Whispering

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  Carlotta was sitting beside the old lady in the dank-smelling carriage, and surrendered her place reluctantly to the two girls. ‘Take good care of my lady,’ she told Caterina. ‘And I’ll be there before you, senhora.’

  ‘Carlotta is to pick up what news she can on the way,’ explained Madame Fonsa as she received Caterina’s kiss and looked Harriet briskly up and down. Then she smiled at her. ‘You have been a good friend to my Caterina, I know. I am sorry to hear we are to lose you to marriage so soon, Miss Brown.’ The carriage doors closed on them. ‘We will go on speaking English, I think, just to be on the safe side.’ The carriage wheels groaned as it moved off, and she leaned forward to speak close to the two girls sitting opposite her. ‘I heard from my man. They got Madame Feuillide, but Luiz escaped. It’s hard to know whether to be glad or sorry.’

  ‘It depends what he does,’ said Caterina bleakly.

  ‘What do you expect?’

  ‘Something terrible, madame.’ They did not talk much after that.

  It had been a dark day, with scurrying rain storms, and the light was beginning to go when the carriage drew up outside the Wares’ house in the Rua Nova dos Inglesas. Frank was there at once to help them alight, with Carlotta anxious by his side, and his mother in all her finery hovering in the doorway.

  ‘I am more than honoured,’ she dropped her deepest curtsey for Madame Fonsa, gave Caterina a brief, wintry smile, and managed not to see Harriet at all. ‘I am so glad you brought your maid, madame. Madame Feuillide has failed me; I cannot imagine why. I was counting on her –’

  ‘My Carlotta will do anything in her power to help your guests,’ said the old lady, and moved indoors on a tide of obsequious thanks.

  It was a curious party. Since dinner at the Factory did not take place until the English hour of six, and most of the senior male members of the English community were at it, Mrs Ware was left to entertain the old men, the wives, the dowagers and the young, until their lords and masters chose to tear themselves away from the vintage port and walk down, with the guest of honour, to grace her establishment. Until then, the rest of the party must mark time as best they might. There were lavish refreshments, and music, of course, and a little half-hearted dancing. Young ladies sang and one young lady played the harp, rather badly, Caterina thought. But she had preoccupations of her own. News of her swiftly broken engagement was obviously out. She was aware all the time of censorious glances, whispers behind fans, a drawing away of elderly skirts. She ignored it, busy trying to see the faces of the menservants. She knew that Mrs Ware had hired extra help for the occasion, and could not forget what Luiz had said about masquerading as one of the flunkeys. But it was a most difficult task. Wax candles had been lit in sconces throughout the house by now, and it was full of shadows and dark places. And the footmen all looked alike, resplendent in powdered wigs and high-collared livery that did not necessarily fit. She thought that instinct would tell her if Luiz were near, but could not be sure of it. Oddly, she did not feel very much afraid. She knew Luiz well enough to be sure that vengeance on her would take second place to whatever else he had planned for tonight. He was a frighteningly single-minded man, and the more she thought about it, as she chattered and smiled and curtseyed, the more convinced she was that he was here somewhere. Or out in the street, waiting for Wellington? He would never have run for safety. Not Luiz.

  Jeremy Craddock brought her a glass of lemonade and she told him this, sotto voce. He had stayed away from the Factory dinner, partly as guest of the house, partly to watch out for Luiz. ‘He must know we will be looking for him here,’ he whispered back. ‘Most likely he will be in the street. That is why we are going up to meet Lord Wellington.’

  ‘You’re going –?’

  ‘Yes, Frank and I. And there are soldiers in the streets. No need for anxiety there. I expect tomorrow we shall be laughing at ourselves for all this worry.’

  ‘I do hope so, but I don’t quite believe it. I know Luiz, you see. He won’t have run for it.’

  Could she possibly love him still? Jeremy felt a sudden blaze of anger and pity. ‘Caterina, I am sorry. I hadn’t thought –’

  ‘Don’t think,’ she said. ‘There’s no time for that.’ And was suddenly engulfed in a bevy of English girls who had been getting up their courage to approach her, the notorious heroine of the occasion. After being aware all evening of being the focus of unkind gossip, it was pleasant to find herself included in this chattering, cheerful group of young people, and she was sorry when a maidservant managed to catch her attention and tell her that Madame Fonsa was asking for her. ‘She is not well, minha senhora.’

