Last thing every night, she checked on the inside bolt at the entrance to the winding stair simply for the reassurance of seeing it strong and solid on her side of the door. At least, in this room, she knew where the secret entrance was. By now, she did not much like being alone anywhere else in the castle. If only Gair Varlow would come, pooh-pooh her terrors and tell her when the English squadron was expected … Impossible, she found, to go on being angry with him. No doubt his proposal had been kindly meant. It had been, obviously, his way of making amends for the danger in which he had involved her. She wished, now, that she had not lost her temper.
But what was the use of wishing? He did not come. Nobody came. There had been no word from Vasco since he had ridden out of the castle courtyard two weeks before – ‘In a flaming rage,’ Daisy had reported. ‘I’d keep away from him for a while, Juana.’
There was no need. He kept away from them. ‘I feel like a princess in a fairy story,’ Daisy said, surprisingly, one sultry evening. ‘You know, in a magic castle where nothing ever happens.’
‘I do know.’ Juana fought a yawn. ‘But by the news from Lisbon the whole country’s in the same state.’
‘Waiting for Sebastian?’ asked Teresa. ‘Maria was telling me about him this morning.’
‘The lost Prince?’ Daisy laughed. ‘He’s as likely to save us as Dom John. Why don’t you go to bed, Juana? You look exhausted.’
‘I am tired.’ But Juana still delayed, ashamed to admit, even to herself, that she did not much like the lonely walk down the cloisters.
‘I’ll see you to your stair.’ Had Daisy noticed her hesitation? ‘And we can look in on the old lady as we go. I’m to take over from Maria first thing in the morning.’
In the sickroom, all was quiet. ‘She’s hardly moved,’ said Maria. ‘It can’t be long now, God rest her soul.’
‘No.’ Juana stood for a minute by the bed. It was hard to believe that this frail husk of a woman had been the dominant creature who had led her down the winding stair last year. She shivered, thinking that the stair must go down past the wall of this room somewhere. ‘Take good care of her, Maria,’ she said. ‘Call me if you need me.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Maria?’ Juana woke with a start. The room was lighted: Mrs. Brett must he worse. ‘I’ll come at once.’ She sat up in bed, was suddenly, horribly aware of hooded figures all round her, of movement behind her, felt a sharp blow on the side of her head and plunged into unconsciousness.
When she next woke, it was broad daylight. What an incredibly vivid dream. She reached out for the glass of water that always stood by her bed. It was not there. This was not her room. Not a dream: reality. Terror filled her to overflowing. If she started to scream, she would not be able to stop. She put her hand to her mouth and bit it hard. She was not bound. She was lying in a luxurious bed whose heavy scarlet curtains cut off her view of all but a thin slice of what appeared to be an equally ornate bedroom. What in the world?
She sat up to look about her and at once a woman’s figure appeared from behind the bed curtains. A complete stranger, this old, old woman, brown and wrinkled and beyond age as only a Portuguese peasant woman can become. She smiled broadly (could it be affectionately?) at Juana. ‘At last,’ she said. ‘You are better, senhora?’
Better? Remembering, Juana put a tentative hand to the side of her head, and winced.
The old woman clucked her sympathy: ‘A terrible bruise,’ she said. ‘Let me bathe it for you, my Princess.’ She bustled away behind the bed curtains, to return in a moment with a cloth wrung out in spirits of lavender with which she very gently soothed away the pain. ‘You are better?’ she asked again, with real anxiety.
‘What’s happened? Where am I?’ Juana’s thoughts had been scurrying in so many directions at once that she could hardly get the words out. But, surely, her first terror, of the Sons of the Star, must be unfounded? It was all fantastic, incredible: dream – or nightmare?
‘In my master’s house, of course,’ answered the old woman. ‘And safe, thank God and his strong arm. Who else would have dared attack those wicked ones – even for you, my Princess?’ She lowered her voice on the words ‘wicked ones’.
‘The Sons—’
‘Hush! It’s not safe; even here. If they could carry you off from your room at the castle, senhora, they can do anything. That’s why you are to stay here, safely locked in, till my master returns.’
‘Your master?’
