Ginny felt her wrist released with a final, warning squeeze that made her want to strike out at him in rage. But he had already turned to his grandfather, with an engaging smile.
“Sir, I wonder if I may have a word with you in private? Diego has already told me we may use his father’s study.”
Ginny thought she heard Don Francisco mutter under his breath, a softly explosive sentence that began with “You insolent young pup…!” but she was already being hustled away by two outraged ladies, both scolding and questioning her alternately.
Deciding that to remain silent might be wiser, she rubbed at her aching wrist surreptitiously as she went upstairs. A hasty glance over her shoulder as they reached the landing showed her that neither Steve nor his grandfather were anywhere in sight. She could not help wondering, how would Don Francisco take the news?
33
As it turned out, once she had been safely escorted to a room upstairs, Ginny had no longer any time to worry about Don Francisco’s reactions. She sat silent and rather sullen while Dona Armijo combed her hair out and tried to find some means of pinning it up once more; all the while shaking her head dolefully or nodding it in agreement with something Señora Ortega said. And the good Señora had much to say on the subject of Ginny’s behavior.
Unable to bear it any longer after a while, Ginny protested that it had all been Steve’s fault. He had been the one who had encouraged her to escape from the crowds for a time; and afterwards it had been he who had led her to join the gypsy dancers.
“He kissed that gypsy girl right before my eyes, with absolutely no compunctions at all,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes in a fashion that made the Dona Armijo think she looked like a gypsy herself. “Why should I not have showed him that I too could be just as popular if I danced in the same abandoned fashion? I’m sorry, Tia, if I fall short of the standards set for Spanish young ladies, but I am not one—I could not bear to allow myself to be treated in such a casual and offhand fashion! Why all the men I’ve met here are flirts—and most of them are married too!”
She stopped to draw breath and the Señora Ortega, who had been looking quite sour during Ginny’s impassioned discourse shook her head in dismay.
“My dear Genia! You’ve seen our lives only as they appear on the surface, I’m afraid. Do you really believe that women here have such a bad time of it? Of course not—they are quite happy with things as they are, I assure you. They are petted and pampered and spoiled—nothing is denied them. There is no reason for a young lady, especially one who is formally betrothed, as you are, to feel she has to—well, putting it bluntly—to compete with some gypsy wench. Your place, my dear, is up on a pedestal. Men will take their fun where they find it, it’s true, but even in France you must be aware that this is customary. No, dear Genia, there are some things you must learn to accept—even to turn a blind eye to. After all you will be Esteban’s wife, and even if the dear boy has been rather wild, I’m sure he’ll soon settle down and recognize his responsibilities—my brother will see to it!”
“But Tia, I don’t want…”
The Señora Ortega merely waved her hand imperiously, curbing Ginny’s instinctive outburst. “You’ve so much to learn, my child! It’s not what you want, but what you must accept. It’s a woman’s lot, I’m afraid. But men can be managed—there’s the example of my own dear daughter-in-law—such a quiet, unassuming little thing she seems, and she’s always turning to Alberto for advice, begging him to make all her decisions for her; and he adores her! There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her, and it always ends up, somehow, that Sarita gets her way, although Alberto thinks that he has made the decision!”
“But Steve is different! Please, Tia, forgive me for speaking out—I suppose that’s not ladylike either! However I can’t see myself pretending all the time to be something I’m not. I’m a woman, but I’m also an individual—yes, I have a mind, I can think; I could never, never act like a stupid little ninny just so that I’d make some man puff up with self-importance and protectiveness. And anyhow…” Ginny paused and bit her lip irresolutely, wondering if she had gone too far, “anyhow Steve’s not that kind of man either. He’s arrogant and overbearing, and if I didn’t stand up to him he’d walk all over me! In fact, he’s even had the audacity to announce to me that the only reason he hasn’t become bored with me before now is because I do have a will of my own!”
