Far From Home (17 page)

As it is, she glanced up the forested hillside, I wonder what I am doing here, waiting to confront a man who is an impostor. Who might even be a murderer! I have acted on a whim, which is not like me at all. Is it justice I am seeking? Justice for my cousin May, or for Wilhelm Dreumel, who might be unaware that he is being deceived?

She turned back into the cabin and stood with her hands on her hips. In the corner of the room she saw a broom leaning against the wall and a bucket at the side of it. She gave a wry self-deprecating smile. I didn’t at any rate, not by any stretch of imagination, envisage that I should have to clean out a room before I could live in it!

An hour later smoke was issuing from both chimney stoves. Isaac had cleared the ash, brought in wood and lit the fires. The prospect of a proper meal seemed to have galvanized him into action. He’d moved boxes and packing cases around the longhouse so that Kitty had room to cook, found a sack of flour, dried beans and barley, and had been promised soup and dumplings.

He brought an oil lamp to the cabin for the evening was closing in, and as Georgiana was putting another log into the stove the door opened again. ‘Isaac—’ she started to say. ‘Could we—’

‘Not Isaac,’ another man’s voice told her. ‘How the devil—?’

‘Did I get here?’ she answered, observing Robert Allen caustically. ‘I suppose you thought you’d seen the last of me,
Mr Newmarch
?’

Allen came towards her. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I really thought that I had.’ He looked exhausted. His clothes, his face and hands were spattered with mud. ‘I should have known better,’ he gibed. ‘Your sort never gives up.’

‘My sort?’ She bristled. ‘What exactly is
my sort
?’

‘Your class, Miss Gregory.’ He faced her, his eyes defiant. ‘Determined to keep lesser folk down. Oppress them. Prevent them taking the advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself.’

She lifted her head and stared coldly at him. ‘You know nothing of me. Not a thing! You are judging everyone by your own standards which, from what I have observed, are totally reprehensible.’

He put his hand to his eyes. ‘Then you know nothing of me, either! I admit,’ he said, sighing and glancing away from her, ‘that it doesn’t look good. And my conscience has bothered me over Newmarch. But the man was a fool! An utter fool.’

‘Was?’ she breathed. ‘Then, he’s—’

‘Might I sit down?’ He glanced towards the chairs which Georgiana had placed near the stove.

She nodded, and as he sat down she stood over him. ‘Don’t you think it’s time I knew the truth? I told you that I would inform Mr Dreumel. And I will. That is why I am here. That is why I have travelled all this way and at great inconvenience, I might tell you! But I am determined to find out about Edward Newmarch.’

He picked up a piece of wood from the floor and manoeuvred the door of the stove open with it. Staring into the flames, he murmured, ‘It’s good to have a fire in the evening. Relaxing after an honest day’s work. My da and my brothers were miners, you know. Though of course you wouldn’t know, how would you? But they couldn’t always afford a fire, even though they were working in coal all day.’

He looked up at her. ‘But I won’t bore you with all of that, Miss Gregory. I wouldn’t want to upset your finer feelings.’

She said nothing, but continued to stare at him.

‘Sit down, Miss Gregory,’ he said. ‘If you don’t, then as you are a lady, I must stand, and I really am so very tired.’

She sat down and, folding her hands in her lap, she waited.

‘You’re right of course. You do need to know about Edward Newmarch.’ Allen took a deep breath. ‘So I’ll tell you. Even though he made me swear not to breathe a word. We were in New Orleans and he’d been invited by a rich Spanish family to visit them at their country house—’

The Rodriguez country house was even more magnificent than the one they owned in New Orleans. Marble pillars flanked the entrance and as the carriage pulled up, three black servants descended the wide steps to greet Edward. One to assist him from the carriage, one to take his overnight bag and one to take him through the cool hall and into a sunny drawing room, where the floor waas laid with polished marble chips and scattered with Chinese carpets.

Sofia rose from her chair to welcome him. ‘I am delighted that you were able to come, Meester Newmarch,’ she said huskily. ‘So very pleased.’

She invited him to sit down and rang a hand-bell to order refreshments. ‘Bring wine,’ she said to the mulatto girl who came in answer. ‘And orange juice. Figs too, cherries—’ She made a circling clicking motion with her fingers to indicate other items.

Within minutes the door opened and more servants arrived carrying trays with glasses of white wine, dishes of grapes, figs, dark red cherries, almonds, olives, and plates containing slivers of smoked meat and fish and tiny pastry cases filled with potted chicken.

