The Shadowcutter (13 page)

“No, you know he cannot go there.”

She nodded and twisted the fringe of her shawl in her fingers.

“I will try,” she said after a long silence. “I will.”

Chapter Eleven

Felix found his way to the Queen’s Hotel like a drunken man. He had kissed Sukey and she had not rejected him. She had kissed him back and smiled, and dear Lord, it felt like no other kiss.

All those months, seeing her every other day, working with her, and suddenly this extraordinary clarity of feeling about her: not a creature to be petted, or a goddess to be worshipped, but a partner. That was the conclusion that stopped him in his tracks, the impossible conclusion – that he had at last met his wife and she was entirely perfect and at the same time, it could not be done. His parents, Major Vernon and Mr and Mrs O’Brien – let alone Lord Rothborough – not one of them would give their blessing. It was as hopeless as it was miraculous.

He had now reached the Queen’s Hotel, which rose up above the extensive formal gardens which fronted it, the epitome of glittering, fashionable modernity. In the gardens elegantly clad guests were taking the after-dinner air, strolling along verdant avenues lit with Chinese lanterns. In a bower somewhere a German band was pumping away, playing the waltz of the moment.

He passed by all this, and entered into a impressive hall, and stood for a moment, wondering how to proceed. He wished for a moment that Major Vernon was with him – he would know exactly how to get him taken to the right person at once, without anyone doubting his authority or legitimacy. He managed to catch the attention of one of the waiters, who was supercilious enough to be a flunky at Holbroke.

“I need to speak to someone from the party from Santa Magdalena,” he said. “I have news of a countryman of theirs. I am a surgeon.” He took out his card. “It’s urgent,” he added.

The waiter looked at the card as if he were presenting false credentials.

“The party you mention – well, sir, how do I put it? They don’t take kindly to unsolicited interruptions. There are instructions in place. The management, you see, have told us –” He gave a shrug.

“This is an important matter,” said Felix. “Take me up to them at once, if you please!”

“I am not sure I can do that, sir,” said the waiter. “Not without –” He gave a discreet cough.

He might as well have put out his palm for the coin, Felix thought, digging in his pocket. He found a few pennies and half-crown; he felt sure that the pennies would not do it, so he surrendered the half-crown. The waiter smiled and made an obsequious bow.

“This way if you please, sir. They will still be at dinner,” said the waiter, as they climbed up a gilded staircase. “They eat late, but I will see what I can do.”

Just at that moment, another waiter came down the passageway.

“Jim, this gent here wants to see one of your gents. He’s a doctor. Something about a countryman of theirs.”

“I’ll get that secretary fellow,” he said.

“It’s about Don Xavier Martinez – tell him that,” said Felix.

Felix wondered if another half-crown would be necessary, and indeed if he had one.

Fortunately, the servant did not seem to expect it and went off, armed only with Felix’s card, in the direction he had come from.

“There’s quite a few of them, then?” Felix asked.

“Oh yes,” said the waiter. “Twenty-five of them, including their servants. They’ve taken the whole floor here for the rest of the month and they live like princes. We’ve not seen the like of it before. You wait here, sir, and Jim’ll see it to it.”

So Felix idled for some more minutes in the passageway, growing nervous and impatient by turns, until Jim returned.

“This way, please. Don Luiz himself would you like to see you. He’s the master. Pricked up his ears at the mention of that name, I can tell you.”

Felix followed Jim into a reception room of some kind – a gloomy and unbearably stuffy apartment, which curiously had the hushed atmosphere of a private chapel. Above the mantlepiece, illuminated by a row of burning votive candles, hung a huge portrait of a man in elaborate military dress, his scarlet tunic heavy with gold lace. The painting itself had been draped with swags of foliage and black ribbons, while in the corner stood a great silken flag, presumably in the national colours of the Republic of Santa Magdalena.

Felix, left alone, studied the portrait and noticed that there was in the man’s face a distinct resemblance to his dead patient.

A tall, powerfully-built gentleman dressed in immaculate evening clothes now came into the room. He was holding Felix’s card.

