Blue Hills of Sintra

by Anne Hampson

  ‘Can it be kept secret?’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘If she’s only just come here—’

  ‘She told me she’s been staying with an aunt who lives on another of her brother’s estates, out in the corktree country. She’s been there for six months—until coming here last week. ’ A shrug as June sat down on the other side of the low occasional table, her cup and saucer in her hand. ‘It’s the same with rich and poor alike—with barons and peasants. All can come a cropper when they meet up with temptation. ’ ‘You’d have thought her parents would have made sure she was always chaperoned. ’

  ‘She has no parents. The Count is her guardian. We don’t know a thing more than that,’ June added, anticipating a question from her friend. ‘The girl’s obviously received strict orders not to talk, so she just sits there with her thoughts for company.’

  Eleanor frowned.

  ‘It’s all so very sad. When is the baby expected?’

  ‘Within the next few hours.’

  Eleanor fell silent, still frowning, and chiding herself inwardly for allowing her mind to be troubled by the plight of some unknown girl who was not even of her own nationality. It was ridiculous, and yet she remained troubled and when after the departure of the Conde June asked if she would like

  to see the girl Eleanor eagerly replied in the affirmative.

  ‘I usually take in her last drink—it’s a tonic we give her because apparently she hasn’t been eating very well lately and is run-down as a result—so you can come with me. Help me straighten the bedclothes; she’ll not know but that you’re one of the staff who’s been on holiday.’

  ‘But I’m not in uniform.’

  ‘She won’t even notice.’

  ‘Your boss—he’s not about?’

  ‘Dr. Harrington? No, he’s upstairs in his flat. Never comes down during the evening unless he’s sent for.’ The ward was the last word in luxury, but there was a clinical smell for all that. The girl, pale and drawn, was sitting up in bed, a book lying open on the white coverlet, one slender hand resting on it. The big brown eyes had been staring; they moved as the girls entered, registering neither interest nor surprise that there was someone accompanying the nurse who always attended to her the last thing before she settled down for the night.

  Standing by the door for a long moment, Eleanor bit her lip, sadness sweeping over her momentarily at the spectacle of this lovely black-haired girl looking so utterly lost and helpless.

  ‘Come, Dona Carlota,’ said June kindly, ‘here’s your drink. ’

  ‘Thank you.’ An accent, but slight; a voice soft and husky in a most attractive kind of way. Obediently she drained the glass, and handed it back. It was only when they began straightening the covers and tucking them in that the girl’s eyes settled on Eleanor. The black hair sprawled and shone against the snowy pillow, the small oval face was turned towards Eleanor. ‘You’re new?’ she said, and automatically Eleanor shook her head in a negative gesture. Glancing up, June smiled, but twisted round on hearing the door open. Something was whispered into her ear by the young nurse who entered and with a swift ‘excuse me a moment’ June hurried off to another patient. ‘What’s your name?’ the

  Portuguese girl asked. She appeared to be fighting against the reserve she had been ordered by her brother to maintain. Eleanor, who had always possessed a sort of uncanny understanding of the feelings of her fellows, looked sympathetically at her as she gave the girl her name. ‘We have that name in my country,’ Dona Carlota informed her. ‘But we spell it in a slightly different way.’

  An awkward pause could have followed, but Eleanor forestalled it by chatting to the girl as she busied herself with the bedclothes, smoothing them and pulling them tight before tucking them securely in. She seemed to have drawn the girl out, for Carlota asked, ‘Are you married?’

  Eleanor said no, she wasn’t married.

  ‘I’ve just got my teacher’s certificate,’ she went on to explain. ‘I start teaching in September.’

  ‘Oh ... so you don’t work here?’

  ‘No; I’m a friend of Nurse Leyland. I just came for an hour’s chat with her. ’

  A small pause; the girl looked hard at Eleanor before she said, right out of the blue,

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a baby?’

  ‘I haven’t,’ returned Eleanor gently.

  Another pause.

  ‘Do you know I’m not married?’

  Eleanor kept her head averted as she tucked the top cover in. The question was repeated and at last she straightened up. ‘Yes, Dona Carlota, I do know that.’

  The girl turned away, putting a swift hand to her eyes. Eleanor saw the tears escape through the slender, beautifully-shaped fingers.

  ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you—or anyone,’ quivered the girl, brushing away the tears with one hand while the other sought beneath the pillow for a handkerchief. ‘My brother will be angry if he finds out.’

  ‘He won’t find out, dear, so there’s no need for you to worry yourself on that score.’ ‘I’m so frightened, you see—’ The girl broke off and to Eleanor’s dismay burst into almost hysterical weeping. ‘If you had had a baby you could have told me about it. I dared not ask my aunt because she was so disgusted.’ The tears flowed down Carlota’s face. Taking the handkerchief from her clenched fist, Eleanor gently held it to her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t cry—please don’t. You’re in very good hands here, and there won’t be any complications, I’m sure.’ Eleanor was frowning heavily as she saw in imagination this girl, hustled off to her austere aunt in the country—hidden away from all eyes, with her brother most probably making the excuse to his friends that Carlota was taking a rest in the quietude of his other, more secluded estate. Perhaps he had even gone so far as to say that the doctor had advised this rest and change. Although she had seen him only twice, and had mere glimpses of him on both occasions, Eleanor could without the least difficulty see him glibly finding some feasible excuse for his sister’s absence from home. She saw too the aunt, condemning her errant niece, treating her with such severity that the child had not the courage to ask her advice, or her help in understanding what she was to go through. Sudden, unreasoning anger rose against the brother for not exhibiting more sympathy, for not acting in a more human manner, for this was the girl’s one sad mistake, her one lapse that had landed her in such dire trouble. That she was not bad was evident in those innocent eyes, that clear open face and sweet childish mouth. Without thinking about the order Carlota had received from her brother she said impulsively, ‘Would you like to talk, Carlota dear? I’m a stranger to you and you’ll never see me again, so you have nothing to fear. Talk if you like—’ She broke off and smiled reassuringly as the girl began to dry her eyes. ‘ Talk if you like,’ she repeated, ‘and you have my promise that I’ll never breathe a word even to my friend Nurse Leyland.’ To her gratification the girl presently responded to her smile, and after a final dab at her eyes she put the damp handkerchief

  under her pillow.

  ‘We are a very distinguished family,’ she began, and went on to give her brother’s whole title. ‘People don’t call him that,’ she continued. ‘He’s known at home as Dom Miguel.’ She paused a moment because Eleanor had opened her mouth to inform her that she knew who her brother was, but then she decided against it, certain that the girl would instantly go dumb—and Eleanor wanted her to talk, just now, when she was so near her time, and so afraid. It would do her good and Eleanor hoped June would be detained a little while longer. ‘We live at the Palacio de Castro at Sintra,’ went on Carlota in a low and pleasant tone. ‘It is only one of my brother’s homes, but it is the one he likes the best. It is very beautiful, and it is high—on top of a great hill and surrounded by a huge park.’ She paused a moment and went a trifle red. ‘It is not seemly for me to tell you of this grandness. You call it in your country—boasting. ’

  Eleanor smiled and reassured Carlota that it was not boasting at all. She was interested and beg
ged the girl to continue, which she did, and Eleanor learned of the magnificence of this palace, which stood in formal gardens, with statuary and lakes and fountains, with lemon and orange trees and immaculately-clipped box and yew hedges. Peacocks and other brightly-coloured birds strutted about the gardens, beyond which was the great park Carlota had previously mentioned. Here paths wound about all over the place, and water flowed beneath little bridges. Shrubs and ferns and cypress trees abounded and all in all it sounded a most delightful place through which to wander, or to sit, with a book, in one of the little arbours or summerhouses Carlota spoke of as her narrative progressed. ‘This great palace came to my brother on the death of our parents when I was quite small. They were killed in their car when they were touring in France. My brother was then my guardian, for I had no other relatives who were close. I—I met—met someone and fell in love... ’ The voice faltered, as Eleanor expected it to, when the girl reached this part of the story. ‘I thought we would marry, but Lourenco—he was a bad man and went away...’

  Eleanor had been standing by the bed, looking down at the girl, but now she moved away, thinking she heard voices. She did not want the girl to be speaking when June re-entered the room. No one must suspect that Carlota had made these confidences. The voices died away, however, and Eleanor returned to the bed.

