The Winding Stair

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  As they had expected, Daisy and Teresa refused to go. ‘No one is going to arrest us.’

  ‘And we’ve no property to confiscate.’

  ‘You won’t make us, Juana?’

  ‘Quite heartless,’ said their mother. Juana and the lawyer had visited them in their own apartments where they had found her dozing stertorously in a chair. Her condition was all too obvious. Now she cried a little, noisily. ‘My own daughters,’ she said. ‘That I’ve loved and cherished. You must make them come home with us, Mr. Brett.’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘Please!’

  Reginald Brett looked even more miserable than usual. ‘I’m afraid my mother must decide, my dears.’ he said.

  Senhor Gonçalves had taken in the whole deplorable scene. Now he cleared his throat apologetically. ‘Mrs. Brett is old and ill,’ he said. ‘I rather fancy that she will acquiesce in anything that the young senhora decides.’

  ‘Juana!’ said the two girls in unison.

  Juana had a long look of sympathy for her father. But: ‘Of course you must stay if you want to.’ she said. ‘I shall be glad of your company.’

  ‘So long as they understand the hazards.’ said the lawyer, rising to take his leave. ‘And you, Miss Brett, you will think hard of what I have said to you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Send for Vasco? Marry him for her own safety? The idea was intolerable. But why? She had to emerge from her daydream to accept Daisy and Teresa’s enthusiastic thanks. ‘Senhor Gonçalves said it was all your doing,’ said Daisy.

  ‘You’ll never know how grateful we are,’ said Teresa.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reginald and Cynthia Brett left the next week, and though Juana felt horribly sorry for her father, she had to admit that it was a relief to see them go. Life was bad enough at the castle without the constant scenes Cynthia Brett had made. Elvira had been stranger than ever since Carlota Joaquina’s party and wandered about forlornly from room to room, singing snatches from The Groom Deceived. She had given up any attempt at embroidery and carried, instead, skeins of silk, which she wound and unwound endlessly. Prospero said he was revising his Camoens and spent most of his time shut up in the library, while Miguel was increasingly disturbed because Father Ignatius had not been seen since the day of the Princess’s party. Since no one but Juana knew of the sinister part the friar had played in the opera, this seemed inexplicable, and Miguel, who depended on Father Ignatius for all the real work in connection with his Little Brothers of St. Antony, took it more and more to heart.

  Juana was worried about Father Ignatius too. At first, she had been glad when he did not put in an appearance. She had never liked him, and found his part in the plot against her unforgivable. But when he neither came nor sent any apology or explanation she found herself increasingly frightened for him. She could not help connecting his disappearance with the mysterious death of Tomas. Tomas, she had thought, had recognised her when he was serving as acolyte to the Sons of the Star. And Tomas had died that same night. Could there be a connection between Father Ignatius’ involvement in the plot against her and his disappearance? She hoped she was imagining things, but longed passionately to see Gair and put her fears to him. She almost found herself looking forward to the July meeting of the Sons of the Star, because it must mean a visit from him for her report.

  The meeting fell on the 19th, the very day that Reginald and Cynthia Brett left. It was easy enough to suggest an early night for all of them, since they had been up with the dawn to see off the travellers. It was easy, too, to plead anxiety for her grandmother and go to visit her on her way to her own room. Mrs. Brett had not left her bed since the news of Tilsit. Juana had hoped that with the departure of her father and step-mother the old lady might take on a new lease of life, might even begin to come downstairs again, but tonight she could only wonder whether she would ever summon up enough strength to leave her bed. She seemed to be reduced to an enormous pair of eyes. They followed Juana, disconcertingly, this way and’ that, as she put on her black dress and got ready to go down the winding stair.

  When Juana was ready, a feeble hand summoned her over to the bed. ‘Child!’ She spoke with difficulty, in a croaking whisper. ‘I’m sorry. Whatever happens, forgive me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Juana put her warm hand on the dry claw that lay on the sheets. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. Whatever happens, I’m glad I came.’ It was true, though she could not imagine why.

  ‘God bless you!’ But already the old eyes were hooded in sleep.

