by Ann Bridge
‘But back to Spain, where they came from, one supposes,’ the bailiff said.
‘I hope to God they have,’ Nick muttered fervently in Gil’s ear.
Chapter 9
With the arrival of Richard Atherley and the Ambassador on the Saturday, the Duke’s preoccupation switched from wine to partridges; the former was made to his satisfaction, and with his head-keeper he was constantly out and about, deciding on which part of the estate the birds were most numerous, where the guns should stand—partridges are driven in Portugal—and which of the peasants should be enrolled as beaters. But Sir Noël, fond as he was of shooting, could at first spare little attention from Gralheira itself—the pictures, the polychrome sculptures, the astonishing array of Chippendale furniture.
‘Really, this house is quite fantastic, Richard,’ he said on the Sunday morning, after his Counsellor had shown him the Chapel upstairs, which was even fuller of treasures than the rest of the house. ‘Have you seen the carpet in my bedroom? I must know what it is; I’ve never seen one like it—all blues and yellows, absolutely exquisite.’
‘An Arraiolos, I expect,’ Richard said, following him along a corridor.
‘Now which way do I go? Oh ah; there is the cabinet with the blanc de chine—that’s my landmark,’ his chief said. ‘This place is like the maze at Hampton Court!’ It having been established that the bedroom carpet was an Arraiolos, old, deep, soft, and beautiful in its faded tones, they went downstairs again. Sir Noël was as delighted with his host as with the house, and said as much as they strolled out into the knot-garden—‘He really is a complete charmer. No wonder Luzia is so bewitching. I approve of her young man, too—I hope the old gentleman is pleased about it.’
‘I think he is, and with good reason.’ The Duke had told Richard the evening before of Nick’s enthusiasm about the vintage, his efforts to speak Portuguese, and his own sense that the young man would really, in time, be able to ‘run’ Gralheira; he passed some of this on.
‘Yes, that all sounds very good; a place like this must be a fearful responsibility,’ Sir Noël said. He turned and looked back at the grey baroque front of the house. ‘It must be practically half the size of Versailles!—keeping up the fabric alone would be ruinous, in any other climate.’
At that moment Luzia and Nick emerged from the morningroom; they both looked very happy and animated. Luzia went straight up to the two diplomats.
‘Sir Noël, how do you like my engagement-ring?’ She held out her hand. ‘It has just come.’
‘It’s a most beautiful thing,’ he said, after looking at it attentively. ‘An antique, surely? And an English setting, one would have thought,’ he observed to Nick. ‘How clever of you to find it, Heriot.’
‘He did not! It has only come back from the jeweller in Oporto; it had to be altered, because it was too big.’ She recounted the history of the ring.
‘No! Well, that is really charming. It makes me more anxious than ever to meet your Mother,’ he added, turning to Nick. ‘I am glad I shall not have long to wait.’
Gil and Hetta now came out through another of the French windows; Luzia called to them. When they came up—‘Hetta, do take Sir Noël to see the fountain in the lower garden, and the azulejo seat which has the picture of the hunter driven up a tree by the bear,’ she said. ‘Once he gets involved with my Father and his birds, he will have no time left to see anything!’
Hetta, a little surprised, obediently walked off with Sir Noël—Richard made as if to go with them.
‘No, Richard—I want you,’ the girl said, with her pretty little imperious air, and led him back into the house; Gil and Nick followed. It was Richard’s turn to be surprised, but he soon learned the reason for this manoeuvre. Luzia, Gil, and Nick, in conclave, had decided that de Castelo Branco was the best person to inform Atherley of the possible menace that hung over his wife, and to persuade him to fall in with the arrangements of the Security Police. ‘Since Gil is in External Affairs, he will have to pay attention to him,’ Luzia had explained to Nick; ‘Richard can be very stubborn, and is apt to think all Hetta’s and my ideas foolish or exaggerated.’ Now, sitting in the morning-room, he listened to the young diplomat’s report on the situation; he was uneasy, a little vexed; at the end he asked some rather probing questions.
‘So no one has seen these men but my wife?’
