Far From Home (22 page)

‘No-one would know.’ He struggled to hold her fast for she was lashing out like a wildcat. ‘How would anyone find out? Nobody knows me.’

She gasped. ‘You would marry in church? Before God and the priest? In front of everyone? You not care about that?’ She stopped her assault and stared at him. ‘What kind of man are you?’

He stared back and let go of her. ‘The kind that you wanted for your daughter! Why did you want me, Sofia? Why, on such a short acquaintance, was I persuaded to marry her? It wasn’t just so that you and I could become lovers!’ he taunted.

‘I will tell Sancho,’ she hissed. ‘He will kill you.’

‘Oh, yes!’ he said with a pretence of irony. ‘Does he kill everyone who crosses him? Will he kill you when he finds out you’ve been here with me?’

She hit out again and caught him on his chin, scratching him with her nails. ‘He will not find out. I tell ’im you tried to seduce me!’

‘You didn’t take much seducing,’ he said with sarcasm. ‘You were quite willing.’

‘I did it for Elena.’ She raised her head and glared at him. ‘Sancho says we must find a ’usband for her. She is difficult wiz ’im. He want her to go. He will give a dowry if she marries well, but not if she marries a servant.’

‘Well then,’ he said. ‘You tricked me, didn’t you? You came to my bed to persuade me to marry Elena. Would you have continued the affair once we were married?’

She gave a little shrug. ‘Per’aps. Per’aps not. I don’t know,’ she pouted. ‘But now you ’ave spoilt it.’ Then she raised her hands to her mouth in alarm. ‘
Dios!
What will we do?’

Hurriedly she slipped on her gown and shoes and snatched up her shawl. ‘I will ride to New Orleans in the morning and tell Sancho! You ’ad better hide, Meester Englishman.’

‘No. Wait. Sofia!’ he pleaded. ‘Can we not resolve this? Let Elena decide. She must be the one to say she will not marry me.’

‘She is foolish girl,’ she said bitterly. ‘She will say we will not tell that you are still married. I know her, you see.’

‘Well then—!’ he began, when they heard a sound outside the cabin.

‘
Momia
.’ Elena’s whispered voice came from outside. ‘You must be quick. The boy, ’e wants to lock the door. I tell him I can’t sleep, I must walk in the garden.’

Sofia spoke in rapid Spanish to Elena and although Edward couldn’t understand, he knew full well what she was saying.

‘You are still married, yes?’ Elena came into the cabin. ‘Your wife is not dead?’

He shook his head.

‘You cannot marry me like you said?’

‘I’m sorry, Elena. I just got carried away by the thought of living here, and,’ he added defensively, ‘you both did your best to persuade me.’

‘He must marry me.’ Elena turned to her mother. ‘No-one will know about ’im and if they find out afterwards there is no shame on me.’

‘You heathen,’ Sofia spat out. ‘It is not possible.’

‘
Si
,’ Elena said eagerly. ‘Then I will ’ave my ’ouse and my land and he can leave if ’e is found out, and the child will ’ave his name.’

‘Child? What child?’ Edward stared from one to the other. ‘Don’t tell me—!’ He put his hand to his head. ‘That’s why you needed a husband! You were going to say the child was mine! And I thought I was devious. What a farce!’

‘I am going to bed!’ Sofia stormed to the door. ‘I will think what to do in the morning.’

‘Señor – Meester Newmarch,’ Elena said as her mother flung out of the door. ‘I don’t care that you are still married, though it was better that you did not tell me. I must ’ave my ’ouse for when my child is born. Sancho will not give it to me if ’e thinks that it is Zac’s child.’

She raised her hands in an expressive gesture. ‘I must say that you ’ave your way wiz me otherwise. The boy saw us come ’ere,’ she added. ‘Sancho will be very angry.’

Edward recoiled in horror at the threat. Things were getting worse and worse. He was sinking ever deeper. Whatever should he do?

‘Tomorrow we speak again,’ she said. ‘If we both tell my mother that we shall be married, she will not do anything. She will not tell Sancho.’ She gave a sly smile. ‘I know that she will not. I see ’er come here to you. She will not tell.’

‘My God! What a kettle of fish,’ Edward muttered as he got back to his room. He sat on the bed for a moment whilst he attempted to put his thoughts in order. I must have been crazy to contemplate marriage. Suddenly everything came into focus. If I marry Elena I shall be a bigamist! I wonder what the punishment is for that in America. But if I don’t marry her she will say that I have seduced her and given her a child! Sofia may say that I attempted to seduce her too, which will add weight to their story.

