Marry in Haste

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  The day of the bullfight dawned fine and clear, with a welcome little sea breeze to temper the heat, and Camilla and Chloe, festive in their freshest muslin and shadiest hats, found themselves immensely enjoying the crossing of the Tagus, which they made in the Molinhas’ sumptuous, if shabby, private galley, rowed by twenty oarsmen. They landed in a pleasant hilly country shaded by pines and overgrown with a wild shrubbery of low aromatic bushes, and Camilla would gladly have remained there to explore the little paths that wandered beside rivulets among a tangle of wild orange and bay trees. But mule-drawn carriages awaited them and they had to climb in for a stuffy jolting over hill roads to the amphitheatre, where they were hurried straight into a box and had hardly time to agree that the place was about the size of Ranelagh but very much less splendid, when a dozen hideous Negroes dressed in a sort of Indian-Chinese style tumbled into the ring driving a placid herd of bulls. A tawdry procession introduced the matador, who proceeded to slaughter one passive bull after another until Camilla and Chloe, sickened alike by the bloody spectacle and the remorseless heat, had to beg Dom Fernando to let them retire. He, it seemed, was a devotee of the ring—or had to pass as one in deference to his royal mistress—but he deputed his eldest nephew, Dom Pedro, to accompany them, and they retired, grateful, for once, for the escort of this very young man, to the shady garden of a nearby monastery. To Camilla’s relief, it was quite impossible for females to enter the monastery, so they were able to sit in the shade of a gigantic cork tree and recover something of their spirits before they were rejoined by Dom Fernando and his sister. As Dom Pedro’s attentions to Chloe were very much less pressing when his uncle was not present, the interval was refreshing enough, and they were able to enjoy the homeward journey across the Tagus in the cooling evening among a throng of other boats from some of which rose the strains of song, the catchy Brazilian modinhas for which Chloe had developed a passion.

  Reaching home late in the afternoon, Camilla was able to put more conviction than she had expected into her thanks to Dom Fernando. The bullfight itself might have horrified her, but the rest of the day had been pleasant enough. To her relief, he merely left them at their door, but then spoiled it by promising himself the pleasure of calling on them later to make sure they had not suffered from the fatigues of the day. She would gladly have dispensed with this courtesy, but forced herself to welcome it, putting an extra touch of enthusiasm into her voice to make up for the defection of Chloe, who, after the briefest of thanks, had already vanished into the garden.

  Glad to be alone, Camilla settled herself with a book on the terrace, but was soon aroused by the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the carriage drive behind the house. Her first thought was of Lavenham, but he had left by carriage. Still, she jumped to her feet; this might, at last, be a messenger from him. She hurried through the main salon and reached the front door in time to see Lavenham himself being helped to dismount by one of the servants. The fact that he needed help was alarming enough, but his pale face and torn and dusty clothes told their own story.

  Camilla hurried forward: “My dear, you are hurt?”

  _ He managed an apology for a smile. “A trifle. Nothing to signify.” But he let the man help him towards the house, while another servant led away the exhausted horse.

  Once in the salon, Lavenham dropped with a sigh into a chair and dismissed the man with a few rapid sentences. Then, once again, he did his best to smile at Camilla. “Lord, it’s good to be home. But I must ask your pardon for so melodramatic an entrance. Where is Chloe?”

  If Camilla suffered a little at this evidence that his first thought was for his sister, she did not show it, merely replying, “In the garden as usual, and you, I’m sure, should be in bed.”

  “All in good time. First I must eat. I rather think I have not done so since yesterday. No, no,” as she jumped to her feet, “never trouble yourself; I told the man to bring it presently. In the meantime, I am glad Chloe is out of the way. I need your help.”

  “It is yours.”

  “I knew I could count on you. You are not, I am sure, one of the young ladies who faint at the sight of blood.” ’

  She was on her feet at once. “You are wounded! I knew it. Of course I do not mind the sight of blood. I used, often, to assist the surgeon who attended the poor Duchess of Devonshire. Only come to your room and I will fetch ointment and bandages. But should we not send for a doctor?”

  He had risen somewhat shakily to his feet and now gratefully accepted the support of her arm. “No, no. We cannot have a doctor, and indeed it is not necessary. You will see it is but a scratch, but has bled most confoundedly. I am in a sad state, I fear, and no object for a lady, but the deuce of it is I cannot afford a doctor and his gossiping.”

  More and more alarmed, she was relieved to get him to the privacy of his room, where a servant had already brought warm water. Bidding him sit quiet until she returned, she hurried off to her own apartments to fetch salve and bandages. Returning, she found him shrugging himself awkwardly out of his dusty blue jacket and hurried to help him, letting out a gasp of horror when she saw the clotted blood through an awkward-looking bandage around his left arm. But this was no time for talk; she set at once to work and was relieved, when she removed the bandage, to find that the bleeding was from a clean sabre cut.

  “You see,” he said, clenching his teeth as she gently sponged the wound. “I told you it was nothing. Ah, that feels better. What an admirable woman you are, to be sure. Not a question yet?”

