The Winding Stair (24 page)

‘Of course not.' She felt a little breathless, even, oddly, a little frightened. ‘How could I'– she made an effort at a lighter note – ‘if my grandmother lets me keep your beautiful Sheba.' And she moved a little away from him to fondle the glossy brown nose.

‘She will let you.' It came out curiously definite as he came to
stand very close beside her and join in fondling the handsome mare. ‘She's fit for a queen,' he said.

To Juana's relieved surprise, Mrs. Brett did agree to her keeping the horse, but as a loan. ‘Between cousins, there can be no objection to that.'

‘I shall consider it a gift.' Vasco rose to say goodbye. ‘May I write to you, sometimes, cousin, to tell you how I speed in my search?'

‘I don't know—' with a doubtful glance at her grandmother. But Mrs. Brett was talking to Prospero and apparently had not heard the request.

‘I don't expect you to answer,' Vasco went on. ‘That would be asking too much, I know. Besides, I shall be moving as fast as I can – it's doubtful if letters would reach me. I shall write, cousin, and hope that you have too much heart to burn my poor letters unread. Be good to Sheba; think of me sometimes. I shall return as soon as I have a clear name to—' He stopped, caught her unresisting hand, kissed it, and took his leave.

Sheba was a delight. It was impossible not to feel kindly towards Vasco – and anyway, why should she not? – when her rides had turned from penance to pleasure. She rode further and further afield, making Iago or Luis ride Rosinante so that they would not get too far behind. It was an odd thing, she thought, seeing this new regime accepted in the castle: no one knew that her grandmother had made her her heir, but they all treated her with a new respect these days. It did not occur to her that this might result from a change in herself.

November 26th came round at last and Juana found herself not quite so frightened as she had feared to be. After all, she had gone down the winding stair alone before. Practice makes anything easier. She refused to let herself think about Tomas, and went down the long stairs with a good heart and a steady hand. She had decided not to try and explore the big cavern: it was altogether too risky. Instead, she sat by the brazier in her little cell, recited the speech she had just learned – ‘The quality of mercy is not strained' – and waited for the gong to sound.

Mrs. Brett had confirmed her theory that the acolytes were different each time, so today she had a comfortable sense of being the experienced member of the trio. She thought the others went about their duties even more nervously than the last pair, and
wondered if they knew about Tomas. But then they had, all three of them, plenty to be nervous about.

In fact, the meeting went fast and smoothly. As Gair had predicted, the Brother of the Broken Cross reported that he had found the English secret agent. A Mr. Brougham, he had left for. England before any action could be taken. ‘He will doubtless return,' said the leader. ‘We will wait till then. There is no great urgency about it. Our Brother of the Crescent Moon sends word that he was unable to see Napoleon before he left for Prussia. He only caught up with him in Berlin, after his victory at Jena, and, so far, Napoleon has continued too busy to see him.' There was an angry murmur from the hooded figures around the table. ‘It's natural enough,' the leader explained, ‘with a conquered country to be disposed of. And, I have good news for you, Brothers. On the 21st of this month, Napoleon issued a decree, dated from Berlin, declaring a total blockade of England. Since he was too busy to see our Brother, the Emperor sent him advance information of this, as a proof of his good faith. Our Brother of the Golden Eagle has ridden day and night to bring us the news. He is here tonight, ready to answer your questions.'

‘Good news.' The Brother of the Silver Hand rose to his feet. ‘With England hamstrung by a total blockade, we can do what we like here. I move that we wait only long enough for the blockade to take effect, then strike, swift and hard.'

‘But what about Spain?' Predictably, this was the Brother of the Broken Cross. ‘We still need at least the promise of support from France before we can move in safety. Tell me, Brother of the Golden Eagle, which way will Napoleon turn next?'

‘Eastward.' The Brother of the Golden Eagle spoke with a strong German accent. ‘He has an account to settle with Russia. He means to bring the Tsar to his knees before he returns to Paris.'

‘So still we must wait!'

