Suzanna

by Harry Sinclair Drago

  Chiquita was well satisfied that he remained away. Her surprise at finding Montesoro here in California was concealed only by a supreme effort. The man had left her without a word. That the thought of seeing her again had brought him this distance from the land he loved was a delicious morsel for Chiquita. Best of all, she saw that her father accepted him without suspicion. She had expected to be bored to distraction, but instead she found herself taking an eager interest in life. Three days had elapsed since her return and Pancho had not yet endeavored to see her. She explained this to herself quite satisfactorily; but the caution the man showed irked her.

  She swept into her room one evening and caught Suzanna admiring a modish gown of silk and lace. Annoyed, Chiquita showed it by slamming the door behind her.

  Suzanna had gotten on better than she had supposed possible. Unaware that Pancho’s continued absence had begun to fret her mistress, and that she had provoked her further, she blundered by saying naïvely:

  “Life here must be very dull for you after all the gaieties of Mexico City.”

  Chiquita shot a shrewd glance at her. Her first thought being that she might have betrayed herself; but finding nothing in the girl’s expression to alarm her, she smiled at the implied question.

  The smile disarmed Suzanna, and she asked:

  “Did you have many admirers?”

  Chiquita was vain enough to answer honestly:

  “Yes; quite a few.”

  She had seated herself before her mirror and was busy with her hair. Suzanna watched her with ill-concealed envy as she fingered her gold mounted toilette articles.

  Ruiz, who had come on some errand, passed Chiquita’s window at that instant, and catching sight of the beautiful girl, he stopped and gazed at her with adoring eyes. Chiquita banged the shutters in his face. Suzanna would have done well to have given up her attempt to engage her mistress in conversation, but she would pursue it.

  “Didn’t you like one of them very,—very much?” she asked.

  Suzanna had unwittingly placed an emphasis on what Chiquita quickly interpreted to refer to her relation with Pancho. It angered her, and added to her indignation against Ruiz, caused her to reprimand Suzanna.

  “You are entirely too familiar for a servant,” she said tartly. “Your question is decidedly impudent. After this, you do your work and keep your tongue in your head.”

  Suzanna said nothing, but busied herself with putting away her mistress’ gowns. That finished, she started to prepare her bed. The moon was up, and Chiquita had opened her shutters again and lounged indolently in a chair before the window.

  A cooling breeze crept into the apartment as Suzanna finished her work. She was about to say good-night when from outside the bedroom window came the sound of a guitar.

  Chiquita sat up as she recognized the tune. It was Te Amo (I love you). She had heard it many times, and she surmised the identity of the man who was strumming it now.

  The melody was not unknown to Suzanna, and slipping up behind Chiquita, she endeavored to peek out. Her mistress saw her, however, and turned upon her angrily.

  “Leave the room,” she commanded. “Does your impudence know no restraint whatsoever?”

  Suzanna bowed humbly and quitted the chamber; but her heart was heavy. Who else but Ramon would dare or have reason to serenade Chiquita de Sola?

  Having rid herself of Suzanna, Chiquita stepped out upon the tiny balcony outside her window. With thudding heart she swept the patio for sight of the serenader.

  “Here, dear one,” a voice whispered.

  “You, Pancho?” the girl gasped with a glad little cry as she saw Montesoro atop the patio wall. “Come nearer,” she entreated.

  The man slid along the wall until he was close enough to grasp the hand which Chiquita extended. He kissed it passionately.

  “Ah, Pancho,” the girl murmured, “how I have longed for you. How come you here?”

  “Because of you,” Montesoro answered. “No sooner had I learned that your father was returning with you than I made my plans. He does not recognize me. Don’t be frightened. There is no danger.”

  “But there is,” Chiquita warned, “if you are caught here. This is not Mexico City.”

  “You mean young Gutierrez?”

  “He is nothing to me,” the girl exclaimed. “It is my father who is to be feared. He talks of nothing else but my marriage. But oh, I am longing to be in your arms.”

  The man saw her breast heave with emotion as she leaned toward him.

  “Then let me come in,” he begged.

