by Anne Hampson
Dora not taking to her lovely young sister-in-law.
‘Did your brother know of Dora’s dislike of you?’ she asked, then looked apologetically at Carlota, realizing that she, Eleanor, was exhibiting a curiosity in the affairs of the Conde’s family which could almost amount to impertinence. After all, she was merely an employee, and as such she should remember her place. To her relief Carlota appeared not to notice as she smiled at Eleanor a little sadly and said,
‘I kept it from Miguel, hoping all the time that Dora would change towards me. I used to wonder if I were to blame—I was only ten and a half when she came to the Palacio as a bride, and I think that perhaps a newly-wed girl does not want to be bothered with a kid sister.’
That was no explanation at all, decided Eleanor, but her awareness of her position did now prevent further questioning of Carlota. But she did say,
‘I was in the portrait gallery one day and noticed a space beside the portrait of your brother. He must have taken her death so to heart that he had it removed. ’
‘That’s right, he did—immediately on his return from Greece. It was awful—’ Breaking off, Carlota shuddered, a spasm so violent passing through her body that Eleanor actually felt it against her own arm. ‘He was like a madman, but oh, so quiet! He had a terrible expression on his face—it was like murder, Eleanor, you have no idea. I cried and cried, but he took no notice of me. The order to remove the portrait must have set the staff wondering what had happened to their master, for he told Gregorio to throw it into the attic, where we put all the stuff which you in England call junk. ’
‘In the attic?’ Eleanor stared unbelievingly at her companion. ‘How very strange.’ She had imagined the portrait to be in some special place, carefully packed, so that its beauty and perfection would be maintained until the day when Dom Miguel was able to have it replaced, where it belonged, beside his own beautifully executed portrait, in the
gallery.
‘It was strange, Eleanor. I truly believe that for a time my brother was ill in his mind. People can be, you know, with shock.’ Eleanor merely nodded and Carlota went on, ‘He is much, much better now. I do not think anyone would really notice that he carries so deep a sorrow. Do you agree?’
‘Yes, Carlota, I do agree. But your brother is often silent and deeply thoughtful. I expect that at these times he is brooding on his loss.’
‘I have also come to that conclusion, because he never used to be silent—at least, not for such long periods. Often he gives me the impression that although he remains with you and me—after dinner and at such times—he would in fact rather be alone.’ Absently Eleanor nodded, for she also had had the same impression. And yet, if Dom Miguel did wish to be alone there was nothing to prevent him from excusing himself and going off to his study or to one or other of the quiet apartments which were to be found in the great Palacio.
They were nearing the end of their journey and for the rest of it the two girls sat in silence, each occupied by her own thoughts. Eight months... Not long at all, mused Eleanor; the wound had probably not even begun to heal. It would heal eventually, because time was effective in smoothing away all pain, but it could take years and years. Again that weight pressed down upon Eleanor. She felt dejected and, for some quite unfathomable reason, inexpressibly defeated.
On their arrival at the Palacio some sort of commotion appeared to be going on at the far end of the hall. Blinking at her friend, Carlota stopped.
‘What an extraordinary noise! ’ The tone of voice, and the sudden haughty drawing up of herself, took Eleanor completely by surprise, as did the sharp command which although spoken in Portuguese was plainly understandable. In obedience to it the housekeeper appeared, her face red, her whole demeanour one of meek apology. A question and answer followed, then another. Carlota’s manner was icily arrogant and the housekeeper’s almost cringing.
‘Chastising one of the maids here, in the main hall!’ Carlota turned to Eleanor as she spoke. ‘How dare she? The servants’ quarters is the place for making a fuss—if she must make one! Were my brother here she would have been instantly dismissed; I have told her that!’ Another swing round and within seconds of Carlota’s rapping out an order the woman was thankfully making her escape. ‘Storming at Julia,’ continued Carlota, clearly roused by the woman’s conduct. ‘She says the girl keeps going off somewhere!’ Carlota had begun to walk towards the small cosy salon in which she and Eleanor usually took afternoon tea, and Eleanor fell into step beside her. Julia... The girl was always going off somewhere.
