A Divided Inheritance (45 page)

‘In here,’ she said, pushing on a rusting wrought-iron gate. It opened into a yard overgrown with grass and littered with debris of stone and ship’s timbers. A back door was
broken up into planks. She pointed.

‘Señorita Ortega! Who do you think I am? A cat? I can’t crawl through that gap. I need to eat less, I think.’

‘It’s not so bad – it opens.’ She dragged on the door which, to his surprise, creaked outwards on bent hinges. ‘It’s the servants’ stairs. Come
up.’

She led him up narrow winding stairs, heard his shoes crunching on the layer of grit before they came to the big chamber, high-ceilinged, with a wooden-beamed roof. From there she bounded up the
wider staircase to the top.

She was panting a little, exhilarated from the climb and her own daring.

‘How on earth did you find this place?’ He was not out of breath at all.

‘Husain. One of his friends found it, the way children do. But Mama banned them from coming here – too dangerous with all the building going on. But when I saw it, I just kept on
coming, for the view.’

She pointed to the open shutters, and watched as he walked towards the balcony. She clasped her hands in expectation.

He stared out a moment, and she heard him let out an exclamation. When he turned to look over his shoulder she was almost as excited as he was. She smiled and went to join him at the open
window. The green ribbon of river could be seen winding its way towards the sea. On either side the city was like a map spread out on a table, the sky a huge blue dome dotted with cloud.

‘I come here when I need quiet. Or to think,’ she said.

‘It’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me.’ He accidentally brushed her hand with his fingers. She held her breath, the air seemed to grow silent but she did not move her hand
away.

‘It must be one of the finest views in Seville,’ he said. She was still enough to hear her own heart beating as his hand curled into hers.

‘I think so,’ she said, carrying on the conversation as if nothing at all was happening between them. ‘I keep thinking I’ll come one day and it will be full of
workmen.’

‘One day I’d like a house like this. If I had it, I couldn’t bear to see it lying empty.’

Now his hand held hers tight, and his thumb circled on her wrist. She stared unseeing at the view; all her senses were afire. She knew she should move away. He was everything she should avoid.
Her mother would be horrified. Not only was he not of her family’s faith, he wasn’t even Spanish. She swallowed. But then she might not be in Spain much longer, the world was changing
so fast. She had the sense of stepping off the edge of something, allowing herself to fall.

He turned her round, to look into her face. ‘I meant it,’ he said quietly. ‘Did you know, you are more beautiful than any view.’

She shook her head, but the protest had no heart behind it. ‘Mr Deane, I am just a girl from the pottery. You are a gentleman . . .’

He laughed. ‘I am not a gentleman. At least I wasn’t until six months ago. I was a . . . well, never mind. But you are a dancer, and I am a fencer. There is something in common
there, I think.’ He rested his other hand on her shoulder.

‘You fight well,’ she said, desperately looking for conversation, knowing that they were both gripped by something they could not control. ‘I heard Señor tell Papa you
are one of his best students.’

‘Really? He really said that?’

She nodded. ‘True, as God is my witness.’

‘Then I could kiss you.’ He brought his lips down towards hers, and very slowly, inevitably, she turned her face towards his in an invitation.

His lips rested on hers lightly, she felt his arms close around her back. She moved into him, tingling all over. She wanted to draw him close, for the moment never to stop. His hand wound itself
into her hair, she opened her throat to press her mouth to his with more fervour. When he withdrew, his hand came out to stroke her forehead, but she broke away, disorientated. The world had
changed in a moment. What had she done?

‘I must be getting back to the pottery.’ She had a suddern urge to turn back time, for everything to be as it was, safe and familiar.

‘But I thought you said you had an hour?’ His hand kept hold of hers.

She was panicking now, it was all too much. Her thoughts were in confusion. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have brought you here, I must go.’ She
broke away and turned, hurried down the stairs.

‘Then I’ll come with you, escort you back to the pottery,’ he said from behind. She heard his boots clatter down the stairs after her. When she got to the door at the bottom of
the servants’ stairs, it was jammed. She jerked at it until it swung open but he caught up with her in the passage.

‘Luisa, I was too forward,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. I should have been less—’

‘Please don’t say anything else. We will forget about it, yes?’ She tried to be calm and reasonable, but her body was alive to his presence. She paused and looked up at him
standing away, the brim of his hat screwed up in one hand, at his dark questioning eyes. ‘It’s just I –’ She could not move. She heard her own voice come out of the
darkness, ‘No, kiss me again.’

For a month, Elspet and the men trained in the art of fire. They learned to draw the sword like the sudden shooting up of a flame. Over and over they slipped it from the
scabbard so that the movement became seamless and sudden.

Elspet dreaded that she would fall behind, that she would become a liability in the training, and that the señor must secretly think her a burden. She knew her arm looked weak and
ineffective next to the men, especially Zachary, who was becoming fast as a whirlwind. She redoubled her efforts. They practised the quick leaping quality of the blade with point-strikes and
thrusts, and in the evenings Alvarez made them study all types of flame.

They even watched the flame trickle along a fuse to a heap of firepowder – such a small pile like a sprinkle of salt – until she had to clap her hands to her ears at the crack of the
explosion and shield her eyes from its brief flaring light. The whole time she watched Alvarez with a fierce attention, both to learn from him and because he held for her a fascination she could
not fathom.

Zachary had been forced to accept her presence. Since the death of Wilmot he seemed less intimidating. Señor Alvarez treated her with exactly the same respect as he did the other students
so Zachary had been coerced into doing the same, simply because Alvarez expected it. Her cousin kept his face blank when she was asked to partner him. And even he had to concede that no more
students had come to the señor’s door for training, and with there being five men it was better to have her as a partner than no partner at all.

