Marianna

by Nancy Buckingham

  ‘Ralph! What rubbish! I said nothing of the kind.’

  ‘But you must have done, papa. At least...’

  His voice was all at once agitated. ‘I sincerely trust you did not intimate to Mr Penfold that you expected to marry his son. Think carefully, Marianna, did you say anything to give him that impression?’

  She shook the question away impatiently, but her father persisted. ‘Think, child! What exactly did you tell him?’

  Marianna tried hard to remember, but it was all such a confusion of shock and horror in her mind.

  ‘I... I don’t believe I said anything, papa. I just ran out of the room.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that small mercy!’ Clumsily he refilled his glass and raised it to his lips; then, seeing the intensity of his daughter’s distress, he lowered it again without drinking. ‘My dearest girl, whatever put this nonsense about Ralph Penfold into your head? Goodness me, Ralph is only a boy.’

  ‘He’s nineteen ... more than three years older than I am.’

  ‘Men don’t marry at nineteen, child.’ His drink was downed in a single gulp.

  ‘But ... but Uncle William wants Ralph to get married. I heard him telling you, papa, the last time he was here.’

  ‘Eh? Oh that... !’ Her father poured himself more wine, the bottle rattling against the glass, ‘He was just talking, child. If he wants a wife for Ralph, it would have to be ... someone altogether different from you.’ Again the drink disappeared in a swallow. ‘Ah well, perhaps there is no irreparable damage done. What we must consider is how to explain away your regrettable outburst to Mr Penfold.’ He twirled his glass reflectively. ‘You will have to make a nice little apology, my Iove5 and beg his pardon. You could tell him you were overcome by his proposal, as indeed you were.’

  Marianna caught her breath in a gasp. ‘You mean that you still expect me to marry him?’

  ‘Naturally. You don’t seem to grasp the fact, child; this is a chance in a thousand that is being offered.’

  ‘But Mr Penfold is as old as you are, papa.’

  ‘Is that so great an age?’ he chided gently. ‘I certainly should not hesitate to remarry, if I had a mind to — and I can assure you, Marianna, there are several ladies in Funchal who have made it very plain that an offer of my hand would not be refused. Come now, admit it — the idea of Ralph was just a foolish, romantic dream. Quite inappropriate! His father on the other hand is highly eligible as a husband for any woman. A man of substantial means, who has prospered and earned the admiration of his peers. And you, as his wife, would enjoy the benefit of those things. Believe me, money and social standing are not to be lightly dismissed in this world.’

  Marianna looked at her father in silent perplexity and was given a weak smile of encouragement.

  ‘To be perfectly frank, my darling child, I could scarcely believe our good fortune when William first broached the matter last night. That a gentleman of such wealth and high standing should wish to marry my daughter seemed far beyond anything I could ever have anticipated. But I want this marriage for your sake, every bit as much as for my own ... oh, what am I saying? More so. Yes, much, much more so, of course. Living here in Madeira, you have no conception of the style in which people like the Penfolds live. The elegance of their establishments. Why, that country house of theirs is fit for a duke. And you, my dear Marianna, would live like a duchess, Yes, a veritable duchess!’

  A duchess holding court in her grand salon! It was not the dream of her excited imaginings, that fairytale dream with herself in the role of Princess to Ralph’s Prince Charming. But need her life be any less happy? The prospect took root and began to blossom. Had she not always been extremely fond of Uncle William; as, without doubt, he was of her? He had invariably shown her the greatest kindness. He was always ready with an admiring look, a charmingly-turned compliment, an affectionate caress. To think that he had been nurturing a secret love for her in his heart, without her ever once suspecting.

  ‘It would be the height of folly, my love,’ her father put in coaxingly, ‘to allow a childish disappointment to cloud your mind to your own best interests. Such an offer as this, once refused, would I fear not be made again.’

  Mr Penfold was not really old, Marianna reflected. It was just that she had always regarded him as her honorary uncle. He was quite a handsome man in his way and she knew that he drew admiring comments from the ladies of the English community. A couple of years ago there had been quite a little scandal when the elder of the two Miss Harpers, whose father also happened to be engaged in the wine trade, had set her cap in no uncertain manner at the eligible widower from England. But it emerged, to Miss Cynthia Harper’s considerable humiliation, that Mr Penfold in no way returned her affections. And now, unbelievably, it was Miss Marianna Dalby whom he wished to marry.

