September drifted into October. Juana woke each morning in her new turret room to see the castle islanded in autumn mist, so that it seemed more than ever a fairy place, cut off from the real world.
‘Iago says this is Sebastian’s weather.’ Maria was brushing Juana’s hair by the open window.
‘Sebastian?’
‘You know, senhora. The lost king who will come again when things are at the worst, and save us. Iago says he has slept for two hundred years on a secret island somewhere out there in the ocean. If the French really invade, he will sail up the Tagus with a fleet and drive them out.’
‘Surely you don’t believe that, Maria?’
‘I don’t know. On a morning like this, anything seems possible. And they all believe it down in the valley. He’ll come here first, you know.’
‘Here?’
‘Don’t you know the story? He never married, poor King Sebastian, but there was a Spanish lady, here, at the Castle on the Rock. She was the last person he visited before he sailed away to Morocco, and, they say, when he comes back, he will come here first to look for her. Who knows? Perhaps he will find her. Perhaps she is sleeping down there in the cliff somewhere, and will wake when his ship sails into the cove. And then, you see, senhora, one kiss and he will mount his horse and ride away to beat the French as they have never been beaten before. That’s why no one’s doing anything, don’t you see? They’re waiting …’
Juana sighed. What was the use of arguing? She was beginning to hope that Maria and Iago would make a match of it, and if this meant that Maria must share her future husband’s superstitions, she felt she had best not interfere. Besides, she thought, running down the winding stair to her grandmother’s rooms below, Maria’s idea was not much more fantastic than the situation it explained. Almost a month had ebbed away since the French ultimatum had expired and the ambassadors had left, and, simply, nothing had happened. Dom John was still at Mafra and Carlota Joaquina at Ramalhao; the old mad queen wailed up and down the orange walks at Queluz and, according to Senhor Macarao, who went there most weeks, life in Lisbon went on as usual: ‘But the English are beginning to leave.’
Was there a note of warning in his voice? There might well be. She seemed caught up in the general inertia. It was more than two weeks since Vasco had asked her to marry him and still she had decided nothing. When she tried to think about it, to think about Vasco, there was nothing but a strange blankness. When she was with him, it had been easy to imagine marrying him; now he was gone, it seemed quite fantastic. But she must decide soon, for all their sakes. Which meant, surely, that she must decide to marry him.
She put it off from day to day. There was always a good reason. After all, a French invasion had been threatened the year before and nothing had come of it. Might not Napoleon change his mind once again and march off in some quite different direction? The news of the British bombardment of Copenhagen and seizure of the Danish fleet, though it shocked her deeply, yet had its element of hope. It might rouse Napoleon to turn that way and give the unlucky Danes a lesson in neutrality. Surely she could wait for the news that a French army of invasion had actually started before making up her mind? Besides, she could not marry Vasco withing telling him of her connection with the Sons of the Star, and she could not possibly do that without first warning Gair Varlow. It was a relief to have decided this, though she knew in her heart that once again she was merely making excuses.
The grape harvest had begun, and provided her with an admirable pretext for avoiding the anxious, questioning glances that haunted her in the castle. Since her grandmother’s illness, she had found herself, inevitably, acting as Senhor Macarao’s final authority, and spent much of her time down in the valley watching the great baskets of grapes brought in to the press. It was just part of the general madness of things that she was at the same time thinking of marrying Vasco, who would help with the estate, and almost in the same mental breath imagining herself fleeing to England as the French invaded. Who would run things then? She supposed Roberto or Pedro would have to come home, but they had not been to the castle since August. Even the news of their grandmother’s illness had brought merely letters of apology and condolence. No doubt they were entirely occupied in helping their royal master and mistress respectively to do nothing.
There was no sign of Gair either as the bright October days drew on and the gallegos down in the valley were once more at work treading the ice-cold must. Senhor Macarao, returning from Lisbon, reported that the English were now leaving in droves – They are paying as much as £1,200 for a family’s passage.’
Once again the remark held a warning, but she had her answer to herself ready now. She could do nothing till she had talked to Gair. He must be busy helping to arrange for the repatriation of the English; but was bound to visit her on the day after the next meeting. The full moon was on October 16th. She would make up her mind on the 17th.