“Mr Carswell?” he said in a thick accent. “I believe you have some news for me, of Don Xavier Lopez Martinez?”

“Yes, I am sorry to say I do.”

“Sorry? Why?”

“I am sorry to say he died this afternoon. At the White Lion.”

“That is here, in Stanegate?”

Felix nodded.

“How extraordinary. We did not know he was here. We thought... Would you excuse me, a moment. The shock is quite –”

“Yes, of course, sir. I am sorry to bring you such news.”

The gentleman sat down.

“You see,” he said after a moment, gesturing towards the portrait crowned with laurels. “That was his brother, the late President of our country.”

“I am sorry,” Felix said again.

“I should present myself,” said the gentleman. “I am Don Luiz Ramirez. I was a close confederate of the late Director, his second in command, and his cousin. Don Xavier was my cousin.” He rubbed his face. “How did it happen?”

“He was in the tertiary stages of consumption. I only began treating him two days ago. I met him by chance. We did our best for him, but his condition was so advanced that there was little that could be done. I tried to find him a priest, but there was no time.”

Don Luiz gave a great sigh.

“This is terrible news, terrible...” he began and then shook his head, overcome by emotion.

Now a woman entered the room. It was hard not to stare at her. She was stupendously dressed in a low-cut blue satin dress that looked like a ball gown. There were sapphires glistening at her neck and ears.

She looked at Don Luiz and said something to him in Spanish.

He got up at once and went to her, and, taking her hands, spoke to her in rapid, quiet Spanish. She looked shocked as he spoke, glancing at Felix, and then she crossed herself.

“Excuse me, sir, if you will, we must...” Don Luiz said, escorting the woman towards the door.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

And he was left alone again. He sat down and wondered what he ought to do next.

Then, as if he were watching a play, the door on the other side of the room opened, and another woman came in, this time dressed in widow’s black.

He got to his feet.

“Can I help you, sir?” she said, in English, but with a soft Irish accent, that made him think of Sukey.

“I came to call on Don Luiz...” he stumbled on the pronunciation. He pointed at the door Don Luiz left by. “He went out with another lady.”

She came a little closer to him, and looked at him curiously.

“Do we know each other, sir?” she said.

“I don’t believe we do, ma’am,” he said, although there was something oddly familiar about her.

“You say you have to come to see Don Luiz?”

“Yes, about about a patient of mine, Don Xavier Martinez.”

“Don Xavier is my brother-in-law.”

Felix said, “Perhaps you should sit down, ma’am. I am afraid I have bad news.”

He indicated the sofa where he had been sitting. She sat down obediently, but staring at him all the time, wide-eyed.

He sat down beside her and said,“I regret to tell you he died this morning.”

“Oh dear Lord,” she said and covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t even know he was here. What was he doing here?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

She looked at him again with that strange, piercing gaze. Her hands were knotted together, the knuckles white as if she were clutching them together to find some strength.

“He was your patient?” Her voice was quiet now.

“Yes, I am a surgeon. My name is Carswell, Felix Carswell.”

“Felix Carswell,” she repeated. “Indeed.”

She was staring at him now. He looked away, disconcerted.

“Ma’am?” he said.

Suddenly she reached out and touched his cheek, only for a fraction of a moment, and even then so that he barely felt it. But it astonished him that she should do this. She, for her part, horrified at her own audacity, had pressed her hand against her mouth. She jumped up from the sofa and fled the room, banging the door behind her.

He touched the spot her finger had touched. He felt a little nauseous and faint, and he tugged at his cravat, longing for air. The room was unpleasantly warm. He went to the window and pulled back the heavy damask curtains and then drew up the blind, before forcing open the sash. As he did a little breath of air came into the room, just enough to set the candle flames dancing. He turned from the window and saw that the door the lady had left by was now ajar, and that she was standing behind it, looking through the gap at him.

“Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked.

She came out of the room slowly.

“You must excuse me,” she said. “I have had a great shock.”

“Yes, your brother-in-law –”

“Not just that,” she said, going to the portrait and looking up. She was breathing hard, attempting to steady herself.

“Your late husband, ma’am?” he hazarded.

