Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  But it was little more than nothing that she learned for two hours after they left the convent gate. Zeke tooled the car cautiously along the road below the levee, for the flood was high and there were places where the mud was hub-deep and the gangs were toiling to stop further seepage. Whenever Jacqueline asked questions, Consuelo grew violently worried about the driving and got into an argument with Zeke through the sliding glass panel. Zeke’s retorts would have made an archangel furious, and Consuelo naturally did not expect to be an angel for a long time, not even in the lower ranks. So Jacqueline, although she asked a lot of questions, ascertained little and that in snatches.

  “Why has Desmio sent for me, Consuelo?”

  “Zeke you’ll break the wheels! I’ll report you to Don Andres!”

  “Consuelo, why did—”

  “Hush, honey! Oh, that nigger — he’ll be the death of us! Zeke! Drive slowly!”

  “Consuelo, is Desmio well?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  “Why did he send for me?”

  “Zeke, you’ll be off the road in a minute! Can’t you see that ditch?”

  “Consuelo, has anything happened?”

  “It will, honey, if that Zeke isn’t careful. Zeke!”

  “Ah’s at de ole stand!”

  “Drive faster! If that levee breaks—”

  About a third of Consuelo’s nervousness was genuine. The other two-thirds were a screen behind which she tried to disguise from Jacqueline that she was nearly bursting with information; and Jacqueline understood that perfectly.

  “There! There’s the last of the levee and we’re safe. Now you can tell me the news, Consuelo.”

  “Just you wait, honey.”

  “Why? I’ll have to know presently.”

  “All I hope is I can get your hair done properly before Don Andres sees you. Listen, honey: the less you know the better. Then if she sees you first, you can tell her what the dodo said to the horse-marines!”

  “Then doesn’t Donna Isabella know I’m coming home?”

  “There’s no knowing how much she guesses, honey. She’ll know something’s up when she orders the limousine after breakfast and discovers she can’t have it. Let’s hope she doesn’t see you first, that’s all. I’ve prayed to the Blessed Virgin to shut her ears and eyes for her, and strike her dumb, and—”

  “Consuelo!”

  “Well, I did, honey, and that’s the truth!”

  “Be still, Consuelo!”

  “Honey, I’m too excited. I’ve got to say something or I’ll burst!”

  “Say something nice then about Donna Isabella!”

  “All right, honey, I can say it. She may be this and that and the other thing, and what I know she is. But the day’s gone by when she could do you a hurt.”

  “Then you’ve forgiven her, Consuelo? I did. I forgave her everything this morning at prayers before you came.”

  “Honey, dear, you can’t forgive everything when you don’t know all she’s done! And when you do know what she’s tried to do, you can forgive it even less!”

  When the limousine rolled under the portico the front door was open, and Donna Isabella was revealed standing in the hall, a dozen feet back from the threshold, smiling a bitter-lipped welcome. She almost ignored Jacqueline, as a stern judge ignores a convicted prisoner who was once a privileged acquaintance. She knew nothing of Don Andres’ plans, but felt sure that her brother was simply removing the girl from one convent to another.

  “Go to your room,” she said, permitting herself to be kissed respectfully on one cheek.

  It was on Consuelo that the vials of wrath were poured. How had Consuelo dared to take the limousine without permission?

  “Answer me — d’you hear! Don’t dare to glare at me in that shameless manner!”

  The din of that salvo brought up the reserves, as Consuelo hoped. Don Andres appeared, crossing the patio from the direction of the library. He stood at the end of the hall, looking and speaking as if he had heard nothing — seen nothing of the browbeating.

  “Isabella—”

  She turned to face him like a she-wolf interrupted. I will speak to Consuelo.”

  Don Andres made a gesture of the head and Consuelo followed him into the patio.

  “You have brought her?”

  “Yes, Don Andres. But I would like to do her hair, and—”

  “Bring her into the library.”