It meant making Vasco wait a whole month for his answer and something in her was frightened at this. At last, under pressure from Miguel, she wrote him a note of explanation and apology. Of course she could not give the true reasons for her delay, but there were plenty of false ones. Her grandmother was so ill … she herself was busy beyond thought directing the vintage … she was thinking, deeply, about him … she hoped he would forgive it and understand her delay …
Sending Iago off with the letter, she found herself wondering whether it might not bring Vasco back in person to plead his suit once more. If he came, if he touched her with those incendiary hands, would she forget everything, forget what she owed to Gair, forget her own doubts and yield to him?
She did not know whether she was glad or sorry when Iago returned to report that Senhor de Mascarenhas had been away from home, but that his servants had promised he would be sent the letter without delay. ‘They seemed to expect it, senhora.’
Of course they did. But Vasco would expect a definite answer. Suddenly, she remembered the moment, at their last meeting, when he had exploded into rage. She was glad she would not be there when he read her temporising letter.
She had grown almost used to going down the winding stair by now, but when she slid back the secret panel for the October meeting, she was at once conscious of a new tension in the air.
‘… just returned from Bayonne,’ the leader was saying. ‘Junot arrived there the day before I did, to take command of the French army. He had messages for me from Napoleon. We have the Emperor’s promise, Brothers.’
‘His promise of what, exactly?’ Juana was sure this was the Brother of the Silver Serpent even before she saw the emblem on his hood.
‘That as soon as they have Portugal under control, they will hand over to us.’
‘And what must we do in exchange?’
‘See to it that their entry to the country is unopposed. And that, evidently, is to our own advantage. Without bloodshed, with the royal family gone to Brazil, we have the ideal opportunity to give Portugal, at last, a democratic government.’
There was an enthusiastic murmur round the table. But, ‘Without bloodshed?’ asked the Brother of the Silver Hand.
‘With as little as possible,’ qualified the leader. ‘We all know that there are some enemies of Portugal who must be disposed of before we can begin to think of freedom. You know your duties, Brothers. On the day Dom John goes aboard ship you strike, each your appointed victim. In the meantime, it is understood that we each, in our own way, do all we can to help in the French invasion. First, of course, we deny that it is happening. Napoleon himself intends to leave for Italy in order to throw dust in his enemies’ eyes. We will make much of this. We will stress that last year the French threatened to come, and did not. Then, when the news of their invasion can no longer be denied, we insist that the French will have the mountains to cross … the weather will be against them … how can they get here before winter sets in? You, Brother of the Broken Cross, will keep Dom John at Mafra as long as you possibly can. When he does come to Lisbon, it must be simply to embark with the fleet.’
‘And his life will be spared?’ The Brother of the Broken Cross rose to his feet. ‘He’s a good enough man, in his way.’
‘If he leaves for Brazil, he is safe. The same goes for his wife and all their family. But if any of them stay behind, for whatever reason, whether by chance or by design, the Brother responsible for them knows his duty. We cannot let any squeamish scruples stand between Portugal and her day of freedom.’
‘Will there be free elections?’ asked the Brother of the Broken Cross.
‘As soon as the country is ready for them.’ It seemed a doubtful enough promise to Juana, but the Brothers greeted it with a shout of approval. There was little further business. Questioned by the Brother of the Ragged Staff the leader said he did not know exactly how soon the French Army planned to march. ‘Very likely we will have one more meeting, Brothers, here in secret, before we emerge into the light of day, masters of our country. And now, we meet only to part …’
Juana slid the secret panel shut. One more meeting. It was more than time that she made up her mind. She would tell Gair everything when he came next day. Somehow, in doing so, she felt she would come to a decision.
She made an excuse, next morning, not to go down to the Pleasant Valley, where the vintage was almost finished. When Gair arrived, she would suggest they ride down there together. In the meantime, she sat with Daisy and Teresa in the Ladies’ Parlour and pretended to learn a new speech from Shakespeare’s plays: ‘If it were done when ’tis done …’ Daisy had suggested it: ‘If you can do that, with all its “t”s and “d”s, you can do anything.’
