by Jessica Dall
Was that the dream? She glanced skyward. John had always arrived partnered with some sort of disaster. Perhaps seeing him in a dream was meant to be a harbinger, if he wasn’t returning in person. She turned for her room. Even if the men of court insisted on pushing things that had no business being pushed forward, she would have no part of it. She was done with that part of her life, and she had no intention of ever going back to it.
“WE AREN’T BEGINNING a day too soon, let me tell you.” Senhor Rocha sat back in his chair, looking around the rest of the architect’s office as Cecília worked. “They had to chase out a good half-dozen curs and nearly twice as many vagabonds for us to even get a proper look at the cleared space. What those men think they’re doing, living in in cracked foundations...”
“I imagine they don’t have many better options, if they’ve resorted to that.” Cecília did her best not to think about the homeless still in Lisbon. Most who had filled the campos five years before had found somewhere to go by then, but that didn’t make thinking about those still out on the street any easier. She picked up the paper and held it toward Senhor Rocha. “Like this?”
He scanned the page. “Very good. I’m going to run out of things to teach you, at this rate.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe, senhor?” She pulled the paper back to look over the mess of equations.
“Even if I do, though, I suppose I could always hand your tutelage over to Senhor Ventura.”
Cecília sent him a questioning look.
“It seems he’s outlasted the rest of the office once again.” Senhor Rocha nodded across the room with a smirk.
She glanced where he motioned just in time to see one of the younger architects, Senhor Ventura, look away from her and Senhor Rocha and turn back to his work. She rolled her eyes and sent Senhor Rocha an unamused look. “Are you going to attempt to foist me on yet another young man in this office?”
“I don’t believe Senhor Ventura would find it an unhappy proposition, from the way he keeps staring at us.”
“Well, I am perfectly happy with my current education, thank you.” Cecília turned back to the desk. “What now?”
Senhor Rocha watched her for another moment before he stretched theatrically. “If you aren’t interested in Senhor Ventura’s help, it may be time for us to say it’s a day. It’s growing late.”
She looked out the window. Facing west, the architect’s office kept enough light to work late into the evening, but the sun was sinking toward the horizon. She nodded, catching Senhor Ventura glancing over once again before she turned to pack up her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“I will look forward to it, my dear.” Senhor Rocha flashed her a smile as he stood as well.
In case Senhor Ventura intended to attempt catching her, Cecília didn’t bother with more of a goodbye. No doubt he, like all the young men Senhor Rocha tried to bring into their lessons, was a perfectly fine man, but even if she was forcing herself to move on from everything in the past, no good ever seemed to come from her romantic entanglements.
She would be twenty-three on her next birthday, and had life not changed, she didn’t doubt that people would have been starting to whisper about her approaching spinsterhood. But the world had turned on its head five years before. Nothing was the way it would have been, and Tio Aloisio didn’t seem to be in any rush to be rid of her. With her uncle newly into his sixties, Cecília felt safe in saying the man had no intention of ever marrying, which left her his only possible heir. Exactly who would take control of running it all if she didn’t marry was a question, but the way things were going, people would perhaps accept an educated woman supervising her own affairs. If she wanted, she could spend the rest of her life as she was, taking over Tio Aloisio’s vineyard and everything else once he passed on then letting the family die out altogether once she did. The entire line seemed cursed, anyway, filled with living saints, desperate sinners, and nothing in between.
Caught up in her own thoughts, she noticed the first minister a beat too late.
“Ah, Senhorita Durante.” His piercing blue eyes caught her. “A pleasure to see you.”
Some good sense still working in her head made her curtsy deeply and return the pleasantry.
“Perhaps I could have a moment?” He opened the door to his office, motioning gallantly, and Cecília could as much say no to the question as she could say no to breathing. She gave another short curtsy and crossed the threshold, doing her best to hide the tension ratcheting up her back.
The first minister’s office had been redone since the last time Cecília had been inside, no doubt to match his new status as the Conde de Oeiras, a true noble since all the old dukedoms and counties had been redistributed. In fact, given how rich the fabric was on the chairs, curtains, and tapestries, she would daresay that the offices were fit for a king. Having to sit in the smaller chair across the desk from Senhor Carvalho’s near throne only made the situation more intimidating, and Senhor Carvalho had never needed help being intimidating.
“Senhorita Durante, how have you been?” Senhor Carvalho took a seat in his chair, his voice light even as his blue eyes continued to pin her in place. The soft wrinkles that had formed on his face over the past few years did nothing to mute the feeling that those eyes could see right into her thoughts.
“Very well, Minister,” Cecília said, trying to match his tone, though she couldn’t entirely hide her apprehension. “Thank you for asking.”
“And how is the rebuilding going? We are breaking ground on the Praça do Comércio soon, I believe?”
“The office seems very pleased with how things are progressing.” Cecília squeezed one hand with the other to stop from giving in to the urge to fidget under his scrutiny, the small talk doing nothing to settle her nerves. “Senhor Rocha has been very kind in finding time to explain everything they are doing. When he isn’t busy with his work, of course.”
“And you’re finding you understand everything he’s teaching you?”