‘Yes, Richard.’ Luzia spoke impatiently. ‘The ranchos have seen them, Papa has seen them at the adega, the foreman has seen them working, and says they are not used to treading wine.’
‘I meant, no one had seen them watching Hetta.’
‘No, because this they only did when she was walking alone, which now she does no more; but old Fernando saw them spying on the house.’
‘In any case, Colonel Marques has given his orders, which must be carried out,’ de Castelo Branco said a little stiffly. ‘Let us hope it is a pure coincidence that three strange Spaniards should turn up just when more men were needed for the vintage; but it is essential to make sure, in view of what has happened in Spain.’
‘Yes, of course. Though that may not be so simple, if they have left again already. Have the police reported anything?’
‘Not so far,’ Gil said.
‘Has my wife been told that she should not go out alone?’
It was Luzia who replied.
‘No—we all thought it better not to alarm her, because of the child which is coming. But we arrange that she does not—and now that you are here, this will be still more easy.’
‘Have the servants been told?’
‘Elidio, yes; and the keepers, and the gardeners—that they should come and say at once if any strangers are seen, while others follow them, and tell the police.’ She turned to Castelo Branco. ‘Oh, I have not yet had an opportunity to tell you—the old miller, him they call The Ferreiro, was in São Pedro do Sul yesterday evening, taking back some flour, and he saw three men at one of the very small inns, asking for a room, in bad Portuguese.’
‘Did he say which inn? When did you learn this?’
‘Only this morning—The Ferreiro comes to Mass now in the Chapel, because he is lame. But I rang up the Policia at once, and told the Chefe, and gave the street in which the inn stands. I told them to telephone to you, Gil, if they find out anything—not to leave a message, and on no account to tell Papa.’
‘Why, does the Duke not know about this?’ Richard asked in surprise.
‘No—both Subercaseaux and Colonel Marques thought it better not.’
‘Subercaseaux? How does he come into it?’
Luzia was beginning to explain when Elidio appeared to say that one asked for the Senhor Gil on the telephone; the others waited impatiently for his return.
‘Yes, they stayed there, all three of them: one with grey hair, one with moustaches, one rather small—but they had left by the time the police arrived. The inn-keeper thought they were returning to Spain.’
‘Pretty hopeless,’ Atherley commented gloomily.
‘The frontier-police have been alerted—they will look out for them.’
‘Yes, but that is only on the roads,’ Luzia said; ‘there are miles of open country between, where anyone can cross without being seen.’
Richard decided that he had better let British Intelligence in Madrid know what was going on at Gralheira, and went and used the telephone outside the pantry. When he got Ainsworth he began by saying that he was now ‘staying in the same house as my wife’.
‘Oh yes. Anything more been seen of the three amateur wine-treaders?’ Ainsworth enquired breezily, to his astonishment.
‘How on earth did you hear about them?’
‘Oh, an old ecclesiastic got word to our indigenous colleagues; it seems he’d been in touch with your Missis, and he asked them to let us know, and you too. I expect you know who I mean—I gathered he was a pal of yours.’
‘Yes, I know him.’
‘Well, what goes on?’
‘Nothing, at the moment; t
hey’ve cleared off, but no one knows where to. The frontier is being watched.’
‘That means nothing, in your part of the world. Have the flatties on the spot been notified?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. They’d better keep a sharp look-out, because three of the people our Spanish friends rather suspected of being mixed up in that car performance, and were trying to keep an eye on, disappeared ten days or a fortnight ago. That just about fits, doesn’t it?’
It did—and Richard returned to Luzia’s morning-room with the last remains of his normal incredulity uncomfortably shattered. Gil was pleased to learn that the Spanish Security Police were also on the job, and expressed his intention of driving in to São Pedro do Sul the moment after lunch to inform the Chief of Police there, as well as Colonel Marques’s emissary, of the fact that three Spanish suspects had disappeared from Madrid at just about the appropriate moment. Apart from that, they all agreed rather gloomily that there seemed nothing more to be done, except to keep Hetta under constant watch.
