They rose before dawn and drank a breakfast of black coffee and Bloody Marys.
‘I wish I didn’t have to leave you,’ Eden said at last, her jacket round her shoulders, car keys in her hand.
‘I’ll be all right.’ There was no conviction in Gussie’s voice. It was if she had difficulty concentrating on Eden’s presence. Her eyes kept being drawn away from Eden and towards the giant oaks across the dew-wet lawn.
‘I’ll be back as soon as possible, Gussie.’
‘Yes.’
Eden hesitated. It was as if Gussie kept entering another world. Last night, for a brief while, the spell had been broken but now, insidiously, it was back in full force. Cold fingers squeezed Eden’s heart. Was it Beau Gussie could see standing beneath the ghostly outline of the oaks? Was he talking to her even now? One thing was certain. If he came for her, Gussie would go as unprotestingly as a bride into the arms of her bridegroom. She would be unable to help herself.
Eden ran to her car. Its tyre marks blazed across several feet of perfectly tended turf. If she needed any evidence of the reality of the events of the previous night, the tyre marks supplied them. She was not highly strung; she was not of a nervous disposition; she was not over-imaginative. What she had seen, she had seen. A tall, lean, powerful figure caught in the headlights of her car as he tried to enter St Michel.
She headed out of New Orleans on the Eastern Expressway. It would be a long haul to Atlanta and she would have to be back by nightfall. She dare not leave Gussie alone in St Michel. She fumbled on the seat beside her for her bag and opened it. Her address book was there, thank God. She could always ring Dr Meredith. At the thought of what exactly she would say to him, she blanched. He wouldn’t believe her. She couldn’t expect him to. Only Mae would believe her. And Leila Jefferson. Her diary was there as well. She flicked it open and caught her breath. June twenty-second. Nearly a year to the day since they had sat, giggling and light-hearted, in Gussie’s bedroom. Was that why Beau was making his presence increasingly felt? Was he waiting for Midsummer’s Eve? For the anniversary of his death? She fought down the sobs that rose to her throat. She had to reach Atlanta quickly and she could not do so in a state of near-hysteria. She had to calm down; forget about Beau Clay and concentrate on the road ahead of her.
With relief she left Louisiana and entered Mississippi. It was still early morning and so far she hadn’t picked up a ticket for speeding. Not that she gave a damn for tickets. She would probably be festooned with them by the time she reached her destination. All that mattered was that she arrived. Fast. And that Mae return to New Orleans with her.
Gussie, her eyes blank, had watched Eden’s car disappear down the drive. Only Eden and Allie had prevented Beau from claiming her. Now Eden was gone and so was Allie. Tonight Beau would triumph. Almost mechanically she walked out into the dawn chill and plucked a rose. No limousine appeared at her side. Had Horatio left St Michel along with Louis and Sabina? Today was important. Today she had to leave her rose at the Clay mausoleum. He would know if she did not do so. He would be angry.
Panic seized her. She began to run towards the corner of the white stuccoed mansion, down the side, towards the garage. There was no sign of Horatio. The cars shone sleekly, keys in the ignitions. She opened the door of her Chevrolet. Horatio never left the keys in the car. Doing so was his way of telling her he was leaving. Had left. She reversed into the pale light of dawn. She was sorry Horatio had gone; and Allie. She had liked them. An early-morning paper boy waved blearily to her as she motored towards the city. No one else was about. She was glad. Her dawn visits to the cemetery were private. She wanted no one to see her; no one to intrude. The cemetery was wreathed in a haze that presaged heat. She left the car and walked swiftly towards the ornate magnificence of the Clay tomb.
‘Augusta, Augusta!’ His shadow enveloped her, possessive and demanding.
She stretched her hands out before her but her fingertips met only air.
‘Will it be tonight, Beau?’ she asked desperately. ‘Will you come for me tonight? Will we both be set free?’
‘Augusta …’ The voice was a faint, vanishing whisper. The shadow was gone.
She began to cry. He gave her so little comfort. She remembered the mocking lines of his mouth, the hint of cruelty. Did he torment her on purpose?
‘Oh, Beau,’ she wept. ‘I’m sorry. I was a child. I didn’t realize the enormity of what I was doing.’
The silence taunted her. Dejectedly she left her offering and returned to her car. It was nearly over. Soon he would have his heart’s desire. She slid behind the wheel and pushed her hair away from her face. He had been her heart’s desire, too. Why, then, did she feel no joy? Why did terror stalk her, rendering her helpless, clouding her mind? Early morning traffic was beginning to pour into the city. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple and eased her Chevrolet into the empty, northbound lane. It was as if what strength she had possessed had deserted her. She felt weak and tired; too tired to garage the car. She left it, engine still running, door wide open, and made her way to her room and her unmade bed. Allie was beginning to make her absence felt. Uncaringly she drew the crumpled sheets around her shoulders and slept.
The knocking on the door awakened her. She blinked, disorientated. Why didn’t someone answer the door? The brass knocker slammed again, the noise reverberating through the empty house. She groaned. Louis had left. Allie had left. There was no one to still the insistent banging but herself.
Reluctantly she hurried bare-footed along the landing, and as the knocking increased in ferocity, ran lightly down the stairs. She would have to give Jim Meredith a key. He still called in each morning. Nothing was achieved by his visits but it kept him happy. Or at least Gussie supposed that it did.