‘Carlota,’ said Eleanor impulsively, 'do you think that could have been Julia I saw in the woods this morning?’ ‘Please forgive me,’ begged Carlota, calm now and faintly contrite. ‘I do not often lose my temper like that, but we never allow such behaviour from our servants. My brother would have made her tremble in her shoes.’
‘You didn’t do so badly yourself,’ commented Eleanor with a smile. ‘I was beginning to feel quite sorry for Ina.’
‘She was doing her duty, I suppose, but she knows better than to rave in the hall, where we can all hear her.’ She paused, dropping down her shoulder bag on to the couch. ‘The girl you saw this morning?’ Carlota shook her head. ‘Ina’s chastisement would be a little late, surely,’ she remarked, and Eleanor had to agree. Nevertheless, as she unwrapped her purchases in her bedroom a few minutes later Eleanor could not rid her mind of the idea that the woman she had seen in the woods was in fact Julia. There could be some explanation for the belated chastisement, or the girl could even have gone off again, later, as Ina had given Carlota to understand that Julia had gone off more than once.
Eleanor’s thoughts naturally switched to the coat, and Julia’s furtive behaviour, which was so reminiscent of the behaviour of the couple this morning as they slipped so hastily into the copse on hearing Carlota’s call.
‘What on earth are you bothering your head about it for?’ Eleanor demanded of her reflection in the mirror. ‘Even if there is something funny going on it has nothing at all to do with you! ’
CHAPTER FIVE
As the time for Dom Miguel’s return drew near Eleanor became filled with the expectancy of something pleasant, and at last admitted to herself that his presence afforded her pleasure, even though he did for the most part remain aloof from her. In contrast to these occasions were those far less familiar ones when he would unbend sufficiently to chat with her, as on the evening when Carlota had left them together and gone to bed early, or on the one or two instances when he had come upon Eleanor in the garden of an afternoon when Carlota had decided to take a siesta. Dom Miguel would drop his cloak of withdrawal and superiority and Eleanor would find herself waiting for that most attractive smile, or a softening of those hard metallic eyes, or even the nonchalant gesture of a hand, all of which gave him a more human aspect and she would find herself regarding him merely as Miguel, and not the grand and austere Conde Ramiro Vicente Miguel de Castro, noble owner of the Quinta de Castro and several solares and estates in other parts of the country. Carlota was also looking forward to his return, and the day before he was expected she seemed to take on an added glow, her voice portraying her excitement as she said, after lunch when she and Eleanor were strolling in the grounds of the Palacio,
‘This time tomorrow my brother will be home! I find myself looking forward to his return with the same eagerness as when I didn’t have you for company. Isn’t it strange?’
‘Not at all,’ smiled Eleanor, turning to glance at her.
‘It’s just as it should be.’
‘But before—well, I was lonely. Now I am not at all lonely, just the reverse, since dear Miguel found me so charming a friend as you. ’
‘Thank you for saying that, Carlota. I know that even when I have left here you and I shall remain friends.’ When she left... Dom Miguel had once expressed the wish that she would make her home here permanently, but although he had said that because of his conviction that his sister would never marry, Eleanor co
nsidered it very unlikely indeed that Carlota would remain single all her life. She was far too beautiful; men must admire her, and some day there would appear the one who would overlook that lapse, made when the girl was little more than a child. When that day came Eleanor would have to leave, as there would no longer be anything for which she would have to stay.
‘When you have left?’ Carlota stopped dead in her tracks. ‘You will never leave me, Eleanor! Say you won’t. Promise!’ Eleanor had to stop; she looked affectionately at Carlota, who had actually lost a little of her colour, and whose small hand was pressed to her heart.
‘I shan’t leave until the day arrives when you will no longer need me,’ she promised seriously.
‘I shall always need you.’ Carlota’s eyes darkened with puzzlement. ‘Why should you think the day might come when I shan’t need you?’