Sofia picked up a piece of smoked chicken with her fingers. ‘This is cooked on what we call a
barbacoa
. The Spaniards first saw it in Mexico.’ Edward watched her, fascinated. Her lips were soft and full, and he caught a glimpse of her pink tongue as she placed the meat in her mouth. ‘The food is cooked outside,’ she continued. ‘In ze open air.’

Edward took a sip of wine. It was cool and dry with an aftertaste of apple and spice.

‘You must rest after your journey, Meester Newmarch.’ Sofia smiled at him. ‘And then I will take you to see the estate. Today we will have just a short ride and then tomorrow we will take a peecnic for lunch, yes? We will take wine, and chicken, and wine.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘And turkey and wine.’ She laughed. ‘We will cook on ze
barbacoa
,yes?’

‘Yes,’ he croaked as he considered the prospect of her company. She hadn’t mentioned her husband, and she had previously said that he wouldn’t be arriving until Saturday, which was the next day. ‘That sounds wonderful, señora.’

She lightly touched his arm. ‘You must call me Sofia if we are to be friends.’ Her voice was low and seductive. ‘And what shall I call you, Meester Newmarch? You are not a stuffy Englishman, I think?’

‘No! No, absolutely not! Edward,’ he flustered. ‘I would be honoured if you would call me Edward.’

‘Ed-ward,’ she breathed, her tongue trilling around the letter
r
. ‘It is a very English name, I think?’

‘Yes.’ He felt totally tongue-tied. ‘It is.’

When he had finished his glass of wine she poured him another and insisted that he ate some food before going to rest. ‘We will take a short
reposo
,’ she said, ‘and then when it is cooler we will ride.’

‘And will your daughters accompany us, señ— Sofia?’ he asked. ‘They are well, I trust?’

‘Sibella is resting, and then she must study. Elena,’ she shrugged expressively, ‘she has gone somewhere, I don’t know. She is very restless.’ She gave him a beguiling smile. ‘She needs to be tamed.’

‘Tamed?’ he queried. ‘Is that possible?’

‘Perhaps not.’ She gazed at him from her dark eyes, then lowered her lashes. ‘Not all women can be tamed, though often men think that they are.’

He had no answer to give her, but simply murmured platitudes. She rang the bell again and a boy came to take him to his room, which was on the first floor, where the shuttered windows overlooked a green lawn. At the furthest edge of the lawn was a belt of trees and beyond that as far as he could see were acres of sugar cane.

‘What must it be like to own so much?’ he murmured as he lay beneath a mosquito net and between crisp cotton sheets. ‘I’m poor in comparison.’ He breathed deeply and considered. If I could marry Elena I would have a share in all of this. But I would always be tempted by the lovely Sofia. But I can’t! I’m a married man, goddamn it! I swear I would marry Elena if I wasn’t.

He fell asleep and dreamed of May and Ruby. Ruby was walking away from him but May was pursuing him. She had a whip in her hand and was lashing furiously around his head, calling him all manner of names, though he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Someone knocked softly on the door. ‘
Señor
,’ they called. ‘
Señor
!’

‘Coming!’ He sat up. ‘Yes. I’m coming.’ He rubbed his eyes. Would anyone find out if I married Elena? he wondered. Nobody knows anything about me. Only Allen, and I could pay him off. But no. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the thing. Not the English way. Not gentlemanly!

A tray of tea was brought to him and he thanked the maid for her thoughtfulness. I hardly ever drank tea at home, he mused, but I suppose they think that all English people do. I’d much rather have coffee.

Sofia was waiting for him and led him outside, where a groom was waiting with two horses. A dun-coloured criollo with a side saddle for her and a sturdy black mustang for him. Sofia wore a green riding habit and a matching hat with a veil which partially hid her eyes. They rode, followed by the groom, down the long drive and headed towards a narrow creek where she pointed out the extent of their land. ‘All that you can see across the water,’ she pointed, ‘belongs to Sancho. And up ’ere.’ She raised her arm to her right, and then to her left. ‘And as far as the ’orizon. That is sugar cane,’ she said. ‘And where you cannot see, he grows cotton.’

He was very impressed. I must buy land, he thought. That is the thing to have in this country. ‘I have shares in a cotton mill,’ he began. ‘In England.’

