Beauvallet (20 page)

His eyes were warm with amusement. ‘Let me hear your plot, little contriver.’

‘Then do not laugh at me – robber,’ she retaliated. ‘Don Miguel de Tobar is coming to town, and he is my uncle on my mother's side, and I am very sure that he would like me for his son Miguel.’ She nodded wisely, and compressed her lips.

‘How she is sought after!’ marvelled Sir Nicholas. ‘Surely it needs a robber to win her.’

A dimple quivered. ‘Maybe, señor. Now I think it would not suit my good aunt to have me throw myself upon Don Miguel's protection, for he has influence with the King, and he might well get an injunction to have me away from the Carvalhos. I think, Señor Nicholas, that if I were to talk roundabout a little they would be very glad to bear me away to Vasconosa, out of reach of Don Miguel. And there marry me, doubtless, but you will be at hand.’

‘Be very sure of it. Weave your toils, fondling, but walk warily, for I misdoubt me that aunt of yours hath the seeing eye.’

Her eyes sparkled with mockery. ‘A word out of your own mouth, Señor Pirate – trust me.’

At his mother's side Don Diego learned with little surprise but considerable annoyance that she could not remember to have inquired for him. She seemed amused when she heard how he had been sent off. ‘The rogue!’ she said, and chuckled.

‘This cousin of mine who will not think of espousals!’ said Don Diego. ‘She is willing enough to have that French ruffler whisper honeywords in her ear. Mark you that!’

‘Of course she is,’ agreed Dona Beatrice. ‘I have no doubt he is very adroit. If you were more of his complexion, my son, you might make better speed with her.’

Don Diego made what speed he could next day, when he offered Dominica his hand and his heart, and spoke his piece
in passionate terms. She saw her opportunity in this, and was quick to seize on it. Don Diego was bidden take both hand and heart elsewhere; he pressed his suit more ardently, dared to attempt a kiss. She whisked herself out of his hold, flew into a royal rage, and flounced away to find her aunt.

Dona Beatrice was confronted by Flaming Indignation in a charming form, and blinked at it.

‘Señora!’ broke out Dominica, panting over it. ‘I have to complain of my cousin! I thought you had understood me very well when I told you that I had no mind to wed with him, yet today I am to be teased, it seems, by his demanding of my hand, and more beside! Ah, more indeed!’ Her eyes flashed sparks, her tongue darted its rage. ‘Your son, señora, dares to lay hands on me! I am to be mauled like any kitchen-wench! I! I say it is not to be borne, señora, nor will I bear it. This is no way to go to work with me. You must learn, señora, and your son with you that I am not to be so entreated, no, not I! And if you will not learn, then my uncle of Tobar shall hear of it. What, am I – Rada y Sylva! – to have easy kisses thrust on me, hateful fondlings, unmannerly hugs? No, señora, no!’ Her cheeks flew storm signals; she had her hands clenched hard at her sides.

Dona Beatrice put by the book of poems she had been reading, but continued to fan herself. She watched closely under her weary eyelids. ‘Well, you are in a great heat,’ she remarked. ‘But what is all this to the purpose? If you do not like Diego's kisses my advice to you is that you wed him with speed, for if he is at all my son he will very soon cease to want what he may have for the mere asking.’

Real anger leaped up; my lady seemed to grow taller with it, a very goddess. ‘This is to insult me! Nasty talk, señora! Shameful talk! Well, my uncle is coming to town, as I hear, and in a good hour! Do you think, señora, that he will approve your plans for me? Do you think it indeed?’

‘I do not,’ said Dona Beatrice patiently. ‘I think he has some little plans of his own for you, my dear, but, believe me, they differ in only the one particular from mine, that he would change the name of your bridegroom.’

‘Señora, be assured of this, that any bridegroom were less distasteful to me than your son!’ said Dominica.

‘You have not seen young Miguel de Tobar,’ her aunt reminded her. ‘I concede you Diego is not a Chevalier de Guise, my dear, but he is far preferable to Miguel.’

‘The Chevalier de Guise!’ cried out Dominica hotly. ‘What is the Chevalier de Guise to me? You do not put me off, señora! I will have a plain answer from you: will you seek another bride for my cousin?’