‘Yes, let her know that we all think she should not go out alone at all,’ Luzia said firmly to Atherley. ‘But do not, Richard, tell her about these men being missing in Spain. There are her nerves and her health to consider.’
The arrival of Lord and Lady Heriot in time for a late tea created a diversion from these worrying preoccupations, and induced a more cheerful atmosphere. The Duke was surprised—and pleased—at the degree of intimacy and affection obviously already existing between Luzia and her prospective parents-in-law. He realised that she had stayed with them, and was fond of them, but he was quite unprepared for Lady Heriot’s ‘Well, my dearest child, how happy I am!’ as she enfolded the girl in a warm embrace—still less to hear Lord Heriot say ‘Well, Luzia, now I suppose I am entitled to kiss you too!’ as he did so. Luzia, blushing a little, thanked Lady Heriot for her engagement-ring, holding it out to be admired; the old lady pushed it about on her finger.
‘I was afraid it would be far too big,’ she remarked.
‘Oh, it was; Nick would not let me wear it till it had been altered. This was so very good of you, Bonne-Mama.’
‘Oh, is that what you’re going to call her?’ Lord Heriot asked.
‘Yes—Nick and I thought it would be nicest.’
‘I like that—it’s pretty. And what am I to be? Bon-papa?’
Luzia looked at him with mock archness.
‘Would not Beau-père be more flattering? Also it has a nicer sound.’
While Lord Heriot laughingly settled for Beau-père, Nick turned to the Duke.
‘So long as you don’t wish to call me your gender, Sir,’ he said hopefully.
Then there were more introductions: the Ambassador, the Atherleys, Gil. After tea the men all repaired to the gun-room, where their weapons were laid out on a huge table—João, the head-keeper, was busily polishing them afresh. A gun was found for Gil, and their host explained the arrangements to Lord Heriot and the Ambassador.
‘We do not use loaders here,’ he said rather apologetically; ‘our country-people are not very good at it. Of course there will be a young keeper with you, who will carry your gun if you wish.’
Both his principal guests politely expressed themselves satisfied. ‘Do we walk the birds up?’ Lord Heriot asked.
‘No, they are driven—after a fashion! It is all rather informal; we do not have regular butts, we stand behind walls, or any suitable piece of cover. But I hope we shall see plenty of birds.’
The guns set out the following morning after an early breakfast; the women were to join them for lunch. Luzia and Hetta spent the morning showing Lady Heriot the house, Luzia again lamenting the scarcity of bath-rooms.
‘Personally, I prefer a sitz-bath,’ Lady Heriot said. ‘But I see that it might be convenient to have more than two bath-rooms. Is there perhaps a shortage of water?’ she enquired practically.
‘Oh no—it is just that Papa and Tia Francisca never thought of it. But Papa has promised me that when Nick comes to live here he will put in one for him, and an extra one for our guests—who after all are of another generation, and like a real bath! I hope to persuade him also to put in some basins with running water—it would save at least two maids, when the house is full.’
‘Do you have any difficulty about getting servants?’ Lady Heriot was still practical.
‘Oh no, none at all at present—but how long this will last, one does not know. Even here, the young men begin to wish to go to work in the towns. That is why I hope that presently Papa will accept Nick’s idea of having one or two small factories on the estate to use up the resin—that would encourage them to live at home.’
‘Does your Father not like the idea, then?’
‘Oh, Nick has not put it to him yet. He wishes first to learn all about the things that are already done here, like the wine-making, before he suggests any plan of his own.’
‘Very right,’ Nick’s Mother said. ‘But don’t let him be too modest, my dear; if Nick has a fault, it is lack of self-confidence.’
‘A pessimist, as he says himself!’ Luzia replied, laughing. ‘Yes, I will keep an eye on that, Bonne-Mama.’
