The reality, though, had been so horribly different.
A thought sprang unbidden into her mind.
I hate Jacinto Teixeiro ...I hate him, I hate him. I’m vastly thankful that I’ll be leaving this valley tomorrow and need never set eyes on him again.
Abruptly, Marianna jumped up from her seat on the stone boulder. Petticoats flying, she ran like a mountain hare along the narrow rocky path, all the way back to the
quinta.
* * * *
From her chair by an upstairs window, Linguareira saw her coming, running as if demented. So she’d seen the lad, and the parting hadn’t been happy! They’d quarrelled, more than likely, the poor
menina
not realizing that she was halfway to being in love with him. And Jacinto ... what were his feelings? As an intelligent young fellow he would understand — thank the Blessed Virgin! — that the
fidalgo’s
daughter was not for the likes of him. Otherwise, she would long ago have put a stop to them meeting, never mind how much the
menina
threw tantrums about it.
Senhor Dalby had not cared about his daughter teaching a peasant lad his letters, chuckling that you never knew when an educated tenant might come in useful. But the
fidalgo
didn’t understand the half of it. He was far too wrapped up in himself and his own affairs to keep an eye on the
menina
and make sure the arrangement didn’t lead to any trouble. He surely couldn’t have guessed how close the two young people would become? Every single blessed day it had been, this summer, with Jacinto stealing time when he should have been busy about his tasks.
Ah well, it was a problem that had solved itself now, with the
menina
to be married.
Married — that poor child! It didn’t bear thinking about. What sort of bargain had been struck, wondered Linguareira, with a rush of anger. Far from paying out any dowry, how much money was the
fidalgo
to receive in exchange for his young daughter’s hand? The master had been far gone on the road to ruination, everybody knew that. At present, all the gentlemen engaged in the wine trade — English and Portuguese alike — were suffering because of this dreadful pest that was destroying the vines. But none more so than Senhor Dom James Dalby! It was common knowledge that he was up to his nostrils in debt. He had already sold off most of the wines in his
soleras
for gold in his pocket, giving no thought to conserving stocks like most of the other wine shippers, so he was near upon finished and done for. The small quantity of wine the
senhor
hadn’t parted with was fast disappearing down his own gullet, in an effort to drown his sorrows.
Had the poor
menina
any suspicion that the papa she loved so uncritically was selling her? For wasn’t that the plain, brutal truth of the matter? Little Marianna had caught the fancy of his old
amigo,
that English shipowner, and the two men had come to a bargain. It was a thought to make one’s stomach retch. But alas, what else was there for the child? She could never be expected to earn her own living, not a young lady of gentle birth. For Miss Marianna Dalby, marriage was the only possible future, and the way things were going for her papa these days, the sooner she was wed the better. At least as wife to a rich man, she would never face poverty and hunger. Linguareira could only hope and pray that the
menina
wouldn’t have to face more than her fair share
of heartache and sorrow in other ways. For heartache and sorrow were a woman’s lot in this world, she knew that well enough. It was said that the Good Lord in his wisdom had arranged it thus, the belter to prepare women for their heavenly reward.
And now the task had befallen her of instructing the poor
menina
in those matters she’d been carefully shielded from knowing about whilst her good mother was alive. Senhora Dona Grace had always been most insistent that her young daughter’s mind was to be kept pure, as she’d put it, with the result that the child’s natural curiosity had been left unsatisfied, all her questions left unanswered. Even after Senhora Dalby’s death, Linguareira had not liked to take it upon herself to act differently, though it had been an anxious time when the
menina
had started her monthly flows. Luckily she’d not been unduly alarmed, accepting the explanation that it was all a part of growing up
.
The little
menina
was a strange mixture, Linguareira reflected, candid and truthful mostly — yet sometimes so withdrawn
that you never knew quite what was going on in the child’s head.
‘Since Miss Marianna has no mother, it’s up to you to see that she knows what’s what,’ the master had ordered Linguareira the other day. ‘Understand?’
