Carlota Joaquina welcomed them with enthusiasm. Since her intrigues with the Spanish government had been exposed, she had been living in compulsory seclusion at her quinta of Ramalhao, with only rumour to feed on. She agreed at once to add Juana to her train, and plied Gair with questions, which he answered as best he could before making his quick, apologetic farewells.
It all happened so fast … so publicly. One minute he was there, kissing the Princess’s hand, and Juana’s, the next he was gone. ‘A brave man that,’ said Carlota Joaquina.
‘Yes.’ Juana swallowed tears. If the Portuguese caught him, it meant prison. If the Sons of the Star did, death.
‘Meu Deus, but I’m glad to see you,’ the Princess went on. ‘Sing for me, child, but first tell me, do you not wish that our wedding had succeeded, that day last summer?’
The life of a lady-in-waiting on the Princess was one of suffocating boredom, exacerbated by Juana’s gnawing anxiety for Gair. He had warned her that there would be no way he could let her know if he got safe out to the British squadron. ‘Don’t worry,’ he had said. Absurd advice. She did nothing else. And as the long newsless days dragged by, she began to be horribly afraid that he had miscalculated, that Dom John did not intend to take his detested wife with him to the Brazils. But that surely, was impossible? Carlota Joaquina had the royal children with her. Whatever he might decide about his wife, Dom John would never leave his children behind.
Worst of all was the lack of news. Carlota Joaquina lived in a kind of royal Coventry. Nobody came near her, nobody, wrote to her; she was dependent for information on the alarming rumours picked up by her servants. Everyone knew by now that Junot’s French army had crossed the border and was advancing with breathtaking speed on Lisbon. Everyone knew, too, that the foreign minister, Senhor Araujo, had sent an envoy to Junot and that the messenger had returned all too soon, having found the French army already on the river Zezere. He and Junot had conferred under a tree in the pouring rain, but nothing had come of it.
The rain was the last straw. When the order finally came for Carlota Joaquina to pack up and take her children and household to the Ajuda Palace in Belem it was coming down in torrents. The roads were all awash, and rain blowing in at every cranny of the huge old-fashioned royal carriages added to the miseries of the crowded journey. But Juana was relieved to be at Belem, with the Portuguese fleet a hive of activity further up the Tagus, and the blockading British downstream off Cascais. She had still had no word from Gair and kept trying to tell herself that no news was good news. Pedro was a great comfort. Warned by Gair, he did his best to keep an unobtrusive eye on her and also, most heartening of all, rode over to the Castle on the Rock and returned with loving messages from Daisy and Teresa, and with the expected news that Miguel had been arrested.
In the crowded Ajuda palace, hysteria was never far away. With the other ladies-in-waiting, Juana was kept occupied packing and repacking the royal wardrobe under Carlota Joaquina’s furious orders.
Roberto found her alone, one dull November morning, trying in vain to close a huge Spanish leather trunk crammed to bursting with tissues and heavy brocades. ‘There you are, thank God. I couldn’t get away before.’
‘You’re here at last!’ His presence in the Princess’s apartments was a grave breach of etiquette, but she was beyond caring. ‘Roberto,’ she hardly dared ask. ‘What’s the news?’
‘None good, I’m afraid. There’s been no word from Varlow. None from Strangford. And it’s over a week now. I’m sorry.’ He saw how hard it had hit her.
She sat on the floor, quite quiet, for a moment, then looked up at him, her eyes large with tears. ‘I should have known. He was so tired, Roberto. I shouldn’t have let him waste his strength taking me to Ramalhao. You should have helped him – No, that’s not fair: you had your own duties. It’s my fault, all of it.’
He let her cry for a few minutes. Then, ‘Juana, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, but I’m afraid you’re right: he must have been caught. It seems impossible, if he managed to get out to the British squadron, that we haven’t heard something before this.’
‘Yes. Even if he couldn’t convince Strangford, he said, whatever happened, he would come back for me.’ She was making a great effort to master her tears.
‘And he would have, if he could. But, Juana, you mustn’t quite despair. It would be difficult for him. There’s no communication with the British, you know. We’re almost in a state of war. But there’s worse than that, for us. Juana, de Mascarenhas escaped.’
‘Oh, my God.’ But she knew that in her heart she had expected this. ‘What’s happened to poor Miguel?’