But it was hard to concentrate today, knowing that Junot was with the French army ready to strike. Or might they not have marched already? It must have taken the leader some little time to get back from Bayonne. How did she know the French had not been close behind him?
Elvira drifted into the room; ‘I hear the sound of galloping hoofs. Danger threatens—’
‘You’ll never rhyme with that,’ said Teresa cheerfully.
‘Someone is coming!’ Daisy jumped up and ran to the window that overlooked the central courtyard. ‘It’s Pedro and Roberto!’
‘At last.’ Teresa joined her at the window. ‘But they’re not coming up here.’
‘They’re going to their father’s rooms,’ Daisy said. ‘I wonder what that means.’
‘So do I.’ They exchanged a long glance.
Time ebbed and flowed and still there was no sign of the two young men. At last, Daisy rose and left the room. Returning: ‘I’ve been round the cloisters,’ she said. ‘There’s a terrible argument going on up in Uncle Prospero’s rooms. You can hear them from the courtyard; all of them; shouting. What do you think it’s about?’
‘Us, I hope,’ said Teresa.
Juana hoped so too, but could not help being afraid they were talking about her. Suppose Dom John had revoked his certificate of citizenship … Or, more likely, suppose the others had come round to Miguel and Vasco’s way of thinking: had decided it was worthless. Any minute, they might appear and press her for a decision. And Gair had not come. She had not made up her mind.
‘Here they come,’ said Daisy. ‘Is my hair tidy?’ She joined Teresa at a big tarnished looking-glass.
‘Miguel’s with them,’ said Teresa. ‘I can hear his voice.’
The four men entered the Ladies’ Parlour and Roberto and Pedro went straight to Teresa and Daisy. Prospero looked red with anger, Juana saw, and Miguel even paler than usual. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Bad news,’ Miguel told her. ‘Roberto has secret information that the French army of invasion has marched from Bayonne, with Junot at its head. The moment of decision has come, Juana. And God has sent you His warning. Do you remember the day the earth shook?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ It had been a very small earthquake, but had panicked Manuela and Estella.
‘That was the day Junot left the Tuileries to join the army. It is the writing on the wall. Portugal is doomed. There is nothing left but prayer.’
‘That’s not what my sons think.’ Prospero had calmed down somewhat. ‘Juana! These ridiculous boys want to get married at once. What do you think of that?’
How odd it was to be consulted as if she were a power in the family. She was aware of Daisy and Teresa anxiously watching her. Prospero had spoken in Portuguese, but doubtless their lovers had explained the situation. ‘It seems a good idea to me,’ she said, in English.
‘We must,’ said Pedro. ‘I have to go to Spain tomorrow on my mistress’s errand. I cannot leave things here like this.’
‘And God knows when I’ll be able to get away from Mafra again,’ said Roberto.
‘But if Dom John knows the French have marched?’ Juana asked in Portuguese. ‘Won’t he do something? Come to Queluz at least?’
‘I don’t know.’ Roberto too spoke in Portuguese, then translated quickly into English for Teresa. ‘He’s keeping the news secret. For my sake you must say nothing about it. And it seems to make no difference to him. Only God knows what will become of us all.’
‘Yes,’ said Miguel, ‘so let us trust in God.’
‘But let us act for ourselves,’ said Pedro. ‘Daisy agrees.’
‘So does Teresa,’ said Roberto. ‘It will be a strange sort of wedding, my poor love, since I must ride back to Mafra this afternoon, but at least you will have the protection of my name.’ He turned to Juana. ‘Where is Father Ignatius?’
‘Father – ?’ She looked at Pedro. ‘He never came back.’
‘If you really insist,’ Prospero seemed to have given in. ‘We must send to Sintra for a priest.’
‘Yes,’ said Miguel. ‘And, while you are sending – if this madness is toward – Juana, why not send for Senhor de Mascarenhas?’
‘Send?’ She was appalled at the suggestion.
‘For your cousin. Pedro and Roberto are right, you know. I may not approve, but I understand. This is the way to safety for you Englishwomen. Junot is not a man to be trifled with, Juana. He’s a man of the people, rough, determined. No use showing him a piece of paper and saying in your singer’s voice: “But I’m Portuguese.” He would kill himself laughing; kill you, very likely, and take the castle. And where does that leave the rest of us?’