The door was hard to open. She hadn’t realized how seldom she opened it for herself. It creaked slightly on its hinges. ‘I’m sorry, Jim, I …’
Bradley stared down at her.
Her lips parted silently, her eyes widening.
‘Going somewhere?’ he asked, a distinct edge to his voice as his eyes flicked from her to the Chevrolet.
‘Nn … no.’ She was stammering, blood surging into her cheeks.
His brows rose fractionally.
She had forgotten how tall he was; how broad; how safe he made her feel.
‘I’ve been out. I must have forgotten to turn the engine off.’
‘It’s still only eight-thirty.’ His face was grim. There was no laughter in his eyes, no warmth in his voice.
‘Is it? I was up early.’
‘You look as if you’ve just got out of bed,’ he said starkly.
Nervously her hand touched her unbrushed hair. For the first time she became aware that she was shoeless.
‘I …’ No more words would come.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
‘I … No …’ The pain behind her eyes was blinding. ‘I must go, Bradley. I’m sorry …’
She moved to close the door but a strong hand encircled her wrist, holding her fast.
‘Has it come to this, Gussie? Slamming the door in my face?’
‘No, Bradley. It’s just that … that …’ She floundered helplessly.
‘Just what, Gussie? That you don’t love me any more? Don’t even like me!’
A knife entered her heart and twisted vidently. ‘I do like you, Bradley. I do …’ She choked, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Do what?’ he asked savagely. ‘Do love me? Say it, Gussie. I want you to say it!’
She felt as if her wrist would break.
‘No! I don’t love you, Bradley! I don’t want to see you! Not ever!’
His brows flew together, his rage murderous. ‘I don’t believe you, Gussie. What is it with you? Why do you live here all alone? Why are you never seen? Why did Allie run away in the middle of last night?’
She froze, staring up at him like a rabbit at a stoat. ‘Allie? How do you know about Allie?’
‘Christ!’ he said explosively. ‘Everyone in the district knows about it by now! She woke the Jefferson household just after midnight. Her mother is cook there. From what Mrs Jefferson says, she was out of her mind with fear. Babbling about black magic, voodoo and spirits from the dead.’
Gussie felt the blood drain from her face. If Jim Meredith heard he would take her away from St Michel by force. Beau would be unable to claim her. She would be locked up in a State institution, tormented by his anguish, by his voice and by his shadow. A fear that was crippling lent her strength.
‘She’s a fool. You’re all fools. Oh God, why won’t you leave me alone?’
Her desperation permeated his rage.
‘Is it so bad, Gussie?’ he asked, his voice suddenly tender.
Her eyes were tortured. ‘Please leave me alone,’ she whispered. She sagged like a broken doll against the frame of the door, tears coursing down her cheeks.
His voice caught and deepened. ‘I can’t leave you alone, Gussie. I love you.’
His face was harsh with concern, abrasive in its masculinity.
‘I’m going to Houston for two nights. I thought you might like the trip.’
Houston: glass and marble skyscrapers. The Astrodome. Hermann Park. Drinks at Cody’s on Montrose.
‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No …’
‘I’ll see you when I get back. I can’t take no for an answer, Gussie. I’ve tried, but I love you too much.’
She stared up at him and froze. When he came back she would no longer be at St Michel. She would be with Beau.
‘Yes,’ she lied through parched lips. ‘I’ll see you when you get back. Goodbye, Bradley.’
He stood for several seconds staring at the door as she closed it behind her. Despite her tears and her insistence that she be left alone, she had agreed to see him again. Reluctantly he turned on his heel and walked across to his Thunderbird, turning off the Chevrolet’s engine and closing its door on the way. There was still hope. It would have to suffice for the next forty-eight hours. Heavy-hearted he drove away and headed west.
Eden left Birmingham, Alabama behind her with relief. She was making good time. Another hour and she would be in Georgia. She had purposely not phoned Mae to tell her she was coming. She didn’t want to give Mae the opportunity to slip away. She wondered if Gussie was aware of how near Midsummer’s Eve was. She hadn’t seemed to be. Days, weeks and months seemed to pass by for Gussie in one long, static moment. Eden lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Yesterday morning she had wanted Leila Jefferson to convince Gussie that she was letting an obsession ruin her life. Now she wanted Leila for a far more urgent reason: to lay the spirit of Beau Clay to rest. She remembered the tension that had emanated from him in life. His brooding magnetism. He had died because Augusta had summoned him to her side. Gussie’s image had been on his brain, her name on his lips as his car had been sucked beneath the surface of the swamp. Dear God. Eden crushed out her cigarette and lit another. What chance did they have of deflecting him from his purpose? It was Gussie herself who had said she wanted Beau to love her forever. Gussie, who, in her foolishness had said that forever was not long enough.
She crossed the State Line into Georgia and looked at her watch. The newly-married Mrs Mae Merriweather had better be home. ‘Eden!’ Pleasure flooded Mae’s plump face, to be quickly followed by anxiety. ‘What is it? Is something the matter? Why didn’t you phone?’
‘Get your purse,’ Eden commanded, whirling round Mae’s luxury home, turning off the radio, the coffee percolator, the sprinkler.
‘But why? Have you gone mad? You must be dying for a drink after that long drive. I have some Chablis …’
‘There’s no time for Chablis,’ Eden said grimly.
