Microsoft Word - Sherwood, Valerie - Nightsong (40 page)

She gave Carolina a curious look, for she had seen Don Diego depart in haste looking like a thundercloud.

Carolina turned away from that look. She found Luz's constant unfriendly curiosity insupportable today.

She walked to the window and stood looking out.

Somewhere to the north, past Havana harbor, past the Straits of Florida, past the Bahamas, lay the American Colonies . . . and Virginia's Tidewater . . . and Level Green.

She was suddenly terribly homesick. She wondered if her mother knew about the earthquake.

It would not have comforted Carolina to learn that her mother had heard-brutally and publicly-about the disaster only last week.

Indeed Letitia Lightfoot and her husband Fielding had been dining with friends at the Raleigh lavern in Williamsburg when the big booming voice of a sea captain, just entering the Tavern's Apollo Room, had announced that Port Royal, Jamaica, had sunk beneath the sea.

"Whole town's gone," he had told his companions gloomily. "Lost with all souls.

Earthquake shook it down, water came over the houses-it was built on sand, y'know.

And it slid under the waves, it did."

He was unprepared for the effect his words had on the reed-slender woman in lilac satin who suddenly rose from the next table, her face gone white.

"Did you say lost with all souls, sir?" she demanded sharply.

The captain, who had been some time at sea, basked in the sudden interest of the loveliest woman in the room. He was but repeating the first wild rumors that had circulated about the earthquake.

"All dead," he told her gravely. "The entire city gone. Fell into the sea,it did, after the first great shock. Fell in layers, I'm told. The waterfront first, then swallowed up street by street."

And Carolina's tall brick house was close upon that "swallowed up" waterfront!

Carolina, her favorite daughter. Carolina, too like herself-too rebellious, too reckless, always destined for disaster.

And now she had found it.

Letitia Lightfoot swayed like a flower caught in a strong wind and collapsed into the arms of an alarmed Fielding, who leaped forward to catch his wife.

It was one more story to make the rounds of Williamsburg gossip. The Lightfoots were the talk of the town again!

Back home at Level Green, Letitia Lightfoot put on mourning. But that did not deter her from going into Williamsburg to visit Aunt Pet, and the sight of her in black caused another stir.

"I don't think Carolina would want you to wear black for her," Petula told Letitia even as she dabbed at her eyes, for she had loved reckless Carolina, too. "She loved gaiety and life too much for that."

"You are right," Letitia said calmly. "Mourning does not become me. I am going home to take it right off!"

When next she appeared in Williamsburg she was wearing amethyst silk above a rustling royal-purple petticoat. Again she caused a stir.

"You are making a spectacle of yourself, Letty," complained Fielding. "Mourning on, mourning off."

His wife turned on him, dark blue eyes blazing. "You would do well to wear a black arm band yourself, Field! For it is the diamond and ruby necklace Carolina sent us that has enabled you to payoff all your debts and to commission that new wing for the house!"

Fielding had the grace to look abashed. "Carolina has been a good daughter to you,"

he mumbled. "I can't fault her."

"To us!" Letitia cried in an impassioned voice. "She has been a good daughter to us, Field! She has always honored you!"

A dark red flush spread across his strong features. He gave his wife a look of baffled rage, jammed on his hat and strode for the door.

But the next time he was seen in Williamsburg, seated in an open carriage beside Letitia, he was grimly wearing a black arm band. Heads high, they drove along Duke of Gloucester Street, nodding to friends as they passed,

Letty is parading Field through the town in triumph, thought Petula in alarm. And for the loss of a daughter not his own!

Once again the Williamsburg gossips had a field day.

Carolina, lost in homesickness, knew nothing of the turmoil her death had caused in the Tidewater. She started as she heard Luz's faintly taunting voice behind her.

"Juana will want to know, do we set the table for one or for two tonight? Will Don Diego be coming home for dinner?"

"I doubt it," muttered Carolina. Then, "But of course you must set a place for him-after all, it is his table. He should find a place set for him should he return."

Suddenly she could not bear the girl's malicious stare. She turned and went back upstairs.

Slowly the afternoon passed and the golden light deepened as the shadows lengthened and turned to violet. The rooftops of Havana turned from terra cotta to crimson in the last burst of a red sunset. And then it was night, the swift, scented night of the tropics when the palm fronds swayed sensuously beneath a white sliver of moon.

