When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(76)

“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 having 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.”