The Jade Dragon (17 page)

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Julio. In the mornings, sometimes, I’ve noticed Vicencia looking quite drawn with fatigue. I wonder if perhaps she is not sleeping well.”

He shrugged. “She has said nothing to me about it, so I don’t think there can be anything seriously wrong. I know my poor sister has been having a difficult time recently with the Senhora Dona Carlota, but she’ll come through all right in the end. I’m certain of it.”

It was another of those warm, sunny afternoons that one took for granted at Cintra, and Julio and I were strolling through the magnolia grove. A waterfall murmured a little way off, and near at hand in a weeping willow tree, a song thrush was calling. A highly romantic setting, I thought ruefully.

All three of us had come out after luncheon for a leisurely walk in the gardens. Within a few minutes, however, Vicencia had turned back to the house, remembering something she had forgotten to do. Or so she said. I now suspected that it had been a ruse to leave me alone with her brother. Ever since Julio had kissed me the other afternoon up at the Moorish castle—a kiss brought about by the circumstance of my near-accident—there had been a change in our relationship, a new awareness of one another.

Julio was saying, “You cannot need that sunshade here under the trees, Elinor, and it makes a barrier between us.” He took the long-fringed parasol from my hand and snapped it shut.

“Please, Julio,” I began in protest.

“No, please listen to me. I know that it’s my habit to make light of things, and perhaps I appear too flippant in your eyes. But where you are concerned, Elinor, I could hardly be more serious. The other day ... we were both of us carried away. But you cannot deny that you responded. You made it clear that you are not indifferent to me.”

“Of course, I’m not indifferent to you,” I faltered. “You are Vicencia’s brother, and consequently I have the highest regard for you.”

“Is that the most you can say?”

“I ... I feel very warmly toward you. I want us to be, as I’m quite sure we are, the very closest of friends.”

He frowned. “I want more than friendship from you. Far more.”

“Then I am afraid I cannot give it to you, Julio.”

Impulsively, he took hold of my hand. I tried to draw it away, but he was gripping my fingers tightly. “I know that I’m being impatient,” he said, “but you see, my stay here at Castanheiros is almost over. And after I have gone back to Lisbon, how can I make sure of seeing you again unless there is some kind of understanding between us? I ask no more than an admission from you that you don’t find me unattractive. And for my part, Elinor, I find
you
infinitely sweet and desirable.”

“Please—” I withdrew my hand from his, and began to walk on briskly. “Let us talk of something else.”

“Oh dear, now I’ve upset you. I must not be so pressing.”

“I would much prefer it, Julio, if we could keep to the relationship that existed before—the three of us together. Your coming to Castanheiros has meant so much to me. You have been almost like a brother.”

“The trouble is,” he said sadly, “that I could never think of you in the light of a sister, Elinor. That would be asking altogether too much of me.”

* * * *

My grandmother hadn’t suggested I should play chess with her again, which scarcely surprised me—I was hardly a worthy opponent. Each morning, I visited her for an hour or two. We sewed, and talked in a desultory way, the old lady always laying the pattern of our conversation.

I enjoyed these hours in her company. I was happy to have made friends with my grandmother. Yet all the while, I was conscious of some basic uneasiness between us, a lack of real trust. As Stafford had remarked on that afternoon we traveled back from Lisbon together, when we were drinking tea under the juniper trees, my grandmother
seemed
to like me. Yet she still could not entirely accept me as her granddaughter. I wished I knew what she thought of me in her secret heart. Did she really and truly believe that I had taken the Jade Dragon—out of malice, in order to wound her? And I could never forget the night she had come sleepwalking to my room and stood looking down on me as though in hatred.

In the evenings, Julio, Vicencia, and myself formed a musical trio, and played for our own enjoyment. There was no audience, except perhaps for some of the servants listening outside the door. At the piano, I was aware of being sadly below standard, for Vicencia on the flute and Julio on his violin were both so talented. But I consoled myself with the thought that they came from a musical family, whereas my training had been a wearisome plodding through scales with a teacher who was far from brilliant herself. And so the days went by ....

