The meal dragged out interminably, but at last Elvira’s maid bent to whisper in her ear and she rose to her feet, smiling vaguely:
‘The moon is full, the hour is late.
My true love waits me at the gate.’
And then, for the first time, directly to Juana:
‘Come, child, away; the full moon rises; we must not stay.’
‘We’ll be with you directly.’ This was Prospero, on a note of reassurance. ‘We don’t stay long over our wine, Miguel and I.’
Coffee after supper was always served in the Ladies’ Parlour, a room old Mrs. Brett had had made over for herself on the southeast corner of the house. Protected from the sea winds by the whole bulk of the castle, it opened on to a vine-covered loggia that overlooked the Pleasant Valley. Tonight, the huge silver tray of coffee and sweetmeats had been carried out on to the loggia, where not a breath of air stirred. ‘You will pour out, senhora?’ Jaime was waiting to guide Juana firmly to the appropriate chair.
‘I? But Jaime—’ An anxious glance at her aunt, who had drifted over to the edge of the terrace and was picking herself a bunch of carnations.
‘Those are Mrs. Brett’s orders.’ This phrase had been final in the household ever since Juana could remember. She sat down obediently and lifted the heavily embossed coffee pot with a hand that shook just a little.
‘The moon is rising.’ Elvira drifted back to put her flowers into a coffee cup. ‘The night has come. Shall we go out, child, and dance on the cliff? The witches meet there when the moon is full. I’ve seen them, in their black robes, often enough. Why can I never see their faces?’
‘Nonsense, Elvira!’ Juana had forgotten how quietly her Uncle Prospero moved, despite his vast bulk. ‘You’re imagining things again. We shall have to send for Father Ignatius if you do that, you know.’
The cup Elvira was holding splintered on the paving stones. ‘No, no, please don’t! I’ll be good, you know I will. I’m always good. I see nothing, nothing, nothing. I see nothing, because I’m good.’
‘That’s my girl.’ This with a brotherly tap on the shoulder. ‘Well then, say goodnight to Juana and off to bed with you. She’s always at her worst when the moon is full,’ he explained to Juana as Elvira took her maid’s arm and withdrew.
‘Really? I’d forgotten. How do you like your coffee, Uncle Prospero?’
‘Black, thank you.’ He settled heavily in his own large chair with its wide view of the Pleasant Valley. ‘No, you’d not remember. You were a child when you left, in bed before the moon rose. You’ll find we still keep early hours here.’
‘Elvira been misbehaving again?’ Miguel emerged from the shadows at the back of the loggia. ‘I met her on her way up; crying, poor girl. I hope you weren’t hard on her, Prospero. She’s harmless enough. God knows. Yes, black, thank you, Juana. How pleasant to have a lady’s company for once. Mother seldom joins us now, even on her good days. How did you find her, Juana?’
‘Older of course, but just the same otherwise.’
He laughed a little. ‘Still ruling the roost? She’ll do that till her last breath, will Mrs. Brett.’ His tone now was in such contrast to the one he had used at dinner that she could only suppose the two of them had compared notes after she left them and reminded each other that she was grown up.
‘Yes.’ Prospero, too, addressed her now almost as an equal. ‘You’ll find she still likes her own way, our splendid mother. I hope you’ll bear it better than my boys did, Juana. I believe you met them?’
‘Yes, with the court. I didn’t know they’d left home.’
‘It made mother angry, I’m afraid. But she’s a fair-minded woman …’ Was he trying to convince Juana, or himself? ‘She won’t hold it against them. After all, everyone knows the steward, Macarao, runs the business brilliantly. The old lady would not have let the boys interfere, even if they had wanted to. She must be proud to have them in such favour at court.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She kept doubt out of her voice as best she could, and looked up with relief as Manuela came out, soft-footed into the rapidly darkening loggia. ‘Coffee, Manuela?’ Where did they eat, she wondered, Manuela and Estella?
‘No, thank you, menina. Your grandmother is asking for you.’
‘Oh, in that case!’ It was a relief to say goodnight to her uncles and follow Manuela back across the central courtyard to her grandmother’s tower. The sudden Portuguese night had fallen, and Manuela took a candle from the shelf by the door to guide her up the darkly winding stair to her grandmother’s rooms. ‘The senhora is impatient, menina.’ Advice or warning?
