The Winding Stair (23 page)

‘Tomas?'

‘You know! The servant. The one you said was a member—'

‘Hush!' He went on the parapet and looked over. But the drop was impossibly steep. No one could be listening there. ‘How did he die?'

‘They found him this morning among the bushes down near the Jaws of Death. Iago says there wasn't a mark on him, but his face was terrified, as if he saw his death coming. Of course Iago thinks it's the
bruchas
.'

‘And a very safe thing to think. I only wish you could do so too. But, since you can't, for God's sake think it was an accident.'

‘How can I? He was one of the acolytes last night. I didn't realise at the time, but I thought there was something familiar about his voice. He spoke, you see, when he came into the little cell: voices aren't so distorted there. And I answered him. Suppose he recognised me?'

‘If he did, we must simply be thankful he was killed.'

‘It's horrible!' She turned on him. ‘My grandmother didn't care either. And there's his mother, down there, and his children! I don't care if he was a spy; he didn't deserve to be dead. It's bad enough if they killed him, but if he was killed because he recognised me …' How could she explain how much worse it made it?

‘Don't think about it. Besides, there's no time. What happened at the meeting?'

It was the distraction she needed. ‘It was horrible. They almost decided to kill Lord Strangford. Then someone (the Brother of the Broken Cross) said that was foolish: they should merely kill the man behind Strangford. He meant you.'

‘But he didn't know?'

‘No. He has been told to find out, and kill you. Just like that. And, there's worse. If he doesn't, I think they'll kill them all, Strangford's people.'

‘They're quite capable of it. We must see that they find someone.'

‘That's what my grandmother said. That you'd have someone ready. Someone who didn't matter.' She could not keep the disgust out of her voice.

‘A scapegoat. Well, of course. But don't look at me like that. Your grandmother may be quite ruthless but I'm not. Frankly, I don't even think it's good policy. Of course we've got our scapegoat ready. I'll tell you his name. He's that Mr. Brougham who came out with Rosslyn. He's off, just now, feeling very important and touring the north of the country getting in touch with some of our more expendable agents. When he returns, we'll let them find out he's the man – and pack him back to England before they have time to strike.'

‘You're sure?'

‘Of course. He won't know anything about it. That's the beauty of it. He thinks he's a secret agent, so he'll take all the proper precautions. And by the time they are on to him, he'll be safe in England. Their arm is long, but not as long as that, thank God. But tell me, what else was discussed?'

She told him, as quickly and clearly as she could, about the argument over when they should strike. At last, he nodded his approval. ‘I knew you had a clear mind. So the upshot of it is, they will await the result of yet another appeal to Napoleon.'

‘Yes.'

‘And who is the messenger?'

‘The Brother of the Crescent Moon. He's there already, I think.'

‘I see.'

He had been standing close to her, leaning down so that they could speak quietly. Now he dropped suddenly on one knee. ‘Only say you'll be mine.'

The door swung open and Prospero advanced on them. ‘I'm afraid I intrude. Surely not a proposal in form?'

‘Good gracious no.' Juana knew she was blushing and thought angrily that it would serve Gair Varlow right if she accepted him on the spot. ‘You must know, uncle, that Mr. Varlow is never serious.'

The mysterious death of Tomas cast a cloud over the grape harvest: Juana remembered this as the gayest of occasions, with the
gallegos
singing as they trod out the cold must, and the castle servants making constant excuses to go down to the Pleasant Valley and join in the festivities. This year the singing sounded forced; men kept looking over their shoulders toward the bottom of the valley, and the grapes down there never got picked at all.

‘It's no use trying to make them.' Senhor Macarao had come up to the castle to report to Mrs. Brett.

‘No, indeed.' She was up and dressed, sitting in her straight backed chair to receive him. ‘They'd probably run for it.'

‘That's what I thought. They're nervy enough as it is. As if poor Tomas' death wasn't bad enough, they're saying today that they heard the Enchanted Mooress ring her bell last night.'

‘Who says that?' Mrs. Brett's voice was sharp.

‘I'd forgotten about the Mooress and her bell,' Juana dropped her embroidery and leaned forward to join in the conversation. ‘Do they really think they heard that?'

