The Shores of Spain (20 page)

D
uilio clapped one hand to Joaquim’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

The morning had dawned clear and cool, so Duilio wore a light coat over his
pareu
. He hadn’t painted his eyes, though, which made him look more like the Duilio that Joaquim knew. Together they stood next to the rowboat while Marina was exchanging farewells with her sister and grandmother up on the deck.

“Will we see each other anytime soon?” Joaquim asked.

Duilio closed his eyes, but then shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you that this would be a simple matter, but I’m not sanguine about that.”

Joaquim stole another glance at Marina. “I know I’ll get home. I know she’ll arrive there with me. I’ve dreamed of us together in too many instances that haven’t come true yet.”

They were simple things, dreams of the two of them walking in the park, dreams of dinner at the table in the Ferreira house. If other dreams had come true, surely those must as well. He clutched that idea to his heart, and Duilio didn’t argue. That was reassuring. And Felis hadn’t said he wouldn’t return; she’d only said it would be a difficult journey. He laid one hand over the pocket of his jacket that
held the playing card Marina had brought him. He had to believe her presence would make everything bearable.

Joaquim waited for Marina to join him in the dory, and then they were on their way, Duilio growing smaller on the beach with each stroke of the oars.

*   *   *

L
ady Guerra was welcoming enough, but Oriana could immediately see the older woman was nervous at this second visit. Given the grim set of her jaw, she was prepared for a fight. She cupped her hands together as if afraid to sign anything, as if she might let something slip.

Oriana had become accustomed to other officials behaving in that manner back in the capital, but she didn’t like to think of a potential neighbor that way. And once she came to live here, the lady
would
be her neighbor. The Guerra family had owned a house here on Cartas Bay as long as the Monteiro family had.

The lady bade them settle in a sitting room rather than her courtyard, a welcome choice given the chill in the air that hinted rain would be coming later. Like in the Monteiro household, the furnishings of the sitting room were made of dark wood, carved in a martial spearhead design. The crest of the Guerra family hung on one white wall, a tapestry of bright colors against blue: two warriors, each clutching a spear in her webbed hands. It was a reminder of a long-past time when the fear of invasion meant that armed sereia watched every beach.

“Have you found the child who stole into your house?” the lady began as she sat, trying to steer the conversation where she wanted.

Grandmother Monteiro nodded. “We’re tracking him down even now,” she said. “Your information was very helpful to us.”

“One of the effects of increasing age,” the lady said. “I wake in the early hours and cannot sleep. I wouldn’t have seen the boy otherwise.”

The woman fell two decades short of her grandmother’s age. “Or the woman who joined him?” Oriana asked.

“No,” Lady Guerra said. “It was
dawn
when I saw her with him. They headed toward the harbor.”

“Did you actually see them yourself?” Oriana asked. “Or was it someone else within your household?”

The lady paused just a second too long. “Why would I say that I saw them if I did not?”

That was
not
an answer.

“Your daughter lives on Quitos, I think,” Grandmother Monteiro inserted. “Inês, is it not?”

A rhetorical question—her grandmother knew everything about all her neighbors. Oriana sat back in her chair and let her grandmother take control, mulling over her memories of Lady Guerra’s daughter.

Inês was close to Marina in age. The two had been friends growing up, living on the same beach as they did. Oriana recalled the younger woman as headstrong and clever, always leading Marina into one kind of trouble or another. But she’d always taken responsibility for her odd starts and had never betrayed Marina. It had been years since Oriana had seen Inês, not since her father’s exile ten years ago. The girl would be twenty-three or -four by now, grown up. But if she lived on Quitos, she wouldn’t have been on Amado when Costa disappeared, would she?

“I thought she went to live with her cousin’s family there,” Grandmother said. “Where does she work now?”

Lady Guerra shook her head. “I do not know. Since her cousin’s death, she hasn’t been the same.”

“I didn’t know,” Oriana said, trying to recall if she’d met that cousin. “What happened?”

