The house was enveloped in its usual mantle of silence as I entered the great hall. A footman had been alerted by the arrival of the hired carriage and was there to bow me in, but it was a relief not to see any of the family. I needed to be alone. I needed time to think.
“Where is Dona Vicencia?” I asked the servant.
“She is in the gardens, I believe, senhora. Do you wish me to take a message to her?”
“Oh ... no, thank you. There is no need.”
With leaden footsteps I began to mount the marble stairway. I had wanted to inquire where Stafford was also, but I was afraid that he might get to hear I had been asking about him. I was thankful, at least, that so far today he had kept out of my way.
Upstairs in my room I laid aside my hat and parasol, drew off my gloves, and tossed them down. I walked to the window and stood gazing out across the gardens, peaceful and somnolent under the burning sun. I could not hear the strains of Vicencia’s flute, but she was somewhere out there, strolling in the shade of the trees or resting on one of the sculpted seats. With a sudden pang, I wondered if Stafford were with her. There were so many secluded arbors where they could safely rendezvous.
I came away from the window and sank down upon the chaise longue, leaning back upon its velvet cushions. But I was restless and could not relax. I tried to concentrate, to decide what I was going to do now that I had proof of Stafford’s guilt. But my mind was a tangle of confusion and constantly I found myself returning to those moments with Stafford on the belvedere at Miramar, when he had held me in his arms.
Surely, I told myself bleakly, I had no choice but to warn Vicencia about him? It was my Christian duty to warn her. Yet, having loved Stafford---part of me loving him still despite everything—I shrank from repeating the terrible things I had discovered this afternoon. And did Vicencia deserve any such consideration from me? Did she deserve consideration from anyone, when she herself had abandoned the decencies of civilized life? At one point I recalled my intention of hastening to reassure my grandmother that I was not planning to desert her and return to England. But how could I say that now with any certainty? Regretfully, I concluded that I must postpone seeing her for the present.
Time went slowly by, and no one came to disturb me. In the end, coming to a sudden decision, I left my room and went in search of Vicencia. I found her by the door of the sala de jantar, talking to the butler. She broke off at once, and he discreetly withdrew. “Elinor,” she began, smiling at me tentatively. “I was just coming to ask you if you would dine downstairs this evening. You see, Stafford will not be here. He’s been out all day at the adegas and is dining at the steward’s house.”
So that explained why I had not seen anything of Stafford. Evading Vicencia’s suggestion, I said, “I’d like to talk to you— privately.”
“I’m afraid I cannot come just now, Elinor. As usual, Carlota has demanded some last-minute changes to the menu. She can be very trying.”
“Then will you come to my room immediately after dinner?”
“If you wish it.” She glanced at me with concern. “You look so pale. Are you feeling unwell? Should you not be lying down?”
“No, I’m all right. Just come, Vicencia, please—as soon as you can.”
I returned to my room and tried to contend with my impatience. Now that I had made up my mind to talk to Vicencia, I was eager to get the painful scene done with. It seemed an interminable wait before my dinner tray arrived. The daylight was fading by then, and the footman inquired if he should light the lamps and draw the curtains. I nodded absently. As he left me, I turned my attention to the attractive dishes sent up for me, but I found that I lacked an appetite. I poured out a glass of the rich red Collares wine and sipped it slowly, hoping that perhaps it would give me courage.
The servant came to take away the tray, and still I waited. At long last, I heard Vicencia’s knock. “I’ve been so puzzled, Elinor, wondering what you could want to tell me that is so important. I hope and pray, for your sake, my dear, that you’re going to say you have decided to return to England after all.”
I shook my head. “No, it is something else altogether. These past two days there has been a suspicion in my mind, a terrible suspicion. And this afternoon I received confirmation from Maria that what I suspected was indeed true. So I have to warn you, Vicencia—warn you about Stafford.”
Her velvet brown eyes widened, and she stood very still, her hands clasped together. “Am I to understand, Elinor, that you have been gossiping about Stafford with a servant?”
“But Maria didn’t appreciate the significance of what she was telling me, Vicencia.”
“And what did she tell you?”
“Enough to make it certain that her brother was black mailing Stafford, because of something Pedro knew about Luzia’s death.”
