The Stars of Heaven

by Jessica Dall

  “Lovely night, isn’t it?” Maria broke the silence, her voice entirely pleasant, as though the tension inside had never existed.

  “Very,” Cecília agreed, trying to think of what the proper thing was to say. “I am sorry if my being here has caused trouble. I truly haven’t seen my uncle in the better part of a year.”

  “You really shouldn’t trouble yourself with Isabel.” Maria waved her hand dismissively. “Her mother’s first husband was a Távora, and even though her father most certainly is not, dear Isabel believes that still somehow makes her the most important lady in a room.”

  Even if Cecília could only vaguely recall the names Maria had given her, she certainly knew the Távoras. As old as their house was, the noble family was second only to the king’s. With Maria ready to move on, it was likely smartest to proceed to safer, more banal party talk, but Cecília couldn’t entirely dampen her curiosity. “Is there a reason people don’t like Senhor Carvalho?”

  Maria’s eyes slid to Cecília.

  “I only met him once,” she continued, feeling the need to defend herself, though she wasn’t entirely certain from what. “Briefly, after everything last November, but he seemed very congenial then.”

  “The earthquake was his finest hour, some say.” Maria gave a resigned sigh, as though she found the topic more tiresome than anything. “Dom José... well, I would never be one to speak ill of His Highness, but he didn’t weather everything that happened well.”

  “He was injured?” Cecília frowned. Her grandparents didn’t keep up on much news, but the king being hurt certainly should have filtered through.

  “No, the entire royal family made it safely outside when everything happened, praise be, but the king... He still isn’t completely right, you know? Still won’t step foot inside masonry. People were trying for months to convince him to move to his palace in Mafra while they repaired the one in Belém, but he insisted on building his Real Barraca. All of us at court were left in dreadful little places, waiting for something proper to be built up until a couple of weeks ago. And ever since he named Carvalho first minister, he’s all but let the man do whatever he wishes. Not the wisest of decisions, if you listen to most.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Maria shrugged. “I can’t say I much trouble myself with all the politics, but he is only a fidalgo, you know. I can’t imagine he truly understands ruling.”

  With the best of her pedigree certainly no better than the first minister’s, Cecília held her tongue. It was likely best not to annoy the only ally she apparently had so far at the party, anyway. She looked for something safer to discuss before the sound of something scraping against stone made her turn back to the railing of the balcony. The sharp memory of buildings crashing to the ground swept any thoughts of Senhor Carvalho and the king from her mind. “Is it safe out here?”

  “Safe?” Maria furrowed her eyebrows.

  “The balcony wasn’t damaged in the quake?”

  “Senhor Mendonça has these parties every week. I’ve been out here plenty of times...” She trailed off as another scrape sounded, then a head popped over the railing. Exasperation flashed over Maria’s face. “Mateus!”

  “I thought that was your voice, Maria.” The man swung his leg up over the railing. He landed lightly on his feet and straightened his fine jacket. “Do you spend all your time out here?”

  “Forgive my brother his manners.” Maria turned to Cecília. “He likes to pretend he was raised on the streets.”

  “We just wanted to see how you ladies were doing this fine evening,” Mateus said as a second head appeared over the railing. Ignoring his friend, Mateus ran his eyes over Cecília as Isabel had, though his scrutiny appeared more as though he was trying to picture her without her clothing than determining what type of insect she might be. “And who is this?”

  Maria released a harried breath but motioned. “Senhorita Santa Rita, may I introduce my brother, Mateus de Mértola de Vilhena, and his friend, Luís de Terra. Mateus, Luís, Cecília de Santa Rita. She’s come with her grandfather.”

  Cecília hesitated slightly at how Maria had removed the Durante name altogether in her introduction, but after the reception inside, perhaps that was wise.

  Mateus lowered his head an inch as he continued to study Cecília with an improper level of interest.

  Cecília crossed her arms protectively and glanced at the second man, Luís, who was still standing silently by the railing.

