Louisiana 08 - While Passion Sleeps

by Shirlee Busbee

  When the coach reached the gates of the second wall, it halted. Sebastian quickly dismounted and, flinging open the coach door with a flourish, he helped Beth to alight. Bowing with lithe grace he said teasingly, "Madame, the Hacienda del Cielo awaits your lightest command."

  Descending in his usual languid manner, Nathan murmured dryly, "Isn't that for your cousin to say... or have I mistaken the situation?"

  Sebastian flushed angrily and said tightly, "There is no mistake, and the situation has not changed—not in the least. Now, if you will excuse me for a moment, I shall apprise my cousin of our arrival."

  Sebastian stalked off and Beth turned to look at Nathan with puzzlement obvious in her expression. "What in the world was the meaning of all that?"

  With an unruffled composure Nathan replied, "Nothing, my dear, just young Sebastian displaying a bit of childish temperament."

  Beth had her own reservations about that, but she chose to say nothing, glancing interestedly about her, as she and Nathan strolled toward an archway through which Sebastian had disappeared. On the other side of the arch was another world, and Beth gave a gasp of pleasure. It was a world of elegance and grace, of flowering scarlet and purple bougainvillaea, orange and

  yellow climbing trumpet vines, sparkling fountains, flagstone courtyards, and tubs of leafy green trees that cast welcoming shade against the walls of the hacienda. The walls of the house itself glistened so white that it actually hurt Beth's eyes to look at them in the bright sunlight. Moorish arches and lacy ironwork balconies were evidence of the hacienda's past history, and Beth wondered excitedly if it were at all possible that indeed one of de Vaca's men, the one known only as "the Moor," might have seen to the construction of this magnificent house. Through another arch set in the side of the hacienda there was a tantalizing glimpse of a cool, sheltered inner courtyard, a three-tiered fountain of water tinkling merrily in the center of it.

  They were crossing the outer courtyard, walking toward the three shallow steps that led to the interior of the hacienda, when Sebastian, accompanied by a slim, handsome man of about fifty, stepped out onto the portico. A plump, matronly lady, her dark hair covered with a black lace mantilla held in place with a high jeweled comb, joined them.

  The dark-haired, olive-skinned man could be none other than Don Miguel—there was a proud assurance to the set of his shoulders, and his clothing spoke of wealth and position. His short cloth jacket was richly embroidered with braid and fancy barrel buttons; the red sash tied about his waist was of silk. The woman was dressed no less grandly—her ruby silk gown was of European style with long-fitted sleeves; the waist ended in a point, and the full skirts nearly brushed the ground. Several gold chains fell fi:'om her neck and rested on the plump bosom.

  The gentleman's face broke into a broad welcoming smile and he cried out gaily, "So, you are Sebastian's fi^iends, si! Come, come inside and refresh yourself. The hacienda is at your disposal—we are most happy that you allowed our disreputable young relative to convince you to stop and stay awhile. Visitors are always welcome at the Hacienda del Cielo, but Sebastian's friends even more so."

  There followed the usual polite exchanges of conversation, and it was only when they were all laughing

  over some remark made by Nathan that Sebastian said easily, "I think we have forgotten introductions, and before I forget my manners entirely. Dona Madelina and Don Miguel, I would like you to meet my friends, Mrs. Elizabeth Ridgeway and her husband, Mr. Nathan Ridgeway. Beth and Nathan, may I present my cousin's delightful wife, Doha Madelina Perez de la Santana and my cousin, Don Miguel Lopez de la Santana y Higuera."

  Sebastian grinned and added, "I think it would be easier if the names were reduced to simply Beth and Nathan and Miguel and Madelina."

  It was Madelina who answered. Her great, liquid dark eyes beaming with pleasure, she murmured, ""Si, joven, such formality would certainly be a poor way to thank your friends for their kindness to you in your travels."

  Beth's face had gone white at the Santana name, and almost frantically she sought to recover her composure. Striving to act normal, she said in what she hoped was an unruffled tone of voice, "But it was Sebastian who was kind to us! He even went so far as to rearrange his own trip to accompany us on ours. It is Sebastian who has been exceedingly kind to us, not the other way around."