‘Senhor de Mascarenhas, Your cousin, senhora, who adores you. “Look after her,” he told me, “like the Princess she is. Tell her I will return to sup with her this evening. Tell her she is my Queen.” Those were his words, senhora. He should be home soon. Do you think you are strong enough to get up and dress?’
‘He saved me?’ She was still trying to sort things out.
‘From a whole gang of masked ruffians. I don’t need to name them – He’s wounded, of course, but nothing to signify; not my master. He had affairs to attend to, or he’d have stayed himself till you waked. He’ll be back without fail, he told me, for dinner. You’ll be able to join him, senhora?’
‘I don’t see why not. I don’t understand anything.’ Juana pushed back the bedclothes. She was still in the cambric nightgown she had put on the night before. The night before?
‘How long have I been unconscious?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, senhora. He brought you home this morning. They must have carried you off last night. Thank God he was there to save you.’
‘Yes.’ It was all extraordinary, fantastic … ‘But I’ve no clothes.’
‘There are clothes here, senhora. Clothes for a Queen. Let me ‘ help you.’
Juana was glad of her support, the ground shook under her for a moment, then steadied. ‘There.’ She stood by herself and looked about the room. It was furnished with immense luxury in the old-fashioned Portuguese style of cut velvet and flounces. The huge door, she saw, was bolted securely on the inside.
The old woman followed her eyes. ‘It’s locked on the outside too,’ she said. ‘Just for safety’s sake. My master took the key.’
The clothes that hung in a huge closet struck Juana as oddly old-fashioned. And yet the stiff silks and brocades seemed quite new and unworn. ‘Whose are they?’ she asked as the old woman helped her into a stiff, dark taffeta.
‘Yours for as long as you need them, senhora.’ It was hardly an answer, but Juana had more important things to think of.
‘My poor family,’ she said. ‘They’ll be mad with worry. Or did Senhor de Mascarenhas send to them?’
‘I’m sure he has done everything that is necessary.’ Once again it was not quite an answer.
Juana moved over to the room’s one window, an ornate gothic affair of stone and small, leaded panes. It looked far down into a courtyard, sunless now as the afternoon drew on. ‘I slept a long time,’ she said.
‘Yes, thank God. You’ll be none the worse, my Princess.’
‘Why do you keep calling me that?’ It was beginning to irritate her.
The old woman looked confused. ‘He will explain everything,’ she said. ‘He knows what’s best for us all. I was his nurse, you know, and his father’s before him.’
‘His father’s! Then you must have known my mother?’
‘Indeed I did.’ Suddenly there were tears in the pale old eyes. ‘She was my Princess first. But they took her away from me, that terrible time of the Plot, and gave her to the holy sisters to rear, and I never saw her again. Oh, how I cried. For a while I thought I would never stop. But they took me away to France – Oh, Jesu Maria, what wickedness! But there was my poor mistress, and my Seb – the young master. Oh, senhora, a Prince among men! How lucky you are!’
‘What do you mean?’
She looked, surely, frightened. ‘I’m talking too much, because of being so glad to see you. I’ve asked and asked when I was going to see you, and “soon”, he always answered, “she will come soon”. But you mu
st rest, my jewel, you’re looking exhausted, and it’s all my fault. He will be angry if I’ve tired you.’ It was evident that in her life there was only one ‘he’, her master.
Juana was glad to subside on to a flounced velvet chaise longue. She closed her eyes for a minute, then opened them to watch the old woman tidying the big bed. ‘We’re locked in together?’ she asked.
‘Yes. He said it would be safer.’
‘But in his house! This is his house – at Sintra?’ She had never seen it, but knew it to be somewhere high up on the outskirts of the royal village.
‘Yes, of course. But we’ve so few servants. Not enough to protect you from Them.’
‘I see.’ What use would a locked door be against the Sons of the Star? There was something very strange about the whole situation. She was beginning to be frightened again. But that was absurd. Or – was it? Why were Daisy and Teresa not here already, and a detachment of men from the Pleasant Valley? ‘Why don’t my sisters come?’ she asked.
‘What sisters, senhora? You have no sisters. Nor any kin save my master. Oh, but this is a happy day, to see the two of you united at last.’
