The Golden Key

by Melanie Rawn

  “She is painting,” said Beatriz.

  Abruptly he saw the corner of an easel protruding from behind a screen of rhododendrons. “Grazzo.” Painting! Of course. She was a Grijalva. Matra grant that her work was at least competent. He had never found himself able to lie about art. Never. Not even his own.

  Eleyna was so intent on her work that she did not notice him walk up. The duennia did, of course; she acknowledged him with a curt nod and went back to her embroidery. He was not the quarry she was interested in. Rohario stopped a safe distance away and surveyed the work that grew on a cotton canvas covered with a red-brown ground.

  Eleyna worked with a paletto of six colors, painting rapidly but with confidence. The garden took shape before his eyes, the fallen wall, the drooping trees, the highlights of bright flowers, and Beatriz in their midst, kneeling in a place she must have knelt an hour or so ago, although she had since moved on. Somehow the clouds, the tower, the sweep of the garden itself, led the eye to Beatriz who, in white with her hair spilling out from her bonnet, seemed herself to embody the spirit of morning. Unlike the current style, in which the painter took pains to remove any trace of brushstroke from the painting, giving it a smooth glossy coat, Eleyna made her brushwork part of the texture of the painting.

  Rohario just watched, afraid to disturb her concentration. When a servant hurried forward, he signed for a chair and, when it was brought, sat. Intent on the painting growing in front of him, he did not notice the time passing. Eleyna worked with remarkable concentration, as if she were in a trance.

  Matra Dolcha! She was good! Even in a fa presto piece like this, where she dealt with the design and the form and the colors in the painting all at once, she painted with a quality of brightness and life that staid Lord Limner Andreo never dreamed of. There were flaws, to be sure, but the spontaneity of the landscape was as much a part of its interest as its composition.

  A servant brought coffee and plum cakes and set them out on a table. Catching sight of the movement, Eleyna paused and glanced over at Rohario. She smiled, as if sensing his enjoyment, and went back to work. He smiled, unable to help himself. He felt he had never been happier in his life than at this moment.

  “It is done,” said Eleyna, sitting back.

  “It’s beautiful!” He jumped up. Then, self-conscious, he approached the easel cautiously.

  She looked startled. Her sunhat had come loose and it hung at her back, blue ribbons dangling. “Do you think so? You needn’t flatter me just to be polite.”

  “You must know you’re a fine painter! Of course there’s some roughness because you painted it in one sitting, without a preliminary sketch, but that’s part of its charm.”

  She smiled again, this time so brilliantly he almost staggered. “You understand!”

  He understood.

  He thought, for a moment, that a cloud had dimmed the sun, because his sight clouded over. But the sun’s light did not waver. It was like being caught in the riot again, thrown this way and then that, unable to get his footing, lost in a tumult.

  Rohario understood that he had fallen in love … with his brother’s Mistress, a Grijalva woman who had—despite her initial reluctance—seen the multitudinous benefits of her new position as Mistress to the Heir.

  He smiled wanly in reply and looked out across the garden, struggling to find words that would not give away the terrible emotions seething in his heart. In the distance, Beatriz looked up toward something he could not see. She rose, basket of flowers dangling from her arm, altogether a captivating sight.

  A horseman rode into view. The gardens were not, of course, an appropriate place to ride a horse and especially not a creature as obviously ill-tempered as this one was. It shied at every shrub and flowerbed.

  The rider jerked the horse up hard and dismounted. Giving his reins to a groom, he approached Beatriz. He had the saunter of a man entirely at home in his body and with his position in the world, a thick shock of gorgeous light brown hair, and an expansive laugh which was not, alas, ever forced. Women had been falling over their feet to attract his attention since he was fourteen, and not just because of who he was.

  Eleyna rose from her chair. “Who is that?” She lifted paint-stained fingers to touch her black hair. Belatedly, she realized her sunhat had come off. She groped frantically for it.

  “That,” said Rohario flatly, his pleasure in the day, his heart itself, torn to shreds, “is my brother, Don Edoard.”

