The Flesh and the Devil (33 page)

         
Torres had taken possession of Eugenio de Castaneda‘s
study, and the delicate French furnishings looked even more incongruous
surrounding his spare, scholarly figure than they did around de Castaneda‘s
fleshy coarseness. But the Duque‘s absorption in his self-imposed duties made
the thought irrelevant, and Juana had the impression, as he glanced up from his
work, that this interview was to take time that he could ill spare from more
important matters.

         
His eyes flickered over her as she entered the room, noting
the picture she made in a rose-coloured gown that lent a faint glow to her pale
cheeks, but he did not rise; then she remembered that her birth did not merit
such condescension. A formal interview, then. Her pulses were racing as she
sank in a low curtsy, and she lowered her eyes for fear that he should read in
them the picture of what she had so lately seen.

         
‗Senorita de Arrelanos.‘ Torres‘ distant voice was
unexpectedly gently. ‗I wish to confer with you about this morning‘s
unhappy chance – I mean the disappearance of your betrothed.‘

         
Juana looked down at her hands; they were still lying,
apparently relaxed, upon the spread of her cartwheel farthingale. She had
thought they must be clenched tight. I have not seen him, she told herself. I
do not know what has become of him, nor where he is. Aloud, she said, ‗I
was told that sometimes he runs away and hides, and that it is no more to him
than a child‘s game.‘

         
Torres nodded. ‗That is so, I believe. And it is for
such reasons that His Majesty the King has not favoured the idea of allowing
the Duque to marry; it is feared that he lacks… steadiness. You would agree with
that?‘

         
‗Yes‘

         
The brief, stunned affirmative seemed to give him some
satisfaction. ‗I am told that your betrothal was arranged without your
consent.‘

        
He glanced across the room as he spoke and Juana, following
his gaze, saw for the first time that Dona Luisa was sitting in one corner of
the room, her little court about her. So that, Juana thought, was why the
Condesa had not attempted to follow her into Torres‘s presence. The elder woman
was regarding her fixedly, her expression an odd blend of apprehension and
triumph; her lined face was ashen, but the narrow lips smiled. Realizing that
Torres seemed to be waiting for her answer, Juana bowed her head in assent.

         
‗His Grace is much concerned that any wrong done to
you should be righted.‘ Don Luisa observed quietly. ‗I have told him how
little you have desired this match, and he willing to help you.‘

         
‗Help me!‘ Juana‘s eyes held sheer disbelief as she
turned to Torres.

         
‗How?‘

         
Torres‘s short-sighted eyes were no longer vague, and the
words came with swift precision, snapped out like the slap of a winning hand of
cards. ‗With your consent and the King‘s power this betrothal may be
rescinded, senorita. You could go back to your father‘s house tomorrow, if you
wished it.‘

         
Even in her total stupefaction Juana saw Dona Luisa lean
forward, her thin fingers gripping her fan. This woman wanted her gone, a
half-forgotten memory nudged her, and she could sense the force of her hatred
beneath the assumption of charity. But the reason did not matter: this was
escape, an undreamed of miracle that would free her from this whole
labyrinthine tangle as simply as if she had opened her eyes and found that she
had been dreaming. For a moment her senses shrank from the memory of Tristan‘s
calculating eyes, but she pushed the thought aside.

         
‗Your Grace, I should be glad to go if it is
permitted. I have always thought myself unworthy of such a husband.‘

         
She met Torres‘s eyes squarely as her spoke, and saw the
quick flash of understanding there before he nodded and looked across at Dona
Luisa.

         
‗Then I shall act on behalf of Senor de Castaneda in
this, and because he cannot sign me power of attorney, I must require Dona
Luisa‘s approval for what passes here – and this she has consented to give. You
shall go tomorrow.‘ A faint smile touched his thin lips. ‗I learn that
the young de Nueva is eager to bear you company, but it is not fit that you
should travel unescorted – to assure your father that you return to him without
dishonour and that no disgrace is intended towards you by breaking off this
match, a member of this household must be sent with you. I will send His Grace
de Valenzuela‘s gentleman-companion as your convoy

         
– Senor Felipe Tristan.‘

         
‗No!‘

         
Juana heard the smothered, choking cry with a sort of
astonishment because it had not come from her own astonishment because it had
not come from her own suddenly-aching throat. It was Dona Luisa who had spoken,
and she had half-risen, her handkerchief pressed to her lips as though to
stifle the sound. As she stared, Juana remembered the gossip of her waiting
women – had she only heard it that morning? – about Dona Luisa‘s long passion
for the pellirojo. Of course, the elder woman would see her as a rival for his
attention….

         
‗Senora?‘ Torres‘s tone was cold.

