Perhaps another letter from Selena will find its way to me – even a missive from my family, although I fear they have cast me off. If they knew of my situation they would certainly disown me. I have not told Selena of my plight. I cannot risk discovery by anyone in England.
And so I have reached paradise – or as close to it as I will get in this world or the next, no doubt. How strange that I feel so isolated in the midst of servants and soldiers and chaperones. I am close to no one. Paraty is indeed a paradise – for sloths. Little gets done in this haven by the blue and gold bay under gently waving palms. This suits me for the moment but, in truth, I could not endure it forever.
‘I shouldn’t think anything has happened in this place since Domesday,’ is Adelaide’s verdict. Captain da Silva disagrees; ‘On the contrary, the town saw many skirmishes with pirates in the not too distant past.’
‘You mean when the treasure ships were here?’ I replied. ‘Those days are long gone.’
‘Not so long gone.’ He shrugged. ‘The pirate crews loved this place. They buried their treasure here. It is said they will return.’ Da Silva likes to make these pronouncements. He seeks to impress the womenfolk. My dragon lady chaperone gave a well-bred snort of derision as the captain walked away.
The men while away their time well enough, drinking cachaça – for which the town is famous – and dallying with the mulatto girls who are often dazzlingly beautiful. Sometimes the captain can be seen gazing wistfully out to sea from the Embarcadero, perhaps hoping for an invasion by those pirates so that he can have a good skirmish.
March 30th
It is true, I discovered, that a cache of treasure was unearthed in the past and used to build one of the churches. There is a church for the slaves, another for the mulattos and a third for the white elite.
As for me, I have promenaded around the harbour and up to the ruined fort, viewed the three or four churches and admired the pretty architecture. On the full moon every month the tide washes into the town over the huge uneven cobblestones laid down by slaves. This is the height of excitement in Paraty.
We spend many hours rocking in our chairs on the veranda, having little else to do. There is a garden filled with vivid foliage but we seldom venture there for fear of snakes and other creatures. I have few books to occupy my time although the Luccombes have promised to send packages and letters from time to time. They will keep me informed of the latest scandals at the court and the names of Dom Pedro’s latest conquests but I shall have little of interest to send them now that I am away from the court. Mr Luccombe has had my last report. I shall have few opportunities to observe the prince in future, I suspect. Unless the pirates re-appear, there will be nothing to write about.
Now I am perforce required to turn my hand to embroidering clothes for the expected infant, although needlework was never one of my skills.
When night descends, as it does suddenly in this latitude, Captain da Silva loves to regale us with ghastly stories about Brazil’s wildlife – the more horrific the better. We sit whiling away the last, magical sunset minutes drinking passion fruit juice and wine, while he warns us that howler monkeys will pelt you with their own excrement if you venture near them.
With a glance at my swelling body he tells us that the female anaconda, the largest snake in these parts, devours her partner when she is pregnant. This caused some titters from Adelaide and I hid a smile.
‘There are stories of giant sloths inhabiting the Pantanal,’ da Silva continued. ‘The largest of these is a monster that the Indian tribes call a mapinguari.’
‘Have you seen this creature?’ I asked.
‘No, but I do not doubt its existence. They say it utters dreadful cries.’ The captain has travelled in the jungles near the great Amazon River, where he has seen all manner of extraordinary creatures. The fantastic flora and fauna, together with the climate of such a place, would be unendurable for me. I would rather spend a century in Meryton. It was not long after this conversation that Adelaide had an experience which I am sure will remain with her for the rest of her life.
Chapter 9
April 10th
One evening when the tropical sky began to darken rapidly my maid ventured off the veranda into the garden for a few minutes. I suspected her of taking up the vice of smoking small cigarillos which some of the servant class here indulge in. She hotly denied this, but why else would she have been in that place as darkness fell? I do not believe she was seeking a lover’s tryst.
My maid claims that she was suddenly attacked or molested by a monstrous creature, ‘Like something from one of them horror stories you are always reading, madam.’
