The Turquoise Mask

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “What are you doing with my things?” The low, deadly voice spoke behind me and I whirled around.

  Clarita’s lips were pale, her eyes blazing, but I had to face her without wavering.

  “I’m beginning to see,” I told her. “My mother went back to that cabin to have her baby, didn’t she? The baby who was born five years before me.”

  With a violent gesture, Clarita snatched the paper from my hands and tossed it back in the chest. She slammed down the lid, nearly catching my fingers beneath its edge. She wouldn’t have cared if she had broken my hand, and I felt far more afraid of her than I had of Eleanor in Madrid. But there was no Gavin now to rescue me, no one about in this empty wing.

  “You meddle,” Clarita said, and her voice held its deadly level. “You’ve been meddling ever since you came here.”

  Carefully I moved away from the chest, edging toward the door. All this had happened before, in another place and another time, but this time the intent was more dangerous. Nevertheless, I had to face her, I had to know.

  “It was you in the patio with the whip, wasn’t it? Even to whipping your father, whom you hate. It was you in the store, wielding that brass statue of Quetzalcoatl. You’d kill me if you could because of all the hatred in you. For me and for my mother. Why? Because she was the favored one always?”

  Her eyes never left mine, her expression never changed, but she stood utterly still, and there was a difference—as though all life and hope were seeping from her. Now a great deal was coming clear to me. By the time I’d reached the doorway, she still had not moved, had not tried to stop me. In a moment I would be free to escape her. But there was even more to be said.

  “Now I understand about you and my grandfather. You had to bend to whatever Juan wanted because Eleanor has been like a daughter to you, and you knew he could disinherit her to spite you, if he chose. But after she took the Velázquez, you knew she would have money enough for the rest of her life, and you wouldn’t bow to him any longer. The turning point must have come when you held that bonnet in your hands and you thought of what all of you had been through. So you weren’t afraid any more. He had too much pride of family to betray what had happened. But I know now who came along that hillside with a gun in hand. You hated Kirk by then, didn’t you? Not only because he wouldn’t look at you when you were younger, but also because of what he’d done to your sister, and thus to Juan and your family.”

  With an effort, Clarita managed to break her frozen posture, and she made a lunge toward me. But I was already gone from the doorway, running down the hall and into the main house. I left my painting behind. It didn’t matter now. I understood about the thing some hidden consciousness had told me, and there would be no need to show my work to Juan. What Katy had written changed all that.

  I ran across the living room and up the balcony steps to Juan Cordova’s room. I didn’t know how much he had discovered over the years, or how much he knew now, but he had to be told all the truth, and at once.

  With both his hands flat upon its surface, he sat behind his desk. His skin looked gray and his eyes sunken. An inch away from his fingers lay the dagger with the Damascene handle, and he was staring at it. Because I knew Clarita would follow me, I burst into words that were not altogether coherent.

  “I’ve seen what Katy wrote in her diary!” I cried. “Clarita had the missing pages hidden away in her room. So I know about the baby that was born in Madrid. I know everything.”

  He did not move or look at me. He was a very old man and life was nearly over for him. It would not be possible for him to bear very much more. I was suddenly sorry that I’d burst in on him so explosively, but I had had to before Clarita could do something drastic. She was already there behind me in the doorway, though she didn’t cross the threshold but merely stood there in silence.

  Juan must have sensed her presence, for he raised his eyes slowly from the dagger. When he spoke his voice was low and hoarse.

  “What have you done, Clarita?”

  His elder daughter extended her hands in a gesture of despair. “It is not what I have done. It’s this one—this viper you have brought into your household!”

  “Where is Eleanor?” Juan asked, ignoring her spite.

  Clarita was silent again.

  “Bring her to me,” Juan said. “I must speak with her at once. I will tell her everything myself.”

  “No—no!” Clarita took a step toward him. “She will never forgive me. Or you. She will never forgive the deception.”

  “I will tell her,” he said dully.