One morning, when Vicencia and I happened to be alone together, I asked her about herself. “Why don’t you send for the doctor, Vicencia?” She looked amazed, and I added, “He might prescribe a tonic for you.”

“But I do not need a tonic. It just happens that I’m a little off-color. It will soon pass.”

“You could ask the senhor doctor to examine you next time he comes to see Dona Amalia,” I persisted. “He should be calling in a day or two, I expect.”

Vicencia gave me a bright smile, though I suspected that it cost her an effort. “You must not worry yourself about me, Elinor, dear. Now tell me, why did you refuse to accompany Julio yesterday when he suggested going to Estoril?”

“Because you said you were too busy, Vicencia, and I didn’t want to go without you.”

“But whyever not?”

“It ... it is more enjoyable when all three of us are together. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

A frown appeared on Vicencia’s smooth brow. “Surely you must have realized that Julio is showing far more than a passing interest in you? Yet you do not give the poor boy a chance.”

I hesitated “What has Julio been saying to you?”

“A great deal, my dear, without intending to. Julio is not a man to conceal his feelings, as you must know. With him it is Elinor this, and Elinor that the whole day long. He clearly admires you tremendously. In fact, I am convinced that Julio is falling in love with you.”

“Oh no,” I cried in distress. “He mustn’t be allowed to, he really mustn’t. I beg you not to say anything to encourage him, Vicencia.”

She looked crestfallen. “But, Elinor, I was so hoping—it would be wonderful to have you as my sister-in-law. Just think, a match between my beloved brother and my dearest friend. And Julio is so clever, so kind. I’m sure you could never find a better husband.” Her velvet brown eyes clouded.

“Or is it…do you consider Julio of insufficient standing in the world? I realize, of course, that our family background does not compare with the grandness of the Milaveiras, but ---”

 “It has nothing to do with that,” I protested vehemently. “I do not accept the Milaveira philosophy that money or social standing can be a substitute for love.”

‘Then why do you so emphatically reject the idea of becoming Julio’s wife?”

“Because I don’t love Julio. And I fear I never could.”

“But how can you be so sure? Never is a long time, Elinor.” She paused. “Is there someone else, my dear? I asked you once before on your arrival here, and you denied it, but I had a feeling you might be concealing something. Perhaps there is a young man back in England whom you hope will propose one day?”

“No,” I said in a decided tone. “Though there is someone who will almost certainly ask me to be his wife if he ever gets the opportunity. He is the son of Dr. and Mrs. Carlisle. But I do not love Oliver, so I could never agree to marry him.”

“Then your heart is quite free?”

I bit my lip. How could I say that my heart was free, when it was ringed round with pain? I had hopefully expected that as the days went by, my anguish would grow less. I had believed that I could suppress my love for Stafford until it was no more than a bearable ache. How bitterly wrong I had been. I said to Vicencia untruthfully, “I think, perhaps, that I am one of those people who are incapable of falling in love.”

“You cannot seriously believe that.”

“Only time will tell.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, there is not always as much time as one thinks when one is young. I beg you, Elinor dear, do not reject my brother out of hand. Do not close your heart against poor Julio.”

* * * *

With the return of Affonso and Carlota, the feeling of freedom at Castanheiros vanished instantly. I could hear Carlota’s shrewish voice as they entered the great hall, throwing out orders and instructions, demanding Vicencia’s immediate attention. Despairingly, I wondered whether I would ever learn to feel affection for my domineering aunt.

Dinner that evening was an ordeal, and I was thankful to make my escape. The next day, entering the antechamber before luncheon, I anticipated an equally depressing hour or so, but it did not turn out like that. Instead, something wonderful and incredible occurred.

“Elinor dear,” said Vicencia as she came in behind me with Julio. “The post has just arrived, and there is a letter for you. I see that it’s from Stafford.” It was all I could do not to snatch the letter from her. “I wonder whether it is to say he’s coming back to Castanheiros soon?” Vicencia went on, “I do hope so, don’t you, Elinor?”