  Her eyes apparently started him out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into, and Luís bowed to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Senhorita Santa Rita.”

  Cecília gave enough of a curtsy to be polite, and she finally lost Mateus’s attention. He looked back to his sister. “All the regulars back tonight?”

  “You know you aren’t allowed to be up here.”

  Mateus smirked and headed for the double doors.

  Luís gave another short bow, eyes bouncing between Cecília and Maria for a moment before he said, “Ladies,” and disappeared after his friend.

  Maria sighed again and moved to the railing. “Do you have any brothers?”

  “One,” Cecília said. At this point. “He’s a priest.”

  Maria laughed. “So the exact opposite of Mateus. He does this every week, you know.”

  “Climbs up the balcony?”

  Maria nodded. “He loves trouble a little too much. José, our eldest brother, says he’s waiting to see when it finally catches up to him. We expect it to be spectacular.”

  A laugh lifted inside, loud enough to carry onto the balcony. Cecília checked behind her as a wave of feminine tittering followed it. “Should we go back inside?”

  “I’m fine out here, as long as my brother’s in there. You’re best off staying away from him as well.”

  CURIOSITY FINALLY BROUGHT Cecília back inside, though with the interloping men drawing all the attention, there wasn’t much more to do inside than out on the balcony. She did her best to preoccupy herself by speaking to the few women in the room who weren’t either circling Mateus or pointedly avoiding Cecília as though she had the plague, but soon enough, the familiar restlessness began to make her jittery. Having to assume that she wasn’t only allowed to stay in the one room as a guest, Cecília made her way back into the hall to see what else was happening.

  Male voices continued to drift up the grand staircase, though from glancing over the banister, it seemed the bulk of the party had moved deeper into the house, with only a few lavishly dressed men standing amongst the liveried servants. Cecília debated trying to slip down past them, but even if she thought she could wander that much without facing her grandfather’s ire, she didn’t trust herself not to trip over herself in her gown, so she attempted to content herself with studying the portraits lining the upper hall. All of the faces—generations of the Mendonça family, she had to assume—were striking, handsome men with strong, square jaws and ethereally beautiful women. No doubt, their family tree was a veritable list of old noble families, the type of people who certainly wouldn’t tolerate having their ability to lead questioned.

  A door opened behind her, and she turned sharply, just managing to keep her balance on the heel.

  Luís froze for a moment in the doorway before he gave a short bow and stepped fully into the hall. “I hope I didn’t startle you, senhorita.”

  “Oh, no. I was just”—she motioned weakly at the painting behind her of yet another handsome man with a charming glint in his eyes—“looking.”

  “Senhor Mendonça.” Luís pointed, moving up beside her. “The current Senhor Mendonça.”

  Cecília nodded, already having assumed that, based on the newer fashion the man in the portrait was wearing, but seeing no need to answer. Maria had only mentioned staying away from her brother, but Cecília had to imagine it was safest to steer clear of this man as well, at least as long as Maria was the only friendly face she had at the party.

  Luís cleared his throat awkwardly. “I hope we didn�
��t make you feel as though you needed to leave.”

  “Beg pardon?” She turned her head to look at him.

  “I saw you left and was worried it was because of us.”

  “I’m surprised you noticed.”

  “Oh?”

  “There were a lot of people on your side of the room.”

  “Oh,” Luís repeated, giving a chagrined smile. “That’s Mateus, mostly. He’s always liked an audience. I—”

  “He wants to force us to sell!” A voice from the bottom of the stairs rose loudly enough to cut Luís off. “Can you imagine the utter gall? That man should be fed to my hounds.”

  Cecília’s eyebrows rose as whomever the man was speaking to hushed him. “That was... dramatic.”

  “Forgive me,” Luís said as though he had caused the outburst. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

  “Do you know whom he meant?”

  Luís waved his hand as though he were trying to brush the topic away. “I’m sure it’s just politics. Nothing you would be interested in.”

