Royall woke as the last rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. It was getting light again as the storm moved eastward. She sat up and massaged her aching shoulders. The gray stood placidly next to the crate. She sat back again and looked about the room. She almost wished she could transport herself back in time to when the house was full of gaiety and laughter. How beautiful it must have been. Even now, with watery sunshine filtering through the broken panes, she could see the detail of the room. She was suddenly hungry. Then she remembered the papayas she had stuffed in the saddlebags as she left the stables. Always there was a basket of fruit near the door for the boys to nibble on during the day. Elena had also cautioned her early on that she should always take fruit with her when she set out for a ride. She was thankful now that she had gotten into the habit. The gray nibbled daintily from her hand as she broke off pieces of the ripe fruit.
Royall sat back down on the crate and started to eat her own piece of fruit. Bored, she looked around the room pretending she was arranging furniture. Something was wrong, out of place. She grimaced; there was barely any furniture, so what could be out of place? For that matter, there were only a few darkened beams above, with most of the walls gone. As she chewed and sucked at the soft, sweet fruit, she scanned the farthest part of the large room. It didn’t have anything to do with the walls or the lack of furniture. She let her eyes go to the floor. Aside from the rotting wood, there wasn’t anything out of place or wrong as far as she could see. She looked overhead at the beams. They were fire blackened, but the chandelier remained intact. The dirty, grimy glass prisms still twinkled in the pale sunshine. She wondered why it had never been removed and brought to the new Casa when it was rebuilt. That was it. That was what was wrong, what was out of place. There was something wrong with the great crystal globe that hung from the center of the ceiling. There was something odd about it. What? Royall stood up, her fruit dropping to the rotting floor in her excitement. She craned her neck, first one way and then another. Something must have caught her eye, just the way the small soldier’s head had sprung into her vision. Whatever it was, it was eluding her. She walked around the room, watching where she stepped, so she could view the chandelier from different angles. She could find nothing out of the way. In her exasperation, she decided that it must have been her imagination. She was just nervous and jittery after her confrontation with the Baron and then the storm.
Shrugging, she walked back to the gray, who was waiting patiently. She should be thinking about starting back for the plantation, and she was going to have a long ride ahead of her. No, not yet. She stood up and pulled the crate over till it was beneath the chandelier. If she stood on top of it and stretched to her full length, she could just reach the monstrous globe. She arched her neck backwards and looked carefully at the dirty crystal. There it was! When the sun hit the globe, a glint of red showed. That was what it was, the pink ray had caught her attention. Anxiously, she thrust her hand into the depths of the lighting fixture and withdrew a red,. calf-bound book. What was it, and why was it hidden in such a peculiar place? Excited with her treasure, Royall climbed down from her perch and opened the book. The name Carlyle Newsome, Sr., was printed in large block letters inside the cover. Carlyle Newsome, Sr., was the Baron’s father. Why would he hide his journal in such a strange place? Excitement and apprehension coursed through her as she made herself comfortable. The writing was small and cramped, but she could make out the words. How in the world had it remained intact all these years?
Royall started to read. It was a dull, boring account of the records of the plantation. She flipped through the pages till she came to a page that read: “I am disappointed in my son Carlyle. I fear it was a mistake on my part to send him away. He has just now returned home no better than when he . left. He is such a trial to me.” There followed more mundane things of no great importance. Then a later entry:
I find with my failing health that there are a few things I must do to set matters straight before I pass on. The boy Sebastian is my son. A son much loved and wanted by both his mother and myself. It was she herself who would not let our secret marriage be announced. She was wise in the way of an Indian. She had said her marriage to me would only hamper my life. I fear I listened to her, for I loved her dearly. She made me promise that Sebastian was never to hear from my lips that he was my son. And so he shall not. On the morrow I will ride into Manaus and leave the marriage paper with my solicitor, so that on my death Reino Brazilia will go to Sebastian Rivera, the name Rivera being his mother’s family name.
