Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (4 page)

“You have servants who will need quarter?” Don Rodrigo inquired.

Geoffrey Christian grinned. “We thought the smaller the party, the better. They are quite English and not fond of traveling far from home. My steward is acting as valet de chambre for both Sir Basil and myself. And I lend assistance to milady when the need arises. Lily, of course, is no longer in need of her nursemaid. Are you, heartling?”

“I’m a young lady now,” Lily said proudly.

“I see. Maria, Magdalena’s former maid, will assume those duties now,” Don Rodrigo told them.

“A kiss for Mama?” Doña Magdalena inquired as she brushed a fold out of Lily’s underskirt and straightened the lace on the sleeve of Geoffrey’s doublet.

Lily gave her a tight hug and a kiss, then waved to her mother and grandfather as she was carried up the stairs by her father. Don Rodrigo shook his head as he continued to watch her, for now she was making conical faces at Sir Basil, who was following them upstairs. His gentlemanly dignity was being sorely compromised as he unsuccessfully tried to resist her childish pranks.

Sir Basil found himself in a dark-beamed, high ceilinged room that fronted a long, arched gallery overlooking the tilted courtyard below. A comfortable-looking bed with a carved bedstead and lace spread was positioned against one wall, and a mahogany chest, as chair, and a small table with a candle and mirror completed the furnishings of the room. Walking over the window opposite the door, he had a splendid view of the harbor, which afforded him the comforting sight of the furled masts of the
Arion
riding at anchor.

Awakening the nex
t morning, Sir Basil was surprised that he had been able to sleep so soundly in strange surroundings. He was reluctant to admit, having always thought himself to be a man of moderation, that it had been because of the wine.

But seldom had he tasted such fine madeira or sherry. And Don Rodrigo had played the host to perfection. He had plied his guests with wine, never allowing a goblet to remain empty longer than it took his servant to refill it to the top. And with a negligible gesture of the ringed hand, he had kept course after delectable course coming, until Sir Basil thought he would have need of assistance in leaving the table.

The meal had not been quite the ordeal Sir Basil had been expecting. Don Rodrigo had even managed to be courteous to his son-in-law, although he had not pursued any more personal conversation with the man than the expected pleasantries exchanged amongst dinner guests. Strangely enough, the bulk of the conversation had fallen to Doña Magdalena and himself, while Geoffrey Christian and Don Rodrigo had sat in silence, neither one caring to contribute more than a murmured comment now and then. Doña Magdalena had spoken in great detail of her life in both England and Hispaniola. Don Rodrigo showed the most interest when she spoke of Highcross Court, and Geoffrey smiled more than once when she reminisced about her childhood in Santo Domingo.

Those remarks had elicited several comments from Don Rodrigo about the startling similarity between Magdalena and her young daughter. Lily had already been served her dinner and put to bed hours earlier, a situation Sir Basil had almost regretted when the dinner had begun with such uncomfortable formality.

Yes, Sir Basil thought now, it had been a very wise decision to bring the child, for Lily just might serve as a means of bringing Don Rodrigo and his daughter, and perhaps even her husband, closer together.

Sir Basil stood basking in the sunshine steaming in through the open window. He had awakened earlier than the rest of the household, for all was silent except for the busy chatterings of brightly colored birds.

As he shielded his eyes against the glare off the water, Sir Basil realized that he felt quite refreshed. How nice it had been not to be awakened when thrown from his bunk or to find the floor slanting beneath his feet with each wave that pounded the ship. And as he thought of the blizzard-driven winds of January in England, he had to confess that is was rather pleasant not to have to hop around a chilled bedchamber in search of slippers and robe and then, huddling before a cursed slow-to-start fire, try to melt the ice out of his stiff limbs.

Indeed, Sir Basil was quite surprised to discover that he was actually beginning to enjoy his journey to the Indies and his mission as special emissary of Queen Elizabeth. With a slight smile of satisfaction, Sir Basil thought of the tale of adventure, interspersed, of course, with appropriately imagined moments of suspense and danger, that he, courageous knight errant, would entertain his friends and family with when he returned home to England.