  She laughed with relief at his stronger tone. “I have no doubt you will tell me what you wish me to know in your own good time. For now, I would rather see you in bed than talking. You must be fatigued to death.”

  “I am a little weary,” he admitted, “since I have been riding all night, but, tell me, you do not expect company?”

  “Oh, I forgot. Dom Fernando is coming. He has positively haunted us since you have been gone, Lavenham, and is coming to see we are not unduly fatigued by the bullfight we went to this afternoon.”

  “A bullfight! But you shall tell me about that later. In the meantime, you must help me to my clothes. If he is coming, I must see him. No one—I tell you no one, not even Chloe, chatterbox that she is—must know that I am wounded.”

  Now she could not forbear a question. “But, Lavenham, why?”

  “Because I have been where I should not have. Tell me, does the wound on my head show?”

  “On your head?” She had finished binding up his arm now and noticed for the first time the place where his dark curls were matted together. Gently probing, she found an enormous lump which, luckily, had bled only a little so that she was able by gentle bathing with spirits of lavender to remove all traces of it. By the time she had finished, a servant appeared with a tray of food and Camilla was able to appreciate her husband’s forethought in making her hide away the bloodstained bandages as she worked. Lavenham, in a clean shirt over his dusty buckskins, merely looked as if he was tired out with travelling. Camilla was the devoted wife bathing his temples with lavender water. When the man had gone and she had seen Lavenham take his first few hungry bites, and a good draught of wine, Camilla ventured another question.

  “But where is Jenks?” she asked. For Lavenham’s valet had accompanied him on the journey, as well as several Portuguese servants.

  He put down his fork. “Dead, I am afraid. We were taken by surprise. I thought no one knew where we were. No one should have. Jenks was on the box; an easy mark. I was able to use the coach as a defence—I do not think they had looked for so stout a resistance. At all events, when I killed their leader, they soon took to their heels, and I was able to avail myself of his horse, since the carriage was useless.”

  “And the other servants?” She kept her voice calm, aware that any exclamation from her would be intolerable to him in his exhausted state.

  “One dead, the others fled. We shall not see them again. Nor, I hope, will they come back to Lisbon to tell tales of the enc
ounter.”

  “But, Lavenham.” Now that he had eaten she must ask it “Who? Why?”

  “Who but the French? It would suit their book very well to have me out of the way. They know, I am afraid, more than I could wish about the real purpose of my coming to Portugal.”

  “The real purpose? Is it not, then, to help Lord Strangford in his negotiations?”

  “Not entirely. I suppose I should have told you sooner, but it is a secret to be shared by as few as possible. No, my main purpose in coming is to get in touch with the various military agents in this country and in Spain, to get what information and make what preparations are possible against the outbreak of war with France. I am not, you must know, quite the do-nothing I must have seemed, but have had to play the court butterfly to conceal the real purpose of my coming.”

  “I see. And these journeys of yours—”

  “To meet the various agents. This time I have been to Spain. I only wish I knew who blew the affair to the French. I have been beginning to wonder, for some time past, whether Dom Fernando was quite the friend of Britain he would have one think.”

  “He has certainly been most anxious for news of your whereabouts, and has positively haunted the house for tidings of you. To tell truth, I was quite glad Chloe and I did not know where you were, or it would have been hard, without rudeness, to have concealed it.”

  To her moved surprise he took her hand and kissed it “I owe you many apologies, Camilla, for having done you less than justice, and you are generosity itself not to chide me for leaving you so in the dark. But you, with your good sense, will realise, I am sure, that it was not a secret to be entrusted lightly to a stranger.”

  She managed a laugh. “What a mortal inconvenience it must have been to you to find yourself saddled with a parcel of females.”

  “Not altogether.” He considered it. “You and Chloe have provided me with a most admirable cover, and will, I hope, continue to do so. Though I am afraid you will find it harder now that you know what you are doing.”

  “Yes, I shall be anxious about you. As for Chloe, of course she must know nothing of this. And now, if you are convinced you must give Dom Fernando the meeting, I had best act valet, and find you your evening dress. Is there none of the servants you could trust to help you?”

  I think not. But if you will find me what I need and leave me to my struggles, I can, I think, make shift to dress myself. And indeed, I shall have to, for there, if I mistake not, is Dom Fernando now. Go to him please, and tell him I am a trifle fatigued from travelling but will join him forthwith.”

  “Very well, and for good measure, I will tell him I am quite exhausted with the bullfight and have the headache, and if that does not shift him soon, do not be surprised if I suffer a public attack of the vapours. After all, a bullfight is a trying experience for an English young lady.”

  “Admirable girl.” He pressed her hand gratefully. “But have you a headache?”

  “Not the least in the world. I have never felt better—since you are safe home.” And then, colouring fiercely at her own unexpected vehemence, she left him hurriedly and ran down the shallow marble stair to the great salon, where she found Dom Fernando awaiting her.