  She made swift apologies and turned to follow the messenger. ‘This way?’ she asked, surprised, when the girl turned towards the stairs.

  ‘Yes, senhora,’ she said hurriedly. ‘She fainted, and we took her up to the mistress’s room.’

  ‘Fainted? Have you sent for the doctor?’

  ‘Of course. But she has been asking for you.’

  Jeremy and Frank reached the English Factory just as a cheerful, talkative group emerged from it, Lord Wellington’s spare figure unmistakable in their midst. There was a crowd in the street, but it was a friendly one and burst into a ragged cheer when the liberator of Oporto appeared. ‘All’s well so far,’ Jeremy said to Frank as they started back down the crowded street.

  ‘Yes, not a werewolf in sight. Have we been starting at shadows, do you think?’

  ‘I do hope so,’ said Jeremy soberly.

  Mrs Ware was at the door again to greet the guest of honour in his plain, impeccable evening dress, and babbled of the honour he was doing her poor house as she led him indoors. The musicians struck up ‘See the Conquering Hero’, and there was a good deal of cheerful confusion as she led him between bowing and curtseying rows of guests to the inner room where Madame Fonsa sat enthroned. Frank, as man of the house, followed close behind, but Jeremy was looking for Caterina.

  As the music drew to a rather ragged close, he saw Harriet. ‘Where is Caterina?’ They asked each other the question almost simultaneously.

  ‘I’ve been looking for her all over,’ Harriet went on. ‘She’s not in any of the obvious places. She was talking to Miss Sandeman and her friends over there,’ she pointed. ‘And then when I next looked for her, she was gone. I don’t like it, Mr Craddock.’

  ‘No more do I. Oh, it’s probably nothing – we shall feel fools in a minute, but I will have a word with the young ladies, just the same.’

  ‘Do. And I will keep looking.’

  Miss Sandeman and her friends were too excited by Wellington’s arrival to be very helpful, but Jeremy’s persistent questions finally elicited a response from one of them: ‘A maid came and called her away,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand Portuguese, of course, but I caught the name Fonsa. That’s the old lady she came with, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thank you.’ He left them to their giggles and made his way through the crowd to the main salon where Wellington was standing by Madame Fonsa’s chair, laughing his sharp bark of a laugh at something she had just said. Impossible to intrude on this exchange, specially as he had not yet been presented to the old lady, but he was glad to see Frank in attendance, and was making his way towards him, when Madame Fonsa said impatiently: ‘But where is Miss Gomez? I sent for her ten minutes ago. I wish to present my protégée to you, milord.’

  ‘Delighted,’ said the great man.

  Harriet spoke before Jeremy could. ‘I have been looking everywhere for her, madame. And so has Mr Craddock.’

  ‘You sent for her?’ Jeremy stepped forward. ‘Jeremy Craddock ma’am, at your service.’

  ‘Of course I sent for her.’ The old face was suddenly haggard. ‘What have you done with the child among you? Oh, tell those musicians to stop it!’

  ‘Yes, do, please, Frank.’ Mrs Ware stepped forward. ‘A servant has just given me this, madame. It seems to be addressed to you.’

  The hand that took the note trembled. ‘
Kidnapped!’ She read aloud, her voice wavering only slightly: “We have Miss Gomez. Do we kill her? Or will the great Wellington exchange himself for her? We will come for his answer in fifteen minutes.”’

  ‘You are mad.’ She faced him in the dimly lit attic, breathing heavily from the ruthless manhandling that had got her there. Her dress was torn, her hands were tied behind her back, but she had not been hurt. ‘You are entirely out of your mind, Luiz. What do you think to gain by this lunacy?’

  ‘Wellington’s death. Or yours. I don’t much care which. We’ll keep our bargain, either way. He won’t come, of course. Even if he should wish to, they won’t let him. So – he will be disgraced, and you, my sweet love, will be dead. Pity there won’t be time for the painful death you deserve, but I have my escape to make after all.’

  ‘You’ll never get out of here!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I will, my dearest life. Do you remember when the Wares used to deign to invite us to play, as children? I came up here, once, in one of our games of hide-and-seek and found a secret door through to the next house. I expect some long-dead Ware had a mistress there, don’t you? So, kill you, kill Wellington, whichever, and I am safe away before the pack can come after me.’