Lately, Elspet noticed that Zachary was distracted, always looking out of the window. Alvarez was tough with him and made him stand an extra hour in the
en garde
position. As for
Elspet, she relished it all. She tied her skirts further into her waistband and left off her sleeves. She had never worked so hard in her life; her muscles ached, her chemise was soaked, her right
hand blistered from gripping the sword. She worked with them all now, with Girard Thibault the artist, with the courteous Dutchman Alexander Souter, with the young devout Spaniard Pedro Gutierrez,
with the watchful Frenchman Etienne Galen.

By the time they had moved on to training with the element of air, the weather was cooler. One of the days she partnered Etienne to practise speed, timing and distance. When they had finished
their drills, he saluted her with a mock bow. ‘You do well for a woman,’ he said.

She reacted automatically, ‘No, I feel like a cack-handed fool next to you men.’

‘You take on the stance better than we, and you have a natural grasp of distance. We men, well – we have so much already in our bodies from other teachers. It is hard to let it go,
yes? But you have no need to un-learn someone else’s methods.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Come, let’s sit,’ he said. She went over to the bench. Etienne made to perch next to her, so that she had to move tight up to one end. He wedged himself in beside her.

‘Will you fight?’ he asked.

Fight? The idea had not occurred to her. She had not thought beyond the training. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’d be no match for a man.’

‘Then why do you do it?’

He was looking at her, an intent look in his pale eyes.

‘I suppose I just fell into it somehow. I was here in Spain to see my cousin – Zachary. And I cannot go back home without him. So I will train with him until he is ready to
leave.’ It sounded reasonable, as she said it.

‘But why? You could go back to England without him, surely?’

His questions were making her uncomfortable. She decided to be honest. ‘My father left his business to us jointly and no funds can be released until Zachary signs for it. I am dependent on
his charity for now, and he will not return with me to England until his training is done, in the spring. I stay to keep him to his word.’

‘So Zachary Deane is a rich man? I would not have guessed it from his bearing.’

‘I . . . my father was in trade, and—’ She stopped herself. Etienne was sitting far too near to her. His breath rasped close to her ear.

‘What trade is that?’ Etienne asked.

‘Oh, nothing. Lace. The haberdasher’s trade,’ she said, standing. ‘Excuse me, I must get a drink.’ She walked away and as she glanced back over her shoulder she saw
his eyes were still fixed on her.

In the patchy shade of the vine, Zachary was pouring a drink. ‘Etienne seems to have taken a liking to you,’ he said. It was the first time he had opened an exchange with her in a
pleasant tone of voice.

‘We were just talking, that’s all.’

‘Well, he was watching you all morning when you were working with Girard. I know because Etienne was my partner, and he couldn’t keep his eyes on the game. At first I thought he was
watching Girard, but then I realized it must be you he was looking at. You have an admirer.’

Discomfited, she poured herself some watered ale from the jug, and ignored him. She did not like Zachary making such personal comments. She remembered how keen he was for her to be wed. She
found herself wishing it was Señor Alvarez who was her admirer, and not the over-familiar Frenchman.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Señor Alvarez appeared. Elspet tried to act with a nonchalance she did not feel. They stood aside to let him near the table. Señor Alvarez
turned to her. ‘Mistress Leviston, if you are to continue, we need to discuss when you will make payment. I’ll be in the library this afternoon. We can discuss it then.’

‘Of course,’ she said, but he had caught her off-guard. She had never thought about how she would pay. She looked around to catch Zachary’s eye but, curse him, he was gone,
like a wily fox into the forest. ‘Yes, I’ll come this afternoon,’ she said.

After he left, she stood a moment, crestfallen. This would be the end of her training.

The library was dim after the brightness of the yard. Señor Alvarez was waiting, his black hat on the table before him, so she was surprised all over again by his white
hair. ‘Please sit,’ he said, but she stayed standing.

She blurted out, ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot pay. There is no money left. I cannot even feed myself or my maid. I’m sorry. I’m grateful to you for paying the burial
expenses, as I said. And I am thankful for what I have learned so far, and I’ll send money as soon as I am able, but I cannot train with the men any more.’ She was almost in tears as
she turned to leave.

‘Wait.’ His voice was commanding.

She hesitated. ‘I can’t pay, so it is no use my wasting your time.’

The apprentice was getting the books out for afternoon study, and quietly placing them out on the tables. The thought of the books and the study she would miss made her catch her breath.

‘Please – do take a seat.’ Señor Alvarez gestured at the chair.

She sat. He tapped his fingers on the table, and then rubbed his hand over his upper lip. His face was tanned from the sun, slight creases lodged around his eyes.

‘Mistress Leviston,’ he said, ‘I do not yet understand why you are here, but you are here nonetheless. And as you are here, there must be some purpose behind it. So you will be
trained. And payment will be exacted.’ He paused a moment and then smiled. ‘I have never had a female pupil, so you must pardon me if I occasionally forget your sex.’

‘But how will I pay?’ she protested. ‘I have no funds at all until I can persuade Zachary to come to England, and he says you will not let him relinquish the training, even for
a short while.’

‘Once someone has begun, I must keep up the pressure. If the momentum I have built up is lost, then the training must begin again. Few came to study with me, and times are . . .
uncertain.’ He sighed. ‘Zachary and his companions are my hope for the future of
La Destreza
. Who knows, perhaps you will be my last students.’

‘But could you not make an exception?’

‘No. No exceptions. I am sorry.’

‘Then I cannot pay.’