Marianna

by Nancy Buckingham

  ‘You’re wrong, it isn’t that at all,’ she stammered. ‘Truly, I…I…’

  ‘Then let us say goodbye as friends, Marianna.’

  ‘Isn’t… isn’t that what we are doing?’

  Jacinto did not answer, but his glance held a challenge. Marianna recognized a burning need in him to kiss her. And there was the same need in herself, too, a longing to feel again the intimacy of his lips pressed to hers, a longing to be awakened once more to that strange, exciting awareness of her body. The very strength of her surging emotions was terrifying and she knew that she must fight — fight herself as well as Jacinto — with all the strength she possessed. As he drew her into his arms and she felt his lean warmth against her, Marianna had a dizzy sensation of floating, of falling. As if she were falling through soft clouds, gently and sweetly ...

  “No, you mustn’t!’ she cried, dredging up every grain of willpower to thrust herself back from him.

  Jacinto’s dark eyes flickered. ‘There is no danger. Nobody is here to see us.’

  ‘What difference does that make? I am betrothed to another man, and it would be wrong ... wickedly wrong.’

  ‘You have not said that you do not want me to kiss you,’ he pointed out with relentless logic.

  ‘I don’t need to say it. Naturally I do not want you to kiss me. It is a dreadful liberty — assuming that just because I have shown you friendship, you can ... you can give me kisses as if I were a common girl like Tereza.’

  The straining leash on Jacinto’s temper broke and his voice stabbed her. ‘So speaks the great and noble young mistress to a humble peasant. Well, this one is not so humble, as you will discover. One day, my fine lady, I shall show you!’

  ‘Please, Jacinto … please don’t spoil everything. I’m very fond of you, I always have been, you must know that. And now — I wish you all that is good in the future, truly I do, I hope that you will achieve your aim in bettering yourself.’

  ‘How kind is the fidalgo’s daughter, how gracious. I do not need your good wishes, Marianna, I can manage without them. I am sorry now that I bothered to come all this way to see you.’

  ‘But I am glad you came,’ she said in a husky whisper. ‘And I shall always treasure your parting gift.’

  In a sudden darting movement Jacinto’s hand shot out and snatched the carved spoon he had given her. Snapping the handle in two, he flung the pieces to the floor and ground them savagely beneath his boot.

  ‘You have no gift from me,’ he spat out. ‘I take my gift back.’

  As he turned to walk off, Marianna caught at his sleeve beseechingly. ‘Jacinto, don’t leave like this. I can’t bear it. Won’t you wish me well?’

  The look of contempt in his eyes made her fingers slacken their grip.

  ‘Why should I? You have your rich Englishman now — isn’t that enough for you?’

  ‘Don’t be so cruel to me,’ she implored him. ‘Must we part like enemies? Give me a kind word, at least. Please, Jacinto...’

  He seemed on the verge of softening. But then with a toss of his dark head he turned and strode away. Marianna watched him depart, threading his way between the oaken wine butts. She felt stricken, and had to conquer an urge to run after him. When he was quite gone from view, she sank to her knees and gathered up the two halves of the broken spoon. Jacinto’s savage crushing of the wood had released its fragrance and the scent of orange was very strong. A tear fell and splashed the back of her hand, and then another and another.

  * * * *

  The servant who had been posted since four o’clock down by the Custom House came running with the news that the Apollo had been sighted and would be dropping anchor within the hour. By then, Marianna had to be dressed and ready to greet her bridegroom.

  ‘For pity’s sake, hurry yourself,’ Linguareira chivvied her. ‘Where did you put those new shoes that were delivered yesterday? Am I expected to remember every tiny item?’ Then, with a quick flood of compassion, ‘Do not be unhappy, menina? I expect it will not be as bad as you fear.’

  Marianna nodded distractedly. An idea which had been slowly forming in her mind seemed suddenly to fill it to the exclusion of all other matters.

  ‘Linguareira, there’s something I want you to do for me. Something very important.’

  ‘What is it, menina?

  ‘My books — my school books and story books, all of them. And pens and pencils, paper to write on. Collect up everything you can find and give it all to Jacinto.’

