"How did you get here?" he asked before we reached the door.
"The bus," I said. He lifted the ball and hammer knocker and let the sound echo through what I imagined, from the sound of the reverberation within, was an enormous entryway. A few moments later, the door was opened and we faced a mulatto man in a butler's uniform. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall either. He had a round face with large dark eyes and a somewhat pug nose. His dark brown hair was curly and peppered with gray strands. There were dime-size brown spots on his cheeks and forehead and his lips were slightly orange.
"Good evening, Monsieur Andreas," he said, then shifted his gaze to me. The moment he set eyes on me, he dropped his mouth. "But Mademoiselle Gisselle, I just saw you . . ." He turned around and looked behind him. Beau Andreas laughed.
"This isn't Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar. Edgar, I'd like you to meet Ruby. Ruby, Edgar Farrar, the Dumas' butler. Are Mr. and Mrs. Dumas in, Edgar?" he asked.
"Oh, no, sir. They left for the ball about an hour ago," he said, his eyes still fixed on me.
"Well then, there's nothing to do but wait for them to return. Until then, you can visit with Gisselle," Beau told me. He guided me into the great house.
The entryway floor was a peach marble and the ceiling, which looked like it rose to at least twelve feet above me, had pictures of nymphs and angels, doves and blue sky painted over it. There were paintings and sculptures every-where I looked, but the wall to the right was covered by an enormous tapestry depicting a grand French palace and gardens.
"Where is Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar?" Beau asked.
"She's still upstairs," Edgar said.
"I knew she would be pampering herself forever. I'm never late when it comes to escorting Gisselle anywhere," Beau told me. "Especially a Mardi Gras Ball. To Gisselle, being on time means being an hour late. Fashionably late, of course," he added. "Are you hungry, thirsty?"
"No, I had half of a poor boy sandwich not so long ago," I said, and grimaced with the memory of what had nearly happened to me.
"You didn't like it?" Beau asked.
"No, it wasn't that. Someone . . . a stranger I trusted, attacked me in an alley on the way here," I confessed. "What? Are you all right?" he asked quickly.
"Yes. I got away before anything terrible happened, but it was quite frightening."
"I'll bet. The back streets in New Orleans can be quite dangerous during Mardi Gras. You shouldn't have wandered around by yourself." He turned to Edgar. "Where is Nina, Edgar?" he asked.
"Just finishing up some things in the kitchen."
"Good. Come on," Beau insisted. "I'll take you to the kitchen and Nina will give you something to drink at least. Edgar, would you be so kind as to inform Mademoiselle Gisselle that I've arrived with a surprise guest and we're in the kitchen?"
"Very good, monsieur," Edgar said and headed for the beautiful curved stairway with soft carpeted steps and a shiny mahogany balustrade.
"This way," Beau said. He directed me through the entryway, past one beautiful room after another, each filled with antiques and expensive French furniture and paintings. It looked more like a museum to me than a home.
The kitchen was as large as I expected it would be with long counters and tables, big sinks, and walls of cabinets. Everything gleamed. It looked so immaculate, even the older appliances appeared brand-new. Wrapping leftovers in cellophane was a short, plump black woman in a brown cotton dress with a full white apron. She had her back to us.
The strands of her ebony hair were pulled tightly into a thick bun behind her head, but she wore a white kerchief, too. As she worked, she hummed. Beau Andreas knocked on the doorjamb and she spun around quickly.
"I didn't want to frighten you, Nina," he said.
"That'll be the day when you can frighten Nina Jackson, Monsieur Andreas," she said, nodding. She had small dark eyes set close to her nose. Her mouth was small and almost lost in her plump cheeks and above her round jaw, but she had beautifully soft skin that glowed under the kitchen fixtures. Ivory earrings shaped like seashells clung to her small lobes.
"Mademoiselle, you changed again?" she asked incredulously.
Beau laughed. "This isn't Gisselle," he said.
Nina tilted her head.
"Go on with you, monsieur. That t'aint enough of a disguise to fool Nina Jackson."
"No, I'm serious, Nina. This isn't Gisselle," Beau insisted. "Her name is Ruby. Look closely," he told her. "If anyone could tell the difference, it would be you. You practically brought up Gisselle," he said.
She smirked, wiped her hands on her apron, and crossed the kitchen to get closer. I saw she wore a small pouch around her neck on a black shoestring. For a moment she stared into my face. Her black eyes narrowed, burned into mine, and then widened. She stepped back and seized the small pouch between her right thumb and forefinger so she could hold it out between us.
"Who you be, girl?" she demanded.
"My name is Ruby," I said quickly, and shifted my eyes to Beau, who was still smiling impishly.
"Nina is warding off any evil with the voodoo power in that little sack, aren't you, Nina?"
She looked at him and at me and then dropped the sack to her chest again.
"This here, five finger grass," she said. "It can ward off any evil that five fingers can bring, you hear?"
I nodded.
"Who this be?" she asked Beau.
"It's Gisselle's secret sister," he said. "Obviously, twin sister," he added. Nina stared at me again.
"How do you know that?" she asked, taking another step back. "My Grandmère, she told me once about a zombie made to look like a woman. Everyone stuck pins in the zombie and the woman screamed in pain until she died in her bed."
Beau roared.
"I'm not a zombie doll," I said. Still suspicious, Nina stared.
"I daresay if you stick pins in her, Nina, she'll be the one to scream, not Gisselle." His smile faded and he grew serious. "She's traveled here from Houma, Nina, but on the way to the house, she had a bad experience. Someone tried to attack her in an alley."
Nina nodded as if she already knew.
"She's actually quite frightened and upset," Beau said.
"Sit you down, girl," Nina said, pointing to a chair by the table. "I'll get you something to make your stomach sit still. You hungry, too?"
I shook my head.
"Did you know Gisselle had a sister?" Beau asked her as she went to prepare something for me to drink. She didn't respond for a moment. Then she turned.
"I don't know anything I'm not supposed to know," she replied. Beau lifted his eyebrows. I saw Nina mix what looked like a tablespoon of blackstrap molasses into a glass of milk with a raw egg and some kind of powder. She mixed it vigorously and brought it back.
"Drink this in one gulp, no air," she prescribed. I stared at the liquid.
"Nina usually cures everyone of anything around here," Beau said. "Don't be afraid."
"My Grandmère could do this, too," I said. "She was a Traiteur."
"Your Grandmère, a Traiteur?" Nina asked. I nodded.
"Then she was holy," she said, impressed. "Cajun Traiteur woman can blow the fire out of a burn and stop bleeding with the press of her palm," Nina explained to Beau.
"I guess she's not a zombie girl then, huh?" Beau asked with a smile. Nina paused.
"Maybe not," she said, still looking at me with some suspicion. "Drink," she commanded, and I did what she said even though it didn't taste great, I felt it bubble in my stomach for a moment and then I did feel a soothing sensation.
"Thank you," I said. I turned with Beau to look at the doorway when we heard the footsteps coming down the hall. A moment later, Gisselle Dumas appeared, dressed in a beautiful red, bare shoulder satin gown with her long red hair brushed until it shone. It was about as long as mine. She wore dangling diamond earrings and a matching diamond necklace set in gold.