Mae stared at her, stunned. Coming from Eden such a statement was blasphemous.
‘None of your damned family are remotely co-operative. I wanted to get hold of your grandmother and they won’t even tell me where the Jefferson house is. I spent all yesterday lost in swamps and marshland.’
Mae stumbled and sat down heavily, her rosy cheeks ashen. ‘It’s Gussie, isn’t it?’
‘Too damned right, it’s Gussie,’ Eden said, closing doors and windows. ‘You’d better phone Austin and tell him you’ll be away for a couple of nights.’
‘But I can’t do that,’ Mae began.
Eden whipped round on her, her eyes flaming. ‘You’d better do, Mae Merriweather. Your silly ritual has already taken one life. I’m not going to let it take Gussie’s!’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Mae whispered, taking the telephone as Eden thrust it into her hand.
‘It’s killed Beau Clay and it’s killing Gussie, daily – by inches.’
Mae gasped for breath. ‘Beau’s death was an accident.’
Eden stood over her, frightening in her intensity. ‘An accident caused because he was racing to Gussie’s side. He died only seconds after we left St Michel. You know that Mae. You’ve known it all along. You knew he was driving towards New Orleans at such a suicidal speed because Gussie had summoned him. How, only God and your grandmother know, and perhaps even God has been left in the dark.’
Mae shrunk back against the cushions on the sofa. ‘Don’t say such things, Eden. Don’t! Don’t!’
‘Phone Austin,’ Eden ordered.
Reluctantly Mae did as she was bid. ‘… dreadfully sorry, darling. My grandmother’s ill. I’ll be back in a couple of days.… I love you too …’
Mae’s voice was tear-filled enough to convince Austin that her grandmother was on the point of death. As she made her stumbling excuses Eden grabbed rolls and biscuits. There would be no time to stop on the return trip and she couldn’t remember when she had last eaten.
‘I’m not an hysteric. If I say I saw him, I saw him,’ Eden said as they headed south.
Mae moaned and hugged her arms. ‘Why did we ever do it, Eden? I knew something awful would happen.’
‘No, you didn’t. You were going to do it yourself. You were going to bind Bradley Hampton to you forever.’
‘Oh God,’ Mae’s teeth chattered uncontroiably. ‘It was only a joke …’
‘It isn’t a joke now.’
‘No.’
They lapsed into silence, hardly speaking until Birmingham was in sight. Eden left the highway for a service station and filled the tank.
‘I’m going to make a couple of phone calls.’
‘Who to?’
‘Bradley Hampton and Dr Meredith.’
Five minutes later she was back in the Cadillac, her face grim.
‘We’re on our own, Mae Merriweather, whether we like it or not. Bradley is in Houston and Jim Meredith has taken his wife to Fort Lauderdale.’
‘There won’t be time,’ Mae said unhappily as the signposts for Meridian, Mississippi flashed by them. ‘It’s near dark now and the plantation is impossible to find at night. It’s surrounded by swamps and forests.’
Eden didn’t argue with her. She knew very well the kind of country that surrounded the Jefferson plantation.
‘As long as we’re both with her, it won’t matter,’ she said, wishing she could sound more confident. ‘Besides, I don’t think anything will happen tonight.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because tonight isn’t Midsummer’s Eve. Tomorrow night is.’
‘Oh God!’ May gasped again and began to cry.
‘Bradley came this morning,’ Gussie said with unnerving calm as Eden and Mae sprawled exhaustedly on the sofas. She paused as she poured a drink. ‘I could have been happy married to Bradley.’
Eden demolished a tuna sandwich and drained a glass of ice-cold Chablis. ‘Sleeping pills,’ she said, handing Gussie a couple. ‘Mae and I don’t need them. Not after the day we’ve had. But you do. We’ll see Mae’s grandmother tomorrow. All three of us will go together.’
She expected a protest from Gussie and was surprised when none came. Gussie swallowed them calmly, her composure disconcerting.
‘I never realized before how big this house is,’ Mae said as a moth fluttered against the window pane of the twenty-roomed colonial mansion.
‘Don’t you get awful lonely, Gussie?’
‘No,’ Gussie said, her hair gleaming pale-gold in the lamplight. ‘I’m never alone, Mae. Beau is with me. Always.’
‘Stop talking like that!’ Eden said sharply.
Gussie’s eyes were bleak. ‘Why? It’s the truth, Eden. You know. You’ve seen him.’
‘We need to get to bed and to sleep,’ Eden said tersely, regarding sleep as a short cut to morning. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa in your room, Gussie. Mae can sleep …’
‘I’m not sleeping on my own! I’ll sleep on the floor with you two, but I’m not sleeping on my own!’
Pillows and duvets from other rooms were gathered together and laid on the floor and sofa in Gussie’s bedroom. Mae was talking about Austin, calming down after her near-hysteria. Eden watched them, a frown creasing her forehead. Gussie was unnaturally quiet; resigned almost. The only time her eyes had not been expressionless had been when she’d mentioned Bradley’s name. Remembering the lamp that had burned in the window for Beau the previous evening, Eden insisted that they slept in darkness. Mae was reluctant and kept fear at bay by chattering about Austin; about the new house; about how they wanted a baby straight away; about how happy she was. Hearing Gussie’s polite responses, Eden felt a measure of relief. She had been right to bring Mae back with her. Right to insist they all spent the night at St Michel. Against her will, her lids closed and she drifted off to sleep.