  Linguareira shook her head. ‘He’ll never keep up with his learning, little one. Not once you are gone.’

  ‘He will, I know he will. That’s all Jacinto cares about, all he’s ever cared about.’ Marianna pressed her lips together hard to stop them trembling.

  ‘Your papa may not like it. He’ll not want the lad getting too big in the head.’

  ‘Then don’t tell papa.’ It amazed Marianna how calmly she could suggest such deceit. ‘I’m sure you could manage without papa knowing.’

  ‘Sim, perhaps I could.’

  ‘You must! You must promise me faithfully to see that Jacinto gets them.’

  ‘Very well then, if it matters to you so much.’ After hesitating a moment, Linguareira added, ‘You should forget about Jacinto Teixeiro now, menina. Your husband won’t want you thinking about the likes of that young lad.’

  Marianna took careful command of her voice. ‘It just seems rather a shame to let all those things of mine go to waste when I know someone who could make use of them. Most likely, after this, I shall hardly ever give Jacinto another thought.’

  Linguareira, busy searching for a mislaid chemise, made no reply and Marianna became afraid that she had overdone her indifference.

  ‘All the same,’ she went on in a breathless little rush, ‘it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about Jacinto. I do! So you’ve got to give me your sacred, solemn promise to see that he gets those books of mine.’

  Linguareira turned to meet Marianna’s eyes and nodded slowly. ‘You have my promise, menina. I swear it by the Holy Mother of God.’

  Chapter 4

  A cannon on the Loo Rock boomed thrice in salute as the SS Apollo weighed anchor and began its voyage to England. Marianna stood clutching the polished brass deck-rail with tense fingers and stared across the dark sea at the receding lights of Funchal.

  She felt Mr Penfold’s hand at her elbow. ‘Come, my angel one, there is a chill in the night air. You must not take cold.’

  She turned an entreating face to him. ‘Oh please! I am well wrapped up. I do so want to remain here as long as I can still see anything of Madeira.’

  “You are entering a new life now, dearest child,’ he remonstrated, but mildly. ‘You mustn’t attempt to cling to the old one.’

  ‘But I’m not. It’s just... well, I’ve never been away from home before. I suppose,’ she added, ‘you must think I’ve led a dreadfully narrow existence?’

  ‘It delights me, my treasure, that everything I show you will be seen with fresh young eyes.’ He smiled down at her indulgently. ‘Very well then, because you have asked me so prettily, I will leave you to make your private farewells. I’ll return for you after I’ve had a word with my captain.’

  He ascended the companionway to the bridge and she was left quite alone, this part of the steamer’s deck being reserved for the occupants of the principal stateroom. From the public deck beyond the barrier she could hear talk and laughter as the other passengers settled in and began to make new friendships for the four-day voyage. But for Marianna, solitude was a relief. Watching the fast dwindling lights on the shore, she let her mind dwell upon the events of this very special day her sixteenth birthday and her wedding day.

  The civil marriage ceremony had been a simple matter and soon over. It was the service of blessing that followed at the English Church which she counted as her real wedding. Afterwards, with William looking very splendid in a dove-grey frock coat, and herself in the beautiful ivory silk bridal gown with its
train of richest silver moire, they had returned down Bela Vista Street in a bullock sledge specially decorated for the occasion with curtains of Madeira lace, and wreaths of orange blossom that had been brought down from the quinta fresh that morning. Behind them walked her six bridesmaids, friends from the Misses Braithwaites’ academy, in their blush-pink tulle dresses, and the rest of the congregation had made their way in a medley of conveyances — sleds and hammocks and palanquins — with others on horseback or on foot.

  A military band had struck up a lively march as the bridal conveyance had turned into Rua da Alfandega, and she and her husband had welcomed their guests in the splendid saloon of the British Consulate. There had followed much eating and drinking, and the bride cake had been cut, and there had been a speech by her papa — five minutes which Marianna preferred not to remember too clearly because he had kept stumbling over his words and repeating himself. Then there was dancing to a quadrille band, and as darkness fell everybody had trooped outside to witness the magnificent firework display which Mr Penfold had commissioned.