  After assuring himself, and her, that she was in most remarkable looks and clearly none the worse for her exhausting day, he came quickly to the point. Complimenting her on her colour, he continued archly. “But I am not coxcomb enough to think you fly these flags on my account. I understand that milord is most happily returned. I hope you have chided him for his long absence from so charming a bride.”

  “Oh yes.” She gave her best imitation of Chloe’s laugh. “I have read him a fine lecture and he is a chastened man. He is making himself presentable, for indeed he was sadly travel-stained, and bids me tell you he will be with you directly. What a fortunate thing that so good a friend should be here to welcome him home.”

  He made her a gallant rejoinder, and she continued to keep the stream of small talk alive, while all her thoughts were with Lavenham. Would he really be able to shrug his wounded arm into his dress jacket? Not for the first time, she congratulated herself that he was not one of the town dandies who insisted on a fit so rigorous that it was impossible to put on their own clothes. But time was passing.

  “I trust,” Dom Fernando said, “that milord is none the worse for his journey. You are wishing me no doubt at the devil for troubling your reunion, but I must just wait long enough to welcome him home. That is, if you think him well enough to see me?”

  “Well enough? But why should he not be? I hope he is not such a weakling as to be tired out by a long day’s journeying, though he is, in truth, more than a little fatigued and I shall certainly do my best to ensure that he retires early.”

  “I am sure you will.” And then, seeing her colour, he changed the subject. “But, tell me, where is the charming Mademoiselle Chloe? I trust that she is not worn out with the exertions of her day, or disgusted with me for taking her to the bullfight.”

  “Oh no.” For some time no anxiety for Chloe had been mingled with that for Lavenham. What could be keeping her out so long? “She is out, I think, walking in the garden.”

  “In the garden? So late?” And indeed a servant had just brought in candles which made the terrace and garden below suddenly a place of twilight shadows. Camilla moved restlessly over to the window, while throwing back over her shoulder to Dom Fernando: “I know you must think our English girls sadly unprotected, but Chloe will come to no harm in our own garden.” She only wished she was sure of it. “Ah, here she comes.” And she opened the folding door that led on to the terrace to call, “Chloe, what are you doing out in the dew so late? Here is your brother home, and Dom Fernando come to enquire after our health.”

  “Oh!” Chloe’s moue was for the second half of the sentence. She had clearly been intending to skirt round the house and go in by the other door, but now came reluctantly up the terrace steps, where candlelight from indoors caught golden lights in her tousled curls and showed up the brilliance of her complexion and the rich red of the roses she carried. Pausing in the doorway, she greeted Dom Fernando with what Camilla could only think deplorable casualness and then looked about her. “But where is Lee?”

  “Here.” He appeared in the doorway, dead pale but erect and with a courteous speech of welcome for Dom Fernando and a quick smile for Chloe, who, Camilla saw, was about to rush towards him for one of the quick fierce embraces he tolerated from her. But not tonight. Camilla caught the hand that was not full of roses. “Your brother is tired, Chloe. He has been riding all day. And you, my love, are in no state to see company. I beg you will tidy your hair and your dress before you rejoin us.” Thus positively commanded, Chloe made a little rebellious face for Camilla alone, smiled brilliantly at Lavenham, and withdrew, with the merest sketch of a curtsy for Dom Fernando.

  He was already pressing Lavenham with courteous questions about his long absence. His friends had missed him ... Had he found the roads passable? ... Had his business not taken him longer than he had expected? ... One must hope that at least it had proved prosperous ... And so on, with each half question circling closer to the crux of the matter—the purpose of Lavenham’s journey.

  To Camilla’s relief, a servant interrupted one of Lavenham’s courteous, vague replies by appearing with the wine and cakes she had ordered, and she made a little business of being sure that the men were served with what they liked best, then took advantage of the interruption to change the subject, bursting into an exclamatory description of Dom Fernando’s kindness during Lavenham’s absence and then proceeding to a detailed and falsely enthusiastic description of the bullfight. Dom Fernando listened with his usual grave politeness, then returned to the attack. If they had only known milord was to return today, they might have extended their journey to ride out and meet him. Or was he wrong in assuming that milord had come from south of the river?

  Lavenham laughed and parried the question by replying that he had been
in no mood to be met by a party of pleasure. “Your roads and your inns do not leave one in festive spirit.”

  The men’s glasses were empty. Camilla rose to her feet to replenish them, hoping that this would give Dom Fernando his cue to leave, but he let her fill his glass and sipped at it absentmindedly as he returned to his questioning. Lavenham, too, was drinking quickly, and a little flush of colour had mounted in his cheeks. Camilla, who knew him to be moderate to the point of abstemiousness, watched anxiously and was relieved when Chloe danced back into the room, her crumpled muslin changed for a fresh one, her golden curls agleam with brushing. But the distraction she provided was only half successful, for she, too, wanted to know where her brother had been and what had kept him so long away. Since her questions were put in English, Dom Fernando could not, presumably, understand them, though Camilla, watching his absorbed expression, found herself wondering whether his ignorance of English was as complete as he had led her to suppose.