The Flesh and the Devil (63 page)

         
'But Don Bautista, her man says that it is of the very
greatest import, and he may not go until he has an answer. Shall I say-'

         
'Oh, give it me!' The mayor cast a haunted glance at the
slumped figure in the cushioned chair opposite him and extended his hand for
the letter, dismissing the man with a wave. With a muttered apology, he broke
the seal and scanned it, then his round eyes widened. He read it again, then a
third time, and at last raised his eyes to look at de Castaneda, saying slowly,
'If the girl that Don Dalman wrote of is indeed your fugitive, senor, I may be
able to lay my hand on her for you - if you can wait a day or two,' he added
prudently, as the grey face began to twitch in uncontrollable excitement.

         
'If I must.' The heavy head thrust forward eagerly;
pendulous now that de Castaneda's body was so wasted, it looked as though its
weight might drag him forward out of the chair.

         
'She is lodged in the house of a gentlewoman, a neighbour
of mine, near here. My friend sheltered the girl in good faith, of her charity,
but she writes me here that she fears she has been deceived.' Don Bautista
tapped the letter importantly, savouring his own invention. 'The girl, it
seems, is to have a child, which will bring such disgrace to my friend that
she— hrm! - proposes to withdraw her protection, and-'

         
'A child? Say again - a child?' The hoarse voice was almost
unintelligible, the hollowed chest labouring for air. 'Tell me-what this girl
is like.'

         
Alarmed by his guest's agitation, Don Bautista complied,
quite unaware that his own thwarted desires coloured the word-picture he drew.
De Castaneda listened intently and then leaned back with a crooked travesty of
his broad, mirthless smile.

         
'It is the same. Half my household...ran mad for her, the
bitch! Or else she could not have...made off so easily. Even Torres...if he had
bad blood...in his liver instead of ink....' There was a faint tremor in de
Castaneda's wasted fingers as though they tried to answer the impulse to drum
them, and a spark of anger lit his eyes. 'She had a confederate, one of my own
men. I trusted him. But I have someone...on his track now....I shall pay them
both.'

         
A qualm struck the mayor of Villenos. He doubted suddenly
whether Senor de Castaneda's methods would bear any semblance of legality, and
regretted his impulsive confidence. Whatever the little Margarita had done, he
would be sorry to put her into this man's power. . . . Tentatively he said, 'Don
Diego Ruiz has other plans for her, senor'

         
The distorted face twisted. 'He can have her...for a night.
I care not. Then I shall take her and...the child. That may recompense me,
if...' De Castaneda's voice faded, and a soundless chuckle shook his huddled
body. 'What would you have me do then, senor?' Don Bautista had abandoned the
effort to understand as he got to his feet. It might be safer, he was thinking,
to be the ox his wife called him and obey without thought. The bright eyes of
his guest looked uncomfortably fanatical when they gleamed like that under the
bleared, lashless lids.

         
'Send for this neighbour of yours. She may be of use. I
will offer to rid her...of her disgrace, and give her...gold for her expenses,
mmn?' De Castaneda looked up sharply with a ghost of his old grin. 'Even I have
heard of...
la viuda
Herreros.'

         
The few days that Pedrino had spent as the hero of the
Armendariz children, gossiping with Luis and indefatigably mothered by
Elisabeta, had more than repaid him for his trouble in seeking out his friend
Tristan to deliver his warning. Now he was off to the coast in search of new
employment, well-fed and rested. Secure in the knowledge of his own
unimportance-for he had learned long ago that few big people credited a dwarf
with more wit than an infant in arms - he had had no notion that he had been
followed in his errand, to Luis's house and then tediously via the Molina
residence to the Plaza Mayor and back. It was only after he had bidden Luis and
Elisabeta farewell, left messages for the sleeping children and set out for a
last word with the pellirojo before setting off on his travels that he noticed
the shadow behind him.

         
He stepped out faster; he had been a drunkard's living toy
on several occasions and disliked the experience acutely. But the step behind
him quickened with his own, echoing down the darkening street, and it was
coming closer.

         
Pedrino turned, catching his breath to shout and run. and
found himself facing the point of a sword. Then, as he saw the face behind it
and his eyes filled with horrified recognition, the blade drove cleanly through
his chest.

         
CHAPTER 15

         
Doña Jerónima allowed herself to be helped into her new
pink gown, and stood unmoving while Sanchia laced the bodice and settled the
spreading sleeves, pulling the undersleeves through the slashings in gauzy
silver puffs. There was a close necklet of diamonds about her throat and a knot
of deep pink ribbons to hide the leanness of her bosom, and the stomacher was
sewn with ropes of pearls, pink and white, that would probably never be paid
for. The widow's most impressive wig, wider than the span of her narrow
shoulders, had been dressed with knots of pink ribbon to match those on the
gown.

         
Things were mending themselves, Doña Jerónima thought as
she surveyed her reflection in the long glass. Who would have thought that fat,
stupid Bautista had so much wit as to think of disposing of Margarita so
neatly? If the man from Andalusia would not only take Don Diego's leavings but
wait until he had done, then the governor's son could hardly complain!

