The Devil on Her Tongue

by Linda Holeman

  “You? Buy the winery? But Martyn Kipling …” I stopped, not wanting to disclose that I knew what was in the deed Dona Beatriz’s father had left her.

  “Perez is simply greedy. He proposed a ridiculous sum, one I would never even consider.” Henry shook his head and pulled a sheaf of papers from his case. “Here is the copy of the contract Dona Beatriz signed.” He set the papers on the table.

  Espirito picked them up. “Barrels apart, your adega doesn’t have such capacity, Henry.”

  “You’re right. Dona Beatriz has asked me to work on her behalf to obtain the building next door and have a second Kipling adega built. But this partnership on the altar wine necessitates other changes here. Espirito, instead of bringing in another blender, Dona Beatriz and I decided that we’d like you to look after the production of the altar wine and its shipping. How do you feel about that?”

  Espirito smiled. “So, Henry, you’re finally getting me to work for you again.” He grew serious. “That’s a lot of responsibility. I’m not sure I can handle my duties between two adegas during harvest.”

  Henry held up a hand. “Yes. Dona Beatriz and I discussed that as well.” He turned to me. “She’s very taken with you, Diamantina. Her father taught her to be a good judge of character. She would like you to help Espirito oversee the operations here during the busiest periods.”

  She had called me the overseer of Quinta Isabella when she was last there. I looked from Henry to Espirito, and back to Henry. “I’m honoured, but I know nothing about the job. What would I do?”

  “She didn’t specify, except to say you had an excellent brother-in-law to give you direction. She thinks everyone benefits when business ventures are kept within a family. This means there would be three Rivaldos working for Kipling’s.”

  “Dona Beatriz didn’t want to hire another man?” Espirito asked.

  “She wants someone she can trust, and she openly contested her husband’s choices for a part-time overseer. Then she asked me about Diamantina’s knowledge. I told her the truth—that Diamantina has a taster’s tongue,” he said, looking at me and smiling. “Her palate is excellent.”

  I sat very still, an excited beating in my temples.

  “We must do whatever makes Dona Beatriz Kipling Perez happy,” Henry said, nodding first at Espirito and then at me.

  Espirito’s expression was less certain. “I don’t think the men Diamantina would have to deal with would accept her.”

  “They would have no choice, would they?” I said.

  Henry laughed. “Come, Espirito. You won’t throw her into it without help. It doesn’t have to happen all at once. I’m sure she’s already a familiar figure around the adega. It will take some time for the wine growers and shippers to get used to her, but if they want to deal with Kipling’s, they’ll have to deal, at times, with Senhora Diamantina Rivaldo.”

  “What would I be expected to do, Espirito?” I asked.

  He thought for a moment. “You can work with me, to begin, checking on the mosto the borracheiros bring down from the vineyards, weighing it and making sure our payment to the vineyard owners matches what they delivered. If you find that within your grasp, you can relieve me in negotiating prices with the owners, depending on the season and quality of the grapes. You have to regularly check on the barrels, tasting the wine to make sure it’s progressing properly. When it’s ready, you will supervise the emptying of the barrels into the pipes before they’re loaded onto the ships. That sounds like a lot, but, as Henry said, you can go slowly at first.”

  I looked from him to Henry. “So I would start this harvest?” When he nodded, I said bravely, “I can do that.” Inside I was trembling with eagerness at this unexpected opportunity. “I can do it,” I repeated.

  I crossed the flagstone courtyard and stood on Rua São Batista, letting the cool breeze from the ocean take the excited heat from my face before I opened the front door and climbed the stairs. In the salon, Ana was cleaning out the fireplace. She pointed towards the bedrooms. I went up, and found Dr. McManus with Olívia. She was lying on her bed while he pressed his ear against her chest. Candelária slept soundly on the settee under the window.

  Olívia’s breathing was laboured. As her eyes went to me, the physician rose.

  “My sister-in-law, Senhora Rivaldo,” Olívia whispered.

