by Jessica Dall
“What?” Tio Aloisio looked at her then followed her line of sight.
Cecília cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound normal. “Isn’t that Mr. Bates?”
“It certainly looks like him.” Tio Aloisio turned to face the brig. “He did say he was sailing again.”
She turned to her uncle with a frown.
“He writes now and then when he’s in port,” he explained at her look. “Last I heard, he was headed to the Colonies, though.”
Cecília looked at the brig again and watched John’s back as he made his way down to the dock. Though he was obviously in work clothes, loose trousers and a short coat, he otherwise looked exactly how she remembered, down to his clubbed but not powdered auburn hair. “Mr. Bates!” She jumped, her own voice surprising her as it bubbled free.
His head snapped in their direction, shock clear in his expression even from so far away. He took a step toward them, hesitated, called something to one of the other men working on his ship, then turned for her and Tio Aloisio. He wiped his hands on his trousers self-consciously as he stopped within talking distance. “Senhorita Durante, Senhor Durante. What an unexpected pleasure to see you both.”
“And you, Bates.” Tio Aloisio nodded. “I hadn’t heard you were coming to Lisbon.”
“We’ve actually brought some things for Mr. Hays. The—”
“British envoy,” Tio Aloisio completed. “I know him well.”
John nodded, seeming to struggle to find something else to say.
The urge to throw her arms around him pulsed through her, and Cecília caught her hands in front of her to tamp it down. “Are you headed to court, if you’re going to see Mr. Hays? We have our carriage—”
“I’m sure Bates is in the middle of something, Cecília.” Tio Aloisio cut her off, though he looked more relaxed than he had in weeks.
He thinks I’m feeling better. The thought dampened Cecília’s mood. Meeting John had been half of what had started everything awful that had happened. I knew what was right before meeting him.
What I thought was right. Why can’t anything just be right?
“Unfortunately, he’s correct.” John’s voice took her out of her internal argument. He looked over his shoulder at his ship. “There’s going to be trouble if I’m gone too much longer, and we still have a cart to load before we head anywhere. Are you both at court these days?”
“Indeed we are,” Tio Aloisio said. “You should stop by for a drink, if you have the time.”
“I’ll certainly do my best.” He checked behind him again as someone shouted at him in English. He bowed to Tio Aloisio and Cecília quickly. “Pleasure to see you both, Senhorita Durante, Senhor Durante.”
Tio Aloisio lowered, tipping his hat, and Cecília curtsied quickly before she looked up to watch him go.
“The Lord does have a sense of humor.” Tio Aloisio watched for another moment before he turned back to his cargo. He motioned to get a deckhand’s attention then pointed to the box of glasses. “Pack that into the carriage. The rest should be inventoried. I’ll deal with it later.”
“Senhor.” The man lowered his head.
Tio Aloisio looked at Cecília. “Ready to head back?”
She nodded, her mind whirring into even more of a mess than it already had been.
CECÍLIA SAT ON THE couch in the antechamber, trying to focus on the Bible in her lap as Tio Aloisio sat at his desk. Every set of footsteps, however, made her tense. So far, there had been no sign of John.
He’s working. He would have to see Mr. Hays first. She tried to force herself to relax. He didn’t even know if he could actually come. Maybe he shouldn’t. You’re already a mess. You don’t need him rattling your thoughts even more.
She tried to call up some verse on tested faith out of the hundreds she had read over and over in the past weeks. All that bubbled out of her mind was more decrying her sins. If I could just do one thing right...
Someone knocked. Cecília stiffened and tried to focus on the Bible in her lap. Suddenly, she couldn’t make out any of the words. Much too slowly, Tio Aloisio rose from his desk and walked to the door. Cecília glanced up as the door swung open then released a soft huff when she saw one of Senhor Carvalho’s servants.
“The first minister is asking for you, Senhor Durante.”
“I’ll be right along.” Tio Aloisio didn’t ask any questions as he picked up his hat from its spot by the door.
Cecília offered a smile, but her uncle didn’t look back, so she returned to her reading as the footsteps moved away. She read quickly, her earlier stumbling with Latin a mere memory.
O Lord, to us belongeth confusion of face, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against thee...
A new set of footsteps came from the opposite direction. Cecília lifted her eyes but still started at the sharp knock. Suddenly frozen to the spot, she could only stare at the dark wood.
The second knock spurred her to action. She crossed the room quickly and lifted the latch. The door swung open just in time for her to find herself facing John’s fist.
He managed to stop the knock before he hit her face, froze for a moment, then dropped his fist to his side. “I’m sorry.”
“My fault,” she said a little breathlessly, suddenly transported back to the first time she had seen him, caught halfway to knocking on the door of Tio Aloisio’s house, which no longer existed. He was even back into a proper coat and breeches, making him the exact man she had seen three years before, and she was once again seventeen, entirely thrown, and staring. She recovered, forcing a smile. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He removed his hat and stepped out of the hallway. His eyes swept the space quickly. “Is... your uncle here?”
