Whispering (25 page)

‘You knew all the time?'

‘Of course I knew. I may be a spy, but that does not mean I am not a healer too. You owe me that money.'

‘Perhaps I do.' He handed it over and left, still fuming.

‘Congratulations,' said Ralph Emerson when Jeremy had been seen safely off the premises. ‘You didn't tell him. Why not I wonder?'

‘Sheer devilry, I think. He should not have engaged himself so soon.'

It had stopped raining, which was something. Jeremy turned down towards the quay. His next call must be on Frank Ware in the blessed privacy of his office. He would persuade him to call at the Gomez house that very day and arrange for Caterina to meet him as soon as possible. There was so much he had to say to her. He must warn her about Madame Feuillide the dressmaker and ask her about the Sanchez household. She would know where they could inconspicuously meet. The cathedral, perhaps?

But when he got to Frank Ware's office it was to learn that he had not come in that morning. ‘He sent word that he would not be in until late afternoon,
senhor
.'

‘Might he be across at Villa Nova de Gaia?' Jeremy was shocked by the look of dust and inactivity about the Ware offices, a sharp contrast to the atmosphere at Webb, Campbell, Gray and Camo. Things must be bad with the Wares. No wonder Mrs Ware had hoped for a marriage between her son and Caterina Gomez.

‘I do not think so,
senhor
,' the man told him. ‘There is not much need.' He pocketed Jeremy's tip and smiled a sly smile. ‘We think perhaps he is making a morning call.'

Fool that he was not to have thought of this. Frank's mother might still be hoping for a match between her son and Caterina Gomez, but he had seen Frank and Harriet together often enough to know why Caterina had turned not to Frank but to himself for help. The news of old Gomez's threat would have sent Frank hotfoot up to the house this morning. He left the depressing office and walked rapidly uphill. With a bit of luck he might catch Frank emerging from the Gomez house and persuade him to go back in and give his message. Reaching the house without meeting him, he took one indecisive turn up and down the lane outside, then thought this ridiculous and pulled sharply at the bell.

Old Tonio opened the door, and gave him no chance to speak. ‘This door is closed to you,
senhor
.' He spoke unnecessarily loud. ‘Do not give me the pain of having to turn you away.' As he spoke, he slipped Jeremy a small, tightly folded note.

‘I only wished to ask if Mr Ware were here.' Jeremy took the hint and spoke clearly for the presumably listening ear.

‘He left some time ago,
senhor
.'

‘Then I will trouble you no further, but give my kindest regards to the
senhoras
, if you are allowed to.'

‘Which I am not.' The door closed noisily in his face.

He went down to the corner of the lane, well out of sight of the closed door, before he opened the note. ‘This afternoon. In the cathedral. The silver altar. C.'

What a double-dyed fool he would have been if he had not come, he thought, as he started back across the marketplace. Caterina had not been able to name a time for their meeting. He would simply have to spend the afternoon in the cathedral waiting for her. He stopped and bought some fruit to pass for lunch from a gaunt market woman and remembered what Dickson had said about how starved and wretched they were. ‘And this for you, mother.' He impulsively handed her an extra coin and got vehemently blessed for it. Just how bad were things in Oporto, he wondered, and was ashamed that it had taken Dickson to alert him to the real state of affairs. He should have reported on it long since. Pitiful to have let himself waste so much time dreaming ridiculous dreams of Rachel Emerson. He would order his thoughts while he waited in the cathedral and write a full report tonight to send by Monday's boat to Plymouth. At least Caterina's plight had settled his own plans for him. Even if it were to cost him his job, he could not leave without either taking the two girls with him or seeing their affairs settled some other way. But Frank Ware's visit that morning might well have changed everything.

He started to climb the busy stinking lanes that led up to the cathedral. He was comfortably sure that Harriet would accept Frank if he proposed. But what then? He paused to look up at the squat twin towers of the cathedral, looming against the sky. A gloomy building. He looked at his watch. It was technically afternoon by now, but he knew the habits of the Gomez household
well enough to know that there was no way Caterina would be able to come out for another hour or so. The sun was out, drying puddles on the cathedral steps, and he found a dryish spot to sit and eat his fruit and wonder how much he would tell Caterina when she came. He could hardly ask her about the dressmaker and the Sanchez family without some explanation. How very much he disliked the idea of telling her he had used her and Harriet Brown as cover for his spying.