‘United?’ Now she knew she was frightened.
‘I’m talking too much. He will explain.’ And then, with obvious relief: ‘I hear horses now. Let me brush your hair again, senhora. If only it was not so short – more like a boy than—’ She stopped, and was very busy for a few minutes fluffing out Juana’s short hair and adjusting the set of stiff taffeta sleeves and skirt. ‘He never liked to be kept waiting did my Seb – my master.’
‘What did you call him?’
‘I? The master? What should I call him, but that?’ And then, aware of Juana’s unbelief – ‘Oh, some childish nickname I should have forgotten long since. Don’t tell him: he’d be angry, now he’s a great man.’
A great man? Her cousin Vasco? ‘A bastard who has spent a fortune on forged documents to prove his legitimacy.’ Gair’s remembered voice. ‘A fortune … of most suspicious origin.’ ‘Don’t trust him,’ Gair had said. She bit her lips to stop them trembling. Where was Gair now?
A key rattled in the lock on the other side of the door.
‘Here he is,’ said the old woman, and Juana had, for a moment, a strange feeling that she was frightened too. She moved quickly to the door on which a hand was now gently knocking.
‘May I come in?’ Vasco’s voice.
The old woman looked at Juana, her hand on the bolt. What would happen if she were to say no? ‘Of course,’ she said.
In fact, there was something very reassuring about Vasco, his usual self, casual in open-necked shirt and breeches, hot from riding, shining from a quick wash, hurrying across the room to take her hand: ‘Cousin, you’re none the worse?’
‘Nothing but a slight headache. I owe you a world of thanks, it seems. It’s the second time you’ve saved me, cousin.’
‘Thank God I was able to.’ His lips were hot on her hand.
His other arm was bandaged. ‘You’re hurt! What happened? I don’t understand anything. And where are my family?’
‘There’s so much to explain. And, Juana, this is no place for us to talk. Your bedroom!’ His glance lingered for a moment on the huge four-poster. ‘Will you not come down and sup with me?’
‘With pleasure!’ Had she actually been afraid this luxurious room was a prison? She was glad to let him take her hand and lead her down a graceful flight of stairs to the room directly below where a cold meal lay ready on a long table. Glancing out of the window, she saw that this room, like hers, looked down through leaded panes on to the central courtyard of the house. They were still well above ground level.
Vasco was holding her chair for her. ‘I’m going to wait on you myself,’ he said, interpreting her puzzled glance. ‘After what happened last night, I trust no one, not even my own servants.’
‘Is it as bad as that?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But what did happen?’ At last she could ask the question.
‘How much do you remember?’
‘Very little. Only waking, with Them all around me – then the blow on my head, and nothing more till I woke again, thank God, upstairs.’
‘Them? But you know who?’
‘The Sons of the Star, surely, though I can’t think why.’ How much should she tell him? She took a cautious bite of cold chicken and rice, found it made her feel better, and ventured a sip of wine.
He must have sensed her hesitation: ‘Juana, you must trust me. Our only safety, now, lies in absolute honesty with each other.’
‘What do you mean? And, Vasco have you sent to tell my family I am safe?’
‘Not yet. That’s what I am trying to explain. We are in danger, you and I, grave danger. For the moment, we dare trust no one, tell no one you are here.’
‘But my family will be desperate with worry.’
‘Yes. But why? Because you are missing, or because you are not dead, as the Sons of the Star intended? How do you know which of your family you can trust? Have you never noticed that they tend to separate on the nights of the meetings?’
‘The meetings? You know about them?’
‘Who doesn’t? Nobody dares speak of them, but that’s different. You haven’t answered my question.’
‘About my family? Yes, it’s true; we often do all seem to separate early on the night of the full moon, but there could be so many reasons for that. I can’t believe they would conspire against me.’
‘No? You’re not facing facts. What about the party at Ramalhao? You’d be mad to trust them, any of them, after that. They’ll stop at nothing to get the castle from you.’
‘But I’ve already said I’d give it to them.’
