The Jade Dragon (11 page)

Neither seemed to have noticed me, and I wondered whether to disclose my presence. But there was a curious tenseness in the manner of each of them that decided me against it. I had a presentiment that Stafford would not wish to be observed talking to Pedro like this. If they had been speaking in English, I was close enough to have caught the drift of what was being said, but in Portuguese I could not follow their muttered conversation. Except that just one word leapt out at me.

Cascais....

Cascais, I reflected, was surely the name of the fishing village that Stafford’s wife had visited just before her mysterious death by drowning. And it was Pedro, I knew, who had driven her there in the carriage that day. Walking on, I recalled how a few evenings ago Stafford had talked of his determination to find out more about the circumstances of Luzia’s death. Could that be why he was questioning Pedro now?

Lost in speculation, I suddenly became aware of hurrying footsteps behind me. Stafford caught up with me beside a buddleia bush, where a cloud of peacock butterflies flitted among the sprays of purple blossom. He glanced at the sketchpad under my arm. “Is that a hobby of yours, Elinor? May I see what you have drawn?”

“I’m afraid it isn’t very good. I don’t know if you’ll be able to recognize the tree and tell me its name.”

He took the pad from me and studied my drawing, his dark head slightly tilted. Then he looked at me with a quick smile. “Unmistakably, it’s a
romazeira,
a pomegranate tree. You are far too modest, Elinor. A very pleasing composition and a nice firmness of line.”

“Thank you.”

We strolled on together past the rose arbor, and Stafford said idly, “I hear that you walked into Cintra earlier on.”

“Yes, to buy pencils and paper. Vicencia said there was nothing suitable she could let me have.”

“Did you manage to converse with the shopkeeper satisfactorily? I daresay you are able to understand a good deal of Portuguese by now?”

I was about to reply that I was picking up the language faster than I had dared to hope, but I checked myself. I suspected there was some definite reason for Stafford’s question, apart from casual interest. Had he in fact seen me by the pagoda, and was he trying to gauge whether I could have understood any of his mysterious conversation with Pedro? I said warily, “I managed fairly well—if people are kind enough to speak slowly and distinctly.”

“Pode honrar-me com cinco minutos de conversa?”
Stafford said quickly in a somewhat muffled voice.

I knew that he was asking if I would honor him with five minutes’ conversation in Portuguese. But I pretended not to understand, because I had an unpleasant feeling that he was trying to trap me.

“I’m sorry, what was that you said, Stafford?”

He smiled at me again. “Never mind, it was nothing of any importance. Look, there’s Vicencia. I expect she is coming to find us to say that it’s time for luncheon.”

* * * *

A curious relationship had developed between my grandmother and myself—a kind of intimacy without any real sense of closeness. I made a point of going to see her each day, even if she would only permit me to stay for a few minutes.

One afternoon I found her sitting by the open window, stitching a canvas that was mounted on an embroidery frame. “What is it you are doing, Grandmama?” I asked, going forward to look.

“This is a chair seat, and I am repairing it, Elinor. It belongs to a set of chairs that are over two hundred years old, but alas, the fabric has become very worn. I am determined to restore them all before I die.”

“What very beautiful work,” I said admiringly. The design was an intricate one, depicting creatures in a forest. I pointed. “Isn’t that a dragon peering out from behind the tree there?”

Dona Amalia was obviously pleased with my interest.

“All the chairs have different designs, but the dragon features in every one of them,” she told me. “They were commissioned by Henriques da Milaveira’s great-grandson, Jorge, and he had them made in England.”

I hesitated. “Perhaps I could help you with the work, Grandmama. I have always enjoyed doing embroidery.”

“If you think this is simple, Elinor, you are very mistaken.”

I silently thanked heaven that I was no newcomer to needlepoint. The drawing room at Harley Street held several examples of my talent. “I promise to be very careful and not to spoil anything,” I assured her. “Please let me try.”

“Very well, if you wish. But mind you match the colors and the stitches correctly. Ring for Josepha, and she will fetch one of the other canvases They are already mounted and trammed in readiness.”