  When Juana opened the secret panel she knew at once that the real leader was back. There was something electric in the air of the cavern, and the squat, strong figure under the star was unmistakable. The only surprising thing was that at the moment he seemed almost to be apologising for the cancellation of the last two meetings. ‘We were waiting,’ he explained, ‘until the situation in Poland was clearer. Now, at last, Brothers, we know, where we stand. Napoleon has dealt with the Russians: they will not dare meddle in Europe again in our lifetime. Now he is ready to turn his eyes back to the west. Already, Portugal is shaking under his ultimatum. Brothers, our moment is at hand!’

  ‘What, precisely, do you mean by that?’ The Brother of the Silver Serpent was on his feet.

  ‘That I have Napoleon’s promise of armed assistance in our plan to take over the government of our suffering country,’ But Juana did not think he had much liked the question.

  ‘And have you also his promise that he will withdraw his forces when Dom John has fallen?’

  ‘Brother,’ said the leader, ‘I know you for a new member, and treat your questions therefore with more patience than I might otherwise show, but do not tempt me too far. I tell you of a powerful ally in our fight for freedom, and you can think of nothing but a series of miserable quibbles. When Portugal is free, we will be masters here, and no one else. No one, then, will stay in our country without our leave.’

  ‘But when do we act?’ asked the Brother of the Silver Hand.

  ‘Not for a little while yet, Brother. The French ultimatum does not expire until the first of September.’

  ‘But suppose Dom John yields at once and gets rid of the English?’

  ‘He will not. I know it. We have ample time to concert our plans. Most important of all is to be sure that the army is on our side when the moment of action comes. I suggest that our new Brother of the Silver Serpent be deputed to visit General Gomez Freire at his headquarters on the coast and make sure that he is safe for us. Is it agreed, Brothers?’

  ‘Agreed,’ went the murmur round the table.

  ‘It is well. And now, Brothers, we have a painful duty to perform. A traitor to the Star awaits your verdict. Bring in the prisoner, my sons.’

  As the two acolytes moved away from the table, Juana remembered to close the secret panel. But how would she know when to open it again? She must open it. The traitor might be anyone. Gair? Vasco? She must know. She counted ten, as for the beginning of a meeting, then, very slowly, ten again. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she opened the panel.

  The acolytes stood facing the council table with a hooded figure between them. As when the new member had been admitted at the March meeting, each of them held one end of a noose that lay lightly around their prisoner’s neck.

  There was a little, horrible pause. Then the leader spoke: ‘Brother of the Lion,’ he said. ‘You are brought here for judgment by your Brothers. I now proclaim you a traitor to your order, a betrayer of our trust, a conspirer with our enemies. What is the penalty, Brothers, for one who has done this?’ He turned to the Brother on the right.

  ‘Death.’

  Juana shuddered as the word went round the table. But the Brother of the Silver Serpent was on his feet. ‘What has he done?’ he asked.

  ‘Tell them, Brother of the Ragged Staff, since they wish to know.’

  ‘He has admitted it all, in the cells of the Star. Is it your wish that I read you his confession?’

  �
��It’s not true!’ The hooded prisoner screamed. ‘I was forced—’ But the leader had made a sign to the two acolytes who pulled suddenly on the rope around his neck and his words ended in a horrible choking sound. He swayed and fell.

  ‘The mercy of the Star is infinite.’ said the leader. ‘He died fast, who should have died slowly. Read his confession, Brother of the Ragged Staff.’

  ‘It was horrible.’ Juana told Gair next day. ‘They carried him away at the end of the meeting as if he’d been a thing – a sack of potatoes. And the “confession” didn’t seem to add up to much anyway. I thought the Brother of the Silver Serpent would ask more questions, but I suppose he thought it was too late, with the poor man dead.’

  ‘You didn’t see who it was?’

  ‘No. The acolytes were careful to keep his hood over his face as they carried him out. Gair, I’m frightened.’

  ‘I don’t wonder. What happens if you are ill, Juana? If you really can’t go down to let them in?’

  ‘I don’t know. I always assumed my grandmother would go, but now she’s not strong enough. Why?’

