely.
Tybalt had seen and heard very little, but he knew
that it meant a storm, and a bad one. He’d better get home to Cinnamon. He
turned and jumped off of the ledge and began scurrying across the swamp back
home.
Alexandra was still brushing her hair when she heard
Tybalt downstairs, scratching and meowing to be let in. She sighed and looked
around for Cinnamon’s dressing robe, which she borrowed and tied low on her
waist, then went to let the cat in. It wasn’t really Cinnamon’s dressing robe;
it was Old Rassmussen’s. Cinnamon had found it in the closet with his other
clothes and adopted it, as she had with several of Old Rassmussen’s clothes. It
was too big for either girl, and the sleeves had to be rolled up considerably.
It still smelled faintly of cigar smoke, which Alexandra had initially found
disturbing, and had washed it three times before she resigned herself to it.
The smells of everything permeated in the mansion; the perfumes that Alyce had
once worn still had the pointed scent of lilacs and magnolia, and the smell of
brandy and cigars often wafted up from the library. From time to time,
Alexandra thought that she heard the sound of a man’s voice, the tromping of
thick-soled boots and a heavy walking stick, or even laughter from a group of
men gathered down in the library or the velvet-clad smoking lounge. It unnerved
her, but she had never yet seen anyone there.
She unlatched the front door and let the persistent
cat back inside. From across the still-dark bayou the wind brought the faint
scent of magnolias.
