The Winding Stair (16 page)

Besides, it was easy to shake off her terrors in Vasco's entertaining company. Here, at last, was a real companion for her rides, and, best of all, someone to talk to. They spent all their time together, walking, riding, playing chess and, endlessly, talking. His father and her mother had been first cousins and, he told her, before the Tavora plot brought disaster on the whole family, a match had been planned between them. ‘My father was the younger, by a year. When Pombal struck, his parents saved his life, and their own, by a quick flight to Spain. But he never forgot the little cousin he had played with. After King Joseph's death, and Pombal's fall from power, he came back, as soon as he dared; but too late. Your mother was married. Do you know what he did?'

‘No?' Juana was fascinated. No one had ever troubled to tell her about her mother's family.

‘The most romantic thing. He married her best friend. A connection of theirs who had been in the convent with her. It was not a very happy marriage, I'm afraid.' He said it so dispassionately that she was surprised to remember he was talking about his own parents. And then remembered too, with a kind of horror, what her grandmother had told her. ‘The bastard son of a bastard father.' How brave to speak thus. ‘They got permission to go abroad again quite soon,' he went on. ‘I don't think my father could bear to see your mother married to someone else. But our mothers always kept in touch. I found a packet of letters, after mine died. You'd be surprised how much I know about you, cousin. And all of it good. I've still got your mother's last letter, written quite a short while before she died. I'll show it you some time. It will make you cry. It almost made me. I've thought about you all my life, Juana Brett. When I heard your father had carried you off to England, and married again, I wanted to put on my armour and ride to your rescue.' He laughed. ‘A boy's dream. What could I do? I grew up in France, you know. Our countries were at war. I was helpless.'

‘In France?' She was amazed. ‘Vasco! Tell me all about it.'

It was a story of such romance and danger as made it easy to
forget her own troubles. He had been a boy still when the French revolution broke out, but a boy with eyes to see and a heart to remember its horrors. From time to time he would break off: ‘It's too bad; it's not for a woman's ears.'

He spoke little of his father, but she gained, somehow, the impression that he had broken his wife's heart by throwing in his lot with the most murderous of the Jacobins. It was his death, she suspected, that had freed Vasco to return to Portugal. ‘And how glad I am that I did.' The velvet brown eyes held hers for a moment. Then, briskly: ‘My man's arrived at last from Lisbon with my spare horse. Tomas has found you a side-saddle. We're going to have a real ride today – to the Cork Convent.' It was almost an order.

How had he known that she dreaded re-entering that dark little wood? ‘Must we?' She had breakfasted, as usual, in her riding habit, so there was no excuse for delay.

‘Yes. We de Mascarenhas always remount after a fall.' As he put her up into her saddle, she thought how bravely, considering his circumstances, he used the family name. ‘I see your grandmother told you about me?' Disconcertingly, he must have read her thoughts. ‘I'm glad of it,' he went on as he caught up with her outside the castle gate. ‘It's not a subject one would normally discuss with a young lady, but our circumstances are not normal. Besides, you are no ordinary young lady, cousin.'

She was not altogether sure that this was a compliment. ‘I'm quite an ordinary English one.'

‘I doubt that. Besides, you are to be Portuguese now, or so I hope with all my heart.'

‘Why, thank you.' But something in his tone had disconcerted her and she turned the conversation to indifferent subjects for a while. At last, with a shudder: ‘I find I am quite a good enough Portuguese not to like re-entering that wood.' They could see it now, lying dark across the road ahead. ‘Do you think the
bruchas
are waiting for me, cousin?' She wished she was sure her pretended fear was not real.

‘No, nor the bandits either. But I'm sure you will feel better when you have ridden through and proved it to yourself. And to your man,' he added, seeing Tomas, who had been running ahead, hesitate at sight of the wood and turn back toward them.

‘Let him keep beside us.' Juana was afraid he would try and force Tomas to go through the wood first.

‘Your wish is my command, cousin.'

In the little wood, a late bird sang. Juana did not even flinch when some animal, startled by the noise they made, crashed through the undergrowth and away from them. ‘Thank you.' She turned impulsively to Vasco as they emerged once more into the sunshine. ‘I'm almost more grateful for what you have done today than for saving me in the first place.'

