A Divided Inheritance (43 page)

‘Martha. Are you feeling—?’

‘Quite well today, thank you, mistress. Gaxa told me about Mr Wilmot. I’m sorry I was not at the burial. Such a kind gentleman. Will we be going back to England now?’ Her face
was hopeful.

Elspet swung her legs out from the bed. ‘Are you sure you should be up?’

‘Sure, mistress. You’ll be needing someone, now Mr Wilmot is . . .’

‘Yes. Thank you, Martha.’ Elspet dared not say she had no means to pay her, nor a way of leaving Spain. The last few days had passed in a whirlwind of letter-writing and parcelling
Wilmot’s effects. She could not bring herself to sell his belongings, though she had need of the money. Dorothy would want them.

She took the petticoat and began to dress. Martha picked up the farthingale and held it out, but she shook her head. ‘No, not today. It is too much of an encumbrance.’

Martha made a disapproving face, but patiently handed her each item of clothing. Elspet waved away the embroidered forepart which she made to pin to her petticoat, but agreed to the overskirt,
the V-pointed bodice with its row of tiny hooks, the slashed sleeves.

‘I have no mourning costume,’ she said, ‘save this. It seemed dark enough. And we will need to pin up my skirts. They are too long without the hoops, and I want to hide my
petticoats.’

‘The Spanish ladies have very large hoops still,’ Martha said.

‘I know. But they are far too much to manage, and I want to be able to move about the city without making too much of a show of myself.’

‘I would love to wear hoops like these,’ Martha said, stroking the chair where Elspet’s were dangling. Elspet felt her envy sharp as a bodkin. It had never occurred to her that
her maid might covet her clothes.

Martha finished by dressing Elspet’s hair in a caul behind, by which time Martha looked exhausted. Her hands trembled and were moist with a sheen of perspiration.

‘Martha,’ Elspet said gently. ‘It is no use dissembling. You know you are not really well enough to attend me today. Now go back to bed and rest. I can manage without you. I
will ask Gaxa to bring you some strong broth to build up your strength. Now shoo.’

Martha smiled thinly. ‘As you wish, mistress.’ Her face registered relief and she seemed glad to totter out of the room. She grasped the door jamb for support as she left.

When she had gone Elspet tied on her hempen sandals and picked up a basket. Mr Wilmot was dead and it was as if a void had opened in her life. She thought of Joan, safe in her convent, but the
idea of convent life held no appeal. On the one hand her stomach lurched with nerves, but on the other she felt an unexpected lightness, a freedom, as if more possibilities had suddenly opened to
her.

People had been so kind. Señor Cisbón had even waived this month’s rent. She would go to the fencing school to thank Señor Alvarez. She guessed it was him who had sent
money for the funeral and had persuaded Zachary to attend. Zachary had barely said two words to her, let alone offered his condolences. But Zachary Deane held the key to her future and she would
not let him out of her sight.

The door to the yard creaked open at her touch and she made her way to her familiar stone bench seat. A sparrow pecked at a late fig that had fallen from one of the trees next
door. She watched its fluster of feathers as it tried to lift its prize and carry it off.

‘Good morning!’ The Spanish words caused her to turn and look.

It was Ayamena, throwing back the shutters of the kitchen.

‘You startled me,’ Elspet said, jumping to her feet to go over to her. ‘Martha is so much better. She was up out of bed this morning already.’

‘She will be weak for a few days. She will need metals and minerals to help her regain her strength.’ Ayamena dried her hands on a muslin cloth. ‘If you come later I will give
you something.’

‘I cannot thank you enough. I thought I would lose her too. And she is my only friend in Spain.’ As she said this Elspet realized with a jolt that it might be true. ‘Where
should I come? Where will you be living?’

‘We are still here. In the servants’ quarters above the kitchen. Our plans . . . well, they changed. Look,’ she angled her head and looked up – ‘that window just up
there. With the hanging passi-flora.’ Elspet tilted her head to look. Ayamena continued, ‘Señor Alvarez insists we stay. But it is a risk he takes. So we try to be quiet and
little trouble, and help him out with the cooking and the chores.’