I saw a tremor pass through Vicencia’s slender body, and her face paled beneath her olive-tinted skin. She moved to the fireplace and put a hand on the mantel, as though for support. “You had better tell me everything you know, everything you suspect. Do not spare me.”
“It is all so confused in my mind,” I said unhappily, “but you must prepare yourself, Vicencia. I am certain, as certain as I possibly can be, that Stafford was responsible for his wife’s death. Somehow Pedro knew about it, and he was demanding money as the price of his silence.”
Vicencia remained motionless. At length, she said in a low, husky voice, “Elinor, are you trying to tell me that Stafford killed Luzia?”
“Either that, or else he used someone to do it for him. Even Pedro himself, perhaps.”
“You presumably have some evidence for this incredible theory. Tell me what it is.”
“I have no direct evidence, Vicencia, but Stafford must be guilty. There are so many indications, and they all piece together with a horrible certainty. To begin with, Stafford never wanted me to come to Portugal in the first place. He did everything he could to talk me out of it, and I believe the reason is that my presence in some way prevents him getting control of the Milaveira estates. And later, when Stafford came to suspect that I knew the real truth about Luzia’s death, he decided to be rid of me—that’s the explanation of the accident at Miramar.”
“Are you suggesting that Stafford deliberately staged that accident? You cannot mean it, Elinor.”
I took a deep, shuddering breath and continued, “He wanted to dispose of Pedro as well as of me, and that was a golden opportunity for him. He planned it most carefully. It all goes back to a day when I was in the gardens doing some sketching and I happened to see Stafford and Pedro in the Chinese pagoda, talking very earnestly. I believed that I’d passed by unnoticed, but a few minutes later Stafford caught up with me. In a very casual way he asked me how much Portuguese I knew by now. Obviously, he wanted to know if I could have understood anything I might have overheard of his conversation with Pedro. A few days afterward, I went to Lisbon to stay with the Forresters, and Stafford contrived to bring me back to Cintra in his carriage. He talked to me about his plans to have Miramar restored and he asked me to look at the house there and then.”
“So when you arrived here together that day, you’d come from Miramar?” I felt the color flare to my cheeks. “You need not blush, Elinor,” she went on. “I knew very well that something had occurred between you and Stafford—the look on your face, everything gave you away. And later on, when you received that unexpected letter from Stafford, you could not conceal your elation.”
“That letter was the next step,” I pressed on hurriedly, determined to omit nothing, however much pain it caused me. “There had been a disagreement between us at Miramar, and Stafford wrote to apologize. He asked me to meet him again at the quinta, suggesting a precise time, and even suggesting that I should get Pedro to drive me.” I caught my breath. “And when Pedro and I arrived there, Stafford was waiting concealed in the bushes, having sent the architect away on the pretext of looking at the water reservoir. Stafford had chosen a point on the driveway where he knew disaster would certainly follow if the horses took fright. It must have been an unpleasant shock for him to find that by some miracle I had survived.” Vicencia, still gripping the mantel, had turned away and was gazing down at the basket of flowers that filled the hearth. When she did not speak, I added, ‘There was something else, something Pedro said.”
“Oh?”
“It was just before we reached Miramar. I had been questioning him about the day he drove Luzia to Cascais, and he said ... he said that perhaps he had not been the last person from Castanheiros to see Senhora Dona Luzia alive.” I was puzzled by Vicencia’s curious lack of reaction to what I way saying. It seemed that she neither believed nor disbelieved me. “Even after the accident,” I continued, “I still clung to the hope that I had somehow misinterpreted the evidence that pointed so strongly to Stafford. But this afternoon, when I went to see Maria, she told me something Pedro had said to her.”
“And what was that?” Vicencia asked quietly.
“Apparently, Pedro told Maria that Senhor Darville had been talking to him and that as long as he did not tell what he knew, he would become a rich man.”
Vicencia lifted her shoulders. ‘The empty boasts of a country lad, nothing more.”
“But Pedro did have money, Vicencia, far more than he could have earned honestly as a coachman. He bought Maria an expensive silver pendant as a birthday gift, the very same kind that Julio wanted to buy us at the fair. And he promised to give her lots more nice things ---”
‘The imbecile.” Vicencia cried, spinning around to face me. “I warned him not to make a display of the money.”