Dona Armijo, obviously horrified at the turn the conversation had taken now gave the last disapproving pat to Ginny’s freshly coifed hair and stood back as the young woman sprang restlessly to her feet, her cheeks burning with a high color that was really quite becoming.
“I must say that I really cannot understand what has got into you tonight, Genia,” Tia Maria sniffed. “But I can tell there’s no use talking to you when you’re in such a highly strung mood. Let’s go downstairs again, then, and I can only beg of you to be—a little more discreet, my dear. It would not do for people to begin gossiping about you, especially just before the wedding.”
It was on the tip of Ginny’s tongue to blurt out that there would be no need for a big, formal wedding now. She was already married…but the fresh storm that such an announcement would inevitably bring about her shoulders made her bite back the words. Let Steve break the news, and let him cope with all the angry reactions that would no doubt follow.
She clung to the curving stair-rail as they descended slowly, seized with a strange, inexplicable reluctance all of a sudden. You are being quite ridiculous, she scolded herself. What is there to be afraid of? Don Francisco will not be too angry, I’m sure of it…and then, when Ginny had almost reached the foot of the stairs she saw Colonel Devereaux waiting for her; an unusually stern look on his face, his light hazel eyes reflecting the light so that they seemed piercing, almost frightening.
For once, Ginny was relieved that the Señora Ortega was with her. She had remembered suddenly, like a lightning flash, Steve’s careless words of a few hours ago—“Beal knows I’m here, and Devereaux knows who I am.” How could she have forgotten? In spite of the sudden, fearful plunging of her heart, she was filled with an unreasonable anger against him. How could he take it all so lightly? He had married her—his duty done he could have escaped, she knew very well his friends would have helped him. But instead he had deliberately chosen to stay and court danger; he had danced, he had kissed and flirted with his gypsy girlfriend, and then he had gone off quite calmly to speak with his grandfather, having packed her off upstairs. Where was he now?
Ginny found her worst misgivings realized—Colonel Devereaux had been waiting for her; he wished to speak with her, he said in a grave voice, on a matter of the gravest importance.
What followed next was dreamlike—so far removed from reality that Ginny had the greatest difficulty making herself believe it was all really happening. She had felt this way earlier at her wedding; that strange, cold little ceremony that had transformed her within seconds from mistress to wife. Now she wondered rather wildly if that too had been a mirage—something conjured up by her own imagination.
She sat in a comfortable chair in Don José Sandoval’s study, her hands folded in her lap, face as pale as a lily, her large green eyes shining with an unusual brilliance. And she would only shake her head and whisper, “I don’t know—I don’t know,” to all the questions that Colonel Devereaux put to her.
Suddenly, the portly French colonel, that dapper, debonair man of the world, seemed to have been transformed into a cold hard man of business—a soldier with an unpleasant duty to perform.
“You must understand, mademoiselle, that we are at war! I have my sworn obligations to fulfill, and I cannot let anything—not friendship, nor my own sympathetic feelings, nor even pity, stand in the way. Consider, if you please, the seriousness of your position! By your refusal to speak, you are placing yourself in the position of an accomplice. Are you not aware that as a soldier I am empowered to try summarily and even execute any person suspected of giving help to the
rebels?”
Don Francisco had, to Ginny’s initial relief, insisted upon being present at this “interview” the colonel had requested. But so far, while the colonel paced up and down, pausing every now and then to fire a question, Don Francisco had said very little. He stood by the mantelpiece as if he wished for the warmth of the fire that burned just beneath, and his craggy face was expressionless as if it were carved out of wood. In spite of her own predicament, Ginny found herself glancing toward him, wondering how he must feel at hearing his grandson accused of being a revolutionary, or even worse, an American spy or paid mercenary. To a man as proud as Don Francisco, this whole interview must not only be humiliating but degrading as well. He had always supported the Liberal movement, had supported the Emperor Maximilian and his government, and now—Ginny wondered how much Don Francisco really knew of Steve’s activities. Had Steve finally been honest with his grandfather, and was that why he had been allowed to “escape” so mysteriously? When the French colonel had asked him diffidently if Don Francisco could inform them of his grandson’s whereabouts the old Don had drawn himself up stiffly, his mouth thinning under his white mustachios.