Elspet looked over her shoulder. The men had arrived for the day’s training and were disrobing and preparing themselves. They swung their arms, shook out their legs, circled their
shoulders. In the corner, Alexander stepped on the spot, lifting his knees high. Ayamena flapped her hand and laughed as if to dismiss them, and pulled her head back behind the window.

Zachary swaggered in from the street with his cloak thrown back, his leather arms case over his shoulder. He was soon doing a set of vigorous exercises with the rest until they lined up and
began the drill. Señor Alvarez appeared from the upper door and perched on the stone steps at the side of the yard, observing.

‘Mistress Leviston,’ he called out. ‘Here again, heh? Partner Alexander, if you please.’ She blushed and jumped to her feet. Zachary turned in annoyance and their eyes
met briefly across the distance before she gave him a haughty look and hurried to Alexander.

Alexander picked up a second sword and held it out for her, waiting. He bowed and smiled, his brown eyes creased at the edges from the sun. She grabbed the sword in what she hoped was a manly
way and tried to copy the rest of the men on her row. Señor Alvarez was watching and she was desperate to perform it correctly.

Soon she had grasped the nature of the movement, but her body would not respond quickly enough. Having a blade pass so close to her face made her gasp, even if it was only what they called a
‘blunt’ with a pad on the end of it. She could feel her heart pumping under her stomacher. Pray God Señor Alvarez could not see her fear.

Alexander struck towards her with his edge and she stepped aside, angling her blade so he clashed up against her guard. From there she was supposed to turn to push him away. The first few times
she forgot to turn and their blades locked. They did the move over and over until it was smooth. She was panting with exertion. But as she worked, the crushing tension that had lodged in her chest
seeped away.

By the time the sun was high in the sky she had forgotten about anything else except the practice and the sharp-eyed presence of Señor Alvarez. The November sun beat down on her head, and
her hair blew in her face so she tied her muslin neckerchief over it to keep they back and to keep the sun away. The piercing light made her squint to try to catch Alexander off guard. But he
parried her neatly every time.

‘Stop!’ Alvarez called. Their bodies lurched to a halt. She was hot with effort. A slight breeze caught at the laces on her chemise and they tickled her neck, but she did not move.
Señor Alvarez inspected their stances, and adjusted each one into a more balanced position. She held her breath as he placed his hand above her shoulder but he did not touch her. She let the
shoulder soften and relax. ‘Good,’ he whispered.

She glowed with his praise.

The rest of the morning they spent indoors. Señor Alvarez brought them all to the circle. Now she understood it for what it was – a device, like a compass, for
training direction and angle – she was itching to work on it. With luck, Señor Alvarez might let her try.

Elspet could not help but admire Alvarez’s physique. Even the way he moved around the circle, pointing with his long cane, had an ease and dexterity.

‘Forget the Italian way,’ Alvarez said, ‘Morezzo and the complexity of all those separate moves. Look at the circle – it is one line.’ He pointed. ‘We are
used to dividing the world. We want to polarize everything into two opposites. Agrippa teaches that there is no point in making two moves – one for offence and one for defence. The one move
can be both an effective guard and an attack. Think how the bullfighter moves, around the circle to come in at an angle with his banderilla. But if we want to do this, we have to have accuracy.
Accuracy depends on the application of your will as a force.’

The men nodded, taking it in. But Zachary looked disgruntled. ‘Do you mean willpower?’ he asked.

‘Be careful. It is not what you think it is. Too many students think they already have willpower because they come through that gate and practise every day, but it is a different quality I
am after. It is something absolutely unbendable.’

Zachary persisted. ‘But did you not say that when a man is rigid, he is open to attack? I thought the idea was to blend with our opponent’s intention.’

Elspet winced at Zachary’s lack of respect, but Alvarez did not react. He merely shook his head. ‘We want our will to be strong but fine, exactly like a sword. A sword is the
expression of it. Here, pass me your blade.’