I was stunned, not grasping the implication of her words at first. “You ... you knew about the money, Vicencia? But how—”
As I watched, she seemed to clench down her anger by sheer strength of will. Her smile returned, serene and untroubled. “What does it matter, after all?” she shrugged. “I couldn’t have concealed the truth much longer. The reason I knew about the money, you poor little simpleton, was because I was the one who gave it to Pedro. And since you know so much, you may as well know the rest. Pedro was able to blackmail me, you see, because he happened to have seen me in Cascais the day Luzia died. But until recently the significance of that fact never struck the stupid dolt. Not until Stafford started to question him in an effort to establish exactly what did happen that day.”
“So that explains them talking in the pagoda,” I breathed.
“I suppose so. However, Pedro was cunning enough not to reveal anything to Stafford. Then, when Stafford had left for Lisbon, Pedro came to me, acting the innocent. He said that Senhor Darville had begged him to remember every single thing he could about taking Senhora Dona Luzia to Cascais, but that somehow he had quite forgotten to mention seeing me there. Did I think he should tell the senhor? I knew at once what Pedro was up to, but I had no alternative—I offered him money to keep quiet. I dared not risk Stafford finding out.”
I was trembling so violently that even my voice was made jerky. “What ... what were you doing in Cascais that day? How were you involved in Luzia’s death?”
“Haven’t you guessed that yet? I killed her. It was childishly simple to arrange. I merely sent her a note—anonymous, of course—telling her that if she wanted to hear something of particular interest about her husband, she was to go secretly to Cascais and meet the writer by the Boca do Inferno. She was to dismiss the coachman in the village and walk up the cliff road alone. When Luzia got there, she was astonished to find that I was the one who had sent her the note, but I told her the need for secrecy would become clear when I explained. While we talked, I was able to maneuver her into a suitable position, then I pushed her into the sea. The currents there are treacherous—it is not named the Inferno for nothing.” Vicencia gave a sudden grimace that was pure evil. “I had taken the precaution of wearing a veil, so that only people who knew me very well could possibly have recognized me. It was sheer bad luck that Pedro had not returned home as ordered, but had been hanging around drinking at a tavern in Cascais, and he saw me go hurrying by.”
Vicencia sighed, then continued in that same level tone that gave a calm normality to the horrifying things she was telling me. “It was necessary for Luzia to die. She stood between Stafford and me. When they came to live here after the fire and Luzia was in such a demented state, Stafford and I were drawn very close looking after her. It was so obvious that he and I were the strong ones, while Luzia was just a weak fool who could give him nothing. Nothing. And I knew that he didn’t love her, only pitied her. But then, Luzia suddenly announced to me that she had decided to make a real effort to save their marriage. She babbled about realizing how wrong she had been before, and how she wanted to make things up to Stafford. She talked about finding another house in Lisbon and moving back there, and she even confided that she might have another child. It was intolerable, you understand, quite intolerable. I had to put an end to it—for Stafford’s sake as well as for my own.”
I had kept silent all this time, my throat seeming locked tight. But suddenly my voice broke free. “Then Stafford was not involved in Luzia’s death? It was you, and you alone?”
Vicencia laughed lightly. “I love Stafford with all my heart, Elinor, but I fear he would flinch from strong action of that kind, however necessary it was.”
“So what happened at Miramar wasn’t Stafford’s doing either?” I cried, with a sense of deliverance. “It must have been purely an accident after all.”
“No, Elinor, it was not an accident. You see, when you received Stafford’s letter and were so obviously enraptured, I made a point of reading what he had written. It was quite easy, because you carelessly left your purse unattended in your room. I realized you were becoming a real threat to me, a greater danger even than Luzia had been. I couldn’t allow that, and it suddenly came to me that your visit to Miramar was the perfect opportunity to dispose of both you and Pedro together, because Pedro’s demands were getting more and more outrageous, and I knew that sooner or later he would have to be silenced. So I seized my chance.”
“But how could you possibly have gotten to Miramar before us, when I heard you playing the flute here in the gardens just as Pedro and I were setting out?”