  Such a crowded, bewildering day. There had scarcely been a moment’s pause from the time Linguareira had come to her bedroom to waken her this morning. Now it was all over and she faced her new life, the unknown life which lay ahead. Marianna felt a shiver run through her and she realized that she had become a little chilled after all. But she remained at the rail until the last pinpoints of light had faded and there was just the dark ocean all around, rising and falling in a gentle swell, with a canopy of stars above.

  ‘Come along now, dearest love, it is time to retire.’

  Obediently, Marianna turned away and crossed the deck with her husband to their stateroom. The stewardess who was to be her maid during the voyage, a middle-aged woman with grey hair drawn back from a visage of unrelieved severity, was turning down the bed. Catching Mr Penfold’s curt nod, she made haste to finish.

  ‘You will not be required again tonight,’ she was told.

  ‘Very good, sir. Goodnight, madam.’

  Madam! Marianna had to suppress a giggle; but she felt terribly nervous, too. To conceal this she made a pretence of studying the luxurious appointments and fittings, though she had already viewed their stateroom an hour since. Her papa had accompanied the bridal pair in the longboat for a final farewell on board, and while he and William chatted on deck, she had come here to have a word with Linguareira. Her aia had been rowed out ahead of them and was busy unpacking what things Marianna would need on the voyage.

  In those last few minutes together they had both felt tongue-tied, not knowing how to say goodbye. Marianna had felt tears brimming, and tried to blink them away. Linguareira, her eyes directed to the large bed draped with white net, its quilt of rose silk brocade, had ventured at last, ‘Mayhap there will be a child very soon, menina, and that will be a great blessing for you.’ Then in a rush of unwonted tenderness, she had exclaimed, ‘Oh, my little one! Just try to remember the things I told you and all will be well.’

  ‘I’ll do my very best, Linguareira.’

  They were standing a few feet apart, but in a flash the gap was closed. Marianna found herself locked in a tight, motherly embrace. Hearing a curious wheezing sound, she realized that Linguareira was actually crying.

  ‘Senhor Penfold is your wedded husband now,’ she said, ‘and you must be a dutiful wife to him, menina. You must please him in each and every way. You know that?’

  Marianna nodded silently.

  ‘So be it, then. And may the Blessed Virgin smile upon you and preserve you from harm.’

  Ten minutes later Marianna had been standing at the rail beside her husband, waving goodbye to the two people who had been so close to her all her young life. She accepted, a little guiltily, that parting from Linguareira was a greater wrench than parting from her papa; but she thrust out the knowledge that there was yet someone else whom she would miss even more intensely than either of them. The bitterness and animosity of that very last encounter with Jacinto hung like a heavy stone in her heart.

  Now, in the cabin, Marianna’s nervousness swelled almost to panic. She had expected that her husband would withdraw to the small adjoining cabin while she prepared herself for bed. But he made no move to leave. Instead, he came and removed her mantle of bronze taffeta. Marianna made to take it from him, but he shook his head and dropped it heedlessly to the carpet. With his two hands he took hold of her face, cupping it, and before she realized what he was intending he had withdrawn the hairpins and let her hair tumble down about her shoulders.

  ‘Such pretty golden tresses,’ he murmured. ‘This is how I like to see you, my sweet angel. A picture of purity and innocence.’

  Confused and embarrassed, Marianna wanted to look away from the intent gaze of his deep-set grey eyes. But he was her husband and she must not seem to evade him in any way.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said shyly, her breath coming in little jerks, ‘that I should call you William now.’

  He laughed. ‘Indeed, yes! But not, I trust, when we are alone together. You can do better than that, my precious.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why, when two people are in love, they usually have their own favourite little pet names for each other.’

  ‘Oh ... such as what?’

  He touched the tip of her nose with a reproving finger. ‘You must put your clever little mind to work and think of something suitable for me. As to what I shall call you — well, we shall see.’