Mrs. Brett was dressed now, in the widow’s black she had worn for forty years. She was sitting in her bedroom, bolt upright in her chair, only the rigid fold of her hands betraying tension. ‘There you are at last, child. Thank you, Manuela, that will do.’ And then, as the door of the outer room closed behind her. ‘Have you a black dress, Juana?’
‘Black? No, ma’am.’
‘So I supposed. Well, for tonight we must manage as best we may. Look in the closet over there; quickly; we’re much of a height you and I. There should be something that will do.’ And then, as Juana moved obediently over to the big clothes-press that occupied almost one whole wall of the room, ‘Thank God, you’ve got the sense to do as you’re told without a lot of questions. Start at the left. You’ll need one of the ones I wore when I was younger.’
Obeying, Juana saw that a whole life’s history was hanging there, from the bride’s tissues and gauzes through a gamut of changing fashions in black. Clove oranges, here and there among the dresses, gave off their pleasant, aromatic odour. She reached in and pulled out a voluminous black cloak. ‘Would this do?’
‘Don’t want to wear the old woman’s clothes, eh? Well, I don’t blame you. Put it on, child, and we’ll see. My domino! Lord, that makes me feel a thousand years old. Yes—’ She rose to adjust the cloak so that it entirely covered Juana’s pale muslin. ‘That will do admirably. Now, sit down, and listen as if your life depended on it. Which it may. But, first, lock the outer door. No; leave the inner one open. So, it is impossible for us to be overheard.’ She laughed. ‘You think I’ve gone crazy like poor Elvira?’
The thought had just whispered through Juana’s mind: ‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ she began to protest, but was interrupted.
‘Don’t lie to me. Ever. Of course you do. And I don’t much blame you. But I’m not mad, child, only very old, and very tired. I must have help. I never thought, when I began, that it would go on so long. Neither of us did. Well, there it is. No good crying over spilt milk. And no stopping either. Not now. I’ve racked my brains as to where I could turn for help. No trusting those sons of mine, or my grandsons either. So I asked advice. I won’t say I wasn’t surprised at the answer I got, but it may do yet. At least you’re not a fool, nor a coward. So sit down, and listen.’
‘Yes?’ Juana pulled a stool close to her grandmother’s chair.
But the old lady was silent for a moment, gazing past her into the shadowed corner of the room. At last she spoke: ‘It goes back a long way. To your grandfather. You know he and I were loyalists, of course?’ She sighed. ‘ “Charlie is my darling!” Young fools that we were.’
‘I knew you were exiled in ’45, ma’am, but I didn’t know about Grandfather Brett.’
‘Why should you? It’s ancient history now. George the Third’s as safe on his throne as if the Stuarts had never existed. But when I was young, it was different. We still hoped for a restoration. My husband worked all his life for it. He founded a society: Catholic, loyalist, deadly secret. At the time, it spread all over Europe. There are advantages about being a merchant, you know. You have connections everywhere, reasons for travelling … But he worked himself to death, my poor James, with the business in the daytime and the society at night. We won’t talk about that. After he died, the others lost heart; they met less and less often. I thought it was all over. In a way, it was. It had become more of an old men’s di
ning club than a secret society. Then, much later, after the Revolution in France, something happened. It all began again, only different. It got taken over by another society – The Sons of the Star – some people say Pombal founded that one, that it went underground after his death, became dangerous. It’s dangerous enough. What is it, child?’
‘Jaime warned me about them today. The Sons of the Star. He was terrified, even speaking of them.’
‘He was right to be. No one speaks of them if they can help it.’
‘Jaime said: “If they condemn you to death, you’re dead”.’
‘That’s about it. Luckily they need me alive. And you, Juana. Was your ship’s captain surprised to get his clearance so quickly?’
‘Yes. You mean?’