Vicencia’s eyes sparked in triumph at her cleverness. “You only thought you heard me playing the flute. Actually, it was Julio. He’s not up to my standard, of course. He has always concentrated on the violin, but he can play a number of instruments moderately well. I knew he was a good enough flautist to deceive people, should anyone doubt that it had been a genuine accident and questions were asked.”
My thoughts flew back to that afternoon. Just as I was getting into the victoria, Julio had emerged from the library as though by sheer chance. He had spoken to me for a few moments, then left me, saying that he was going to join Vicencia down by the grotto.
“So Julio was a party to your horrible plan?” I said, feeling sickened.
“He was,” she agreed, “but unknowingly. After the ‘accident’ Julio realized what had been behind my request for him to play the flute, which I’d presented to him as a little practical joke. He was furious about it, and that is why he left so hurriedly the next morning. When I first sent for Julio to come to Castanheiros, making out that he was asking if he could stay here for a while and that I didn’t like to refuse him—I remember how sweet you were, Elinor, in supporting me in this—my idea was merely to divert your attention from Stafford. I knew that few girls can resist my brother when he sets out to be charming. And I warned Julio that it was essential for my future security—and for his, too, because many’s the time I have helped him out with money—that nothing should stand in the way of my marrying Stafford. But to my amazement, Julio really did fall in love with you, Elinor. I saw no harm in it, though—you would have made him a good enough wife. And I knew that once you were betrothed to Julio, you would no longer be a threat to me.”
“So you’re not all that confident of your hold on Stafford,” I said with bitter loathing.
I saw Vicencia’s eyes flicker, and a new thought leaped into my mind. I was almost afraid to voice it, lest my fragile hope be snatched away from me, but I asked her shakily, “Are you and Stafford really lovers, Vicencia? Have you ever been? Or is it merely what you long for and dream of?”
Her face changed, becoming dark and ugly. “Life is so unfair, so unjust. Why should Luzia have had Stafford? She was never a proper wife to him. I hated her, I hated her. She had Stafford, while I had nothing. Even when my husband was alive I had nothing.”
I looked at her with horror and disgust, but I couldn’t keep down the feeling of joy that bubbled within me. My dreadful suspicions about Stafford were melting into the air.
Vicencia was saying in this new, harsh voice, “I knew that I’d be able to win him. With Luzia out of the way, he’d soon have seen the kind of love I had to offer him. Then you appeared on the scene, Elinor. At first your presence didn’t give me any cause for concern, and I was thankful to have
someone at Castanheiros who was on my side. But soon the signs became obvious. I knew that you had fallen in love with Stafford. And much worse, that he was falling in love with you. I decided to put an end to it, an end to you, Elinor. Twice I tried, and
failed—”
“Twice?”
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “You thought it was your grandmother walking in her sleep, didn’t you? Just as she’d done once before. It was not Dona Amalia, though, it was me. How was I to guess that you would be wakeful and out of your bed after taking the sleeping-draft?”
I was wakeful because misery and fear had outweighed the effect of the doctor’s sedative. Restlessness had driven me to the window, to gaze out across the moonlit gardens. Below me on the terrace Stafford had been pacing up and down, restless too. Watching him, wondering about the mental torment that kept him from sleep, I had remained at my window longer than I would otherwise have done. And held there, I had been spared the dreadful fate that would have overtaken me if I had returned to my bed.
“But you will not be so lucky a third time,” Vicencia was saying ominously.
“A third time. You don’t seriously imagine that I’m going to allow you to kill me?”
“You’ll be given no choice in the matter, my dear Elinor.”
I watched her warily, expecting, I suppose, some kind of physical attack. I felt nervous, but I wasn’t afraid of her. Vicencia might be strong, but then, I was no weakling, and I was younger and taller than she.
But when she suddenly moved, it was not to spring at me. Running to the dressing table, she snatched up the lamp that burned there and hurled it with all her strength at the wall between the windows. The porcelain bowl splintered into a hundred fragments, and oil was spattered around. In an instant, the flame licked up from the wick. It seemed to hesitate briefly, then with a sudden rothe long silken drapes were engulfed in a sheet of fire.
I could see at once that it would be impossible to quench such flames by myself. I’d have to fetch help. But as I turned to run from the room, I found to my horror that it was already too late. The door was closing behind Vicencia, and I heard her put the key in the lock and turn it, the very key I had myself asked to be provided to keep me safe. Desperately I wrenched at the handle, but the solid door would not shift.