         
‗Sen-senor Tristan cannot be spared now!‘ Dona Luisa,
distraught, was obviously improvising wildly. ‗He will be needed when
Bartolome is found, the boy dotes on him – and I shall need his counsel during
my husband‘s illness,‘ she finished fiercely.

         
‗I assure you, senora, I have not made this choice
lightly. I do not wish Senor de Arrelanos to believe that your house has
repudiated his daughter and sent her back without ceremony, as he may if she is
not well attended at her return; and as for counsel, you may have my own.‘

         
Dona Luisa bit her lip, her haggard face crumbling like a
child‘s, but before she could speak Juana broke in, the words bursting from her
tongue in desperation. ‗Your Grace, I have no care for ceremony, nor has
my father. I can explain to him, and I – I had rather travel on foot to Navarre
than suffer such an escort.‘

         
The Duque‘s scanty fair brows lifted in disapproval. ‗This
heat is displeasing, senorita. I have said, and it is decided.‘

         
Dona Luisa rising to her feet, wringing her frail hands. ‗If
– if you have no more need of me, Your Grace, I shall go and sit with my
husband. I shall ask the Condesa de Araciel to escort the senorita back to her
room.‘ She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth again. ‗Come, Pedrino.‘

         
The dwarf followed her, bowing and toddling to the door on
tiny, stumpy legs like a child‘s. Briefly, Juana thought of pleading with
Torres, of telling him the whole, gamning truth, but there seemed to be weights
on her tongue; she could not begin to shape the words. If only she could endure
the journey, she told herself, she could be rid of Tristan for ever once it was
over – she would see that he did not have so much as a night‘s lodging her
father when once she reached Zuccaro – and Jaime would need to urging to
protect her while the journey lasted. As for tonight-

         
She caught her breath, then mocked herself inwardly for
cowardice. Felipe Tristan was cold and passionless, and would not risk haste in
taking what he would think he was assured of having at his leisure; he would le
her alone tonight, amusing himself with the thought of her terrified
expectancy. She remembered the brilliant, unrevealing eyes that had studied her
so closely; a lion, she thought fleetingly, watching its prey with controlled
patience that cloaked its implacability.

         
She wondered whether that scarred mask of a face would
alter when he learned that Torres‘s plans had given her a chance – if she were
ruthless enough to take it – of cheating him, ignoring the debt that she had so
stupidly confessed. She doubted it; he would accept defeat as expressionlessly
as he took his victories, and even the most curious onlooker would see no more
than the gravity of a servant taking charge of his master‘s guest.

         
His late master‘s guest.

         
Dona Luisa‘s thin hands were quivering as she sat huddled
by the fire in her husband‘s bedchamber. She had sent the man who came with
logs to fetch Tristan; the room was sweltreing, but his physicians had said
that Eugenio must be kept warm and so she had ordered the fire to be banked
high.

         
She crossed the room to look down at the unmoving figure
stretched out on the bed, and felt an easing of her tenseness. She was a good
wife – she seldom left Eugenio, and would not, even though they had assured her
that he would not die yet. Luisa the faithful, the uncomplaining, would tend
her stricken husband untiringly and feast her soul on the sight of his
helplessness.

         
How still he lay, she thought, except for the slow, painful
jerk of his chest as he laboured for breath. She knew that clean, fresh breezes
and open windows would benefit him more than a room full of smoke and fug, but
it was a delight to obey the doctors in this.

         
His bright, knowing eyes were closed now, the lids fallen
in crepey pouches, while the lower lip pouted in a slobber. He was lying like a
dead thing, sentient but unknowing; a couple of leeches clung to the back of
his hand where one physician had been concerned to draw off the black
melancholy blood which, in his opinion, had caused the fit. They were blown now
and sated, close to dropping off.

         
Dona Luisa stroked the clammy brow and turned away with a
threadlike sigh of satisfaction. And it was likely to endure – even if Eugenio
lived, he would not easily recover his lost strength. If he lived: she could
not wish him dead for the sake of her own soul, she thought, but she would not
pray for his life.

         
Yet her freedom would avail her little if she could not
cross this scheme of Torres‘s, this arbitrary order whose cruelty to her could
not have been excelled by Eugenio at his most vicious. She had no meant to show
her hand so soon, but she had to dissuade Tristan from agreeing to take the
Arreelanos girl back to Navarre; she had to. Before, while Eugenio was in
health and alert for any weapon to use against her solely for the pleasure of
wielding it, she had not dared even to hint at her feelings – she had not
expected Felipe Tristan to understand, and was bitterly unsurprised when he had
not seemed to see her as a woman. But now, with her new liberty… he would not
want to leave when he knew what she could offer him. Her dark eyes looked momentarily
sightless as she stared down at the smoking blaze.