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Paint stained her fingers and she knew her hair was disheveled; it was too late to pretend her sunhat hadn’t been hastily retied. Worst, drops of paint stained her morning dress, but the fine geometric pattern imprinted onto the white muslin almost disguised them. Her painting forgotten, Eleyna stared as Don Edoard tucked Beatriz’s hand into his elbow and walked up along the winding path toward her. Their slow progress gave Eleyna the leisure to examine him. Only slightly taller than his brother, he had the grace of an athlete. Where Rohario had inherited his grandmother’s delicate features, Edoard was clearly a son of Tira Virte, bold nose and thin face softened by his light Ghillasian hair. An interesting face.

  I shall have him sit for a portrait.

  Edoard and Beatriz disappeared behind a hedge, then reappeared not ten paces from the easel. Beatriz was smiling, Edoard laughing. He had a marvelous laugh.

  “Here is Eleyna,” said Beatriz.

  He came forward and, taking her hand, bowed low over it. He did not, Grazzo do’Matra, attempt to kiss her hand, although she felt alive to the press of his fingers on hers. “Eleyna. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your lovely sister tells me you are a painter, which should not surprise me, I suppose, since you are also a Grijalva, but I did not know that women painted or perhaps only that they sketched, as the Court ladies do to while away the time.”

  “Yes,” she said, carefully easing her hand out of his grip. “I have been painting.”

  He came around the easel to look. “Ah, yes, very fine. Very beautiful. I see your sister here. How appropriate. And who is this charming woman? It is not every day that three beautiful women visit me at my hideaway. Mara? You are a welcome guest, I can assure you.” He kissed the duennia’s hand. Mara blushed and, almost, simpered.

  “Rohario. Eiha! You will want to see the hunter I bought. Now, corasson meya,” he continued, turning back to take Eleyna’s hand with proprietorial interest and place it in the crook of his elbow, “we will go in to luncheon, which I am informed is quail cooked with some kind of sauce—you know how cooks are, they have every kind of sauce and several courses none of which I can pronounce, since all the cooks we employ come from Ghillas, and though dear departed Mama did try to teach me how to pronounce all those words, I have never managed to. She despaired of me. ‘Edoard,’ she would say, ‘the only language you can speak is hound, but at least you speak it well.”’

  He chattered on in this way, mercifully content with the occasional murmured assent from Eleyna. They went into the lodge and were served luncheon in the intimacy of the dining room.

  Edoard was not precisely a boring speaker. But when he got launched into one of his monologues, she found her attention wandering. It was like sitting in the tiled courtyard at home during Sperranssia, sketching while listening to the strolling gittern players as they serenaded the ladies of each house in the hope of gaining a kiss.

  “… of course no one expected Zio Alesso to die so early, in fact that is the reason dear Mama never wanted me to take up hunting because he was thrown while taking a hedge, but Patro always said he had a terrible seat, so I suppose it was only a matter of time.” Edoard smiled.

  Eleyna by this time had absolutely no idea of what he had been saying. “Only a matter of time before he was thrown?” she asked, terrified he would realize she hadn’t been listening.

  “What a clever beauty you are, carrida meya. That is what dear Mama always said about Teressa—my aunt, that is, who married that man from Diettro Mareia whose name
I can’t pronounce—that it does a woman no good to be beautiful if she remains stupid.”

  Eleyna smiled, knowing how vapid she must look. Moronna! She felt completely at a loss.

  “Our Zio Alesso,” broke in Rohario, looking exasperated, “visited this lodge frequently, enjoyed its rooms and gardens very much, and four years after he became Grand Duke got thrown from his horse within sight of it.”

  “Grand Duke Alesso died here?” asked Beatriz, intrigued by this lurid detail.

  “I can tell the tale myself, Rohario.” Edoard pushed his chair away from the table. The others hastily rose with him. “I would be delighted to show you the new hunter I bought,” he added, offering his arm to Eleyna.

  “Of course.”