Within a few minutes I was settled down beside Dona Amalia, an embroidery frame before me. I selected a variety of greens from the twisted sticks of tapestry wool in her sachet, and we both stitched in silence until I broke off to show her what I had done. My grandmother surveyed it critically through her gold-rimmed spectacles, her lips pursed together, then she nodded for me to continue. At least, I thought wryly, she had not condemned my work, even though she didn’t seem overly impressed.

After a while I became aware that she had stopped working and was looking at me thoughtfully. “What is the matter, Grandmama?”

Her black eyes glittered, unreadable as always. “Elinor, are you unhappy here? Do you hate me very much for the anger I have expressed about your mother?”

“Not
hate
you.” I protested. “How could I hate you? But frankly, I think you have been unjust to poor Mama. I wish you could understand, I wish that you could find it in your heart to forgive her.”

“Come child, do not play with words. Perhaps you wished that I could be made to suffer as you believe I made your mother suffer? Perhaps you have sought a means to be revenged on me?”

“No, you are quite wrong.” I cried. “No thought of revenge has ever entered my head. I would not dream of such a thing.”

My grandmother seemed not to have heard me. “Elinor, my life has not been easy. Believe me, I have endured more than my fair share of unhappiness. Now I am nearing the end of my time on earth, and I beseech you not to add to the burden I have to carry.”

I felt a sudden rush of emotion and took her thin fingers in mine. It seemed to me that this was an opportunity to break down the barriers of mistrust between us. “Please let us be friends, Grandmama. It is my dearest wish. Can’t we put aside all the bitter thoughts of the past and make a new beginning?”

I felt her hand tremble, and she said huskily, “Elinor, you took the Jade Dragon, did you not? Put it back where it belongs, I beg you. If you do, then nothing more will be said about the matter, I promise you.”

I stared at my grandmother in dismay, all my tenderness toward her killed in an instant. I felt sick with disappointment. So this was what her display of emotion was all about. She suspected me of having taken the Jade Dragon in order to wound her. She believed that I was capable of such a cruel act of revenge.

“I did not take the Jade Dragon,” I said coldly. “How could you even imagine that I would?”

She brushed aside my protest. “I meant what I said, Elinor. If the Jade Dragon is returned, there will be no questions asked. No recriminations. All I want is that it should be put back in its proper place.”

I drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I did not take it, I tell you. I did not take it.”

I rose to my feet and stumbled toward the door. Then with my hand on the knob I paused for a second, looking back at my grandmother for some small sign of regret, of apology. But she was staring at me with those gimlet black eyes of hers, and I knew that nothing I could say would convince her of my innocence.

The invitation from Mrs. Forrester was very friendly and pressing. She wrote that she and the major would be delighted to have me visit them in Lisbon for a few days—or longer if I could spare them the time. I was only to name the date of my arrival, and they would be ready to welcome me.

This was exactly what I needed, I decided—a short interlude away from Castanheiros. It would help me get things into true perspective. I sent a grateful acceptance by return post, saying I would come the day after tomorrow.

During the past week my relationship with my grandmother had reverted to the same footing as before. I paid her a visit each day and stayed for a while. She had even made the suggestion herself that I should continue helping with the embroidery repairs. But the missing Jade Dragon was not mentioned between us again.

Carlota’s attitude toward me had not thawed in the least. She was as hostile as ever. My uncle, on the other hand, was meticulously polite, but his conversation was restricted to trite generalities. Both of them succeeded, as I knew they intended, in making me feel out of place here. Were it not for Vicencia’s warm friendliness, I should indeed have felt unwanted. Stafford was no longer at Castanheiros. Three days ago he had returned to Lisbon without saying when we were likely to see him again.

Having dispatched my letter to Mrs. Forrester, I went out of doors to find Vicencia. I located her without difficulty in the rose arbor, drawn by the piping notes of her flute. As I sat beside her on a seat decorated with pink and green porcelain tiles, I commented, “You have been playing more than usual these past few days, Vicencia.”

She nodded and gave me a sad smile. “I like to play whenever I have an hour to spare. I find that music is a great solace to me, Elinor. These are such unhappy times for us all. Goodness knows what is going to happen.”