Where indeed? Juana caught Roberto’s eye fixed anxiously on her. She had made him promise to tell no one of her plan to share the estate with him and Pedro, and thought he had kept his word, but could well understand that he must think this the time to come out with it. And after all, why not? She no longer deluded herself that there was any hope of her grandmother’s recovering. The old lady was dwindling from day to day. It could only be a question of weeks now. And Senhor Gonçalves had said, even before this illness, that he did not think a new will would stand, if she should decide to make one.
She looked around. They were her family. She could not really understand why she had not told them sooner. It would simplify everything. If she could sign a document, now, making over her rights in the castle to her cousins, the question of her marrying Vasco need, not enter into it. She could decide about him purely, selfishly even. The castle would be safe, and she a free agent. ‘Uncle,’ she spoke to Miguel, who had kept his pale gaze fixed on her, ‘it’s not like that. There’s something I ought to tell you – should have told you sooner, perhaps.’ She had meant to consult Gair before she decided anything. It was too late now. She plunged into her explanation, in Portuguese, with a parenthetical apology for Daisy and Teresa: ‘I can’t d … d … I can’t manage in English.’ Concluding, she turned from Miguel to Prospero: ‘So if we send for Senhor Gonçalves at once,’ she said, ‘I’m sure he can draw up some kind of document that will protect us all.’
Miguel’s voice drowned Pedro’s and Roberto’s as they translated rapidly for the girls’ benefit: ‘Have you consulted Senhor de Mascarenhas about this?’
‘No. Why should I? I shall tell him, of course, when I see him.’
‘I think you should tell him first,’ said Miguel.
‘I would if I could.’ She wondered if this was true. ‘But he’s away. I have not had an answer yet to the letter I wrote him. And you yourself say there is no time to be lost.’
‘Yes,’ said Prospero. ‘If you really mean this, Juana, I think we should act on it at once. I must say, it’s a most generous …’
She missed the rest of his speech of thanks because Daisy and Teresa flung their arms around her neck to kiss and thank her. The little scene was interrupted by Jaime, announcing Gair Varlow.
‘Goodness,’ said Daisy. ‘You’ll need to tell him too, Juana.’
‘Yes,’ said Teresa, ‘but he was courting Juana before there was any question of the castle.’ She laughed and shook her blonde curls. ‘What a dark horse you are, Juana.’
Miguel had been giving quick orders to Jaime. ‘I’ll write a note to Gonçalves,’ he said. ‘The priest from Sintra will get here first, but you had best delay your marriages until the lawyer arrives.’
‘Marriages?’ Gair Varlow had followed Jaime into the crowded room. ‘Who am I to congratulate?’ He could be relied on to speak English when Daisy and Teresa were present.
‘Me,’ said Daisy.
‘And me,’ said Teresa.
‘Or rather, my brother and I,’ said Roberto. ‘Perhaps you will stay, Senhor Varlow, and honour us with your presence at our joint wedding?’ And then, to Prospero, ‘As for the lawyer, we will wait as long as possible, but I must get back to Mafra tonight.’
‘And I to Ramalhao,’ said Pedro. ‘I leave for Spain tomorrow.’
‘You are indeed marrying in haste,’ said Gair.
‘Not, I hope, to repent at leisure,’ broke in Teresa.
‘No, indeed.’ Roberto’s quelling look reminded the others that they must not speak of the French invasion.
‘I wonder,’ Gair pursued the point. ‘Does this mean that there is some truth in the story I have heard that your master, Dom John, is about to sign a decree closing Portuguese ports to English ships?’
‘You are well informed, senhor.’ Roberto looked relieved. This was a question he could answer. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it is true, the order will be signed any time now. That is partly why I am here today. It is the moment of decision for the few English who remain in this country. Fortunately my cousin Juana need no longer be considered as English, since my master has declared her Portuguese.’
‘You think it will hold?’ Gair asked.
