“It would be pleasant,” Felix said, “If we might be somewhere else at this moment, don’t you think? If just for an hour of two, we could put away all this, and be entirely careless... You have been too hard at work for too long. I don’t how you stand it.”
“Because I’m needed. That is something. But you’re right. I would like to be away.”
“Over the hills and far away?” he said.
“For a while. For a rest, yes,” she said.
“I know the spot – just about a mile from my parents’ house – an easy mile, mind, that would do the trick. A waterfall in a shady forest. The Birks of Pitfeldry. We could sit and be cool and quiet. Or bathe in the pools,” he could not resist adding. The vision of Sukey, her skirts kilted up and stockings removed, wading into the milky waters of the foaming burn was a powerful one.
“You think you can charm me with your Scottish waterfalls?” she said, with a smile which suggested she knew exactly what he was thinking. “It would be grand to be able to compare, certainly,” she continued. “And I am sure you would make a good guide, Mr Carswell.”
“I would take the greatest pleasure in proving to you the superiority of my Perthshire scenery,” he said.
“And I will probably say ‘it’s very fine’ but it is not my country, which is the finest.”
“We may have to agree to differ,” he said, with a grin.
“I think so. Oh, we have a visitor.” she said, as a carriage came rolling down the street towards them.
“It’s from Holbroke,” he said, recognising the livery of the coachman.
The carriage drew up and Major Vernon climbed out.
“Quick,” he said, and snatched the cheroot from Sukey’s hand. “If he sees you smoking that –”
“Or you,” she said. Hastily he stubbed them both out and tossed them into the empty grate.
“We both look guilty,” he said. She nodded, waving away the smoke, just as the front door was opening.
“Welcome home, sir,” Sukey said going straight out to the hall. She dropped a curtsey, the perfect servant once more. “Can I fetch you anything? Mrs Vernon is upstairs resting.”
“No thank you, Sukey. I’ll just go straight up.” He looked from one to the other, with his searching gaze. “Is everything all right?”
“Martinez is dead,” said Felix.
Major Vernon exhaled. “Poor fellow. Was he alone?”
“No, I was there. I lost him.”
Major Vernon nodded.
“Those Spaniards are putting up at the Queen’s, I understand. You should call on them.”
“I’ll go and do that now,” said Felix. “You should go up to Mrs Vernon.”
“Yes, I need to speak to her. We are leaving for Holbroke as soon as possible.”
“We?” Felix said.
“Lady Rothborough has asked her to join the party,” said Major Vernon. “And you must come too, Sukey.”
“Of course, sir.”
Major Vernon went upstairs and Sukey went back to the dining room grate and took up their half-smoked cheroots. “I’ll take these down to the kitchen,” she said. “Perhaps going there will be good for Mrs Vernon.”
“I don’t know,” Felix said. “I find the place a torture. I can’t imagine any pleasure in going there.”
“It’ll do her good not to be treated like an invalid,” Sukey said. “Don’t you think?”
“I don’t think my opinion about anything is worth sixpence,” said Felix, “to be frank.”
Sukey paused at the door and said,“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You did all you could for the poor man.”
“But I still lost him.”
“He was a consumptive, what could you have done?”
“But it was so wretched.”
“He had you, that was something,” she said. “Well, more than something.”
He saw her bite her lip, as if she regretting saying so much, and it moved him to reach out and lay his hand on her arm.
Then in a moment, he stepped a little closer and brushed his lips across her forehead. She did not move or make a sound of protest. He kissed her again, this time on the lips, and she laid her hand on his cheek, before gently moving away. But she did not leave the room at once, but looked straight at him, breathing hard.
“You should go and see those people,” she said.
He nodded, and then as he went by her, into the hall, he saw her smile and his heart leapt.
Chapter Ten
Laura was lying on the bed, wrapped in the embroidered shawl Giles had recently given her. He was pleased to see his gift in use. She had received it with the barest minimum of gratitude and he had been seriously discouraged for a day or two, feeling nothing he did would make any impression upon her, before he had sternly told himself that he should not expect miracles.
It was midnight blue silk, with peonies embroidered on it, and in the subdued light of the room the soft lustre of it looked well against the pale skin of her hands and arms. She did not lie facing the door but diagonally across the bed, her hair loosened, and flowing across the counterpane. The shawl and her flimsy chemise were twisted round her, showing the dip of her hips and the curve of her bottom. He remembered a time, early in their marriage when he had returned home to that stuffy, primitive little house they had shared in a dusty Ontario township, and found her sleeping, in just such a pose. Then he had roused her with kisses and they had made love, and ignored the rest of the world.
She stirred, having become aware of his presence. She rolled over to face him. She did not smile in greeting nor did she stretch out her hand to him, but he hardly expected that. Yet she looked at him with wide eyes and without hostility, which pleased him, and he wondered if she, like him, remembered that delightful afternoon and evening.
“May I?” he asked, indicating the spare corner of the bed, so that he might perch there. She did not seem to mind when he did, so he took her silence as consent. “Did you pick those today?” he said, noticing a posy of wild roses in the water glass by the bed. They were wilting somewhat and some of their petals had fallen onto the floor.