  ‘But Luiz, why kill Wellington? He’s a friend of Portugal!’

  ‘A fine friend! They care only for their own interests, those British. They let us shed our blood, and destroy our houses, and starve, while he hunts his foxhounds across our ruined fields.’

  ‘You don’t know what he is here for, do you? I suppose you have been up here all day.’

  ‘Since dawn. Naturally.’

  ‘There’s been an announcement made about the streets. The English Parliament has voted £100,000 for the relief of Portuguese suffering. Wellington is here to arrange for its distribution. That’s your enemy, Luiz!’

  ‘I don’t believe it! You are making it up. I won’t listen.’

  ‘Believe me, or be sorry later. You have let the French tell you a pack of lies. Madame Feuillide has been arrested, by the way. I expect you don’t know that either, since you have been shut up here all day. She is a known French spy, has been ever since she came here twenty years ago. What does she care for you and your “Friends of Democracy”? She has been using you, Luiz, for French ends.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said again.

  ‘You had better. Think, Luiz.’ Urgently. ‘Either way, the French gain everything, and you lose everything. I am sure you are right in one thing. Wellington won’t be allowed to make the quixotic gesture of exchanging his life for mine. But he’s got enemies in England will be glad to see him disgraced, and Portugal will lose a good friend. And you will kill me, Luiz, and go through that secret door of yours, but it won’t be your friends waiting for you, it will be the French. You will have served their turn, they’ll have no more need of you. They’ll give you up to justice, and you know what that means. A stinking prison and a savage death.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ But she thought he was beginning to. And then: ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘It’s never too late. Let me go, Luiz, let me go down those stairs. Come with me, see me safe through your “friends” on the way, and I promise I will talk you out of this. Your grandmother will help me.’

  ‘My grandmother?’

  ‘She is here. You didn’t know that either? Luiz, how little you know. Think about that and stop trusting them.’

  ‘Why should I trust you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you why. There is something else, Luiz, something you have a right to know. Kill me, and you kill the mother of your son.’

  The argument had gone on, round and round, back and forth, hopeless. ‘We can’t let you go,’ Croft told Wellington once again.

  ‘I can’t not go,’ Wellington answered.

  Croft was looking at his watch. ‘The fifteen minutes are nearly up,’ he said. ‘When we know what their terms are, we may think of something.’

  ‘No dodging,’ said Wellington. ‘No fudging. The case is clear.’ He bent down to Madame Fonsa. ‘Don’t fret, ma’am. You will have her back in no time.’

  ‘Here it is.’ All eyes turned to Mrs Ware, who had stood a little back from the group of desperately arguing men. ‘The second note. For you this time.’ She handed it to Wellington.

  There was a deadly hush as he opened and read it aloud. ‘She is in the attic. Come up the stairs alone. Follow the light. When we see you, we let her go. If we do not see you before the next quarter strikes, we will kill her.’ And as he read it, the clock in the main hall struck the first quarter of the hour.

  A babble of comment broke out, silenced at once by Wellington. ‘No time for that. Yes, what is it, Craddock?’

  Jeremy came forward to confront Mrs Ware. ‘Where did you get that note, ma’am?’

  ‘Why – a servant gave it to me, as before.’

  ‘No. I have been watching you all the time. She is in it too.’ He turned to Wellington. ‘I did not realise how deep till now. Surely you can use that, sir. I’m sorry, Ware.’ He felt Frank Ware rigid beside him.

  Frank was looking at his mother with horror. ‘It can’t be true –’ He paused. ‘But it is. No use protesting, mother. Too late for that. Your only hope now is to help us save Miss Gomez.’

  They were all aware of the desperate minutes ticking away. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing I can do. And if there were anything, I wouldn’t!’ Her voice rose. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. For all the slights, for all the whispers, all the condescensions … I don’t much care which of them it is; both if I’m lucky, and him too, your precious grandson, Madame High and Mighty Fonsa. Honouring my house with your presence, after all these years! My poor house!’ The horrible parody of her own once fawning voice rose into hideous, screaming hysteria.