  They walked out into the courtyard and from there to the stables. Edoard was uncharacteristically quiet. Rohario, whose own expression betrayed annoyance, trailed behind, escorting Mara and Beatriz. Obviously Rohario did not want to be here. Only the Grand Duke had the power to force him to remain. But why? This must be what her mother wanted from her: to ferret out all the secrets of the do’Verrada household. Eleyna shuddered. It was all so very chilling and nasty.

  “Are you cold?” asked Edoard. “We could return for a wrap.”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Here we are. Do you like horses?”

  “I have not yet mastered the drawing of them.”

  It was dimmer inside the stables and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Ahead, something was thumping loudly against a wall.

  “My lord!” A groom hurried up. “The new chevallo is muito fuegosto, very fiery. You can hear him kick. It would be better if you stay away until we calm him down.”

  “I will return at a better time. This way, carrida meya. We will go see the hounds.”

  Once they got outside, he brightened considerably. They had managed to lose the others. Edoard placed his other hand over hers where it rested at his elbow. Eleyna smiled tremulously but went numb inside. She remembered Felippo’s marital attentions as through a veil, could see them, could feel them, his hands and his body and his lips, but it all seemed to have happened to someone else, someone she no longer knew.

  “If you are cold, we could go back to the lodge. There is a fireplace in my suite. I will have it lit.”

  And they would be alone in his private chambers.

  “I would like to see the hounds.” She barely choked out the words.

  “Eiha! They are fine dogs. We do’Verradas have been breeding these hounds for many generations, and I am sure the original three bitches came as a marriage present from Casteya. I can never remember these details, but if they are of interest to you, there are records the Palasso clerks could easily find, since I am sure they have little enough to do otherwise. Patro is never interested in the old records except as they relate to trade and as for the rest of us … we children were never scholarly, which disappointed dear Mama, for she dearly loved a good philosophical discussion and only Rohario ever bothered to read any of the old academics. But he always must say something cutting, and after it happened once too often Mama refused to include him in the discussions any more. Here are the kennels. Framba and Fraga are the two bitches. Vuonno is named for his size, of course, but Suerto is the finest of the pack, aren’t you, mennino?”

  Edoard let go of her and gave his full attention to the red-brown hound who loped up to him. Clearly the hound adored his master, and as clearly Edoard loved his dogs. At once, Eleyna saw how he was meant to be painted.

  “I will do some preliminary sketches,” she said, caught up with the idea. “You shall stand in the field with your musket, the hound beside you.”

  “Magniffico! You shall do your sketches of all the hounds. We shall make a little galerria of hounds here at Chasseriallo.”

  Eleyna could not help but laugh at his enthusiasm. He took her hand in his and bowed over it, kissing her fingers. He smiled up at her. His eyes were really very handsome. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so impossible after all.

  She heard Beatriz’s voice. Edoard heard it, too—she saw it by his expression—but he did not release her hand. So it was that Beatriz and Ròhario and Mara came into sight in time to see the end of this affectingly intimate scene. For some reason, Eleyna blushed. Matra ei Filho! She was no longer an inexperienced girl, to be caught blushing when a man admired her! Every one of them knew what she had come here for. Yet she pulled her hand gently from Edoard’s grasp and turned away, so she might not have to look the others in the face.

  “I will begin now,” she said, to cover her confusion.

  Edoard snapped his fingers and a servant came running, to be sent for easel, parchment, and sketching box.

  “I so love dogs,” said Beatriz to Edoard.

  Rohario stalked off to stare out into the fields.

  Servants returned. Eleyna seated herself and arranged her things about her. “I will start with the hounds,” she said. “Some sketches so I learn to know them.”

  “Come, Don Edoard,” said Beatriz in her kind way. “You must show me the gardens.”

  “Are you not going to sketch me?” Edoard asked plaintively.

  “Of course.” Eleyna sharpened a pencil with a knife. The hounds had such clean, interesting faces, and unlike the pampered, surly dogs owned by the court ladies, they had a lively exhuberance and, like Edoard, a certain amount of simple charm.

  “I hope, Don Edoard, that you see that my sister will entertain herself without a thought for us.” Beatriz’s words slid smoothly past. Eleyna caught her sister’s movement out of the corner of her eye as Beatriz led Edoard away. Mara followed them. “Your father deeded Chasseriallo to you five years ago?”