‘For an individual, yes. For the owner of an immense property, I’m not sure. But, cousin’ – he turned to Juana – ‘have I your permission to tell Senhor Varlow of your most generous offer?’
‘Why not?’ She realised, with bitter amusement, that Daisy and Teresa were all agog to see how Gair would take the discovery that she was not to be an heiress after all. How much more comic it would be if they knew he was not her suitor, that all the courtship of this long year had been nothing but an elaborate, intolerable charade. Still, at least, he had wooed her – pretended to woo her – for reasons of state, not for sordid considerations of money and land. It brought her up suddenly against the question of Vasco. Had she been foolish not to think that he might be courting her partly (wholly?, asked a voice at the back of her mind) for the castle? Had Gair’s pretended courtship blinded her to the possibility of another one?
But she must get Gair alone to tell him the news of last night’s meeting. For once, this proved easy enough. He had agreed to stay and witness the weddings and since there was no chance of the lawyer arriving before dinner time she was able to suggest, as she had planned, that he ride down the Pleasant Valley with her.
‘The French army has marched,’ she told him as soon as they were out of earshot of the castle. ‘Under Junot. The Sons of the Star had the news last night; Roberto brought it this morning. Apparently Dom John knows, but means to keep it a secret. God knows why.’
‘I can imagine plenty of reasons,’ said Gair. ‘None of them to his credit. But, Juana, it makes me more anxious than ever about you. And this handing over the castle to your cousins: do you think that was wise?’
‘Why not? It safeguards me better than anything, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t know. There’s something special about the Castle on the Rock – something I’ve never quite understood. More, I’ve thought, than its connection with the Sons of the Star. Your grandmother said something one day – if only she could speak. Is there any hope?’
‘None, I’m afraid. It’s only a question of time now. But, Gair, about the castle. Maria told me something odd the other day. She and Iago are very thick these days – I’m sure he must have told her. You know how superstitious he is. Anyway, she told me, quite seriously, that this was the last place the lost King Sebastian visited before he sailed for Morocco. She and Iago think he’ll come here first when he returns to save Portugal. You know the story?’
‘Of course. But why here?’
‘There was a lady, Maria says. He visited her last thing and will come to her when he returns. Maria thinks she is asleep somewhere in the caverns below the castle, waiting for him. He’ll come sailing out of the mist, she says, and land in the cove down there. Really, when she was telling me, and staring out at the sea mist – you know what these October mornings are like – she almost had me convinced that we’d see a sixteenth-century galleon come sailing into the cove. Or would he have got himself a modern ship, do you think?’
‘God knows what they expect. But it’s no laughing matter, Juana. It’s not only Maria and Iago who believe this foolishness.’
‘I know. Maria told me. They all believe it down in the Valley.’
‘Yes, and elsewhere too. Up and down the country the peasants are waiting for Sebastian to come again and save them from the French. We’ve had reports from all around. It’s not natural. Someone must have revived the old superstition for their own ends, but why? That’s what we can’t find out. But I had no idea there was a connection between Sebastian and the Castle on the Rock. That puts a new complexion on things. His mistress is supposed to be sleeping somewhere down in the caverns, you say?’
‘That’s what Maria says. Do you think there can be a connection with the Sons of the Star?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering. But what would it be? They’ve never mentioned Sebastian?’
‘No. There’s nothing exactly superstitious about them. It’s just a lot of ritual and mumbo-jumbo.’
‘Don’t underestimate them, Juana. It’s too dangerous. And, of course, they’d use Sebastianism if it suited their book. Which it well might, if only to keep the country quiet while the French take over. If the Portuguese are waiting for a supernatural saviour … And he’s to come here to the castle first? I don’t like that. Have you thought what might happen when the English squadron arrives as, please God, it will any day now. Suppose the peasants think it’s Sebastian to the rescue? Anything might happen. Juana, if Dom John closes the ports, this week’s Falmouth packet will be the last one. I think you must be on it. Lord Strangford will get you a passage.’
‘But, Gair, the next meeting? It may be vital.’
‘Your safety is more so. And, besides, I’ve thought of that. We’re of a height, you and I. Remember Viola and Sebastian. And you say voices aren’t recognisable in the cavern. What’s to stop me dressing in your robes and acting, that once, as Handmaiden of the Star? You can show me the way down before you go, and teach me the words.’
