The Jade Dragon (22 page)

“Yes, I think she must have found out something about us,” Vicencia said slowly. “Why else did she behave as she did, rushing off suddenly to Cascais without a word to anyone? Luzia was always an impetuous creature. But if she had only paused to think, she would have realized there was no need to get so upset. She was Stafford’s acknowledged wife, and she had everything that goes with it—except his love. And that was something she’d never shown any sign of wanting.”

“Luzia had recently lost her little boy,” I murmured huskily. “She was in a disturbed state of mind.”

Vicencia shrugged. “If she was, then it was her own fault for making the child the be-all and end-all of her existence.”

I had been growing colder every moment as I listened to her. Was this really Vicencia, the gentle, misused Vicencia whom I had regarded as my friend? When she spoke of “love” it was a selfish passion that took no heed of other people’s feelings, that rejected all standards of decency.

Piercing through the misery in my mind came the memory of that afternoon when Stafford and I had stopped at a wayside inn on the drive from Lisbon. He had said then that his wife, only the day before her death, had told him she was anxious to make a completely fresh start, that she was ready to move away from Castanheiros to a new house of their own in Lisbon, that she was even prepared to have another child. Such plans hardly seemed to match the mental state of a woman who was on the verge of doing away with herself.

What had been Stafford’s object in telling me such things? Was it to turn my thoughts away from the idea that Luzia had taken her own life? Or worse, from the ugly suspicion that she had been deliberately killed, either by Stafford himself, or at his instigation?

The horrifying possibilities spun in my mind. If only I could find peace from this torment. If only I could be magically transported from Castanheiros, from all the heartbreak and disillusionment I had found here. I said, almost to myself, “Julio advised me to return to England. Perhaps he was right.”

“When did he say that to you?” Vicencia asked, surprised.

“This morning, just before he left. When we were saying good-bye.”

She nodded. “He was very upset, poor boy. What a pity you couldn’t have seen Julio in a different light, Elinor. Then you need never have learned all this about Stafford and me. I did my best to bring you two together. It would have made an ideal match. But it was not to be.” She glanced at me thoughtfully. “Julio gave you sound advice, you
should
return to England. There is only unhappiness for you here.”

“I think I
might
decide to go back—if it were not for my grandmother.”

“But Dona Amalia has shown no consideration for you. On the contrary, from what you’ve told me she seems to have given you plenty of cause for distress.”

“No, all that is changed now. Grandmama and I have reached a new understanding of one another. I couldn’t possibly leave her, not when she has so little time to live.”

“But isn’t that precisely a good reason for your going?” Vicencia persisted. “Dona Amalia can only survive a few months more at most, and what then? Will you want to stay here after her death?”

“No,” I said in a low voice. “I think not.”

“Then go
now,
Elinor. You are young, and in England you would have a chance to be happy. But what is there here for you?”

“You said before, Vicencia, how
glad
you were that I’d come to Castanheiros. Now you seem anxious to be rid of me.”

“You mustn’t think that,” she protested. “But I know that our relationship can never again be quite the same, now that I’ve been forced to reveal the truth. It isn’t something I can hope that you will understand, because you’re cast in an entirely different mold from people like Stafford and me. I would see a look of pained bewilderment come into your eyes each time Stafford’s name was mentioned—it is there now at this very moment. Think, my dear, could you remain happily at Castanheiros, when Stafford keeps coming here to be with me? And what of the time—which I pray will not be long delayed—when Stafford and I can drop all pretense and allow our love to be seen openly, when we become man and wife? You know how much you would suffer, Elinor. And all this for an old woman who has treated you quite shamefully.”

I hung my head to conceal my tears. “I cannot desert my grandmother. She needs me now. There is no one else.”

“But there is Carlota, and myself. There is Affonso, her stepson, and Stafford, and a houseful of servants. Dona Amalia has every comfort she can possibly expect, every attention she can demand. What can
you
add, Elinor, that will make the final days of her life more easily borne?”

“I
can give her love,” I whispered.