  “I shall be done my examination in a moment,” he said, dismissing me.

  I went back into the hallway to wait, and when he came out, I walked down the stairs with him. “Is there anything more we can do, Dr. McManus?” I asked in English.

  He buttoned his jacket before speaking. “There’s little to do but continue as always, making her comfortable.”

  I felt a chill. “Thank you,” I murmured, and went back upstairs. Olívia was coming into the hallway, smoothing her hair into place. “It’s just the weather affecting me.”

  “Your mother left?”

  “My father arrived early for her.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you would be left alone to cope with Diamantina.”

  “It’s all right.” She studied me. “You have much colour in your cheeks today. I’ll have Ana make us some tea while we wait for Candelária to wake.” She went down the stairs, gripping the banister, and I followed, thinking of the look on the physician’s face as he spoke to me. “Why were you wanted in the adega?” she asked, sitting down and looking up at me.

  “Mr. Duncan had a message for me from Dona Beatriz,” I said after a tiny hesitation. I wasn’t comfortable telling her I’d be working with Espirito, but wasn’t sure why. I would leave it up to him to tell her, as I’d tell Bonifacio. “Has Candelária been sleeping long?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “She fell asleep almost as soon as you left. She rarely slows down.”

  “I know. She wakes up full of energy and runs about all day. Sometimes it’s difficult to get her to stop long enough to feed her.”

  “She clearly takes after you, quick in movement and, I can already tell at her young age, in her thinking.” As she picked up the bell to ring for Ana, she began coughing. I went to her and rubbed her back. By the time she was able to stop, Candelária was calling, “Mama, Mama,” from upstairs.

  “I’ll go and get her,” I said, but as I crossed the room, Olívia said, “Your daughter already appears fearless. She shows no caution.”

  I stopped and looked back at her.

  “She gets that from you as well.” Her gaze was piercing, and I felt compelled to turn away from it. “We all know you’re not cautious at all,” she called after me as I went up the stairs.

  When I came back down carrying Candelária, Bonifacio was standing in the middle of the salon. “I went to see if you were still in the adega,” he said, and I busied myself straightening Candelária’s ribbons.

  “Obviously I wasn’t,” I said.

  “It’s time for you to take her home,” he said, nodding at Candelária. She was rubbing her eyes.

  I wanted to ask him what business it was of his how I raised my daughter. He had never before shown any concern for her physical well-being. I glanced at Olívia. Was it for her benefit, this act of the doting father?

  “Take her home, now,” he said.

  “I was on my way,” I said tightly. “Thank you again, Olívia.” I picked up Candelária’s little cloak.

  “It was no trouble,” Olívia said quietly.

  Bonifacio followed me down the stairs. We didn’t speak as he turned into the Counting House and I went towards the square to hire a cart to drive Candelária and me home.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  20th October, 1752

  Dear Diamantina,

  Thank you so much for your work in the wine lodge this fall. When I saw Henry recently, he informed me it was a year of high yield on the island, producing the most successful harvest to date. He stated that your assistance allowed Espirito to devote more time to the preparation and shipping of the first vintage of altar wine to Engla
nd. I’m also happy to hear from Henry that the expansion of the second adega progresses as hoped.

  In spite of Abílio’s losses as he attempts to move some of the business into the port venture, I must do whatever I can to protect Kipling’s. It is Leandro’s legacy, as my father wished.

  My life continues to be full. I particularly love to visit my aunt in Estoril, a number of leagues west of Lisboa. I stroll through her citrus groves and take the healing baths.

  I also visit Lisboa frequently. There, life is very different from provincial Belém. Only slave women, maidservants and women of the working masses are seen on the streets. Upper-class ladies remain respectably cloistered unless in the presence of husbands or fathers. There is the terrible fiery madness of the autos-da-fé and the pomp and ceremony of the royals as they parade through the streets in their opulent carriages. There is splendour in the churches with their gold and silver altars studded with precious stones.