I’ll note you in my book of memory.

S
hakespeare

Chapter Three

S
ir Basil
was
to find that the routine of the following days differed little from that first day of their arrival in Santo Domingo. Magdalena spent most of each day at her mother’s bedside. Doña Amparo, who had suffered a stroke that had left her partly paralyzed, was confined to her bed and grew restless whenever Magdalena was out of her sight. What little nourishment she would take was by her daughter’s hand. It was as if Doña Amparo knew she was dying and intended to spend what precious little time she had left in this world with the daughter and the granddaughter she had been denied seeing for so long.

Doña Amparo’s own dark red hair was silvered with age and twisted into a thick braid that seemed far too heavy for the frail shoulder it lay across. Day after day she lay in bed, oblivious to the pain each breath cost her, and listened contentedly to Magdalena’s soft voice telling her about every moment of her life since she had married her Englishman and made England her home.

Lily, her young hand caught and held tightly by the one blue-veined had that still retained some of its former strength, would sit quietly on the edge of her grandmother’s, lace-covered bed and chatter tirelessly about her home and her friends and her father’s adventures to faraway places. Doña Amparo’s deep brown eyes, dulled into colorlessness by illness, grew bright and missed no expression crossing that small, animated face filled with all of the wonders life held for the young.

Often, when enjoying a moment or two of quiet reflection in the sunny courtyard, Sir Basil would hear the sounds of laughter coming from Doña Amparo’s darkened room at the end of the opened gallery above, a child’s infectious giggle carrying farthest. He was amazed by Lily Christian’s un-resentful acceptance of having to spend so much time in her grandmother’s room, for it could not have been a very pleasant experience to witness one of Doña Amparo’s frequent attacks. And yet never once had he heard Lily complain to be set free from so disheartening a responsibility as keeping a dying person company. With a wisdom and patience that even he himself would find hard to come by, especially at so young an age, Lily accepted the hour or so she had to herself in the courtyard, making the most of the time allowed her before returning to her grandmother’s room. And Sir Basil often thought that never had he known a child who could manage to get into such mischief in so short a time.

The days numbered close to a week when Geoffrey Christian surprised everyone, except perhaps Magdalena, by announcing that he was heading back to sea. His men had been in port long enough now to have provoked censure from the authorities. The English crew’s good-natured rowdiness and appreciative eye for a trim ankle had resulted in several heated arguments with outraged gentlemen demanding satisfaction on behalf of their insulted wives and mistresses. Before an incident resulted in the unfortunate death of one of Phillip II’s loyal subjects, the captain of the
Arion
declared he would have his lads back on board and too busy manning the capstan and making sail to be of any further annoyance to the affronted gentlemen of Santo Domingo.

The
Arion
would steer a course south, along the coast of Brazil—Portuguese territory—or, at least, that is what Geoffrey Christian wanted the port officials to believe. Whether or not the
Arion
kept to that course would be known only to the captain and crew.

Don Rodrigo had not pretended to hide his relief at the sudden departure of Geoffrey Christian, especially since Magdalena and Lily would remain in Santo Domingo while the Englishman sailed the seas and most likely wreaked havoc throughout the Indies. There had been no lessening of hostility between the two men, and it had seemed to Sir Basil that Don Rodrigo had found it increasingly difficult to keep a civil tongue when around Geoffrey Christian. It was not that Geoffrey intentionally antagonized his father-in-law, it was just that Geoffrey Christian was so brazenly English with his fair hair and boisterous manner. Sir Basil suspected that it had not relieved the tension any when Doña Amparo, despite Don Rodrigo's objections, had requested Geoffrey's presence on several occasions. Geoffrey's pleased expression when he
had
left Doña Amparo's room had left little doubt in Sir Basil's mind that the captain of the
Arion
had made use of his considerable charm and set at ease any fears Doña Amparo might have had about her daughter's happiness. Sir Basil, however, knew that Geoffrey would not have had to say anything to convince Doña Amparo of his sincerity. His deep love for his wife and daughter was only too evident in the gentle expression that entered his eyes whenever he gazed upon them. Gone was the ruthless, rough-talking sea captain many an enemy had good reason to fear. And many a defeated foe would have been comforted to know that the seemingly invincible captain of the
Arion
did have a weakness
-
-Magdalena and Lily. They made Geoffrey Christian as vulnerable and human as the rest of them.