  “That you cannot,” Chiquita breathed in his ear. “It is too dangerous; besides, the gate is locked,” she added compromisingly.

  “I can manage it over the wall. Look into the patio from the other window. If it is deserted I am going to enter.”

  Chiquita hurried across the room, and after a careful examination of the garden tripped back to the man outside her window.

  “We are alone,” she murmured. “But do you think it is safe?”

  Pancho nodded his head, and without further ado dropped into the enclosed garden.

  Chiquita swayed upon her feet as she turned and caught up her mantilla. Throwing it over her shoulders, she crept downstairs and hurried into the patio. With a low cry, she threw herself into her lover’s arms. They kissed then—for an eternity it seemed to little Suzanna who had stolen downstairs and hidden herself in a small store-room which gave onto the garden. She breathed a sigh of relief when the kiss ended,—glad that Chiquita’s wooer was not Ramon; but horrified to find that the woman whom he was to take to wife should shame him so brazenly.

  To add to Suzanna’s excitement, Chiquita led Pancho to a bench which stood just outside the doorway of the store-room. Montesoro immediately launched into a long and detailed explanation regarding his presence in California. Suzanna heard enough to realize that he and Chiquita had carried on a very intimate affair in Mexico City.

  “What is it that you intend to do?” she heard Don Diego’s daughter ask.

  “Marry you,” Pancho replied.

  “But you cannot,” the girl protested. “I know for a certainty my father will never give his consent.”

  “Then you must elope with me,” Montesoro declared.

  “But father surely would disinherit me,” Chiquita replied. “And then where would we be? You have no money; neither have I.”

  “Very true,” Pancho agreed. “But I am certain your father will readily forgive us when I convince him that I am worthy of your love and of the honor of being his son-in-law.”

  “Then why not convince him beforehand?” asked Chiquita.

  “Because, as you say, he would never give his consent. He has set his heart upon your marrying Ramon, and will consider no other. But if you were to marry me, he would be soon reconciled, and readily give us his blessing.”

  “But what of Ramon?” queried the girl doubtfully.

  “Ramon will marry you only over my dead body,” Pancho declared fiercely.

  Chiquita was about to capitulate when some one opened a door and stepped into the patio. It was her father. She saw him glance anxiously about the garden. Dreading that he would discover her, Chiquita took Montesoro’s hand and led him into the store-room.

  “We shall be safe here,” she whispered. “Come, enfold me. I am dying of love for you.”

  Chiquita had her well-formed back toward Suzanna, but the very nearness of the girl and her lover was enough in itself to confound her. She wanted to escape, to get away from the scene being enacted before her, but she was helpless to do it. Even the shifting of the weight of her body from one foot to the other caught Montesoro’s ear, for Suzanna saw him stiffen.

  The eyes of the two lovers soon became accustomed to the darkness of the room. Chiquita lay in the man’s arms, her sensuous eyes half-closed. Pancho, glancing over her shoulder, found himself staring at Suzanna.

  He said nothing, but the girl in his arms felt his muscles tense, and sensing that so
mething was amiss, she straightened.

  Suzanna saw that she was discovered, and throwing caution to the winds made a bold attempt to reach the door. Montesoro intercepted her, and forcing her back into the room, he stepped through the door himself. Hot words were sure to follow between Chiquita and Suzanna, with the probability that Don Diego would overhear them and investigate. Pancho had no intention of ruining his chances by attempting to brazen out his amour. Unfortunately for him, he almost collided with Ruiz as he left the store-room. The old man had been searching for Suzanna, and the sight of Montesoro led him to the instant suspicion that he would find his daughter within the room the fellow had just quitted. Neither spoke in the brief instant that they faced each other. Pancho moved off then, maneuvering to bring the store-room between himself and Ruiz. This accomplished, he was about to vault to the top of the patio wall when he saw Don Diego again come to the door of the casa. Slipping back into the shadow, Pancho retraced his steps until he had gained the rear of the store-room.

  Ruiz had opened the door in time to see Chiquita bring her hand down upon Suzanna’s mouth.

  “I’ll teach you to spy on me, you impudent peon!” he heard her threaten.