  Sebastian looked uncomfortable, and Miguel smiled knowingly as he glanced at his much younger cousin. "Perhaps Sebastian took it as a very great kindness that you accepted his sometimes outrageous company, hmmm?"

  There was a slight ripple of laughter at his words, but Beth's was forced, her thoughts spinning in icy apprehension. Was it just one of those startling coincidences? Or had she blindly and unwittingly blundered into the tiger's lair?

  Swallowing with difficulty, she couldn't help a quick, almost fearful glance around her, as if she expected to find Rafael watching her. But there was no one concealed in the shadows, just bright, warm sunlight and the gracious welcome that was being extended by Sebastian's cousins. Yet in spite of the warmth of the day, Beth shivered, wondering uneasily what she would do

  if it did turn out that these kind people were indeed related to Rafael Santana.

  But there was little she could do except smile and accept the tall, cool glass of sangria that was pressed upon her once they had entered the house. They were seated in a large, elegant room that opened out onto a shaded patio where sprawling ferns and potted trees made leafy green umbrellas. The room was soothing, the white walls reflecting back the bright sunlight that poured in through tall, arched windows, the dark, heavy Spanish furniture contrasting attractively against the vibrant colors of the fine Brussels carpet.

  Beth tried to relax, tried to join in the conversation that was taking place, but her jumbled thoughts would give her no rest. Until she knew for certain there was no relationship between these Santanas and Rafael, it would be impossible for her to do anything but sit there filled with dismay and anxiety. Nervously she twisted her untouched glass and smiled blankly at some comment that was made, wondering how she could discover if her worst fears were about to be realized.

  Sebastian innocently did it for her. After the first flurry of exchanges had died down he asked Miguel, "Has Rafael arrived? I saw him at Galveston on our way through there, and he said he would meet me here."

  Don Miguel smiled. ''My son is like the wind—one never knows precisely where or when he will appear. Rest assured, though, that if he said he would be here, in time he will be."

  The delicate crystal glass in Beth's hand slipped from her nerveless fingers and the only thing that saved it from shattering was the soft cushion of the carpet. The Sangria spilled over her yellow muslin gown and almost dazedly she stared at the spreading pinkish stain, her thoughts whirling in wild confusion. Yet one thought remained like a spear in her chaotic mind— Don Miguel is Rafael's father! Unaware of it, a slight moan of sheer dismay escaped her pale lips, but in the rush that everyone made to alleviate the damage to her gown it went unnoticed.

  Madelina, expertly bustling aside the gentlemen, said quickly, "Leave it, please! Come, Senora Ridgeway, I

  shall show you to the rooms where you will stay. We will have a servant cleanse it for you immediately." Turning to her husband, she added briskly, "Miguel, amado, have Pedro or Jesus bring Senora Ridgewa^s trunks to the gold rooms so that she may change."

  ''Our servants can see to that. Dona Madelina," Nathan said politely.

  ''That will not be necessary—let them rest for a while, we have servants enough." Turning to Beth, Madelina urged, ''Come now, senora, if you will follow me, I shall see to it that all is set right. Come, mi cara, come!"

  Like a beautiful sleepwalker Beth followed the short, plump figure down the shady arcade that was created by the extended eaves of the hacienda and supported by graceful rounded arches that faced the central courtyard. It seemed like a long walk to Beth, but she was so shaken by the news that Rafael Santana was her host's son that she w
as not in full control of her senses. Even when they entered a spacious set of rooms decorated in white and gold, her thoughts were numb and incoherent. But she had to say something, she realized dully as Madelina gazed at her in some concern. She forced a smile and offered lamely, "I think that the trip from San Antonio must have tired me more than I thought."

  Madelina's look of concern lessened. "Si, it is a long and often uncomfortable journey," she commiserated instantly. "Would you like to lie down and rest until dinner? I can have a tray of refreshments sent to you. Would you like that?"

  Eagerly Beth said, "Oh, senora, I would like it above all things!"