‘I thought we understood one another better, my dear,’ complained Dona Beatrice. ‘Of course I shall not.’

‘Then my uncle shall hear of it, señora. You force me to it. If he thinks that I am content to serve the interest of Carvalho he shall know that it is not so.’

Dona Beatrice went on fanning herself; her smile broadened. ‘How foolish of you to warn me, my dear!’ she remarked. ‘You should not let yourself be in such a passion. You show me your defences, which is quite ridiculous of you. I fear you will never win a battle of wits with me. Now had you curbed your temper, my dear, you would have carried out this plan of yours in secret, and discomposed me sadly. I should certainly have respected you.’ She picked up the book of poems again, and began to find her place in it. ‘Of course you will be away from Madrid by the time Tobar enters it.’

Dominica knew those sleepy eyes watched her still. There was no saying what Dona Beatrice suspected, what traps she might be laying. The girl let her eyes fall, bit her lips, moved a hand amongst the laces at her bosom as though she were agitated. Her wits against her aunt's? She was very content to
set them up for battle; played her little comedy better even than she knew. ‘Aunt!’ She pretended to seek for words, put her hands together as though she would clasp them, moved them apart again. Her eyes lifted; she tossed up her head. ‘And I will still find means to let him know how you use me!’ she cried. ‘You may do as you please, señora, but you will not induce me to wed with Don Diego!’ She judged that to be enough: there had been sufficient childish petulance in her voice to satisfy her aunt. She flung round on her heel, and ran out.

Dona Beatrice went on reading her poems. At dinner, some hours later, she spoke to her husband in a slow, lazy voice, and with a glance of amusement at Dominica. ‘I find, señor,’ she said, ‘that these heats tax me too much. Madrid becomes insupportable.’

Don Rodriguez was all solicitude at once, wondering fussily what might be done to relieve the lady. She broke into his talk. ‘I have a simpler remedy than these of yours, señor. I shall go to Vasconosa ahead of you.’ She paused, and pulled a dish of sugar-plate towards her. ‘Today is Tuesday,’ she remarked. ‘Shall we say a week from today?’

Don Diego looked sharply; Dominica kept her eyes down. She judged from her aunt's faintly derisive tone that she had ascertained the date of Tobar's arrival in Madrid. She could have wished it had been nearer, since every day Sir Nicholas spent in Madrid added to his danger. There could be no peace for her while he stayed. A grim fear stalked beside her; every day she dreaded to hear of his capture; every time she saw him his very carelessness brought her heart into her mouth. There was a price to be paid by the lady who was loved by Mad Nicholas.

He came that evening to wait on Dona Beatrice. It seemed he had an assignation with her; she had lent him a Romance, and he came to give it back to her, and stayed on talking French with her.

His audacity passed all bounds, Dominica thought. She withdrew towards the window, and looked severely when he flung a compliment, like a challenge, at her. She bore herself like a maid whose primness was shocked; only he was to know that her reproachful look was to reprimand his recklessness, not his gallantry.

She wondered whether she dared tell him that she was to leave Madrid that next week. While she sought in her mind for a phrase that would seem innocent enough, her aunt took the words out of her mouth.

Having got the information he wanted Sir Nicholas soon took his leave. There was some idle play between him and Dona Beatrice; Dominica had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Sir Nicholas humoured Dona Beatrice to the top of her bent, whispered his audacities into her receptive ear, and showed his watchful lady very plainly that he knew well what way to use with her sex. But even as he devoutly kissed Dona Beatrice's large white hand he shot a rueful, laughing look at Dominica, as though to deprecate her silent reproof.

He came to take his leave of her; she was on tenterhooks at what his mad humour might prompt him to say or do, and curtsied very stiffly. She would not look at him as she held out her hand. It lay in his, held firmly, but he did not kiss it at once. His voice sounded, brimful of teasing mischief. ‘But how she is cold!’ he said.

She tried to draw her hand away; she was near to boxing his ears.

‘My dear Chevalier you have shocked my niece,’ said Dona Beatrice, amused. ‘She is unused to your French ways. We do not go to work so hardily in Spain.’

‘Have I shocked her? Will she not look at me, and smile at me as she knows how?’