‘“Poor Miguel” as you call him has proved the double traitor I expected. Thanks to him, most of the inner circle have been arrested, but not all. And, of course, not the rank and file.’ Even though they were alone in the room he did not name the Sons of the Star. ‘That’s why I came to warn you. For God’s sake, Juana, keep always with the other women. I don’t like to see you alone like this, even here, in the palace. We know nothing of de Mascarenhas’ whereabouts. It seems unlikely that he will have time to think of revenge, but if he should, you’re the obvious target. Trust no one, Juana: keep always with the others; remember that even the guards may be members. I’ve sent for Teresa, by the way. At least you can trust her. You do realise, don’t you, that as things are your only safety, like ours, lies in going to the Brazils with the court?’
‘I suppose so.’ If Gair was dead, nothing mattered.
‘But, Juana’ – his tone had changed – ‘we need your help.’
‘Mine?’ Drowning in her private despair, it was an effort to pay attention.
‘Yes. Don’t you see? Since de Mascarenhas is still free, he may try to give the signal, and strike his blow, even without the inner circle behind him. So, think as hard as you can, Juana. What did he say about the signal?’
She put a weary hand to her forehead. ‘Let me think. They were to wait until Junot and the French army were deep into Portugal … till they were tired out … They were conscripts, he said, raw troops … they’d not stand up to forced marches as the Old Guard would. Then, when they were nearly to Lisbon, he would give the signal, the Portuguese army would march in from the coast, the royal family would be murdered … It’s horrible.’ She was crying again.
‘Yes, Juana, but when?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say.’
‘Then, what signal?’
‘He would proclaim himself Sebastian. That was all he said. I don’t think he trusted anyone, Roberto. That was his strength.’
‘And his weakness. With luck, since we have rounded up most of the members of the inner circle, his message won’t get to the army.’
‘Yes. But doesn’t it seem absurd that they should still be on the coast, as if the English were the enemy?’
‘It may be absurd, but it’s a crowning mercy, since we know that if they were here, they would be for de Mascarenhas. That’s all you know about the signal?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’m sorry not to be more help.’ She reached into the open trunk, pulled out a priceless piece of silver tissue and dried her eyes with it. ‘What will happen, Roberto?’
‘God knows. Dom John will decide nothing. He is waiting for Lord Strangford. It’s just the excuse he needs to give way to his natural sloth. It would not befit his dignity, he says, to send again to the English. And, on the other hand, he can’t make up his mind without consulting them. So – nothing is done. And, Juana, don’t tell anyone: we don’t want any more panic than there is already: but we had word this morning. Junot has left his main army behind at Abrantes and is coming on with the advance guard, by forced marches. They’ll be here in two or three days.’
‘Two days!’ The silver tissue tore in her hand.
‘Yes. Now you see why we need to know de Mascarenhas’ signal. He may give it any time now, and once he does, frankly, I think we are all lost. It’s not just Dom John and his wife … it’s their children … all the other intended victims. You and I too, of course. I deserve it, for letting him fool me so … But the others … It doesn’t bear thinking of. And we simply don’t know who is loyal and who a member—’ Again he did not name the Sons of the Star. ‘Even if I could persuade Dom John to go on board ship, there’s no guarantee he’d be safe. His ships’ captains themselves may be members.’
‘It’s horrible.’
‘Yes. What is it?’ Juana had stopped listening and was looking past him out the window which commanded a wide view of the Tagus.
‘Look!’ A British sloop was beating its way up river, a flag of truce conspicuous at its masthead.
‘At last,’ said Roberto. And then, ‘Don’t let yourself to be too hopeful, Juana. It’s been, so long. It may be nothing to do with Varlow. But I must get back to Dom John. He’ll need me.’
‘I can’t bear it, Roberto. To wait. Not to know.’
She had to. Straining her eyes, she watched the sloop drop anchor well below the busy ships of the Portuguese fleet. She could see its boat pull to the Belem pier and a group of men disembark. Try how she would, she could not recognise their faces. She might pretend to herself that one active figure was Gair’s, but she knew it for what it was, merely a pretence.
If time had dragged before, now it stood still. Word of the English arrival had run like wildfire through the palace. The ladies-in-waiting knew that their fate was being settled in Dom John’s council chamber. Some were more frightened of the long sea voyage than of the French. As the note of hysteria grew, Carlota Joaquina sat motionless among them, like some ugly Eastern statue, waiting for news. Only when her adored children caught the general panic and five-year-old Dom Miguel burst into floods of panicky tears did she rouse herself from her furious passivity to comfort him and urge Juana to sing for them: ‘It will be better than this waiting.’