  Her papa, who had been scanning her expression anxiously, asked on a note of rising confidence, ‘So it is to be yes, then?’

  She felt butterfly flurries of panic, then realized that indeed her mind was made up. Yes, she would marry Uncle William. She met her father’s glance and nodded her head in slow agreement,

  ‘I am sorry for ... for what happened, papa,’ she stammered. ‘I’m sorry for not understanding properly.’

  ‘I daresay no great harm has been done, my love,’ he comforted her, patting the back of her hand. ‘I will go and see what I can do to set the matter right. I shall tell William, I think, that you were quite bowled over by the suddenness of his proposal, and I’m sure he will be in a forgiving frame of mind. I’ll say that you are truly sorry now for the little contretemps you caused. How’s that?’

  After fortifying himself with another large glass of wine, her father left the room, walking a little unsteadily. In only a few minutes he was back again, his face all smiles.

  ‘Mr Penfold is being most forbearing,’ he told Marianna delightedly. ‘He readily accepted that you were a little flustered by the speed of it all. As he expressed it himself, the magnitude of the step you’re taking must be somewhat overwhelming for one so young and inexperienced. Naturally I concurred with that. So go to him now, my love, and say your piece. As I surmised, he’s in a mood to be forgiving.’

  ‘Yes, papa.’

  As she turned to go, intensely nervous but resolute in her mind, her father caught her by the hand.

  ‘You are a dear, sweet girl, Marianna,’ he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. ‘A good, obedient daughter.’

  Mr Penfold was seated upon a velvet sofa drawn up to face the balcony. He did not rise as she entered, but turned and regarded her with a smile.

  ‘So here is the young penitent. What have you to say for yourself?’

  ‘Mr Penfold, I trust you will accept that I am deeply sorry for my conduct just now. I ... I cannot imagine what you must think of me.’

  ‘My dearest child, I think of you as I have always done, with the greatest affection and tenderness.’ He extended an arm across the scrolled back of the sofa. ‘Come, do not stand there as if you were afraid of me.’

  Marianna skirted the marble-topped pier table with its centrepiece of long-stemmed arum lilies in a silver bowl, until she was standing directly in front of him.

  ‘You are still nervous,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Ah well, that is only to be expected, I suppose. But it is really a very simple matter, my little angel. You merely have to say to me that you are happy to accept the offer of my hand in marriage. Now that won’t be so very difficult, will it?’

  He waited expectantly, but to Marianna’s profound dismay she found that she could not utter a single word. As the silence extended, Mr Penfold’s smiling expression changed to a frowning one. His eyes still twinkled, though, and she could tell that he was only pretending to be cross.

  ‘Dear me, this won’t do at all!’ He reached out for her hand and drew her closer to him. ‘I see that I must instruct you on how to make a pretty little speech. It is quite like the schoolroom, is it not? Now, say after me ...’

&nbs
p; As if mesmerized, Marianna repeated the words he dictated, to the effect that she felt honoured to receive his proposal of marriage, which she was proud and happy to accept. When she had done, Mr Penfold nodded in satisfaction.

  ‘Now then, come and sit on my knee, dearest one,’ He saw Marianna’s reluctance and added with a flicker of irritation, ‘Don’t be silly, it’s perfectly proper now that we are betrothed. You must always do as I tell you, child. I expect instant obedience or I shall not be pleased with you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I... I understand.’

  Marianna nodded dumbly, but he would not leave it there.

  ‘Speak up, child. I asked if you understood me.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I…I understand.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he chuckled. ‘You look like a little girl who expects to be thoroughly spanked for being naughty. But you need have no fear of that from me, you know, so long as you are good.’

  Chapter 3

  Marianna kept as utterly still as the tiny brown lizard sunning itself on the warm rock beside her. Hidden by a clump of prickly pear, she watched Jacinto striding down the narrow path with a large funnel-shaped basket on his shoulders, filled with bananas, she guessed, or some early custard apples.