Zachary unsheathed his sword and passed it to Señor Alvarez, who meanwhile had drawn on his gloves. ‘Look closely. The blade keeps its shape and direction, yet it is flexible
too.’ He bent the blade into a gentle curve then let it go.

It sprang back to its original form.

‘That is what we want, see? You all know how a sword is forged, but Mr Deane has seen it first-hand, is that not so? So where is its strength, Mr Deane?’

They all looked to Zachary for an answer.

Zachary floundered, and folded his arms. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it is tempered by heat, and by beating and folding the metal over and over.’

‘So you know about this, yes? We apply heat – this is the training,’ Alvarez said. ‘No, I do not suggest I should beat you.’ Gentle laughter from the men, but
Elspet did not like to join in, lest it draw his attention to her.

Alvarez continued, ‘But you need to endure, and you need to repeat. And you need to be awake.’ He handed Zachary back his sword. ‘This is as important as technique. This is
what will enable you to see a gap in the other’s defences and press past it.’

Alvarez walked purposefully around the edge of the circle, his heels clacking on the wooden floor. He pointed over to the south side of the circle, and they all moved back a little to get a
better look.

He tapped his cane on a painted notch. ‘The first element marked on the circle – fire. You should recognize its quality. This week we will work with fire. Air of fire, water of fire,
earth of fire, even fire of fire, and –’ he paused – ‘fire’s quintessence. Then we will practise the techniques that embody these qualities, four techniques in all,
sixteen with the other elements, and the quintessence. But first, we need to know what fire is.’

He called for his apprentice who waited by the door. ‘Bring candles please, and tinderboxes.’ The boy grinned and scurried away and Elspet waited, wondering what they needed more
light for. When the lad returned he had a basket clinking with iron tinderboxes and beeswax candles.

The apprentice set up the candles on a long side-table. Elspet hung back until the men had taken their places, fearing she might be excluded from the exercise. But there was a place set for her
after all, and Señor Alvarez nodded at her to take it. She felt a blush creep up her neck.

For a moment all that could be heard was the scraping of metal on flint. She took the flint from the metal tinderbox and made several futile attempts to strike the flint with the D-shaped
firesteel before a spark appeared. But in her hurry she blew too hard on the shredded cloth, so the spark died and the charred cloth scattered on the floor. From the corner of her eye she saw
Zachary suppress a smile. She scrabbled to pick up the shreds of cloth.

She repeated the strike until she managed to land a spark on the cloth and it glowed red under her coaxing breath, and a tiny transparent yellow flame sprang up, almost invisible in the light of
the day. She fumbled to point a splinter of wood over it until it caught, and finally she was able to light the wick of the candle.

She exhaled. She had done this very rarely. At home the servants always lit the fires or trimmed the wicks, once a flame was in the house. This creating fire from nothing was new, and she had no
real experience of handling the tinderbox herself although, of course, she had seen it done countless times. She marvelled at how quickly the flame darted into life. One moment it did not exist,
then suddenly it was there leaping in front of her.

The candle burned with a steady heat. A small smile of triumph came to her lips. She turned to see how the men were faring. All held lit candles before them, even Zachary. Zachary glanced over
to her, but quickly snapped his eyes back to his candle. Alvarez stood at the end of the row. He was watching her face. She dropped her gaze and paid attention to the flame. It never wavered.

How is it that Alvarez discomfits me so? she wondered; it was as if he saw right through them all. Whenever he was in the room it was as if they all sat on a knife edge.

Zachary did not see the boy at first, for he was intent on his exercise with Alexander. They’d been at it for an hour or so that evening and were tiring. Both of them had
suffered blows to the trunk, and though they were using blunts, they still bruised. Thank goodness, his long-boned friend had softened over the last few months, now that he had seen Zachary was
serious about the training. Mind, Alexander was slow as a bear, never quite sprightly enough to catch up with Zachary’s nimble feet.