‘Miss Emerson,’ he sat on the edge of the sofa, ‘before we begin, should we not – forgive me – should we not discuss terms?’
‘Terms?’ She made it sound as vulgar as he felt. ‘Forgive me, Mr Craddock, my brother is not here at the moment, or he would have explained to you. Mine is a gift from God. It is not a question of terms, but one of healing. What you arrange with my brother is no concern of mine. Now, sit at your ease, Mr Craddock, and tell me about yourself.’
It was dangerously easy to talk to her. She had pen and paper beside her, but did not write, just sat quite still, the small, firm chin cupped in those siren’s hands, holding him in the focus of amber-flecked grey eyes.
He stumbled through his prepared brief as well as he could, feeling ashamed of himself as he did so. How could he deceive this ethereal creature? And, more to the point, would he be able to?
Rachel Emerson listened in sympathetic silence as he told her about the childhood fall, the long spell of unconsciousness, and the increasingly frequent seizures that followed. ‘It has made it impossible for me to serve in the army, as I wished,’ he ended his tale, ‘and of course marriage must be out of the question.’ Now why had he said that? It was not in his brief.
‘I see.’ What did she see? She rose and for a moment he thought she had seen through his story and was about to order him to leave. But instead she moved across the room to stand behind him. ‘No, no, don’t get up. I am not a woman now, Mr Craddock, but a healer.’ He felt her slim, strong hands at the back of his neck.
‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘An absolute nest of vipers. Take off your jacket, Mr Craddock, and your cravat, please, while I close the shutters. You find the light trying, do you not? It is always better to work in twilight. Close your eyes, if you please, and think of some happy place where you have been. In your childhood, perhaps?’
‘Mine was not a happy childhood.’ He had shrugged himself out of the well-fitted jacket, glad that he had never risen to the services of a valet, and gladder still that he had put on a clean shirt that morning.
‘I am sorry.’ She had closed the shutters now and the room was more like a deep-sea cave than ever. ‘But there must have been some happy times, some happy places.’ She was behind him again, her hands finding tensions at the back of his neck that he had not known existed. They moved gently upwards and through the close-cropped hair to his temples. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘Don’t think about your hair, Mr Craddock, think of that happy place, be quiet there.’
He had indeed been wishing he had washed his hair that morning and was deeply disconcerted. How long was he going to be able to keep up his pretence with this sorceress? A happy place? He found himself thinking of something Caterina had said that morning about their happy time at Falmouth. It was true. It had been happy, that carefree walk along the cliffs, with the larks singing above. It had been a halcyon moment, the three of them easy together, good companions.
‘That is better,’ said the soothing voice from behind him. ‘Keep your thoughts there, keep them calm, keep them gentle. Then I think I will be able to help you.’ Her hands were quite still now, and, to his amazement, he began to feel something communicate itself from them to him, a warmth, a tingling … He had studied Dr Mesmer’s theories of animal magnetism and electrical currents for the purposes of this charade, and had dismissed the whole thing as charlatan’s rubbish. So what was happening to him now?
‘Don’t fight it, Mr Craddock.’ Her voice seemed to come from far away. ‘I cannot help you if you fight me. And you do need help, though maybe not the help you thought you needed.’ The gentle fingers moved down over his forehead and eyes. ‘Calm now, quiet now, you might even sleep a little. Think of that faraway, happy place, rest there.’
He was nowhere now, or everywhere … There was no time, no place, only a rhythm that might be the waves of the sea or the beating of his heart … It went on for five minutes? For half an hour? An eternity?
‘That’s very good, Mr Craddock.’ The hands lifted from his forehead and he opened his eyes slowly to the underwater dimness of the room. ‘I’ll leave you for a moment. When you feel able, open the shutters for me, would you?’