Love. The word was like ashes in my mouth. What did it mean, I asked myself, if it included this obsessive, greedy passion such as Vicencia had described? Love had become a word I did not understand anymore.

I wondered suddenly if Vicencia would be so blithely complacent about her relationship with Stafford if she knew the dreadful things I suspected about him—that Stafford himself had killed Luzia? That he had killed Pedro, and had planned to kill me, too. That only yesterday afternoon, while Vicencia had been with Julio in the gardens, playing her flute, Stafford had been ruthlessly awaiting the arrival of the carriage at Miramar, in order to send it plunging off the road.

The pendulum clock on the wall stirred into life and struck the half-hour. “Goodness me, how time flies,” exclaimed Vicencia. “Luncheon will not be long, Elinor. We had better go and get ready.”

These words suddenly crystallized for me the life to which I’d be committing myself. The ordinary everyday things would continue unchanged, and I would have to take my part in them. Could I twice each day sit down to eat with the family and join in the conversation around the table? It was beyond imagining.

“I ... I think I’ll have a tray brought to my room,” I told Vicencia. “For the time being, until I’m feeling properly well again, I shall take all my meals upstairs.”

“But Elinor, there is no need for that.”

“I would prefer it.”

Vicencia regarded me thoughtfully. “So already you’re beginning to realize how difficult things will be for you here at Castanheiros. Think again about going home, my dear. Think hard.”

For the rest of the day, and all the next morning, I scarcely stirred from my room. I had intended going to see Dona Amalia as usual, but just before ten-thirty, her maid Josepha came with a message that the senhora
condessa
was feeling very tired. Although I was disappointed, I guessed she wasn’t quite ready yet to swallow her pride and admit how unfairly prejudiced she’d been against my mother all these years. I still felt confident, however, that the barrier keeping us apart was gone now, and there was nothing to prevent my grandmother and me from achieving a real sense of closeness.

At lunchtime, when my tray was brought up by a footman, there was a letter, too. It bore an English postage stamp. I stood for a moment holding it in my hands, looking down at the familiar lavender stationery addressed in Mrs. Carlisle’s flowing script. Oh, to be back once more in Harley Street, back to the calm, orderly life there. The prospect was wonderfully tempting, and nothing could be simpler to arrange. And yet, in my heart I knew that it wasn’t merely concern for my grandmother that held me in Portugal. Although my hopes and dreams about Stafford had been cruelly shattered, I still felt compelled to remain here. I had a strange feeling that the curtain was yet to rise on the final act of the drama at Castanheiros, and I
had
to know the truth, however terrible it proved to be.

Quickly, I slit open the envelope and withdrew Aunt Mildred’s letter. It was written in her usual chatty style, crammed with small details of domestic news …that she had given a dinner party two evenings ago, although it had been most aggravating because the poulterer had mixed up the order and failed to deliver the Aylesbury ducklings in time … that the promising new chambermaid, Elsie, had departed to take a post nearer her married sister in Wimbledon … how difficult it was to decide between Cambridge blue and
eau de nil
for the new decor in the drawing room … and what did I think? The doctor, she was delighted to say, had recently been consulted by a prominent member of Mr. Disraeli’s cabinet. On the last page, though, Aunt Mildred told me she had some serious news to impart that she hoped would not cause me too much distress. Oliver, during the past month, had become very engrossed with a certain Miss Catherine Blakeley, the sister of one of his colleagues at the hospital.

I fear it is serious and that an engagement is imminent. Catherine is a thoroughly charming young woman and well-connected, but naturally the doctor and I are saddened at having our long-cherished hopes dashed like this. Alas, young men can be very fickle in their affections. I only hope, my dearest Elinor, that with the diversions of your stay in Portugal you can overcome your disappointment and find it in your heart to wish them well.

I felt a stab of envy for the unknown Catherine Blakeley. Not that I begrudged her winning Oliver for one moment. It was the happiness and fulfillment in store for her I envied. But I determined to write back to Aunt Mildred very fulsomely, and I would drop a line to Oliver, too—a line of warm, sisterly congratulation. I owed him that.

