The sense of relief was short-lived. Compared with my feelings about Stafford, my grandmother’s change of attitude seemed a very minor triumph. How I wished now that I had never questioned Pedro on the drive to Miramar. How I wished that I had never witnessed the two men talking together in the pagoda. Yet had I not done so, what then? I would still be blissfully in the dark, but the truth itself would be unchanged. What had Pedro known about Stafford that made it imperative for him to be silenced—first by the payment of money, then by the final silencing of death?
Fortunately, no one was about as I went down the curving stairway. I slipped quickly across the great hall and made my way to the garden room, where the flurried chirping of the birds in the aviaries seemed to match my rapid heartbeats. I took a seat in one of the basket chairs and closed my eyes, trying to calm myself. But I was given no opportunity. Only moments passed before Stafford walked in.
“I thought I saw you coming here, Elinor. How do you feel this morning?”
“I ... I am still rather shaken.”
He nodded, then said in an accusing voice, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you have talked to other people, but not to me. Earlier this morning, when I interrupted your good-byes to Julio, you beat a hasty retreat upstairs. So why are you avoiding me, Elinor?”
“You are imagining things,” I said nervously.
“I think not.” He sat down in a chair beside me, and his tone softened. “I do realize you went through a very upsetting experience yesterday, but you mustn’t allow it to spoil our relationship, Elinor. The fact that you came to meet me at Miramar as I asked proves that you must care for me.”
“It does nothing of the kind. You ... you asked me to go to Miramar to advise on the restoration of the house from a woman’s point of view “
“How can you pretend like this?” he interrupted, giving me a reproachful look. “I asked you to come, I begged you to come—and you came. That is proof enough for me.”
I made an effort to meet his eyes coolly and steadily, but I was forced to glance away. I felt the color burning in my cheeks. “If ... if I hadn’t gone, you might have read into my refusal a certain antagonism I didn’t want to convey. What happened that other afternoon at Miramar was a regrettable mistake, but you can hardly pretend it was of any great consequence. It cannot be undone, but it is best forgotten. If you’re a true gentleman, you’ll allow me to put it out of my mind by never speaking of the matter again.”
“Elinor!” he exclaimed in a shocked voice. “Why are you saying these things? Not a single word of it is from your heart.”
“What can you know of my heart, Mr. Darville?”
“Mr. Darville. Has it really come to that?” Stafford tried to take my hand, but I snatched it away. Frowning deeply, he rose to his feet and began pacing around, hands clasped behind his back.
“You raised the question of ... of a certain lady … of my association with her. I’ve always believed that over certain aspects of a man’s life it’s tactful to draw a veil. All the same, I recognize that you’re a young woman of high character and principles. Indeed, I value you even more for these qualities. That being so, I concede that you have a right to expect an explanation from me.”
“I claim no such right, Mr. Darville. Your personal affairs are entirely your own. They have nothing to do with me.”
“For God’s sake! How can you be so cruel to me, Elinor?”
“I, cruel to you?”
“You think, then, that I’m the one who’s being cruel? Tell me in what, pray. I’ve offered to explain about the issue that caused the rift between us.”
My intense longing to be convinced of Stafford’s sincerity, of his innocence, was in itself a warning to me. I knew it was dangerous to continue our conversation, dangerous because my powers of reasoning were being weakened with every moment that passed. I rose on unsteady legs, and turned to face him. “I must ask you not to pursue this any further, Mr. Darville—either now or in the future.”
“But I can make no such promise, Elinor. I’ll leave you now, if that’s what you want, but I shall seek you out again.”
“Then you’ll force me to speak of what I know,” I cried recklessly.
“And what is that, Elinor? Tell me.”
From the look on his face, he appeared to be genuinely puzzled, yet was he only mocking me? Because he knew that I could prove nothing. It would be his word against mine. Pedro, the only person who might have condemned him, was dead. Stafford had made certain of his silence. I felt myself trapped in a corner. How could I hope to fight back against this man? His mind was clear and cold and calculating. Mine was choked with memories of a love that had flamed briefly and transformed my whole life.
Evading Stafford’s question, I said, “I would leave Castanheiros and return to England, if it were not for my grandmother. You urged me not to come in the first place, and I know how relieved you would be to see me go---”. My voice faltered, and I turned away to make my escape. Then I halted abruptly. Vicencia was standing in the doorway.
“I wondered where you were, Elinor.” Her eyes glanced swiftly from the one to the other of us, and I could see that she knew we’d been quarreling, even if she hadn’t actually overheard anything. “Stafford, I think the poor girl is tired out, so you had better continue your chat another time. Off you go.”