I would do anything for you. But he did not say it. He sat for a few moments after she left him, trying to recapture that deep quiet, to understand what it had meant, what had happened to him. He had seen something, understood something, but what was it? At last, he rose a little unsteadily to his feet and moved over to throw back the shutters and look down at the dazzling view of the river below, with its active tangle of small shipping, and, on the far side of the river, the Anthea, reloading now. She would sail for England soon and he must send a report by her, but what would he say?
He moved to a silver-framed looking glass and tied his cravat with hands that shook a little. Putting on the blue coat Stultz had made for him he tried again to recapture what it was he had understood.
He was back at the window, noticing the telescope on a balcony table, when the door from the staircase opened and a tall man came into the room.
‘Ah, you have finished; I thought you would have. How do you do, Mr Craddock. I hope that clever sister of mine has done you some good.’ Where his sister was slender and elegant, Ralph Emerson was tall and broad, with a rubicond complexion that suggested a lavish style of life. His hand, too, clasping Jeremy’s, was hot and moist, where hers had been cool and firm. He was handsome, Jeremy supposed, if you liked those florid kind of good looks.
But he returned Emerson’s greeting civilly enough. ‘Your sister has a great gift, sir.’
‘That’s what they all say.’ Ralph Emerson rubbed his large hands. ‘It’s a funny thing, Mr Craddock, and I wouldn’t say it to everyone, but my sister’s gift means nothing to me. But in my view that makes me all the more fit to handle her affairs. Bless her heart, she would cure all the world for love, if I would let her. But the labourer is worthy of his hire, Mr Craddock, or hers as the case may be. Besides, we only value what we pay for. I am sure you, as a man of the world, will understand that.’ And he proceeded to a brief, firm statement of terms that made Jeremy stare. ‘In gold, of course,’ he concluded. ‘You and I know just what this Portuguese paper money they are so lavish with is worth. And a down payment for the first three treatments the next time you come, Mr Craddock? I am sorry to have to say it, but we have had some unpleasant experiences, my sister and I. And would you be so good as to make a neat little parcel of it, and hand it to me as inconspicuously as possible? My poor Rachel very much minds what she looks on as the sordid commercial aspect of her work, but man must live, Mr Craddock, and woman too. You will find out soon enough how the wretched mercenary Portuguese take advantage of the foreigners in their midst. I have heard stories of problems your gallant army is having just in getting supplied, and I have no doubt the captain of the Anthea down there at the quay is paying over the odds for the fast unloading job he has had. And a heavy enough lot of goods it looked too! Supplies for the army, I take it, since it all seemed to be going straight upstream.’
‘Was it? I am afraid I was so busy getting my young companions and their baggage ashore I did not have time to notice anything else. I was glad to get on to land too, I can tell you.’ He turned to look out across the balcony. ‘You have such a good view from here I should think you could almost see for yourself. Specially with this splendid telescope. May I?’ He picked it up and focused it on the Anthea, making a little business of it as if it was something he was not used to doing. ‘No, I see what you mean. You can’t really tell the detail at this distance, can you? It might be almost anything they are loading now, except that even I can tell it is not wine.’
‘Nor will be for years to come, by what I hear. One army is as bad as another when it comes to ravaging the countryside. I suspect that the worthy wine merchants here in Porto pray nightly that wherever Lord Wellington turns when he has finally got rid of Masséna, it is not this way. They have had more than their share here. My sister and I a
rrived quite soon after Wellington’s brilliant strike across the Douro. What a man! What a general! I cannot tell you how impatient I get with the moaners here who complain that he does not move fast enough. And you have them in England too, I believe. What is the word there? You will find us all eager for the latest news.’
‘I can imagine so.’ He must not seem too cautious. ‘The uproar over the Convention of Cintra died down in the end, and Lord knows that bit of lunacy was no fault of Wellington’s, but there are still plenty of Whigs in and out of parliament who run him down as a do-nothing Indian general.’
‘I am sure you do not agree with them, Mr Craddock? You must feel, as I do, that he is working to some masterplan of his own.’
‘I am sure of it. But as to what it is! I am neither a fighting man nor a strategist, to my sorrow.’