  “I’m afraid you can’t tell her anything for a while,” I put in. “Paul Stewart thinks she’s gone to Bandelier again. He’s gone after her. Because of the Velázquez. They took it, you know. They plotted its theft between them.”

  When he chose, Juan’s eyes could still blaze as fiercely as Clarita’s and he turned that searing look upon me, so that I winced beneath it, and drew back. But he only waved me aside.

  “Paul has gone to Bandelier—after Eleanor?” Life seemed to return to him. With no evidence of weakness, he stood up from his desk and walked toward his daughter. “Then you will take me there. We must follow them at once. The Velázquez must be recovered, and Paul must not be alone in that wilderness with Eleanor.”

  “But, Father—” Clarita began, only to have him hush her fiercely. “At once. You will drive me.”

  He went out of the room and she hurried to help him on the steps. It was clear that his will was once more ascendant, and he would have his own way. I didn’t wait to hear them leave the house, to hear the starting of the car, but picked up Juan’s phone and dialed CORDOVA’S number.

  When Gavin’s voice came on, I told him quickly that Eleanor had gone out to Bandelier and Paul had gone after her. That now Juan was forcing Clarita to drive him there. I attempted to tell him nothing more, since there was no time, and he responded with blessed speed.

  “I’ll get out there,” he told me. “I’ll be leaving at once. Juan shouldn’t be making that drive.”

  When I heard the click of the phone, I hung up and went slowly out of the room. There was nothing I could do now. The wheels were turning without me, and they couldn’t be stopped or swerved from the course they would follow. I didn’t know what would happen to Clarita now, or how what she had done all those years ago would affect all our lives in the present. The coming hours would be anxious ones, but at least Gavin would be there, and he would search for Juan and the others. Once more Eleanor had turned us all toward Bandelier.

  XVIII

  As I moved through quiet rooms, I remembered that this was Rosa’s afternoon off, and the house was empty. No one was nearby except Sylvia, in the next house. Now if I chose, I could return to Clarita’s room and read the rest of those diary pages. But I had no desire to. I felt a little limp. The full story would come out now, and it could wait. It was enough for me to know that Doroteo Austin had never been guilty of murder. Why and how she had died, I still didn’t know, but perhaps her spirit could rest, now that all the truth would be known.

  Only Doroteo’s own quiet room could offer me solace, I thought, as I climbed the stairs. I wanted to be quiet and understand, not only what had happened on that hillside, but all the ramifications of that secret birth in the little ghost town of Madrid.

  My door stood open as I had last left it, and I walked unsteadily into the room. In reaction to wildly spent emotions, my legs felt rubbery, and I wanted only to lie for a while on my bed and let the earth spin around me. But someone had been there, for a long roll of canvas lay upon the bed.

  It took me only a moment to partially unroll it from the bottom of the painting until Doña Inés’ small feet, and the feet of the dog which crouched beside her came into view. With hands that shook, I unrolled farther until the full figure of the dwarf was displayed. This was the real Velázquez—fragile, precious—though how it had come to be left on my bed, I didn’t know. Eleanor must have put it there.

&nbs
p; Behind me I heard the faint swish of sound, and turned just in time to catch the movement of the bedroom door as it swung shut. I whirled about—and faced my cousin Eleanor. No—my sister Eleanor.

  She wore her jeans and concho belt, and she stood with one foot crossed jauntily over the other, and her arms akimbo.

  “Hello, Amanda,” she said, her head tilted in cocky defiance. “How do you like my turning honest woman and giving back the painting?”

  I glanced toward the bed and then at her. “I thought it must be you. But why—why?”

  “I’d have preferred to return it to its frame,” she said. “I went out yesterday to see if I could do it by myself—when you caught me putting back the keys. Then last night I tried to get the keys from Grandfather’s desk, but he caught me. And he hasn’t been out of his study all day. So I thought I’d leave it here before I went away.”

  “Away where?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been packing. Perhaps I’ll go out to California as a start. Gavin can get his divorce. And afterwards if Juan wants me back, perhaps I’ll come. After everything has simmered down and he’s forgiven me for what I’ve done.”

