The Winding Stair (15 page)

‘I've no idea.' It was the safe answer. ‘You've been at the Castle on the Rock? Seen my grandmother?'

‘Yes. I've been abroad – on family business – I'll tell you about it. When I got back and heard you had come home I came at once. My father loved your mother. It was hopeless, of course. It's all a long time ago. I'd do anything for you, Juana Brett. Thank God I came when I did. They were not even anxious about you back at the castle. What are they thinking of to let you ramble about the countryside like this?' She could feel the warmth of his supporting arm through her thin habit. ‘Thank God it was no worse. You're sure you're not hurt?'

‘Not the least in the world. But very grateful.' She detached herself gently from his supporting arm as Tomas returned leading Rosinante. ‘Well done, Tomas. They didn't hurt you?'

‘Cowards never get hurt,' interrupted the stranger. But he was not a stranger, he was her Cousin Vasco. ‘And you, cousin, are you strong enough to ride?' He took consent for granted, scooping her up in strong arms as if she weighed nothing and setting her in the saddle: ‘Of course you are. We're not a family of weaklings.'

She smiled down at the dark, strong-boned face: ‘Certainly not, cousin, if you make so little of me.'

‘Diana,' he said. And then. ‘You will have to forgive me for not being as tall as you.'

Disconcertingly, he had read her thoughts. ‘You saved my life,' she said and, oddly, remembered saying very much the same thing, once, to Gair Varlow.

‘Nothing in mine has ever given me so much happiness.' He whistled to his horse. ‘I'm only sorry I could not bring your attackers to justice. You've no idea who they were?' He had asked it before.

‘How should I? They never said a word.' In retrospect, this was more disturbing than ever. Could they have feared being recognised?

‘It's very strange,' he said. ‘I had thought the days of brigands were past. Or at least here, so near Lisbon. In the Alentejo it's different. I suppose they meant to hold you to ransom.'

‘Horrible.' Either way it was horrible. But why should the Sons of the Star attack her?

‘Don't think about it. You're safe now. I'm here. And they'll be really anxious at the castle by now. Serve them right, mind you. But let's hurry, Cousin Juana.' He made the name a caress.

Did he know how little she liked re-entering the little wood? He rode very close to her, his hand over hers on Rosinante's bridle. ‘There,' he said, as they emerged on the other side. ‘Open country all the way now. Look, cousin, the first star is out. Wish, Juana, and your wish will be granted.'

The sickle moon had risen, and there was indeed one star showing in the velvet sky above it. ‘I don't know what to wish for,' Juana said, and knew it the truth.

‘Wish for happiness, cousin.'

At the castle, Vasco de Mascarenhas had a short way with question and exclamation alike.

‘Miss Brett has had a most alarming experience.' He was lifting her gently from her saddle as Prospero and Miguel appeared on the steps below the family's apartments. ‘She needs rest, quiet—' His haughty Roman gaze took in the crowd of inquisitive servants in the courtyard. ‘No!' This to Maria who had pushed forward to kiss Juana's hands and ask hysterically what had happened to her. ‘ “Quiet,” I said. Where shall I take you, cousin?' His arm was warm and comforting around her waist.

‘My mother is waiting in the Ladies' Parlour.' Prospero came across the centre of the courtyard to meet them. ‘She wishes to know what happened. You're very late, Juana. We've been anxious about you.'

‘I'm delighted to hear it,' said Vasco. ‘But my cousin is not well enough, just now, to answer questions. I will tell you what you need to know. Tell Mrs. Brett I will be with her as soon as I have seen my cousin to her room.'

Juana was near to laughter at her uncle's appalled expression. Imagine carrying such a message to old Mrs. Brett. ‘Thank you, cousin.' She disengaged herself from his supporting arm. ‘But I'm not a case for the smelling bottle yet. Aunt Elvira!' Her aunt had appeared behind her brothers. ‘I'm so glad to see you.' There were tears in her eyes as she hurried across the courtyard to embrace her. ‘I've had such a fright! But is grandmother really up and waiting?'

‘She is indeed.' Miguel's tone was reproachful. ‘We've been worried to death about you, Juana. Thank God my prayers were not unavailing.'

