Chapter Eleven

eleven

THE NEXT NIGHT, JEMMA KICKED the covers off and looked at the clock in her darkened bedroom. One fifteen. She hadn't been sleeping well since coming here. Between the heat, the weirdness and the tension, it was a wonder she could sleep at all.

She slipped a robe over her nightgown and pressed her ear to the door before opening it. In the hallway, she glanced both ways before making her way downstairs. Maybe she'd make a cup of coffee. On her way to the kitchen, she saw that the French doors leading to the back garden were standing ajar. Jemma narrowed her eyes in the dimness, just making out a figure moving steadily away from the house.

She moved to the doors, wondering who it was and why it seemed no one could sleep in this house.

It was Laurence again, this time on his own.

Jemma looked toward the kitchen before slipping out after him, the grass tickling her bare feet and ankles. She kept close to the bushes, ready to fall into them should he turn around. But he, at least twenty yards ahead of her, appeared intent on a destination. Where, at this time of night?

She followed him to the carriage house. He glanced around once, Jemma ducking behind a tall magnolia shrub, before he went inside. She couldn't imagine what he'd be doing in there in the middle of the night, the place where Honorine claimed her granddaughter had died. Jemma tiptoed over, telling herself she'd peek in a window and if she didn't see anything she'd leave.

As she drew closer, she noticed a hole in a lower window, as if someone had thrown a rock through it. She stood on her toes, her chin level with the bottom of the frame, and peered inside.

The only things she could see were shadows. At first, everything seemed still, but then she saw what appeared to be figures, grappling. Two of them. Laurence was one, but who was the other?

A low groan drifted across the air, and then Jemma realized what was happening. But who was the other person? There were no women Laurence's age around—or men, for that matter. Was Laurence sneaking out here to meet with someone outside of the family?

The woman whispered, something that sounded dirty, in a very familiar voice.

Jemma frowned, her heartbeat quickening.

No, no, no, that can't be.

But when the woman threw her head back, her mouth wide, a high, ecstatic moan slipping from it, Jemma was able to make out her face as her flushed skin shone in the dimness. Jemma put her hands to her mouth, unable to stop the gasp that rose up, escaping between her fingers.

"Did you hear something?" Fosette asked inside.

Jemma pressed her back to the wall, her eyes moving in all directions, trying to decide which way she could run without being seen if those two incestuous creatures looked outside.

"It's nothing," Laurence murmured.

"No, I heard something."

The shuffling of feet and the rustling of clothes being put in place reached Jemma's ears. She had to move. She inched her way along the wall toward the back of the building. If they went out the front, they wouldn't see her. Jemma turned the corner, her breath whistling in quiet relief, when Fosette and Laurence banged their way out the back door.

"Oh my God," Fosette cried, her hand clutching the top of her robe at her neck.

Jemma wanted to laugh in their horrified faces. If anyone should be shocked, it should be her.

"It's not what you think," Fosette said, reaching out a hand, which Jemma slapped away.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. Words flew through her mind, heavy and insulting, dripping with disgust and scorn, but none of them found their way to her lips. It was just too much. Brother and sister, sneaking out in the middle of the night as if they were lovers. As if they could be.

But what had Honorine told her?

Cousins married cousins, all to keep the family name intact.

A wave of nausea rose in Jemma, nearly choking her. Finally she was able to move, although her first step was unsteady, and she staggered like a drunk. She walked quickly, then picked up the pace, desperate to get away from the two of them. But Fosette caught up to her, grabbed her arm and swung her around to face her.

"Get away from me!" Jemma screamed. "You people are disgusting! I thought it was bad enough that you marry your cousins, but your own brother? Your brother!"

"He's not my brother," Fosette said, her voice hitching. "We're related—he is my cousin, but he's not my brother."

Jemma had already begun turning away, but at that she stopped.

"Another of your family's lies," she spit.

"We're your family, too, don't forget," Fosette shot back, her eyes blazing, the docile creature Jemma was used to nowhere in sight.

"But I'm not fucking my cousin!"

The smirk that marred Fosette's face should have been a warning to Jemma, she realized later. Laurence had caught up to them, his eyes moving between them.

"Did you tell her?" he asked Fosette.

A brittle laugh escaped her as her hands dropped to her sides. The smile she directed to Jemma held no hint of happiness in it.

"If you were fucking Laurence, you'd be the one fucking your brother," Fosette said quietly before sweeping her way toward the house, Laurence following a step behind.

—

JEMMA BANGED ON HONORINE'S DOOR, not caring that it was past two in the morning. She was fed up with this family's lies. Fosette and Laurence tried to stop her, but Jemma didn't care if she woke the whole house.

"What the hell are you doing?" Honorine seethed after she opened the door, her teeth clenched. A part of Jemma's mind registered how much smaller the woman looked in her nightclothes, her hair hidden beneath a bonnet, rollers making an impression against silk, instead of it being styled in one of her formidable updos. Fine wrinkles lined her makeup-free face, which appeared even whiter against the dark of her bedroom.

Even so, Jemma almost lost her resolve, despite the swirl of emotions coursing through her. On top of everything else was the anger, but beneath it was mortification. Her face burned when she remembered her many stolen looks at Laurence. The possibility that what Fosette said was true made Jemma want to vomit. She swiped a hand across her mouth, imagining how much worse things would go if she threw up on Honorine's feet.

"I want every one of you downstairs now. We're talking. No one goes to sleep until I get the truth," Jemma ordered. She didn't wait for an answer, simply stomped her way downstairs to the dining room, where she flipped on the light and took her usual seat. She wasn't sure Honorine would do what she'd demanded, but something told Jemma it was likely.