‘So Austin said …’ Mae continued drowsily. ‘… Austin thought …’
In the darkness Gussie waited. It was sweet of Eden to go to such lengths to save her from her own fate. She had not even minded when Eden had returned from Atlanta with Mae. She had known that their presence would make little difference.
‘Augusta.’ Her name floated gently over the sleeping bodies of her friends.
‘Augusta.’
Slowly she slipped out of the bed and stepped over Mae. With sure fingers she lit the oil lamp that was a Lafayette legacy and placed it on the table near the window. In the flickering light the eyes of her dolls gleamed. She touched them fondly, rearranging a skirt here, an arm there. Then she crossed to the dressing table and began to brush her hair in long, rhythmic strokes.
Attracted by the light, moths beat frantically on the window pane. Eden turned in her sleep and sighed. Gussie lay down her silver-backed hairbrush and walked softly to the door, opening it and letting the lamplight illuminate the darkness beyond.
‘Soon,’ she whispered, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe. ‘Soon, dear love.’
She crossed to the wardrobe, searching through the dresses with trembling hands. Her fingers touched lace and she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Her wedding dress. That was what Beau had been waiting for. He had been wanting her to meet him as a bride. His bride, not Bradley Hampton’s. She paused, light-headed, unable to think clearly.
Bradley? Did she love Bradley too? She tried to conjure up his face but at the effort the blood pounded in her ears. Beau’s image swam before her, an amber flame burning deep in his eyes. The lines of his mouth were hard and savage and jealous.
‘Beau!’ she called out helplessly. ‘Oh Beau! Beau!’
It was like being poised on the edge of eternity. She felt dizzy, sick with fear and longing. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as she slipped the lace over her head and shoulders, smoothing down the bodice, the underskirts rustling as the lace settled over them.
‘I’m ready, Beau!’ Her heart began to slam in heavy, thick strokes. The blood coursed through her veins so hotly that she felt she was on fire.
‘Beau! …’
There came, unmistakeable, the sound of footsteps on gravel.
‘What the …’ Eden said, her eyes flickering open, widening instantaneously. ‘No, Gussie!’ she yelled, leaping to her feet. ‘No! No!’
Gussie smiled at her, raising a finger to her lips to silence her.
‘Goodbye, Eden.’
‘No!’ Eden threw herself forward but Gussie was beyond her grasp, moving out onto the landing as the heavy knocker slammed at the door.
‘Oh God!’ Mae screamed, sitting up wild-eyed. ‘What is it? Oh Gussie! GUSSIE!’
The knocker fell again.
‘I’m coming, Beau!’ Gussie called, her skirts in her hands as she ran down the broad curving sweep of the staircase. ‘I’m coming, sweet love!’
Eden leaned on the banisters, panting. Gussie was nearly at the foot of the stairs. Through the glass panels of the door a dark silhouetted figure stood, waiting for admittance. The knocker fell again, impatient; insistent.
‘I’m coming …’
With superhuman strength Eden wrenched the enormous, gilt-framed mirror from the wall behind her and flung it with all her might over the banisters, sending it crashing between Gussie’s running figure and the terrifying silhouette of Beau Clay.
Gussie’s shriek was ear-piercing. Glass and wood splintered and flew. For a mind-searing second Eden thought she had killed her. Mae screamed and continued to scream as Eden stumbled and fell down the crimson-carpeted stairs to where Gussie lay senseless on the marble floor.
‘Gussie!’ she cried urgently, feeling her pulse, sobbing with relief at the light, rapid beat beneath her fingertips. ‘Gussie!’
Gussie’s lids moved fractionally. Eden swung her head towards the door, drenched in the cold perspiration of fear.
Through the glass panels the moon shone clearly: not even a shadow darkening its path.
‘He’s gone, Mae,’ she said shakily. ‘Come down and help me with Gussie.’
Emerging from the door of the bedroom and walking down the dark staircase was the bravest thing Mae had ever done. ‘What are we going to do?’ she whispered shakily as Eden slapped Gussie’s cheeks. ‘Dear God, Eden. What are we going to do?’
Gussie’s eyes flickered open.
‘He’s gone,’ Eden said, her voice breaking.
‘I know.’ She looked up at them dazedly. ‘He’s gone to Houston for two days. He wanted me to go with him, but I couldn’t. Why are you looking at me so strangely, Eden?’
‘Let’s get her to bed,’ Eden said, sliding her arm round Gussie’s waist.
‘Why couldn’t I go with him? I can’t remember.’
‘One step at a time,’ Eden said as they began to mount the stairs.
‘My head feels so strange, Eden. As if I’d been flying.’
‘We’re nearly there.’
Gussie halted, staring down at her wedding gown, realization dawning, horror engulfing her. ‘Oh, no! Oh dear God! No! No!’
Eden fumbled for the light switch in Gussie’s bedroom, plunging them into brilliance. Gussie’s eyes were dilated, her face contorted with fear, her breath coming in harsh gasps. ‘He’s coming for me! He’ll find me wherever I am!’
Eden grasped her arms, shaking her viciously. ‘It’s over, Gussie. For tonight it’s over.’
Gussie sank on to the bed, hugging her arms, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘He wants me, Eden. He wants me forever!’