He took a deep breath. There’s only one thing to do. Escape! But how? The doors were guarded both front and side. The door at the back was the servants’ entrance and he was sure that there would be staff there. The window! He got up and drew back the curtains, opened the casement and looked down. His room was at the side of the house, facing the arbour and orchard, and although it was a long drop, the walls were smothered in creeper with thick and sinewy old stems.

Quickly he gathered up his belongings and stuffed them into his bag. ‘It’s now or never,’ he muttered. ‘I’m damned if I go and damned if I stay. So I’ll go.’ He moved a chair to the window and placed his bag on it, then gingerly, for he had never been very athletic, he put one leg over the window sill, reached for his bag, lowered his head and shoulders and started to heave himself out of the window.

He paused halfway. Why am I bringing the bag? It’s cumbersome and contains only clothes. Nothing that I can’t do without. He thrust it back through the window again, then, with both hands free, began his precarious descent. He managed to cling on fairly easily until he got to the last few feet, when a thin whippy branch pulled away from the main stem, snapping beneath his weight and plummeting him down onto the gravel below.

He paused for only a second to get his breath back, then scrambled to his feet and, with aching and jarred legs from the fall, stumbled round to the stables. The horses within the loose boxes snickered at his arrival but he clacked his tongue and spoke quietly, trying to see the mount he had ridden when out with Sofia.

‘Good fellow,’ he whispered on finding him, and looked about for a saddle. He found several, neatly hanging on the wall with bridles, stirrup irons and a shelf of leathers, whips and grooming brushes. He chose the high pommelled saddle he had used previously, which Sofia had told him was the most comfortable for long journeys.

The sky was light though it was the middle of the night. Soothing the horse, he led him down the drive, anticipating constantly that there would be a shout for him to stop. He reached the gate and to his relief there was no guard on duty. He lifted the iron bar securing it, swung open the gate and, still murmuring to the horse, walked out, carefully closing it behind him.

A vivid dawn was breaking as sweating and saddle-sore he reached New Orleans, though thick black clouds were rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico and towards the Mississippi. He rode towards a hostelry close to the Rodriguez’ house and called to a stable boy. ‘Do you know Señor Rodriguez?’

‘Sure.’ The boy gave a grin. ‘Everyone knows him.’

‘This is his horse.’ Edward slid stiffly down, his knees buckling beneath him. ‘He lent it to me. Keep it here until he comes for it. It’s too early to go to the house,’ he added, seeing the question on the boy’s face. ‘Give him a good rub down, will you?’ He gave the boy a coin. ‘If no-one comes for him by tomorrow, take him up to the house.’

Don’t want to be charged with horse stealing as well as everything else, he deliberated as he hurried on his way. Now I just hope that the hotel doesn’t lock its doors.

The hotel door was open and there was no-one at the desk as he sidled in. He ran upstairs to his room, throwing off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt as he entered.

‘Who’s there?’ Allen, in his nightshirt, burst in from the adjoining room. ‘Oh, sir! You startled me. I thought it was an intruder.’

‘Get dressed, Allen, we’re leaving.’ Edward opened his wardrobe door to take out another shirt.

‘Leaving, sir? Has something happened? I thought you were going to a wedding?’

‘Changed my mind. Things didn’t turn out as expected.’ He suddenly felt exhausted and plumped down on the bed. ‘God, Allen! I’ve had such a terrible time.’ He bent down and put his head in his hands. ‘I’m a fool. I’ve got myself into such a scrape. There was this woman, you see—’

He proceeded to give Allen a sketchy outline of what had happened, missing out the affair with Sofia and emphasizing that Elena wanted to marry him so that she could give her child his name. ‘She’s going to say the child is mine, which it isn’t, so I left. By a window! And Rodriguez is sure to come after me, so we have to leave immediately. I’ll pay the bill and we’ll go. Get your things. Come on, start packing!’

‘Could I just think about this, sir?’ Allen said slowly. ‘Does Rodriguez know what has happened?’

‘No, not yet, but he will before the day is out.’ Edward gazed at Allen. ‘I’ve just had an idea too. He’ll expect that I’ll come back here to collect you and my belongings. I wonder—?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Would it be better if I travelled alone rather than two of us travelling with several trunks? Yes,’ he decided. ‘I think it would. If I go now before he knows anything about this shambles, I could be miles away. And if he comes looking for me you can say that you don’t know where I am.’

