Whispering (15 page)

‘If she is, mother, she conceals it admirably. She is a most self-possessed young lady, and of course I hardly ever see her alone. She and Miss Brown are quite inseparable and Senhor Gomez never shows himself.'

‘That Miss Brown.' Something in his tone had alerted her. ‘What do we know of her, Frank? I have been wondering a great deal about her, a nobody from God knows where. Can I safely introduce her to my friends? I wish you would try and find out something about her for me.'

‘She is Miss Gomez's friend, mother. Surely that must be enough for us.'

‘It's all so awkward,' grumbled his mother. ‘At home in England it would be easy enough to find out, but here – I'm sure I don't know what to do for the best.'

‘Welcome her to your house!' He felt himself getting angry and knew he must fight it. ‘What are we, after all, but honest wine merchants? I hope I am as good a gentleman as the next
man, but to more than that I will not pretend. My grandfather was a sugar baker in Hull, remember.'

‘On your father's side.' Impatiently. ‘But my mother –'

‘Was Lady Susan, an earl's daughter. Mother, how could I forget it? But she's long gone now, and I would much rather stand on my own two feet as an honest business man.'

‘If you still had a business.'

‘Well, there's the rub, isn't it? If only father had thought to diversify, to put some of his money into salt cod, or shipping, but it was vines all the way with him, and now look at us.'

‘That's right, blame your poor father.' She put a lace-trimmed handkerchief to dry eyes. ‘I knew it would come to that, it always does in the end.'

He nearly said, better than blaming your extravagance, but restrained himself. Quarrels with her always ended in hysterics, recriminations, and abject apologies on his part. He picked up his hat. ‘I think I'll just step down to the quay and see if there is any news.'

Caterina, too, was beginning to be a little anxious about the plans for Mrs Ware's party. What had originally been described as a little meeting of the English colony now seemed to have burgeoned into a formal affair, with dancing. ‘Not that I don't love to dance,' she said to Harriet. ‘And I know you do too, but it's not at all what I had reckoned on.'

‘No, it is odd, isn't it? Specially when they are supposed to be so hard up. Mr Ware was telling me the other day how very much he hoped that when Major Dickson returns from upriver he will have work for him to do. He hates his idle life, he says, now with the future of the world at stake.'

‘What kind of work, I wonder?' Caterina did not like questioning her friend under false pretences, but it must be done, for Luiz.

‘He's not sure, but he says Major Dickson was very encouraging before he went away. His is a Portuguese rank, you know, and he finds it hard to get the help he needs from his English subordinates. I think maybe his plan is for Mr Ware to act as some kind of assistant. His knowledge of Porto and the Portonians could be very useful.'

‘Yes indeed. I hope Major Dickson is back in time for the party; I do so look forward to meeting him. He sounds a most interesting man.'

‘If the party is put off again, I should think he is bound to be,' said Harriet. ‘Mr Ware says his mother is being driven quite to distraction by all the delays; there's no getting a sense of urgency into the heads of the Portuguese, she finds. If it's not the wine, it's the musicians causing delay, or the problem of getting the floors ready for dancing.'

‘Oh well,' said Caterina philosophically, ‘the more delay the better, if you ask me. I can't say that I absolutely look forward to that party.' She was minding more and more that she had not told Harriet about her father's plans for her and Frank Ware. At first it had seemed unnecessary, since she knew she was going to refuse Frank, but now, as she watched him and Harriet together, she did wish that she had mentioned it casually, as an impossibility, in the first place. Too late now, but it would make things extra difficult if, as she sometimes feared, Mrs Ware intended the party for an occasion to try and precipitate an engagement between herself and Frank. Father Pedro had said nothing more about the plan, and his very silence made her anxious. Was he taking her acquiescence for granted? And to make matters worse, Madame Feuillide had twice postponed her and Harriet's fittings on one pretext or another. Since there had been no word from Luiz either she felt she must assume that he was out of town on some secret business for his group of conspirators. She very much wished he would come back. She had things to tell him, and things to ask.