With a trembling hand Eden pushed the hair away from her face and sat on the dressing-table stool. Mae sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chin, crying quietly.
‘Why do you go to him?’ Eden asked unsteadily, wishing she had the strength to pour a drink; light a cigarette; anything.
‘He calls me.’ The rocking ceased. She sat very still. ‘He calls me and I feel as if I’m drowning in his voice. I can see only him. Only Beau. Other people cease to matter. Even Bradley …’
‘Stop it, Gussie!’ Eden leapt to her feet and slapped Gussie’s face hard.
Gussie stared up at her in shocked amazement.
‘You’re letting him hypnotize you!’
‘He wants me,’ Gussie said simply. ‘He won’t rest until we’re together.’
Eden’s eyes sparked flames. ‘He’s not going to have you, Gussie! To go to him means going to your death!’
Gussie moaned, rubbing her goose-fleshed arms. ‘What am I to do, Eden? He’s waiting for me. Every night he comes to St Michel, waiting to be let in.’ Her voice rose dazedly. ‘Waiting to take me …’
‘Let’s get you out of that dress,’ Eden said authoritatively, stemming the tide of hysteria. ‘Mae, stop crying and help me.’
Unresisting, Gussie allowed them to remove the wedding dress and slip a negligé over her head and shoulders.
‘We need coffee,’ Eden said, ‘strong and black.’
They looked at each other, aware that no one was on call: that the house was bereft of staff. Eden’s eyes rested on Mae.
Mae shook her head vigorously. ‘I’m not going down to make coffee. I’d rather die first.’
Eden sighed. ‘Will you be all right, Gussie, if I leave you with Mae?’
Gussie nodded.
Eden took a deep breath and then, singing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’gustily at the top of her voice, made her way down the stairs and through the house to the kitchen, switching on every light she passed.
‘I never want to spend another night like that as long as I live,’ Mae said next morning as they huddled over Bloody Marys in the sun-filled kitchen.
Eden drained her glass. ‘This is a habit I’ll have to break. Vodka and tomato juice at seven in the morning is too much for even me.’
Gussie said only, ‘I’m scared. Oh God, how I’m scared.’
‘You and me, too,’ Eden said, rising to her feet. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
They drove out of the city on Highway 10, Eden at the wheel, heading south towards the Cajun country where long ago Mae’s ancestors had settled.
‘I hate it,’ Mae said. ‘It’s all alligators, swamps and marshes. My mother always said my great-grandfather must have had a dreadful secret to hide, living so far away from civilization.’
‘Your grandmother can’t hate it,’ Eden said, glancing uneasily at Gussie who had once more lapsed into silence. ‘What do you think, Gussie?’
‘About what?’ Gussie’s eyes held the bleak expression that Eden had learned to be wary of.
‘Mae’s grandmother. She can’t hate living where she does or she wouldn’t live there, would she?’
‘No.’ Gussie’s hands twisted in her lap. Leila Jefferson. Would she be able to free her from Beau? She shivered. If Leila Jefferson could not help her, no one could.
She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. Why had she done it? Why had she been so foolish and naïve? Beau Clay had never been destined for her. He had been destined for someone as reckless, as heedless as himself. She didn’t want an exciting, fast-living lover who didn’t give a flying damn about anyone or anything. She wanted tenderness: strength; stability. A home of her own, and babies. She clenched her hands tightly together. She wanted things Beau Clay could never have given her. She wanted Bradley.
‘Are you O.K., Gussie?’ Mae asked nervously.
‘Yes. Fine,’ Gussie lied.
If only she hadn’t been so headstrong; so impatient for love. If only she had waited a little longer … With anguished eyes she stared unseeingly at the signpost for Crowley. Beau would eventually have been forgotten. Bradley would have succeeded him in her thoughts and her dreams. Bradley, who loved her of his own volition. Who needed no Midsummer’s Eve ceremony to be awakened to her existence. Dear God. Panic welled up in her. Instead of waiting for love to find her, she had demanded it and now it was destroying her. Beau Clay had never been refused anything in life, and he was not going to be refused anything in death. She was his. Just as she had wanted to be. His, forever and forever and forever.
She began to cry softly and Mae leaned forward from the back seat and laid a hand compassionately on her shoulder.
‘Don’t cry, Gussie. It’ll be all right. Just see if it won’t.’
‘Is that the turn-off for Jennings?’ Eden asked, blinking against the sun.
‘Yes,’ Mae replied unhappily. ‘We need to take Exit 27. It’ll be coming up in another few minutes.’
‘I’m not surprised your mother hardly visits,’ Eden said as she turned off the highway and headed south towards the Gulf. ‘It isn’t exactly the bright lights, is it?’
‘It gets worse,’ Mae said, leaning forward. ‘We branch off here.’
‘That’s barely a road.’
‘It’s the one we take.’
Raucous birds flew out of the undergrowth, screeching at their intrusion. Trees hemmed them in, draped in trailing fronds of Spanish moss, the ground gleaming slickly at their roots.
‘Swamp,’ Mae said unnecessarily. ‘Left again.’
‘For goodness’sake, Mae. No wonder I couldn’t find your damned plantation on my own. Doesn’t anyone believe in road signs around here?’
‘Left again,’ Mae said mercilessly. ‘We’re nearly there.’