For a moment, he stood hesitating, his eyes alive with anger. Then he shrugged his acquiescence. “Very well. I realize, Elinor, that you’re under great strain, so I won’t trouble you with my company any longer for the moment.”
When Stafford had left us, I moved over to stand by one of the large windows and looked out across the gardens, my forehead pressed against the cool smoothness of the glass. Behind me, I was aware of Vicencia moving about restlessly.
“Elinor,” she began at length, “I have to confess that I overheard some of your conversation with Stafford. I know it was wrong of me to listen, but you were both so absorbed, you did not notice me.”
My face crimsoned. “How ... how much did you hear?”
“Enough. I cannot tell you how relieved I am,” she went on. “I cannot tell you how it has grieved me to stand by helplessly and see what was happening to you. To you, of all people! I could have tried to warn you, but I knew you would never listen to me while you were so infatuated with him. Thank heaven, though, you have seen for yourself what Stafford is really like before too much harm has been done.”
“But I don’t understand,” I said in bewilderment, turning slowly to face her. “You’ve always shown such a high regard for Stafford. You never once had an ill word to say of him. Yet now you speak as though you despise him.”
“Despise?” she whispered, glancing away from me. “If only I could. But how is it possible for a woman to despise the man she loves?”
“You love Stafford? I never guessed. I knew you were very fond of him, that you greatly admired him. But ... but I didn’t realize it went further than that.”
She turned to look at me again, and in her brown eyes there was a sort of defiance. “That was a careless slip I made, but the truth is out now. Yes, I love Stafford. But I am compelled to hide my true feelings. Ours is a love that has to remain concealed for some time yet. You must not mention it to anyone, Elinor. Promise me you will not.”
My heart was beating painfully, and my throat felt tight. “You speak as if ... as if Stafford loves you in return.”
She gestured helplessly. ‘There is no use my pretending any more with you. Stafford and I... how can I describe the force that binds us together? It is like fate. And over the years Stafford has remained loyal and steadfast in his feelings for me, through all the secrecy that has been necessary, through all the deceptions. Luzia’s death made things harder for us, not easier—” I gasped out loud, and Vicencia gave me a sad little smile. “Yes, it is true. We were lovers long before Luzia died, before even my husband died. Stafford did not love Luzia. He never did. She was quite the wrong woman for him, as he very soon discovered.”
“And so he turned to you for consolation,” I said bitterly, feeling sickened and a little faint.
“Perhaps at first, but only at first. It didn’t take Stafford long to realize that I was different from all the other women to whom he has “turned for consolation,” as you put it. Between us there was something unique. Something unquenchable.”
I felt a burning need to hurt her, to revenge the pain in my heart. “I daresay the fado singer Inesca thinks that she too is different.”
“Oh, Elinor, you know nothing of the world.” cried Vicencia impatiently. “What is it to me that Stafford has other women? I understand the kind of man he is. He needs women, and he likes variety. I could even understand it when he started to look in your direction—you are very attractive, with a sort of youthful freshness that would appeal to him as a change. But I am never jealous when he strays. The only reason I minded about you was that I’d become fond of you, Elinor, and I didn’t want you to be hurt, as would undoubtedly have been the case. You see, I know that none of Stafford’s other women really mean anything to him. I have even been glad of them in a way. This fadista everyone whispers about, she has been useful in disguising the real truth.”
Waves of revulsion washed over me, and I felt an urge to turn and run, to put as much distance as I could between Vicencia and myself. But a question was hammering at me, and I had to know the answer to it. “These rumors about the way Luzia died—that it was not an accident, but suicide. Are they true? Did she take her own life, because she was driven to despair by the knowledge that you and Stafford were lovers?”
“Yes, I think she must have found out something about us,” Vicencia said slowly. “Why else did she behave as she did, rushing off suddenly to Cascais without a word to anyone? Luzia was always an impetuous creature. But if she had only paused to think, she would have realized there was no need to get so upset. She was Stafford’s acknowledged wife, and she had everything that goes with it—except his love. And that was something she’d never shown any sign of wanting.”
“Luzia had recently lost her little boy,” I murmured huskily. “She was in a disturbed state of mind.”
Vicencia shrugged. “If she was, then it was her own fault for making the child the be-all and end-all of her existence.”
I had been growing colder every moment as I listened to her. Was this really Vicencia, the gentle, misused Vicencia whom I had regarded as my friend? When she spoke of “love” it was a selfish passion that took no heed of other people’s feelings, that rejected all standards of decency.
