Dark Masquerade by Jennifer Blake Page A

began as he came in sight from the back of the long hall, then he stopped as he saw Elizabeth’s rigid stance.
    “Bernard, mon cher,” Celestine greeted him, ignoring the other girl as she moved toward him with her arms outstretched. “I was looking for you.”
    At the top of the stairs the sound of their voices had attracted Joseph. Turning his head he saw Elizabeth and with a wide grin began to squirm, trying to turn over.
    “Don’t!” she cried, and picking up her skirts started up the stairs at a run. She hoped the harsh sound of her voice would hold his attention long enough for her to get to him. Hampered by the fullness of petticoats and dress she tripped, going down to one knee, catching at the bannister. She saw the baby turning and knew even as she jerked the skirt from under her feet and started on again that she could not hope to reach him before he rolled down the stairs.
    Suddenly she was pushed aside as Bernard raced up the steps two at a time. But even he was not quite fast enough. With a muffled thud followed by the rasping, throat-tearing cries of a small baby Joseph fell face down onto the next stair step.
    Bernard stopped his fall as he hung half off the step. By the time Elizabeth reached his side Bernard had the baby against his shoulder.
    “Give him to me,” she said when they had gained the landing in the upper hallway.
    Blood stained the baby’s lower lip where it was already beginning to swell, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. He soon stopped crying as Elizabeth rocked him against her pounding heart, murmuring to him softly. But as her anxiety eased, anger and suspicion took its place.
    “Who did this? Who in the world would do such a thing? And why?”
    “I imagine your nursemaid put him down on a pallet and he got there himself,” Celestine said as she leisurely climbed the stairs.
    “Don’t be ridiculous!” Elizabeth snapped. “Four-month-old babies don’t crawl.”
    Celestine shrugged. “Where is his nurse then? It seems very careless to me. Perhaps you should bring in another woman for your nephew, Bernard. Someone dependable.”
    Bernard did not answer. Nor did Elizabeth, though Celestine’s question was a good one. Where was Callie?
    Turning sharply she marched across the hall with the baby in her arms. She skirted the stairwell and stepped to the door of Grand’mere’s room. She pushed open the door that hung ajar but there was no one inside.
    “Callie?” she called.
    There was no answer. The only sound that trespassed on the silence of the room was the buzzing of a fly trapped behind the lace curtains over the window.
    “Callie?”
    Where could she have gone? The blankets in the cradle at the foot of the old lady’s bed spilled over the high wooden side, dragging onto the floor. The sticky porridge dish from Joseph’s breakfast still sat on a small table, and damp, wadded cloths from the baby’s bath were piled on the floor beside a pan of water already forming a cold soap scum. Elizabeth had the feeling that some time had passed since anyone had used these things, though they had not been there when she passed through the room before breakfast.
    Bernard stepped into the room behind Elizabeth. Celestine trailed after him, though her face wore a look of ill-concealed impatience. For some reason their presence was an annoyance to Elizabeth, and she moved farther into the room away from them.
    Her action brought her in fine with the open door of her own room. She glanced in, and then stopped, her eyes wide. From where she stood she could see Callie’s feet, in her brown lisle stockings and black slippers, sprawled out on the floor with her long dress twisted around her.
    “Callie—” she whispered, and the next moment she was kneeling beside her.
    Callie lay on her back near the bed with one of Elizabeth’s nightgowns clutched in her hand. Her face was gray and drawn, a harsh contrast to the bright madras tignon, or kerchief, she wore tied about her head. With the