  Mr Penfold spread his coat-tails and seated himself on an armchair that was bolted down against rough weather. He put out his hand to Marianna invitingly.

  ‘Come and sit on my lap, dearest child, and tell me how you enjoyed our wedding. Was it grand enough for you? I arranged to have the very best of everything that was available on the island.’

  ‘It was wonderful ... William. Quite the grandest wedding there has ever been, I should think.’

  ‘Excellent! That was how I wanted it to be for you, my little love.’

  As they talked his arms slid around her, drawing her closer against him, his hand stroking the long strands of her fair hair. In the few brief hours they had spent alone together since their betrothal, she had already discovered how much he liked to cuddle and fondle her. But Marianna was still uneasy in such close proximity, not liking the rough feel of his bearded cheek pressed against hers, his winey breath hot on her skin. She feared that he must have noticed how her whole body shrank away when he touched her. In an effort to demonstrate the affection she felt, she put her arms about his neck and leaned against him. He murmured appreciatively and a moment later, to Marianna’s dismay, she felt him lay his hand on the front of her bodice, his fingers fumbling with the crystal buttons.

  ‘William, please!’

  The fingers stilled, but did not draw away. ‘What is it, darling child?’

  ‘I… I wish you would not do that.’

  She made to slip from his knee, but he held her there, gently but with unmistakable firmness.

  ‘How charming that you should be so shy,’ he said with a fond smile. ‘But I am your husband, dear little Marianna. All those solemn, sacred vows, have they alarmed you?’ He drew his face away a little and playfully adopted a grave expression. ‘You must honour and obey me now, remember. That’s what you have undertaken. And for my part, I must cherish you — ah yes! You need have no fear that I shall fail to cherish you, sweet child.’

  With eyes closed in embarrassment, she felt his fingers unfastening her bodice once more, and slipping through the aperture until his palm rested in the shallow valley between her budding breasts.

  ‘How warm,’ he whispered huskily, ‘how soft and secret and tender! Ah, I can feel the little fledgling heart so wildly beating! But you are no ordinary fledgling, my angel, pushed from the nest to fend for yourself in a cruel, harsh world. You are not abandoned, for your big strong William is here to see that no harm befalls his precious little one.’

  Marianna whispered o
n a thread of breath, ‘I will try to be the sort of wife you want me to be, William. I shall do my very utmost to please you. But ... you will be kind to me, won’t you?’

  ‘Have I not been kind to you, my darling? And always will be, that is my promise and my pledge.’ He withdrew his hand and reached into the side pocket of his coat. ‘Here, I give you this as a token of my love, a seal upon my promise.’ He held up, temptingly, a little red morocco case.

  ‘What is it, William?’

  He put the leather case into her two hands, holding them a moment between his two larger ones.

  ‘There now — open it and see.’

  Inside, nestling in a bed of ruched silk, was a brooch in the shape of two hearts entwined, the initials M and W picked out in pearls and diamonds. As Marianna lifted it out, the diamonds caught the lamplight and sparkled,

  ‘Oh,William, it is beautiful! But you have already given me so many lovely things.’

  ‘And pray why not? As long as my angel likes pretty trinkets, she shall have lots and lots of them. You will see. When I was in Rio I found such a clever jeweller, and he made this to my special order. He protested that it was impossible in so short a time, but I could not come to marry my darling empty-handed.’

  Marianna flung her arms about his neck impulsively and kissed him on the cheek, flooded with a warm and wonderful conviction that her marriage would be every thing she longed for it to be. How could she avoid coming to love such a kind and generous man as this?

  ‘In her newfound wave of bliss she eagerly accepted William’s kisses, on her hair, her temples, her eyes and her lips, happy for her husband to be made happy. Then, slowly, she became aware that it was no longer just a button or two of her bodice unfastened, but the entire front. She recoiled sharply when he made to slide the garment from her shoulders, and he chided her.

  ‘You must not deny me, sweet child. I have for so long dreamed of this moment when you would be my own dear little darling. Now at last I am free to look upon you in all your innocent loveliness. Come, do not tremble so. There now! You have such adorable little shoulders, such soft smooth skin…’