  He had been avoiding her, that was painfully clear. She had been back at the quinta for more than a day now and had spent most of her time on the lookout for Jacinto. But in vain. This was her very first chance of waylaying him for a talk, and she did not intend to reveal her presence too soon and give him any opportunity to escape. Marianna waited until he was less than twenty paces away before stepping out from concealment. Jacinto halted and seemed about to turn and retreat. Then, with an air of sturdy indifference, he continued down the path.

  ‘Hallo, Jacinto.’ Her palms felt suddenly damp and she wiped them on the skirt of her blue dress.

  ‘Hallo.’ It was hardly more than a grunt. He would have walked right past her, Marianna thought, had she not been blocking the narrow path.

  ‘I wanted to see you before I leave Madeira,’ she said. ‘To say goodbye.’

  Jacinto did not speak for a moment, his dark eyes searching her face with sullen intensity. Then he burst out, ‘Why are you doing this?’

  Marianna gave a casual lift of her shoulders. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘You know what! Marrying that man.’

  ‘Why should I not, pray? And you have no right to refer to Mr Penfold as “that man”. It’s disrespectful.’

  ‘Oh, I beg your gracious pardon, Dona Marianna. I should have said His Excellency the Great and Noble English senhor. There, does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Now you’re being silly. But it’s no business of yours, Jacinto, whom I decide to marry.’

  ‘Then kindly let me pass. Unlike you, I have much work to do. I’ve been in trouble enough with my father for neglecting my tasks because of you.’

  ‘Because of yourself, you mean,’ flashed Marianna, staying right where she was. ‘You and your boring lessons.’

  Jacinto opened his mouth for an equally rude retort, but choked back the words. After a moment, he said, ‘That Senhor Penfold is too old for you, Marianna. And besides, you are too young to wed at all.’

  ‘I shall be sixteen on my wedding day. Your sister will be much younger than that when she gets married.’

  ‘You are not Amalia. You are different.’

  ‘Oh? How am I different?’

  Jacinto lowered the heavy basket to the ground, the muscles of his bronzed forearms bunching with the effort. He picked out one of the custard apples that had a brown patch on its scaly skin and hurled it savagely far out into the abyss.

  ‘Amalia is already grown into a woman,’ he muttered.

  ‘And am I not?’

  He did not look at Marianna as he asked, ‘Do you feel that you are?’

  It was a question she had been putting to herself these past days since her betrothal, and still she had not found the answer.

  ‘Mr Penfold must think I am,’ she said, ‘or he would not have asked me to be his wife.’ A reckless impulse prompted her to add, ‘The trouble with you is that you’re jealous.’

  ‘Jealous?’ he echoed scornfully. ‘Why should I be jealous?’

  ‘You cannot endure knowing that I am to be married, that’s why.’

  Jacinto threw back his head and gave a loud, mirthless laugh.

  ‘Oh yes, I am jealous because I expected to win you for myself, I suppose. How happy the fidalgo would be! He would think in his head, my feitor’s son will make a fine husband for my only daughter. He would say to me, “Marry her, good Jacinto, and I will buy you elegant clothes, and Marianna shall teach you how to behave like a grand gentleman, and you can take your place in my household as my much-esteemed son-in-law.” Or do you think that the fidalgo would rather you came to live with me in a peasant’s hut as one of his feitor’s large family? Oh yes, Marianna, that is a likely thing, I must say. A very likely thing.’

  She was shocked by the bitterness of his outburst, even more shocked to see a glint of tears in his dark eyes as he bent to retrieve the laden basket. Never before had she seen the proud Jacinto near to crying. She longed to say something to bring him comfort, to find the right words to express her affection for him and restore the closeness between them. But she felt helpless, inadequate and on the verge of tears herself.

  ‘Please, Jacinto,’ she beseeched him, ‘can’t we say goodbye properly? Won’t you wish me well?’

  ‘What do you care whether I wish you well or tell you to be off to St Peter?’

  ‘But I do care! It matters to me very much.’

  ‘You have had your father’s blessing, isn’t that enough? You will have to make do without mine.’