And still he had not come.

Carolina forced herself to go down and eat a lonely dinner. At least she picked at her food and sent compliments out to the kitchen to Juana for preparing it so well.

Afterward she walked restlessly about the courtyard, pausing to lean against the pillars and stare at the tinkling fountain, making its gentle music endlessly. Above her the stars winked from the heavens like scattered diamonds. From somewhere night birds called softly to each other, and from down the street a man's wistful voice wailed a lover's lament to some bright-eyed girl behind the iron grillwork of her bedroom. A serenade to a lady . . .

Carolina could feel the magic, and her heart and her body yearned for her own lover.

And still he did not come.

She walked the empty courtyard until she was tired. All the servants had gone to bed.

Around her Havana slept.

And still he did not come.

She went to bed at last, wondering where he was-- and if he was alone. Was he carousing in the taverns? Or had he found a woman? Was he toasting her in wine, smiling down into her dark eyes, carrying her off to bed in some upstairs room?

Such thoughts kept her wide-eyed and awake, staring out through the grillwork at an uncaring moon that rode the night sky.

At last, worn out with love and fury and disappointment, she slept. She was wakened by Luz and opened her eyes to find the morning sun streaming in through her windows.

Luz held out the dress that had been so badly tom yesterday. "It is mended," she said, and Carolina sensed the resentment in her voice and manner.

"Good. I will try it on, Luz." She leaped out of bed, wondering if Kells was already downstairs having breakfast. The thought goaded her. "It must be late," she said.

"Here, help me dress, won't you?" She was pulling on her light chemise as she spoke for she had slept naked in the warm tropical night.

Silently Luz held out the mended dress for her to put on.

"Has Don Diego already breakfasted?" asked Carolina as Luz slipped the red voile dress over her head.

Luz shook her head. "Don Diego is still asleep," she said. "And Juana has given us orders to be quiet and not wake him for Miguel came by this morning and said that Don Diego had got very drunk last night and had near wrecked a tavern."

So she had been right! thought Carolina. He had gone out and drowned his anger in wine. Somehow the thought was less wounding than if Luz had said he had near wrecked a brothel.

"Miguel said he had a wench on each arm and was serenading them both when he saw him," added Luz and Carolina winced. "Don Diego is a devil with the wenches,"

added Luz spitefully.

Carolina managed to ignore the girl by studying her mended gown in the mirror. Luz had done a disastrous job with her needle. The sleeves were now sewn in so tightly she could hardly move her arms, the darts were crooked, and the stitches showed where the torn hem had been mended. Yet Luz was an expert sempstress--Carolina had viewed her work!

"Help me off with the dress, Luz," she told the girl sternly. "And take it apart and stitch it up again. It won't do the way it is."

Luz almost jerked the gown from Carolina's back. She flounced away-but not before Carolina told her to bring her up a bath.

It was a delight to sink into the warm water and bathe her body with scented soap.

She lingered long in that bath for she was sure that he would be long asleep after his hard night.

In that she was mistaken. She was still in her tub when she heard the door knocker bang downstairs.

That would be the governor's daughter, she thought irritably, sending in a servant to inquire if Don Diego would not escort her and her duena on a drive about the city!

She struck the water rather hard with her sponge and felt it splash. Kells would soon set the girl straight!

Still she found herself hurrying with her bath, for someone had probably waked him with Marina's message and he might be downstairs breakfasting even now.

She dressed herself in the clothes Penny had brought her. I look more ready for riding than for breakfast! she thought as she ran downstairs on her high red heels.

Luz sat in the courtyard where the light was brightest, pulling out stitches from the red voile. She looked up as Carolina's footsteps rang across the tiles.

"I heard the knocker," said Carolina.

"Yes," mumbled Luz.

"Well, who was it, Luz?"

Luz gave her a spiteful look. "It was a carriage come to pick up Don Diego." Carolina sighed. "And did he go?" "Oh, yes, at once," Luz said in mock innocence. Plainly Penny's affair with Marina's father had not distracted the girl enough!

"I will have breakfast now, Luz," said Carolina. And then, just to verify, she added, "It was the governor's carriage, wasn't it?"