The bell. As a rule, the servants answered quickly, and they might just reach me in time. But by now the bed curtains had caught fire, barring my path to the bell rope. I realized to my dismay that nearly everything in the room was flammable and would ignite at the merest spark. Soon the paneling of the walls would be ablaze, the chairs and tables, the heavy wardrobe—even the coffered ceiling was constructed of timber.
Coughing and choking from the acrid smoke, I shouted and pounded the door with my two fists. But nobody heard, nobody came. Stricken with panic, my eyes flashed around the room for some tool with which to attack the door. I spotted a brass poker in the grate and ran to snatch it up before a great blast of heat drove me back. With the poker I tried to prize open the lock, but almost at once I realized it was useless. Again I started battering at the door, this time using the weighty knob of the poker. My eyes were streaming and my head was spinning. I was desperately afraid that I’d soon be overcome by the heat and fumes and slip to the floor unconscious. And all hope of escape would be gone....
Then suddenly, unbelievably, I heard Stafford’s voice. “Elinor? Are you in there?”
“Yes,” I cried weakly. “Please open the door, Stafford. Quickly.”
“It’s locked. Turn the key, Elinor.”
“I can’t. It’s not on this side.”
“What?” he exclaimed, unable to comprehend. Then, “Stand out of the way, Elinor. Stand back.”
There was a heavy thud as he flung his full weight against the door, but it withstood his onslaught without yielding. Again Stafford hurled himself, and now there was a tearing, splintering noise. A third time he charged, and with a sudden crack and splitting of timber the door gave way. Stafford stared for a bewildered instant at the roaring inferno of smoke and flame, then gathered me into his arms. He paused only long enough to pull the door shut, and in seconds he had skirted the gallery and was racing down the wide staircase with me, shouting for servants to come and deal with the fire.
It was wonderful to feel the coolness of the night air outside, and I gulped it down into my burning lungs. Clinging to Stafford, I knew with wild relief that there was no need to fight any longer. I let myself relax against him, and as my ravaged senses went spinning into unconsciousness, his words reached through to me as if I were in a dream. “Oh, my darling, my darling Elinor. Thank God you’re safe.”
* * * *
As I began to revive, I was at first aware only of pandemonium all around me, a confusion of shouting voices and a menacing sound like the roaring of a great wind. I heard a thunderous crash that seemed to make the ground beneath me judder and jar. My eyes flew open. The scene before me was from hell itself. Demonic figures ran about in wild commotion, silhouetted by the fierce red glow of the flames that had turned Castanheiros into a raging furnace.
I was lying on a rug of some kind spread on the grass near the cypress drive, well clear of danger, and Stafford was bending over me. All about us were objects that had been rescued from the house, piled higgledy-piggledy—paintings and tapestries and carpets, pieces of furniture, and gold and silver plate.
“Elinor, my darling,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”
I coughed harsh smoke from my lungs and moistened my lips. “Oh, Stafford, how terrible. Is everyone safe?” I pushed myself upright and looked wildly around me. “Grandmama ?”
“Everybody is safely accounted for,” he assured me. “Dona Amalia was brought out by Affonso. I must give him due credit. He acted swiftly and bravely.”
“And Vicencia?” I asked in a thin voice.
“She’s around somewhere, probably organizing things. As you can see, the servants have managed to salvage some of the treasures, but it’s too late now to get anything more out. What happened, Elinor? The fire seems to have started in your room.”
“It ... it was Vicencia. She smashed a lamp, and the oil spilled out and caught afire—”
“Vicencia? But she wouldn’t have gone off and left you. And your door was locked, Elinor. Why was that?”
“Vicencia locked it,” I whispered. “She locked me in and took the key away. Oh, Stafford, she has been responsible for so many dreadful things. She murdered your wife—”
Stafford looked incredulous, and I knew what he was thinking—that those moments of terror, trapped in my room with a fire raging, had temporarily unhinged me. I had to convince him that I was sane and clearheaded, that what I said wasn’t just the babbling of a deranged mind.
