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Cecília blew out a breath, brushing her skirt self-consciously, though John had assured her—multiple times—that everything looked entirely in order before she left. She had wavered slightly from her original plan, but she had still gotten a promise to stay away, so she’d done what she’d set out to do, even if she’d allowed herself to get sidetracked. She only needed to worry about keeping her own head out of a noose.
She turned the corner to her own hallway and stopped dead. Especially since he had been given his new noble status, Senhor Carvalho had been a rare sight around Cecília and Tio Aloisio’s rooms. Sending someone with an invitation to see him was a far more proper transaction between a count and a merchant, no matter how long they had been acquainted. Yet there the man was, making it as impossible for Cecília to pass as if a brick wall had suddenly appeared.
His sharp eyes hit her as she stood frozen in place. “Ah, Senhorita Durante. I was just inquiring after your uncle, but it seems he is out. Perhaps you would favor me with your company instead?”
For as light and honestly kind as the words sounded, they made her stomach bottom out. Not now. Whether he truly had been more interested in speaking to Tio Aloisio or not, there would be no escaping giving a report if she was with Senhor Carvalho. And as quickly as her mind was racing, she couldn’t think of a thing to tell him. Though she had not dared disobey the specifics of the first minister’s orders, diligently attending daily service, she certainly hadn’t done what he truly wanted. Most days, she was halfway out the door before the priest had closed his mouth from bidding them requiescant in pace. If she didn’t loiter, there was little chance she would hear anything worth reporting. Where that left her when the first minister wanted information, though, she hadn’t yet worked out. It was too late. With no other choice, she curtsied deeply and followed as Senhor Carvalho turned for his office.
What little color she’d had in her face was no doubt long gone by the time she reached the first minister’s office. As desperately as she tried to work out something that would allow her to escape the man’s ire, all she could picture was the executioner tightening the noose around her neck. How did Luís... She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought. Galant or idiotic, Luís’s convictions had allowed him to face his own death with solemn purpose. Cecília couldn’t find anything close to that.
Senhor Carvalho didn’t speak until they had made it to his office. “Please sit.” He motioned at the offered chair as he took his own chair-throne.
Cecília forced herself to perch on the edge of the smaller chair, feeling about the size of a five-year-old.
He shuffled through some papers on his desk, quickly finding what he wanted. His eyes ran over whatever was written there even as he addressed her. “You’ll forgive me if I jump straight to business today?”
“I...” Cecília took a breath to steady herself. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to report, senhor. I’ve been attending Mass every day, as you directed, but I haven’t heard anything that sounds dangerous. A little grumbling about the new grand inquisitor, general statements about the state of Lisbon’s soul, but you have complete control of the court.”
Senhor Carvalho’s blue eyes came up, pinning her in place as he seemed to read her thoughts one by one before he spoke again. “Is that so?”
Something about the way he asked the question made Cecília feel as if she was walking into a trap, but she said, “Yes, Minister.”
“You haven’t heard anything of interest.”
“Senhor, truly, I’ve been listening, but—”
“What can you tell me about your brother?”
Cecília jerked in surprise, having to catch herself before she did anything else he would no doubt see. “Francisco?”
Senhor Carvalho seemed to interpret the question as rhetorical—his eyes continued to drill into her.
“He doesn’t write to me these days,” she continued carefully, saying the absolute truth. Since Bibiana had taken her vows, Francisco hadn’t written a word to either Cecília or Tio Aloisio. “But I imagine he’s still doing his ministry work in Brazil?”
“Oh no.” Senhor Carvalho turned the paper in his hands around for her to see. “He’s gone missing. Sources who would know state that he was last seen attempting to board a ship bound for Lisbon.”
Cecília tried to keep her breathing steady as it became harder and harder to draw air. Dear Lord, Cisco. What are you—
“You wouldn’t know anything about that?” Senhor Carvalho motioned with the paper.
“I just said, he doesn’t write to—”
“He writes to the priests,” Senhor Carvalho snapped, his tone rising as close to a shout as Cecília had ever heard. “He writes to those cursed men still clinging to the idea that Malagrida is anything but a mad, backward buffoon. Tell me, senhorita, how I know that, and his own sister is entirely in the dark on that matter.”
“I-I...” Cecília pulled on whatever remaining thread she still had keeping her together, shock and exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her. “I swear, Minister, on my dear father’s soul, I didn’t know. I hadn’t heard—”
“You are no use to me, Senhorita Durante, if you refuse to open your ears and listen.”
“Please—”
“You will be keeping the Hours.” He jabbed his finger at her. “You will be in that chapel every time those bells ring. I don’t care if you need to sleep there to do so. You will be there, and you will not leave until you have something useful to tell me. Believe me when I say that this is your very last chance unless you wish for us to revisit our last discussion. Is that clear?”
“Yes, senhor,” she whispered.
“Do not try my patience, Senhorita Durante. You will find it has worn very thin.”
“Yes, senhor.”
“You may go.”
“Yes, senhor. Thank you, senhor,” she said, her voice so breathy that Heavens knew if he could even hear her before she scrambled up from her chair, not able to care that she must have looked like a frightened mouse.
She stepped back into the hall but only made it halfway to her rooms before the shaking caught up to her. She placed her back to the wall, taking shallow gulps of air as she tried to pull herself back together. They only came faster and faster, not allowing for any true breath as her already shaking fingers began to tingle.
“Senhorita Durante?” Senhor Ventura’s voice sounded somewhere nearby.
Dear Lord, why? She couldn’t lift her head.
“Senhorita Durante.” A pair of boots stopped in front of her. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head, trying to draw enough breath to remain upright let alone speak.
“Senhorita Durante?”
Slowly, she managed to find that little thread she’d been clinging to, though tears felt far too close to the surface. She blinked quickly, trying to force them back as she met Senhor Ventura’s dark eyes. “I’m sorry. I...” She fought to swallow. “I just got some bad news.”
His eyebrows pulled together, genuine concern playing over his face. “Is it anything I could assist with?”
Another man was offering to help without knowing just what that help would risk. She shook her head as she struggled to find something safe to say. She ended up with, “My brother has gone missing.”
“Your brother?”
“My elder brother. Father Durante. He was on a mission to Brazil. Now he’s disappeared, and no one seems to know...” She sucked in a sharp breath as she tried not to fall right back into an attack. “I don’t know where he is or if he’s hurt...”
Senhor Ventura continued to watch her with the same expression, but he at least didn’t offer any empty platitudes. “I will add him to my prayers.”
“Thank you.” She dropped her eyes, the statement so familiar and yet oddly foreign, leaving her even more off-balance. How did you not already think to pray for him?
“Would you like to come to the office to take your mind off of things?” he asked after a beat. “I just started the plans for how we’re going to rebuild the damaged side of Junqueira Prison.”
Dear Lord, the prison was the last thing she needed to think about. She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, senhor, but I think I need to lie down. I feel a little faint.”
“Of course. Would you like me to walk you?”
“I think I can make it.”
Senhor Ventura looked at her for a final moment before he stepped back with a short bow. “Please don’t hesitate to fetch me if you find any need of me.”
“Thank you, Senhor Ventura,” Cecília said, though she had zero intention of doing so. She watched him move toward the architects’ office to start what was no doubt going to be a much less complicated day than anything she would have been able to manage.