  ‘It’s getting too dangerous. I don’t want you to go down there again. Ask her if there is not some way out, some alternative arrangement.’

  ‘Gair, I can’t. She’s too ill; I can’t worry her. Besides, if there had been one, she would have told me. And anyway, the nearer things come to a crisis, surely the more important it is that you know what they are doing. I’m terrified. I won’t pretend I’m not. But I know I have to go.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He sounded curiously unconvinced, and her heart warmed to him. Did he really think the risk to her more important than the job to be done?

  He bent towards her, suddenly the suitor. ‘Here comes your cousin.’

  It was Vasco’s first visit since the day he had proposed, and Juana was delighted to have Gair present. Vasco, on the other hand, looked far from pleased. ‘I took the liberty of this early call’ – a look suggested that Gair’s had been too early altogether – ‘to condole with you on your father’s departure.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She let him kiss her hand and noticed how much better he did it than Gair. They made an odd contrast altogether, she thought, as she listened to their limping, unenthusiastic conversation about the news of the day. Even on this sweltering July morning, Gair was completely the elegant Englishman, contriving to look pale, cool and composed in blue broadcloth and high cravat. Vasco, on the other hand, a head shorter and very much more solidly built, had a deep and glowing tan and wore his well-cut clothes with an almost republican casualness. His shirt was open at the neck, with a silk scarf loosely tied, and he laughed, catching her eye on him, took out a silk handkerchief to mop his forehead, and apologised for behaving ‘quite like one of the family’.

  ‘Of course, cousin.’ Gair was looking put out, she noticed with a little spurt of pleasure. ‘You’ll both stay for dinner, gentlemen?’

  Over coffee in the shady loggia, Vasco announced that he had taken a house at Sintra for the hot months. A quick look told Juana that this was done entirely for her sake, and indeed he rode over most days after that and she devoted immense ingenuity to avoiding being alone with him. To her relief, he seemed either not to notice or not to mind this. He was content, apparently, to sit on the loggia or terrace with her and her sisters, talking, or reading aloud to them in his fluent English as they sewed. It was extraordinarily domestic and peaceful, and occasionally Juana found herself actually wondering whether she could have imagined the scene in the Pleasant Valley. But, no. An occasional glance, a quick phrase, a pressure of the hand would remind her of what lay between them. ‘I shall wait,’ he had said, and here he was visibly, peacefully, lovingly waiting.

  He never stayed long. He was deeply occupied, he explained once, with legal business in connection with proving his legitimacy. ‘You know why I am so eager to have it proved beyond any shadow of doubt.’ This, aside to her, one August morning was the nearest he came to a reference to the scene in the Pleasant Valley.

  She was grateful for his restraint, but, she admitted to herself with a pang of surprise, a little frightened. There was something altogether too calm, too certain, about him. Like her sisters, who hardly referred to Pedro and Roberto but looked content as two cream-fed cats, he seemed to be biding his time.

  But then, everyone was doing that. Napoleon’s ultimatum to the Portuguese was public knowledge by now, and so too was the fact that no answer had been sent to it. Dom John was still at Mafra; the army, under Gomez Freire, was on the coast. Nothing was said, nothing done as the hot August days ebbed away. Even the August meeting of the Sons of the Star seemed oddly inconclusive. Like everyone else, they were biding their time, waiting on events. Afterwards, Juana thought that perhaps the curiously negative tone of the meeting was partly due to the absence of the new Brother of the Silver Serpent who had not returned from his mission to Gomez Freire. Was he the only one with the courage to stand up to the new leader? In his absence, the meeting seemed, more than usually, merely to reflect decisions that had been taken already by some more powerful inner circle.

  Expecting Gair, Juana was taken aback when Senhor Gonçalves called next day and asked, not for Mrs. Brett, but for her. When she joined him in the little room beyond the Ladies’ Parlour which had somehow become her study, he came straight to the point. ‘Miss Brett, the French ultimatum expires in less than two weeks. On the first of September the French ambassador – and the Spanish one, since they have associated themselves with the French in this matter – will ask for their papers, and leave. After that, anything may happen … I must ask you whether you have come to a decision.’