‘You had better thank Senhor de Mascarenhas. You've met each other?' It was odd, and oddly comforting to have the situation dwindle into a social one.

‘Just now.' Stiff bows from Prospero and Miguel suggested that they were not best pleased with her choice of rescuer. ‘But what happened, Juana? What possessed you to stay out so late?'

‘All in good time.' Once again, Vasco took charge of the situation. ‘Come, cousin. If you really feel strong enough—' Did his tone, perhaps, suggest, that a little female weakness would not come amiss?

But it was pleasant, for once, to be treated as in need of support. She was glad to let Vasco bear the brunt of her grandmother's cross-examination. ‘Undoubtedly brigands.' He summed it up. ‘I expect they thought you good for a considerable ransom, ma'am.' He treated Mrs. Brett with the frank familiarity of one man speaking to another and Juana was amused to see that her formidable grandmother seemed to like it.

‘Yes,' said Mrs. Brett. ‘I owe you thanks on many counts, sir.'

‘Yes indeed,' put in Miguel, ‘but I still don't understand how you came to be so late in starting back, Juana. You must have realised that you were likely to be benighted.'

‘It's not so easy to get away from the Reverend Fathers,' said Juana. ‘And, if you remember, uncle, we were late in starting out.' And, suddenly, horribly, remembered how he had kept her waiting in the courtyard while he added the postscript to his letter. What had it said? ‘Keep her with you as long as possible'? Absurd. Why in the name of sanity should she suspect her uncle of having anything to do with what had happened to her? It was even more ridiculous, surely, than to suspect the Sons of the Star. But then, the horrible thing about her life was that, inevitably, she found herself suspecting everyone.

‘You didn't recognise them of course?' Prospero's question distracted her from this unpleasant line of thought.

‘Or any distinguishing features?' Father Ignatius had been sitting inconspicuously, as was his wont, in a corner of the room, and his sudden question startled her.

‘No, how should I? I was wrapped in a stinking horse-blanket all the time, and they said nothing – that was the most unnerving thing about them somehow. Not until they heard Vasco' (angrily, she found herself colouring at the unexpected use of his christian name) ‘ – my cousin coming. And then they spoke in whispers. No, I wouldn't recognise them again if they were to enter the room this minute.'

‘Which, please God, they won't,' said Miguel. ‘A miraculous escape, my child. We must say a special prayer of thanksgiving for you in chapel tomorrow. I hope it will serve to turn your thoughts in a proper direction.'

‘It makes me very grateful to my cousin.'

‘Yes indeed.' Mrs. Brett leaned forward in her big chair. ‘We owe you a debt beyond measure, sir. But it's growing late. You will stay with us a while, and give us an opportunity to show our gratitude?'

Juana listened to Vasco's courteous acceptance with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. The Bretts kept themselves to themselves. Visitors as opposed to hangers-on like Father Ignatius were a rare event at the castle. It was something that had puzzled her before she learned about the Sons of the Star. At all events, she was delighted that an exception was being made for her newfound cousin. She would be glad of a chance to get to know him better, gladder still of his protective company, just now, in the castle.

Because (she faced it at last, alone in her room) the attack on her had cast a new and terrifying light on her position. Before, she had wondered about her uncles, about Father Ignatius even; had listened to their voices, searching in vain for some intonation, some echo of a phrase used down in the big cavern. Now, she must wonder, not only if one or more of them belonged to the Sons of the Star, but if they had perhaps, horribly, organised the attack on her. With her special knowledge, it was almost impossible to believe in Vasco's theory of brigands and ransom. Did she even think he believed it himself? And had not there been something odd about the eager way her family had seized on it as the obvious explanation?

If not brigands, who? The Sons of the Star must have been in everybody's thoughts. And yet, why should they attack her? Because she had begun to explore the Pleasant Valley? It seemed unlikely. And would the all-powerful Sons of the Star have let themselves be routed so ignominiously by one man? Besides, why go to the trouble of a daylight attack when they had only to wait two weeks for her to go down the winding stair, into their power, alone.