“You just missed him.” She shut the door once again. “Senhor Carvalho needed him for a moment. He should be back soon, I imagine.” Not technically a lie. He could be back soon.
“Would he mind my being here without him?”
“I don’t think so.”
His eyes met hers, and Cecília felt her insides pull tight, as he still seemed able to read her as well as he could three years before.
She cleared her throat and went to pick up the Bible from the couch. “You seem to have a talent for appearing at dire moments.”
“Do I?” He turned to remain facing her.
She held the book to her chest as though it would shield her. From John or herself, she hadn’t entirely worked out. “You heard there was an attempt on the king’s life?”
“I did.” He nodded. “Though that was months ago?”
“Things have been... difficult since then.” She pushed a black curl back from her face and met his hazel eyes once again. Something brittle and weak, like cracked glass, shattered inside her mind, and she couldn’t keep the words back. “Why didn’t you tell me you can’t give it back?”
His eyebrows furrowed, the confusion plain on his face as he tried to work out her meaning. “I’m sorry?”
“Scientia potentia est.”
He gave a small smile. “You read Leviathan?”
“And some days, I wish to Heaven I hadn’t.” She sat on the couch, the fabric of her gown puffing out around her in a very unladylike fashion. “I read it. I’ve read scores of those.” She motioned to the books on her uncle’s shelves. “Senhor Carvalho is a strong proponent of universal education, but none of you told me once you read all those theories and philosophies, you can never give it back.”
“You want to give it back?”
“I didn’t feel this awful before I knew.” She looked up at him.
He studied her for a moment before he took a seat next to her, still searching her face. “What’s happened, Cecília?”
“You,” she said. “And Senhor Carvalho. And that earthquake. And that blasted trial.”
“What trial?”
She took a breath, trying to find whatever had shattered and put all the shards back into place. It
seemed as likely as being able to reassemble one of the Venetian glasses her uncle had gotten her, should she smash it. Somehow, she still managed to plaster on a fake smile as she set the Bible gently aside. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ve had a dreadfully long day, and now I’m babbling before even asking how you’ve been. You’ve been sailing. Obviously. To the Colonies, I hear?”
“Delivering supplies for the soldiers there this trip.” He nodded, though he seemed to be half-focused at best on his own answers as he continued to study her.
“Right. You’re fighting with the French again. I heard some talk about that, though of course, everyone’s much more interested in what’s happening between France and Spain around here...” She lost her train of thought as he continued to watch her silently. “Will you stop doing that?”
“Do people really let you get away with that these days?” he asked.
Her throat constricted, the rush of panic feeling as though he had been able to see straight into all her sins. Her voice wavered too much as she spoke. “Get away with what?”
“Changing the topic when you’re obviously not fine?”
“What?”
He shook his head. “You can’t tell me you’re honestly more interested in discussing the war than whatever awful thing you’re dealing with in your own head.”
The words landed too close to that shattered part of her. She stood sharply enough that her skirts almost tripped her. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You haven’t seen me in three years. You can’t know what’s happening in my head.”
He studied her, seeming to read her far too well all the same. “But something’s happened.”
She blinked, trying to keep herself together. She wasn’t seventeen anymore. She wasn’t the lost girl who needed his support to keep going. I’m practically a new person, she tried to convince herself.
But then why do you want nothing more than to just crumple into John and have him make everything better?
Whatever had shattered might as well have been ground to sand as a new pain rushed over her from deep inside her chest, and a sob escaped.
“Cecília.” He stood in alarm, and she didn’t have the energy to fight it.
She stepped forward, pressing her face into his chest so she wouldn’t have to look at him as she fought through the tears. “I’m going to Hell.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t tell you.”
He wrapped his arms around her as naturally as if he had never been away, the familiar smell of salt and sweat surrounding her. “Shh, Cecília. Everything will be fine. Whatever it is, it can’t be that awful.”
“It is.” Her words came out muffled against his wool jacket. The click of the latch on the door made her stiffen before John could answer. A second later, his arms slipped away. She turned her head and saw her uncle standing just inside the doorway. “I’m sorry.” She took a shaky breath then looked back at John, who actually deserved an apology after that display. “I’m sorry. I...” Tears still too close to the surface, she shook her head and turned for her own room. “I’m sorry.”
She barely made it inside before she slid down to the floor, her skirts eating her up in a sea of fabric. She couldn’t imagine what John and Tio Aloisio would be talking about in the antechamber, but for the moment, she couldn’t stop her own thoughts long enough to care.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cecília rubbed her side, not certain if the dull ache there was promising rain or just the memories she hadn’t been able to escape all evening. Depending on how little time John actually had in dock, he could already have been back on his ship and sailing off across the Atlantic. That was the way it went, after all. John crashed into her life like a cannonball then disappeared again while she was left trying to rebuild what once was—what she once was.
