Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

by Laurie McBain

  “Sí, mi padre.”

  “You may still believe that I stole your daughter from you, Don Rodrigo, but I never intended to steal her heritage from her. Although circumstances have brought about a certain heightening of hostilities between our countries, my daughter has been taught to have no shame of her Spanish blood and to be proud of all of her ancestors,” Geoffrey stated, those pale green eyes of his, so like his daughter’s, unshadowed by deception. Don Rodrigo could not doubt his English son-in-law’s word, for did not his granddaughter speak her mother’s native tongue?

  “¿Padre? Mi—“

  Magdalena did not have to finish her question, for her father knew what she had been reluctant to ask. “Your mother still lives. You have arrived in time to comfort her with your presence, he admitted, then turned his attention to the other Englishman darkening his door, a less than cordially raised eyebrow questioning the man’s presence in Casa del Montevares. “I do not believe we have been introduced, señor?” he inquired in a tone that left little doubt that had he his wish they would continue to remain strangers.

  Basil Whitelaw still stood hesitantly near the great door. He had been uncertain of Geoffrey Christian’s welcome, much less his own when Don Rodrigo learned he’d come as special envoy from Elizabeth, but now he stepped forward and bowed deeply and deferentially to the Spaniard. With a fine flourish, he removed a stiff piece of parchment from the top of a packet he carried tucked beneath his arm. Basil Whitelaw handed the letter to Don Rodrigo. It was folded and affixed with melted wax, which bore the stamped impression of the royal seal of Elizabeth.

  Don Rodrigo was startled, for who in England could possibly be writing to him? When he recognized the royal arms displayed so boldly on the letter that he, a loyal subject of Phillip II, not held so gingerly in his hand, Sir Basil thought the Spaniard was going to drop it like a burning coal.

  “Madre de Dios,” Don Rodrigo muttered, turning pale as he fingered the high, stiff ruff about his neck. It suddenly felt much tighter than usual.

  With Her Majesty’s sincerest compliments, Don Rodrigo,” Basil Whitelaw said, urging the Spaniard to open the missive from the queen of England.

  With a shaking hand, Don Rodrigo broke the seal and opened the folded sheet of foolscap. His expression was disbelieving as he stared down at the elaborate signature of Elizabeth.

  “Her Majesty has instructed me to extend to you and your family her deepest sympathies and personal wishes for a quick recovery for Doña Amparo. Her Grace takes very seriously the welfare of her subjects, and she was most distressed learn of Doña Magdalena’s unhappiness concerning the ill health of her mother. Without hesitation, and indeed I speak from firsthand knowledge for I was present at the meeting between her Majesty and Geoffrey Christian, her Grace gladly granted him leave to travel to Hispaniola,” Basil Whitelaw said with all of the smoothness of a born diplomat, which meant he only told Don Rodrigo what he needed to know and did not go on to mention the names of the other two gentlemen present at the meeting. “I am here, at her Grace’s request, personally to lend support to Doña Magdalena and her family, and, on behalf of Queen Elizabeth, I hereby offer my services to you and your family should the occasion arise.

  “Please understand, Don Rodrigo, that I do this not only because my queen has requested it, but because Doña Magdalena has become a dear friend of my family.”

  “Lady Elspeth, Sir Basil’s wife, has become my dearest friend, Padre. They have welcomed me into their home and given me their friendship when I had no friends,” Doña Magdalena said.

  Sir Basil smiled. “It has always been our privilege. However, Doña Magdalena no longer is friendless. She has become one of Her Majesty’s favorites at court. In fact, your daughter, Don Rodrigo, had the very great honor of being hostess to Queen Elizabeth and her court when they visited Highcross Court last year. Seldom have I seen or enjoyed such entertainment as was provided for Her Grace’s pleasure. Several times I heard Her Majesty compliment Doña Magdalena on her gracious hospitality, declaring never had she eaten so well. She especially enjoyed the spicy sauces that Doña Magdalena seems to prepare with such excellence. You can be very proud of Doña Magdalena, Don Rodrigo,” Sir Basil said, surprised by his own loquacity but thinking it was about time the imperious Don heard a few truths about the honor his daughter had brought to his own family’s name as well as to Geoffrey Christian’s.

  But Don Rodrigo surprised Sir Basil with his answer. “I would have expected nothing less from a daughter of mine. She is a Montevares, Sir Basil. She knows her duty. Now, I have been neglectful of my duties as host. You must be fatigues from your journey. Ana will show you to your rooms,” Don Rodrigo said, indicating the maid who had quietly entered the hall and now stood awaiting her master’s orders, her head bowed. “Magdalena, I will take you to see your mother now. Ana, take the gentlemen and Francisca to the rooms that have been prepared for their visit. I will have some refreshment sent up,” he added. The maid, however, remained unmoving, and he had to repeat his order more sharply, “Ana!” he said again.

  Finally, she curtsied and risked a quick glance at the two strangers. Her eyes were filled with fear, for she had never met Englishmen. She had heard that they were devils spawned of a heathen land, and here was her dear, sweet Magdalena married to one of the most notorious. Still even Ana had to admit that Magdalena had never looked more beautiful. Bewitchment. That was what had happened. Her poor Magdalena had been bewitched and her soul was no longer her own, Ana thought, crossing herself before she moved any closer to Geoffrey Christian. He did seem harmless enough, though, as he lifted his daughter into his arms, tickling her beneath the chin in response to the secret she whispered in his ear.

  “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 next 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 t
o 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.

  SHAKESPEARE

  Chapter Three

  SIR 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 that 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.