In the dim light, she made out that the creature was covered in reddish hair and had the body of a large dog but the face of a rabbit. It stood upright waving its clawed hands or paws at her while it barked, purred and whistled in a positively operatic manner.
Hearing her screams, I called for the guard. Da Silva and his men rushed out with lit tapers and there was a good deal of laughing and jeering at poor Adelaide’s expense. They watched with glee as my maid and the creature danced a frantic jig around each other, while I upbraided the men from the veranda calling them cowards and rogues.
Eventually, they shooed the creature into the bushes and bundled Adelaide into the house where Eufrasia and I were obliged to ply her with brandy. She was still gibbering with fright, claiming to be suffering from the heebie jeebies, when da Silva appeared.
‘What was that thing?’ I demanded. ‘Why did you not act immediately?’ The captain collapsed into a chair with his sword belt undone. He seized the brandy bottle and took a good slurp.
‘It would not have hurt anyone, it was probably terrified of her. The creature is called a capybara. It is a kind of rodent – the largest known, I believe.’
‘You mean it was a giant rat?’
‘It is from the same family.’
Adelaide, now recovered, declared that she had been molested by a giant terrier/rabbit cross with a choir boy’s voice – ‘and it had claws!’
Such a perversion of nature is not uncommon in this strange country. We both retired to bed feeling weak and terrified. Should I encounter such a creature in my present condition I shall surely miscarry, or bring forth a monster.
This morning, Adelaide had recourse to some of the herbal remedies she obtained from a Syrian merchant in Rio. ‘Fear of catastrophe grass’ is the remedy, plus holy grass for stomach upsets, ‘just in case.’
Apart from this minor contretemps, life continues in its usual boring manner. I have little to do except contemplate the view, embroider baby clothes and review my various bodily discomforts. As to my future, I scarcely dare think on it. My child will be provided for, but what of its mother?
May 1st
A ship arrived in the bay this morning – a larger ship than we usually see in these parts. The small fishing boats scuttered around it like colourful marine bees. The vessel flies the flag of Texas and I wager it will cause some heartburn in this town.
I sent Adelaide to see what all the fuss was about. A large contingent of local worthies and the count himself came out to meet the captain and his crew, she informed me. Her behaviour has been somewhat strange in the last few hours, especially when she told me that the captain had expressed a wish to call upon me. This, in itself, is such an unusual occurrence that I was quite discombobulated. How does he know of my existence – and what does he want with me?
Soon afterwards, Captain da Silva informed me that the captain and his crew were on their way to the house. The crew is reputed to be armed and da Silva has called the guard to attention outside the building. He has a mad gleam in his eye and I fear a stand-off. He is desperate for some military action.
I recognised the captain immediately when he entered the house; not by sight, because we have never met, but I have seen his likeness often in Rio. His exploits are known all over the Caribbean and the South Seas. He is Jean Lafitte, notorious pirate and A
merican patriot.
Lafitte looks older than my father… sixtyish perhaps. He is stocky in build but his black hair and beard are only lightly tinged with grey and his black eyes are fierce and intense. While I was noting these facts, I became aware that my maid was breathing loudly and in a hoarse manner like a rusty walrus. Was she suffering from a sudden attack of bronchial fever?
I followed the direction of her gaze and saw that it was fixed on the El Greco profile of Lafitte’s first officer. Although bristling with guns and knives, this man sported a pristine white lace collar like a cavalier. Indeed, with his scarlet jacket, long hair and gleaming sword he could have posed as Prince Rupert of the Rhine, whose portrait hangs in my father’s library at home.
Adelaide’s breathing was becoming terrifying. The officer gave her a flirtatious wink and I doubt she will be of any use to me for a week. I invited the men to sit and offered them refreshments. They downed glasses of cachaça and passion fruit liqueur very rapidly and waved away the sweetmeats. I also subsided gratefully onto a couch arranging my bulk as inconspicuously as possible.