Oh yes, she knew what he meant well enough. She had to prepare the child for what to expect from a husband who’d seen more than fifty summers. A man who had probably been whoring for twice as many years as the little
menina
had been alive on this earth. A man who had buried one wife, the mother of his son and daughter, and now lusted for an innocent child as his bride. Ah well, so be it!
As Marianna burst into the room, Linguareira heaved her bulk out of the chair and fell into her habitual sharp-tongued grumbling.
‘So here you are then, miss, and me wondering where you’d got to. A fine way to behave, I must say, running off without
so much as a word.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Never mind about being sorry.’ And then, with determination, ‘I want to talk to you,
menina.’
‘Oh? What about?’
“About getting wed.’
Marianna sighed. ‘I thought all the arrangements had been made about that.’
‘I don’t mean the wedding itself, child. Here, come and sit down with me. There are things I must tell you.’ Holy Mother of God, where did one begin? It was all so unnatural, a girl of this age knowing far less, than she herself had known at the age of seven or eight. But then, from what Linguareira had heard, all gentlefolk seemed to have such strange ideas about matters like this. Having no experience in finesse, she made a bold and blunt approach. ‘I want to talk to you about how babies get started.’
A faint flush bloomed on Marianna’s cheeks. ‘But I already know about that.’
‘My, you’re a sly one!’ Linguareira’s surprise was quickly followed by an alarming thought. ‘Who’s been telling you
I’d like to know. Not that Clever One?’
The flush deepened swiftly. ‘Of course not! As if I’d ever talk to Jacinto about such a thing.’
‘Who, then?’
Embarrassed, Marianna ran a finger along the curved arm of her chair. ‘The girls at school whisper about it sometimes,’ she mumbled. ‘But I don’t really listen. I’m not particularly interested. After all, there’s not much difference from what the animals do, is there?’
Ai,
the child was not so very mistaken there! Linguareira spoke firmly. ‘Whether or not you are interested,
menina,
now that you’re to be married you must be prepared. For it to happen to you, I mean.’
Marianna kept her head lowered. ‘I know that,’ she said huskily. ‘But it will be wonderful to have children, won’t it? Worth all the unpleasantness and the pain.’ She broke off and added apologetically, ‘I know it wasn’t worth it for you, though.’
‘That’s all over and forgot long ago!’ Forgot? The tiny, perfectly-formed child who was born too weak to live beyond three days and nights; and Pedro, so handsome and well-set, who had deserted her because of it. Linguareira added heavily, ‘Anyways, it gave me the milk to suckle you,
menina.,
or where would you be now?’
Impulsively, Marianna jumped up and planted a kiss on the flaccid cheek. ‘Dear Linguareira, I shall miss you quite dreadfully when I go to England. I do wish Mr Penfold would let me take you with me.’
‘You mustn’t fret about that, little one. I daresay I wouldn’t fit in among all those smart servants they have in England.’
Marianna was looking thoughtful. ‘I might ask him just once more,’ she said. ‘It will be almost our wedding day when he returns, so maybe he’ll grant me my every wish. Bridegrooms do that sometimes, you know.’
‘No,
menina,
you’d best not ask any favours on my account.’ Linguareira had immediately sensed the English
senhor’s
hostility to her, and guessed that no pleas of Marianna’s would move him. ‘I expect you’ll manage well enough without me. Just you remember to be a good and dutiful wife to your husband and perhaps he’ll not demand too much of you.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t. Mr Penfold is a very kind man.’
‘Kindness doesn’t come into it, child, not when a man’s blood runs hot and he wants his way with a woman’s body.’
Marianna’s young face screwed up in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You told me you did … about the animals.’
‘Oh, that! Well, married people
have
to sometimes so that they can have babies.’
‘Do you imagine my Pedro and me were wanting a little one, and us not wed at all?’
‘I suppose not.’ There was a small silence, then Marianna looked at her with her candid blue eyes. ‘Then why did you?’
‘Because it’s in the nature of men, that’s why. It’s what they always want from a woman, and women try to please them. Like you will have to try and please the man you’re going to marry.’