  I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Cecília looked at the staircase for another beat before she affected a yawn. “Oh, pardon me. I don’t generally stay up so late. It might be time for me to find my grandfather.”

  He took a step back to remain in front of her as she shifted to leave. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

  “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” She glanced at the staircase again.

  “It isn’t a trouble at all.”

  “Really, Senhor Terra.” She stepped around him. “It’s very thoughtful of you to offer, but I’m sure I can make my way. Please, enjoy the party.”

  Disappointment flashed across Luís’s expression. “I hope I will see you at court this week, then?”

  “Perhaps. That depends on my grandfather, I suppose.”

  Luís nodded and offered a final bow. “Senhorita.”

  “Senhor.” Cecília managed a passably graceful curtsy and stepped around him to go after the man who had been yelling.

  Though he had dropped his volume to a more reasonable level, he was still easy enough to follow. She stopped outside a room just off the grand entryway.

  “He isn’t the king, and I’m not saying anything untrue.”

  “Perhaps, but until we’ve replaced him, it is wise not to shout about the first minister,” a second voice said in a hiss.

  Senhor Carvalho again. Cecília brought her hand to the gold cross around her neck, fingering the dents for a moment even though it was half-hidden under the oblong pearls Avó Gouveia had given her to wear for the occasion. Maria apparently hadn’t been exaggerating about how little the man was liked, at least in Senhor Mendonça’s home.

  “Dom José can’t possibly know what that cur is doing,” the first man continued, unabated. “He can’t force us to sell just so he can rebuild Lisbon in his own image. He and those estrangeirados friends of his have their way, and there will be nothing Portuguese left once he’s pushed this preposterous plan through. ‘We’ll make it one of the great cities of Europe.’ Pah! As though it weren’t already.”

  Footsteps moved down the hall in Cecília’s direction, and she stepped away from the room a second before her grandfather appeared with a few other men.

  He faltered mid-step before recovering. “Cecília.”

  “Avô.” She bobbed another curtsy for good measure, debating for half a second giving another fake yawn before she decided that would be overdoing things. “I’m sorry if I interrupted. I was just starting to get a little tired?”

  Suspicion remained on Avô Santa Rita’s face, but a man she realized was Senhor Mendonça from the portrait upstairs gave a charming smile. “It is getting quite late, isn’t it?” He addressed Avô Santa Rita. “Please don’t let me keep you from your lovely granddaughter, Santa Rita. We can speak more in a few days.”

  Avô Santa Rita lowered his head then looked at Cecília. “You can wait in the carriage. I’ll be out in a moment.”

  “Yes, Avô.” Cecília didn’t argue, turning for the front door. After nearly being caught eavesdropping, again, on her first outing in months, it didn’t seem wise to tempt her luck. She had more than enough to think about from what she had heard already. And she had Bibiana to check on.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, Cecília barely had the chance to step out of bed and into something decent before Father Moreno arrived to see Bibiana. Cecília wasn’t certain why she was surprised—Avô Santa Rita had no doubt been in contact with the priest, and it was why they had come back to Lisbon, after all—but something about seeing Father Moreno while still drowsy from not having arrived home until after midnight the night before left her uncomfortable.

  You didn’t do anything wrong, Cecília told herself as she ate a quick breakfast, listening to the sound of movement on the floor above them as Father Moreno did whatever he needed to try to help Bibiana. Beyond less than a minute of eavesdropping and the tiny lie about being tired the night before, which wasn’t even really a lie, based on how quickly Cecília had drifted off once they’d made it back, she hadn’t done a thing she even had to confess before attending Mass. She still crossed herself quickly, just to be safe, before returning to check on Father Moreno’s progress in the room she and Bibiana had been given.