Early in the afternoon I prepared for my visit to Maria’s home. Although I dreaded the prospect, I felt I
had
to go. I decided that I’d walk into Cintra. I was in no hurry to arrive, and since the accident at Miramar, I didn’t fancy the idea of riding in a carriage.

The knot garden simmered under the blazing sun as I set out, and I was grateful for the shade of the cypress avenue. At the gates, I turned left along the winding lane. Beside me, a tumbled mass of summer jasmine and purple heliotrope cascaded over an old stone wall, and the languid perfume hung like a cloud in the warm, still air.

I hadn’t gone far when I heard the sound of a carriage. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the green and gold phaeton from Castanheiros just rounding a bend beneath the darkly spreading branches of a cedar tree. My uncle held the reins, with Carlota beside him. I prepared myself for an exchange of stiff courtesies as they went past, but, surprisingly, my uncle reined in the horses and drew the phaeton to a halt beside me. He raised his straw hat, and Carlota smiled at me sweetly from under her parasol.

“What are you thinking of, Elinor dear,” she protested, “walking in the heat like this?”

“I’m not going far, Carlota. I hardly thought it worthwhile asking for a carriage.”

“It’s fortunate, then, that we have come along and can offer you a ride.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t trouble you ---”

Already, though, my uncle had jumped down and was extending his hand to help me up the step. So I could hardly refuse. “Where are you going?” Carlota inquired, when I was settled in the seat behind them.

“I’m on my way to the bakery to offer my condolences to Maria and her parents.”

“Maria? Oh yes, the sister of the coachman Pedro. A most regrettable incident. Your uncle and I have been so worried about you, Elinor. I cannot tell you how much.”

So very worried, I thought dryly, that they hadn’t even bothered to come and ask me how I was. This was the first I’d seen of either of them since the accident. Though now, it seemed, Carlota couldn’t be friendlier.

“Do not concern yourself unduly about the girl, my dear,” she advised me. “Everything necessary will have been done, I can assure you.”

“But she is my personal maid, Carlota. Besides, I was in the carriage with Pedro, and it is only right that Maria and her family should hear exactly what happened from my own lips.”

“You won’t, I hope, mention anything about this strange fancy of yours that someone deliberately threw a firework to frighten the horses?”

“No, Carlota, I won’t say anything about that.” But I added quietly to myself.
Even though I believe it to be true.

“Well, that’s a relief. Otherwise, we would have all manner of wild rumors spreading around the neighborhood. Just keep your visit short and as formal as possible. One can sometimes be too kind to these sort of people. Is that not true, Affonso?”

He agreed readily. ‘They are very quick to take advantage if you give them the least opportunity.”

“I’m sure Maria’s family is not like that,” I objected. “But in any case, I’m anxious to do whatever I can to help them in their sorrow.”

“Naturally,
one wants to do what one can. I applaud your kind heart, my dear.” Carlota turned in her seat and smiled at me. “I hear that you have very sensibly decided to return to England. It is by far the best thing.”

For the moment, I was too amazed to speak. Then I inquired coolly, “Who told you that?”

“Surely, I’m not mistaken, Elinor? We have
so
enjoyed your visit, but I’m convinced that after the dreadful experience of being thrown from the carriage, you would be wise to return to the familiar surroundings of home. Your uncle and I, all of us, will miss you greatly, but these things have to be accepted.”

“I presume it was Vicencia who told you that I was going home?

“Well, yes, she did happen to mention it.”

I felt a sudden reckless urge to commit myself, to put an end to my vacillation. “Then Vicencia misinformed you, Carlota. I have no intention whatever of leaving Portugal. I shall stay here to be with Grandmama until ... until—”

Carlota swung around again abruptly. “But I am certain she does not
expect
it of you, Elinor.”

“I believe she does—now,” I said slowly. “I think that my presence will be of some help and comfort to her in her last days.”

Carlota was frowning deeply. ‘That is not the impression I received from Dona Amalia herself. She seemed quite reconciled to your departure, Elinor.”

“When was this?” I demanded. “When did you speak to her?”