And what a selfish wretch he was to be thinking of this now. The first thing was to protect the two girls from the threat of the silent sisters. Gomez's refusal to accept him as prospective son-in-law had been a setback, but he rather hoped Frank Ware would step into the breach. He had probably already done so. Until last night he had discounted Frank, thinking him clay in his mother's hands, but that had changed now. The worm had turned. Caterina would bring the news that she and Harriet had arranged to go to the Wares' for sanctuary. That would let him quite off the hook. His pretence engagement would no longer be needed as protection for Caterina, and the best thing he could do for her would be to take Monday's boat for Plymouth and leave her to break off the false engagement at her leisure, on whatever pretext she pleased.

How very strange. He did not want to go. He thought about it a little and decided that he could not leave before the party, however well that might suit Caterina. He badly wanted to meet Wellington, and besides there were altogether too many overtones about that party. He could not possibly imagine missing it.

The great bell of the cathedral chimed the hour and he got rather stiffly to his feet. Time to go inside and find a quiet corner in which to wait for Caterina. He knew the Portuguese people's easy relations with their church well enough to be sure that there would be such a place where he could sit unnoticed and seem to pray, and go on trying to collect his ragged thoughts.

Music and the smell of incense greeted him as he pushed open the heavy cathedral door. It was Friday, of course. He should
have expected a service. It was just as well that Caterina had named the side chapel where the silver altar had been protected from the marauding French by its coat of concealing paint. There were fewer people there and he was able to find himself a secluded seat not too far from the entrance.

It was a long wait. The service was almost over when Caterina slipped quietly into the pew beside him, and knelt at once to pray, ignoring his quick movement of recognition. Impatient thoughts seethed in his head as she prayed. In a little while the service would be over and their talk more likely to be overheard.

Her first words astonished him. ‘I am afraid I have put you at risk,' she pushed back her black veil a little so that the words were channelled directly to him only.

‘At risk?' He leaned his head close to hers. ‘What can you mean? Surely your father would not –'

‘No, no, he thinks the matter settled. He has spoken; that is all there is to it. He means us to go to the silent sisters on Wednesday, Harriet and I, just the same. I've risked your life for nothing. I am so sorry.'

‘Risked my life?' What madness was this?

‘Listen, please. I have to tell you. I should never have involved you.'

‘But I am glad to be involved! I am just sorry it has proved so little help. And there are things I have to tell you too. How long –'

‘As long as we need. We're not the first, and we won't be the last to use the church for the wrong purpose. But I think we had best talk in Portuguese.' Changing to that language. ‘To be less noticeable. Frank Ware came this morning,' she told him. ‘Harriet has accepted him, I'm glad to say, but it solves nothing for me. He vows he will take us to his mother on Wednesday, but Father Pedro says I will not be let go. And I am afraid my father could do it.'

‘Yes,' he said soberly. ‘I talked to Joe Camo – I hope you don't mind – and he said he thought your father's word would be paramount. He urged that I present you to Lord Wellington
at the party on Tuesday. He thinks your best protection lies there.'

‘But I am afraid something may have happened to you before that.'

‘To me? What in the world do you mean?'

‘You must have heard the stories about me.' She plunged right into it. ‘Well, they are true. There was a man; my father found us together. I was sent to England. He is here in Porto; he thinks he owns me, body and soul. He will have heard, by now, about our “engagement”. He will kill you, I think, or arrange to have you killed. I never thought; I was desperate; I am so ashamed. He is a revolutionary, you see, a tool of the French, and in league with violent men. Anything could happen.'

‘Who is he?' he asked. And then, because he must: ‘But Caterina,
does
he own you, body and soul?'

‘No! Thank God. But it took me too long to realise it. I won't make excuses; too late for that. I have none. I have risked your life for nothing. Please, for my sake, for my peace of mind, take the next Plymouth boat. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you.'