At that her eyes lifted. She had no smile for him, but a straight look, a little fierce. She saw the laugh dancing in his
eyes, and dropped her own again. ‘I fear she is very angry with me,’ said Sir Nicholas sadly. ‘She frowns, alas! I think if she had – let us say, a dagger – to hand, I were sped.’

Her hand quivered. ‘You are pleased to jest, señor.’

He bent his head, and kissed her fingers. ‘Señorita, my heart is under your feet.’

‘Chevalier, Chevalier, you are a trifler!’ said Dona Beatrice. ‘A moment since I had thought it was under mine.’

Dominica got her hand free at last. Sir Nicholas turned to Dona Beatrice. ‘Ah, madame,’ he said, ‘you are severe. But I have so many hearts.’

She laughed. ‘Ungallant, I protest! And is there ever a one among the many that will be true, I wonder? Oh, these Frenchmen!’

‘Only one, madame,’ said Sir Nicholas meekly.

She raised her brows, willing to be entertained. ‘Ah? To whom is this one?’

‘Madame, to my betrothed,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘She hath it all.’

She shrugged at that. ‘Why, it's very dutiful, señor, but I wonder what you will say – a year hence?’

Dominica turned her back, and looked out into the garden.

‘Oh, it is of so faithful a disposition, madame, I am very sure I shall but repeat myself. But I shall still have a heart to lay in – admiration – at your feet.’ Upon which he took his leave, not before it was time, thought Dominica.

Her aunt began to talk of the coming journey to Vasconosa.

But there was to be another traveller bound thitherwards of whom she knew nothing. Back at the Rising Sun again Sir Nicholas studied such maps as he could come by, and conned the road as best he might. Joshua Dimmock, watching, took heart again, and said darkly to the coat he was folding that the sooner they were off upon this journey the better it would be for them. ‘Yet,’ said he, brushing dust from a pair of hose, ‘I must ask myself, what if the
Venture
be not there? With the General not on board it is to be questioned whether she may keep safe in Spanish waters. Ay, there's a rub.’ He eyed his master's abstracted profile, and sighed. ‘We may make marks upon a map, I grant you, and mutter of stages, but I hold, and mark me well, that we may not be sure of a happy issue. I had rather than fifty pounds I were snug at home. It needs not to tell me that we shall make that smuggling port. I make bold to say that we may do that in spite of all these bisson Spaniards. But how if we come upon this port, and find no ship awaiting? Ay, then we are shent. We spend the remainder of our days in Spain, and they will not be many, I warrant me! All to hang upon the
Venture
, and the
Venture
sailing without her General! Ah, the whole emprise is very barful.’

Beauvallet looked up. ‘Peace, chewet! What ails you?’

‘This ails me, master, that you have not the means to be avised of the
Venture
's being in these waters.’

‘Am I so often disobeyed then?’

‘Nay, I do not say that, sir, nor would I doubt the good faith of Master Dangerfield, but I say, master, that he is not Sir Nicholas Beauvallet, and he may well fail.’

‘Oh, croaker! You bring up objections cut and longtail. You’re bird-eyed, man, and see danger in every corner. Diccon has as cool a head as you may wish to see, and has my orders to go upon beside. I don’t fear for aught there. What, would my men fail me when I was in need?’

‘Nay, nay, but if you fear naught there, master, what is it you do fear?’

‘To say truth,’ Beauvallet answered. ‘I mislike the look of yon French Ambassador.’

‘For my part, sir, I mislike that popinjay cousin of your lady's. If he is not of a mind to pick a quarrel with you I do not know the signs when a man will be in fighting humour.’

‘God help him, then!’ Beauvallet said, and bent again over his map. ‘My lady goes to Vasconosa on Tuesday next. Now, it is in my mind that we will attend her on that journey.’

‘Ay, and then, master?’

‘God's Death, man, how do I know who have not seen the place. We shall carry her off, and to the coast. Ask me more when I know more.’

‘I fear a mischance,’ Joshua said sadly. ‘This runs too smoothly for a coil of yours, sir.’

Beauvallet folded his map, and put it safely away. There was a look in his face that Joshua had seen there once or twice before. ‘Fear what you will,’ said Sir Nicholas, ‘and let come what may. I tell you, by this hand, I will reach Vasconosa, and have my lady away before she has slept two nights in the place.’

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