“Yes. And you will tell me I was wrong to,” she said rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling.
“No. Why?”
“Because to pick them is to murder them.”
“Hardly. Who says so?”
“Mr Carswell. He was cruel to me,” she said, turning round again, so that she faced away from him. “I think he hates me.”
“Oh, I do not think so –” He wondered if he should pull her gently back to face him. He settled for resting his hand lightly on her shoulder.
“Why do I ruin everything?” she said. “Why does everything I touch spoil? Perhaps you should put me away again where I can’t do any damage. Why did I have to pick those roses? They would still be alive if I had not –” As she spoke, she pulled herself into a tight, tense, ball.
“They never last long, even on the branch,” he said, kneading her shoulder a little with his fingers, hoping it might soothe her. “And I will never put you away again. Upon my honour.”
At that she suddenly leapt up and, half on her knees, faced him, her hands now on his shoulders.
“Perhaps you should!” she exclaimed. “Given what a horrible, wicked person I am! Wouldn’t you rather be rid of me? I am such a trouble to you, such a terrible nuisance.”
Then to his astonishment, she flung herself against him, her face pressed to his chest, sobbing.
“No, no,” he said. “You are not a trouble to me. It is your illness that causes the difficulty – and we are chasing that away now, a little more each day, and each day you are improving.”
He wrapped his arms about her, almost giddy with the pleasure that she had chosen him to comfort her. He kissed the top of her head and she inched closer to him, and tightened her grip, as if to remove every tiny chink of space that might separate them. She was crying violently still, and he felt his shirt soaked through with her tear
s, and felt his own tears on his cheeks.
After a while, the storm of her misery subsided a little and she lay with her head in his lap. As he combed her tangled hair with his finger tips, her breathing became steady and regular again.
“Lord and Lady Rothborough are anxious for you to go back with me to Holbroke tonight. Do you think you might oblige them?” he asked at length, when he had composed his own thoughts and feelings.
The question, as he had expected, cause her to sit up. She pushed back her hair and gazed at him.
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
“You did not say no on my behalf?”
“No. It is for you to decide. Of course, I would rather –”
“That I stayed here?”
“I was going to say ‘came with me.’”
“Oh,” she said. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “But what if –”
“It is for you to decide,” he said, again. There was no knowing what might happen, but he felt it was a test that needed to be attempted. “If you could manage it, then you would feel the worth of all you have accomplished.”
“But –”
“It is grand, but it is also extremely pleasant. Lord Rothborough will treat you like a Duchess, and his daughters will be friends to you, I’m sure.”
She got up from the bed and walked over to the dressing table, standing before the glass looking at herself, dressed in only her shift, with her hair cascading down her back, her eyes red with tears. She frowned.
“I don’t look like a Duchess,” she said.
“Who is to say what a Duchess looks like in her bedroom?” said Giles getting up from the bed and wrapping the shawl around her. “There.” She spent some moments arranging it to her liking. “You will be fine enough for all of them.”
“And you will not be angry with me if I disgrace you?” she said, turning back to him.
He took her hand and kissed it.
“No,” he said. “And you will not.” She pulled back her hand and looked down at her fingers where he had kissed them, rather as if she expected to see a mark. “Trust me, please. And trust yourself. And if you do not care for it, if it frightens you, you can come straight back here. And you will not be alone. I will be there, and Sukey.”
“But not Mr Carswell,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“No, you know he cannot go there.”
She nodded and twisted the fringe of her shawl in her fingers.
“I will try,” she said after a long silence. “I will.”
Chapter Eleven
Felix found his way to the Queen’s Hotel like a drunken man. He had kissed Sukey and she had not rejected him. She had kissed him back and smiled, and dear Lord, it felt like no other kiss.
All those months, seeing her every other day, working with her, and suddenly this extraordinary clarity of feeling about her: not a creature to be petted, or a goddess to be worshipped, but a partner. That was the conclusion that stopped him in his tracks, the impossible conclusion – that he had at last met his wife and she was entirely perfect and at the same time, it could not be done. His parents, Major Vernon and Mr and Mrs O’Brien – let alone Lord Rothborough – not one of them would give their blessing. It was as hopeless as it was miraculous.
He had now reached the Queen’s Hotel, which rose up above the extensive formal gardens which fronted it, the epitome of glittering, fashionable modernity. In the gardens elegantly clad guests were taking the after-dinner air, strolling along verdant avenues lit with Chinese lanterns. In a bower somewhere a German band was pumping away, playing the waltz of the moment.
He passed by all this, and entered into a impressive hall, and stood for a moment, wondering how to proceed. He wished for a moment that Major Vernon was with him – he would know exactly how to get him taken to the right person at once, without anyone doubting his authority or legitimacy. He managed to catch the attention of one of the waiters, who was supercilious enough to be a flunky at Holbroke.
“I need to speak to someone from the party from Santa Magdalena,” he said. “I have news of a countryman of theirs. I am a surgeon.” He took out his card. “It’s urgent,” he added.