  I couldn’t wait any longer. It was necessary to tell her what I knew.

  “You started something in Madrid yesterday.”

  “Yes, I know. I couldn’t live with myself very well afterwards. I’ve done other things, but I’ve never seen myself as vicious before. But now I know what I can be like. The Cordova heritage—from Doña Inés.”

  “That’s foolish. Anyway, the Madrid episode is over. What matters is that bonnet I found out there. It wasn’t one Doro made for me, Eleanor. It was one she made for you.”

  Her look was more curious than shocked. “Well, go on,” she said. “Tell me the rest.”

  I explained then about my growing awareness of the way she and Kirk resembled each other, though I’d gone down a wrong road at first in seeking a relationship. I told her about my painting and what I’d found in Clarita’s room when I went to show it to her. As well as I could remember it, I quoted the page I’d read from Katy’s diary.

  She heard me out thoughtfully, surprisingly calm. “So Doro and Kirk were my parents. And that makes me your half sister, doesn’t it? How strange, Amanda. You don’t know how strange. Sometimes I’ve felt so remote from my parents. I didn’t seem to be anything like them. When they died, I was secretly a little shocked because I didn’t care enough. When Juan knew I’d been born to Doro—and I’m sure Katy would have told him at once—he must have found a way to get Rafael and his wife to take me as their own. And then, when they died, he and Katy took me themselves, and raised me in the same house with Doro. I always felt close to her, and I was sad when she died. It’s funny though—I don’t remember Kirk at all. When you came here I was jealous of you because you were Doro’s daughter. Remember what I said about the portrait of Emanuella out in the collection? That none of her belongs to me? I was lying. I wanted to belong to her and to Doroteo. And now I do. But I must be like Kirk too. It isn’t all Cordova wildness.”

  I heard her out, not entirely trusting, not able to accept this new mood. She had meant me so much harm, and I didn’t believe in lightning changes.

  Softly she began to laugh. “Wait until Paul hears all this! What wonderful material for his book. What a story it will make!”

  This was the normal Eleanor. “You mustn’t tell him!” I cried. “Think of Juan!”

  “Of course I’ll tell him. Juan can’t stop me. I’ll go and tell him now.”

  I remembered then. “You can’t. When Clarita couldn’t find you in the house—because you were probably up here where she wouldn’t look—he decided that you’d gone out to Bandelier again. You might as well know he’s furious with you, and he’s gone out there to find you. To get the painting back.”

  Her laughter increased. “Oh, lovely, lovely! I’ll go after him and confront him with a few things.”

  I sighed. “Thanks to this idea of Paul’s, Clarita and Juan have gone out there too—because Juan doesn’t want you there with Paul. And I’ve called Gavin, so he’s followed them. Though I think it’s Juan he’s worried about. Grandfather seemed beaten and old this morning.”

  Eleanor, who had hardly been able to contain her laughter, suddenly stopped. “I’ll go right away and call off the search.”

  There was certainly nothing amusing about this wild goose chase. I remembered the rage in Paul’s eyes, and I didn’t like to think of Eleanor out in that wild place, confronting him, as she very well might.

  “Don’t go,” I begged her. “There’s no point now.”

  “Oh, yes there is.” The laughter was gone, but she was still lightly amused. “Think of them all searching that place for me, and not finding me. We can’t have that. If I’m the treasure they’re hunting for, I’d better be there.”

  She was on the stairs now, running down. I doubted this new, sweet concern, but I went after her.

  “I’ll go with you. Just give me time to change shoes.”

  For a moment she hesitated, looking back at me, then she nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  I ran up to my room and changed into slacks and walking shoes.

  When we were in the car on the way to Bandelier, I became aware of a further change in Eleanor. She was no longer amused, no longer pleased with the idea of confronting them all and making them look foolish. Something had happened in her thinking to sober her and give her a strange edge of anxiety between the time when I’d left her to change my clothes, and when I’d joined her in the garage.