  “Yes, as is traditional. I had just turned nineteen….” His voice faded into the distance. Eleyna marked their going with one part of her mind, but Vuonno had been installed for his sitting, and as he was a good-natured but restless creature, she had to work quickly to capture him.

  Rohario still stood off to one side, face in profile. His pose was so strikingly theatrical she could almost imagine he had taken the stance deliberately. She sketched him quickly, frowned, and tried again on a different corner of the paper. That was better, but it didn’t quite capture the set of his shoulders and the peculiar discontented sweep of crossed arms and jutting chin.

  She drew him again, this time giving him the whole page. The handler brought Framba up for her sitting. Hastily, blushing, Eleyna got a new piece of paper out, covering up the sketches. But she remained aware of him standing not close enough to speak to her but not so far away that she could forget he was there. Try as she might to lose herself in the sketches, she felt him watching her—or, when he saw her glance his way, not watching her. At last he left and she could work in peace. Much later, Beatriz returned.

  “Where did Don Edoard go?” Eleyna asked.

  “He went to look at his new horse. It has calmed down.” Beatriz busied herself retying her bonnet. Her fingers, damningly, showed stains from digging in the dirt.

  “I thank you, Beatriz. I know you are only trying to help, but I must become accustomed to him in the end.”

  “Of course you must, but there is no need for you to worry yourself about something that must grow in its own time.”

  Eleyna wondered—not for the first time—how someone so understanding and kind could be, at moments, so irritating.

  They all met again at supper, which they took in the dining room under the glowing candles of the chandelier.

  “You are remarkably lovely tonight, carrida meya,” said Edoard as he led Eleyna to her chair. Then he spoiled the effect by turning to Beatriz and drawing her away from Rohario. “And you as well, Beatriz. If you will sit on either side of me, I would be the happiest man in the world. I have looked over the sketches. I hope you do not mind that I looked at them without asking you first—”

  Hands rifling through her sketchbook without her permission! Eleyna strangled a protest and smiled blandly at him
.

  “—but I could not wait to see my dear creatures, although I noticed that you did a few little drawings of my brother as well. I am terribly jealous you have not sketched me yet….”

  Eleyna dared not look at Rohario. “I was just warming up my hands, Don Edoard.”

  “You will sketch me tonight, then?”

  She blushed, intensely aware of Edoard’s interest in her, of the other meaning behind his innocuous words.

  “The flowers from the garden look lovely arranged so in the vases, do they not, Don Edoard?” said Beatriz. “You picked them with such an eye for color.”

  Distracted, Edoard turned toward her. “I only followed your wishes. I know little enough of flowers.”

  “You know more than you think, Don Edoard. Our grandmother Leilias was a perfumier, and she taught me the knowledge of flowers and scents and herbs. Here are red chrysanthemums for Love, honeysuckle for Affection, and lilies for Peace. Your cook prepared the chicken tonight with a touch of marjoram.”

  “What an exceptionally clever woman you are, to have noticed such a thing. Does marjoram have meaning as well?”

  Beatriz smiling prettily, her cheeks a little flushed. “Blushes, my lord.”

  “I did not know flowers and herbs could speak of so much.”

  “There are many hidden meanings in the things of the world, if we only know where to look.”

  Something about the way Beatriz said those words made the hair on the back of Eleyna’s neck prickle. She glanced toward Rohario, but he was sitting sullenly, fork in one hand, staring at his giblet pie, which lay eviscerated on his plate. Mara watched her charges with misty-eyed approbation.

  “Whatever can you mean?” Edoard leaned toward Beatriz, his eyes alight. “You sound positively mysterious.”

  Mara came alive. “It is time for us to retire to the parlor.” She rose briskly and whisked Eleyna and Beatriz out with her. The steward led them to the parlor, where Eleyna found her sketchpad sitting neatly on a sidetable.

  Mara sat down on a couch and began embroidery. Eleyna drew Beatriz aside. “What did you mean by saying such a thing to Don Edoard?”