‘Not for too long, I hope,' interposed the leader. ‘Do not forget that we are powerfully represented at Napoleon's court. Our Brother of the Crescent Moon will lose no opportunity to press our case with the Emperor. When the time is ripe, he promises to return, in person, to bring us the news, and join in our great enterprise. In the meanwhile,' he looked round the circle of hooded figures. ‘Has anyone else a question for our Brother
from Germany? Then it remains but to announce that since the full moon, next month, falls on Christmas Day, there will be no meeting.'

‘What if there is news from our Brother of the Crescent?' asked the Brother of the Broken Cross.

‘If the matter is urgent, I will summon a special meeting. You all know the signal, brothers? For three days running a madman will appear in the cloisters of the Geronimos, crying that he has been chased by the
escolares
and their wolves. And now: Sons of the Star, we meet only to part—'

It was the signal for Juana to close her spy-hole. Only later, climbing wearily up the winding stair, did she remember that no one had mentioned the death of Tomas. She remarked on this to Gair next day: ‘Surely, if they killed him, something would have been said? Or' (she had been thinking about it a great deal) ‘do you know – I have been to three of their meetings now, and I'm more and more convinced that they are not real.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Why – that it's all – I don't know – a parade, somehow, make-believe. A few of them (three really: the leader and the Brothers of the Broken Cross and the Silver Hand) pretend, for the benefit of the others, to discuss what they have already decided in private. Do you think I'm mad to suggest it?'

‘On the contrary, I think you're very acute. It's something I'd wondered myself, from your grandmother's reports. The discussion goes so smoothly and so fast. It's as if there were a secret committee that really made the decisions.'

‘Yes. And another thing; when the leader says his last bit about parting to meet again he gabbles it off as if the whole business bored him. What do you think it means, Gair?' She coloured. What in the world had made her use his Christian name?

‘I've no idea.' Had he not even noticed? ‘But I must think of some way to find out. At least, Napoleon's eastward march has given us time. I'm sure they'll risk no action until there's a French army at Bayonne to back them up.' He rose to his feet. ‘We've been out here long enough alone. Rely on me to let you know if a madman appears at the Geronimos, but I don't expect it.' And then, opening the door to usher her back from the loggia into the Ladies' Parlour, ‘I hope you enjoy Mr. Scott's poem.' A new copy of
The Lay of the Last Minstrel had
been his pretext for calling.

He had just left when Estella came running across the central courtyard to summon Juana to her grandmother. Juana had never seen plump Estella run before, and even on this comparatively cool day of late November it had reduced her to a trembling, hard-breathing state of near-collapse. ‘You must go to Mrs. Brett directly.' She could hardly get the words out. ‘This instant. I've never seen her so angry. Don't waste a minute.'

‘But what's the matter?'

‘I don't know.' Her breath was steadying. ‘Something in her letters from England. Go quickly, Juana, and see if you can soothe her; it can't be good for her, to be in a state like this. I was afraid she'd do herself an injury. Or me.'

‘Then you'd better let my niece go and find out what is the matter.' Juana would never get used to the way her uncles crept about the castle in carpet slippers. This time it was Prospero who had come quietly in behind Estella while she was talking. ‘We don't want poor mother to do herself an injury.'

‘No, indeed.' Juana brushed past him and ran in her turn across the sunny centre of the courtyard. She found her grandmother prowling furiously about her room, a letter crumpled in her hand. ‘It's intolerable!' She almost shouted at Juana. ‘Why did you take so long? Not that it matters. There's nothing we can do. He took good care of that. The fool! The idiot! I thought Prospero and Miguel were enough to bear, but this passes everything. Here! Read this! You might as well.'

Her father? She took his letter, then felt a qualm of doubt. ‘Should I?'

‘Why not? You might as well know what a poor worm you have for a father. It's that woman of course. She dictated it. You can read her in every crawling line. Go on, child, read it. And tell me what in the world we are going to do with them.'

What could it mean? Juana banished her scruples, smoothed out the crumpled letter and began to read. ‘Oh, dear!' Her grandmother was right; it was a pitiful letter. But she could be sorry for her father having to write it, with his wife's scorn for spur. He had speculated, it seemed, on the chances of peace with France, and had lost heavily when Lauderdale returned to report failure. ‘I don't quite understand—' Juana turned to the second page of the closely written letter.