Carlyle has disgraced himself with me. The lack of concern for human life that is displayed by him astounds me. Even after repeated warnings from me, his treatment of the blacks and Indians did not alter. When at last he washed his hands in the blood of another human being and felt justification was ample, I could bear it no longer. That is when I disclaimed Carlyle as my son, and I am much saddened.
My hopes for the continuation of my personal ideals and, indeed, my hopes for Brazil rest with Sebastian. I trust and believe his mother will raise him with an eye well trained to recognize human suffering. My old friend Farleigh Mallard, who knows of this truth, has told me he can see qualities in my young son that bear grounds for my hopes. The speculation concerning Sebastian and his mother and their relationship to old Farleigh make my old friend mirthful. People naturally assume, since my wife acted as chatelaine at Farleigh’s plantation, Regalo Verdad, that he is Sebastian’s father.
My appointment with Carlyle this evening is for the purpose of informing him of these facts. Any reprisals he wishes to make I will deal with myselfl .
Upon my passing, should you, dear Sebastian, ever find this journal, I want you to know that I loved you as only a father can love a son. As much as I loved your mother. You are my flesh. The flesh born of my love and the love of your mother. I have watched you grow from a child to a young man. I have watched you overcome any and all obstacles that met your path. For this, my son, I am proud of you. I ached to hold you and let you know that I was your father. What is past is past. Now, it is my turn to make amends.
Startled, Royall looked up from her deep absorption in the journal. She thought she had heard a sound. Listening carefully, she decided it was probably some jungle creature. She turned to her reading again, although there was little more to read:
At last my dearest wish is to come true. Sebastian will be my heir, even though my youngest son. I think I have made my decision honestly and fairly. Upon my last visit to the doctor, he advised me that death is near at hand. I only hope the grim reaper can hold off one more day. If not, then Carlyle will inherit the Reino and Sebastian will never know the truth.
The journal ended abruptly. Frantically, Royall leafed through the rest of the dry, crackling pages. They were blank. The old Baron’s intuition was right. He had died before he could make matters right. Or did someone help him into the path of the grim reaper: Hadn’t Victor Morrison said he suspected the Baron had murdered his own father? And here was the reason Sebastian resembled the Baron! Not because they were father and son, but because they were brothers! There was that noise again!
Royall sat still and listened, her eyes going to the gray’s hooves. He was still standing quietly, his large soft brown eyes closed. Then she heard it again, the sound of a twig snapping. A shadow fell across her lap. The sun took that moment to come out in full force, blinding her momentarily as it drove through the broken windows. The shadow advanced. The closer the dark form came, the better Royall could see. It was the Baron, holding a revolver in his hand! Royall gasped in fright.
“You followed me!” she accused. “Why?”
“Yes, I did follow you here, and you know why. I can’t let you destroy all that I’ve built up. I want that journal!”
“You’ll have to take it from me,” Royall said bravely as she slid from the crate to stand next to the gray. She clutched the journal to her breast. This was Sebastian’s life, and she would do anything to protect it.
“Then I’ll have to take it. It’s gone too far for me to back down now. For years I’ve searched for that journal. I’ve never felt safe, knowing it could be found at any time. Now, hand it to me before my fingers get nervous.”
“Only over my dead body. I’m not giving this up. Sebastian is the owner of this book. Your father wrote it for him. I’ll never give it to you. Never!”
“Fine. I’ll just wait till you’re dead and then I’ll take it from you.” He brought up the revolver and pointed it straight at Royall’s heart.
Royall knew the Baron wasn’t making idle threats; he meant to kill her. She raised her arm and threw the journal through the open window into the lush growth of jungle. The Baron, taken momentarily off guard, looked in the direction of the flying book.
Seeing her chance, Royall picked up the long stout stick that lay at her feet and swung out and up with all the force she could muster, knocking the revolver from his hand.