And yet, in another way, it was a halcyon time, with the September days getting cooler and Harriet proving a fearless rider on the gentle mule that had been found for her. As her confidence increased, they rode further everyday, often down past the fishermen's quarter to the sea at Foz, where Caterina had happy memories of rare childhood outings with the Gomez cousins who now ignored her.

A worse worry than social ostracism was a very basic one. Anything she asked for, she got, except money. Her father's
credit was good everywhere. There was no problem about Madame Feuillide's account, or the yards of material and the gloves and shoes that she and Harriet had bought in town. The bills went to her father's steward and were paid without question. But when she asked him for some money of her own, the steward referred her to her father. ‘I am afraid I have no instructions about that,
minha senhora
.'

‘Not even a
scudo
to throw to a beggar?'

‘I am afraid not,
minha senhora
. I have no orders.'

Useless to plead with him. They both knew that her father's decisions were irrevocable.

‘What am I going to do?' She and Harriet had ridden out to their favourite view of the sea at Foz, and were sitting in the shade of a wild vine that grew riotously up a neglected cork tree. ‘I must have money to send home. Your mother won't wait for ever; why should she?'

‘I'm sure she won't do anything rash.' But Harriet did not sound entirely certain. ‘Do you think your cousin would help?'

‘How could I explain?' She looked unseeingly at the distant view of the castle at Foz and the blue horizon beyond. ‘I know he said he would help if I needed it, but, Harryo, how could I ask him for money?' They sat silent for a few minutes, sharing the thought of Jeremy's friendly visits and the way he talked about Rachel Emerson.

‘He's beglamoured,' said Harriet at last.

‘If only I liked her.'

‘How could you?'

‘How can he?'

‘It's not liking with him.'

‘No.' Why did she mind it so much? ‘Time we turned back,' she said, more cheerfully than she felt. ‘The grooms are getting restless.'

‘Yes.' Harriet laughed. ‘Views are just not in their line. But what a beautiful country yours is, Cat. No wonder you care about it so.'

‘Do I?' said Caterina thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I do, but, Harryo, it may be beautiful, but don't you feel it's cruel too, and stupid.' She longed to tell Harriet about Luiz's plans for a happier country.

‘Oh dear, yes.' Harriet was thinking of something else. ‘Had you thought of trying to sell your pictures?'

‘My pictures?' She had been about to kick her mule into movement, but paused.

‘Not the people.' Laughing. ‘We all know about those. But the little pictures of places and things that you do so well. Might not there be a market for them?'

‘Goodness, I wonder. Harriet, I'll think about it.'

‘Give it a try,' said Harriet.

‘It would have to be to the British.'

‘An argument for Mrs Ware's party.'

‘Well, I am glad there is one.'

‘Oh, I think there are several,' said Harriet cheerfully.

Frank Ware had been across the river at Villa Nova de Gaia for a gloomy look at the disused family wine vaults that should have been a scene of so much activity at this time of year. Built into the slope of the hill close under the Serra Monastery, the wine lodges had been used as barracks by the French during the short time they had held Porto in 1809, and repairing the damage they had caused had broken his father's heart, he thought, as well as going near to bankrupting him. But at least Mr Ware senior was not alive now to realise what a serious mistake he had made in selling the vineyards he held near Porto in order to invest extensively in the new lands that had been opened up by the clearing of the dangerous rapids at Cachao de Valeira on the Upper Douro. The land up near the border had been cheap, the conditions for growing the port grape admirable; how was his father to know that the area would be a battlefield one day? But now it meant that whereas other firms that had kept their vineyards on the Lower Douro were still in business in a small way, his own company was at a complete standstill, with maintenance of the huge, cool cellars in the hillside slowly eating away at what capital remained.