‘No
bruchas
?' he said. ‘I'm proud of you, Juana.'

Once again, she had an uncomfortable feeling that things were moving a little fast for her. ‘Look at that stretch of grass,' she said. ‘Will you trust me at a gallop, cousin?'

‘I'd trust you with my life.'

‘Flatterer!' She turned away from him to call to Tomas. ‘Sit down and wait for us here. We'll be back. You don't actually want to go up to the Cork Convent, do you, cousin?'

‘Not if you don't. I'd infinitely rather stay out here on the hills with you.' But she had urged her horse to a gallop and was already well ahead of him.

‘That was wonderful!' Stopping at last for breath, Juana pulled off her plumed riding hat to let the sea breeze cool her cheeks. ‘Almost as good as flying.'

‘Like a
brucha
?'

She laughed. ‘Ghosts and cobwebs. They're all blown away.' They had stopped below an outcrop of rock and now she strained her eyes upwards against the bright sun. ‘Can you see that white flower, cousin? It looks like an orchis, but surely it's too late in the year for them?'

‘You'd like to know?' He was off his horse in a flash. ‘Here, hold the reins for me.'

‘You mustn't. It's not safe! Not in riding boots!'

He was on his way up already, climbing like a cat, like a squirrel, his heavy boots striking sparks from the hard rock. She watched, breath held, while he reached the clump of flowers, picked them, then returned, one-handed, down the cliff.'

‘For my cousin!' His colour was high and his breath quick as he bent to brush the flowers with his lips before handing them to her.

‘They're beautiful!' In fact, the delicate flowers of the white cyclamen had suffered a good deal in transit. ‘But you shouldn't
have done it.' She smiled at him over them. ‘I'd never have forgiven myself.'

‘Your wish is my command.' He had said it before.

‘Then I must be careful what I wish.'

Back at the castle, they were dismounting in the courtyard when Iago brought Juana a parcel. ‘They said you should have it at once, senhora.'

‘Who, Iago?'

‘I don't know.' He looked frightened. ‘Two of them. Dressed as friars. But they weren't friars. They didn't bless me.'

‘Jesu Maria!' Juana had removed an outer layer of coarse sailcloth to reveal a blood-stained note.

‘Don't!' Vasco snatched the parcel from her and it fell open to reveal four bloody human ears. ‘Horrible! Take them away, you!' He thrust the parcel on Iago and took Juana's arm to lead her indoors.

‘But what does it say?' She controlled nausea.

‘The note?' He opened it, fastidiously avoiding the bloodstains, and read: ‘ “Thus perish all who molest those the Star protects. Fear not. And speak not.”' He looked at her. ‘Good advice, cousin. But I'm glad to know you are so powerfully protected. I was afraid for you—' He looked quickly round the empty courtyard. ‘Of them.'

‘So was I. But it's horrible, cousin. The men who attacked me. They must be …'

‘Dead. You have nothing more to fear. Selfishly, I could almost regret it. It means I lose my excuse to act as your shadow. My man brought me a summons from Lisbon that I had meant to ignore, but now I fear I must leave you for a while.'

‘Oh?' She felt an odd mixture of disappointment and relief. ‘You must go at once?'

‘Soon. There's a man in Lisbon who may have evidence of my parents' marriage. I'm sure you understand, cousin, how important it is to me, now, to remove the blot from my name. But you're badly shaken; I've no right to keep you here talking. Besides, I must find that man of yours – what's his name? Iago – before he starts a panic among the servants.'

‘Too late, I should think. But I'd be grateful if you'd try. How do they expect me to say nothing?'

‘The parcel must be common knowledge, but if you'll be ruled by me you'll not speak of the note.'

‘But Iago saw it.'

He looked disconcerted, ‘So he did. In that case, we must think of some harmless message. “May all your enemies perish thus”? I'll dispose of the actual note. And, if you'll allow me, I'll tell your family as much as they need to know-which is as little as possible.'