I took a deep breath to try and steady my voice. “Please listen, Stafford—you must listen. It is true that Vicencia killed Luzia. She admitted it to me herself. And she has tried to murder me, too—this evening was her third attempt. First at Miramar, it was she who threw a firework and caused the horses to bolt. And then that very same night she came to my room to try to kill me, pretending to be my grandmother walking in her sleep. And it was all part of Vicencia’s plan to kill Pedro, as well. You see, he had recognized her in Cascais the day Luzia died, and he was blackmailing her to keep silent about it, because, when you started asking him questions, he realized the value of what he knew. So when it was arranged for Pedro to drive me to Miramar to meet you, Vicencia seized it as a golden opportunity to rid herself of both of us at once.”
I could sense Stafford fighting down his disbelief of the fantastic, incredible story I was telling him. “But what possible motive could Vicencia have had for killing Luzia?” he asked.
“Because she wanted your wife out of her way. She loves you, Stafford. She has loved you for a very long time.”
He shook his head, bewildered. “Vicencia is my sister-in-law, Elinor. We have been very close, but as for love—”
“She loves you obsessively, insanely. She will allow nothing to stand in her way.”
“And is that why she tried to kill you, Elinor—because you stood in her way?” How could I answer such a question? Stafford breathed softly, “So Vicencia realized that I’m in love with you, Elinor, is that it?”
I nodded my head and looked away toward the holocaust that had once been Castanheiros. Great roaring tongues of flame—orange, crimson, yellow—licked from every window, every doorway. The smoke billowed out through the roof, forming a dense cloud that hung above us in the still air, drifting slowly upward into the dark night sky and blotting out the stars. Every few seconds came the crash of falling timbers or masonry, flinging up great showers of white-hot sparks. When Stafford spoke again, the gentleness had gone from his voice. His face, caught by the glare of the flames, was set in harsh lines of anger. “Vicencia must be a monster—locking you in your room to burn to death. We must find her before she attempts God knows what other inhuman outrage. Elinor, I’m going to take you over by Dona Amalia and Carlota. Stay there with them, and I’ll get Affonso to help me search for Vicencia.”
He helped me to my feet, and I found that I was able to walk fairly steadily to where my grandmother was sitting with Carlota on a sofa from the gold drawing room. Dona Amalia’s face was expressionless, betraying no emotion as she watched the flames consume the great house that had been her home for nearly fifty years.
“Poor Grandmama.” I said, bending to kiss her forehead. “It must be dreadful for you to see the quinta destroyed like this.”
She reached for my hand and pressed it. “At least we must be thankful that everyone is safe, child. And all the animals, too. The horses have been led from the stables, and my dear cats are all here.”
I noticed the cats then, cringing in the shelter of her skirts, their eyes glowing palely in the light of the blaze. Far from being the sinister creatures they had seemed to me when I first arrived, they were pathetic in their fear as they sought their beloved mistress’s protection.
“Perhaps it is fitting that there will no longer be a Castanheiros,” she said in a dull, flat voice. “We had come to the end. There is no future for the Milaveira family.”
There came a curious exclamation from Carlota, a kind of rasping in the throat. I glanced at her and saw that she was shaking violently, as though in the grip of a fever.
“What is it, Carlota?” I asked. “Are you ill?”
“I believed that I was doing the right thing,” she said in a strained, husky whisper. “I only wanted to protect the family from danger, but instead I have brought disaster upon us.”
“What is she saying?” my grandmother demanded of me. “She mumbles and I cannot hear her.”
Carlota spun around to face the old lady, her eyes wild and glaring. “I took the Jade Dragon,” she sobbed. “I took it away, that is what I am saying.”
It was as if everything around us had suddenly become hushed and still. The roaring of the flames seemed a distant sound as I watched the two women. “You, Carlota?” gasped my grandmother. “But why? In the name of heaven, why?”
“I ... I overheard Stafford talking with Elinor and Vicencia in the Chinese salon. He spoke with such intense hatred about the Jade Dragon, saying that he wished it could vanish into thin air and never reappear. I was terrified that Stafford might try to destroy the Jade Dragon, and then what would have become of the Milaveiras? So I took it and hid it for safety. But I should never have taken the Jade Dragon out of the house. I have angered it, and this is its revenge.”
“Where is it now?” my grandmother demanded furiously.
