The Flesh and the Devil (16 page)

         
'There is a man I have a fancy for —' the words came with a
rush — 'but he will not look at me. . . . I have tried all the arts I have, but
he is too proud. They say I am too lowly to get his favour, that he looks
higher than servants for his pleasure and nothing but a fine lady will content
him.'

         
'He is not worth your sighing, then!' Juana laughed, for
the perfect scheme had come into her head without warning. 'If it is your
poverty that irks him, it is simple. . , . She cut through Michaela's heated
defence of her choice with a trace of her old impetuosity. 'He would not dare
to refuse you if you were tricked out as fine as I am, would he?'

         
'You are jesting, senorita.' The maid's eyes were half
suspicious, half angry.

         
'No, I promise you. Do you see him at night? Does he go to the
servants'

         
solar after supper with the rest?'

         
'Sometimes he does, but —'

         
'Then it is simple. When you come to undress me tonight,
you must change your gown for one that I shall give you. If that does not win
his attention to you. . . She allowed the words to trail away,watching the
astonished delight that grew in the Moorish girl's dark face.

         
`Do you mean it, senorita? I may borrow one of your gowns?'

         
There was a tinge of the histrionic in the question. Michaela
had often availed herself of her mistress's wardrobe but had never dared to
take one of the finer gowns for fear of detection. Now, with a free choice, she
could gratify her ambition.

         
Juana, deep in her own plans and studying her maid's simply-laced
russet gown with its plain, gathered skirt and unstiffened petticoat, did not
see the acquisitive look beneath the assumption of naive astonishment.

         
'No, not borrow— it shall be yours as a gift. If you snare
him, it shall be your wedding gown: my gift to the bride.' A farewell gift, her
thoughts added, but Michaela laughed excitedly.

         
'A bride! I do not hope so far. It is for you ladies to
think of marriage.'

         
'But not for us to choose whom we may take.' Juana spoke
almost cheerfully as she rose to her feet, thrusting the folded paper into her
sleeve.

         
A flicker of something like guilt showed in Michaela's eyes
for a moment, than it was gone. 'Would you part with your scarlet gown,
senorita?' The gay note in her warm voice was almost indefinably forced. 'I
have always had a liking for red.'

         
'Whichever you will.'

         
Her maid's discarded gown, Juana was thinking, should be
simple enough even for her inexperienced hands. She could seem to retire to bed
normally tonight, then rise and dress herself again after Michaela had left
her. She had a vague recollection of the Patio of Warriors — it was in the
outer wards of the castillo, a stern, frowning place lined with statues of some
of Spain's great soldiers. Eugenio de Castaneda had pointed it out to her that
very morning, and she thought she could remember its whereabouts.

         
Suddenly she wished that she had accepted his renewed
invitation, for she had need of his knowledge now. But even if she were late,
she told herself, Jaime would wait there for her.

         
'Is it done, then?' The question was sharp.

         
'Yes, senor. The carriage left half-an-hour ago.' Eugenio
de Castaneda rubbed his hands together. 'Well, and it will travel slowly, I
have taken care for that, and by the time that old beldame reaches her brother
and prates to him, all here will be secure. Leave me —' he waved away the
hovering major-domo-'and see that Dona Beatriz's luggage is sent after her. She
left in such haste that she did not think to pack.'

         
Histangua bowed, his ancient body stiff with reprobation.
'I shall, senor,' he responded disapprovingly.

         
Juana's thoughts were too busy to notice her aunt's absence
from supper that night; she simply assumed that Tin was sitting somewhere where
she could not see her, and thought no more of it than that. Her concentration
was upon her artless enquiries to the Condesa de Araciel and the apology for
her earlier abruptness that brought forth a grudging smile and a stiff offer of
advice and help. It had not been easy to lead the conversation to the exact
whereabouts of the Patio of Warriors, but the elder woman, flattered by Juana's
new, grave tractability, was soon coaxed into an explanation of all the most
striking features of the castillo. Neither of them mentioned the Duque.

         
It had seemed so easy, Juana thought now, sitting down
there in the hall and listening to the Condesa's slow tongue with an
appropriately intent expression. But now, in darkness, the envisioned distances
were multiplied; every fresh turn brought a new possibility of mistaking, and
her head was a whirl of uncertainty and conjecture as she stole out of her
bedchamber.

         
She and Michaela were of a height, both slender and
small-boned, and the russet gown had proved as simple to don as Juana had
hoped. She had taken pleasure, too, in helping Michaela into the absurdly
opulent gown of scarlet brocade with its cloth-of-gold petticoat and watching
her go off peacocking in search of her latest fancy. For a servant girl it was
so simple, Juana thought with a pang of envy: when she liked a man she went to
tell him so, and invited him to lie with her if he took her fancy that way, as
easily and naturally as breathing, as eating, as sleeping. It seemed
ridiculous, even monstrous, that richer people made rules to deprive themselves
of the freedom of poorer ones.