         
Her gaze grew reflective as she remembered the previous
night‘s visit to Bautista‘s house. She had gone angrily, supposing that he
wanted to dispute with her about his share of the twenty thousand - or even
that he had developed sentimental scruples over the girl. But instead she had
found him the dazed catspaw of the cripple, de Castañeda, whose mind worked so
much like her own. She had enjoyed the discussion as much as he, and everything
had been decided with a speed which had left Bautista gaping.

         
She had not believed the story of a robbery, but she cared
no more for de Castañeda's reasons for wanting Margarita than he did for hers
for sheltering an unknown girl. He had not seemed surprised to learn that she
had been unable to learn the name of the child‘s father, yet the thought had
seemed to please him, sending him into chuckling reverie whenever the baby was
mentioned. It was almost as if he knew already, Doña Jerónima thought briefly,
and then dismissed the puzzle; after all, there was no profit to be made from
learning the identity of a bastard brat that had ruined all her plans.

         
But now the whole business had been arranged with
smoothness and despatch, and another fifty thousand reales had arrived at the
Casa de Herreros that afternoon. Bautista might try to claim a share of it,
Doña Jerónima thought amusedly, but that was a game at which he would not win!

         
Her head turned slightly, snakelike, unconsciously preening
as she asked,

         
‗What hour is it, Sanchia?‘

         
‗Just gone eight, señora. The first guests will be
arriving soon.‘

         
‗So they will.‘ Doña Jerónima smiled, and it was not
a pleasant smile. ‗I have just time-bring me the key to the rosewood
chest, and fetch me a cup of wine. I shall take the Señorita Margarita a
draught that will settle her queasy stomach.'

         
Sanchia‘s dark eyes were frightened, but she made no demur.
She had hoped against hope that this time her mistress might break her
invariable pattern, but it seemed that the Señorita Armendariz was to be
despatched even more quickly than most - she supposed that Doña Jerónima had
learned what the rest of the servants had known for weeks and tried to keep
from her prying eyes. She laid the key of the chest within reach of Doña
Jerónima‘s hand and left the room without a word.

         
The chest stood beside Doña Jerónima‘s bed, a beautiful
thing inlaid with a fretwork of mother-of-pearl, and she turned the key and
opened the lid with a little shiver of relish. The use of its contents was a
luxury that she seldom permitted herself, for the feeling of power it gave her
was too heady, one of the few genuine excitements she had left. She kept the
longing to use it more often curbed with her hard common sense; it would not do
to become addicted to treating people. Once, now and again, sufficed, or even
that game might lose its charm....

         
Her hand went out to a small jar with a gilt top that
contained a coarse black powder. The substance looked intractable, but it
dissolved in wine with barely a trace and, once swallowed, would work a vestal
virgin into a frenzy of longing. It still made Doña Jerónima laugh silently to
think of shy little Ana and how she -

         
Sanchia returned with a cup of red wine and put it silently
beside her, and she glanced up with one eyebrow raised. ‗Ah, so you
guessed? Yes, red is a better concealment than white for this. Very well, you
may go.‘ She turned from the chest, smiling. ‗I shall take it to the girl
myself-you might forget yourself and blab.‘

         
The maid took one small step backwards, then almost ran
from the room. Doña Jerónima‘s expression was complacent; she had been sure
that Sanchia meant to warn the girl when the cup was handed over, and now she
knew that she had been right. She dipped her fingers into the jar, then
hesitated with her hand suspended over the wine. Three grains had turned little
Ana into a screaming, insatiable she-animal without pride or shame; it would be
interesting to know what four would do, but such a dose might work too quickly.
With a slight sigh, Doña Jerónima dropped in three grains, restored the jar to
the chest and locked it up; then she picked up the cup to carry it to Juana,
taking care not to spill a drop as she went.

         
The girl was almost ready when she entered the room, and
she smiled to herself at the picture Juana made. Tonight she had taken care
that her young guest should be dressed simply, like a young girl without any
pretence of sophistication. She had a virginal look, calculated to put an edge
on Don Diego‘s appetite.

         
In the stiff-bodied, wide-skirted gown Juana looked
girlishly slender, and no man was likely to cavil at the fullness of breasts
taut against the demure collar of blue silk that covered them. The gown itself
was a deep, almost midnight blue, braided with gold and silver like a
star-filled sky. Juana‘s blue-black hair flowed loose round her shoulders in a
mass of silky tendrils, a bunch of gold ribbons knotted into it to brush one
cheek.

         
‗That is very well, my dear, but you need something
to make it look more splendid, in place of those unfortunate pearls. You,
girl,‘ she addressed Juana‘s wide-eyed maid, ‗go to my bedchamber and
tell Sanchia to bring me the gold chain out of my ebony box.‘ She smiled
beneficently at Juana as the girl left the room, adding, ‗You look as
though you expect me to quarrel with you, or else beat you! I promise, we shall
resolve your future after tonight‘s ball, when my thoughts are free. In the
meantime, after yesterday afternoon‘s affair I have brought you something that
will see you through the night without any qualms. Here.‘

         
She held out the wine-cup, and Juana took it reluctantly. ‗Señora,
I do not think I should drink wine, it makes the sickness worse. Some milk,
perhaps, or-or water-‘