  He strode off briskly with the weighty basket on his shoulder, and a turn in the path soon took him from Marianna’s view behind a rock. The drowsy hush of afternoon returned. There was the soft droning of bees seeking nectar among the wild flowers that flanked the path; from a terrace farther down the hillside came the steady chop-chop of an enchada as a man hoed his vegetables, and far below in the valley she could hear the laughter and chatter of village women as they washed their clothes in the ribeiro. Feeling desolate and suddenly without purpose, she let herself sink down on to a sun-warmed boulder and laid her head on her folded arms.

  In all the busy whirl of wedding preparations, Marianna had begged her father to let her return to the quinta for a few days before she left Madeira to go and live in England. With Mr Penfold continuing on to the Brazils in the SS Apollo and not due back for a fortnight, there was surely no reason why not, she had argued persuasively. She wanted a last chance to see the countryside she loved so dearly, to bid farewell to the people she had known all her life. But Marianna’s real reason was that she wanted to see Jacinto and make her peace with him. She had pictured a tender parting scene between them. She meant to advise him, most earnestly, to continue with his studies so far as it was possible — to take every opportunity to improve himself. And Jacinto would tell her sadly that he would never forget her, however long he lived — the girl who had befriended him and set him on the road to a better life.

  The reality, though, had been so horribly different.

  A thought sprang unbidden into her mind. I hate Jacinto Teixeiro ...I hate him, I hate him. I’m vastly thankful that I’ll be leaving this valley tomorrow and need never set eyes on him again.

  Abruptly, Marianna jumped up from her seat on the stone boulder. Petticoats flying, she ran like a mountain hare along the narrow rocky path, all the way back to the quinta.

  * * * *

  From her chair by an upstairs window, Linguareira saw her coming, running as if demented. So she’d seen the lad, and the parting hadn’t been happy! They’d quarrelled, more than likely, the poor menina not realizing that she was halfway to being in love with him. And Jacinto ... what were his feelings? As an intelligent young fellow he would understand — thank the Bles
sed Virgin! — that the fidalgo’s daughter was not for the likes of him. Otherwise, she would long ago have put a stop to them meeting, never mind how much the menina threw tantrums about it.

  Senhor Dalby had not cared about his daughter teaching a peasant lad his letters, chuckling that you never knew when an educated tenant might come in useful. But the fidalgo didn’t understand the half of it. He was far too wrapped up in himself and his own affairs to keep an eye on the menina and make sure the arrangement didn’t lead to any trouble. He surely couldn’t have guessed how close the two young people would become? Every single blessed day it had been, this summer, with Jacinto stealing time when he should have been busy about his tasks.

  Ah well, it was a problem that had solved itself now, with the menina to be married.

  Married — that poor child! It didn’t bear thinking about. What sort of bargain had been struck, wondered Linguareira, with a rush of anger. Far from paying out any dowry, how much money was the fidalgo to receive in exchange for his young daughter’s hand? The master had been far gone on the road to ruination, everybody knew that. At present, all the gentlemen engaged in the wine trade — English and Portuguese alike — were suffering because of this dreadful pest that was destroying the vines. But none more so than Senhor Dom James Dalby! It was common knowledge that he was up to his nostrils in debt. He had already sold off most of the wines in his soleras for gold in his pocket, giving no thought to conserving stocks like most of the other wine shippers, so he was near upon finished and done for. The small quantity of wine the senhor hadn’t parted with was fast disappearing down his own gullet, in an effort to drown his sorrows.

  Had the poor menina any suspicion that the papa she loved so uncritically was selling her? For wasn’t that the plain, brutal truth of the matter? Little Marianna had caught the fancy of his old amigo, that English shipowner, and the two men had come to a bargain. It was a thought to make one’s stomach retch. But alas, what else was there for the child? She could never be expected to earn her own living, not a young lady of gentle birth. For Miss Marianna Dalby, marriage was the only possible future, and the way things were going for her papa these days, the sooner she was wed the better. At least as wife to a rich man, she would never face poverty and hunger. Linguareira could only hope and pray that the menina wouldn’t have to face more than her fair share of heartache and sorrow in other ways. For heartache and sorrow were a woman’s lot in this world, she knew that well enough. It was said that the Good Lord in his wisdom had arranged it thus, the belter to prepare women for their heavenly reward.