The house had been glorious once, surrounded on all sides by gleaming white columns and balconies. Now the paint was peeling and flaked and tropical vegetation had surged over what had once been lawns. Wild roses, lilies, lavender and wild jasmine invaded the open windows of the lower rooms, their perfume lingering in the hot, airless, heat.
‘No one makes her live here,’ Mae said helplessly, as they climbed out of the Cadillac. ‘You can see why my mother doesn’t encourage visitors.’
There was a sudden start, quickly suppressed, in the eyes of the elderly maid who opened the door to them.
‘Is Grandma home, Louella?’
Dark, unfathomable eyes flicked from Mae’s tear-stained face, over Eden; and rested on Gussie.
‘She’s out on the back gallery.’
The spicy aroma of chicken simmering with garlic and herbs and red peppers filled the air. Cicadas sang in the dense surrounding foliage as old eyes met young. The shadows beneath Gussie’s eyes were dark, like bruises, the expression tormented. The old Black woman nodded her head imperceptibly. To Eden it seemed as if they had been expected. As if the stooped, wrinkled figure before them knew Augusta’s identity without being told. A tremor ran down her spine. Was the woman before them a voodooienne? If so, surely that was why they had come? She licked her lips and tried to control her fear.
‘It’s hot,’ Louella said. ‘You’ll be needing drinks. I’ll bring them out to you.’ The voice was flat. Expressionless. Uncomfortably they moved past her and into shadow inside.
The house possessed a genteel air of decay. The polished floors gleamed dully through a fine layer of dust, the scatter rugs on their surface faded and worn. There was no modern air-conditioning. Old-fashioned fans creaked and whirred, merging with the never-ending sounds from the encroaching forest and swamps. Insects buzzed incessantly. A small lizard ran across the floor and disappeared down a crack in the boards.
The furniture was sturdy: mahogany and oak; furniture that had survived from colonial days. The damask and velvet upholstery, once so rich and glowing, now barely showed any colour but sun-faded beige. There were books on the wall shelves, flowers on the tables. The waxy white of magnolias, the scarlet of bougainvillea, the flowering pink tentacles of Queen’s Wreath. All the flowers of the encroaching wilderness had been brought inside so that the rooms seemed bottled in green-tinted light. Round an open window mosquito nets hung limply and a luxuriant creeper penetrated beneath the netting and into the room, trailing over the back of a chair so that at first glance it was impossible to see where the room ended and the undergrowth began.
There was an air of shabby comfort that Gussie had not expected. Perhaps Leila Jefferson was not as unreasonable as she seemed in not living dutifully with her son and daughter-in-law.
The heat rose in waves. Gussie could feel her blouse sticking to her skin, damp with perspiration. A dog began to bark frenziedly at their approach, and Eden flinched. As they neared the door leading on to the vast gallery the dog ran towards them, glassy-eyed and angry.
‘It’s me, Houla,’ Mae said reassuringly. ‘Here boy, friend.’
The Catahoula Leopard dog growled warningly as Mae stretched out her hand and allowed it to sniff.
‘Good boy. Good dog.’ Mae’s hand moved tentatively to the top of its spotted head. The growling stopped and its tail began to move suspiciously.
‘He’s all right,’ said Mae to a nervous Eden and Gussie. ‘Just making sure of us, that’s all. He’s the best hunting dog there is.’
Gussie gave him a wide berth and they stepped out on to the back gallery.
‘Heaven help us, what a surprise!’ the old lady in the rocking chair exclaimed, rising to her feet, her eyes bright, a delighted smile on her face as she held her arms out to her granddaughter.
‘Hi, Gran.’ Mae ran towards her, hugged her, and at the bodily contact her hysteria could be controlled no longer. Her voice broke and she began to cry.
Leila Jefferson regarded her in total astonishment. ‘Mae. What is it? Is there trouble at home? Is anyone ill …?’
‘No, Gran. No. Everyone’s just fine in town,’ Mae said, struggling to control her breathing, to speak rationally. ‘But there is trouble. The most awful, unimaginable trouble …’
Unsteadily Leila Jefferson sank back down into her rocking chair, her hands still grasping Mae’s.
‘Is it that husband of yours, child? He seemed like a real fine boy.’
Mae shook her head. ‘No, Gran. It’s not Austin. It’s … It’s Gussie.’
Eden and Gussie had halted at the glass-panelled doorway as Mae had greeted her grandmother. Eden was surprised at how sane and normal the figure of New Orleans’voodoo gossip looked in the flesh. Her hair was still dark; still thick. She wore it as she had done as a girl, piled high on her head, long jet earrings hanging against a jawline that was no longer firm but still held traces of beauty. Leila Jefferson, Eden thought, must have been a stunner in her youth. No wonder she was still remembered and talked about.
Gussie had been too tense with anticipation to notice anything at all about the petite, almost dainty figure in the rocking chair. And then Mae spoke her name and Leila Jefferson froze, ageing before them, her gaiety fleeing, her delight at Mae’s visit a a thing of the past.
‘Gussie?’ she asked, and her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Gussie Lafayette?’
‘Yes, Gran. She’s …’
Leila Jefferson’s hands released Mae’s. Her eyes moved beyond her granddaughter to where Gussie stood with Eden. Not for one second did her eyes rest on Eden.
‘So it happened,’ she said, and Eden felt fear surge up and swamp her. ‘It happened as I knew it would.’
‘Gran …’
Slowly Leila Jefferson rose to her feet and faced Gussie.