Eleanor hesitated, unable, naturally, to voice her thoughts about marriage.
‘You’ll grow up, Carlota,’ she reminded her gently at last, ‘and then you won’t need me around all the time.’
‘It isn’t that,’ returned Carlota, suddenly perceptive. ‘You think that one day I shall marry.’ A certain flatness entered the voice that only seconds ago had vibrated with excitement as Carlota spoke of her brother’s homecoming. ‘I shall never marry now—’ No, please do not interrupt, Eleanor, because I want to make my position clear to you, and then we will not talk any more about your leaving me. Here in Portugal, as in some other countries, we attach great importance to chastity. No man will ever ask my brother’s consent to marry me now.’ She turned her dark head away, and rested a brooding gaze on a tiny waterfall, artificially constructed like others of its kind, in the delightful meandering stream that danced its way about the garden and the park before emerging into adjoining land and finally merging with the River Tagus which carried its waters to the sea at Lisbon.
‘I see no reason why you should be so sure you’ll never marry,’ said Eleanor gently, surprised that neither Carlota nor she felt any real embarrassment at this conversation. This in itself was evidence of the strength of the friendship that had grown up between them, despite the difference in their ages. ‘You’re very lovely, Carlota, and one day you’re going to steal some lucky man’s heart. It’s inevitable.’
Already Carlota was shaking her head, emphatically.
‘He would have to be told—and that would be the end.’
‘No, dear, it would not. If he loved you then he would understand, and overlook something which happened when you were so very young and innocent—and unprotected.’ Carlota turned, her face pale and her lips quivering. ‘You make it sound as if it wasn’t entirely my fault.’
‘In my opinion it wasn’t.’
‘How generous you are! But no one here would see it in that light. ’
‘Some day they will, Carlota—at least, one very special person will, and he is the one who really matters.’
A long silence fell between the two girls after that and they strolled leisurely from the gardens into the park, Eleanor’s mind straying to the furtive behaviour of the couple last Sunday. As they reached the copse where the couple had hidden themselves Eleanor glanced down; something sparkled in the long grass and on picking it up she saw that it was a diamante clip. At least she believed it to be diamante until Carlota, exclaiming on seeing it in her friend’s palm, said it had belonged to her sister-in-law.
‘To Dora?’ Eleanor stared puzzledly at her. ‘These stones are real?’ They must be worth a small fortune, she thought, looking fascinatedly at it.
‘Of course they are.’ Taking it into her own hand, Carlota stared at it with the same perplexity as Eleanor. ‘How very strange that it should be here. Dora must have dropped it at some time or another—’ The girl broke off, shuddering. ‘It’s ... spooky, Eleanor. Here, take it!’ The clip was pressed into Eleanor’s hand whether she wanted it or not. ‘Put it back,’ advised Carlota in a rather frightened voice. ‘I do not like to handle it, Eleanor!’
‘Nonsense! Indeed it must not be put back. We will put it in some safe place—perhaps you will put it into her room?’
‘No, I will not! I never go in there,’ began Carlota, then broke off, trying to collect herself because now she was conscious of the strange expression with which her companion looked at her. ‘It—it is not a—happy room,’ she whispered after a while. ‘I went into it only once, and it seemed—seemed so full, still, of my sister-in-law’s presence. I had the unpleasant impression that my brother goes in there often, at night, and—and— sort of communes with—with her spirit. ’
Involuntarily Eleanor shuddered. But within seconds she had recovered and was telling Carlota not to be fanciful, remembering that she herself had been into the room and had not noticed anything spooky about it. She had admired it, in fact, and would have liked to stay longer, had she had some legitimate reason for being there. Nevertheless, she decided, frowning now in thought, she would not like to occupy such a room. It was too cold, a room lacking happy associations— Abruptly Eleanor checked her musings, remembering that it had been the room in which Dom Miguel must have been more than happy, many, many times. And now ... did he, as Carlota suggested, go in there often, at night, so as to be with Dora, in spirit? Eleanor had told Carlota not to be fanciful, but her suggestion was not beyond the bounds of possibility even though something within Eleanor protested vigorously against the idea. It would be unhealthy, and totally uncharacteristic of Dom Miguel as she knew him. A man with his strong personality would surely fight his sorrow, not succumb to it. Carlota was speaking, breaking into Eleanor’s thoughts and Eleanor turned, grateful for the interruption, for such reflections were not pleasant.