  Not a word about Donna Isabella. Not even a hint. Yet Consuelo understood that she was required to offer herself again, if necessary, as a target between jealousy and Jacqueline.

  So Jacqueline came dancing down the balcony steps again, with Consuelo panting in her wake, and wondered why she should be told to wait at the foot of the stairs instead of skipping across the patio and bursting in through the library door after her usual fashion. If Consuelo’s manner had not been so tremulous with compressed excitement, she might have felt anxious. As it was, there was a rather pleasant sense of mystery, and she submitted to be shepherded demurely across the patio, infected by Consuelo’s agitation and thrilled by expectation of something wonderful.

  “God bless you, honey!” said Consuelo, and pushed her in through the library door, closing it suddenly behind her.

  As Desmio rose to greet her she looked to him lovelier than she had ever looked. She wore the same organdie frock in which she had left for the convent, but no hat now, and there was nothing to throw in shadow the lake-blue brilliance of her eyes. Her attitude was half-startled, half-mischievous — suggestive of Christmas morning, when gifts lay on the library table and she was sent for to glimpse them for the first time.

  That impression of her held Don Andres silent, as she hesitated near the door. Her youth, more than her beauty, reached out to him with a poignancy that was almost pain.

  “Desmio — what does all this mean?”

  She ran to him now, and he took her in his arms with a laugh of unmixed gratitude, kissing her on the forehead, as he always did when she returned from school. Then — unusually soon — his statelier manner returned, as he retired a pace or two and stood with his back to the fireplace.

  “Jacqueline!” He very seldom called her that.

  “Yes, Desmio.”

  “I have something to say to you, which I hope you will believe is said in earnest, after much reflection, and with thought for your best interests, not mine.”

  Her heart leaped. Splendid! He was going to tell her what he had heard about Jack Calhoun! No doubt he had thought of a way out of the difficulty that would bring no discredit on any one, and whatever that way was, she would take it unquestioning.

  “Whoever seeks to provide for another’s future, Jacqueline, needs wisdom. I have not been altogether wise, nor altogether kind to you.”

  “Desmio!”

  She stepped closer to lay her hands on him and look up into his face. Unwise, and unkind? He was wisdom! He was kindness! It was on her lips to tell him so, but something in his eyes and bearing warned her that was not the right moment for expostulation. She waited with parted lips to hear the rest of it.

  “I judge myself and I blame myself—”

  That was altogether too much, and she had to speak.

  “Please don’t, Desmio!”

  He laid one hand on her shoulder, and she nestled close to him, her eyes a few inches from the watch-chain that rose and fell over his heart. Why did his heart thump so? Why was he so agitated?

  He was outwardly calm enough, and his voice was steady, as he continued:

  “I have inconsiderately placed you in a false position. You have every right to expect a great deal of this world, yet no means of realizing expectations. Without me to make provision for you, you would have very little. And I shall not be here with you forever.”

  “Desmio, don’t talk like that! I would hate the world without you in it!”

  She did not see him smile as she said that, but she saw the movement of the watch-chain, and it rather scared her.

 
“I have consulted the best legal man in Louisiana — and incredible though it may seem — I have not the legal right even to protect you, Jacqueline.”

  She wished he would not call her Jacqueline. It sounded so solemn. What was he going to say? Only she wished he would hurry up and say it, because this being torn between one emotion and another was —

  “I can not adopt you, owing to the terms of the Miro trust deed, according to which none but a Miro may inherit any part of the fortune. Otherwise I would have adopted you when you first came to me.”

  She squeezed his hand, not knowing exactly what legal adoption meant, but quite sure it meant something dignified and generous.

  “And it is intolerable to me, Jacqueline, that I am in no legal position to protect you against any one — a Jack Calhoun, for instance, or — or any other individual, who, may have designs on you of which I disapprove, and, against which you are too inexperienced to protect yourself.”