  I do enjoy these forays, but am always happy to return to the quiet streets of Santa Maria de Belém.

  I hope all is well for you. Although I am grateful for the speed of the ships passing between the mainland and Madeira, carrying our letters back and forth, I would prefer to sit and talk face to face as we did almost a year ago.

  With my warm thoughts,

  Dona Beatriz

  I had loved my first taste of working in the adega that harvest. The only unpleasantness had been Bonifacio’s reaction. I told him about the offered position that same evening after Henry had offered it to me. Bonifacio’s first reaction was disbelief, and then he shook his head.

  “You will not work in the adega. It’s not a job for a woman. Your role is here, on the quinta.”

  “I’ve already accepted.”

  “Go back and tell Duncan your husband won’t allow it.”

  I frowned. “No. Dona Beatriz wishes it, and I work for her. As do you,” I added.

  “You work on the quinta, in your various capacities, not in a lodge with—”

  I interrupted loudly. “This quinta that is your home, thanks to me. Senhor Perez gave us this cottage so I could be of use as a curandeira. And then Dona—”

  “All right, all right. Do you think I’m not reminded of that all too often?”

  We were both breathing heavily.

  “Kipling’s wine lodge is my place of work,” he said. “I do not want you there, surrounded by men. It’s bad enough …”

  “What is? What’s bad enough?”

  He went to the front door and opened it. “You can’t stop yourself, can you, Diamantina? No matter how I pray for you, you continue to be driven by your own evil desires.”

  “What’s evil about agreeing to work for Dona Beatriz in the wine lodge? It’s you who has the suspicious and evil thoughts, Bonifacio, not me. As you could not dictate to me about putting headstones in the chapel cemetery, neither can you dictate whether I will work for Dona Beatriz. She is my superior. Not you.”

  He came at me, his fists clenched, and I raised my chin. We stared into each other’s faces for a moment, and then he unclenched his hands and let them hang, limp, at his sides.

  “I’m going to the chapel and will stay on my knees all night, praying for you,” he said, his voice quiet now. “You grow further and further from God’s grace. I don’t know that you will ever find redemption.” He went back to the door.

  “Isn’t it you that looks for redemption?”

  He stopped in the doorway, not looking back at me, and then went out into the night, leaving the door open.

  We never spoke of it again. When I received word from Espirito that I could begin helping him, I arranged for Binta and Nini to keep Candelária while I was away from the quinta.

  At the end of the season, as our own crop on the quinta was harvested, I decided to have a small Festa do Vinho. I invited Espirito and Olívia and the da Silvas.

  But only Espirito arrived on the evening of the festival, after the long tables had been set up in the yard and the locals who had worked on the harvest were eating and drinking and making music. “Olívia sends her regrets,” he said. “She hoped to be able to come, but her breathing is more laboured than usual. I can’t stay long. Her parents are with her, but I don’t like to be away from her when she’s in this state.”

  “Tell her I’m thinking of her,” I said, and started as Bonifacio was suddenly beside me, his arm around my shoulder. I looked at him, pulling away slightly from his touch. “Bonifacio, please pour your brother a cup of wine. Sit, Espirito, and I’ll have a plate brought to you.” Bonifacio kept his possessive hold on me, and I felt a flush rising in my cheeks. “Bonifacio, please,” I said, and finally he left my side and poured Espirito a glass of wine.

  In the end, Espirito stayed for an hour. When he rose to leave, he handed me a small but heavy sack of coins.

  “What’s this?” I asked, shifting Candelária to my other arm. She was tired after running around and playing with some of the other children who had come, and now lay with her head against me.

  “You didn’t think that Dona Beatriz expected you to work without pay, did you?”

  I glanced at Bonifacio, who was standing nearby, watching the musicians. “I never thought … because we’re living at the cottage, and …”

  “You are in the employ of Kipling’s Wine Merchants. You will be paid for your work.” Espirito stepped closer and ran a finger down Candelária’s cheek. “Good night, little one,” he said, and she smiled at him, and then she said, “Down, Mama.”