‘And leave you to the silent sisters? Never. But who is he, Caterina?'

She bent a little closer and he got a familiar, heart-stirring hint of the perfume she always wore. ‘Luiz de Fonsa y Sanchez,' she whispered so low that he could only just catch it. ‘He is in hiding, out at Madame Feuillide's. He left with the French in 1809, can't show his face in town. He believed their tales of an independent kingdom of Lusitania, hopes to use them for his own ends. But I think they are using him. He's planning revolution, here in Porto, wanted me to spy for him. I'm afraid I did answer some of his questions; it makes me so ashamed. I was a fool, beglamoured. And then I realised how he had changed, poor Luiz. Or how I had. But the thing is, don't you see, he thinks I'm his property, his thing to do with as he likes. When he hears of our “engagement” he will be out of his mind with rage, might risk everything for revenge on you. That's why you must take that Plymouth boat. And be desperately careful in the mean time.'

‘Impossible,' he said. ‘I can't leave now. But you are right about Madame Feuillide; that's what I came to warn you about, that she is in French pay. And has some kind of connection with the house across the canyon from you. Of course,' he remembered, ‘the Sanchez house.'

‘Yes. Luiz's family home. He can't go there himself, but he told me he has a spy there.' No need, and no time, to tell him about the old lady. ‘He's dangerous, Mr Craddock, do please believe that.' She leaned close again. ‘You remember that attack on Father Pedro? I think Luiz was responsible for that.'

‘Why?'

‘He wanted him out of the way. He had his own plans for me, you see. Still has. He is going to be terribly angry. He never could bear to be crossed. He talked, half in earnest, of coming disguised to the Wares' party on Tuesday. To keep an eye on me, he said. Did you know that Madame Feuillide plans to stay with them for the party? To be available for us young ladies, she said.'

‘But you don't believe it?'

‘No. Something is planned for that party. I'm sure of it. I wish I knew how she had persuaded Mrs Ware to have her there.'

‘It surprises you?'

‘Yes, it does a little. I'm not quite sure why. Something about the way they speak of each other. Call it woman's instinct, if you like, but don't laugh at it.' She pulled her veil close around her face. ‘I have been away as long as I dare. Do, please, for my sake, be very careful. I'd never forgive myself. Luiz is –' she paused, thought about it, ‘dangerous. You'll speak to Wellington the minute he gets here?'

‘Just as soon as I can. I've not been much help so far, but, Caterina, I promise you can count on me. Trust me for that. Whatever happens.'

‘Thank you, I do.' She rose, genuflected to the altar, and left him.

The cathedral was quiet now, the service over, and the dim light getting dimmer. Jeremy sat where he was for a while, trying to make sense of it all. Why was it so hard to think clearly, dispassionately? He knew, really. It was because of Caterina and this unknown Luiz. It was not the threat of danger that sent the blood racing furiously through his veins; it was their relationship. They had been lovers, she and this young Portuguese traitor. It put her beyond the pale; an outcast from society.

And who was he to think so? He who had dangled after Rachel Emerson, let her lead him by the nose so ignominiously. He could suddenly not bear to sit still a moment longer, but rose to his feet and hurried out of the cathedral into the gathering dusk. And yet he must be quiet, must think it all out. He should have stayed in the cathedral, the only peaceful place now that the Ware house was so full of activity. Something twitched in his mind about the Ware house. The party? What had Caterina said about the party? She seemed to think Luiz's plans revolved around it. That he might not act till then. No, that was not it. Niggling at the back of his mind were all the postponements. It had been the recurrent theme of his early days with the Wares. Mrs Ware announcing that the wine had not come, the party
must be put off again, the floors were not ready … And then, suddenly, it had been fixed for next Tuesday.

And all the time, part of his mind had been on Wellington, trying to decide how to approach him, how much to tell him. He had never met either of the two powerful Wellesley brothers, and very much wished now that he knew more about them. It was absurd that he had been given no contact here in Oporto, and because of his own ambiguous position he had no useful friend in the British establishment here. The best thing he could do was to go straight to the top, to talk to Wellington himself, and not just about Caterina. But how?