  Ruiz was not slow to gather that it had been Chiquita, and not Suzanna, who had been trysting with the man who had just left. The old servant was short-tempered as a rule, but rarely ever thoroughly angry. Hatred blazed in his eyes now as he beheld the lengths to which this girl went.

  Chiquita had heard him enter, and she turned on him in a very froth of rage.

  “Ruiz,” she cried, “if you don’t lash this spying daughter of yours, I shall see to it that the punishment is visited upon you. She is a loose-tongued, impertinent busy-body. San Luis Bautista was too good for her! But I can understand why your master wanted her sent away. Well, you remember this,—there are other places than the Mission to which peons can “be sent.”

  Suzanna had not said a word; but her eyes conveyed every bit of the contempt which she felt for the woman before her. She looked to Ruiz for advice. He motioned for her to leave.

  “Go to your room,” he ordered. “And let no word of this affair pass your lips. I shall speak to you later.”

  Chiquita started to follow Suzanna, but Ruiz, transformed from the humble servant to a man of determination, stopped her.

  “What is it you want?” Chiquita demanded almost insolently.

  “A word with you,” Ruiz replied with strange dignity.

  The girl openly smiled her contempt for this old servitor. “Say your word quickly,” she said sullenly.

  “It is something that cannot be sale quickly,” Ruiz answered grimly. “Nor will it be pleasant to listen to, but it must be said. You have proven to me to-night as no one else could have done, that you cannot make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

  Chiquita gasped at the boldness of the man’s words.

  “Silence!” she cried. “Are you aware that you address the daughter of Don Diego de Sola? You are more impertinent than your miserable daughter. Out of my way now, and rest assured that my father shall be apprised of your conduct.”

  Aghast, Chiquita saw Ruiz stand his ground.

  “I warned you that what I had to say would come as a shock,” he declared. “You have had every opportunity that a girl can have. I am sorry that you have not profited thereby. Your actions tonight show how little store you set by the honorable name you bear and how little respect you have for the man to whom you are promised.”

  The enormity of the peon’s offense to her dignity left Chiquita speechless. Eyes snapping, she saw Ruiz shake his head regretfully as he surveyed her.

  “My child,” Ruiz muttered, “there is no truer saying than that blood will tell. In spite of all the advantages and training you have had you remain as you were born,—all peon.”

  The blood left the girl’s face as she heard him out. Something seemed to be strangling her as she fought for speech. Her hands flashed to her beautiful throat as a stifled scream broke from her lips.

  “Oh, Virgen santisima que pasa?” she moaned at last. “Have you gone mad? What is it that you are trying to say?”

  “That you are my daughter,” Ruiz answered doggedly.

  A mad laugh greeted this amazing statement. The girl’s eyes showed that she thought Ruiz had gone insane.

  “No,” he said answering her, “I am not mad. You are my daughter, even as Suzanna is the daughter of Don Diego. The two of you were born on the same day. Suzanna’s mother, Doña Fe, died in childbirth. We were but a few in California in those days. The families of Don Fernando and Don Diego shared the same roof. We were gathered about Doña Fe’s bedside when she passed away. You had been born some two hours earlier. Doctor Ramos told Don Diego that he feared little Suzanna would follow her mother to the grave. I overheard him, and believing the child would live but an hour or two, I foolishly contrived to put you in Suzanna’s crib and Suzanna into the arms of your sleeping mother. I have had eighteen years in which to regret it. I had hoped to give you an opportunity to rise to a position far removed from any that the child of a peon could aspire to. Before you left for Mexico City I had reasons enough to fear for your future. I took heart again when Don Fernando told me that Ramon and you were betrothed. My old dreams of you came back. I saw you, my own flesh and blood, the wealthiest and most powerful woman in the entire province. To make your way easy, I even agreed to have Suzanna sent away, for I had seen how fond she was of Ramon. And I knew that he took a great interest in her. And here, on the third night after your return, I find you engaged in a vile amour with a man who advertises his true worth to all who have eyes in their heads.”