‘Gair, you’d do that for me?’
‘Of course. After all, you’ve done it for me all this time.’
‘Not at all. I’ve done it for my grandmother. And that’s the difficulty, Gair. I don’t see how I can leave her now, sick as she is.’
‘Nonsense. Your step-sisters can look after her. After all, they’re marrying into the family.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’ Was she making excuses again? ‘When does the packet sail?’
‘Tomorrow or the next day. You must decide quickly, Juana. I will have to make the arrangements at once. Believe me, it’s the only thing to do.’
‘Gair, it’s too soon. I can’t.’
‘Why not? You admit that your step-sisters can look after the old lady. You’ve given up your inheritance here, and I respect you for it. You’ve often said you were homesick for England. Now’s your chance to go home. You must see, Juana, that when the Sons of the Star find themselves betrayed they are going to look everywhere for the traitor. I tell you, it’s not safe for you to stay.’
‘But if they are destroyed?’
‘You’re not thinking. What chance have we of destroying them all? With luck, and a detachment of Royal Marines, we may be able to deal with their headquarters here before the French arrive, but that still leaves the branches in the rest of the country. And, remember, the French will protect them.’
‘Yes. They think the French are going to hand over the government to them.’
‘They won’t, of course.’ It was time to turn back up the Pleasant Valley. ‘But either way you are in danger. If it’s a question of what to do when you get back to England, Vanessa will be really glad to have you. I had another letter from her by the packet. Forland’s obviously very far from well … and there’s the child on the way … She wants you to name your own terms—’
‘I shan’t be entirely penniless, you know, if I decide to go. I’m not touched in the head. I shall take an income from the estate here. That’s one of the things the lawyer will have to arrange.’
‘You’ll hardly get that when the French take over.’
‘You keep talking as if they are bound to.’
‘I’m afraid they are. It’s not like you to refuse to face facts, Juana. The best we can hope for now is that the royal family get safe away to Brazil to act as a rallying point for the future.’
‘And that, it seems, the Sons of the Star intend to allow. It’s even what they want.’
‘Yes. Don’t you see, it’s possible that our best plan would be to let the Sons of the Star continue … to let them find out just how hollow Napoleon’s promises are. Who knows? In a year’s time, they themselves may provide the backbone of the revolt.’
‘You mean, there may not be a detachment of Marines at their next meeting?’
‘Nothing’s decided yet. We don’t even know when the British squadron will get here. That’s why you must leave on the packet, Juana.’
They were back where they had started from. ‘But I can’t. There’s someone I have to see first.’
He pounced on it. ‘Now we are coming to it. Who do you have to see that is more important than liberty, than life perhaps?
‘She was in for it now. ‘It’s my cousin Vasco. He has asked me to marry him and is waiting for my answer. I wanted to talk to you about it, Gair, because of the Sons of the Star. You see, I would have to tell him …’
‘Vasco de Mascarenhas?’ This white calm masked seething rage. ‘Now I know you are out of your mind. You can’t possibly be thinking of marrying him. A bastard who has spent a fortune on forged documents to prove his legitimacy? And a fortune, mind you, of most suspicious origin. I wanted to spare you this, Juana, since he’s a member of your family, even if on the wrong side of the blanket. It never in my wildest dreams occurred to me that you could be such a fool as to let him pull the wool over your eyes. Naturally, I had him investigated as soon as I saw how he was dangling after you – and a very unconvincing job he made of it, I may say. You don’t for a minute deceive yourself, do you, that it is for your beaux yeux he has been courting you? If only there were time, I would be glad for you to have one more meeting with him, so you could see how he changes his tune once he knows you are giving away the castle. Frankly, Juana, it’s the first time I have ever thought you stupid, but I suppose there are none so blind as those who will not see.’
‘Thank you! I suppose you think I should be an expert, by now, in pseudo-courtships.’ She dug her heels into Sheba’s side. ‘Tell your sister she can keep her charity,’ she threw back at him over her shoulder. ‘I shall stay in Portugal with my family.’
