Because of Agnes du Salm’s pleading, Ginny had begged Michel to stay in Mexico as long as he could. Strangely enough, she had almost begun to love the country herself. So much had happened to her here—and not all of it had been bad, after all. Mexico City itself was still a gay place to be, although its gaiety now seemed too loud and too spurious. There were still balls and tertulias and masquerades to be attended, and the theater was always crowded. Once or twice, Ginny had actually danced on the stage there, before an audience, when she was told that the proceeds were to go for hiring more mercenaries, buying more guns for the Imperialist armies. Even Michel had not dared to grumble too much, because after all, it was for the Cause! He seemed a little more sure of her these days, and talked of Paris, and the life they would lead there.
“You know that you’re nothing but a little Parisienne at heart,” he teased her. “Think how happy your uncle and aunt will be to have you there again! And I’d like to see the look on your cousin Pierre’s face!”
Michel made an effort to keep her days filled with activity, and he escorted her everywhere when he was in the city, but his absences had begun to get on Ginny’s nerves. She hated the thought of the risks he took, especially now that the Juarista guerillas were everywhere, and the armies of el presidente drawing closer, like a ring of steel. Juarez was in Chihuahua—he was moving up to Zacatecas, to make his headquarters there. Ginny heard the name again with a pang. What bitter memories that little town held for her! She could not help wondering too, how the advancing of the Juarista armies had affected the hacienda of Don Francisco. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine that indomitable old man leaving his house to run away, or giving up any of his vast estates. And Renaldo. Had he ever received her letter? She had heard nothing from him—from any of them.
All the news they heard now seemed to be Juarist triumphs. Porfirio Diaz, whom Steve had once called his friend, has escaped from prison in Puebla and returned to his province of Oaxaca, where he now headed an enormous army. Tampico fell—Guadalajara fell. Vera Cruz was now the only port that flew the Imperialist flag, and the diplomatic corps had begun to move slowly and unobtrusively out of Mexico City.
In October, Agnes du Salm came frantically to Ginny with bad news.
“Oh God! It’s confirmed now, by transatlantic cable, of all things. Carlotta has been declared insane—they say she’s lost her wits completely. Her brother is having her looked after at Miramar.”
“But that’s terrible!” Ginny was sleepy-eyed from a late night at a tertulia, but the news shocked her. “Oh, poor Max!” she burst out. “The poor, haunted man! Will he—do you imagine that he will really abdicate now?”
“I don’t know! Nobody does!” Agnes shook her head distractedly. “They’re trying to talk him into it, of course, but I don’t think he understands what anyone is saying. He must feel as if he’s been deserted by everyone.” Then, with a flash of her old manner, Agnes added briskly, “That’s why I’m here. The court is being removed to Orizaba—we’ve all been asked to stay at Max’s little hacienda at Jalapilla, such a lovely, peaceful place! You must come with me, Ginny! The poor man needs time to think, I’m sure, and he’ll need to feel he has friends around him. Come on! Everyone is going—you can’t stay on here in Mexico City without any friends!”
“But—but Michel? He’s gone again to Durango, they’re really in a bad way there. And the general is right here—”
“Bah! Michel will understand! I’ve already talked to Marshal Bazaine, and he understands! He says he’ll make it all right with Michel—and that in fact he’ll send him to Orizaba as soon as he gets back. He was intending, in any case, to transfer Michel to Puebla—the French have their largest garrison there now, you know. And it’s just a few miles from Orizaba. I won’t let you refuse me this time, Ginny!”
In the face of Agnes du Salm’s impatient pleading and her stubbornness, once she had made up her mind that Ginny must go with her, there seemed to be no alternative but to accede. Agnes was right, Michel would understand, especially when he talked to Marshal Bazaine. She couldn’t let poor Max feel that she too had been merely one of the court sycophants, eager for invitations to the palace only when things were going well. And she had heard, many times how beautiful it was in Orizaba, the heart of the tierra templada.
“Oh, very well,” Ginny said tiredly at last, “I’ll go! But you must give me time to pack, and to write a letter to Michel.”
“I’ll be by with my carriage in two hours,” Agnes warned her. “You must hurry, love, because we don’t want to miss arriving there in the daylight, with all those guerillas haunting the barrancas. Although you needn’t worry,” she added cheerfully, already halfway down the stairs. “We’ll have an escort, of course!”