Most significant of all, nothing was said, next day, about the attack on her, but Vasco stayed close by her, and she was grateful. She might decide not to suspect the Sons of the Star, but she could not stop being afraid. She hardly felt safe even in the castle, remembering childhood stories of hidden doors and secret passages. How could she be sure that the only entrance to the winding stair was in her grandmother's room? There might be
others, bolted on the far side. Alone for a moment in any room, she found herself listening for footsteps behind the panelling, waiting for some section of wall to swing open and reveal her enemies.

And when she was not alone, the equally horrible alternative was always before her. Suppose her attackers had not been sent by the Sons of the Star at all? Suppose they had been hired by someone in her own family? Or – been some of her family? Only Vasco's company was really safe, and how long was he staying?

By siesta next day she had had all she could bear of these imaginings. She climbed the stairs to her grandmother's room and amazed Manuela by insisting on seeing her.

‘But she's resting,
menina
.'

‘I can't help it. Will you announce me, Manuela, or must I do it myself?' She was surprised at her own firmness, but it worked. Manuela opened the further door and ushered her in, excusing herself to the old lady as she did so.

Mrs. Brett was lying flat on her back, staring at flies on the ceiling. She did not move. ‘Very well, Manuela. You may go. See that we are not disturbed.' And then, still without turning her head. ‘You're in a panic, I suppose?'

‘I'd be a fool not to be. I'm going to send for Gair Varlow. I thought I should tell you first.'

‘Send for Varlow? Absurd.' She sat up in bed, an eldritch figure in dimity nightgown and wrapper. ‘What use could he be?'

‘He could find out, I should think, or at least try to, whether it was the Sons of the Star who attacked me. If it was, I'm not going to the next meeting. It would be suicide.'

‘The Sons of the Star? Ridiculous.' She sounded really angry. ‘I never imagined you such a fool, Juana. Do you think, if it had been the Sons of the Star, they would have let you go for one man? They would not have dared to fail.'

She had thought this herself. ‘But then, who?'

‘Brigands, of course, as your cousin said. You've forgotten what Portugal is like, Juana. Anything's possible here. And we are known for a rich family … richer, I think, than we really are. It would have cost me a pretty penny to get you back.'

‘So they may try again?'

‘Oh, I doubt that. They will have had a good fright … No doubt they had a boat somewhere along the shore – they are probably
right down to the Algarve by now, planning something quite different. Or (who knows) they may even have been pirates. It does happen. A quick dash on shore and some expensive white slaves for the Turk's harems. You owe your cousin a great deal, Juana. What do you think of him, by the way?'

‘I like him. Did his father really love my mother?'

‘He told you that? Yes, I believe so. It was quite impossible, of course. For two members of a family in such disgrace to marry would have been suicide. And there were other reasons. You know his story?'

‘Vasco's? I remember he was always spoken of as – I don't know – wild?'

The old lady laughed. ‘It's one way of putting it. Elvira, I suppose. She always did mince her words. Your cousin Vasco is the bastard son of a bastard father. Or that's what they say.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Why, that it was the safe thing to be when Pombal was killing off the de Mascarenhas family root and branch. Your cousin called on me yesterday to tell me he was hopeful of proving his legitimacy, and his father's before him, and to ask whether I would allow him to visit you in the meantime. I liked him for it. You know, of course, that the bar sinister is not taken so seriously here as in England. I hope you're not going to make a mountain of it.'

‘Of course not. Besides, I'm too grateful …'

‘I should think so. But for him you might be on your way to Algiers by now. You ought to be entertaining him, instead of keeping me awake with your imaginary terrors.'

‘You're sure they are imaginary? That it could not have been the Sons of the Star?' She could not bring herself to mention her other suspicions.

‘As sure as one can be of anything. In fact, I wouldn't be in your attackers' shoes just now. If they have any sense, they are well away, in the Algarve or further. The Sons of the Star do not tolerate interference with those they protect. Trust me, you don't need to fear another attack.'

It was a sinister kind of comfort, but Juana did abandon the idea of sending for Gair Varlow. For one thing, it would be impossibly difficult to talk to him with Vasco there. And common sense combined with her grandmother to convince her that it could not have been the Sons of the Star who attacked her. It
would be time enough to tell Gair Varlow about the episode when he came at the end of the month to hear her report on the next meeting. There was something, indeed, rather satisfactory about the idea of working the story, casually, into the conversation as if hardly worth his notice.