Marianna shook her head. ‘I’m sure Mr Penfold isn’t like that,’ she said decidedly.
Linguareira sighed. ‘All the men are like that,
menina,
make no mistake about it. Just so long as you’re prepared in your mind for whatever’s to come. Always remember that he’ll be your wedded husband, and that it’s your duty to please him in every way he expects.’
* * * *
After their supper of chicken stewed with rice, followed by an arrowroot mould and a dish of guava jelly, Linguareira put her feet up on a stool and settled with a sigh of content to her crochet work, while Marianna wandered out to the veranda. Through the fuchsia hedge that edged the garden, she could see a dim light in the windows of the
feitor’s
cottage, where Jacinto and his family would also have finished eating by now. A much simpler meal, she knew, probably just a vegetable or fish soup with rough bread. Meat was a luxury for them.
It was a beautiful evening, drenched with fragrance. Moonlight shone fitfully through mottled clouds, silvering the garden and the surrounding mountains with its cool, mysterious radiance. Daytime’s bright hues were transformed to soft greys and misty browns, with the white streaks of the waterfalls shimmering palely. The air was warm and soft on Marianna’s bare arms, yet she could not prevent herself from, shivering. Fear? Apprehension? But what had she to fear? Nothing, nothing in the world.
From the shadows of the hibiscus bushes she heard a low whistle that at first she took to be an owl, then a rustling sound was followed by a smothered giggle. Two figures emerged into the moonlight and locked themselves in a lovers’ embrace. Jacinto kissing that wretched girl, Tereza!
Marianna felt sickened, yet fascinated too, and she could not bring herself to look away. She heard the girl’s soft laughter again as she broke free and began to run along the path towards the magnolia tree; but Jacinto caught her easily, pulling her into his arms and kissing her once more.
At last, choked by the misery of watching them, Marianna turned away and fled into the house. Not stopping to pick up a candle, she ran upstairs guided only by the reflected glimmer of moonlight, and along the corridor to her room, where she flung herself down on the bed. It was disgusting! Fancy Jacinto behaving like that when he didn’t even like the girl very much. Not, of course, that she herself cared what Jacinto did. She hated him, didn’t she?
Fingers clutching the embroidered counterpane, Marianna recalled the morning when Jacinto had bandaged her grazed knee ... his touch very gentle as he knotted her handkerchief, and the strange, tingling feel of his fingertips brushing down the skin of her calf. And she remembered once more the sweet pressure of his lips on hers — those same lips that were now kissing that horrible girl!
An idea flickered in Marianna’s mind. Sitting up abruptly, she glanced about the moonlit room for inspiration. Yes, that was it! She jumped off the bed and crossed to the dressing-table, her fingers fumbling for the ivory and tortoise-shell box which contained her few pieces of jewellery. Heart pounding, she lifted the lid and felt around for a little gold locket set with garnets and pearls. It was the one item of her mother’s precious belongings that her father had already given her, the rest having been put safely away until she was old enough to wear them.
The locket lay in her palm, the garnets winking redly. It felt curiously cold against her skin. Shaking out a lace-edged handkerchief, she quickly wrapped the locket and ran to the door, opening it and peering outside. The dark corridor was deserted. On swift and silent feet she ran past the stairhead, then turned along a lesser corridor to the rear wing of the
quinta
where the servants had their quarters. Marianna knew where each one of them slept, and in a moment she had reached a room containing three low truckle beds. With the one small window letting in only a thin slant of moonlight, she had to feel her way across to the bed set furthest from the door. She lifted the straw palliasse and laid the locket beneath it, then quickly dropped the mattress back into place and straightened the cover.
Stepping out into the corridor again, Marianna heard a door open somewhere below and the sound of a
guitarra
floated up the back stairs. There was a sudden burst of laughter. In an agony of fear that her presence might be discovered, she raced back to her own room and arrived there breathless and panting, her heart thudding against her ribs. But within moments she was sufficiently in control to light a candle, to smooth her frock and tidy herself before the cheval glass. Her eyes were overbright and her cheeks flushed — but there would be a satisfactory enough explanation for that.