The Devil on Her Tongue (40 page)

I went to the hall and watched as Espirito helped Bonifacio up the stairs. Bonifacio was clinging to Espirito’s arm and emitting a groan as he lifted his foot to each step. His face was pasty and his hair stuck to his forehead.

“What happened?” I asked as they passed me. “Where did you find him?”

“I’ve sent Ana for the physician,” Espirito said. “Go to bed. We’ll look after him.” They went into another bedroom and the door closed. Olívia was slowly coming up the stairs.

“Do you know—” I started, but she just shook her head and went into her bedroom.

I sat on my bed, and after a while heard more footsteps on the stairs. A youngish man, led by Ana, passed my open door.

Ana went back downstairs. After a long while Espirito and the man I assumed was the physician passed my door again. I waited a few moments and then went to the salon. Espirito was alone.

“Espirito?”

As he turned from the table holding the wine decanter, his glass trembled slightly, and a few drops sloshed over the lip of it. He raised the glass to his mouth and swallowed it in one long drink, then turned and poured himself another. “I found him by the side of the road not too far outside Funchal.” He drained the glass again. “He couldn’t go any farther. I hired a cart to carry him back.”

“Is it because of the fasting?”

He hesitated a moment too long. “He’s been through an ordeal. The doctor will come back tomorrow to see that he’s comfortable. I’m exhausted. You must be as well. Please. Go to bed.”

“But—”

“Diamantina, please.” He put his hand to his forehead, his fingers still trembling. “I’m sorry. I just … I need to sleep.” Then he left.

I went to the table and poured myself a small glass of wine and drank it, looking at the dying fire. There had been something terribly troubling in Espirito’s expression.

I extinguished the lamp on the table and went up the dark stairs. I spent a long time at the window, watching the long, wavy reflection of the moon rippling on the water, thinking about Olívia, and her expression as she said,
You don’t know, do you?

B
onifacio’s door was closed when Cristiano and I passed it the next morning.

Espirito and Olívia were sitting at the dining table.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Were you waiting for us?”

“As soon as we’ve eaten, we’ll all go to Easter Mass,” Olívia said. “We will meet my parents at the church. We were going to have dinner with them, but now …”

“We’ll have them here instead,” Espirito said. “I don’t feel right leaving Bonifacio on his own for so long.”

Olívia shook her head. “The day is spoiled now.” As Cristiano and I sat down, she picked up a small bell and rang it. In a moment Ana struggled in with a heavy tray of covered dishes.

I knocked on Bonifacio’s door when we returned from church, and at his low murmur went in. He was sitting on a chair near the window.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked him, and he looked away from the window, and at me.

He was still pale, but seemed a little stronger. “Yes.”

“The English physician was able to help in some way?” I wondered what the physician could have done; there was no cure for the ravages of fasting but to slowly introduce food.

He stood cautiously. “Did you want something in particular?”

“Just to see that you were all right. After last night, I—”

“You insisted on coming to Funchal. And so I have.”

“I’m sorry you weren’t well enough to attend the Easter Mass. We went to Sé cathedral. It was beautiful.” I was speaking too quickly, uncomfortable with Bonifacio in a different way than usual. He stared at me with an intensity that was unsettling.

“I’ve been there. A long time ago.”

I nodded, and left.

When Senhor and Senhora da Silva arrived for dinner, Espirito and Olívia and Cristiano and I were in the salon.

Senhor Eduardo da Silva was a portly man with a neat moustache, his silver hair showing the tooth marks of a comb. He bowed over my hand, greeting me formally.

When Olívia and her mother went into the kitchen to confer with Ana and the da Silvas’ maid, who had come to help cook and serve that evening, Bonifacio appeared. He went to Senhor da Silva; the other man stood and they shook hands. Bonifacio then went and sat on one of the elegant salon chairs.

“Dinner will be ready momentarily,” Olívia said, coming back into the salon. When she saw Bonifacio, she stopped.

Bonifacio half stood, bowing his head. “Olívia,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she said, more than the usual edge in her voice. “Please. Everyone come to the dining room.”

We were served the first course. Cristiano sat beside me, and I saw him studying the confusing number of utensils. I waited until I saw Senhora da Silva pick up the outside fork, and then did the same. Cristiano copied me.

“First thing tomorrow we’ll go to the Counting House, Bonifacio,” Espirito said. “You can meet with the men who already work there. You may have questions for them.”

Bonifacio didn’t respond, but Senhora da Silva kept the conversation going, chattering about the weather, the latest new shop in the square, people they knew, and how she was redecorating her salon.
Various courses were served, and I watched Senhora da Silva carefully. I followed her lead, not wanting to appear uncouth, although I quickly realized only Cristiano paid me any heed; everyone seemed ill at ease.

I took Cristiano upstairs to bed as soon as it was polite to do so. When I came downstairs again, Senhora da Silva and Olívia sat in the salon. “The men have gone outside to walk. Eduardo likes to have his pipe after dinner, and the smoke bothers Olívia.” She rose and went to her daughter. “You must go to bed now,” she told her. “It’s been a long day.”

Olívia rose silently.

“That’s my good girl,” her mother said. “Would you like me to send Ana up with a warm drink?”

“No, thank you, Mother. Good night, Diamantina.”

I said good night.

After she was gone, Senhora da Silva settled herself by the fire again, and shook her head, gazing at the flames. “I worry so about her. She’s my only child.”