‘Oh!’ She turned to him. ‘You own a cotton mill?’

‘Well, not exactly own it, but I own part of it!’ That’s almost true, he thought defensively. I do own a number of shares.

He saw a gleam in her eyes. ‘That is good. So you are rich, yes? Like Sancho?’

He smiled and shook his head, though he didn’t deny it. ‘I have a private income,’ he said modestly. ‘My father left me an annuity when he died.’ Though not enough, he deliberated. Martin got the estate. If it wasn’t for May’s money I wouldn’t be able to manage.

‘Ah!’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And you will have your poor wife’s money, of course?’

‘Wh-what?’ He was startled by her question. ‘My – wife?’

‘Yes.’ She showed concern and solicitude. ‘Your poor wife who died!’

‘Oh! Yes!’ He broke into a sweat. For a moment he had thought he was found out. He put his hand across his face. ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured. ‘Sometimes I can’t bear to think of it.’

She leaned across and touched his arm. ‘You must learn to love again,’ she said softly. ‘It is the only way to recover.’ She searched his face as he put his hand over hers. ‘You must learn to love and you must marry for a second time.’ She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. ‘And you do not ’ave to do the two things at the same time or wiz ze same person!’

What is she saying? A pulse hammered in his throat. Is she suggesting something?

She gathered up the reins and kicked in her heels. ‘I am telling you of this, Ed-ward.’ Once more her tongue purred seductively around his name. The mare started to trot on. ‘Because I know it.’

That evening they dined alone, though there was always a servant hovering in the background. Sibella came in after they had finished eating to kiss her mother goodnight, and greeted Edward charmingly, but Elena did not appear.

‘She is busy wiz her horses, I think,’ Sofia said when Edward nervously asked about her. ‘She likes to ride. She is a good horsewoman. She knows also about cotton and cane. She would be able to run a plantation if she should marry someone with land.’

He nodded and wished he hadn’t mentioned Elena’s name.

‘They will come with us tomorrow,’ Sofia continued. ‘Elena and Sibella, on our peecnic.’

He was disappointed, for he had thought that he was going to have Sofia all to himself. He felt reckless and heard, in every word that Sofia uttered, a hint or suggestion that their relationship could be more than just sociable. She was not coquettish or provocative, but she gazed at him in such a beguiling manner and spoke so seductively that he was enraptured and captivated by her.

A host of servants accompanied them the following morning, as well as Sibella and Elena. Some of the servants rode or walked ahead with mules which were laden with baskets, and others walked behind carrying branches of green wood, iron cooking pots and pans.

Elena was as fine a horsewoman as her mother had described, and she took on a different persona when on horseback. She looked confident and even quite handsome in her dark maroon habit, and unlike her mother and sister did not wear a hat or veil but caught up her thick hair in a crocheted snood.

‘You come and ride with me, Meester Newmarch,’ she called, wheeling her horse in front of Edward. ‘I will show you where we go.’

He hesitated, but to refuse would seem churlish, so with an apologetic smile at Sofia, he trotted off after her.

The trail they were following ran between acres of cotton fields which widened out, then dropped into a gentle green valley. ‘There,’ Elena pointed as they came to a halt at the top of the hillside. ‘Down by the trees. You see the river? Here is where we stop.’

She turned to him. ‘You have decided to marry me? Yes?’ she said. ‘That is why you have come?’

‘I – no! I cannot. My wife!’ What am I to do? he worried. How can I get out of this?

‘Then why you come?’ Her eyes flashed.

‘I was invited,’ he insisted. ‘Your mother—’

‘Tst,’ she said impatiently. ‘It was Sancho who invited you.’ She gazed at him scornfully. ‘Do not think it was for friendship, señor. Sancho does not have time for friendship, ’e only has time for business.’ She rubbed the tips of her fingers together. ‘And for money.’

She kicked her horse on and rode down the valley, and he followed reluctantly. He could hear the voices of the servants behind as they laughed and chattered.

‘’Ere is where we would live.’ She went on as if there had been no break in the conversation and no refusal on his part. ‘At the top of the valley.’ She pointed upwards to a bank of trees. ‘There we would build a ranch ’ouse and grow cotton. It is good land beyond the trees. Flat land where we could watch the cotton grow.’

‘But, Elena,’ he said in desperation. ‘Why me? There must be other men you would rather marry. A farmer perhaps who knows about growing things? I’m not a countryman!’