‘Juana—’ He thundered up beside her as she rode through the cluster of peasant houses. ‘Listen to me. I’m sorry: I’ve been a fool; I lost my temper; I’ve done it all wrong. Juana, please—’
She was crying, and would not let him see it. She forced Sheba to the edge of the road so that, sitting side-saddle, she could keep her back to him. If Vasco had been there just then, she would have accepted him.
In fact, he rode into the castle courtyard a little later, with the friar from Sintra, and sent Jaime to Juana with the request that she see him at once, alone.
Juana had never felt so completely at a loss. Jaime had delivered the message to her in the Ladies’ Parlour where the entire party had assembled before moving into the dining room. ‘I’ve put him in your study, senhora.’ Jaime evidently expected her to see Vasco.
‘But it’s dinner time.’ She was making excuses again.
‘Dinner can wait,’ said Miguel. ‘You owe it to Senhor de Mascarenhas at least to see him, Juana.’
She knew it was true, but still hedged. ‘Surely, after dinner …’
‘Don’t see him at all,’ said Gair Varlow. ‘Remember what I said to you, Juana.’
‘I certainly do.’ She had not spoken to him since they had returned to the castle. ‘Tell my cousin I will see him at once, Jaime. And ask the cook to hold back dinner.’ She managed to get out of the room on her wave of anger, without meeting Gair’s eyes.
Since the room she now used as her study was merely down two steps and along a short passage from the Ladies’ Parlour, she had little time to compose her thoughts for the meeting with Vasco. ‘Cousin, I’m glad to see you.’ She heard Jaime close the heavy door behind her and noticed with a little stab, surely, of fear, how completely it cut off the sound of voices from the room beyond.
‘Juana!’ For once, Vasco was formally dressed in dark coat and foaming lace cravat. ‘He’s dressed for his wedding,’ she thought, as he made a long business of kissing her hand. As always, his touch sent a thrill of fire through her. A bastard, Gair had said. That was not important, but something else was. A bastard who had spent a fortune on forged papers. Why should Gair have made that up?
‘Juana,’ Vasco said again. ‘Have you nothing to say to me?’ He still held her hand and led her to the seat behind her desk. Seating her, he stood over her, his hand on her shoulder.
It was disconcerting to have lost the advantage of height. She looked up at him. ‘Cousin, I’m sorry I’ve taken so long—’
‘You’re driving me mad,’ he interrupted her. ‘But no matter, so long as the answer is right at last. That friar told me he is to marry your sisters this afternoon. What could be more suitable than that you and I should join them? Juana!’
She was still hearing Gair’s voice: ‘A fortune, mind you, of most suspicious origin.’ What had Gair to gain by lying to her? ‘I don’t know—’ She looked up at Vasco pleadingly. ‘I don’t really know you, cousin.’
‘Not know me!’ For a moment she had been afraid that he would explode, as he had done once before, into rage, but his tone was quiet. ‘It’s true, of course.’ he surprised her by saying. ‘I know that in England you go a different way about marriage. But this is Portugal, and time is short. Your cousins are marrying your sisters, this afternoon, to give them the protection of a Portuguese name. Let me do the same for you, my love, and I promise you, that’s all I will ask. I, too, will ride away, when evening comes, as they must, and wait for the day when you will send for me and make me the happiest of men, Juana! Say yes, or, better still, say nothing, let me take your answer from your lips.’
Somehow, despite herself, she managed to turn her head away. ‘But the castle—’ she said.
The castle?’
‘I have to tell you, before we decide anything. I’m giving it to my cousins.’
‘Oh, that,’ he shrugged. ‘There’ll be time enough to think of that when you are safe from the French. Marry me today, Juana, and leave the burden of all this decision to me. I tell you, my darling, I know much better than you what is right for you.’
‘Do you?’ She longed to be convinced.
‘Of course I do.’ Now, at last, he swept her into his embrace. She was drowning, suffocating, helpless in his arms.
Then, suddenly, without decision, without thought even, she had pulled away, was across the room from him, breathing hard, staring at him. ‘You’re just hurting me,’ she said. ‘It’s not true. Not a word of it.’ And left him.