  ‘How was it, Carlota, that you were allowed to go out with this Lourenco? I always imagined that Portuguese girls— especially in your position—were chaperoned?’

  ‘We are, and my brother was most strict about this, but he has other estates—quintas, we call them in Portugal—and he must visit them sometimes. It was on one of these absences that I went out with Lourenco. You see, I was lonely—’ She broke off, gasping as, the door having swung open, her brother stood there, his dark eyes glinting wrathfully as they moved from Carlota to Eleanor, and back again.

  ‘What are you doing in this room?’ he demanded imperiously, striding towards Eleanor and towering above her. ‘Who are you?’

  Completely taken aback at this unexpected appearance of the man who was supposed to have left over half an hour ago, Eleanor could only stand and stare, wondering how much he had heard, as the door, she now realized, must have been ajar, otherwise she and Carlota would have heard it being opened.

  ‘I’m a friend of Nurse Leyland,’ she managed at last, her heartbeats increasing their speed as she dwelt on the possibility of his reporting June for allowing her into Dona Carlota’s private room.

  ‘I’ve seen you at the Sherbourne—where I am staying.’

  ‘I work there—’

  ‘You work there!’ from Carlota in tones almost akin to horror. ‘How could you deceive me?’ Tears actually started to her eyes. ‘I believed you when you said you were a schoolteacher. You work...’ She tailed off, and a little sob choked her as she stared up at Eleanor. ‘You work at an hotel.’

  ‘I’m there only for the next few weeks,’ Eleanor explained, avoiding that piercing and disconcerting gaze which she knew had settled upon her. ‘I didn’t mean to deceive you, dear.’ The last word slipped out with such naturalness that Eleanor failed even to notice that she had used it. But the Conde’s eyes glimmered strangely and this Eleanor noticed on looking up. Nevertheless, he was still furious and as she continued to meet his gaze—with difficulty since there was something most disconcerting about his whole demeanour—she knew instinctively that he had overheard at least some of what had been said. Eleanor made a shrewd guess that her own question about Lourenco, and Carlota’s reply, had not escaped his ears. She felt a deep anxiety for the girl. Would her brother let her see his anger? Surely not; the time was wrong. In her anxiety though, Eleanor spoke impulsively, forgetting everything except the need to protect the girl from any further worry. ‘Sir, your sister was lonely, and as I was here, and a total stranger to her, it didn’t matter if she did talk to me a little.’ Her eyes were wide and frank; she saw that her appealing manner had caught his attention. ‘I can be trusted, sir. What your sister has told me will go no further. I give you my word for that. ’

  A small silence followed; glancing at Carlota Eleanor saw that she was regarding her brother with an expression of awe, and the hand on the cover seemed to tremble slightly. Plainly the girl feared her brother’s wrath, and Eleanor’s own feeling of anger against Dom Miguel returned. He spoke at last, with cold formality rather than the edge of fury which she had expected to hear in his voice.

  ‘Senhorita, you seem prompted, for no particular reason that I can see, to shield my sister from the rebuke she merits. By confiding in you she has not only lowered her own dignity and offended mine, but she has also disobeyed my express order that she enter into no conversation with anyone here, nor that she answer any questions about herself or me.’ He stopped a moment, but his dark and narrowed gaze remained upon Eleanor. What a supercilious, self-opinionated snob, she thought, glancing over his tall erect figure. Immaculately dressed, he did appear regal, she was forced to own, at the same time admitting that this regality, being inherent, would perhaps give him some excuse for his air of authority and this in turn could give rise to the rather patronizing manner he adopted towards her. ‘I asked you what you were doing in this room?’

  Eleanor’s heart fluttered in spite of her rejection of the idea that Dom Miguel would report June, even though his manner suggested the contrary.

  ‘I came to the hospital to see my friend—I am free in the evenings,’ she added by way of an explanation. ‘Nurse Leyland was coming to make Dona Carlota comfortable for the night, so I came along too.’

  ‘For any special reason, senhorita?^

  She stared uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Of course not. I don’t know what you mean?’

  The straight black eyebrows rose faintly. The man’s hard gaze was transferred to the girl lying on the bed. It stayed there for a while and then, quite suddenly, Dom Miguel requested Eleanor to leave the room.