The waiter looked at the card as if he were presenting false credentials.
“The party you mention – well, sir, how do I put it? They don’t take kindly to unsolicited interruptions. There are instructions in place. The management, you see, have told us –” He gave a shrug.
“This is an important matter,” said Felix. “Take me up to them at once, if you please!”
“I am not sure I can do that, sir,” said the waiter. “Not without –” He gave a discreet cough.
He might as well have put out his palm for the coin, Felix thought, digging in his pocket. He found a few pennies and half-crown; he felt sure that the pennies would not do it, so he surrendered the half-crown. The waiter smiled and made an obsequious bow.
“This way if you please, sir. They will still be at dinner,” said the waiter, as they climbed up a gilded staircase. “They eat late, but I will see what I can do.”
Just at that moment, another waiter came down the passageway.
“Jim, this gent here wants to see one of your gents. He’s a doctor. Something about a countryman of theirs.”
“I’ll get that secretary fellow,” he said.
“It’s about Don Xavier Martinez – tell him that,” said Felix.
Felix wondered if another half-crown would be necessary, and indeed if he had one.
Fortunately, the servant did not seem to expect it and went off, armed only with Felix’s card, in the direction he had come from.
“There’s quite a few of them, then?” Felix asked.
“Oh yes,” said the waiter. “Twenty-five of them, including their servants. They’ve taken the whole floor here for the rest of the month and they live like princes. We’ve not seen the like of it before. You wait here, sir, and Jim’ll see it to it.”
So Felix idled for some more minutes in the passageway, growing nervous and impatient by turns, until Jim returned.
“This way, please. Don Luiz himself would you like to see you. He’s the master. Pricked up his ears at the mention of that name, I can tell you.”
Felix followed Jim into a reception room of some kind – a gloomy and unbearably stuffy apartment, which curiously had the hushed atmosphere of a private chapel. Above the mantlepiece, illuminated by a row of burning votive candles, hung a huge portrait of a man in elaborate military dress, his scarlet tunic heavy with gold lace. The painting itself had been draped with swags of foliage and black ribbons, while in the corner stood a great silken flag, presumably in the national colours of the Republic of Santa Magdalena.
Felix, left alone, studied the portrait and noticed that there was in the man’s face a distinct resemblance to his dead patient.
A tall, powerfully-built gentleman dressed in immaculate evening clothes now came into the room. He was holding Felix’s card.
“Mr Carswell?” he said in a thick accent. “I believe you have some news for me, of Don Xavier Lopez Martinez?”
“Yes, I am sorry to say I do.”
“Sorry? Why?”
“I am sorry to say he died this afternoon. At the White Lion.”
“That is here, in Stanegate?”
Felix nodded.
“How extraordinary. We did not know he was here. We thought... Would you excuse me, a moment. The shock is quite –”
“Yes, of course, sir. I am sorry to bring you such news.”
The gentleman sat down.
“You see,” he said after a moment, gesturing towards the portrait crowned with laurels. “That was his brother, the late President of our country.”
“I am sorry,” Felix said again.
“I should present myself,” said the gentleman. “I am Don Luiz Ramirez. I was a close confederate of the late Director, his second in command, and his cousin. Don Xavier was my cousin.” He rubbed his face. �
�How did it happen?”
“He was in the tertiary stages of consumption. I only began treating him two days ago. I met him by chance. We did our best for him, but his condition was so advanced that there was little that could be done. I tried to find him a priest, but there was no time.”
Don Luiz gave a great sigh.
“This is terrible news, terrible...” he began and then shook his head, overcome by emotion.
Now a woman entered the room. It was hard not to stare at her. She was stupendously dressed in a low-cut blue satin dress that looked like a ball gown. There were sapphires glistening at her neck and ears.
She looked at Don Luiz and said something to him in Spanish.
He got up at once and went to her, and, taking her hands, spoke to her in rapid, quiet Spanish. She looked shocked as he spoke, glancing at Felix, and then she crossed herself.
“Excuse me, sir, if you will, we must...” Don Luiz said, escorting the woman towards the door.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
And he was left alone again. He sat down and wondered what he ought to do next.
Then, as if he were watching a play, the door on the other side of the room opened, and another woman came in, this time dressed in widow’s black.
He got to his feet.
“Can I help you, sir?” she said, in English, but with a soft Irish accent, that made him think of Sukey.
“I came to call on Don Luiz...” he stumbled on the pronunciation. He pointed at the door Don Luiz left by. “He went out with another lady.”
She came a little closer to him, and looked at him curiously.
“Do we know each other, sir?” she said.
“I don’t believe we do, ma’am,” he said, although there was something oddly familiar about her.
“You say you have to come to see Don Luiz?”
“Yes, about about a patient of mine, Don Xavier Martinez.”
“Don Xavier is my brother-in-law.”
Felix said, “Perhaps you should sit down, ma’am. I am afraid I have bad news.”
He indicated the sofa where he had been sitting. She sat down obediently, but staring at him all the time, wide-eyed.
He sat down beside her and said,“I regret to tell you he died this morning.”
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