“My grandson has always come and gone when and as he pleases, I am afraid. He has never seen fit to confide in me regarding the kind of life he’s been leading on the other side of the border.”
“I understand sir—please believe that I bring this matter up only with the greatest reluctance. It is by no means my intention to impugn your loyalty to the government, Don Francisco, and I regret very much that I had to be the person to inform you of your grandson’s unfortunate connections with the Juaristas.”
Don Francisco had made no comment—Ginny had had the impression he was holding himself in check with difficulty; that he was much more upset and angry than he would show on the surface.
Now, as the colonel ended his latest harangue with a veiled threat, Don Francisco interrupted at last, clearing his throat before he spoke, his voice dry and brittle.
“Colonel Devereaux—one moment! I won’t have my granddaughter-in-law bullied. Whatever Esteban’s shady activities, I’m sure she knows nothing of them. He is hardly the type of man to tell his business to anyone, not even to his wife.”
“His wife, you say? Really sir, I do not wish to sound stubborn, but I recall receiving an invitation to a wedding—I was introduced to mademoiselle as the fiancée of your grandson—how can this be?”
Colonel Devereaux had gone as red as a turkey cock—his eyebrows seemed to bristle with frustration.
“You ask how this can be? Well—in a word, my grandson informed me only recently of his secret marriage to this young lady. Still, knowing how tongues will wag, I insisted on a second, formal ceremony to satisfy everyone. Do you wish the marriage certificate produced, Monsieur le Colonel? Do you still have any doubts?” There was the faintest sarcastic undercurrent to Don Francisco’s words which made the colonel clench his hands together behind his back, controlling himself with difficulty.
“That will not be necessary, I’m sure. The word of Don Francisco Alvarado is sufficient, even for a mere French interloper.” Was there a note of bitterness here, too? Ginny felt as if she were attending a play—it would have all seemed so harmless, merely a storm in a teacup, if not for the presence of an armed French soldier at the door—a crophaired Legionnaire who wore a captain’s insignia proudly, and stood with his eyes fixed into space, as if he were deaf.
“In that case—” Don Francisco stood straight and tall, a commanding figure still, in spite of whatever inner turmoil he must be hiding. “There is surely no further point in your questioning Ginny? She has already told you that she knows nothing.”
Colonel Devereaux seemed to collect himself. He had stopped his pacing, and his eyes suddenly seemed to have taken on a steely glitter that sent a tremor of apprehension through Ginny’s body.
“I am afraid, sir, that it is not as easy as that.” The colonel turned his head towards Ginny, and a note almost of triumph seemed to have crept into his voice. “Madame’s marriage to your grandson makes her a citizen of Mexico. She is subject to our laws, now, and cannot claim immunity as an American. And though I can well understand your feelings on this matter, Don Francisco, I regret that my duty as a French officer must take precedence over my own inclinations. If you please—” he held up a hand as if to stave off any interruptions and continued sternly, “I must and will have more information from madame. You have already heard me speak of an American counter-guerrilla who works for us—a man named Thomas Beal. He recognizes the lovely Madame Ginny without any doubt, as the same woman who helped an American gunman named Steve Morgan break a man out of jail—a confessed Juarista rebel! And we know now, also, that this same man is none other than your grandson, who calls himself Esteban Alvarado while he is in Mexico. Voila—madame has been travelling far and wide with her—husband. Madame helps rebels escape. Am I therefore such a fool that I must believe that madame did not know what she was doing? That here is a woman so blindly obedient to her husband that she risks her life without question, merely because he tells her to? No, no! Excuse me, but I must ask more questions, and this time I will have answers, Madame, you comprehend?”
“You go too far, Colonel!” Don Francisco’s voice was like thunder. “I had no idea that our allies, the French, are in such straits that now they resort to intimidating ladies in the name of our laws. You may arrest me if you think we’re concealing any knowledge of my grandson’s whereabouts.