‘What are you going to do with it, Eleanor? You can’t give it to Miguel; it will only make him unhappy to see it, for it was a birthday gift from him to Dora.’
‘I’ll find a place for it, Carlota. Perhaps, with your permission, I could go into Dora’s room and put it safely in a drawer, or a box?’ Eleanor knew there was a jewel box on the dressing-table and she decided to place the clip in there, Julia—The name rose to the edge of Eleanor’s lips, for she was seeing her even yet again, carrying away the coat. She wondered if she were right in suspecting that it was Julia she had seen, almost at this very spot, on Sunday morning. It was a wonder that one or other of the couple, whoever they were, had not seen the clip, lying there in the grass. But it suddenly struck Eleanor that as they had entered hurriedly, and would in all probability be concentrating on peering through the trees in order to ascertain whether or not it was safe for them to come out, the clip could quite easily have escaped their notice.
‘Of course you have my permission,’ Carlota was saying. ‘Yes, it is a good idea of yours to put the clip in Dora’s room, for all her other things are there—just as she left them when she went away for her holiday. ’
All her other things... All except the mink coat...
Immediately on Dom Miguel’s return the projected holiday was discussed and it was decided that they all go up to Miguel’s quinta in the Minho district of the far north of Portugal.
‘You will rest, though?’ said Carlota, eyeing her brother a trifle doubtfully. ‘You know, dear Miguel, that when we ever go to one of your estates you invariably spend some of the time working. ’
He smiled at her. They were sitting in the crimson and white small salon, waiting for afternoon tea to be served, and Miguel was leaning back in his big armchair, looking more bronzed than ever and also appearing to be more relaxed than Eleanor had ever seen him.
‘But then, my dear, I have gone specifically to do some
work. This time I’m going for a break from work.’
‘That is good! And we’ll be there for the festal She turned to Eleanor. ‘You’ll love it,’ she stated enthusiastically. ‘It takes place in the city of Viano do Castelo, and everyone crowds into the city because it is the gayest fair in the north. The women wear traditional costumes—that is, skirts with blac
k stripes and aprons beautifully embroidered with hearts and flowers and birds. And the boleros are ornamented with gold and silver filigree, and of course, there are the beautiful fringed shawls of the brightest colours imaginable.’ She carried on enthusing and after a while the Conde’s eyes caught those of Eleanor and he smiled and shook his head, and Eleanor chided herself for allowing her pulse to race in this extraordinary way. But there was no doubt about it, Dom Miguel’s personality was beginning to affect her in the most disturbing manner, and mingling with the pleasure derived from his company was a sort of nerve-twisting tension which amounted almost to fear. The sensation was vague but most certainly tangible, and Eleanor did admit to her consciousness the possibility of her sustaining a hurt which would not easily be erased.
But this idea could not mar her pleasurable expectancy and excitement when, after two hectic days of shopping and preparation, she found herself in the big car with its shining crest, being driven by an immaculately-uniformed chauffeur, out of the Palacio grounds and presently on to the coast road. On first being told she was to accompany the Conde and his sister she had not given much thought to clothes, surmising she would be in a similar position to that in which she was at the Palacio. But Dom Miguel had told her that she would be going with them when he and Carlota visited, and she would also dine with them when they entertained. Thus the reason for the shopping spree, which was done in Lisbon, where Eleanor spent practically all of what she had earned since coming to Portugal. She had bought three cocktail dresses and a couple of chic day dresses, besides an expensive trouser suit and several blouses and skirts. She considered she was packing far too many clothes; Carlota, coming into her room during this operation, looked at her and said,