“Has she had the illness all her life?”

“It started when she was a little older than Cristiano, but it was mild. It steadily grows worse. The English physician says that the chronic inflammation of the airways creates the coughing spasms. She …” She looked away from the fire, and at me. “She wasn’t always as you see her.”

I waited.

“She was full of life before the grip of the illness and Bonifacio leaving her. And I must say that Bonifacio looks terrible.”

I waited three heartbeats, digesting what she had just said. “He’s been fasting.”

“It isn’t his gauntness, it’s that he’s changed completely from what we once knew. It must be clear to you that you came into something of a mess. I hope you’re managing.” She shook her head. “You couldn’t have known Bonifacio long before you married him.”

“Not long.”

“Was it arranged by your parents?”

“The priest in Vila Baleira arranged it.”

She nodded. “Espirito said you were from Porto Santo. Diamantina,” she said, and I met her eyes, “I hope you can forgive Olívia’s behaviour. It will alter, I’m sure, once she gets used to you, and having to face Bonifacio again. Until today she’d only seen him once since he returned from Brazil. You know he’d had no contact with anyone here while he was in Brazil, and then when he arrived in Funchal …”

I didn’t want to move, afraid she would stop the story, not wanting her to know I didn’t know what she was talking about, thinking about Olívia’s cryptic statement the day before.

“It was a terrible shock for us all when he knocked on the door, having asked where Espirito lived. He was carrying that poor little boy. His face, when he saw that Espirito and Olívia had married … well. What a day that was. Quite awful for us all.”

There was a moment of silence as the understanding that had been coming arrived. Then I murmured, “I can imagine.”

“So I’m hoping you can see past my daughter’s current state. It will take some time for her to accept you. But maybe someday …” She paused. “… you can be friends. Especially if Bonifacio is hired by Kipling’s and you live in Funchal.” I saw the neediness on her face, and what she would try to do to make her daughter happy. “She’s lonely. It’s hard for her to see all of her old friends so fulfilled with their children. Did you know that she’s lost three babies in their five years of marriage?”

“No. But if I’m to be able to be part of Olívia’s life,” I said slowly, “I feel I should know more. Bonifacio has not been forthcoming about his … about Olívia. About how they met, or parted.”

“Ah. It’s natural, I suppose, that he would be reticent to disclose such an uncomfortable situation with his new wife. But I don’t know if it’s up to me to talk any further of it.” She turned back to the fire.

After a few minutes, I said, “If I can implore you, Senhora da Silva. My own mother died not long ago, and I … it would help me in my marriage to have someone to speak to about Bonifacio.”

Should I have felt guilty using Senhora da Silva in this way?

Her face relaxed, and she leaned forward and patted my hand. “You poor child. I do sense you are a bit lost. Alone here on Madeira,
far from home. And then living in the mountains … it must have been difficult. Espirito said you were wonderful with his father and little Cristiano. He said you changed the house into the home he remembered as a boy, when his mother was alive. He’s so grateful for you.”

I imagined Olívia hearing this praise from Espirito, and understood even more fully her reaction to me.

Senhora da Silva settled back into her chair. “I would like you to feel I can be like a mother-in-law to you, although of course we have no direct connection.”

“I would like that,” I said, seeing the genuine warmth on her face.

“All right, then,” she said with a kind of finality, as if she now had permission to continue the conversation. “I’m sure you knew that Espirito and Bonifacio both worked for my husband as apprentices. Eduardo has a fine little winery. We often hosted social events for the employees. At the time, Bonifacio had already spent a year in the seminary but was struggling as to whether to continue, and left for a year to contemplate his choices. And then he met Olívia, and it appeared he put aside his thoughts of being a priest. Their courtship continued for over a year. Eduardo and I fully expected him to ask for her hand, and we were prepared to give it. Olívia felt strongly for him. But then Bonifacio changed his mind, and returned to the seminary. Olívia told us that he gave her no real explanation, except that he felt he had a higher calling. Our poor girl was at first shocked, then humiliated and saddened, and finally grew bitter.”

“I can understand,” I murmured, trying to imagine Bonifacio and Olívia together.

“Much later, after Bonifacio had left for Brazil, she and Espirito grew close, although I often thought … well, it’s just my opinion, but I wondered if she instinctively drew close to Espirito because it was a connection to Bonifacio …” She stopped. “Still, when Espirito spoke to us about marrying her, we gave our consent.” She took a deep breath. “And Espirito has been wonderful to her, and we love him as a son. But Bonifacio’s unexpected return has affected Olívia rather badly.”

She was looking intently at me now. I’d thought her almost silly through dinner, as she rambled about society and decorating, but now realized she had been covering her discomfort. “When Bonifacio chose the Church over Olívia, she had to accept that it had a stronger hold on him than she did. Her marriage to Espirito is good, but Bonifacio has hurt her again by marrying so quickly after leaving the Church.”

I nodded.

“And even though Bonifacio made his own choices, he is clearly angry with Espirito for marrying Olívia. I don’t believe he has a right to be so. If he were a truly compassionate man, he would be glad that Olívia—and his brother—found contentment with each other.

“Espirito tried with Bonifacio. Within the first few weeks of Bonifacio coming back, he went to Porto Santo with him, when Bonifacio insisted on seeing the Father there. Oh—that would be the priest who arranged your marriage?”