The waiting was nearly over. Next morning, a messenger from Dom John’s apartments at the other end of the palace brought his orders that the household prepare for immediate embarkation. Pandemonium reigned. Still, in the midst of it, Carlota Joaquina maintained a furious calm that held her ladies’ hysteria in check. It was she who gave the orders for loading the huge coach that would hold herself, her eight children, their nurse and two ladies-in-waiting. She singled out Juana for one of these: ‘You will keep your head, senhora.’
‘Yes, your highness.’ The English must be gene. There had been no word from Gair. It was the end. He was dead, had probably not survived the night they parted. She should have admitted it to herself a week ago. Today there was not even time for tears.
Teresa arrived at the last minute, and flung herself into Juana’s arms. ‘I never believed it,’ she said. ‘Any of it. Oh, Juana, I’m so glad … I’m so sorry …’ She was laughing and crying all at once. ‘Roberto told me,’ she explained. ‘Some of it. Is there any news of Mr. Varlow?’
‘None.’
A quick look at her and Teresa began to talk quickly about affairs at the castle. ‘Do you know, it was the most amazing thing: when poor old Mrs. Brett died – you did know she had, died?’
‘Yes.’ Juana managed it through the tears that threatened to stifle her.
‘Well, you can imagine the confusion when we found her – Maria had been sitting with her and fallen asleep, you see.’ And Juana thought: of course, Maria. ‘So there was Maria having hysterics and Daisy not much better, and nor was I for the matter of that, and in walked Aunt Elvira—’ She paused impressively.
‘Yes?’
‘She looked at the old lady and said, “Cover her face, mine eyes dazzle, she died old.” And then she kind of shook herself, and said, in quite a normal voice, “Well, has anyone sent for a priest?” And she’s been running things at the castle ever since. Just like you used to.’
‘You mean?’
‘I don’t know what I mean.’
And with that Juana had to leave her and take her place in the immense carriage shaped like a figure-of-eight that was to take Carlota Joaquina down to the Sodre Quay. As it waited to join the fantastic cortège of more than seven hundred vehicles that was needed to transport the court, Juana had a glimpse of the old mad Queen leaning out of her carriage window, her white head bare, to shriek, ‘Ai, Jesus!’ And then, to her attendants: ‘Do not drive so fast. They will think we are running away!’
Carlota Joaquina said nothing, except to comfort her children. The rain came down in torrents. The journey seemed endless, since the roads were crowded with panic-stricken fugitives, and even when they got to the quays it was merely to sit in the carriage, and wait. Ahead of them, Juana saw Dom John alight from his coach, despite the pouring rain, and surrender himself to his lamenting people, who crowded close to kiss his hands. Piles of baggage lay everywhere on the quays. The silver plate from the Ajuda Palace, priceless books and manuscripts from the royal archives, and even the gem-studded robes of the Patriarch all lay higgledy-piggledy in the rain.
Now, at last, she could see boats beginning to pull away toward them from the Portuguese ships. A chamberlain came running up to ask Carlota Joaquina to alight and prepare to embark. The quays were getting more crowded every minute. It seemed as if all Lisbon hoped to get away on those few ships. ‘You will come with me on the Affonso d’Albuquerque,’ Carlota Joaquina told Juana. Her oldest son, Dom Pedro, was to join his father on the Principe Real.
They were all on the quay now among the shouting, mourning, unpredictable crowd where soldiers of the royal guard tried in vain to keep some kind of order. The royal children were crying again and Juana picked up little Dom Miguel to save him from being crushed by the mob. She could see Dom John and his mad old mother quite near to them on the very edge of the quay, waiting for the first of the approaching boats. And with them, she saw now, was Lord Strangford and a little group of Englishmen. Not Gair.
Tears blinded her eyes for a moment. She brushed them away. There would be time for tears. A lifetime. She was distracted by a kind of eddy in the crowd beyond Strangford. A cowled priest was making his way through it, distributing blessings as he went. It was surprising, she thought, and in a way reassuring to see how the crowd gave way before him. He was quite near now to where Dom John stood among his weeping subjects. The first boat touched the quay and for a moment everyone’s attention was on it save Juana’s. She kept on watching the priest, fascinated by something – What was it about him?
Suddenly, horribly, helplessly, she knew. Short and strongly built, the cowl close about his face, the crucifix held up to the crowd … Vasco. And the signal?