  ‘But wait outside,’ he ordered quietly.

  ‘Sir ... Conde ... I mean—’ She broke off, flushing hotly under his arrogant stare. What should she call him? If she addressed him as Dom Miguel he would be informed at once that his sister had talked about him.

  ‘Wait for me outside,’ he commanded again, and turned his back on her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  June was a trifle pale when, on her return, she saw Eleanor standing there, a short distance from the door of Carlota’s room.

  ‘Her brother returned,’ she whispered. ‘Was he furious at finding you in her room?’

  ‘Definitely. He told me to wait outside for him.’

  ‘Lord! Now I’m in trouble!’

  ‘He won’t report you,’ Eleanor assured her softly.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Fairly sure. He’s got everything that makes an autocrat, but there’s nothing petty about him.’

  June gave her friend an odd sort of glance.

  ‘You seem to have lost no time in assessing his character,’ she said, for the moment diverted. ‘What are you—a physiognomist?’

  Eleanor laughed quietly despite her inner concern for the girl in there. What was her brother saying? she wondered.

  ‘One would have to be much more than a physiognomist in order to assess his character properly. One would have to live with him. And who in her right mind would want to do that?’ she just had to say, noting the grimace which had crossed June’s face as Eleanor was speaking.

  ‘We’ve been dying to discover whether or not he’s married, but with all the secrecy, and our instructions not on any account to ask the girl any questions, we’re left completely in the dark. We shall never know.’

  ‘He probably is married,’ returned Eleanor musingly, her eyes straying automatically to the door through which he would presently emerge. ‘He’ll be more than thirty, don’t you think?’

  June nodded, saying that at a guess she would put his age at thirty-four or five. Reverting then to the unexpected return of the Conde, she wante
d to know exactly what happened.

  Guardedly Eleanor provided sufficient information to satisfy her friend, and even if June had any desire to question her further she was prevented from doing so by the appearance of the man himself.

  He approached them from just along the passage, his stern eyes fixed on June.

  ‘Nurse Leyland,’ he said curtly, ‘is it usual in this hospital for strangers to be allowed into the private wards of patients?’

  June went red, and smoothed the front of her starched white apron.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t think there would be any harm in my taking Miss Salway along to—to assist with the bed. ’

  His arrogant eyes swept over her before coming to rest on her face. Even before he spoke Eleanor guessed he had said his last on this matter; it would be quite beneath his dignity to stand here and argue with a mere nurse. What he did say staggered both girls.

  ‘Senhorita, are you going back to the Sherbourne now? If so, may I offer you a lift?’

  Silence—the silence of amazement. June and Eleanor exchanged glances, surreptitiously.

  ‘That is most kind of you,’ murmured Eleanor, still dazed by the man’s offer. That he had something to say to her was evident, but she failed to see why he should need to give her a lift in order to do so.

  ‘I am going at once.’ The quiet foreign voice was without doubt speaking an order. The haughty and superior Dom Miguel was in effect telling her she must leave at his convenience, not her own. Her chin lifted, but a second’s reflection warned her that she might be in trouble at the hotel if she were to get on the wrong side of this arrogant foreigner and so, saying good night to her friend, Eleanor followed Dom Miguel as he strode in his lordly way along the corridor towards the large imposing forecourt where he had left his

  car.

  The drive was a strain, to say the least. Contrary to her expectations, Dom Miguel made no immediate reference to her unauthorized presence in his sister’s room; he merely drove, in an abstracted sort of way as if pondering a most serious question, keeping his eyes on the road, his very presence radiating an aura of magnificence which filled the car. Casting him a sideways glance from under her lashes, Eleanor could not help but admire the noble, clear-cut outline of his profile. But it was an austere silhouette for all that and, recalling her earlier conclusion that he was married, she found herself endeavouring to imagine him as a husband. Cold ... remote ... and yet she could see him demanding, mastering, and without the smallest degree of effort, so strong was his personality. What sort of lover would he be? Was that formidable exterior deceiving? Was the frigidity and withdrawal merely a surface trait? Without warning the most strange and profound emotion gripped her and with a sort of stunned disbelief she was forced to admit that the man’s attractiveness was making an impact which actually left her a tiny bit breathless.