“Yes,” she said, still looking up at the picture. He half expected her to fall on her knees before it.

“So you are Mrs Martinez, ma’am?” he asked.

She turned and said, “Yes, I am. But on the island I am known as Dona Blanca. That is the custom there.”

“Then he spoke of you,” Felix said. “Don Xavier, I mean, at the end –”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, no...”

She turned back to the portrait and he could see she was mastering her tears.

“I am so sorry,” Felix said.

“How strange fate is,” she said, still gazing up at her dead husband. “How strange.”

“His body is at the White Horse, near the parish church,” he said.

“Is that where he died?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It was rather wretched. I tried to get him to move, but events overtook us, so to speak. I wish he had told me earlier that I could find you here so that he might...”

“I think,” she said, “he was taking the trouble not to be found.”

“But why?” he could not help saying, and then tempered his enquiry, “if it is not presumptuous to ask.”

She looked as if she were about to say something else when the door to the right opened, and Don Luiz came out again.

“Oh, you are here,” he said. “You have heard, then?”

She nodded.

“Does Clara know?” she asked.

“Yes, I have told her. She is praying for him.”

“Then I will join her,” said Dona Blanca. She moved towards the door and then stopped, looking back at Felix. “Thank you for finding us,” she said. “We owe you a great debt, I am sure.

Chapter Twelve

They reached Holbroke just after the family had finished dinner, and since it was such a close evening, the ladies had quit the drawing room and were sitting out on the great portico, in order to catch the breezes. Many lanterns had been lit, creating a soft, golden light, in which the Marchioness and her daughters, all dressed in gauzy summer silks, made an impressive sight, as they came down the steps to greet them. Lady Warde, in black, struck a dull note, and Giles noticed how she shrank back as the others came forward, her face as pale as the skirts of Lady Charlotte’s white dress. He wondered what more information about Eliza Jones might be got out of her. Her blandness was, in that moment, as conspicuous and intriguing as that affected by her servant. He longed to seize the moment, draw her to one side and question her properly.

But this was not the moment. Laura was glancing fearfully at him, her eyes begging for reassurance, as Lord Rothborough came forward to hand her out of the carriage. It was possible that the striking resemblance to Mr Carswell unnerved her. He squeezed her hand, and hoped that his nod and smile was enough to calm her for now. It was not the easiest entrance for her.

“Mrs Vernon, a great pleasure to know you at last,” Lord Rothborough said, taking her hand, and helping her from the carriage. “My, you are quite the Diana,” Rothborough went on, observing how she was taller than him. “And what could be more appropriate, for the wife of our huntsman, here? Vernon, good evening again. I am glad you are back so speedily. There has been – but that can wait. Come and meet my wife and daughters, Mrs Vernon.”

He offered his arm and took her up the steps to present her to them all. Even though her dress was not at all expensive or elaborate, Laura’s natural beauty and elegant bearing made it appear so. She looked quite the equal of the Rothborough girls. Her long, lithe body and her graceful movements, the things that had made him first notice her, now struck him anew, and powerfully. He hastened up the steps to join them, feeling proud of her courage as she shook hands and smiled and managed to make small talk.

Laura was soon sitting in the place of honour by Lady Rothborough, while Giles found himself with the ladies Maria and Charlotte.

“Papa is right. Mrs Vernon is a Diana,” Lady Maria. “She would be wonderful in a tableau, don’t you think? It has been so long since we had an evening of tableaux.”

“Mr Syme has told Mama it is a sin,” said Lady Charlotte rather sharply.

“I cannot see the harm in it at all,” said Lady Maria. “Papa does not, and Mama loves it.”

“Where is Mr Syme?” said Giles.

“He didn’t come to dinner. He had a headache,” said Lady Maria. “Major Vernon, would Mrs Vernon like to appear in some tableaux, do you think? Does she like that sort of thing? In fact, would you?” she said, giving him an appraising glance.

“Major Vernon has far better things to do,” said Lady Charlotte. “I should think.”

“I like a little theatrical nonsense as much as the next man,” said Giles. “And I am sure Laura would be delighted. She likes dressing up.”