‘You regret it? Then we must hope that my sister will be able to help you. We are agreed then. We had better ask my sister when she thinks she should see you next. Some people find themselves so fatigued after the first meeting that there needs to be quite an interval before the next one, but you look stout enough to me.’
‘I do feel tired,’ he said, and it was true. Something in him had been profoundly shaken, and it was hard to concentrate on parrying Emerson’s carefully careless questions. Doing so, he was horribly afraid that he might have found the man he was sent to look for.
But here she was, holding out a friendly hand in farewell. ‘I do hope I have not tired you too much, Mr Craddock. Some people do find my treatment quite disconcerting at first, and do you know, I often think that is a good sign. Do, please, go home and rest for a while. Your man is waiting for you with the servants downstairs. You are staying with Senhor Gomez of course?’
‘Yes.’ He had meant to ask the Emersons’ advice about possible lodgings, now decided against it. If his suspicions were well founded that would simply land him in a nest of spies. ‘When should I come to you again, Miss Emerson? I feel –’ he paused, lost for words, ‘I feel as if something had happened to me.’
‘I hope it has.’ She smiled at him, and his heart jumped. ‘Take a day to find your way round Porto, Mr Craddock, and come to me at the same time the day after.’
‘I shall look forward to it,’ he told her, and meant it more than he liked.
Caterina had been showing Harriet the terraced garden, when a servant intercepted them by the fountain to announce a caller. ‘Mr Ware? Ask him to join us in the loggia. And wine and cakes, of course. He’s an old acquaintance,’ she told Harriet as they started to move back up the series of terraces. ‘They are a wine family too; we played together as children … a long time ago; they sent him to England to school, well before the French invaded. I never much liked his mama. Funny, I remember her much better than I do him.’
‘Then he’s not the one –’ Harriet started, and broke off, angry with herself.
‘No, love, he’s not the one. Must I remind you of your promise?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. But, surely, Caterina, such an old friend – would you not like to be alone with Mr Ware, to talk about old times?’
‘Nothing I would dislike more,’ Caterina told her. ‘You are my chaperone, love, remember. And you look less and less like one with every day in the sun, so, please, Harryo, some starchy airs at least, for my sake.’
Harriet laughed. ‘I’ll do my best, but it’s hard to be starchy when I’m so happy. I just wish you were too, Cat dear. I know I mustn’t ask – but is there no news at all?’
‘None. And I love you for not asking.’ With a quick kiss. ‘But, come, we are keeping our gallant waiting, and he will tell his mother our manners are atrocious, and she will tell all Porto.’
They found Frank Ware standing in the vine-covered loggia, with a little posy in his hands. ‘Welcome home, Miss Gomez,’ he handed it to her. ‘I remember how you used to love flowers. It seems a long time since I called you Caterina and pulled your hair.’
‘It is a long time. You must meet my good friend Miss Brown. And thank you for these; it’s good to see the Portuguese flowers again.’ She handed them to the servant who was pouring wine. ‘Put these in a vase for me, Sancho, would you? Now, sit down, Mr Ware and tell me everything that has happened here in Porto. I feel as strange as if I were just returned from the moon.’
‘I know,’ he said warmly. ‘I felt just the same when I got back, but I promise you it soon wears off. My mother sends her love and asks you to name a day for her to give a little party for you at our house, to meet all your old friends.’
‘How very kind of Mrs Ware.’ But this was going altogether too fast for her. ‘Tell her I would like it above all things, but not quite at once. I need to find my feet a little, and Harriet and I need to do some shopping. I caught some glances as we came up from the quay yesterday that made me think we are not quite in the Portuguese mode.’
‘But then you never were much of a one for conforming, were you?’ He was beginning to think none of this was going to be so bad as he had feared. ‘I remember you as always the rebel. We were a fine lot of tearaways.’ He turned to include Harriet in the conversation. ‘And Miss Gomez always in the wicked lead.’