  Good! Jack Calhoun at last! Now she would tell him all about it. She looked up at his face — and the words she intended to say died still- born. She never in her whole life saw him before with that expression. Was he afraid to tell of his decision? Why else was he nervous? And yet — he looked secretly glad about something.

  “Yet, Jacqueline, I am fonder of you by far than I ever was of my own child. Your father was my closest friend, and Lanier blood is as good as Miro. I have watched you grow and develop, and I know that the Miro estates and the Miro name would be much safer in your keeping than in that of the gum shoe-maker. John Miro is my second cousin, and a Miro by blood, therefore he can inherit, and will eventually, unless I can forestall him. He would probably put one of his gum-shoe advertisements across the front of the house and asphyxiate the whole neighborhood with the smell of rubber and sulfuric acid!”

  Jacqueline laughed in spite of herself. She knew it was not the time to laugh, for Desmio was in deadly earnest and was confiding to her his inmost thoughts. He was not joking about John Miro. He could hardly bring himself to read a newspaper, because of John Miro’s advertisements that sometimes blared his infamous misuse of an honored name across a whole page, and San Francisco was as Sodom and Gomorrah because John Miro lived there!

  “But I have thought of a way to defeat that rascal!”

  Her heart thumped delightedly. Good Desmio! But had he sent for her from the convent just to tell her about his second cousin? It would seem so.

  “I have never asked you any return for what I have been privileged to do for you, Conchita.”

  Conchita at last! She welcomed it with a smile that would have melted sterner hearts than his.

  “And I would not now unless I was sure I could offer you, in return for the sacrifice I am going to request, advantages otherwise beyond your reach.”

  “Desmio, I will do anything in the world for you!”

  “I believe you, dear. That is why I have decided to crave the honor of your hand in marriage!”

  Her heart sank. What did he mean? Could the law make Jack Calhoun —

  “Marriage to whom, Desmio?”

  “To me, Conchita.”

  “You, Desmio!”

  He nodded, watching her. She had stepped a pace away from him. Her face showed blank astonishment — bewilderment. She understood the meaning of his words — she knew he never said a word he did not mean — but it sounded like a fairy-tale — like —

  “Desmio!”

  “I want you to marry me, Conchita, and to go straight back to the convent afterward. You will be my wife in name, and when I die you will inherit these estates.”

  Every word he added only increased the unreality. She seemed to be wide awake — and dreaming! So this was the cause of Consuelo’s suppressed excitement! Thought of Consuelo produced a smile at last, and the smile grew radiant as she remembered that whatever Desmio might wish, that would she do with her whole heart, gratefully. But his next words drove the smile away, and the frown returned.

  “If there were a prospect of my living long enough to handicap your future, Conchita, I would still endeavor to find some other way out of the difficulty. However, there is very small prospect of my living, and by the time you are old enough to form your own judgment you will undoubtedly be free to exercise it.”

  She began to want to cry. She knew she would much rather herself suffer in any way than have anything happen to this generous friend of hers. She felt he was giving her the greatest gift within his power, and her heart warned her not to accept it, giving no reasons, because hearts are autocratic and not talkative.

  “One of these days you will meet some splendid fellow, whose love will be worthy of you, and whom you will love, Conchita.”

  “No, Desmio! Nobody will ever take your place!” she protested, and he smiled, knowing what she said was true. But he was equally aware that he could never fill that other, greater place in her heart that would open some day.

  “I wish to preserve you from present pitfalls, dear, in order that you may marry happily later on.”

  “Desmio, how can you talk like that! There’s nobody under heaven like you! I’ll never love any one as I do you!”

  “You must trust me not to mislead you, Conchita. Very much wisdom is given to none of us in this world, and I am only asking you to do what seems best and wisest after a thorough consideration of all the facts, and after conference with my most intimate friends. I believe my proposal of marriage is in your highest interest; and as for myself — the privilege of having established you as mistress of these estates will be the utmost I would care to ask . But the final word is yours, dear. Would you like time to consider it?”