She grasped the little Prince more tightly and looked about for help. But anyone-everyone in this crowd might serve Vasco. The Sons of the Star were probably everywhere, waiting for the signal to strike. Even if the royal guard should prove faithful, neither she nor Dom John and his family would have any chance of escape, once Vasco gave his signal.
And there was nothing she could do. To scream would be worse than useless. It might even act as the signal. At the very least, it would draw attention upon herself from whichever of the Sons of the Star stood nearest.
She watched, silent, horror-struck, turned to stone. Dom John was ready to get into the boat. The cowled figure reached him, threw back his hood and revealed the expected face of Vasco. The crucifix was in his left hand now, his right held a dagger. He raised it, gleaming dully as the rain splashed on it, and for a strange moment the crowd was silent.
‘I, Sebastian,’ he shouted, and one of the royal guard leapt at him from behind Dom John. The dagger flew from his hand and fell to the quay with a clatter of metal on stone. The two men fought like maniacs, like beasts, while around them the crowd stayed silent, watching, waiting … The guardsman was handicapped by his ceremonial dress, the ‘monk’ by his robes. They fought on, horribly silent, slipping on the wet stone, getting nearer and nearer to the edge of the quay. Now the ‘monk’ had got the guardsman down and was banging his head on the stone. His helmet flew off. Gair.
Juana never knew whether she screamed or whether Gair heard her. But he writhed out of Vasco’s grasp, slipped sideways, was on his feet, and then, as Vasco rushed him, delivered a knockout blow to the chin. They were right at the edge. Vasco staggered backwards, fought desperately for balance, plunged down into deep water. The splash … the widening ripples … Then … nothing.
There was a long, tense moment with the crowd still strangely silent as Gair stood on the quay edge, looking down. Then he turned, lifted his hand, and spoke: ‘Sebastian is dead. Long live Dom John. Long live the House of Braganza!’
The crowd gave a kind of shudder, something between a groan and a cheer. Near her, Juana was aware of one or two of the royal guard slipping quietly away. The little Prince started crying louder than ever. Dom John got into his boat to be rowed out to the Principe Real. It was all over.
And Gair was coming towards her. ‘Juana!’
‘Gair! I thought you were dead.’ Tears were streaming down her face.
‘You were very nearly right. Your cousin was an ugly fighter, God rest his soul. But he never trained with Gentleman Jackson, luckily for me.’
‘And for us, senhor.’ Carlota Joaquina interrupted the brief tête-à-tête. ‘Since my husband did not think fit to stay and thank you, I must do so on his behalf. Wear this for me.’ She pulled off one of the blazing diamond rings that encrusted her hands.
Thanking her, he explained that it had been by prearrangement that Dom John had embarked at once. ‘With him safe, the rest of you are so much the safer. But I have his orders that you, too, are to embark without delay.’
‘You will come with us, I hope, senhor?’
‘Yes, your highness. Those are my orders.’ His words were for her, his eyes for Juana.
With him beside her, what had been hard was easy, what had been misery, happiness. Even the appalling conditions of the overloaded, half prepared ship could only make her smile. Besides: ‘We won’t be here long.’ Gair seized the first private chance to speak to her on the crowded deck.
‘No?’
‘No. Strangford intends merely to see the Prince on board and then return to the British sloop Confiance and take the news of the embarkation out to our squadron. But he has asked me to stay with the Princess until the fleet sails, just in case … Roberto stays with Dom John. We will transfer to the Confiance when the Portuguese sail … She is to take the news to England. We may be there next week.’
‘It seems impossible.’
‘I hope it’s not.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I wish I could have persuaded Strangford to take you off now, but he’s still very much on his dignity with me. He won’t forgive my resignation in a hurry. I thought I’d never get him to make a new approach to Dom John. I don’t ever want to go through a week like this last one again. I’ve been mad with anxiety for you, Juana. But at least, thank God, I didn’t know de Mascarenhas had escaped. If I’d known that, I don’t think I could have stayed on board.’
‘You’d have deserted for my sake?’
‘I’m afraid I would. As it is, it may have taken Strangford too long to make up his mind. The latest news is that Junot’s advance guard is only twenty-four hours away, and, look, the wind is against us. We may be caught still, like rats in a trap. But at least it will be by the French, and we’ll be together.’ And then, quickly, ‘Smile, Juana. Look like someone who knows she is safe at last. Just think what a panic would be like in this crowd.’
She could smile now. ‘With you here, I refuse to believe I’m not safe. Oh, Gair, do you realise that for a whole week I have believed you dead?’
‘That’s nothing, my love. For twice that long I thought you married to de Mascarenhas.’