‘I had no mother to make me mind my ways,’ said Caterina. ‘But they were good days just the same. I have hardly dared wonder what happened to the rest of us, Mr Ware.’
‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your dear Maria, Miss Gomez. I remember her well, how good she was to us all, and how patient.’
‘Thank you.’ She was surprisingly moved by the tribute. ‘Was anyone else killed in the French invasion, any of our friends?’ And when she saw him hesitate. ‘Please, I have to know, and I would so much rather hear it from you.’
‘I know just how you feel,’ he said warmly. ‘When I got back, there seemed to be almost a conspiracy of silence, as if it was too bad to be talked about. Well, it was. By a miracle, our house was spared, and all our servants survived, but other people in the Rua Nova dos Inglesas were less fortunate. There were the most shocking stories, which I will spare you, but in fact, of our little group of friends no one was hurt in the actual attack. Well, most of the English were safe away, of course, and the ones who were on board the ships that were caught in harbour were not molested. The worst was over by the time they were taken. It was only in the savagery of the first attack that people were hurt, like your poor Maria. The French claim that they discovered such evidence of atrocities by the mob before they took the town that there was no holding their men. Well, a sack is a terrible business. I am glad Wellington has managed to save Lisbon from that. What was the talk in England about what he is going to do next, Miss Gomez? You can imagine how anxious we are here lest he should choose this route to push on into Spain.’
‘Goodness, don’t ask me,’ she said. ‘I was shut up in a convent; no news of the war there, or of much else. But, tell me, our Portuguese friends, what of them?’
‘Portuguese?’ He thought for a moment. ‘Did we have Portuguese friends? I hardly recollect – Forgive me.’ He had remembered about her father. ‘But you know how it has always been, here in Oporto.’
‘I do indeed,’ she told him. The subject was closed, and she changed it. ‘Do you know an American brother and sister, the Emersons? My cousin is here in the hopes of a cure from Miss Emerson. He is seeing her now. Which reminds me, he is anxious to find somewhere to live nearer to the centre of town where they are. Can you think of anything, Mr Ware?’
‘Your cousin?’ He was thinking fast. ‘As for the Emersons, I am sorry to tell you that my mother has had some treatment from Miss Emerson and does not feel it has done her much good. But then her health is so precarious –’
‘Yes, of course.’ She was remembering his mother with more and more dislike. ‘Perhaps Miss Emerson will be more lucky with my cousin. He is my mother’s sister’s son. I don’t quite know what happened to her. She must be dead, I suppose. He certainly talks of a solitary childhoo
d.’
‘Poor fellow,’ said Frank Ware perfunctorily. ‘As to lodgings for him. Miss Gomez, would he perhaps like to come to us? My mother was saying just the other day how we rattle about in our big house, with only the two youngest still in the nursery. I am sure we could make a set of apartments available to him, if he fancied it. And it is only a step up the hill from our house to the Emersons’. I am sure my mother would be delighted to have him.’ He was sure of nothing of the kind, but meant to see to it that she was. It was beginning to strike him that he could do a great deal worse than marry Caterina Gomez and her promised vineyards. She had grown to be a fine figure of a woman, and seemed to have quite lost the wildness that had made her formidable in their childhood days. And if it did nothing else, marriage with her would free him from his mother. He stayed ten minutes longer than the statutory length for a morning visit and pressed her hand so warmly when he took his leave at last that Harriet watched his retreating figure with a look of amused comprehension. ‘A suitor, no less.’ She smiled at Caterina.
‘I am afraid so.’
‘You don’t like him? He seemed well enough to me.’
‘A nonentity; always has been. I am afraid I led him by the nose when we were children. And all he wants now is to get away from his dreadful gossip of a mother.’
‘But, Caterina, love, have you thought – It might make him just the man for you.’ It cost her a curious pang to say it. She had rather liked the diffident young man.
‘Never!’ said Caterina savagely. And then, ‘Forgive me. I don’t mean to be cross with you, Harriet dear, but I’d rather die an old maid than marry a cipher like that.’
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