The morning the
Arion
sailed on the tide, Magdalena and Lily stood on the quayside and waved until the last flash of sail disappeared beyond the horizon. Sir Basil had also remained in Santo Domingo. He had reminded his friend that he was not a good sailor and could be of more value on shore. He would use his eyes and ears to learn all he could. Sir Basil had added this last rejoinder mockingly, thinking he would idle away the days playing chess with Don Rodrigo.

Sir Basil had not been wrong, at least not in the beginning. He and Don Rodrigo had played a great deal of chess during the next fortnight. They had also ridden out to Don Rodrigo's sugar plantation near a small village south of Santo Domingo. Although he was no longer actively involved in the management of the plantation, his recent partner having assumed those duties and hired a new overseer, Don Rodrigo had personally given Sir Basil a tour of the fields and the mill, where the cut cane was ground and crushed, and the sweet juice boiled until a thick, dark syrup formed before the sugar crystals were separated from the molasses. Sir Basil, however, remembered little of the tour after that or much of the return journey.
Having
developed a thirst in the midday heat, he had mistakenly accepted a deep draft of rum from his host.

Don Rodrigo had even guided the Englishman on a tour of Santo Domingo. Sir Basil was so fine a gentleman, listening with such polite attention, that shopkeepers and dockworkers, seamen and wealthy citizens were eager to talk proudly and expansively about their city and their lives. Soon, Sir Basil's leather-bound journal was filled with entries. His neat script described every detail of life in Santo Domingo
. The
type of fortifications and number of troops at the fort were noted, as were the ships and warehouses, and the cargoes and goods loaded and stored in each. A detailed map of the city and the countryside south of Santo Domingo occupied two pages. Names and dates and interesting gossip concerning not only the people in Santo Domingo but persons in Spain and other parts of the Spanish Main were all reported, and Sir Basil never failed to be amazed at the startling amount of information people seemed to know without realizing that they knew something important. At least it became important when he added it to some other seemingly innocent remark.

Sir Basil had just completed his latest entry: the floor plans to the Alcazar-the viceroy of the Indies' mansion-and the governor's palace. With a sigh of dissatisfaction, he carefully placed the journal at the bottom of his trunk, beneath his finest silk hose. Although he had been successful in gathering his information, he felt only contempt for himself. At times he felt as if he were betraying a friend. He had come to enjoy his long conversations with Don Rodrigo. They had found tha
t
they
had much in common, despite their different nationalities and faiths. He respected the Spaniard, and he despised himself for sneaking up to his room like some thief in the night and recording all that Don Rodrigo had confided to him.

Sir Basil found it hard to meet his own eyes in his reflection in the mirror as he cleaned the ink his fingertips with a dampened cloth. Even the sad-faced Madonna staring down at him from the painting hanging above his bed seemed to be accusing him of some heinous crime. Rather than remain in his room any longer, which was his custom as well as that of the other occupants of the casa at this time of the day, he decided to seek a diversion from his guilty thoughts. Giving a last cursory glance at his appearance, he left the room, pausing for a moment to admire the brilliance of the exotic flowers in the courtyard. As he stood there staring down, he became aware of a child's voice raised in conversation. He searched the courtyard and was rewarded by a movement near a tall potted palm. Lily Christian was sitting cross-legged in front of a large wooden cage filled with brightly colored birds. The larger parrots and macaws with their scarlet, yellow, and azure plumage and strident cries caught and held the child's attention. Sir Basil smiled, wishing for a moment that he could join Lily in her childish amusements. It was then that he heard the commotion below, little realizing that his life was about to change drastically because of it.

Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro, captain of the
Estrella D'Alba
, which had just docked, and former captain of the
Maria Concepción
, which was now on the bottom of the sea courtesy of Geoffrey Christian, looked around the entrance hall of Casa del Montevares with annoyance.

"¿Qué es esto?"
he demanded in growing anger as he continued to stare at the empty entrance hall.
"¿Como
está? ¿Como està?"
he called out but received no response.
"¡Madre de Dios!"
he muttered, not having missed the amused glances that passed between the two gentlemen standing just behind him.

"Pedro, por favor!"
Catalina pleaded, not wishing for their arrival to be marred by an unpleasant meeting between her husband and her father, both of whom could be so unreasonable at times.

"You would think we were English raiders come to dine the way those servants ran and hid when they saw us," Don Pedro exclaimed, aware that his scornful words carried to the two gentlemen behind him, but unaware of how close to the mark his words really were.

"No me siento bien, Madre,"
the little boy holding on to Catalina's hand whined. "
Me siento mareado."

"¡Dios mio!
If you get sick on my gown again, Francisco
.
.
." his harassed mother complained, thinking that was all she needed with Pedro fuming, one daughter sulking while the other two traded pinches, her mother ill, her father disappeared, and, now, Magdalena coming down the stairs-

"Aaaah!" Catalina cried out, scaring poor Francisco into a fit of hiccups, her daughters into high-pitched squeals, and causing Don Pedro to spin around, his sword drawn and at the ready only to have its tip caught and pulled out of his grasp in the stiff folds of Catalina's gown as she hurried past him.

"¿Qué?"
she said, spinning around just as Don Pedro made a futile reach to recapture his elusive sword. The laughter of the two gentlemen, not to mention the strangely muffled sounds coming from the deeply cowled priest standing just behind them, did not help to lessen Don Pedro's growing
frustrations
.

"¡Sangre de Dios!"
he swore, then glanced apologetically at the priest. "Will you stand still, Catalina?" he pleaded as he pulled his dangling sword free of the silken folds just before his wife and his recently freed sword were encompassed in yet another entangling swirl of silk.

Don Pedro finally realized who was embracing his wife, and glancing over his shoulder at the laughing gentlemen, he spat, "You fools! That is my wife's sister. Geoffrey Christian's wife! Unless you want her to recognize you, and then, God forbid, have him come swaggering down the stairs next, then go into the courtyard before you are seen. Quickly!" he urged the two now serious-faced gentlemen, who quickly followed his bidding. The priest, whose dark robes whispered of his silent passing, was not far behind.

"Magdalena!
Mi hermana
," Catalina cried, hugging her long-lost sister to her.

"Catalina! Oh, it has been so long!" Magdalena said tearfully.

Catalina, half-crying, half-laughing, held her younger sister at arm's length for a moment while she looked her up and down. "More beautiful than ever! Always, you were the pretty one," she said, but not jealously. "A good thing Pedro saw me first and that you were so much younger, or..." She let her words trail away as she hugged her sister close again. "
Pedro!
" she cried out, suddenly seeming to remember her husband standing at her side.

"It is Magdalena, Pedro! It is unbelievable,
si?
" she demanded, far more delighted about the strange turn of events than her husband seemed to be.

"Indeed. I am surprised to see you in Do
n
Rodrigo's home, Doña Magdalena, remembering as I do his bitterness at her betrayal," Don Pedro greeted his sister-in-law. "I find it difficult to believe that he has forgiven you. Or has that fine Englishman you wed left you for another woman, or, perhaps, even left you a widow?" he asked, hopeful of such a circumstance.