‘More?’
‘And worse.’
‘Worse?’ Did he blench?
‘Much worse.’ She went steadily on. ‘My mother had ambitions for me. Things were going well with her then. She sent me to a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen. I made friends with an upper-crust girl there, was asked to stay with them. Mother thought it was wonderful, such a chance for me. Sent me off rejoicing. A girl without friends, without protection, without a name of her own. Little Miss Brown.’ She paused, took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t seduced, Frank, I was raped, quite casually, because it was a wet afternoon. Not a member of the family, just a hanger-on. I didn’t dare tell anyone. How could I? But I went home pregnant.’
‘Harriet!’ At some point he had sat her down on a little sofa, sat himself close, and put a protective arm around her. Now it tightened. ‘And the baby?’
‘Stillborn. I cried myself sick.’ Her eyes were far away as she remembered how hungry little Lewis had eased her misery. ‘I still dream of her.’
‘Her? A little girl? Like you … Harriet, we’ll have more –’ He stopped, searching for words. ‘Harriet, you can – It didn’t? –’
‘Oh yes. It was just bad luck, they said. Only they thought it good luck of course.’
‘You poor child. How old were you, Harriet, and then we’ll say no more about it?’
‘Thirteen,’ she told him, and let him pull her, at last, into the haven of his arms.
Counting out sovereigns for the Emersons, Jeremy Craddock realised that the payment was going to leave him uncomfortably shorts of funds, just when he looked like needing them most. The information they provided had better be good, he told himself, as he dressed quickly for his ten o’clock appointment. He had decided overnight that there was no chance of catching Frank Ware alone before he left for the office, and wild horses would not make him breakfast alone with Mrs Ware today. He would get himself a cup of coffee on his way to the Emersons’ house, though it would probably be very nasty.
It was pouring with rain again, dripping through his umbrella, and he found himself envying the Portuguese peasants the curious straw thatches in which they braved the weather. The bag of sovereigns was heavy; his feet were wet; he found no café; he was in a very bad temper when he reached the Emersons’ apartment, sharp at ten.
They were sitting comfortably over a breakfast of coffee and rolls and he saw with a mixture of irritation and pleasure that a cup had been laid for him.
‘You’ll join us, Mr Craddock?’ Rachel reached out for the coffee pot. Her pale hair was neatly braided round her head this morning and it made her look years older. With no sun outside, the little room was dark and gloomy, a million miles from the sea cave where she had enthralled him.
‘Thank you.’ He put his bag of sovereigns down with a little click on the breakfast table, close to his hand.
‘Sugar? Milk? Pass Mr Craddock the rolls, my dear,’ she turned a wife’s glance on her husband. ‘I was sure you could not face breakfast with your outraged hostess, Mr Craddock.’ She smiled at him and he hated her. ‘We are to congratulate you, I believe. Quick work, Mr Craddock.’
Now he hated her entirely: ‘You know already?’
‘I imagine all Oporto knows by now. And that you are forbidden the house. Had you considered that you might find yourself left with the girl and not the fortune?’
‘If there is a fortune,’ said Ralph Emerson.
‘That is not what I came to discuss.’ Anger grated in Jeremy’s voice. ‘You have some information for me, I trust.’ It irked him to find himself hungrily eating her bread.
‘Indeed we have. And you, I am glad to see, have the needful for us. You won’t believe how the duns come down when they hear you are booked to leave. It’s a lady you need to investigate, Mr Craddock, Madame Feuillide, a dressmaker. She makes for your fiancée, I believe, as for everyone else of note here in Oporto. Never for me. I couldn’t afford her prices. But of course being so expensive is what makes the ladies adore her. Clever of her, when you think she has been in French pay ever since she came here, almost twenty years ago. Oh, a clever lady, Madame Feuillide, with a spy in every household and an ear at every door. It is not just poverty that makes us wait upon ourselves, it’s common sense. What the servants don’t know, they can’t report back. I have no doubt she is wondering this morning what use she should make of your surprise engagement.’
‘So she has been your paymaster?’ He immensely disliked this harping on his engagement.