And today the old caretaker had pointed out a new leak that would be a disaster when the autumn rains began in earnest. It must be repaired, and here was his mother running him into debt with this elaborate party. Ridiculous. He had neither been facing facts himself nor making her do so. He was not going to propose to Caterina Gomez. He did not love her, and, he was increasingly sure, she would not have him if he were to ask her. Without a word spoken, she had told him this in all kinds of friendly, quiet ways. It would not be the act of the gentleman he hoped he was to propose and put the burden of refusal on to her. Her father seldom appeared, but his shadow lay heavy on the house. He did not like to think how very uncomfortable Caterina's life would be if she offended him. And then there was Father Pedro, whose silent approach so often broke up the brief
tête à têtes
he managed to secure with Harriet Brown. He rather thought it was Father Pedro's constant intrusions that had made him realise he loved Harriet. And what a wife she would make for a working man. There was not an ounce of pretension or snobbery about Harriet. How long had he been thinking of her by her Christian name? I must get work, he thought. I must start earning my way. And came down to the river to see Major Dickson on the quay.

‘You're back! I am so very glad to see you.' He hurried forward to wring his friend's hand. ‘But what's the news?' Dickson looked exhausted, he thought, as if he had not slept for days, but cheerful just the same.

‘Good, thank God. But it was a near run thing. Some of the rumours we've been hearing were true enough. Marmont did manage to give Wellington the slip up there in the mountains and throw supplies into Ciudad Rodrigo, and there was a moment when it looked as if he had Wellington just where he wanted him, but by a miracle old Hooky escaped. He's good at miracles, is Lord Wellington. I can tell you, my friend, it was touch and go up there for a day or so, but trust Wellington to smell his way out of danger. Now it's to be winter quarters, and a little pleasure for us all. And the best of it is, Marmont's men had eaten up most of the rations that were meant for Ciudad
Rodrigo. They only got in supplies for a month or so. They'll be hungry in that fortress when we come on them in the spring.' And then: ‘Forget I said that, Frank. Or rather, remember that, if you agree, I want to take you on the strength. I don't need to read you a lecture about official secrets first, do I?'

‘Of course not. You really want me? I can't tell you what good news that is.'

‘I don't just want you, I need you and your local knowledge. It's like this –' He took Frank's arm and walked him a little downstream, away from the crowded quay, to a place where a convent stood a little back from the river. Its landing stage was deserted and they sat down there on a baulk of timber. Dickson was silent for a moment, looking at the busy scene on the river, marshalling his thoughts. Then: ‘I probably don't need to tell you that Wellington plans ahead. He's not going to find himself short of big guns again. He ordered a siege train out from England, back last winter, and when it reached Lisbon in July he had it shipped up here at once. It is upriver from here that he plans to make his next move. In fact, there is no need any more to be secret about that. Marmont learned about it early this month; that's why he went to the relief of Ciudad Rodrigo. He must have an informer here in Oporto, Frank, and I want you to keep your eyes and ears open as to who it may be.'

‘I certainly will. But that's hardly the work you mean?' Frank was at once flattered and disappointed.

‘No, no. That's just a sideline. You must have shared the general curiosity about the heavy loads that came out from England on the
Anthea
and the
Chloe
.'

‘There has been talk, of course. Mainly because they were so very swiftly and efficiently trans-shipped.'

‘Yes, that was efficient enough!' Savagely. ‘Wait till I tell you the rest. When the first shipments of the siege train got upriver to Lamego and were unloaded, they discovered that there were no block carriages for the guns. Would you believe it, Frank? Guns and no carriages for them. They've been getting them across the mountains – you could hardly call them roads – on their own carriages or on makeshift sledges, but the result has
been all kinds of damage to their wheels. We need wheelwrights, Frank, urgently, at Lamego. And carpenters.' He laughed angrily. ‘The minute Wellington heard of the lack of stock carriages he sent off an urgent appeal to London. They came out on the
Anthea
and the
Chloe
. Only they are the wrong size! Each one will have to be altered. Wheelwrights and carpenters. That's your job, Frank. As many as you can find, the best of their kind, ready for a hard winter's work upriver. The pay will be good, the conditions hard, tell them. I rely on your local knowledge to help me on this. I don't need to tell you how important it is.'