‘There’s more to it than that. It’s not only your family you have to fear, is it?’ He refilled their wine glasses. ‘You’re hedging with me, Juana, and in a way I respect you for it. Shall I make it easier for you and tell you that I have known, all year, that you were the Handmaiden of the Star?’
‘You’ve known? Good God, but how?’
‘For the best of reasons. Because I told your grandmother to send for you.’
‘You?’ Now her confusion was complete.
‘Who else?’
‘But why?’
‘Because I need you, Juana. Portugal needs you.’
‘Portugal?’ What lunacy was this? Impossible, surely, that he and Gair had been working together all the time?
‘It’s incredible that you should not know. But you don’t, do you?’
‘I certainly don’t know what you are talking about.’ Every instinct told her to play for time.
‘I suppose it was safest not to tell you. Our inheritance is a great danger, Juana, as well as a great responsibility.’
‘You mean because of the Tavora plot? As de Mascarenhas? I don’t understand …’
‘No, no.’ Impatiently. ‘Our story goes back much further than that. Do you know what my second name is?’
‘Your second name?’ She began to wonder if he could be mad.
‘It’s Sebastian, Juana, after our famous ancestor. And you are named for his wife. Surely you must know the story of the lost Prince Sebastian?’
‘Yes, of course. But you can’t mean – He was never married.
‘Yes, he was. Just before he sailed for Morocco, he married the lady he loved, the lady of the rock, our Spanish ancestress, the first Juana. She bore his son after the fatal battle, after his death. The times were dangerous, but her secret was well kept, When Prince Henry died and the House of Aviz was thought to be extinct, her son was only a year old; she did not dare try to claim the throne for him. All through the sixty years of Spanish occupation she lived quietly at the Castle on the Rock with her son and her grand-children. The restoration of the House of Braganza killed her. She was a great lady, Juana, from everything I can find out about her, but her son was unworthy of her, and of his father. He made no effort to claim his inheritance nor even to
prove the validity of his mother’s marriage. It has been left to me to do that. It has taken me years, but I have done it at last. Juana, you and I are the only surviving descendants of King Sebastian, his legitimate heirs. Since we claim through female descent you are rightful Queen of Portugal.’ Suddenly he was kneeling on the floor at her feet, kissing her hands. Then, just as quickly, he was standing over her, his colour high. ‘I can get you this crown, Juana. You know the people believe that Sebastian will return in Portugal’s hour of need? Well, he will return. I, Sebastian, will return. Then you will see an end to the inertia that has gripped the country under the miserable Braganzas. I tell you, the army will follow me to a man; we will drive the French from our gates; Portugal will be itself again. Only first, Juana, to avoid any possibility of conflict, you and I must be married. You must see that.’
She did indeed. She was not sure how much of the fantastic story she believed. She was not even sure how much of it he believed himself, but one thing stood out brutally clear. Because of his own illegitimacy (‘forged documents’, Gair had said) he needed her beside him to back his incredible claim. It all began to make a terrifying kind of sense. What old Luisa had said … the clothes hanging ready in the closet … Vasco had carried her off. His elaborate courtesy, the dramatic kissing of hands, merely masked the fact that she was entirely in his power. And there was so dangerously much that she did not understand. She took a deep breath. ‘You have amazed me, cousin. I don’t know what to say.’ She must have time to think.
‘I don’t wonder. It’s a tremendous prospect, is it not? Queen of Portugal. Think of all the good you can do, Juana. Think how this country needs you. Your grandmother wanted it for you: remember that. She knew. That’s why she sent for you. If she could speak now she would tell you to take up your destiny and be a Queen. It’s fate you see, that our family should have come back, quite by chance, to the Castle on the Rock. As its owner – as my wife – I tell you, Juana, we can’t fail. It’s our duty, don’t you see, to save the country.’
‘You overwhelm me, cousin.’ The more he told her, the less she trusted him. Now, at last, she understood why there had always been something strange about his love-making. Nothing he had ever said to her had been quite true. She would be mad to believe him now. She would be madder still to let him see that she did not. ‘It’s all too much for me,’ she said. ‘You must give me time to take it in.’ Dared she ask some of the questions that boiled in her brain? ‘But my grandmother knew, you say?’ That should be safe enough.
The Winding Stair Page 30