Lady Guerra shifted uncomfortably. “It’s hard to get details here, but three years ago Safira was accused of treason. Inês refused to believe it. It has made her difficult, capricious. I often do not know what to think of what she does. She cannot seem to hold a position anywhere now, and . . .” She laid her hands over her face, bowing forward.

Oriana’s mouth had gone dry. She wanted to shake Lady Guerra
until she told her everything. How did Duilio manage to talk all the way around an issue that concerned him without losing his temper? Trying to think the way he would, Oriana forced herself to sit still, focus on the matter at hand, and wait for her grandmother to deal with the woman.

Grandmother Monteiro crossed to Lady Guerra’s side and laid one hand on her shoulder. “Inês is young. The young make foolhardy decisions.”

Lady Guerra laid her hands in her lap and raised her eyes. “Yes, they do. I do not know what she’s involved herself in. Inês would not tell me. She feared for my safety. But that woman slept in our outer court that night, and the next morning I saw her leaving with the boy.”

“What about the young man? The Portuguese? Was he here as well?”

Lady Guerra exhaled deeply, eyes closing. “I did not know he was here, not until this morning. It is my own disgrace that I deceived you, but that part was done unknowing.”

Was here
meant Costa was gone now. Oriana bit down her frustration.

“And where did they go?” Grandmother said patiently.

“I do not know,” Lady Guerra repeated. “I could not believe Inês had done such a thing, stealing a male from another household. It was bad enough that she told me I must lie about the woman who came here, but then to discover she’d stolen a male without his mother’s consent or yours. We argued, bitterly. In the end, she left, taking him with her.”

And Costa had sat meekly by as all this happened?

“Did you speak with him?” Oriana asked.

“Young Julio? Yes,” the lady said. “He said he had no choice, that he was to be sent back to Portugal soon, and Inês would not let him go.”

Lieutenant Costa was so firmly
Lieutenant Costa
in Oriana’s mind that it seemed bizarre to hear him referred to by his given name.
Here on the islands males were customarily addressed so. Costa would have to become accustomed to that.

But if he’d been presented to Lady Guerra as Inês’ mate—which appeared to be the case—then that made his status as such legally binding. Inês now determined where he went and what he would do. Oriana tapped her nails on the arm of the chair she occupied, frustrated with both of them and their terrible timing in their flight.

“Lady Guerra,” she began, “Costa . . . uh, Julio . . . was in a position of responsibility within our embassy. By going with Inês, he has failed his family. He will be treated as a deserter. If we can find them, he might still be able to quit the position in an honorable fashion and preserve his mother’s good name.” She
hoped
they could arrange that. It would also help preserve the standing of the entire guard contingent. “Do you have any idea where they went? Perhaps to your mountain house?”

For a moment, Lady Guerra sat still, her chin firm. “If it would spare his mother, I would gladly tell you, but I do not know.”

“May we visit your mountain house to determine if they’re there?”

The lady rose and sent for one of her servants. “I will give you a key. And if you find them there, bring them back.”

That was the least of what Oriana planned to do to them. She waited until her grandmother and the lady exchanged information about the mountain house and then, after the servant brought the keys, parting pleasantries. Her teeth on edge, Oriana paused as they were leaving. She asked the question, even though she felt sure of the answer. “Tell me, what happened to Inês’ cousin Safira?”

Lady Guerra’s chin quivered. “She was executed, left to die on one of the Ilhas de Morte.”

CHAPTER 19

                   S
ATURDAY
,
25
A
PRIL
1903
; L
ISBOA                   

T
hey dropped anchor off Cascais, and once Joaquim had everything loaded onto the dory, Marina climbed down. He and João began rowing toward the stretch of sandy shore.

Marina smiled at Joaquim when he caught her eye. She wasn’t wearing a hat, and the wind had teased one strand of hair loose from her bun, but her face glowed with pleasure, which he was glad to see.

The trip from the islands back to Portugal had been far easier than their outward voyage. The sun had been warmer, and Marina had spent most of her time talking with him. This time they’d talked about important things rather than simply passing the time. They had discussed his gift of finding, along with his minimal talent as a seer. She’d told him more about her childhood and her family. His worry that he didn’t know her had faded, replaced now with the strange realization that getting to know his wife would be an adventure.