‘You don't need to. Any more than your father does. I could have told him that if he speculated, he was bound to be unlucky.
He's that kind of man. But to use the house as security! That passes everything.'

‘They've lost it!' Juana had reached the heart of the matter. She had always thought she hated that house, now, suddenly, she was not so sure. ‘They're coming here?' She could not believe what she was reading.

‘Yes! On the next packet. No time to put them off. There must be an accumulation of debt that Reginald does not dare mention.'

Juana thought this all too likely. She finished the letter quickly. ‘Oh, the poor things!' There was something extraordinarily pitiful about the little messages her father put in as from Daisy and Teresa. ‘So looking forward to seeing Portugal,' indeed. She remembered how they had condoled with her on her exile to that barbarous country.

‘ “Poor things!” That's all very well, but what about us? What are we going to do with them? Reginald and his wife are one thing: I suppose if my son has to run for it to escape the debtors' prison, I must take him in, and his wife, too, though I know I'll detest her. But why I should be saddled with her two daughters! A couple of strapping English wenches with not a thought in their heads – everything you have told me about them has made me dislike them more. And Protestants, too, I suppose?'

‘I'm afraid so.' Juana's conscience was pricking her horribly. Talking about Daisy and Teresa to her grandmother it had been dangerously easy to turn them into figures of what she now saw to have been rather cruel fun. Poor Daisy; poor Teresa … ‘They're not so bad, really,' she tried, now, to undo some of the damage she had done. But how could she have dreamed that they would ever come here? ‘It was a good deal my fault, I'm sure, that we didn't get on.'

Her grandmother snorted. ‘Changed your tune a bit, haven't you?'

‘Yes. I'm ashamed of myself. You see – I find I'm glad they're coming. I'm looking forward to seeing them.'

‘It's more than I am. Well: in that case, you can just be responsible for them. Everything. The arrangements for meeting them; their rooms; I don't want to hear anything more about it. And still less do I want to see them when they get here. They'll be here for Christmas, probably.'

‘I suppose they will.' Once again, Juana was amazed at her own
reaction. Had the prospect of Christmas in the Castle on the Rock been so dismal? ‘Don't worry, grandmother. I'll look after everything. If you don't think Aunt Elvira will mind?'

‘She'd better not. If you have any trouble with anyone, refer them to me. Once. That will be enough. I refuse to be bothered with this affair. I suppose you've thought how you will get away from those step-sisters of yours when it comes time to go down the winding stair again?'

‘I'll manage.'

‘You'll not tell them.'

‘Of course not. But, grandmother, one other thing.' It was hard to say it, but she must. ‘They'll need money.'

‘Money? Why?'

‘If father's in debt?'

‘That's his problem. I didn't ask him to come – or to bring his embarrassments with him. Food they shall have, and shelter. That's all.'

‘I see. Well then, I need some money. You asked
me
to come. Remember? We haven't talked about money before. I didn't like to. And I brought a little with me. Father was always generous with what he had. But it's almost all gone now. You know how it is. The servants expect their vails. One can't be mean, as a Brett. And then there's charity …' She reached into the pocket of her dress and brought out the purse she had netted herself (how long ago it seemed) in England before she came away. ‘That's all I've got left.' She emptied the few small coins it contained on to the table beside her grandmother. ‘If you want me to take over the housekeeping from Aunt Elvira (and that's what it comes down to, isn't it?) you'll have to pay me.'

For a moment, she was afraid she had gone too far. Then, surprisingly, Mrs. Brett laughed. ‘You sound just like your grandfather,' she said. ‘Poor James. I'd be a pleasanter person if he'd lived. As it is, don't expect me to play the sweet old lady. Not even for you, and I'm fond of you. Still less for your family. As to your allowance; you should have spoken up for it sooner. I'm an old woman. Why should I be expected to do all the thinking? Of course you must have one. And back-dated, too, to when you got here. Send Senhor Macarao to me this evening and I'll give him my orders. And what you do with it is your own affair. Just don't tell me.' Did she see this as an easy way out of the problem of her son and his family?