Inwardly, I echoed her thoughts. Since the disappearance of the Jade Dragon I had been increasingly conscious of impending doom. Yet it seemed there was nothing to be done but bide time. I too was becoming infected with this curious sense of waiting helplessly for events to shape our destiny.

“Vicencia, I’m going to pay a visit to my friends the Forresters in Lisbon. I have arranged to go the day after tomorrow.”

To my astonishment she turned quite pale beneath her honey-toned skin. “Oh, Elinor, must you? With Stafford away, too, who will be my friend? I shall be alone here.”

“But I’m only intending to be away for a few days,” I replied uncomfortably. ‘The time will soon pass.”

She bit her lip. “Could you not delay your visit, Elinor? Why not make it next week? By then Stafford will probably have returned to Cintra.”

“I’m sorry, Vicencia, I didn’t realize you would mind my going. I’m afraid I cannot change my plans now, for I have already posted my acceptance.” I felt touched that my company should mean so much to Vicencia, when she had known me for little more than a fortnight. “I promise to make my stay a brief one, though. Two nights away, or three at the most.”

She summoned up a smile and pressed my hand gratefully.

“I suppose it will be all right, Vicencia, for me to have a carriage to take me to Lisbon?”

“Of course. You have a right to anything in this household, Elinor. I will arrange it for you.”

“Thank you. I should like to make a fairly early start so as to be at the Forresters’ in time for luncheon.”

Later, when I went to see my grandmother in her rooms, I was amazed that she too reacted strongly to my announcement. “Why should you go rushing off like this?” she demanded. “You have barely had time to settle down here.”

“It will only be a short visit, Grandmama. Mrs. Forrester was very kind to me on the voyage. Besides, I want to take the chance to see something of Lisbon.”

Dona Amalia’s black eyes rested upon me in a look that was almost wistful. Then her expression hardened, and she said curtly, “You must please yourself, of course. Now, are you going to help me today, or are you not?”

* * * *

On the first afternoon of my stay at the house in the Praça dos Cantos, Mrs. Forrester took me sightseeing. We drove up to the Castelo de Sao Jorge, dominating Lisbon from its rocky height. Viewed from the ramparts, the city lay spread below us, rising and falling over its many hills. And somewhere down there in that teeming maze of streets and houses was Stafford Darville.

I was only half listening to my hostess as she pointed out the landmarks. The ruins of the Carmo church, destroyed like so much else in the terrible earthquake of 1775, the Estrela Basilica, a lovely white dome floating above the rooftops, built in fulfillment of a vow by a poor mad queen. And then there was the river, the wide blue waters of the Tagus, where ocean-going steamers lay at anchor and white-sailed fishing smacks moved lazily before the breeze.

We descended by way of the old Arab quarter, the Alfama, our carriage wheels almost scraping the houses on either side of the narrow cobbled streets. Through dark doorways I caught glimpses of stonemasons at work, and cobblers, and there was a strong odor of cabbages and fish.

Women hanging out their colorful lines of washing from the upstairs windows paused to stare down at us. A wizened old man in a broad-brimmed black hat sat crouched over a charcoal brazier grilling sardines for sale. Behind him, on a flight of stone steps leading up through an archway, some ragged, barefoot children were romping with a lame mongrel. And I saw more cats than I could possibly have counted.

On the way home, as a complete contrast, we stopped for tea in the Chiado, where all the most fashionable shops in Lisbon are situated.

In the evening we went out again, to dine at some friends of the Forresters. Our route took us downhill toward the river, through a district I had not seen before. In a street wider than most, where mule-drawn tramcars clanked along, Mrs. Forrester pointed to a solid, rather gloomy-looking mansion of gray stone, with an elaborate portal arch and weighty wrought iron balconies at the upper windows.

‘That’s the Milaveira town house, Elinor. Though I suppose it is scarcely used nowadays.”

“My uncle and aunt were talking only the other night of opening it up again,” I said. “I believe they are intending to come and stay in Lisbon for a while.”

There were about twenty people at the dinner party, and it seemed strange to be talking and laughing lightheartedly again. I was introduced to two young men from the Legation who flirted with me, paying me extravagant compliments. The subject of bullfighting came up, and they told me they were planning to go to the bullring the next afternoon.