Lafitte greeted me politely but there is an underlying air of menace about him that does not bode well. However, I must remember that I am British, a compatriot of Nelson and Wellington. I gave Adelaide a slap on the back to bring her to her senses and addressed Lafitte boldly.
‘You are a long way from home, captain. What can a proud citizen of the United States be doing sailing around Brazilian waters? What can this little town offer you?’ Lafitte pulled at his beard and his face darkened as he answered.
‘We have been burned out of our base at Barataria by the authorities. I saved New Orleans from the British and all I received in return was a piece of paper. I am now a citizen of the USA but I am penniless. My people are established on a bare island in the Gulf of Texas, near Galveston. What recompense is that?’ I detected a slight sneer in his voice when he emphasised the word British and my hackles rose immediately.
‘I heard you were also given a pardon for your activities, sir. Is that not worth a great deal?’ The captain gave an unpleasant smile in return, assuring me that he came in peace to Paraty and meant no harm to anyone. I could not let that pass.
‘I am sure that you are not merely making a social call, captain. You should know that the treasure ships are long gone. This little town is now a peaceful backwater.’
Lafitte pulled at his beard again. ‘I am sixty-eight years old, madam, and I wish to retire in peace. But first I must recoup my losses and for this I must needs travel far afield. There are reports of buried treasure – and other things of value in these parts.’
So now he has reached the nub of the matter. I wondered what the Count of Paraty would say about treasure seekers in his territory – and would da Silva’s men be any match for Lafitte’s crew?
‘What will you do if you do not find any treasure?’ I enquired. This question elicited more beard pulling. I knew that he had been born on the French island of Saint Domingue and his slight French accent became more pronounced. ‘Then I will have to consider other opportunities.’ He eyed me in a speculative manner and I was not greatly diverted.
The men got up to leave after assuring me of their respect for his Portuguese majesty and their gratitude for my ‘charming company.’ The cavalier who had such a devastating effect on Adelaide was sprawled on a chair and rose with all his armaments clanking, winking at Adelaide again and making me an extravagant bow. The captain has been sensible enough to bring only a few of his more respectable looking officers with him. I dared not imagine the motley group still on board the ship.
When they had departed, I told Eufrasia to boil a kettle for more herbal tea. I retired to the veranda and as I collected my thoughts I could hear the thrumble of the kettle in the nearby kitchen. I rocked in my chair puzzling as to the reason for the captain’s visit. He had not called on anyone else after greeting the count. I was aware of my maid somewhere behind me floating several inches off the ground. Eufrasia appeared and spat neatly over the veranda rail, pointing to her temple.
‘That one is loca,’ she assured me. ‘Now she do no work.’ She spat again and walked off. Adelaide suddenly found her voice, her breathing almost normal.
‘Do you think they will visit us again?’
I nodded, filled with gloom. ‘I fear that Captain Lafitte has some plans for me and I need to know what they are. I am sure he will be back.’
My maid’s eyes shot fire. ‘Of course he will bring his officers with him, won’t he?’
I eyed her speculatively. If only I could change places with her, but my bulk prevented this. In addition, my condition meant that I suffered continual uneasiness in the stomach. Adelaide had told me that I was ‘quite wamblecropt.’ I am not always sure of her meaning. I could only hope that Lafitte and his pirates would drink too much cachaça at a local inn and would be in the same condition for a while.
Indeed, could my position be more parlous? Heavily with child and unable to escape from this place, I could hardly take the donkey trail they called caminho do ouro into the mountains. If I left by ship, I had a feeling that it would be on Lafitte’s vessel to who knew where? And who would attend to me when I gave birth? I ground my teeth in frustration and one carious tooth gave an explosion of pain. My mother always said that a woman loses a tooth for every child.
Another terrifying thought occurred to me. I called Adelaide back, then decided that she was in no condition to carry out my request so I summoned da Silva instead. He rushed in waving a pistol in an unnecessary manner. ‘Put that thing away, sir. I need you to bury my jewels now that there are pirates in town!’