And you may be sure, sir, that I will be in touch with Marshal Bazaine himself regarding your rather shoddy tactics.”
“I am acting on the marshal’s instructions. In fact, I am his representative in this province. And if I may remind you, sir, it was the emperor himself who signed certain decrees a few months ago, giving us the authority to question all suspected revolutionaries—to interrogate them to the fullest degree possible, sir; do you understand what that means? And we can execute them too—without trial, if I feel it to be necessary as an example! Believe me, my questions tonight were designed only to spare this lady a great deal of unpleasantness. Do you think we’re so nice in our questioning of peasant women?” He turned on Ginny so suddenly that she jumped, staring at him with wide eyes, her chin now tilting stubbornly. “Madame, I beg you to think, to be reasonable, for your own sake. If you keep silent through any mistaken sense of loyalty, let me remind you that you are half-French—France was your home for most of your life, was it not? And do you realize how many Frenchmen are dying each day for the emperor’s cause? Do you realize that every gun smuggled across the border to the Juaristas is used against us? And it’s men like Steve Morgan who are worse than the others—he is a mercenary—a spy, he has not even the excuse of feeling any particular patriotism, has he? And you, madame, must I tell you of the cowardly ambushes these rebels set? Of the tortures and mutilations? Or must I threaten you with arrest and execution before you will speak?”
“Colonel Devereaux.” There was a sparkle of rage in Ginny’s slanted green eyes, and her voice was coldly defiant. “You are threatening me, and I never have liked threats. And you may execute me, but you’d never get away with it. We have too many acquaintances in common, have we not, Colonel? There’s my papa, the Senator—you know yourself how glad Washington would be of an excuse to intervene here. Our Secretary Seward does not like your presence here, does he? And there’s my uncle Albert—he has your emperor’s ear, as you well know. I’m sorry, but you will not find it as easy to bully or get rid of me as you would some peasant girl.”
“Threats, threats! My dear madame, did you really think I’d execute a lady as lovely and as intelligent as you are? Or that I’d torture you, perhaps? Ah, no. You will find, when you know me better, that I am not nearly so crude in my—um, methods. But, madame—” the man’s face had taken on its former almost benevolent look and he almost beamed down at her; “What shall I do with you? You are really being very stubborn, you know—I had no idea you w
ere so much in love with your husband. In fact, from the tone of the quite frantic letter I received from your father, you were forcibly abducted—at gunpoint, and following on a dastardly attack upon some of my own men. There was a certain young captain who was badly injured, and in fact almost died, trying to defend you. Have you forgotten already? Is all your love and loyalty for France evaporated completely? Do you consider us all monsters now? Eh?”
His sudden volte-face confused Ginny, as the colonel had meant it to do. He shrugged now, casting an almost appealing glance at Don Francisco who stood with a rather amused smile twisting a corner of his mouth.
“Don Francisco—will you not help me make madame see reason? I know she knows more about your grandson’s movements than she is prepared to say. I have executed others for less. You must see that I cannot let her get away with this foolish defiance—my career would be ruined in any case if the story got out that I had been made to back down by a slip of a girl; that I did not do my duty. You’re a man of honor, sir, you understand how it is, do you not? If your grandson had nothing to fear, would he have run away, leaving his bride? I’m begging you to put your patriotism and your loyalty to the emperor before your own feelings—I know it’s hard—”
“Enough, Colonel! You make your point admirably. So you’d play upon my honor now, would you? What would you have me do—order Ginny to betray her husband?”
“What is this? What am I supposed to do? You know, Colonel Devereaux, that a wife cannot give evidence against her husband…” visibly agitated now, Ginny found it impossible to sit still. She stood up quickly, fingers nervously smoothing out the folds of her gown.
“Ah—so you admit that there is some evidence you are withholding? In wartime, Madame, one does not bother about minor technicalities, surely you must realize that!”
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