Allen agreed that this would be a better idea. One man and his servant, plus several pieces of luggage, would be easily recognizable. Besides which, he had no desire to be caught up in Newmarch’s shenanigans.

‘And,’ Edward warmed to his theme, ‘I’ll borrow your clothes.’ He quickly shed his fine cotton shirt and linen trousers. ‘Lend me yours, there’s a good fellow. They’ll be looking for a gentleman, won’t they? Not someone dressed as a valet.’

Allen silently handed over a shirt, jacket and trousers, which Edward put on. ‘Bit short in the leg,’ he said, viewing himself in the mirror. ‘But never mind. Right – money in my pocket. Enough for about a couple of weeks or so. Shouldn’t be any longer than that. They’ll soon get tired of searching. You keep my papers with you. For heaven’s sake don’t lose them or we’re sunk. There. Now I have no identification on me. Nothing to say I’m Edward Newmarch. To all intents and purposes I’m Robert Allen.’

‘One moment, sir.’ Allen left the room and went into his, coming back with a ticket in his hand. ‘The ticket from the voyage. Second class. It has my name on it.’ He couldn’t help the sarcasm in his voice but Newmarch didn’t seem to notice as he postured in front of the mirror.

‘I’ll wait here, then, shall I?’ Allen asked.

‘Yes. I don’t know what you’ll do with your time. Look at the ships maybe?’ He paused. ‘I was nearly the owner of a ship,’ he said regretfully. ‘Ah well!’

He slipped down the stairs, keeping his head lowered as he saw the clerk coming out of his cubbyhole behind the desk. He had no clear idea where he would go but hurried along the road towards the river. A boat. I’ll catch a boat and move out of New Orleans for a few days. He patted his pocket where his money was. I hope I’ve brought enough with me. Still, if I travel second class . . .

The rain started to fall as he scurried along and looking up he saw the dark clouds directly overhead. Should have brought an umbrella, he thought, but then, do servants carry umbrellas? I’ve never seen Allen with one, except when he’s brought one for me.

‘Morning!’ A deep voice greeted him. ‘You’re out early this morning, sir.’

He glanced up and recognized the swarthy fellow who had once offered him a ride in a boat.

‘Yes,’ he said, not stopping. ‘I’m trying to catch an early boat.’

‘Going anywhere special?’ The man caught up with him.

‘Erm, just upriver,’ he answered nervously, not liking the stranger’s close presence.

‘I’ve got a friend with a boat. Cap’n Mac. Take you anywhere you want, mister. No questions asked and take you fast if you in big hurry.’

‘Oh!’ Edward pondered. I shouldn’t accept people at face value. He can’t help looking so ugly and dangerous. He’s probably a good family man. ‘Well, yes, I am in a bit of a hurry.’

The man nodded and held Edward’s elbow in a firm grip as the clouds opened up and torrential rain pelted down. ‘Come with me. Better run, she’ll be pulling off any time now.’ He hurried him, not towards the wharfside, but further along the levee where there was a cluster of broken-down cabins within a sparse wood of spindly trees and several piles of felled timber. ‘You got some cash?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Edward shouted above the sound of the storm. ‘Only enough for second class.’

The fellow roared with laughter. ‘There’s only one class on this boat, mister. There she is.’

Edward peered ahead. A dilapidated paddle-wheel barge with peeling paintwork on its hull and deck lay where his companion was pointing. The embankment was high at this point and the boat’s stern was low in the water. ‘Is she seaworthy?’ he yelled. ‘She doesn’t look very safe.’

‘She ain’t going to sea,’ was the answer and he was pushed from behind whilst a rough-looking man on board, wearing oil-stained twill dungarees and peaked cap, grabbed his arm to pull him down on the deck. ‘Get below if anyone’s chasing after you,’ he directed. ‘I’ll say you’re not on board.’

Edward wiped the rain from his face as the boat scraped and creaked, and, with much grinding and clanking and clouds of steam, pulled away from the levee towards the middle of the river. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘How far are you going?’

‘Depends,’ said the man.

‘Well, I don’t have a great deal of money.’ He put his hand into his jacket pocket, and finding it empty put it in the other one. That too was empty apart from the ticket which Allen had given him. ‘I’ve been robbed!’ he gasped. ‘That fellow!’ He stared back at the levee, but the man had gone from sight. ‘Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours?’

‘Nope. Ain’t never seen him before. You lost your money, mister? Or did you get on my boat under false pretences?’