Chapter 10
May 3rd
My jewels – Mrs Makepeace’s pearls (a bequest from my former employer), the Prince Regent’s necklace (a gift for services rendered), and most of the remaining gold coins in my possession – have been buried in a safe place. Da Silva’s men are huddled together in corners while their captain makes plans to attack Lafitte’s crew. I shudder to think what will happen. Cunning and careful planning are required, not hot headed encounters.
I have written letters to both Dom Pedro and Mr Luccombe, telling them of our plight. One or other of them, or possibly both, might send help, I am sure. I overruled da Silva’s objections and sent one of his most trusted men off to the Caminho by night, while Lafitte and his crew were drinking pinga in a local tavern. Pinga is the popular name for cachaça. The messenger will go to the nearest city across the mountains, Ouro Preto, and deliver a message to the governor to send soldiers. Of course, the Count of Paraty should do this, but Portuguese officials do not act quickly. My letters can be sent on to Rio de Janeiro from there.
In the meantime, I am greatly irritated by the behaviour of the females in this house. Dona Serafina moans constantly of her fear of being raped by the pirates, while Adelaide cannot wait to be swept off her feet by the first officer – a Spanish American from New Orleans, we have discovered, who goes by the name of Tom or Tomas Ramirez.
After supervising the burial of my jewels, I tried to distract my mind from the vexatious situation in the usual way – re-reading one of my favourite Gothic novels, Mrs Radcliffe’s A Sicilian Romance. As I was reading the opening pages, describing a ruined castle set on the shores of a picturesque bay with mountains and forests in the background, I was struck by the similarities between the story and the setting of Paraty. Of course, there is also a small town here but, nevertheless, it could almost be the same place. It occurred to me that I might, after all, turn my hand to writing a Romance. What better distraction could I have in this troublesome situation?
The exotic Brazilian setting might give my story some added spice and originality. Perhaps I could send the manuscript to England with Mr Luccombe’s help? Carried away by enthusiasm, I called for pen and paper.
In a flash, a title for my story came to mind. It would be called, ‘There Must Be Murder’. It would incorporate all the requisite features of the Go
thic tale: a ruinous castle, a cruel husband and father with a wife imprisoned in a subterranean prison, no doubt. There would be an enquiring heroine who attempts to unravel a ghastly plot at her peril.
I had just determined that my heroine would be called Laurencia, who would be a creature of extreme sensibility and ardent imagination, when I was interrupted by Captain da Silva, who informed me that there was gossip in the town relating to me. I turned to him, demanding to know what was being said.
Da Silva drew himself up and puffed out his chest, ‘It is said that Lafitte intends to kidnap you and demand ransom from Dom Pedro if he cannot unearth any treasure here. He is convinced that the royal family will pay handsomely, if only to avoid further scandal.’ He stared at my stomach in a knowing way. I gave a small moan of distress and the captain attempted to reassure me. ‘My sword and my men are here in your defence, Dona Lydia.’ I was not comforted.
‘We do not know how many men Lafitte has on that ship – and the guns are trained on the town. I think I am damned.’
Dona Serafina wafted on to the veranda at this point, looking thinner and yellower than ever, her rosary beads clanking ominously.
‘We must take the path to Ouro Preto at once!’ she cried. ‘It is our only chance. Dona Lydia can be carried in a litter.’ She sniffed loudly as if to settle the matter. The captain looked doubtful.
‘That is impossible,’ I cried, ‘I would never survive such a journey.’ My chaperone did not appear too downcast at such a prospect.
‘We must abide by the will of God,’ she intoned before wafting away. I think I am doomed.
‘This is a fine how-de-doo,’ I moaned. Da Silva looked puzzled but I did not enlighten him. I wished fervently that I could be in a state of well-prepared insensibility. Foreign parts are fruitful of horrors – at least this is true of the more exotic areas. My particular paradise was proving that point. I stared out at the garden where crimson foliage flourished riotously.
The Bad Miss Bennet Abroad Page 6
