‘Which, please God, they won’t,’ said Miguel. ‘A miraculous escape, my child. We must say a special prayer of thanksgiving for you in chapel tomorrow. I hope it will serve to turn your thoughts in a proper direction.’
‘It makes me very grateful to my cousin.’
‘Yes indeed.’ Mrs. Brett leaned forward in her big chair. ‘We owe you a debt beyond measure, sir. But it’s growing late. You will stay with us a while, and give us an opportunity to show our gratitude?’
Juana listened to Vasco’s courteous acceptance with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. The Bretts kept themselves to themselves. Visitors as opposed to hangers-on like Father Ignatius were a rare event at the castle. It was something that had puzzled her before she learned about the Sons of the Star. At all events, she was delighted that an exception was being made for her newfound cousin. She would be glad of a chance to get to know him better, gladder still of his protective company, just now, in the castle.
Because (she faced it at last, alone in her room) the attack on her had cast a new and terrifying light on her position. Before, she had wondered about her uncles, about Father Ignatius even; had listened to their voices, searching in vain for some intonation, some echo of a phrase used down in the big cavern. Now, she must wonder, not only if one or more of them belonged to the Sons of the Star, but if they had perhaps, horribly, organised the attack on her. With her special knowledge, it was almost impossible to believe in Vasco’s theory of brigands and ransom. Did she even think he believed it himself? And had not there been something odd about the eager way her family had seized on it as the obvious explanation?
If not brigands, who? The Sons of the Star must have been in everybody’s thoughts. And yet, why should they attack her? Because she had begun to explore the Pleasant Valley? It seemed unlikely. And would the all-powerful Sons of the Star have let themselves be routed so ignominiously by one man? Besides, why go to the trouble of a daylight attack when they had only to wait two weeks for her to go down the winding stair, into their power, alone.
Most significant of all, nothing was said, next day, about the attack on her, but Vasco stayed close by her, and she was grateful. She might decide not to suspect the Sons of the Star, but she could not stop being afraid. She hardly felt safe even in the castle, remembering childhood stories of hidden doors and secret passages. How could she be sure that the only entrance to the winding stair was in her grandmother’s room? There might be others, bolted on the far side. Alone for a moment in any room, she found herself listening for footsteps behind the panelling, waiting for some section of wall to swing open and reveal her enemies.
And when she was not alone, the equally horrible alternative was always before her. Suppose her attackers had not been sent by the Sons of the Star at all? Suppose they had been hired by someone in her own family? Or – been some of her family? Only Vasco’s company was really safe, and how long was he staying?
By siesta next day she had had all she could bear of these imaginings. She climbed the stairs to her grandmother’s room and amazed Manuela by insisting on seeing her.
‘But she’s resting, menina.’
‘I can’t help it. Will you announce me, Manuela, or must I do it myself?’ She was surprised at her own firmness, but it worked. Manuela opened the further door and ushered her in, excusing herself to the old lady as she did so.
Mrs. Brett was lying flat on her back, staring at flies on the ceiling. She did not move. ‘Very well, Manuela. You may go. See that we are not disturbed.’ And then, still without turning her head. ‘You’re in a panic, I suppose?’
‘I’d be a fool not to be. I’m going to send for Gair Varlow. I thought I should tell you first.’
‘Send for Varlow? Absurd.’ She sat up in bed, an eldritch figure in dimity nightgown and wrapper. ‘What use could he be?’
‘He could find out, I should think, or at least try to, whether it was the Sons of the Star who attacked me. If it was, I’m not going to the next meeting. It would be suicide.’
‘The Sons of the Star? Ridiculous.’ She sounded really angry. ‘I never imagined you such a fool, Juana. Do you think, if it had been the Sons of the Star, they would have let you go for one man? They would not have dared to fail.’
She had thought this herself. ‘But then, who?’
‘Brigands, of course, as your cousin said. You’ve forgotten what Portugal is like, Juana. Anything’s possible here. And we are known for a rich family … richer, I think, than we really are. It would have cost me a pretty penny to get you back.’
‘So they may try again?’
‘Oh, I doubt that. They will have had a good fright … No doubt they had a boat somewhere along the shore – they are probably right down to the Algarve by now, planning something quite different. Or (who knows) they may even have been pirates. It does happen. A quick dash on shore and some expensive white slaves for the Turk’s harems. You owe your cousin a great deal, Juana. What do you think of him, by the way?’
‘I like him. Did his father really love my mother?’
‘He told you that? Yes, I believe so. It was quite impossible, of course. For two members of a family in such disgrace to marry would have been suicide. And there were other reasons. You know his story?’
‘Vasco’s? I remember he was always spoken of as – I don’t know – wild?’
The old lady laughed. ‘It’s one way of putting it. Elvira, I suppose. She always did mince her words. Your cousin Vasco is the bastard son of a bastard father. Or that’s what they say.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Why, that it was the safe thing to be when Pombal was killing off the de Mascarenhas family root and branch. Your cousin called on me yesterday to tell me he was hopeful of proving his legitimacy, and his father’s before him, and to ask whether I would allow him to visit you in the meantime. I liked him for it. You know, of course, that the bar sinister is not taken so seriously here as in England. I hope you’re not going to make a mountain of it.’
‘Of course not. Besides, I’m too grateful …’
‘I should think so. But for him you might be on your way to Algiers by now. You ought to be entertaining him, instead of keeping me awake with your imaginary terrors.’
‘You’re sure they are imaginary? That it could not have been the Sons of the Star?’ She could not bring herself to mention her other suspicions.
‘As sure as one can be of anything. In fact, I wouldn’t be in your attackers’ shoes just now. If they have any sense, they are well away, in the Algarve or further. The Sons of the Star do not tolerate interference with those they protect. Trust me, you don’t need to fear another attack.’
It was a sinister kind of comfort, but Juana did abandon the idea of sending for Gair Varlow. For one thing, it would be impossibly difficult to talk to him with Vasco there. And common sense combined with her grandmother to convince her that it could not have been the Sons of the Star who attacked her. It would be time enough to tell Gair Varlow about the episode when he came at the end of the month to hear her report on the next meeting. There was something, indeed, rather satisfactory about the idea of working the story, casually, into the conversation as if hardly worth his notice.
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 Iag
o 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.
Chapter Nine
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.’
The Winding Stair Page 12