  Smiling kindly, the older woman said, "Fine! I will leave you now, and in just a few moments one of our servants will see to your needs. Your own servants can assume their normal duties in the morning, if that meets with your approval."

  Beth nodded her head, and seeing it, Madelina finished efficiently, "I believe that settles everything for the moment. Don't worry about an>'thing, just rest and I shall see you later."

  With the departure of Madelina, Beth's composure 168

  fled. With trembling legs she stumbled to a chair and sat down. I must not be a fool, she told herself sternly, her hands clasping and unclasping agitatedly in her lap. There is nothing to be frightened of—he is only a man, he can't hurt me—he might not even remember me!

  And suddenly, with a wild lurch in the region of her stomach, she realized that she would also be meeting Consuela, and at that thought her hands began to shake so badly that only by clasping them tightly together could she control them. Oh, God! Beth thought with anguish, I simply could not face Consuela, not greet her j)olitely... and all the while have those flat black eyes watching me slyly, knowing of my degradation! And Consuela's cousin Lorenzo, what of him? Will he be present also?

  Beth had no time to ponder her dilemma, for there was a slight tap on the door. An instant later, the heavy door was pushed open and, just as she had on that terrible afternoon in New Orleans, Consuela's servant Manuela entered the room bearing an ornate silver tray. Beth froze, her face paling in shocked dismay.

  Manuela halted just inside the room, her calm dark eyes staring enigmatically at Beth's frozen face. She remained silent for a taut second and then said quietly, "You have nothing to fear from me, senora. I only obeyed my mistress that day, and I would not harm you now. Nor, except between the two of us, will I ever speak of it." When Beth made no move, when she stayed like a lovely frozen statue, Manuela sent her a long, aissessing look and then set the tray down on a marble-topped table that was against one wall. She approached Beth slowly, taking her time, watching as one does when in the presence of a wild and easily startled animal. Manuela stopped a few paces in front of Beth and, her voice soft and filled with sincerity, she repeated, "You have nothing to fear from me, senora. Senora Consuela is dead, and with her died many things. Trust me, nifia, I will not harm you. She is dead and the past is behind us."

  Beth heard little beyond Manuela's words that Consuela was dead. Her eyes clinging to the lined, sallow

  features, she whispered disbehevingly, ''Dead? How can that be? She was a young woman."

  Her face impassive, Manuela answered steadily, "Comanches. She was leaving here—but on her way to the coast, where she hoped to board a ship that would take her to Spain, she and two female servants as well as the eight men who escorted her were killed. She suffered, nifia, before she died. Por Dios, she suffered! I bathed and prepared her body for burial here in the family cemetery, and I saw the tortures that had been inflicted upon her. She suffered a thousand times more than you, senora. That does not excuse her, but perhaps you can find pity in your heiart for the horrible way that she died."

  Beth's heart skipped a beat and she heard again Consuela saying viciously, "I wonder why you have not hired some of your filthy, estupido savages before now to rid you of a wife like myself!" and Rafael's cruel reply, "Fm surprised I hadn't thought of it before now!" And in the serene, elegant room, Beth shivered.

  It didn't bear thinking about, she told herself, trying to quell the ugly suspicions that were going through her mind. Her voice thick and rusty, she asked, "How was it that she was leaving? And why wasn't he with her?"

  Manuela shrugged and then turned and walked over to the tray. Her thin hands moved quickly as she poured a tall glass of sangria and offered it to Beth. Numbly Beth took the glass from her and, staring at the cool, ruby-colored drink, she remembered inanely the wine stain on her gown.

  She glanced down at it and muttered foolishly, "My gown. It is stained."

  As if the other conversation had never been, Manuela said easily, "Yes, I see that it is. If you will permit me, I will help you out of it and see that one of the other maids has it soaked immediately."

  Helplessly Beth agreed, unwilling to dwell on their conversation, unwilling to think that Rafael Santana had deliberately sent his wife to her death at the hands of the Comanches.