  Consternation no longer gripped Chiquita as Ruiz finished. Unbelief, ridicule, amusement were written large across her face. This preposterous tale was not even worth denying.

  “And you—do you believe that anyone will take stock in your weird story?” she asked patronizingly.

  “It will be easily proven,” Ruiz answered without hesitation. “I do not ask or expect affection or consideration from you for myself. But Don Fernando has been a good master. And Don Diego has repaid my treachery with years of kind treatment. I will not see them shamed publicly. And no matter what it may cost me, I warn you that unless you change your ways I shall confess.”

  The dignity and assurance of the man bore weight with the girl, and as the horrible feeling that she had listened to the truth settled upon her, she Hew into a wild rage. The fool, to talk of affection! With pleasure, she could have seen him drawn and quartered.

  “If ever you so much as breathe a word of this to a living soul,” she threatened vengefully, “I will kill you with my own hands. What do you think Don Diego would do if he knew how you had tricked him?”

  “I am already an old man,” Ruiz answered. “Death holds no fear for me. I have kept step with it so long that when it calls me I shall not hold back. And remember that it is me who threatens, not you. Go to your room, now, and take stock of yourself.”

  He attempted to open the door for her, but the girl would have none of his assistance. She flung herself out of the place, and with a hard, metallic laugh, crossed the patio.

  The old man came out a second after her. Head bowed, he shuffled across the moonlit garden toward the rear of the house.

  Ruiz had done that which he had been intent on for many years. And now that he had whispered his story to the ears of her who had profited most by his treachery, he found himself even more miserable than he had been, for fear was now added to his tortures. He wondered what his fate would he if Don Fernando discovered what he had done. Would he be sent to the hemp fields in Mexico to wear his old fingers off in the broiling suns of Yucatan? Death would be preferable to that.

  Ruiz had been a good man on the hacienda. Few had worked harder. Would his master forget that? He made the sign of the cross and mumbled a prayer for mercy as he trudged to his room. He had little hope that what he had said to his daughter would make her change her ways. S
he was a wilful, headstrong girl. It is significant that what paternal affection the man had was given to Suzanna, and not to his own child, and whenever he succeeded in rising beyond worrying about himself, it was of her, and not of Chiquita, that he thought.

  Pancho Montesoro waited until long after Ruiz’ going before he moved from his cover in back of the store-room. The man had heard every word of what went on between the girl and her father. The effect of it left him cold, un-nerved. Not until he had scaled the wall and returned to his quarters in Don Fernando’s house did he give vent to his emotions. It frightened him to think how close he had been to running off with the girl. Her secret would have come out, and he would have been left with a penniless peon on his hands.

  The narrowness of his escape continued to haunt the man as he fought for sleep. And then, as he lay tossing in his bed, he saw his golden opportunity,—Suzanna. He alone, excepting Ruiz, knew the truth concerning her. What easier than to keep his head on his shoulders and let Ramon marry Chiquita? That left him a free hand with Suzanna. And so roseate did his immediate future become that he was soon fast asleep.

  CHAPTER XIV

  MISTRESS AND MAID

  CHIQUITA lay awake the following morning waiting for Suzanna to serve her breakfast. Propped up in her massive bed, clothed in lingerie which was a mass of silk and lace, the girl was a beautiful picture, for all that she had not spent a particularly restful night and that she was in none too good humor. When her sleepy eyes caught sight of a hand protruding through the peep-hole in the door, she frowned. But the sight of a letter in the hand changed matters. Jumping quickly from bed, she hurried to the door and took the note.

  She had just climbed back into bed when Suzanna—a far different Suzanna than she had ever seen before—returned with her breakfast of chocolate, tortilla, butter and molasses. Suzanna placed the tray on the bed in front of Chiquita, who stared at her disdainfully. Suzanna didn’t mind: she had decided to treat her mistress with as silent contempt as she could command. Being anxious to get rid of her maid, so she could read her letter, Chiquita directed her to get fresh molasses. Without a word, Suzanna took the molasses pitcher and left the room. Chiquita opened her letter and found that it was from Pancho. As she read, her brow contracted, and a dark, foreboding look appeared in her eyes.