However ‘informal’ the butts at Gralheira might be, there was no lack of birds; and both the Ambassador and Lord Heriot, after a life-time of shooting-lunches, were startled by the one which succeeded an excellent morning’s sport, when the women joined them. Their host ushered them all into a large barn-like building, almost the size of the nave of a village church in England, which with its lofty roof and bare walls it rather resembled. At one end was an open hearth at least fifteen feet across, in which the trunks of three or four young trees were burning; down both sides ran wide trestle tables, their wooden tops scrubbed till they were pale and grooved, set with gay country crockery and large china jugs of wine. At the smaller of these the shooting-party sat down, and were promptly served by four or five smiling women in bright head-scarves with a complete hot meal—soup, roast chicken, spiced baked ham with spinach, and open flans of fresh apricots. All this was brought to the table from a series of small charcoal stoves and ovens, built into the wall on both sides of the huge hearth, and kept burning by an ancient crone who went from one to another, fanning the charcoal with a palm-leaf; Lady Heriot was fascinated by this arrangement. When they were about halfway through their repast the keepers and beaters came in, very quietly and politely, and sat down at the other, much larger, table, followed by a number of farm labourers; the brightly-scarved women served them in their turn with exactly the same food.
‘Oh yes,’ Ericeira said, in answer to a question of Sir Noël’s, ‘this room is in use every day except Sundays. The farm-workers always come in for a hot mid-day meal—they start work early, and continue till late; this is the usual arrangement, it saves the men the fatigue of a walk home, and their wives the trouble of cooking for them. There are such places on all parts of the estate.’
‘How very pleasant,’ Sir Noël said approvingly. ‘No, down, boy!’ to a large mastiff-like animal which approached him to beg for food—for with the men had come the dogs, and soon the room was fairly awash with them, of all shapes, breeds, and sizes. The estate gun-dogs, rather good spaniels and pointers, were fairly restrained; but those belonging to the farm-hands were extremely persistent—they swarmed round the guests, putting up muddy and insistent paws; also they smelt strongly of dog.
‘May one feed them?’ Hetta asked.
‘Yes, by all means—throw them some bread. It is a meal-time for them too,’ her host said smiling.
Over coffee, which they drank out of large thick cups, Lord Heriot looked up at the timbered roof, and round him at the spotless white-washed walls, and then asked about the origin of the building.
‘I imagine that it was originally a barn, from its size, and that the hearth and stoves were added when it came to be used for its present purpose.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘I really cannot tell you. My Father s
aid that in his grandfather’s time it was already in use as a dining-hall, but I fancy the main structure is much older than that—and than the farm out at the back.’
‘Oh, is that where these pretty women live?’ Lady Heriot asked.
‘Yes—and at another farm close by.’
‘Well, it was a marvellous lunch,’ the Ambassador said—‘in a marvellous setting.’
They lingered over their coffee while the keepers and beaters finished their meal; then they set out again. This time the women walked with them: Lady Heriot with the Duke, Nick with Luzia—the girl politely offered to accompany his Father, but he waved her aside—‘You go with Nick, and spot for him. If I feel lonely I may get one of these girls to come with me!’ he said laughing. The Ambassador had firmly nobbled Hetta, so Gil and Lord Heriot were alone, except for the keepers who accompanied each member of the party. Luzia was in fact eager to see how Nick would acquit himself.
‘Splendid lot of birds your Father has here,’ he said as they walked across the fields to the first stand. ‘Very strong on the wing, too.’
‘Did you get plenty this morning?’
‘Only two brace—I’m not on my day. Anyhow I’m never all that hot. Your Father’s a marvellous shot, and so is the Amb:—an absolute nailer. I don’t think he missed a single bird this morning, and some of them were quite difficult.’
The Ambassador’s conversation with Hetta began on rather different lines.
‘I am grateful to you for all this,’ he said. ‘I’ve been longing to see this place for years, but I don’t suppose I should ever have got here, but for you.’
‘It was not I—it was Luzia who arranged it.’
‘Yes, and who had Luzia to stay in Madrid? In any case, I can see for myself the sort of position that you and Richard have in this house; without your backing I doubt if the child would have brought it off alone—insisting on having a strange Ambassador to stay, on her ipse dixit! Do you see her doing it?’
Hetta laughed. ‘No, I do not, quite. Obviously your being Richard’s chief made it easier.’