Night fell. The embarkation was complete, the ships crowded to danger-point, and still the wind blew straight into the harbour. For another unbearable twenty-six hours it remained the same.
‘It’s going to be touch and go,’ Gair told Juana on Saturday night. ‘If you ever prayed, my love, pray for a fair wind tonight.’
Something woke her in the blackness of the crowded cabin. A change in the movement of the ship? ‘Nothing good ever comes of a Spanish marriage or a Spanish wind.’ She remembered the proverb and the first Juana, remembered Gair, and prayed that tonight would be the exception.
She slept again and was waked at last by the shouting of orders and the rush of sailors’ feet on the deck above. Teresa had the pallet nearest the porthole. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘We’re moving.’
Juana was one of the first on deck. The rain had stopped at last, and sunshine was drying the piles of baggage that still strewed the deck. Ahead of them, the Principe Real was well out into midstream, with all sails set.
‘But look!’ Gair joined her at the rail and pointed back to the Castle of St. George on its hill above the river. As they watched, the Portuguese flag disappeared from its tower.
‘Because the Prince Regent is gone?’ she asked.
‘If it were only that.’ The tricolour flag of France streamed out on their saving wind.
Gair turned to look downstream to where Fort St. Julian lay ahead of them, its guns commanding the river. ‘Will Junot think of that?’ he asked, and answered himself. ‘He’s bound to. After all, he was here as ambassador. He knows all about Lisbon. Thank God we are next in line.’
In fact the bulk of the Portuguese fleet was safely beyond the fort when Junot’s French detachment got there. One shot was fired at the last frigate, but it was too late. Already the main fleet was being greeted by the British squadron with a royal salute of twenty-one guns.
‘We’re safe.’ Juana tried to believe it as the Portuguese guns roared out their answer.
‘Do you know, I really begin to think we are.’ The two fleets were level now, and they could see a boat being lowered from the Confiance. ‘Strangford didn’t forget,’ Gair said. ‘We had best say our farewells to the Princess.’
‘Were you afraid he might?’
‘Where you are concerned, my darling, I am afraid of everything.’
‘Oh dear’ – she made a little face – ‘how tedious for you. What shall we do about it?’
‘We’ll marry,’ he said. ‘At once. I’m not sure I won’t get the chaplain of the Confiance to do it before even we get back to England. I don’t ever want to let you out of my sight again.’
‘You say that! You, who let me go on thinking you were dead!’
‘Juana, I had to. You must see that.’
‘I may see it,’ she said, ‘but that doesn’t mean I like it. There’s one thing I want to have clearly understood before there is any more talk of marrying, on the Confiance or anywhere else.’
‘Yes, my fierce and only love?’
‘Gair!’ Her voice broke. ‘You must understand. I couldn’t go through it again … couldn’t bear it.… It’s been too much …’ She managed a smile. ‘I must have cried enough, these last few days, to keep an orange grove going. Please, Gair – must you go on—’ And yet, how could she ask it of him? It was his life, after all.
But he was laughing. ‘You don’t want to marry a secret agent?’ he asked. ‘Well, I can’t say I blame you. We’ve had enough adventuring, haven’t we, love? But I’m not a spy any more. I resigned, don’t you remember? Since then I’ve been – I suppose – a free agent. That’s what I mean to stay. You must see, I had to finish this, but now … Juana, you said you would marry me when our most likely prospect was death. Even if I lived, then, I had little to offer. Now things are different. The English squadron brought me letters. Poor Forland is dead. Vanessa has a boy and I am his guardian. She wants me to live in the Dower House and manage the estate for her. And, presently, there will be a seat in Parliament. Juana, tell me that is the kind of husband you want?’
‘You know perfectly well what kind of husband I want, and I’m not going to flatter you by telling you again. But, oh Gair, poor Vanessa.’
‘She’s got the boy.’
‘Yes. Look – the boat’s quite near now.’
‘And here is the Princess.’
The farewells and thanks were almost over, and the English boat was at the side, when Teresa came running up from below. ‘Juana, you left this behind.’ She handed her Vasco’s diadem.
‘Oh, so I did.’ Juana took it indifferently.
‘Let me see,’ said the Princess. And then, ‘Meu Deus! Do you not know, child, that each of these stones is a diamond of the first water?’
‘Good God,’ said Gair. ‘And I thought I was marrying a penniless wife I could bully.’
‘Oh, did you?’ said Juana. And she said it in English, without a trace of a stammer.