Fosette and Laurence were the first ones there. Jemma leaned away from her cousin as she took her seat next to her, and she glanced at Laurence only once, to find not a trace of embarrassment on his face, before turning to the doorway.

Fosette claimed he was Jemma's brother. But the way the Duchons lied, who knew what was true?

Russell and Simone came next, yawning and complaining, followed by Honorine.

"The least you can do is get us some coffee if you insist on having middle-of-the-night discussions," Simone said to Jemma, who sat with her arms crossed.

"I'm not getting a damn thing," Jemma said.

"Fine, I'll wake up that useless maid." Simone rose, and Jemma stood up at the same time.

"Sit down," she ordered her aunt.

Simone's right eyebrow rose nearly to her hairline, but after emitting a quick snort, she sank back into her seat. Only then did Jemma resume her seat.

"Well," Honorine said, looking at Jemma. "You thought something was important enough to get everyone out of bed at this ridiculous hour. What is it?"

Jemma opened her mouth, but what she'd thought about saying stuck in her throat. She'd planned to have them all settled in their seats and then point at Fosette and Laurence, telling her grandmother about the unnatural act she'd caught them in. But she remembered how the whole family intermarried. Would they even care? Worse, perhaps they already knew.

Instead, she pointed only at Laurence while speaking to Honorine.

"Is he my brother?"

The woman's eyes flicked to Simone briefly before settling on Fosette for a few seconds. Jemma caught Fosette's nearly imperceptible nod.

"He is," Honorine admitted.

Jemma looked at him for a long moment. Although his skin was darker than any of the other Duchons', it wasn't by much. He simply looked like he'd gotten a bit of sun while vacationing on the French Riviera. She searched for anything familiar in him, but nothing, not the shape or color of his eyes, not his ears, lips, chin or nose was like hers.

A wave of nausea rose again. Jemma swallowed what felt like an ocean of shame at the way she'd desired him.

"We have the same mother," she finally said.

"Yes, but not the same father."

Laurence appeared completely unfazed by this. So he'd known all along. And he'd played the part of Simone's son. But why?

"And where is your father?" Jemma asked him.

He shrugged. "Same place as yours. One of the cemeteries."

"Do you remember her? Our mother?"

"I was only two when she died."

"I didn't ask you that. Do you remember her?" Jemma shouted.

" Mon Dieu , this girl and her theatrics," Simone muttered.

Jemma turned her attention to her. "You sat there and pretended to be his mother, all of you sitting there, lying to me, about everything. Like it wasn't bad enough that you didn't tell me the real reason you hired me to come down here. Why would you lie to me about Laurence being my cousin?" she asked, unaware until that moment that she'd been crying. "If I had known he was my brother…"

"What? What then?" Honorine asked. "What would you have done differently? Did it ever occur to you that we've done what we can to erase the memory of your mother? Simone raised him like a son after Inès died. She may as well be his mother. And we had no intention of telling him, except…"

"Except what?"

A pink flush worked its way up Honorine's neck and face.

"When we found out that Laurence and Fosette were sleeping together," Simone said, her hard gaze moving from her daughter back to Jemma, "we felt it was better that they know they weren't coupling with a sibling. Isn't that right, Fosette?" When Fosette didn't reply, her mother went on. "You see, we haven't seen any other person outside of this house—save the parish priest, who only comes once a month—in years. Our acquaintances stopped coming round ages ago. They don't know the extent of the malevolence that's settled on us, but they know something is wrong. What are these young people to do? Of course, my daughter could have chosen to sleep with Dennis, the gardener, which is something my sister would have done, but we like to keep it all in the family, don't we, Maman?"

"Quiet," Honorine hissed.

The one question that had been burning in Jemma rose then, the one whose answer she suspected but she had to hear anyway. She would know if they lied to her about this, but a part of her wanted them to.

Because the truth was too awful to face.

"But if Laurence is my brother…why did you keep him? You said it was my mother's wish that you give me away, but why not him, too? Why wouldn't you keep us together?" Jemma asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Honorine asked, waving a hand toward him. "He's light enough to fit in with the rest of us, despite Inès lying down with some Black trash. I don't know why she found them so desirable, but she did. Her father and I wanted to marry her off to a distant cousin, but before that happened, she slept with this penniless Black bastard and got in the family way. We shipped her off to Charleston to stay with some relatives, where she had Laurence. By the grace of God, he mostly has our color. The two of them came home and we decided to tell everyone that he belonged to either Russell or Simone, since they were both married. But Inès wouldn't have that. I wanted to toss her out on her slutty behind, but my husband…he had such a soft spot for Inès. She was his favorite. Of course, after that, her name was ruined. No one from any respectable family would have anything to do with her. So she spent her nights carousing in the city and turned up pregnant again. And we waited and waited to see what she'd give birth to that time. Your father came round, a great buck of a man, wanting to marry her. Marry her! Into this family! We ran him out of here, threatening to kill him if he ever dared to show his face again. I wanted to send her packing after him, but her father—oh, how he loved that girl. And when you were born, and she cursed us, and we saw your dark eyes and your dark hair, we knew you'd taken after your father. You'd only get darker as you grew up, and you did. You'd never fit in here. You'd never be a true Duchon, with us able to trace our lineage all the way back to the first Duchons who lived here. That's why we gave you away. Because to have to see you every day would only remind us of your mother's great sin. Of lying down with dark-skinned men who we have no connection to."

Jemma pointed a shaky finger at Laurence across the table.

"And he doesn't remind you of what our mother did? The great sin of sleeping with someone who dared to be dark-skinned, as if any of us have any control over that? The sin of sleeping with someone who's not a relative?"

"If Laurence wasn't able to pass as one of us, we'd be reminded of that every day."