  ‘What kind of a decision?’ She was not going to make it easier for him.

  ‘Why – about yourself … the estate. Miss Brett, you must face facts.’ He seemed to be having a hard enough time in doing so himself. Now he went off on a new tack: ‘The French will invade, you know, when the ultimatum expires. Then, to be English will mean imprisonment, death maybe; loss of property … Or look at it the other way: suppose Dom John gives in to the French demands. He may do so any day now. There’s been no news from Mafra for a while. Today, tomorrow, any time may come his edict annexing English property to the state. Think of your family, if you won’t think of yourself. I don’t want to intrude on your private affairs, Miss Brett.’ (He hovered uncertainly between the Portuguese and the English form of address.) ‘But we lawyers do tend to hear things. There’s a cousin of yours – Senhor de Mascarenhas – Miss Brett’ (suddenly he appeared to throw discretion to the winds) ‘I’ll tell you everything. He came to see me yesterday. I’ve seldom been more impressed with a young man. It was all most proper; everything one could wish for. Since your father is in England, he said, he had come to me. Your uncles – well, we all know about them. And your grandmother, of course, is old and ill. He wants you to know, not only that he loves you, which I believe he has told you himself, but something about his position. His claim is good, he proved it to me. He is de Mascarenhas, with all that implies. And as to fortune; I am empowered to tell you that his mother’s estate has doubled under his management. He will be generosity itself, I am sure, in the question of settlements. He understands, you see, that you are an English young lady. There will be no difficulty about pin money or any of those curious English customs. And, don’t you see: marry him and you are safe. No one can touch you.’

  ‘And the castle?’

  He looked, surely, more embarrassed than ever. ‘The castle?’

  ‘If I marry Senhor de Mascarenhas, who will the Castle on the Rock belong to? After my grandmother’s death, that is?’

  ‘But, senhora, how can you ask?’

  ‘I am asking, senhor.’

  ‘Man and wife are one flesh,’ said the lawyer. ‘All they have is in common.’

  ‘Exactly. Senhor, I must think about this.’ What was the use of marrying to save the castle for her family, if by doing so she merely handed it over to Vasco? Be
sides, the more she was urged to it, the more doubtful, illogically, obstinately, perhaps, she felt about marriage with Vasco. She tried to explain something of her doubts to the lawyer: ‘You see, senhor, for me it is so much more than just marrying. It is accepting a whole way of life. It is becoming Portuguese.’

  ‘But that is precisely my point.’ He was holding on to patience with an effort.

  ‘I know.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Senhor, I promise, I will think about it, hard, and send for you.’ she must get rid of him. Gair might arrive at any minute to hear her report on last night’s meeting.

  In fact, he did not appear till next morning, when he arrived just in time to accompany her on her morning ride. ‘We’re all at sixes and sevens in Lisbon,’ he exclaimed. ‘Dom John has sent a confidential note to Lord Strangford advising that he tell any Englishmen who can do so to sell up and go. It’s bad, Juana. I think I ought to urge you to go.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘We’ll stay till the last moment, of course. The navy will see that we get away. But we have diplomatic immunity. It’s different for you.’

  ‘Don’t forget that I’m half Portuguese.’

  ‘If you weren’t, I’d put you on the next packet. But what happened at the meeting?’

  ‘Nothing much. The leader had it all his own way; partly because the Brother of the Silver Serpent wasn’t there, I think. He’s still on the coast with Gomez Freire.’

  ‘I see. Well, it looks as if we still have a breathing space to decide what’s best for you.’

  ‘But you must see, I have no choice. It’s not just a question of your business now. You brought me here, it’s true, but now I am here, I’m committed. While my grandmother lives, I must stay – for her sake. And if she dies, there is the problem of the castle. Senhor Gonçalves was here yesterday. He wants me to marry a Portuguese.’ She had thought she did not intend to tell him this. ‘They’re all thinking of the castle. They don’t want to lose it. I don’t blame them. If only my grandmother hadn’t left it to me. And Senhor Gonçalves says that even if I could persuade her to change her will he doesn’t think it would be valid.’