So he did not trust them either. ‘Thank you.'

‘You're looking worse and worse. May I see you to your room? You'll be much best out of the way until the first excitement is over.'

It was good to lean on his strong arm and feel the warmth of his hand under her elbow. It was good to be looked after, protected. It was perhaps a little absurd to have him help her up the stairway to her room as if she could not have managed it by herself, but it was pleasant just the same.

Vasco left next day. He did not ask if he might come back, he said he would: ‘As soon as I can.' He held Juana's hand for a long moment, before turning away to pay his respectful farewells to her aunt and uncles. He had already been honoured by a summons to Mrs. Brett's own rooms to take his leave of her.

‘She saw him alone,' Manuela told Juana.

‘She says he's no fool,' said Estella.

‘ “And my poor fool is dead,”' said Elvira.

‘ “
At his head a grass green turf,
At his feet a stone
.”

We shall all be dull now Senhor de Mascarenhas has left us.'

They were indeed. Juana, who had thought herself relieved at his going, was surprised to find how much she missed his cheerful company. Riding with him, learning it was best to let him beat her at chess, listening to his stories of life in Paris, it had been easy to forget how time was ebbing away toward the full moon and the Sons of the Star.

An invitation from Lord Strangford provided a welcome distraction. He was giving a farewell party for Lord St. Vincent at his country house in Sintra. ‘The crisis is over.' Mrs. Brett summed it up. ‘For the moment. We'll all go, I think. Your Mr. Varlow will doubtless be there, Juana. I doubt you'll find him dull company after your cousin.'

Juana sighed. Could her grandmother really have forgotten that the party was a few days before the full moon? At such a time, she was hardly likely to find Gair Varlow's company dull.

          .          .          .

‘Don't stoop, child!' It was the day of the party and Juana had been helping her grandmother down the steep stairs from her room. The old lady's voice was sharp as she went on. ‘There's nothing shameful about being tall!'

‘No?' Juana thought how Daisy and Teresa used to tease her.

‘No. Have some pride, can't you? They used to twit you with it,
I collect, those step-sisters of yours?' The old lady could be disconcertingly sharp at times.

‘A little. It was my fault, I'm sure, for minding so much.' Looking back, she saw, with surprise, that this was true. Daisy and Teresa had teased each other just as much.

Mrs. Brett had stopped in the shade of the cloister. ‘Have you ever wondered what made your aunt the poor thing she is?'

‘Of course.'

‘I'll tell you. It was her brothers who began it. She was never brilliant, you understand, but a good, sweet girl whose only aim in life was to please. Her kind brothers, my Prospero and my Miguel, discovered that by teasing they could make her blush. From the blush to tears was an easy step … They were driving her crazy without knowing what they were doing. I should have stopped them, of course, but with no husband I found them hard to handle. In the end, in despair, I sent Elvira to stay with my relatives in England. I thought she would be happy there. She was miserable. By the time I understood, it was too late. She came home the poor thing she is. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, Juana?'

‘I think so.' She straightened her shoulders.

‘Exactly. And now' – she moved forward into fierce sunshine – ‘let us go to this party.'

As Lord Strangford came forward to greet them, it struck Juana for the first time that the party must inevitably be conducted in English. Sweat prickled in the palms of her hands, as she tried to chart a course without ‘t's or ‘d's through the hazard of the introductions. Lord Strangford was surprisingly young, auburn-haired and blue-eyed and bubbling with Irish charm. She found she did not like him. Lord St. Vincent, on the other hand, grizzled and tanned by years at sea, struck her as the kind of father one would have liked to have had. What a fine quarter-deck sanity he would have brought to one's miseries.

Misery? Lord Strangford had given one arm to her grandmother and the other to her and was leading them into the cool, tiled saloon where wine and sweetmeats were being served. ‘I'm delighted to meet you at last, Miss Brett. My Mr. Varlow says you are the new Catalini. Perhaps, later on, you will give us a song?'

She had not sung in public since that night at Forland House. Could she? In English? She simply did not know. ‘I'll d … d …'
Idiotic not to have foreseen the hazards of the phrase ‘do my best.'