“Most of it,” she said.
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” He steepled his fingers. “You always have had a quick mind.”
She almost slipped and frowned at the unexpected compliment but said, “Thank you, senhor” and waited for the first minister to continue.
“I trust it hasn’t eaten into your religious devotions?”
And there it was. With as little as Senhor Carvalho had ever seemed worried over the state of her or anyone else’s soul, she couldn’t imagine him directing the conversation toward the priests for any other reason than what Tio Aloisio had said was happening. She swallowed, treading carefully. “I attend Mass every Sunday.”
“Only Sundays?”
“And Holy Days of Obligation, of course,” she said, pretending she didn’t know what he was truly driving at with that question.
Those piercing eyes said he didn’t believe she’d misunderstood him for an instant. He still moved on. “And I believe an old family friend of yours has recently returned to court. Father Moreno, is it?”
Cecília gripped her hands tighter. “I don’t know if I would call him a friend, senhor, but he did work with my sister years ago. Before the king’s physician was able to diagnose hysteria and correct it.”
Senhor Carvalho took his time responding, and Cecília had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from squirming. “Did he mention why he had returned to court, when you spoke?”
“He was asked to replace Father Delacruz.” At least that was an easy answer.
“He didn’t mention any other reason?”
“Should he have?”
The slight narrowing of the first minister’s eyes said she had pushed too far, playing dumb. He sat back in his chair-slash-throne. “I believe it may be time for you to attend daily Mass, Senhorita Durante.”
She fought to keep her thoughts together. “Oh?”
“I’m sure you have heard that His Holiness the Pope has appointed my brother, Father Car
valho, to be Inquisitor General?” Though the sentence tipped up at the end like a question, he didn’t wait for a response before continuing, “I’m afraid some at our chapel may be questioning His Holiness’s wisdom. If that is the case, I would like to know about it.”
Cecília took as deep a breath as she could manage, attempting to get the right words out. It’s now or never. “I’d rather not, senhor.”
Senhor Carvalho’s face didn’t change in the slightest as he stared at her, and yet it felt as though the temperature in the room had plummeted. “Come again?”
She shifted in the chair, beginning to lose her battle against fidgeting under such scrutiny. “I-I fully appreciate everything you have done for us, Senhor Carvalho.” The words came out in a rush. “But I can’t in good conscience spy on holy men.”
After what felt like eons, he finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on the solid wood desk. “Do you believe His Holiness has made a mistake, Senhorita Durante?”
“Of course not, senhor.”
“Then you must agree that anyone speaking against the inquisitor general is not a holy man?”
Cecília floundered. “Senhor, truly, you don’t need me. No one would dare move against you after two years ago.”
“You’re certain of that?”
After you literally salted the earth under where the Távoras were burned so nothing will ever grow there again? “Your word is as good as the king’s.”
Senhor Carvalho stood and moved to the side of the desk—not directly over her but a towering figure, all the same. “And what do you believe would happen, should—Lord forbid—the king no longer be the king? I trust you remember what else happened two years ago?”
Cecília dropped her eyes.
“Your uncle asked that you be given time to reconcile what the world demands with whatever you had in your head. You were very sheltered, I know, before everything happened. Do I need to regret not having put a stop to you bothering my architects these past months?”
“No, senhor. It’s just—”
“Because I would hate to think I’d have to begin questioning your loyalty to what this country is attempting to do.”
“No, you have my full support—”
“Or perhaps it’s you don’t wish to attend services? Perhaps something my brother should consider?”
Her head jerked up at the implied threat of the Inquisition—the idea of the severely weakened Holy Office doing anything had been such a small possibility it hadn’t been worth considering in the past few years. “What?”
“What has been happening with those architects? Or with your uncle, perhaps? I believe he has quite a collection of books he allows you to read?”
Half you gave him! She barely caught the accusation before it flew out of her mouth. “Senhor—”
“Is that something that needs to be investigated, Senhorita Durante? You avoiding Mass and reading questionable books?”
“I haven’t been avoiding Mass!”
“You didn’t just tell me you wouldn’t go?”
Cecília gaped, trying to catch up to where the conversation had gone, even though Senhor Carvalho had gotten so many steps ahead of her, there was no chance she would be able to untangle herself from the net he’d woven around her.
“Or perhaps I misunderstood you.” He lifted an eyebrow. “So you are intending to attend daily Mass?”
She grasped for anything she could find in her mind that would get her out of the situation as she felt the walls closing in around her. She couldn’t manage anything but a weak “Yes, senhor.”
“Good.” He turned back to his chair, releasing her from his piercing glare. “I’m glad we cleared that up. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon, when I’m not interrupting your devotions, of course.”
Cecília nodded, her mouth refusing to move again. How many times am I going to have to say yes?
He took a seat and began to shuffle through the papers on his desk. “A pleasure speaking with you, senhorita. So glad you could stop in.”
Cecília mumbled some equally falsely polite response then stood, beating a quick retreat out into the hallway.
You should have known better, the taunting voice in her head said as she turned for her room. You can’t escape the first minister.