‘The same hair, the same eyes, the same face …’ Her words trailed away. She remained standing, one arm on the rocking chair for support, staring at Gussie.
Eden fought to control her fear. Perhaps Leila Jefferson was crazy. Too crazy to help them. Perhaps no one could help them.
‘Poor Chantel, thinking she could escape so easily.’ The old lady’s hand reached out and took Gussie’s and Gussie began to cry. Leila Jefferson wrapped her arms around her, hushing her as if she were a child.
‘What vengeance is Loa exacting, child?’
Mae was confused. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Gran. It’s not a god. It’s not even voodoo. Not really. At least …’ she faltered. ‘… it didn’t seem like voodoo at the time. It was a joke: a silly, stupid joke.’
Leila Jefferson had returned to her chair, and Gussie knelt at her side, their hands still clasped.
‘Nothing to do with Loa can be taken lightly. It may have seemed like a joke, Mae, but Loa has waited a long time for revenge.’
Mae shook her head desperately. Was her Gran going to fail them after all? Rambling on about her voodoo god without even listening to the story of Midsummer’s Eve and without even knowing about Beau Clay?
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gran. We don’t know anyone called Loa. It’s Gussie who is in trouble. Gussie who needs help.’
Leila Jefferson sighed and it was the deep, tearing sigh of old age and final capitulation.
‘Whatever trouble Gussie Lafayette is in, is because of Loa. He’s waited half a century for revenge and I’ve lived half a century in fear of it.’ She looked down at Gussie. ‘Tell me, child. What did you do to open the doors to the spirits?’
Eden stood so still she could hear her own heartbeat above the sound of the encircling insects. Mae sat silently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Louella came to the door with a tray of iced drinks and halted, listening, her eyes full of pain.
‘It was Midsummer’s Eve a year ago,’ Gussie said with strange calm as she felt the strength of Leila Jefferson’s handhold. ‘Mae said she’d heard you speak of a Midsummer’s Eve ceremony where you could make the boy you loved, love you.’
Imperceptibly Leila Jefferson’s dark head nodded.
‘I … wanted someone very badly. More than anything.’ She paused. Where was he now? Surely he knew what she was doing? That she was betraying him? Her throat was dry. The words came with difficulty.
‘I wrote his name backwards on paper and at midnight, looking into the mirror, I ate it and I wished and wished with all my might, mind and strength that I might have him. That he would love me as I loved him.’ The last word was barely audible. ‘Forever.’
Leila’s eyes held hers. It was as if Mae and Eden were not present. ‘Who’s name did you write, child?’
The answer came in a long, drawn-out breath from the centre of her being. ‘Beauregard Clay.’
No one moved or spoke. Trailing greenery around them seemed to draw nearer, suffocating them in its fronds and tendrils.
At last, after a long time, Mae said quietly, ‘He died, Gran. Minutes after midnight on Midsummer’s Eve, he died driving his car at breakneck speed to Gussie’s home.’
‘And his body and spirit no longer inhabit his tomb.’ It was Leila Jefferson’s voice, and it was not a question. Just a statement of fact.
‘He’s coming for me,’ Gussie said simply. ‘He wants me to join him: to honour the vow I made. To be his forever and forever … Beyond the grave.’
In the silence that followed a brown pelican flapped its wings and emerged from beneath the surrounding density of oaks and water, a struggling fish trapped in its beak. Something unseen scurried across the floor behind them and disappeared. A spider skimmed down a length of thread and hung, blue-black, in the air above them.
It was as if Leila Jefferson already knew. None of the arguments Eden had mentally prepared had to be put forward.
‘I stayed at St Michel with Gussie,’ Eden said, speaking for the first time. ‘We’d had a tiring day and fell asleep quickly. When we woke …’ She hesitated and looked across at Gussie’s marble-white face. ‘When we woke Gussie was wearing her wedding gown and was standing in the middle of the room. There was a lamp lit at the window and the door was open.’ She licked dry lips. ‘There were footsteps on the gravel outside. Both Mae and I heard them. Gussie was radiant. She really did look like a bride. It was as if she were lit by an inner flame. The knocker fell and we could see him clearly, silhouetted in a glass panel. Gussie began to run down the stairs and Mae began to scream and the knocker slammed again and again …’ Eden broke off, trembling convulsively.
‘What did you do?’ Leila Jefferson asked steadily.
Eden clenched her hands together to still them. ‘I wrenched a mirror off the wall and threw it down between Gussie and the door.’
‘And then?’
Eden shook her head purposefully. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see him go. I thought I’d killed Gussie. There was glass and wood everywhere and Gussie was unconscious. When she came round she didn’t know what had happened. Not at first. When she remembered she was terrified. She said that Beau would not rest until she joined him. That there was no way she could escape him.’
There was infinite sadness in Leila Jefferson’s voice. ‘A harmless prank. And because of Chantel … this. Because of me.’
The three girls stared at her, not understanding.
For a few seconds she was lost in a reverie they could not enter. And then she visibly shook herself and turned to the still figure in the doorway.
‘I think we’ll be having those drinks now, Louella, if you please.’
Only when the drinks had revived them and Louella had replenished their glasses did anyone speak, Gussie the first, venturing to ask what she had wanted to know all her life.
‘My grandmother, Chantel, what was she like? Why should any of this be her fault. Or yours?’