I stood there hesitating, making no move to open the envelope in my hand. I felt torn by conflicting emotions—joy at receiving the letter and misery that it should have arrived at such an inopportune moment. I longed to fly upstairs and read it in the privacy of my room, but how could I? Especially as my uncle and Carlota were just this minute coming in.

“Elinor has received a letter from Stafford,” I heard Vicencia announcing. “We are hoping it brings news that he will be with us again soon.”

“And why should he write to
Elinor
about that?” Carlota demanded coldly. “I would have thought it more appropriate to let me know, or even you, Vicencia, since it would be your responsibility to make the necessary preparations.”

I was conscious of an air of expectancy, as if they were all waiting to hear the contents of my letter. Slowly, I slit open the envelope and drew out two sheets of notepaper covered in firm, bold handwriting.

M
y
dearest Elinor,
it began ....

My dearest Elinor! My legs felt boneless, and I sank down into the nearest chair. Swiftly, my eyes flew down the lines to discover why Stafford was writing to me. He spoke of remorse and begged for my forgiveness. He wanted to see me, to talk to me. He said I had been constantly in his thoughts.

Aware that my hands were trembling, I went back and started to read again from the beginning:

My dearest Elinor,

How will you receive this letter from me? Do not, I beg you, throw it aside unread. I deserve such treatment, but I count on that generosity of nature for which I have already had cause to be thankful.

These days in Lisbon have been bitter ones for me, filled with remorse and self-recrimination. That afternoon at Miramar, I behaved like an ill-mannered oaf. It is my earnest wish, now, to ask your forgiveness. There is so much I would like to say to you, if only you will grant me the opportunity.

It would, I think, be difficult for us to face each other at Castanheiros, with everyone else present. We need a chance to talk quietly, and what better place than at Miramar again, where things between us seemed so rich with promise until my boorish outburst? I shall be going there on Thursday, taking with me an English architect who is a friend of mine. He has promised to give me an opinion on the restoration of the house. Will you come too, Elinor, to give us the benefit of a woman’s viewpoint? And afterward, when Guy Lambert has departed, perhaps you will allow me a chance to explain a certain matter that you have every right to question? If only you will permit this turning back of the clock, my dear Elinor, I promise that the outcome will be very different this time.

Since I left Cintra, you have been continually and constantly in my thoughts. I hope you have thought of me sometimes and, like me, wished things could have worked out otherwise. If so, there is hope for me yet.

I will be at Miramar at three o’clock. May I suggest that you get Pedro to bring you in the carriage, to arrive at about four, by which time Guy Lambert and I should have covered the more tedious details.

I pray that you will grant me this second chance my dearest—Ever yours,

Stafford

I was aware of nothing beyond the pounding of my heart, the sense of elation that filled me. Tomorrow—a whole day hence—could I bear to wait so long? Already I was picturing the scene, the lovely moment when Stafford and I stood alone once more on the belvedere at Miramar. The outcome, he promised me, would be very different this time. And this time, I promised him silently, there would be no jealous questions on my part, no accusations demanding an answer.

Vicencia’s voice crashed in upon my daydreaming. “Well, Elinor, what does Stafford say?”

I glanced up and found them all looking at me. I flushed crimson. Desperately, I tried to keep my voice steady. “You were right, Vicencia, he is returning—tomorrow, in fact. The ... the reason Stafford has written to me is simply that he plans to call at Miramar first with an architect friend of his. You know, of course, that Stafford is considering having the house restored? He ... he seems to think that I could make a few helpful suggestions, and he has asked if I will drive out in the afternoon to meet him ... them, I mean—the architect and himself—” Somehow I couldn’t stop myself from running on, though I felt certain I must be giving myself away with every word.

“And where,” my uncle asked sourly, “does Darville expect to find the money to put a place of that size in order? It will cost a fortune.”

Carlota sniffed. “A fortune indeed. But it is people like Stafford Darville who
have
the money nowadays—the middlemen, those engaged in trade. Is there not something sadly wrong with the world?” How quickly she had forgotten the background from which she herself had sprung.

“It appears perfectly just to me,” I said hotly, “that those with drive and energy, with ability and intelligence, should be rewarded.”