  Time? What difference could time make in her relation to Desmio? There was nothing he could ask that she would dream of refusing. And if he loved her so much as all that, it was likely she might help him to live for twenty years yet. What was her heart tugging at her for? She stepped up to him and laid her hands on his shoulders.

  “Desmio,” she said, wondering to herself why she should use these words, “you are a prince and I will put my trust in you!”

  “You will marry me, Conchita?”

  “Yes.”

  “And return to the convent?”

  “Desmio, I will do anything you say.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and she hugged him as she used to when he gave her extravagant gifts on birthdays and at Christmas.

  CHAPTER 9.

  “Do it again, Desmio!”

  No more tugging of the heart-strings now! A new world, hand in hand with Desmio, full of new thrills — and the wildest first! It needs a little fear to make excitement perfect. There is not much fun in victory unless the enemy has teeth to gnash! And there was malice, even in Jacqueline Lanier.

  Desmio rang the bell; and not for kingdoms, not for her soul’s salvation would Consuelo have missed being first on the scene. She came in answer to the bell — curtsied twice — and was kissed by Jacqueline.

  “Oh, honey, I’m proud! Do you see now why I wouldn’t say a word!”

  Don Andres cut those congratulations short; but there was a smile in his eye, and the hand that held Jacqueline’s squeezed harder than he knew.

  “Present my compliments to Donna Isabella, Consuelo, and request her to be good enough to come and see me here at once.”

  As Donna Isabella entered the library there fell the same tenseness as when duelists engage and watch each other’s eyes. Desmio, with Jacqueline’s hand in one of his, smiled his courtliest and was no more nervous than his sister. Her face was flint, and his steel, but his was masked by a desire to carry off the encounter without unseemliness. He was about to do the courteous thing in announcing his betrothal to his sister first, and he hoped she would recognize the courtesy.

  “Isabella, I have the honor to present to you my future wife!”

  “Andres — you’re mad!”

  Too late he realized the storm was breaking. Donna Isabella ignored Jacqueline — scorned her — conceded her no ground
— and faced her brother with all the brimstone venom of her nature uppermost.

  “You chicken-hearted fool! You—”

  But not even she could force a domestic scene on him before a witness — not, that is, without being turned out of his counsels forever, which was the last fate she proposed for herself, since it would leave Jacqueline triumphant. His gesture checked her in mid-speech. He put his arm on Jacqueline’s shoulder and whispered. Jacqueline ran, as she would run from a cyclone — out to the patio, where Consuelo greeted her with fussy tenderness and a comical, respectful homage due to her new estate.

  “Oh, honey, what did she say to him? Was she furious? Tell me, honey!”

  “I don’t know. Desmio sent me out of the room. I’m frightened, Consuelo. Let’s stay and see what happens.”

  “Come to your own room, honey. He’s as good as ten of her! Nothing’ll happen. Come to your room and tell me all about it — I’m just simply dying to listen!”

  Jacqueline let herself be coaxed upstairs, and from the window they presently saw Donna Isabella beating a retreat, not looking blatantly victorious, but so prematurely aged and sour that Jacqueline was almost sorry for her.

  “She called him chicken-hearted!” she said, watching with big round, reproachful eyes.

  “Never you mind what she called him, honey — it was all lies! She’s down and out, and you’ll be mistress in less than a week! Listen, Conchita — did he tell you? You’re to be married three days from now! There’ll be no time to fix up a wedding like you ought to have, but Father Doutreleau and I are to do our best for you. Three days from now you’ll be a Miro, and Donna Isabella takes a back seat!”

  Enthusiasm was contagious. Jacqueline knew no more of what marriage means than any other young girl does who has been convent-reared, and sheltered. She began to wonder what Sister Michaela and the other girls at the convent would think when they heard the news, and which of them should be asked to the wedding, and what the sisters would say, and what it would feel like to return to the convent afterward — a married woman!