They rowed past an ancient citadel, through the many small craft moored in Cascais Bay, and finally up to the beach, its pale sands gleaming in the sunlight. Children ran along the small stretch of shore, and adults reclined on lounges and chairs, enjoying the fresh sea air. They angled the boat toward the base of the stone pier,
farther from the crowds. João shipped his oar, jumped over the side of the dory, and drew it onto the sand. Joaquim slipped off his shoes and joined the younger man. Once they’d beached the boat, Joaquim lifted Marina out and onto the shore. She waited while he carried their two bags back. Joaquim shook the younger man’s hand and left him with a wish for smooth sailing back to the Golden City.

Marina had picked up her bag and pinned on her hat, and now stood taking in the lovely buildings that stood near the small beach. Joaquim wasn’t sure whether he was looking at very large houses or small palaces, their style quite different than the Golden City’s stern mansions, with fanciful turrets and an occasional steepled tower.

“It’s beautiful,” Marina breathed, her eyes wide.

“I thought your people believed that Lisboa is cursed,” he pointed out.

She watched him as he picked up his bag and walked to her side. “I’m a Christian, Joaquim. I don’t believe in the sea gods and their curse on the city.”

They took the steps leading up to the seawall and, at the top, a portly gentleman pointed them in the direction of the train that would take them into Lisboa proper. A few minutes later they were aboard, Marina on the outside so she could watch the scenery along the coastline. The train carried them to the Sodre Quay in Lisboa itself, and from there it was only a short walk to the Praça do Comércio.

The plaza was part of the magnificent downtown, all built after the earthquake that destroyed much of Lisboa. A statue of the first prince of Southern Portugal mounted on a horse stood on a high pedestal in the center of the plaza. Joaquim let Marina gape at the huge square with its arcade of arches and numerous cafés and restaurants where people enjoyed leisurely afternoon repasts under the shade of large umbrellas. Then he took her hand again. “Let’s go. Duilio says if we go through the main arch and straight on, we’ll find the hotel.”

They walked through the central archway and into the downtown area with its straight streets and elegant buildings, all very
modern. Not far away they emerged into another huge square with a wide avenue down the middle. People strolled along the avenue, others drove along in open carriages, and occasionally a young man would speed past on a bicycle. The sidewalks formed mosaics in black and white that were art in themselves.

Joaquim had seen photographs of Lisboa before, but they clearly did not do justice to the city’s beauty.
I must bring Marina back here for a visit one day.

His admiration was tinged with jealousy, though. Lisboa boasted of its beauty and modernity, the wide new streets and neoclassical buildings. The whole city had electricity now, and telephones supposedly abounded. The Golden City, stifled for two decades by Prince Fabricio’s determination not to modernize his capital, was seen as backward by comparison. The epidemic of plague in 1899 hadn’t helped the Golden City’s reputation either. Joaquim wished that he could have Lisboa’s modernity for
his
city, although not at the price of the earthquake and tidal wave that had swept away old Lisboa to make this new city possible.

He sighed at such morose thinking.
I can’t change what’s past
.

Looking up, he saw that they’d reached the hotel. The Hotel Avenida Palace, with its understated columns and dark roof, was indeed right next to the train station and, like everything else, was
new
. It was also intimidating, dressed as they were. Joaquim had pulled on a coat over his salt-laden shirt and thought he looked presentable, although not wealthy enough for this hotel. Marina had chosen the plainest of the garments purchased back on the island, with only a discreet line of embroidery about the collar of her shirtwaist. Even so, the pair of them still looked as if they had wandered in from the countryside.

But no sooner had they walked under the rust-colored drapes adorning the hotel’s lobby door than an officious-looking clerk came bustling up to them and told a porter to take their bags. “We’ve been expecting your arrival, Inspector, Mrs. Tavares,” he said, nodding in Marina’s direction. “Your room is ready, and . . .”