Macarao shrugged: ‘They'll believe anything when they're panicky like this.'

‘But who says so?' Mrs. Brett asked her question again, impatiently this time.

‘Why, all of them. The moon's coming up for the full, and they worked all night last night. We got behind because of the funeral and, frankly, I think they'll all be glad to be finished here and away. They say the bell rang, off and on, for hours. Of course they've no sense of time, those peasants. It means nothing.'

‘You didn't hear it?'

‘No.' He seemed puzzled at her insistence. ‘Of course not. An imaginary Mooress, ringing an imaginary bell on a bit of cliff that's supposed to have fallen into the sea centuries ago! To warn that the crusaders are coming!' His tone suggested that she was showing signs of senility at last. ‘I certainly did not hear it.' And then: ‘As a matter of fact, I wasn't here. I had to go into
Lisbon last night to arrange for more casks. It's a good year after all.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. Even without the grapes from the bottom of the valley. Very well, Senhor Macarao, that will be all.' She waited until he had bowed his way out. ‘You didn't do that very well, Juana. Forgotten about the Mooress indeed! How could you, with Iago talking about her all the time?'

‘I'm sorry. Do you think Macarao noticed?'

‘Probably not. Being from the Algarve, he's still treated as a foreigner here, even after all these years. He probably knows nothing about the signal. Did you hear it?'

‘No.'

‘Nor did I. But we might well not have, with the wind from the sea to drown it. Don't get your hopes up, though, till we're sure.'

‘I'll try not to. Where do they ring it, ma'am?' The sound of what was supposedly the Enchanted Mooress's bell was the signal to the Sons of the Star that their next meeting had been cancelled.

‘Anywhere on the ridge. Three nights before the meeting is due, to give time for the word to be passed along. Ring for Manuela, child. She'll probably know about it by now.'

Manuela did. ‘The Mooress's bell? Yes indeed. They all heard it in the servants' wing. Father Ignatius said a special prayer about it this morning. You'd have known, Juana, if you'd been there.' This, with a hint of reproach, to Juana, who disliked Father Ignatius so much that she avoided morning prayers when she could.

‘Juana breakfasted with me this morning.' Mrs. Brett's tone made it a reproof. ‘Fetch Jaime, Manuela. The servants are bound to be in as much of a panic as the men in the vineyards. We must think of something to occupy them. Just the same,' she went on, as the door closed behind Manuela, ‘one has to admit that; their superstition has its uses. It's never occurred to anyone to go out and investigate the bell when they hear it ringing.'

‘Never?'

‘Not for years. It's supposed to be death to see the Mooress.'

‘And?'

‘It is, of course.'

Juana shuddered. Once again, she found her grandmother's
calm acceptance of murder almost as disconcerting as murder itself. ‘Grandmother—'

‘Yes?'

‘About Tomas: you don't know anything?'

‘What should I know? Except that we must arrange for a pension for his old witch of a mother. I meant to talk to Macarao about it, but his story of the Mooress's bell put it clean out of my head. Ride down the valley this morning, Juana, and tell him to come up again after the siesta. Take Iago and see if you can talk some of the nonsense out of him. He's bound to be spreading panic in the servants' hall.' She looked up. ‘Come in, Jaime. Did you hear the bell?'

‘I'm an old man, senhora. I sleep deeply.' Was he hedging? ‘Luis heard it. He's asked leave to go into Lisbon today and say a mass for his dead mother. He promised it her on her deathbed and then did nothing about it. He thinks the Mooress is after him.'

Mrs. Brett laughed. ‘How absurd they are. A ghostly Mooress pursuing a Christian for breach of faith. How is he doing, Jaime?' Luis was the new footman who had replaced Tomas.

‘I'm pleased with him.' This, from Jaime, was high praise.

‘Very well. Let him go to Lisbon this evening and say as many masses as he likes. He need not be back till tomorrow.' And, when Jaime had bowed and left them. ‘That should take care of getting the news of the cancellation spread about.'

‘You think Luis is one of them?'