Leila’s eyes were suspiciously bright as she looked down at the living likeness kneeling beside her chair.
‘Chantel Gallière was the prettiest, kindest and liveliest girl in New Orleans. We were friends from our cradles. We played together; laughed together; dreamed dreams together.’
Tears sparkled on her lashes.
‘And then one night I led her to her death.’ She no longer saw the three girls before her. She was back again in the hot, sultry night of her youth. Hearing Chantel plead to turn back; to go home. Once again deep in the darkened forest, water gleaming malevolently between the cypress-shrouded trees, their way made barely passable by the sluggishly flowing bayous.
‘Then it was an accident? She didn’t drown herself?’ Gussie asked feveredly.
For a second she wondered if Leila Jefferson had heard her, and then Leila said, with a strange catch to her voice, ‘No, child. It was no accident. She walked out of her home and into the forest. And when she found water deep enough she walked out into it and spread herself face down upon it and died.’
‘But why?’ Gussie’s eyes were huge, anguished.
‘Because she had taken part in a voodoo ritual. She was a bride of the god Loa. As I was. And she couldn’t live with that burden. She thought it a burden that could be laid down but I knew differently. To lay it down is to invite revenge. Loa could not strike through her child, a son. He has had to wait as long as I have had to wait. He has had to wait for you. A daughter of Chantel’s blood.’
Gussie stared at her, round-eyed. ‘But my grandmother wouldn’t… Not voodoo …’
Leila’s eyes held pain so deep that Eden felt her spine tingle. ‘When I was a girl, Louella was my maid. A voodienne. One night we followed her when she left my father’s house. Chantel was frightened of the dark and asked me to go back … To return home. But I said “no”. If we turned back we would get lost in the swamp. That we had to go on.’ Her body sank against the cushions of her chair, frail and defeated. ‘Louella was going to a ceremony. A ceremony to give power over a dead spirit. And we were found. I thought that we were going to be killed. Then Louella intervened and pleaded that we be made brides of Loa, a voodoo god. As such we would never be able to tell what we had seen or participated in, for to do so would be to call down Loa’s wrath. I didn’t believe in voodoo then. I thought it a childish, ridiculous ceremony. I was to learn later of my ignorance and stupidity. Chantel was never so foolish. She realized the horror she had committed herself to. And she escaped by death.’
‘Leaving me to face Loa’s revenge?’ The breath in Gussie’s chest was so tight she could scarcely utter the words.
‘I’m afraid so, child. Sooner or later Loa would have destroyed your life in revenge for the bride who broke her vow. Your silly, harmless little Midsummer’s Eve ceremony was ideally suited for the purpose. Your death for Chantel’s.’
Gussie’s voice was taut with pain. ‘And Beau? Is he bound to Loa too?’
Leila Jefferson shook her head. ‘No, child. Beauregard Clay is a spirit in torment. Bound not to Loa but to you through the ceremony you enacted. The ceremony that Loa lent power to for his own ends. The ceremony that your own, obsessive love made possible.’
‘How do we free them?’ It was Eden’s voice, seeming to Gussie to come from light years away. ‘How do we free Gussie from Loa’s power? How do we free Beau so that he may sleep in peace?’
Leila Jefferson looked down at Gussie’s upturned face. ‘Do you believe with all your soul that you can free yourself from the powers of darkness?’
‘Yes.’ The answer came unhesitatingly, strong and firm.
‘Do you believe that a reversal of the ceremony you enacted will free Beau from you?’
‘Yes.’
Gussie’s eyes held Leila’s unflinchingly.
A tremor ran through Leila’s body and was stilled.
‘Good.’
‘But what of Loa?’ Eden said hesitantly. ‘How will he be appeased?’
‘He will be appeased, child. There is not one Loa, but numberless Loas. So I have learned in the years since Chantel’s death. And I have learned how such supernatural forces can be placated. It needs voodoo to combat voodoo.’
When she had told them what they must do, she smiled suddenly at them: a devastatingly pretty smile for such an aged face. ‘This is why I have lived as I have. Waiting for the day when my knowledge can atone for Chantel’s death and free her descendants from the curse my foolishness brought upon them.’
‘But Gran.…’ Mae began to protest.
‘No more questions, Mae. What I do, I do alone. What you do, you must do together.’
A flush of rose tinged the sky. Eden held out her hand and grasped Leila’s. ‘We must be going. There isn’t much time. We’ll come back afterwards to thank you properly.’
The smile on Leila’s face held a touch of sadness. She would not be there when they returned. Her life, lived solely for the day that was now coming to a close, was nearly over. She would not live to see another sunrise. Not after the ceremony she would enact that night.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Jefferson,’ Gussie said, her confidence returned. ‘Thank you for telling me all about my grandmother and of how pretty and kind she was. Thank you for telling me what to do. Thank you for doing whatever it is you have to do.’ She bent forward to kiss Leila on the cheek. ‘I shall never forget. Never.’
Mae hugged her grandmother goodbye and then they were gone, running through the jungle of tropical vegetation to the rutted track and their car.
The gold hoops in Louella’s ears glinted in the late afternoon sun.
‘I reckon our waiting time is over, Miss Leila,’ she said as the car bucketed into the thick forest of oak and cypress.
‘Yes,’ Leila said, feeling the silence and dusk settle around her. ‘The waiting is finally over.’