The Baron looked at her with such rage that his eyes seemed to burst from his head. His face contorted, his complexion changing from florid red to purple. He couldn’t seem to get his breath as he crumbled to the floor.
Frightened at what she’d done, Royall raced for the door. God, had she killed him? Horror-stricken, she froze in her tracks, watching as he lay there, moaning. Cautiously, she inched back to the spot where he lay, holding the stick in both hands, ready to defend herself. He looked terrible, close to death. His left eye was closed shut, the other remained open, staring, spewing hatred, even now. The left side of his mouth was drawn into a ghoulish grimace as he stared at her. A stroke.
Royall brushed her hair back from her face. She had to do something, find someone, get help! Regardless of what he’d done, he was a human being, and she couldn’t let him die this way. Elena. She had to bring Elena!
Only as she led the gray out of the ruined building did she remember the little red book. Only after she had it in her hand would she ride for the housekeeper.
Elena was dismounting from the roan as Royall brought the placid mare to what was originally the front of the Casa. “I was just going to get you. The Baron’s inside. He tried to kill me, and I protected myself by knocking the revolver out of his hand. He was in a rage and then he just fell to the floor. I think he’s had a stroke.”
“I know that he meant to do you harm, Senora. I followed him. The storm delayed me, as you can see. Wait here till I see to him.”
Elena returned moments later. “You’re right, Senora, the Baron has suffered a stroke as his father did. Between the two of us we must get him on the horse and take him as far as the Rivera plantation. Senor Rivera will lend us a buckboard to transport him back to the Reino.”
“Elena, let me ride to the Rivera plantation. I don’t think it’s wise to make the Baron ride a horse. Neither one of us would be able to hold him steady. Sebastian won’t like it, but he can hardly refuse. Please, Elena.”
Elena cautioned Royall to ride carefully.
“I’ll be careful. Will you be all right?”
“There’s no need for concern, Senora. The Baron can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Royall shuddered as she rode off in search of Sebastian Rivera. The gray streaked ahead, finally reaching the Regalo Verdad. Royall slid from his back and screeched at the top of her lungs for Sebastian. He came on the run, his face fearful, anticipating trouble.
She told him about the Baron, and Sebastian summoned his foreman. Together they rode from the plantation; the foreman and two men followed in the low buckboard.
Royall rode ahead. She couldn’t look at Sebastian; she couldn’t bear for him to see how hurt she was that he had ignored her since that last night in his house when they had loved each other. Why was it she only managed to see him when she needed help? And why did he always help her?
Royall dismounted and raced ahead to the old Casa, Sebastian following. Within minutes the men from the plantation arrived. They carried a thick, woolen blanket. It was obvious to Royall and to Elena that they didn’t relish their task; they were merely doing as they were told. There was no compassion anywhere for the Baron. Sebastian’s dark eyes were inscrutable as he watched the men place the Baron on the blanket. Each man picked up the two ends of the thick blanket and hefted their burden. Elena said she would ride with the Baron in the buckboard; her horse would trail behind. Royall was left standing in the dimness with Sebastian.
“I want to thank you for coming to help. Elena herself would have thanked you. You must realize that she has been under a terrible strain these past weeks.”
“No thanks are necessary,”. Sebastian said coolly.
“Perhaps not to you, but I feel it necessary,” Royall said crisply as she watched for some sign of emotion to cross the face of the man she loved. And she did love him. She had loved him from the moment she set eyes on him when he was a roué, a dashing buccaneer.
Sebastian looked at Royall and winced inwardly. Why was it she always came to him when she needed help? Would she never come to him on her own, for her own sake? For a time he had thought ... had hoped ... but it was not to be; he could see that now. He was the fool, and he fell in love with her. He let his dark eyes widen in shock at the revelation. He loved the golden girl. She made his blood run hot and then cold, and he wanted her for now, for tomorrow, for the next day, and for every day of his life.