‘Not directly. We are not supposed to know about her, but I am no fool either, and it was not too difficult to follow the chain and find her at the end of it. She does not – I hope she does not – know that we know. If she does, all the more reason for our being on the next boat home. So –’ reaching out for it, ‘we get our money, Mr Craddock?’
‘Not yet.’ She had convinced him, but his hand closed over the bag of sovereigns just the same. ‘As I remember it, Mrs Emerson, you said that Oporto leaked like a sieve. The understanding was that you would tell me about all the leaks.’
‘A servant in every house. I told you. And us, of course. I don’t wish to brag, Mr Craddock, but it is remarkable what I have been able to pick up from my patients. And my clever Ralph as he walked about the quays. Are you going to make a point of introducing your fiancée to Lord Wellington when he comes next week? I would, if I were you. He has an eye for the girls, they say. I’m really sad not to be able to stay and meet him.’ She laughed, and he wondered how he could ever have thought her laugh delightful. ‘Don’t look so anxious, Mr Craddock, there’s no one to hear but us three. The secret of the “very important guest” is safe with us.’ Once again she stretched out a hopeful hand for the gold.
But his was still firm on the bag. ‘I am absolutely certain that you meant more leaks than one,’ he persisted. ‘I’m armed, by the way, don’t think of violence.’
‘Violence is not our line,’ she told him. ‘That’s been our strength – and our weakness – all along. As to these “leaks” you are so insistent about, I suppose what I had in mind when I made that rash remark was Madame Feuillide’s connection with the household across the valley from your new fiancée’s house. Ask her about the Sanchez family, Mr Craddock. I had meant to look into it, but there’s been no time, with all this endless packing and arguing about bills. And another thing, while you sit there looking so obstinate, dear Jeremy, be honest with yourself and admit that I have done you a great deal of good, though not perhaps just what you expected. But, of course, you never did suffer from the falling sickness, did you?’
‘You knew all the time?’
‘Of course I knew. I may be a spy, but that does not mean I am not a healer too. You owe me that money.’
‘Perhaps I do.’ He handed it over and left, still fuming.
‘Congratulations,’ said Ralph Emerson when Jeremy had been seen safely off the premises. ‘You didn’t tell him. Why not I wonder?’
‘Sheer devilry, I think. He should not have engaged himself so soon.’
It had stopped raining, which was something. Jeremy turned down towards the quay. His next call must be on Frank Ware in the blessed privacy of his office. He would persuade him to call at the Gomez house that very day and arrange for Caterina to meet him as soon as possible. There was so much he had to say to her. He must warn her about Madame Feuillide the dressmaker and ask her about the Sanchez household. She would know where they could inconspicuously meet. The cathedral, perhaps?
But when he got to Frank Ware’s office it was to learn that he had not come in that morning. ‘He sent word that he would not be in until late afternoon, senhor.’
‘Might he be across at Villa Nova de Gaia?’ Jeremy was shocked by the look of dust and inactivity about the Ware offices, a sharp contrast to the atmosphere at Webb, Campbell, Gray and Camo. Things must be bad with the Wares. No wonder Mrs Ware had hoped for a marriage between her son and Caterina Gomez.
‘I do not
think so, senhor,’ the man told him. ‘There is not much need.’ He pocketed Jeremy’s tip and smiled a sly smile. ‘We think perhaps he is making a morning call.’
Fool that he was not to have thought of this. Frank’s mother might still be hoping for a match between her son and Caterina Gomez, but he had seen Frank and Harriet together often enough to know why Caterina had turned not to Frank but to himself for help. The news of old Gomez’s threat would have sent Frank hotfoot up to the house this morning. He left the depressing office and walked rapidly uphill. With a bit of luck he might catch Frank emerging from the Gomez house and persuade him to go back in and give his message. Reaching the house without meeting him, he took one indecisive turn up and down the lane outside, then thought this ridiculous and pulled sharply at the bell.