  “Bonifacio,” Espirito called as I set Candelária down. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Good night,” he said, starting across the yard towards the path to the cottage.

  “You’re leaving?” I called, and he waved his hand in a gesture that might have meant either Yes or Leave me alone.

  But Candelária ran after him and unexpectedly threw her chubby arms around his legs.

  “Adeus, Papa,” she said, and I started. I hadn’t heard her call Bonifacio Papa before. It must have been Binta or Nini who spoke of Bonifacio as Papa to Candelária.

  Bonifacio looked down at her, and then turned his gaze to Espirito, watching his brother until he climbed into his cart and was gone.

  Olívia’s breathing took on a permanent rasping wheeze that winter, after we had celebrated Candelária’s second birthday.

  Olívia was exhausted by struggling to draw air in, but more so to expel it, and there was no further remedy to relieve her pain. Eventually she was too weak to rise from her bed, and her mother stayed with her every day. It was hard on Luzia, and I often left Cristiano and Candelária with Binta and Nini and walked into Funchal to help her.

  Olívia’s back and ribs ached when she coughed; although she was uncomplaining, she involuntarily moaned after each harsh bout. I made her endless poultices of heated mustard, flour and water.

  As I placed the warm, damp flannel on her flat chest, I had to look away from the parchment of her skin, her tiny shrivelled nipples, the way her narrow rib cage strained against her skin.

  Dr. McManus announced she had caught an infection that was putting even more stress on her weak lungs.

  For those few weeks, as I sat on a chair beside her bed, I found myself growing breathless as her breathing became more and more laboured. It sounded as though each inhalation became trapped inside her ribs and remained there, rattling, until she was finally able to expel it in a terrible gasp. Even the small amounts of poppy paste I rubbed on her gums only allowed her to drift into a half-hour of restless twilight. Eventually she could barely swallow the warmed broth I held to her lips.

  She was suffering horribly, not only from the struggle to breathe but from starvation. And yet I knew, by the way she looked at me as I sat holding her limp hand, that the disease hadn’t dulled her brain. She knew with terrible clarity what was happening.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  One morning, when both Binta and Nini were too busy to watch Candelária, I brought
her with me to the house on Rua São Batista, walking into Funchal with Bonifacio.

  Luzia held a handkerchief to her eyes, and turned away when I came into the salon with Candelária.

  “Luzia?” I asked, touching her shoulder. “Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to bring Candelária. Would you rather I go home with her? Is it too much to have her here?”

  She turned back to us and smiled shakily at Candelária. “No. A child is good at these times. A child reminds one of life. Come and sit with Avó, Candelária. Soon we will go into the kitchen and Ana will find you a biscuit.” She held out her arms, and my daughter went into them. She patted Luzia’s wet cheek, her little brow furrowed. At just past two, she understood tears.

  When I went into Olívia’s room, Espirito was there. He had spent the last week sitting beside her through the long nights. He was unshaven, and pale with fatigue. Olívia was propped up on her pillows, and the muscles of her neck were corded in her attempt to breathe. Her eyelids and hands were puffy, and there was a bluish tinge to her skin.

  Espirito and I spent the next few hours sitting with Olívia, trying to comfort her with our presence. As I read to her, she stopped me by lifting her fingers off the blanket. She opened her mouth, trying to speak.

  I put my ear to her lips.

  “Help me,” she whispered.

  I straightened, pulling her blanket higher. “I’ll make you a poultice,” I said, and glanced at Espirito.

  He looked away.

  “Help me,” Olívia breathed again, and as her eyes stared into mine, I stopped breathing myself. I left the room.

  Espirito followed me into the hall. He shut the door and took both my hands. “You heard her. Help her, Diamantina,” he said, his chin trembling. “Please. I can’t watch her like this any longer.”