She slipped through the door into the blessedly empty antechamber and rested against the wall as she attempted to stop the room from spinning.
You chose this.
She couldn’t debate that, as much as she wanted to ignore the voice. She just wished she had known then, when she had first said “yes” four years before, what it would mean.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cecília fingered the gold cross around her neck, irritably rubbing the red stone in the center as her knees protested. It was only her third morning in the chapel, but she was obviously out of practice, her body revolting against the repetitive hour spent in the pews.
Why am I even here?
Morning Mass was quiet, the congregation only a handful of courtiers, and none of them giving so much as a whisper about the service, let alone anything Senhor Carvalho would have found interesting. Of course, he hadn’t sounded interested in what courtiers were saying. He wanted her to eavesdrop on the priests, and she still wasn’t certain she was willing to resort to that.
“Be blessed by the grace of the Holy Spirit,” Father Pinho finished. “Go in peace, and may the Lord be with you and with everyone. Amen.”
Peace... Cecília somehow managed not to snort at that idea, and she crossed herself before quickly turning toward the door. That morning, Father Moreno had offered a small smile from where he had been sitting with the other priests when he’d seen her. The last thing she needed was for him to attempt catching her on the way out, at least before she figured out what she was doing. Luís had been willing to go to his death rather than sacrifice even a snake like Mateus de Vilhena. He had been a willing martyr for his principles, even if it was unlikely that anyone would spare him a passing thought in a generation. She wondered whether she was so self-serving that she was willing to send yet more innocent men to their deaths just to save her own neck. The first minister’s threats shouldn’t have mattered. She should have stared him down and said she was done, whatever the consequences.
And yet every time she tried to think of facing down the Inquisition, all she could remember was the auto-da-fé her father had taken her to when she was six, against her mother’s wishes. Most of the heretics had been repentant and released after lashes or at least died in the faith and were garroted before being put to the flame. But one man had arrived in a gray cassock with the image of a sinner encircled by demons and fire. She watched everything before him with a perverse fascination, but the screams when the man had burned, so similar to Ferreira during the Távora executions... Papai had had to pick her up and leave before she would stop crying. She would have liked to believe that refusing to report wouldn’t catch enough of the first minister’s ire that he would push his brother to have her burned alive, but as merciless as he had been with the Távoras, she truly couldn’t know.
And not just me. She returned to rubbing the gold cross, her anxiety making her fidget. They’d pull Tio Aloisio into it.
Her uncle wasn’t any more innocent than she was, but he certainly didn’t deserve the Inquisition, not if Senhor Carvalho was willing to bring it all back just to be rid of Father Malagrida.
She turned the last corner before her room and stopped short in surprise. Senhor Ventura, dressed impeccably in his breeches and tailored red coat, stood a few steps from her door with his eyes on a silver pocket watch. Cecília frowned, not certain she wanted to deal with whatever was waiting for her, before she forced herself forward. “Senhor Ventura?”
He started, sliding the watch away as he turned to face her before he quickly bowed. “Senhorita Durante.”
She gave a tight smile. “I would have thought you’d be at work already?”
“Yes.” He caught his hand
s behind his back and shifted his weight awkwardly. “I noticed you hadn’t been by the past few days and wanted to make sure you were well.”
“I’m very well, thank you. Just busy, though I appreciate your concern.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He lowered his head quickly before meeting her eyes again. “As you are, perhaps you would like to accompany me to a party Senhora Gaspar is hosting tonight? Senhor Magro extended an invitation.”
A party. How long has it been since I left court to go to a party? Even if her mind hadn’t been tied up with everything pressing down on her, though, she wasn’t certain she had it in her to be an engaging guest on her own, let alone with someone looking to escort her. She put it off in the easiest way she could think of. “I would have to ask my uncle.”
“I just spoke with him.” Senhor Ventura motioned at the doorway. “I had the good luck to catch him on his way out. He gave his permission, as long as you wished to attend.”
So Tio Aloisio knew what was happening. Wonderful. Apparently, he had already left, so at least she wouldn’t have to talk to him immediately. She kept her smile carefully in place, trying to think of the kindest way to turn the man down. “Senhor Ventura,” she began just before a flash of movement at the corner of the hall caught her attention. She felt all the blood leave her face.
John...? Her mind wouldn’t form a complete thought as she stared at the man, half-convinced she was seeing things.
He froze as well, surprise moving over his face before he apparently recovered and continued in her direction.
Senhor Ventura twisted to follow Cecília’s line of sight, frowning as he spotted the Englishman. Somewhere in Cecília’s mind, she registered that the two men were dressed surprisingly similarly, not in full courtier dress but in finer fabric than she had ever seen John wear. Senhor Ventura turned back to her, his voice lowered. “Do you know that man?”
The words were enough to start her out of her stupor just as John stepped up beside them. “Mr. Bates!” She looked back at Senhor Ventura, trying—and most likely failing—to hide how flustered she was. “Senhor Ventura, this is Mr. Bates, my uncle’s old business partner and friend.” She switched to John, somehow keeping her voice far more level than she would have credited herself for. “Mr. Bates, I didn’t know you were in Portugal.”