  All desire to talk had left her, and she drove at her usual high speed, but with a new urgency, so that it was not merely as though she tried to escape something, but as if she was thrusting herself toward something that frightened her badly.

  Only once did I try to question her on the way, and then she behaved as though she didn’t hear, or at least had no intention of answering.

  A memory returned to my mind while we were traveling—of Sylvia the time I’d spoken to her of Eleanor’s father. She had given a strange answer that I couldn’t fit with what I knew of Rafael. Of course! Sylvia had been speaking of Kirk. So Sylvia knew.

  When we reached the open space in front of the Visitor Center at the park, Eleanor at once checked the other cars. All were here, and we had gone only a little way on foot along the trail before we ran into Gavin.

  He hadn’t found the others yet, and he was clearly surprised to see Eleanor and me together. I explained about the mistake and apologized for sending him out here. He brushed my words aside. “It’s Juan I’m worried about. He looked pretty bad this morning and he shouldn’t be wandering around out here, even though Clarita is with him.”

  I wondered how much protection Clarita would be in any case, but there was no time for explanations now. It was best to find those two right away. Paul I didn’t care about.

  It was decided that Gavin would take the lower trail that followed the stream through groves of trees along the floor of the canyon, while Eleanor and I would take the path that led upward past the caves along bare, unwooded rock. At least we had no need to look into the caves today. There would be no one hiding in them.

  Eleanor started off by rushing ahead of me, and I was hard put to keep up with her. Once I called out and asked her to wait for me, begging her not to go so fast. She astonished me by turning to show me a look of anxiety that was not far from tears and thoroughly unlike Eleanor.

  “We’ve got to hurry!” she cried. “They should never have come out here—never. I don’t know what will happen. If only we could find Paul.”

  Paul was the one I cared least about, but after that I didn’t try to control Eleanor’s hurry. We stumbled along the cliff path, sometimes slipping on rocky surfaces in our haste, running when we found a level space, holding onto rough walls as we helped ourselves through tight passages cut from rock. We met no one, nor did we see anyone in the glimpses we had of the lower trail far below us.

 
Across the canyon, on the steep, wooded cliffs opposite, no trails were visible, though there must be those that climbed among the trees. But it was unlikely that Juan or Clarita, or Paul, for that matter, would be up there. They would expect to find Eleanor at an easier level.

  On a space of trail where there were steps up and down, and a narrow walk hugged the cliff, Eleanor rushed ahead of me again. New York city canyons hadn’t prepared me for clambering over New Mexico rock at this altitude, and I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, watching her slim figure silhouetted against the cliff ahead of me, where she stood at the top of steps carved into the rock. She seemed frozen in a position that was unnaturally still. I hurried to join her in that high place. The moment I brushed her arm, she whirled and ducked back down the trail.

  “I don’t think they’ve seen us. Quick, Amanda, get out of sight. Let’s climb into one of the caves.”

  I stayed where I was, protesting. I wasn’t afraid of Clarita out here in the open, with Juan behind her. “But why—why?”

  “Clarita’s down there, and she’ll have seen you by now. Juan must be with her.”

  I glanced up the trail from where I stood, and saw Clarita looking up at me. We both turned away at the same moment, and I rejoined Eleanor, out of sight.

  “Clarita saw me,” I said. “But she turned back. Why don’t we go and meet them?”

  “No, no!” She grasped my arm and fairly dragged me toward a ladder that led to the lip of a deep cave. She pushed me up the ladder and scrambled after me as I crept into cool darkness.

  “Keep your head down and lie flat,” she directed.

  There was no denying her urgency and I stilled my questions and obeyed. I knew what Clarita had done, but surely Eleanor didn’t.

  We lay close together on the stone floor and there was a smell of rock dust in our noses, the hardness of rock fighting our flesh. Beside me, Eleanor lay with all her senses alert, listening, every muscle in her body strained to hear some betraying sound.