Old Tonio opened the door, and gave him no chance to speak. ‘This door is closed to you, senhor.’ He spoke unnecessarily loud. ‘Do not give me the pain of having to turn you away.’ As he spoke, he slipped Jeremy a small, tightly folded note.
‘I only wished to ask if Mr Ware were here.’ Jeremy took the hint and spoke clearly for the presumably listening ear.
‘He left some time ago, senhor.’
‘Then I will trouble you no further, but give my kindest regards to the senhoras, if you are allowed to.’
‘Which I am not.’ The door closed noisily in his face.
He went down to the corner of the lane, well out of sight of the closed door, before he opened the note. ‘This afternoon. In the cathedral. The silver altar. C.’
What a double-dyed fool he would have been if he had not come, he thought, as he started back across the marketplace. Caterina had not been able to name a time for their meeting. He would simply have to spend the afternoon in the cathedral waiting for her. He stopped and bought some fruit to pass for lunch from a gaunt market woman and remembered what Dickson had said about how starved and wretched they were. ‘And this for you, mother.’ He impulsively handed her an extra coin and got vehemently blessed for it. Just how bad were things in Oporto, he wondered, and was ashamed that it had taken Dickson to alert him to the real state of affairs. He should have reported on it long since. Pitiful to have let himself waste so much time dreaming ridiculous dreams of Rachel Emerson. He would order his thoughts while he waited in the cathedral and write a full report tonight to send by Monday’s boat to Plymouth. At least Caterina’s plight had settled his own plans for him. Even if it were to cost him his job, he could not leave without either taking the two girls with him or seeing their affairs settled some other way. But Frank Ware’s visit that morning might well have changed everything.
He started to climb the busy stinking lanes that led up to the cathedral. He was comfortably sure that Harriet would accept Frank if he proposed. But what then? He paused to look up at the squat twin towers of the cathedral, looming against the sky. A gloomy building. He looked at his watch. It was technically afternoon by now, but he knew the habits of the Gomez household well enough to know that there was no way Caterina would be able to come out for another hour or so. The sun was out, drying puddles on the cathedral steps, and he found a dryish spot to sit and eat his fruit and wonder how much he would tell Caterina when she came. He could hardly ask her about the dressmaker and the Sanchez family without some explanation. How very much he disliked the idea of telling her he had used her and Harriet Brown as cover for his spying.
And what a selfish wretch he was to be thinking of this now. The first thing was to protect the two girls from the threat of the silent sisters. Gomez’s refusal to accept him as prospective son-in-law had been a setback, but he rather hoped Frank Ware would step into the breach. He had probably already done so. Until last night he had discounted Frank, thinking him clay in his mother’s hands, but that had changed now. The worm had turned. Caterina would bring the news that she and Harriet had arranged to go to the Wares’ for sanctuary. That would let him quite off the hook. His pretence engagement would no longer be needed as protection for Caterina, and the best thing he could do for her would be to take Monday’s boat for Plymouth and leave her to break off the false engagement at her leisure, on whatever pretext she pleased.
How very strange. He did not want to go. He thought about it a little and decided that he could not leave before the party, however well that might suit Caterina. He badly wanted to meet Wellington, and besides there were altogether too many overtones about that party. He could not possibly imagine missing it.
The great bell of the cathedral chimed the hour and he got rather stiffly to his feet. Time to go inside and find a quiet corner in which to wait for Caterina. He knew the Portuguese people’s easy relations with their church well enough to be sure that there would be such a place where he could sit unnoticed and seem to pray, and go on trying to collect his ragged thoughts.
Music and the smell of incense greeted him as he pushed open the heavy cathedral door. It was Friday, of course. He should have expected a service. It was just as well that Caterina had named the side chapel where the silver altar had been protected from the marauding French by its coat of concealing paint. There were fewer people there and he was able to find himself a secluded seat not too far from the entrance.
It was a long wait. The service was almost over when Caterina slipped quietly into the pew beside him, and knelt at once to pray, ignoring his quick movement of recognition. Impatient thoughts seethed in his head as she prayed. In a little while the service would be over and their talk more likely to be overheard.