Boldly, he matched her steady gaze. “Since there is no further need of my services, I’ll escort you to the main trail, and you can follow the buckboard. If you ever find yourself in like circumstances, feel free to call. I don’t charge for my help,” he said mockingly.
“Thank you, Senor Rivera,” Royall replied, matching his mocking tone. “However, I doubt if that time will ever come. I’ve decided to return to New England.” She felt physically ill with her announcement and suddenly regretted her words. She didn’t want to return to New England. She wanted to remain here in Brazil ... even if only to catch a glimpse of his face from time to time. And to perhaps feel his arms around her at carnival once a year.
Hearing her words, Sebastian’s world ended.
Royall groped in her saddlebag. “This belongs to you. I came across it this afternoon when I sought shelter from the storm. I read it. It was meant for your eyes, so I must apologize. At the time I didn’t realize the nature of this journal. I almost died for this little book, Senor Rivera. The Baron would have killed me for it. Now it belongs to you. I give you back the life you never had, Senor Rivera. I hope it is some small comfort to you in the years ahead.”
Quickly she reined in, the gray and then spurred him to a full gallop. Rivers of tears rushed down her cheeks. Damn you, oh damn you, Sebastian Rivera. Damn you to hell!
Chapter Twenty-two
Sebastian sat in his study reading the journal for what he thought was the hundredth time. Already he knew the words by heart. He wasn’t a bastard. He was legitimate, a true son. His mother had married the elder Newsome. Carlyle was his brother, half brother. Sebastian Rivera, no, Newsome, was legitimate. He couldn’t believe the words. They were true. It was in black and white. He closed the journal and placed it precisely in the center of his desk. His eyes were riveted on what Royall had called his life. Royall. She had said she had almost died for the journal. She said she wouldn’t be troubling him again, that she was going back to New England. Goddamn it, just when his life was starting to take shape, she had to go and ruin it. Damn fool woman. Leave it up to a woman and you might as well lay down and die.
How cold and aloof she had looked sitting on the gray. How beautiful. Goddamn it, why couldn’t she see how he loved her? Couldn’t she tell? By God, he wouldn’t get on his knees to any woman! Maybe she wanted him to plead with her to stay. I’ll be damned if I do that either. Bitch! What did she want from him? Why was she torturing him like this? Angry at his circumstances, he slugged down a gulp of brandy. His eyes watering at the fiery liquid, he stood up and shook his leg. Damn fool thing to do, it was his throat that w
as burning not his leg.
He felt like a fool. Another gulp of liquor made him feel better. Royall Banner wasn’t going to torment him much longer. Did she have any idea what a sacrifice it was for him to give up Aloni? Did she have any idea of what it cost him to send the China doll packing? A goddamn fortune, that’s how much. By God, he should demand his money back from her lawyer. The thought amused him, and he threw back his head and roared with laughter. He should just show her the list Aloni had presented to him. Royall Banner with two L’s would sing a different tune when she saw how much he had paid out. Perfume, powder, lip rouge, stockings, dresses for daytime, dresses for nighttime, shoes, unmentionables. By Christ, that was a laugh. Aloni didn’t have an unmentionable to her name. Shoes, lots of shoes, the list had read. Jewels, jewels. A cape for the opera and a cape for day time and a cape to walk to market. By God, he had paid through the nose. And don’t forget the goddamn spinet she demanded. The brandy bottle flew to his lips and he gurgled deeply. Well, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. Where was darling, beautiful Aloni now, he wondered pitifully. Probably in some garret starving to death, all because of Royall Banner. “My ass she’s starving,” he thundered drunkenly when he suddenly remembered the cash deposit the tiny girl had demanded. And he had just handed it over, glad to be rid of the tiny creature who had shared his townhouse for two years. He had suffered greatly when Aloni pocketed the money and said in her best little girl voice, “It is my pension, Sebastian.” It was goddamn outright thievery, was what it was!
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