‘I told them, at their last meeting, that I must have you here for this one. They think me an old fool, but a useful one. They need me, you see, to let them into their meeting place. I’m part of the ritual. James arranged it so that they could meet when he was away on business. That ritual!’ Her laugh was only a whisper. ‘Men are children in some ways, Juana. They won’t change it, however inconvenient. Or only to make it more complicated. Never to simplify. So they need me. When I realised what they were doing, I got in touch with our minister – secretly, carefully. My God, but I was careful. Isn’t it odd to think that for over ten years now, I, of all people, have been working for King George.’
‘Ma’am, I don’t understand.’
‘No wonder. I’m an old fool to ramble on so. And there’s so little time. They meet, always, at the full moon, at midnight. And I have to be there to let them in. James arranged it. He thought of everything. If they met here, he said, we would always know what they were doing. But I can’t do it any more. All those stairs … you’ll see. I’m crippled for days afterwards. So, last time, I told them you were coming to take over: a new Handmaiden of the Star. God knows, I was an old enough one. Fantastic, of course, that they should have accepted you with so little enquiry. But there were reasons … They think nothing of women. That helps. And being so powerful, so dreaded – it makes them over-confident. Besides, they don’t know it all. You’ll see. And, tonight, you will swear a dreadful oath to reveal nothing of what you see or hear. You will break it only to me. That is, if you are ready to help me?’
‘I have to, don’t I?’
‘Have I been unfair to you? I suppose I have. Leaving you so little time; so little choice. But what else could I do? You’ll understand better when you hear them. They’re deadly dangerous. Never for a minute forget that. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, listening to them talk, on and on, about freedom, equality, the liberty Bonaparte is going to give them. Bonaparte! They’re idealists, you see, most of them. That’s what makes them so dangerous.’
‘But what do we have to do?’
‘We listen. After she has opened the great door, the Handmaiden withdraws to her own cell; she is supposed to know no more of what goes on. But James was a clever man, Juana. He arranged it, at first, merely as a precaution. He built a secret opening, so that I could hear what went on in the main hall when he was away. Is your memory good?’
‘Reasonably.’
‘It had better be. The fate of Portugal may depend on it – and England’s too. If these madmen let the French into Portugal, give them control of the Tagus, how long do you think England could last? But it’s getting late. No time for more now. Tonight, you will do whatever I tell you, without question. Say nothing but what I tell you to say; try not even to think of what I have told you. If you can, try not to be afraid. Fear dulls the mind.’
‘I don’t think I’m afraid. Not very.’
‘You’d be a fool if you weren’t a little. I know I am when I go down there.’
‘Down?’
‘Yes. Down the winding stair.’ She rose stiffly and moved over to the huge clothes-press at the side of the room. ‘Did you think me a sentimental fool to save my old dresses? Look! They make admirable cover.’ She pushed the hanging clothes aside to reveal the wooden back of the press. ‘There. Press on that knot in the wood.’
Chapter Six
The back of the cupboard swung open under Juana’s hand to reveal a door in the wall, bolted on their side. Obeying orders, she slid back the bolt and pushed open the door. A dark chasm gaped before her and a dank smell of earth and rock rose up to mingle with the spicy scent of the closet.
‘Feel on the shelf high up on your right,’ said Mrs. Brett. ‘You’ll find tinder-box and candles. You must never use the ones from my room. Someone would notice, sooner or later. That’s it.’ If she saw Juana’s hand shake as she lit the candle, she forbore to comment. ‘Luckily the air is quiet down there,’ she went on, ‘but I always take the tinder-box with me, just in case. We must get you a black gown, with pockets. For tonight, give it to me, I will carry it, and the candle. Now, follow me, and not a word till I give you leave.’
At first the stairway was merely a dusty replica of the one by which Juana had reached her grandmother’s rooms, but soon, when, she thought, they were level with the ground floor of the castle, they came to a second door, also bolted on their side.
‘There.’ Mrs. Brett’s voice echoed strangely as she closed it behind them. ‘Now we are clear of the castle. You can speak, but quietly.’
Peering into the blackness ahead of them, Juana had, for the moment, nothing to say. They were in some vast chamber of the rock and, in front of them, another flight of steps, guarded on each side by a rope, led straight down into the dark.