Her first words astonished him. ‘I am afraid I have put you at risk,’ she pushed back her black veil a little so that the words were channelled directly to him only.
‘At risk?’ He leaned his head close to hers. ‘What can you mean? Surely your father would not –’
‘No, no, he thinks the matter settled. He has spoken; that is all there is to it. He means us to go to the silent sisters on Wednesday, Harriet and I, just the same. I’ve risked your life for nothing. I am so sorry.’
‘Risked my life?’ What madness was this?
‘Listen, please. I have to tell you. I should never have involved you.’
‘But I am glad to be involved! I am just sorry it has proved so little help. And there are things I have to tell you too. How long –’
‘As long as we need. We’re not the first, and we won’t be the last to use the church for the wrong purpose. But I think we had best talk in Portuguese.’ Changing to that language. ‘To be less noticeable. Frank Ware came this morning,’ she told him. ‘Harriet has accepted him, I’m glad to say, but it solves nothing for me. He vows he will take us to his mother on Wednesday, but Father Pedro says I will not be let go. And I am afraid my father could do it.’
‘Yes,’ he said soberly. ‘I talked to Joe Camo – I hope you don’t mind – and he said he thought your father’s word would be paramount. He urged that I present you to Lord Wellington at the party on Tuesday. He thinks your best protection lies there.’
‘But I am afraid something may have happened to you before that.’
‘To me? What in the world do you mean?’
‘You must have heard the stories about me.’ She plunged right into it. ‘Well, they are true. There was a man; my father found us together. I was sent to England. He is here in Porto; he thinks he owns me, body and soul. He will have heard, by now, about our “engagement”. He will kill you, I think, or arrange to have you killed. I never thought; I was desperate; I am so ashamed. He is a revolutionary, you see, a tool of the French, and in league with violent men. Anything could happen.’
‘Who is he?’ he asked. And then, because he must: ‘But Caterina, does he own you, body and soul?’
‘No! Thank God. But it took me too long to realise it. I won’t make excuses; too late for that. I have none. I have risked your life for nothing. Please, for my sake, for my peace of mind, take the next Plymouth boat. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’
‘And leave you to the si
lent sisters? Never. But who is he, Caterina?’
She bent a little closer and he got a familiar, heart-stirring hint of the perfume she always wore. ‘Luiz de Fonsa y Sanchez,’ she whispered so low that he could only just catch it. ‘He is in hiding, out at Madame Feuillide’s. He left with the French in 1809, can’t show his face in town. He believed their tales of an independent kingdom of Lusitania, hopes to use them for his own ends. But I think they are using him. He’s planning revolution, here in Porto, wanted me to spy for him. I’m afraid I did answer some of his questions; it makes me so ashamed. I was a fool, beglamoured. And then I realised how he had changed, poor Luiz. Or how I had. But the thing is, don’t you see, he thinks I’m his property, his thing to do with as he likes. When he hears of our “engagement” he will be out of his mind with rage, might risk everything for revenge on you. That’s why you must take that Plymouth boat. And be desperately careful in the mean time.’
‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘I can’t leave now. But you are right about Madame Feuillide; that’s what I came to warn you about, that she is in French pay. And has some kind of connection with the house across the canyon from you. Of course,’ he remembered, ‘the Sanchez house.’
‘Yes. Luiz’s family home. He can’t go there himself, but he told me he has a spy there.’ No need, and no time, to tell him about the old lady. ‘He’s dangerous, Mr Craddock, do please believe that.’ She leaned close again. ‘You remember that attack on Father Pedro? I think Luiz was responsible for that.’
‘Why?’
‘He wanted him out of the way. He had his own plans for me, you see. Still has. He is going to be terribly angry. He never could bear to be crossed. He talked, half in earnest, of coming disguised to the Wares’ party on Tuesday. To keep an eye on me, he said. Did you know that Madame Feuillide plans to stay with them for the party? To be available for us young ladies, she said.’
‘But you don’t believe it?’
‘No. Something is planned for that party. I’m sure of it. I wish I knew how she had persuaded Mrs Ware to have her there.’
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