“I acted for the best, madrasta, I swear that I acted for the best. I did not realize—”
“Where is the Jade Dragon?” Dona Amalia repeated. ‘Tell me at once where you put it, Carlota. Tell me.”
I listened with a feeling of dread in my heart. How I wished that the wretched jade figure might really have vanished forever. My grandmother was once again in the grip of all the irrational superstition and idolatry surrounding it.
Carlota insisted miserably, “It is safe, madrasta—in the old grotto. At the top of the steps that are cut into the rock, there is a ledge high up near the roof. That’s where I hid the Jade Dragon, well out of sight.”
“Then go now and fetch it,” my grandmother ordered. “Take one of the servants, with a lantern. Bring the Jade Dragon to me at once.”
Carlota was too afraid to disobey the command, but as she rose to her feet, she was shaking so much that she almost fell. I was wondering whether I should offer to help her, when there was a sudden exclamation from behind us, a ringing shout of triumph. I swung around to see Vicencia standing half-concealed in the shadow of some laurel bushes. “Dona Amalia is right,” she cried. ‘The Milaveiras are finished. Your precious Jade Dragon shall go into the midst of the fire. It will be an end to all your arrogant pretensions.” With a laugh that held such madness it made me shudder, Vicencia turned from us and darted back into the bushes.
“Elinor, go after her,” my grandmother urged me. “Stop her.” I hesitated uncertainly. I think that perhaps I half-wanted Vicencia to succeed in her destructive aim. “Please go, Elinor,” my grandmother begged, struggling to her feet. “Stop that madwoman.”
I obeyed then, plunging through the bushes in Vicencia’s wake. I could hear two or three of the servants coming behind me, following my lead. I had often enough strolled in the gardens to be able now to know the way, but as the darkness of the trees closed in around me, I was forced to slow my steps. Twigs caught at my skirts, and trailing fronds of ivy brushed my face. Once or twice I stumbled, almost tripping over the exposed root of some tree. I still felt weak and shaky from the ordeal in my bedroom, but somehow I managed to keep going, and it wasn’t long before I reached the rocky entrance to the grotto. I halted there a moment to recover my breath. A groom from the stables had brought a candle lantern, and I took it from him. Then, fearfully, the glimmering light held out before me, I entered the dark cavern.
“So it is you, Elinor,” came Vicencia’s voice, echoing from out of the blackness above me. “And none the worse, I see. What ill luck for me that Stafford arrived home so early. It seems he saw flames at your window as he was driving the
trap round to the coach house. Ah well ---”
Although I could not see her, I heard scuffling sounds and labored breathing as she clambered up toward the grotto roof. I held the lantern higher, peering into the shadowy gloom, and seemed to discern a movement.
Vicencia called ironically, “It is thoughtful of you to provide a light, Elinor. It will help me find the Jade Dragon—and help me deliver it, too.”
“Come down, Vicencia,” I pleaded. “Don’t you see, you’re only making things worse for yourself.” But her reply was just a mocking laugh.
Standing there with the lantern in my hand, it came to me suddenly what Vicencia had meant by her strange words—and help me deliver it, too. The instant her searching fingers closed upon the Jade Dragon in its hiding place, she would fling it down on me.
I dropped the lamp and backed quickly out of range. As I did so, I heard Vicencia exclaim in triumph, and I knew she had found what she sought. Then immediately her cry changed to one of terror. There was a slithering noise, a rattle of loose pebbles, and with another terrified scream, Vicencia fell. Her body thudded to the ground.
Horror-stricken, I grasped up the lantern and moved forward, the servants crowding in behind me. The candle shed a pool of pale light where Vicencia lay upon the damp earth floor. Her body was crumpled and twisted in the stillness of death, her head flung back at a grotesque angle. Something dark showed against the white of her neck, and, bending closer, I saw that it was the Jade Dragon. She had clutched it as she fell, and the long-clawed foreleg had pierced her throat and was buried deep. Blood oozed thickly from the gaping wound.
“Vicencia,” I whispered, knowing that it was useless, knowing she would never hear anything again.
A pair of strong arms lifted me up and drew me away. “She is dead, Elinor,” said Stafford somberly. “It seems that the Jade Dragon has avenged us all.”