  Pausing at the threshold, she surveyed the scene. Bibiana was as unmoving as ever as Father Moreno knelt by the side of the bed, a rosary between his hands and an old book open on the edge of the mattress. His mouth was moving, and she could almost make out what he was saying if she strained. It was Latin with the cadence of a prayer, though not one she recognized.

  After a few more minutes, he went silent, offered an amen, then opened his eyes. Cecília shifted her weight, not certain if she should announce herself or hold her peace. He saved her the trouble of deciding, offering a smile as he spotted her. “Ah, Senhorita Durante.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Father.” She caught her hands in front of her.

  “You didn’t. I was just praying for guidance.” He motioned to the book on the bed. “I found an account from an old convent in Italy about a girl who was very much like your sister. She apparently brought great prosperity to the sisters there despite not speaking a word that wasn’t prayer for several years.”

  Cecília pressed her lips together tightly before asking, “Does that mean she started speaking again eventually?”

  “After a visit from São Boaventura, by the accounts.” Father Moreno nodded. “I have begun to review São Boaventura’s works, in case there is any more insight in them, but of course, we are first and foremost looking to follow God’s will in this, as in all things.”

  “Of course,” Cecília said, though she had to admit she hoped they wouldn’t need a saint to visit before Bibiana started to speak once again. Then again, people said Father Malagrida was a living saint. Maybe we should have let him see her before we left Lisbon... The thought crossed her mind even as the idea of seeing the formidable priest, with all his talk of sin and retribution, made her stomach churn.

  “Was there something I could do for you?” Father Moreno asked when Cecília didn’t continue.

  She shook her head quickly. “No, Father. I just wanted to see how Bibiana was.”

  “Always feel free to let me know if I can ever assist you as well.” Father Moreno smiled. “I will be here as long as necessary with your sister, but I can do more than one thing at once.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Cecília sent a last look at Bibiana before backing away, as much to escape the feeling that the priest was silently judging her, likely for something Francisco had told him, as to give him room to work.

  She could hear Senhor Romão’s voice before she had made it back to the main floor. “It isn’t a bad trip. If we leave within the hour, we’ll be at court before midday.”

  Cecília slowed. He was talking loudly enough that it obviously wasn’t a private conversation, which meant she technically wa
sn’t eavesdropping, just overhearing.

  “You’re certain we should go to court rather than back to Senhor Mendonça’s?” Avô Santa Rita asked.

  “The first minister may have the king’s ear, but you’ll find the rest of court is much more sympathetic to us landowners. Trust there’s no reason to avoid court.”

  The first minister again... Cecília tried to call up her memory of Senhor Carvalho, though the day she had run across him and his men in the Baixa was all muddled up with a hundred other things that had left much stronger impressions. He hadn’t seemed all that important with everything else happening. But she couldn’t say she knew anything about court politics.

  “And you could bring Cecília,” Senhor Romão continued. “It seems she made a very positive impression last night, from what I heard. I’m sure she would be just as welcomed at court.”

  Cecília lifted her eyebrows, not certain who would be singing her praises after the cold reception she’d had at Senhor Mendonça’s, but it was certainly better than something going around that would get her sent back to Loures.

  There was a long pause before Avô Santa Rita answered, “I’ll check if Father Moreno needs us. If not...”

  “I’ll see the carriage ready.” A chair scraped against the floor as Senhor Romão apparently decided that her grandfather’s answer had been “yes.” With Father Moreno set up for a long day, she imagined the man was right. They had plenty of time to go to court.

  Cecília just wished she could tell if the fluttering in her stomach was excitement or a sign that she shouldn’t want to go at all.

  CECÍLIA WASN’T CERTAIN what she had been expecting from the new royal shack, but the Real Barraca certainly hadn’t been it. Situated at the very top of Ajuda Hill, slightly inland from the original palace in Belém, the impressive wooden structure stretched out in front of them. One long, single-story building dominated the landscape, overlooking the wide stretch of the Tagus to the south. Though it had to be hundreds of rooms from the look of it, only one pointed roof on the far side had a second level.