‘Very likely. He turned up promptly enough after Tomas' death. Don't look so scared, child. The best thing you can do is assume that everyone belongs. That way, you'll always be safe. But at least you've got a month's respite.'

‘Yes, thank God.'

          .          .          .

The month seemed to go like a flash. Juana had hardly done savouring the reprieve from one meeting when the moon was rounding to the full again and she must begin to prepare herself for the next one. But at least there was one piece of good news. Her grandmother gave it to her on a wet November morning when a week of steady rain had turned the far hills green and brought brilliant pink and white lilies into blossom in the
Pleasant Valley. ‘Have you worked out the date for the meeting after next?' Mrs. Brett asked.

‘No.' One at a time seemed quite enough.

‘Then I've good news for you. It's December 25th. They never meet on a holy day. You'll have another free month. They'll announce it at this meeting – no need for the enchanted Mooress and her bell.' And then, at a soft tapping on the outer door, ‘See who's there, Juana.'

It was Manuela, looking at once frightened and important. ‘I'm sorry to intrude, but Senhor de Mascarenhas is here. He's brought a horse.'

‘A horse?' Mrs. Brett leaned forward in the big bed.

‘A lady's horse. He says it's a present for Juana. If you approve, of course.'

‘A very expensive present. Do you know anything about this, Juana?'

‘Of course not.' She had heard nothing of her cousin since he had left in September and had never decided whether she was relieved or disappointed.

‘I beg your pardon.' The old lady's apology came as a surprise to Juana. ‘Normally, of course, a young lady could not possibly accept such a present …'

‘No.' It was what Juana had expected, and she was surprised that her grandmother seemed to find the matter even open to question.

‘But in the special circumstances,' Mrs. Brett went on. ‘I don't really know …' She came to a decision. ‘I think I had best get up and see this lavish young man. Go down, Juana, and tell him I am coming.'

‘And about the horse?' She could not help thinking how pleasant it would be to have one.

‘Say as many pretty things as you like, but nothing definite. Tell him I'm thinking it over. It's true.'

Vasco was waiting in the courtyard, where his servant held the reins of an elegant Arab mare equipped with a beautifully made side-saddle. Juana could not help giving her an admiring glance as she greeted her cousin.

‘You like her?' She had forgotten that glowing, concentrated look of his. ‘I couldn't bear the thought of a Diana like you forced to bear with that old curmudgeon of a mule. Besides, on Sheba you could show a clean pair of heels to any number of bandits. I
shall feel much happier about you, out here on the cliffs, if I know you are riding her.'

‘It's wonderfully good of you—'

‘It's wonderfully selfish,' he interrupted before she was able to voice her doubts. ‘What greater pleasure could I have, cousin, than in giving pleasure to you?'

This was going a little fast for her. ‘My grandmother wants to see you,' she said. ‘She is considering whether I ought to accept such a splendid present.'

She had never seen him angry before. But there was no mistaking the dark flush that coloured his brown skin. ‘Your grandmother—' He stopped, changed his tone entirely. ‘I beg your pardon, cousin. I nearly said something I should have regretted. But surely this is a matter between you and me, as cousins, as de Mascarenhas—'

‘You've proved it?' Something in the confident way he had used the name encouraged her to ask the question.

‘To my own satisfaction. But – here's the rub – to get legal proof I need one more witness – a man who was actually present at my mother's marriage. He's in the Spanish Army now, in the contingent that is fighting for Napoleon in Europe. I have come to say goodbye to you, cousin.'

‘Oh.' Now she was almost sure she was sorry to see him go. And yet there was something a little disconcerting about the way he seemed, as soon as he arrived, to take charge of her.

‘Say you will miss me a little? Will think of me sometimes? Will be good to Sheba for my sake?'

‘Will you be gone for long?' She found herself trying to pull the conversation back into safer channels.

‘Impossible to tell. But not a minute longer than I must. I've been chasing all over Portugal after my witnesses. You must understand, cousin, that since I met you it has become more imperative than ever that I prove my birth as good as yours. But I've no right even to say that to you, now. Only – don't forget me, Juana, when I'm gone.'