  Manuela did nothing to break the fragile hold that 170

  Beth had on herself, as she deftly stripped off the soiled gown. Leaving Beth momentarily in her lace-trimmed chemise and ruffled petticoats, Manuela disappeared into one of the rooms that comprised the suite. She returned almost instantly with a peignoir of French cambric trimmed down the front with a deep ruffle of Valenciennes lace. Beth recognized it as her own and rightly assumed that her baggage had been unpacked in the adjoining dressing room.

  Manuela helped her into the peignoir and gently coaxed Beth to drink the sangria. Still in a state of blessed numbness, Beth did so.

  The Sangria warmed her and sent a tingle along her veins. It was pleasant, and almost absently she took the glass that Manuela had promptly refilled. At least, Beth thought half hysterically, if I drink enough, I won't feel anything. I won't feel anything and, most of all, I won't be able to think... to think the terrible thoughts that are waiting for me if I dare let them begin!

  Manuela smoothly ushered her into the bedroom, urging her to sit in a comfortable chair of white-and-gold brocade. Moving quietly about the room, Manuela turned back the gold satin coverlet of the bed and opened twin doors that revealed a small patio off the room. She glanced at Beth and, seeing that some of the whiteness had left her face, she said practically, "I have given your gown to Maria and she will see to it. Dona Ma-delina asked me to assist you since, up until Sefiora

  Consuela's death, I had been a lady's maid If you

  wish, you may request that someone else serve you."

  Beth ran a hand wearily through her hair. "No," she finally said. "No, that won't be necessary. It would only raise speculation, and by tomorrow morning my own servant will take over from you." Beth was too aware of the raised eyebrows that would result from her refusal of Manuela's services and had decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie... and yet, she wanted almost intolerably to know the facts of Consuela's death. She simply had to know. Tightly gripping the crystal glass, she pleaded, "Manuela, tell me of Consuela's death. Why was she leaving?"

  Manuela hesitated and then said simply, "Senor Ra-171

  fael was determined to divorce her. He gave her the choice of returning to Spain and seeking the divorce herself, or of remaining here and being humihated while he sought the divorce." Manuela's face took on an expression of distaste. "How she raged and shrieked at him! She was like a madwoman—so incensed by his ultimatum that she did not even wait for her personal belongings to be packed. She had Lorenzo hire the men to escort her to the coast, and within three days she was gone, with two of the younger maids. I was to follow with all her trunks and baggage. I often thank the good God that she did not insist that I accompany her—she trusted me to see that all of^er possessions were accounted for, and so I was spared.'' Flatly she ended, "The Comanches killed them all within two days of their departure."

  "I see," Beth said in a shaky voice, wondering with revulsion if Rafael had met those same Comanches and had suggested to them precisely where they might find his wif
e. A quiver went through her at the ugly thought, not wanting to believe him capable of such vicious action and yet fearful that he was. There was just one more question she had to ask, "And Senor Mendoza, what of him?"

  "He has his own rancho not far from here," Manuela answered. A pitying look on her face, she added, "I should warn you that Don Miguel still considers him a member of the family... and he will be here tonight for dinner!"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Manuela proved to be an excellent lady's maid, for she had a fine eye for fabric and color; she was helpful without being obsequious. It was Manuela who decided that Beth would wear a rich silk gown of deep purple, and that the burnished, silvery curls would be arranged high on the small head, one long ringlet coaxed to lie curled against the white neck and slim shoulders revealed by the gown's low-cut bodice.

  The two women did not discuss Consuela or what happened further, but it was never far from Beth's mind. And just as she was about to leave the room, she turned to Manuela and asked abruptly, "Does Rafael know the truth about me?"

  Manuela bit her lip and would not meet Beth's eyes. "No, senora, he does not. Dona Consuela threatened me with physical harm if I ever spoke of it—and after her death the subject did not arise." Giving Beth an unhappy look, she added, "It would do little good to tell him now—he would not believe it and there is no proof." She glanced away and said in a low tone, "I would not want to reveal my part in it, senora. I am very much afraid that he would have me dismissed. I am not young, senora—I have no place to go, no place to live, and most of all I would have no work."

  "But if you explained that it was because of Con-suela's plotting that you did it—that she made you do it?" Beth persisted vehemently, wanting intensely for Rafael to know the truth, even now after all these years.