"That came to pick up Don Diego?" Luz's heavy dark brows rose in feigned surprise.

"Why, no, it was the Menendez carriage that called for him, and he dashed out right away and leaped into it."

The Menendez carriage! Dona Jimena had sent for her Don Diego and her Don Diego had come running! Carolina felt as if a bucket of cold water had just been thrown in her face. Of young Marina she was not at all jealous, for she knew that Kells regarded her as tiresome, but beautiful dark-eyed Dona Jimena was quite another matter. Carolina was wildly jealous of her!

She stood with her back very stiff for a moment and outside she heard the sound of horses clip-clopping by decorously. The sound gave her an idea-a wonderful vengeful idea.

"Luz," she said, choosing her words with care, "while I am breakfasting, I want you to go over to EI Morro. Tell the commander, Don Ramon del Mundo, that I regret having been absent all those times he has called. Tell him that I find myself free today and that I would be pleased to ride out with him if he so desires. Tell him that, Luz."

Luz leaped up, eyes aglow. There was trouble brewing, she could feel it in the air.

Trouble that might bring her back to the governor's palace where she belonged. Oh, she would deliver the message, all right, for it was sure to have repercussions. If Don Ramon was not at El Morro she would follow his trail about the town until she found him! Indeed she could hardly wait!

"Go quickly, Luz," Carolina said in an expressionless voice.

And then after Luz had left, she again studied the tinkling fountain as she had last night. So much had happened, it seemed, in the space of a night and a day. Bitterly she remembered Kells's words to her just before he had stomped out: I will find me a Spanish wench to share my bed!

And now he had gone to Dona Jimena. . . . It was a deep wound, with the point well and truly driven home.

But she would stagger up from the sand. She would find herself a new love. She would not live in this limbo! If Kells could not love her, she would find a man who could!

NIGHTSONG Old Juana, who looked in on her at breakfast, thought she saw a dangerous light gleaming in her mistress's eyes. Don Ramon del Mundo, found behind the forbidding walls of EI Morro, reacted swiftly to the message brought by Luz. Within the hour he cantered up to the house on the Plaza de Armas on a big black stallion. He was leading a white Arabian mare who tossed her mane and tail in the sunlight. Don Ramon had a look of triumph on his swarthy countenance for he had almost given Carolina up, so many times had he been turned away from her door. And now, by heaven, she had sent for him! He carried his shoulders with a slight swagger as he dismounted and banged the big iron knocker. Carolina herself answered the door. She gave him a winning smile and a curtsy that swept the tiles.

"But you are here so quickly, Don Ramon!" His gaze passed over her in leisurely fashion. "Yet I find you already dressed for riding," he observed. "Ah, that is true-save for my shoes. These high heels will have to do. No"-she held up her hand, laughing-"I refuse to visit your bootmaker again, Don Ramon. I have a sudden urge to visit the countryside-not a stuffy bootmaker's shop." So she wished to go out in the country where they would be alone! The tawny eyes lit up. It was what he desired, of course, but he had expected her to insist upon riding decorously around Havana. She snatched up her hat, settled it firmly upon her fair hair. "I will not keep you waiting, Don Ramon." She turned to Luz who lurked nearby. "Should Don Diego return, tell him I have ridden out with Don Ramon," she said carelessly. She saw Luz's eyes gleam. There was no doubt that Luz would deliver that message. The girl hated her!

And at that moment Carolina was almost glad.

Don Ramon del Mundo led her proudly through Havana, past the handsome rococo buildings with their red tile roofs, past the iron grillwork balconies that jutted out over the street-and as they rode, he talked. He told her with an arrogant wave of his hand who lived here and who lived there-s-and regaled her with interesting stories about them. And gradually the white walls disappeared, melted into adobe shacks and noisy wineshops and rubbish heaps and bare ground with the grass worn away.

Curious sandaled or barefoot people, sitting in the doorways of thatched huts or carrying huge burdens on their backs, watched them as they passed-the great lord of EI Morro and the beautiful lady on the white horse. They wound their way through narrow, dirty, twisting streets crowded with scrambling half-naked children, turbaned prostitutes, dark mestizos, past vacant-faced peasants leading donkeys or mules.