Piercing through the misery in my mind came the memory of that afternoon when Stafford and I had stopped at a wayside inn on the drive from Lisbon. He had said then that his wife, only the day before her death, had told him she was anxious to make a completely fresh start, that she was ready to move away from Castanheiros to a new house of their own in Lisbon, that she was even prepared to have another child. Such plans hardly seemed to match the mental state of a woman who was on the verge of doing away with herself.
What had been Stafford’s object in telling me such things? Was it to turn my thoughts away from the idea that Luzia had taken her own life? Or worse, from the ugly suspicion that she had been deliberately killed, either by Stafford himself, or at his instigation?
The horrifying possibilities spun in my mind. If only I could find peace from this torment. If only I could be magically transported from Castanheiros, from all the heartbreak and disillusionment I had found here. I said, almost to myself, “Julio advised me to return to England. Perhaps he was right.”
“When did he say that to you?” Vicencia asked, surprised.
“This morning, just before he left. When we were saying good-bye.”
She nodded. “He was very upset, poor boy. What a pity you couldn’t have seen Julio in a different light, Elinor. Then you need never have learned all this about Stafford and me. I did my best to bring you two together. It would have made an ideal match. But it was not to be.” She glanced at me thoughtfully. “Julio gave you sound advice, you should return to England. There is only unhappiness for you here.”
“I think I might decide to go back—if it were not for my grandmother.”
“But Dona Amalia has shown no consideration for you. On the contrary, from what you’ve told me she seems to have given you plenty of cause for distress.”
“No, all that is changed now. Grandmama and I have reached a new understanding of one another. I couldn’t possibly leave her, not when she has so little time to live.”
“But isn’t that precisely a good reason for your going?” Vicencia persisted. “Dona Amalia can only survive a few months more at most, and what then? Will you want to stay here after her death?”
“No,” I said in a low voice. “I think not.”
“Then go now, Elinor. You are young, and in England you would have a chance to be happy. But what is there here for you?”
“You said before, Vicencia, how glad you were that I’d come to Castanheiros. Now you seem anxious to be rid of me.”
“You mustn’t think that,” she protested. “But I know that our relationship can never again be quite the same, now that I’ve been forced to reveal the truth. It isn’t something I can hope that you will understand, because you’re cast in an entirely different mold from people like Stafford and me. I would see a look of pained bewilderment come into your eyes each time Stafford’s name was mentioned—it is there now at this very moment. Think, my dear, could you remain happily at Castanheiros, when Stafford keeps coming here to be with me? And what of the time—which I pray will not be long delayed—when Stafford and I can drop all pretense and allow our love to be seen openly, when we become man and wife? You know how much you would suffer, Elinor. And all this for an old woman who has treated you quite shamefully.”
I hung my head to conceal my tears. “I cannot desert my grandmother. She needs me now. There is no one else.”
“But there is Carlota, and myself. There is Affonso, her stepson, and Stafford, and a houseful of servants. Dona Amalia has every comfort she can possibly expect, every attention she can demand. What can you add, Elinor, that will make the final days of her life more easily borne?”
“I can give her love,” I whispered.
Love. The word was like ashes in my mouth. What did it mean, I asked myself, if it included this obsessive, greedy passion such as Vicencia had described? Love had become a word I did not understand anymore.
I wondered suddenly if Vicencia would be so blithely complacent about her relationship with Stafford if she knew the dreadful things I suspected about him—that Stafford himself had killed Luzia? That he had killed Pedro, and had planned to kill me, too. That only yesterday afternoon, while Vicencia had been with Julio in the gardens, playing her flute, Stafford had been ruthlessly awaiting the arrival of the carriage at Miramar, in order to send it plunging off the road.
The pendulum clock on the wall stirred into life and struck the half-hour. “Goodness me, how time flies,” exclaimed Vicencia. “Luncheon will not be long, Elinor. We had better go and get ready.”
These words suddenly crystallized for me the life to which I’d be committing myself. The ordinary everyday things would continue unchanged, and I would have to take my part in them. Could I twice each day sit down to eat with the family and join in the conversation around the table? It was beyond imagining.
“I ... I think I’ll have a tray brought to my room,” I told Vicencia. “For the time being, until I’m feeling properly well again, I shall take all my meals upstairs.”
“But Elinor, there is no need for that.”
“I would prefer it.”
Vicencia regarded me thoughtfully. “So already you’re beginning to realize how difficult things will be for you here at Castanheiros. Think again about going home, my dear. Think hard.”