         
It was a peasant's reflection that she had seen in the
shadowed glass as she slipped out of the room; the plain gown laced demurely
over one of her own chemises, her slender feet in low-heeled shoes and her
hair, already brushed to springing silkiness for the night, twisted into a
thick rope and pinned in a knot at the nape of her neck. Even if she were to be
seen, she reassured herself, she would not be recognized. The insignificant
figure in russet was no kin to the stately, tragic-eyed Senorita de Arrelanos —
it was a peasant girl going to meet her lover in a mingling of excitement,
apprehension and joy.

         
She paused, her fingertips feeling for the moulding on the
wall beside her. She had not dared to bring a light for fear of discovery, and
now the darkness loomed like a wall. She could only trust that there would be
light burning along the way — perhaps candles in the great rooms or lamps left
burning for the servants to do their work. She did not trust her sense of
direction in a place as vast as this. The wall was cold under her fingers, and
she felt the chill creeping up her arm. Her own breathing, every rustle and
whisper of her usurped clothing, sounded preternaturally loud,
as
 
if the darkness pressed upon her, drawing
attention to her every movement, yet glancing down at her concealing dark grey
cloak, she realized that unless a light shone on her she could hardly be seen.

         
It was a comforting thought, and she clung to it as she
made her way to the staircase, fighting against a surge of fear. If she forgot
what the Condesa had told her, if she made a single false step, she might still
be wandering in the castillo's blind ways at dawn, long after Jaime had
despaired of her and gone; and she dared not think what de Castaneda might do
afterwards, in the name of virtuous correction. A choking feeling gripped her
by the throat, but she fought it down. It was folly to consider the chance of
ill luck, she told herself angrily, when every step brought her closer to
Jaime. She murmured his name to herself like a whispered talisman, then pressed
the back of her hand to her lips with a frightened little sound, closing her
eyes as though to sharpen her memory.

         
It was impossible, she thought, she could not forget —
Jaime was handsome and loving, her rescuer from a fate more unspeakable than
she had thought it. She
must
 
have
his face in mind when she went to him.

         
The sound of her own panic-stricken heartbeats made her
lower her arm at last. A troop of soldiers could have come upon her in those
moments, she told herself scornfully; blinded and deafened so, she could have
been surrounded without knowing it. Drawing a deep breath she moved forward
again, on into the blackness, following the wall with outstretched hands.

         
Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, but she ignored
the patterns of greyish light when she approached a window or an open doorway,
trusting to the evidence of her hands and her ears, like a blind woman. The
stairs seemed to wind into infinity as she descended, her feet feeling
cautiously for each step, her pulse thunderous in her ears. She began to shiver
as though she awaited a cataclysm. Then, in the act of transferring her weight
from one foot to the other, she froze, listening. Voices were coming from the
hall below her, distant but coming nearer, approaching the foot of the
staircase.

         
Juana held her breath, clinging to the balustrade with
savage fingers. There were five or six, in couples by the sound of them, and
they had evidently supped late and well. If the way to their chambers lay up
the stairs they could not help but pass her, and if one of them recognized her
she was lost. She waited tensely, her weight poised uneasily between the two
treads and her calf-muscles aching with strain.

         
'The little one is fair enough, you must concede that,'
someone said, and another man gave a low laugh.

         
Their shadows were visible now, stretched by the torchlight
to goblinlength, coming towards the staircase; three men, two women. In a
moment they would pass under the archway and begin to climb the stairs.

         
'Oh, I grant you, too fair for him, poor creature. No maid,
whatever her sins, deserves such a husband — but at least there will be many
willing to help her find consolation, later.'

         
There was a ripple of laughter, and Juana caught her
breath. The shadows were swinging aside; a moment later and the betraying patch
of light faded and followed the diminishing sounds. They were going. She could
hardly believe her good fortune, but they were going— their rooms must lie in
another part of the castillo.

         
She waited with bated breath until the darkness and silence
were complete again, and only then noticed the agony of cramp in her legs.
Stifling a wince, she went forward steadily, forcing her limbs to obey her;
then, as she reached the floor of the hall, the midnight bell sounded.

         
Desperately, recklessly, she began to run. Safety was less
important now than haste, and her breath burned her lungs as she went. If Jaime
did not wait, if he were gone before she came, then she was lost. Careless now
of the clatter of her hurrying footsteps, she ran through passage and court,
letting blind instinct show her the way. Outdoors a thin sickle of moon cast
enough light to see by, and it was with a sob of relief that she recognized the
huge images with their bronze weapons, set high on the walls of the patio. The
whole great space was empty, but her relief was so great that she could have
run uncaring through a crowd.

         
The north corner, she thought — which was the north? There
were three gateways and a door from the castillo itself— the one through which
she had just come — and all of them were invisible in shadow. She swallowed
air, gasping. The gateways ahead and to the left seemed to lead to coach-houses
and stables, but the one on the right — surely Jaime would meet her there,
where only a single door lay between them and the outside world.