  ‘Take her away’ said Wellington. ‘Lock her up. It solves nothing, and time is passing. You had better show me the way to your attics, Ware.’

  ‘You must be armed,’ said Croft, and they all knew that Wellington had won his point.

  ‘Yes. If you would be so good, Ware? Time’s passing. Make haste.’

  ‘In my study. This way. You trust me, sir?’

  ‘Of course. And if the rest of you gentlemen would be so good as to keep out of the way. Comfort the ladies, perhaps? How many floors?’ To Frank.

  ‘Three flights and then the attic stairs.’

  ‘Right. You, Ware, and you, and you,’ picking out Croft and Jeremy. ‘Come with me to the last stair. It’s narrow, I take it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Handing over the weapons. ‘But –’

  ‘No time for buts.’ They were in the hall and a quick glance at the grandfather clock showed its hands nearing the next quarter. ‘Quiet now.’

  If there had been members of the gang on the upper floors, they must have taken flight at the sound of Mrs Ware’s hysterical screaming. All was silence and darkness except for the glimmer of light at the head of the attic stair.

  ‘Right.’ Wellington had his pistol in his hand now. ‘Put out your candles. Wait here for her.’

  In the sudden darkness, the light at the top of the stairs seemed to grow brighter. There was a sound of movement on the upper landing. ‘Stop there.’ Caterina’s voice. ‘It’s all over. We are coming down. Stand back, please, and wait for us. Do you understand? All’s well.’

  There was a short, stunned silence, then: ‘Agreed,’ said Wellington. ‘We are waiting for you.’ They moved a little back in the narrow hall and watched silently as the flickering light grew to reveal Caterina, candle in hand, coming slowly down the stairs. Her dress was torn off one shoulder, her hair hung shaggily round her face; the shadowy figure behind her must be Luiz.

  ‘Thank you for coming, sir.’ She looked gravely up at Wellington, quite unconscious of her own dishevelled state. ‘This is Luiz de Fonsa y Sanchez. He has made a great mistake. He wants to give himself up. Only, to you, please, to the English?’

  Wellington thought about
it for a long moment. Then, ‘Very well, Miss Gomez. I think you have earned that.’

  ‘Thank you. But who was screaming? That’s what did it.’

  ‘My mother,’ said Frank Ware.

  ‘I was afraid so. Poor Frank, I am sorry.’

  ‘I should be asking you to forgive us.’

  ‘Too much talk,’ said Wellington. ‘You, Croft find a guard for the prisoner. Ware, you had best ask your guests to go home. And Craddock, find our young heroine a shawl and take her down to reassure the old lady.’

  ‘Oh!’ Caterina looked down for the first time, and blushed scarlet. ‘I do apologise.’ She did her best to pull the torn muslin together.

  ‘Now that,’ said Wellington, ‘you do not need to do.’

  ‘But I must know about my son,’ Luiz protested as Croft prepared to take him away.

  ‘His name is Lewis,’ Caterina said. ‘And he is mine.’ She turned to Wellington. ‘There is a secret way from the attic to the house next door. He meant to escape by it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Wellington. ‘Which side?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We’ll search both.’ He strode swiftly away down the stairs.

  ‘Caterina!’ For the moment, they were alone together on the shadowy landing, lit only by the candle in her hand. ‘You have a son! I shall love him.’ What was he saying? He reached out to take the candle from her as her hand began at last to shake, dripping wax on the floor. He put it down on a step of the stair, took her cold hand in his. ‘I seem to understand nothing, but this I know: I love you, Caterina Gomez, always have, always will.’ He tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted, her left hand still clutching the torn muslin around her.

  ‘No, Jeremy.’ Very quiet, very firm. Thoughts scuttered through her head: Rachel Emerson … Little Lewis … Luiz. ‘You will see things quite differently in the morning,’ she told him gently. ‘And be grateful to me. And now, here in good time is Carlotta, and that shawl.’

  Downstairs, the rooms had emptied, and Madame Fonsa’s carriage was at the door. ‘God bless you.’ She rose stiffly from her chair to embrace Caterina, held out a hand to Jeremy. ‘I do thank you, Mr Craddock.’ Her piercing black eyes moved from him to Caterina and back again. ‘Come to me in the morning, Mr Craddock, and tell me the whole tale. No more talking tonight. The child has had enough.’