‘I’ll go first.’ Again Mrs. Brett’s voice echoed hollow in the huge cavern. ‘It’s quite easy. The steps are regular, you’ll find, once you’ve got the feel of them. They built well, the Moors.’
‘The Moors?’
‘Yes. This stairway is as old as the oldest part of the castle. It leads down to the little harbour below us; the one the sardine boats use. That’s the way the others come, by water. They can’t get in till we have opened the gate for them. James took no chances when he made this into their meeting chamber.’ And then: ‘Seventy-five, seventy-six-eighty steps in this flight. You must remember to count them for yourself next time. There, it’s flat now for a little way. They cut through the rock here.’ She held up the candle to show Juana the entrance to a dark tunnel, then bent her head slightly and entered it.
Following, Juana felt the skirts of her cloak brush against the damp walls, then caught her breath in a near-shriek as something moved suddenly beside her.
‘Good girl.’ Mrs. Brett’s voice was reassuring. ‘It’s only bats. I should have warned you. There, we’re out again. Seventy-five steps this time.’
The dark journey seemed endless, but at last they reached a short flight that ended at a locked and bolted door. ‘Here.’ Mrs. Brett handed Juana a huge key. ‘You must open it. You’ll be alone next time. I could see they did not much like the idea of two of us, so I promised it would only be this once. Besides – I may not have the strength to come.’
‘I can’t think how you have managed so long,’ Juana turned the key in the heavy lock.
‘I managed because I had to. You will do the same. There: this is the Council Chamber. Light the candles, child.’ She moved forward, the tiny flame of her candle merely emphasising the vast blackness of the cavern. Following, Juana saw a long table, with heavy brass candelabra set at intervals down it.
‘The acolytes change them after the meeting.’ Mrs. Brett handed Juana a taper.
‘Does my voice sound as odd as yours?’ Juana began lighting the big candles. There were forty-nine of them, she found, seven in each candlestick, but when she had lit them all they merely served to emphasise the huge darkness of the cavern.
‘You noticed? Yes – it’s one of the great advantages of this as a meeting place. Something about the size of it makes voices unrecognisable. You could meet your own father down here, masked, and not know him. Now light the braziers, child.’
These stood in a rough outer cir
cle around the huge table. They, too, were ready to be lit, and when Juana put her taper to the first one, it flared up at once.
‘They use resin, I think.’ Mrs. Brett stood huddled over the first brazier as Juana lighted the others. It was deathly cold down here, and Juana could hear water dripping somewhere. No wonder Mrs. Brett was always unwell at the full of the moon; the miracle was that she had survived at all.
‘There’s a brazier in my cell too.’ The old lady might have read her thoughts. ‘James thought of everything. You’ll see. This way, and don’t let the taper go out.’
Carrying it carefully, Juana followed her down a path cut through the rough rocks that surrounded the candle-lit table. It led to another heavy wooden door in the rock wall. Unbolted, this revealed a small enclosed cavern furnished with another brazier and one chair.
Mrs. Brett sank on to this gratefully as Juana lit the brazier. ‘You’ll have to sit on the ground tonight. Until they come. But, first, feel along the rock above the door and press where you find a rough place. There!’
As Juana obeyed, a section of what seemed virgin rock had slid aside, leaving an opening through which she could see the council table, with its candles burning steadily in the still cavern.
‘Now press again.’ The rock slid together, silently. ‘James made that himself,’ Mrs. Brett went on. ‘You must never open it until you hear the big doors clang shut. Then you count ten, slowly, to give the acolytes time to get to their places at the foot of the table, blow out your candle, and open it. It can’t be seen from the table, so long as the cell is dark, but you must keep watch every minute it’s open, for fear anyone should leave his seat. By the rules of the Order, no one should, still less should they enter this room. I am unknown to them, as they are to me. Only the way things are going now anything might happen. So keep good watch, child. Ah!’ The sombre note of a gong had sounded from somewhere outside. ‘There are the acolytes now. Follow me; do as I do.’
She pulled the hood of her cloak close around her face, watched Juana do the same, picked up the candle and led the way back across the main cavern to a huge pair of doors that Juana had not noticed before. As she pushed back the heavy bolt, Juana could see that her thin old hands were shaking.
The Winding Stair Page 8