But that’s what he can do. She moved to the window of her room. Be here when the world comes tumbling down then sail off while the rest of us are still...
She couldn’t think of a way to end the thought. As hard as Senhor Carvalho was working to get the Baixa rebuilt, it had been three years, and it didn’t seem as though they were any closer to having Lisbon back. Another three decades could pass before she ever lived there again.
She frowned, that idea never having crossed her mind before. Am I waiting to live there again? Do I want to live there again?
At the moment, she was ready to live just about anywhere but Lisbon. Others were sailing halfway across the world, and she had never been more than half a day’s travel from the spot where she was born.
Maybe that’s always been the problem.
She unlatched the window and pushed it open, easing it past the squeak. A cool, damp breeze swept in, and the chill made bumps rise along her arms. Judging from the clouds in the distance, her side, and the humid air, she had to assume a storm was moving in. All the same, she pulled herself up and out.
Her feet had barely landed on the spongy grass outside when John’s voice caught her.
“Your uncle said you’d likely sneak out tonight.”
She spun, her eyes taking a second to spot him in the shadows cast by the nearly full moon. “What are you doing out here?”
“He asked me to stay and speak with you. Said you slip out the window some nights and think he doesn’t know.”
She frowned.
“Your window squeaks, and the walls are thin,” John offered for explanation then motioned to the place on the grass next to him. “Would you like to sit?”
“You’ve just been sitting out here, waiting for me?”
“I had dinner first.” He leaned back enough for the moonlight to catch his face. “Your uncle’s been worried about you. I said I was more than happy to help if I could.”
“You can’t.”
“You’re certain?”
“We haven’t spoken in years.”
“You didn’t write,” he returned.
She hesitated but clung to the excuse that no longer remained true. “I told you I didn’t write well.”
“I was still hoping I’d hear from you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re an impossible woman to forget, apparently.”
Cecília swallowed, not certain what she should take from the tingle that moved through her.
“He told me about the Távora trials,” John continued. “And your friend. Terra?”
She crossed her arms, looking out across the gardens. “I think he was in love with me.”
He paused briefly. “Not the first man to be, I’m sure.”
“I used him,” she said, remembering the confessional that morning. “I used him. I lied. I got people killed.”
“You didn’t make anyone attempt regicide.”
“I don’t know that anyone...” She realized how close they still were to the palace. Even if she was talking to John, she was still at court. The past three years had still happened. She dropped her voice and finally knelt so he could still hear her at a whisper. “I don’t know that anyone did. Perhaps they did. Perhaps they didn’t. All I know is half of what was said is questionable at best and blatant lies at worst. I didn’t lie to condemn a guilty man. I lied and will never know if they were innocent.”
John studied her, his face blank enough that Cecília couldn’t interpret how he was judging her.
“I’m going to Hell,” she said softly.
“To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses,” he quoted. “I don’t know what your priests say, but I know mine always said there was no sin so great that God would not forgive a truly repentant soul.”
“A Deist priest?”
“C of E,” he said. “I wasn’t raised Deist.”
She supposed that made sense. She looked down.
“You went against your conscience. You may have done something terrible, but I am sure there are many men in this world who have managed to forgive themselves for far more grievous sins than yours. From
all your uncle said, you far from signed their death warrants. And even if you deserved your own punishment, it sounds as though you have put yourself through worse than anyone else would ever do to you.”
“My uncle told you that?”
“As I said, he’s been worried about you. And you do look thin, if you’ll forgive my saying.”
“I’m not certain he’s in any position to offer moral guidance.” She shifted to properly sit and pulled her knees up to her chest like a child. “Nor are you, for that matter, if you’ll forgive my saying.”
The corner of John’s mouth tipped up, making him look anything but offended. “Then who is? Do you need the pope to personally forgive you? The angel Gabriel to come down?”
“You’re teasing me now.” She frowned.
“I’m really not. Just... what’s done is done. You have repented, have worked to atone... what else can you do?”
“I wish I knew.”
John brought his hand to her cheek. “I may be the last person you consider qualified to give you advice on the state of your soul, but from what I was told, I would be hard-pressed to believe you forever damned, at least not beyond the Hell you’re currently putting yourself through.”
How dearly Cecília wanted to believe that. She studied him. “How can you be so certain of everything you believe, John?”
“I’m not certain, but I’ve spent years reading and questioning my own beliefs. I just had the luxury of having the choice to do that. All of this was rather forced upon you, I admit. At least part of that is my fault.”
She shook her head, exhausted down to her bones, tired of thinking, tired of worrying, tired of remorse and shame and regret. “How long are you staying?”
“Just until morning. Your uncle took up a fair deal of Mr. Hays’s time this afternoon, which meant he couldn’t finish the letters he wanted us to take in time for us to leave this evening.”
“My uncle went far out of his way to have you talk to me tonight.” Cecília wondered just how much Tio Aloisio would have done to bring her out of her penance. She moved to the question still burning in her mind. “Will you be coming back? To Lisbon?”