In the end, in spite of Agnes’s repeated urgings for Ginny to hurry, their journey seemed infuriatingly slow and leisurely. The Prince du Salm had already gone ahead with Maximilian and the rest of his entourage which included, Agnes whispered to Ginny with a flash of her eyes, that insufferable German Jesuit, Father Fischer. Ginny frowned, because she had never liked the thin, black-frocked man herself. But she was even more annoyed to find that Miguel Lopez was to be one of their escort.
Agnes, as usual, seemed in her element, surrounded by a bevy of adoring young officers. Her particular gallant of the moment was a dashing young Austrian Hussar in a spotless white uniform that looked as if it had never seen battle. In the end, because they had so much baggage between them, Agnes had brought two light, open carriages for herself and Ginny.
“This way, we can both be surrounded by our respective swains,” she teased, pretending not to see the cold look that her friend shot at the handsome colonel.
It seemed as if they were merely going on some kind of a picnic, Ginny thought with annoyance. There was so much laughing and gay chatter—so many stops to admire the scenery! In the end, they had to spend the night at Puebla, and the only thing that Ginny could not complain about was the impeccability of Miguel Lopez’s manner towards her. She had to admit, grudgingly, that after all he was a gentleman. True, he had ridden by her all the way, and helped her in and out of her carriage each time it stopped, but his conversation dealt only with polite trivialities, and his compliments were merely polite, not bold, as they had been in the past. “Perhaps he’s changed, perhaps he’s not too interested in me any longer,” she thought, and wondered why the thought gave her a slight pang of irritation. I’m really getting to be a horrible flirt, she scolded herself. I’m engaged to Michel, and I’m going to be happy with him. Why do I want every man I meet to adore me? And in any case, she reminded herself, Lopez had already made his advances and she had rejected them. It was a good thing he didn’t plan to stay in Orizaba for long!
They left Puebla heavily cloaked and muffled against the morning chill—fortified by a magnificent breakfast provided by the French commandant. Before they left they had heard the French bugles, and seen the tricolor come up with the rising sun in the background. Little barefoot children came out to cheer the soldiers and gape at the fine ladies in their carriages. Puebla the impregnable fortress, Puebla, city of cathedrals. Ginny was almost sorry she had to leave it so soon—it would have been interesting to explore.
She turned back once, to see the twin volcanoes that towered above the twin forts of the city, their snowcapped peaks now pink from the newly risen sun. Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl—harsh Indian names that were hard to remember, much less to pronounce. Then Lopez was at her side, leaning close to ask her if she was cold, if she needed anything. The moment of almost-sadness passed and she was the gay flirt again, her eyes flashing laughter at his sallies. She could not help thinking how charming he was when he wasn’t trying to prove his own machismo. She was almost glad now that he was at her side, and not Agnes’s. At least, he knew the country through which they were passing, and could describe what lay ahead, give her the names of every mountain, every river.
The highway seemed nothing more than a series o
f dry gullies or barrancas, running up and down like a switchback. They had started out above the cloud level, and now began the slow and almost imperceptible descent into the tierra templada, with its warmer, more pleasant climate. The ladies discarded their cloaks and were daring enough to sip some tequila, in small silver-chased goblets that Colonel Lopez had produced. Every now and then they halted, while the small company of soldiers who had also accompanied them scouted ahead for any sign of Juarista guerillas. And it was for this same reason, too, that they avoided many of the small villages they must otherwise have passed through.
“Too much chance of an ambush there,” one of the Austrians said tersely. “They’re all Juarista sympathizers, anyway!”
The roads seemed incredibly narrow, but at least here everything was green, and flowers grew in profusion on the mountainsides.
“But wait until you’re near Orizaba!” Agnes called back to Ginny. “It’s really beautiful there—you’ll think you’ve never seen such a profusion of tropical beauty!” She smiled when she saw that Ginny had just accepted a small bouquet of flowers from Miguel and had tucked them into her shawl.
They encountered a heavily escorted wagon train, hauled by mules, and had to pull off to the side of the road until it had passed.
“It’s silver, from the mines nearby,” Colonel Lopez explained. “They’ll take it back to Puebla first, and then the soldiers will take it back to Vera Cruz.”
“Mines, in this part of the country? It doesn’t seem possible,” she murmured, looking up into his handsome face. He smiled down at her.
“Oh yes, why do you think my ancestors came to Mexico? Gold, silver, precious stones, they are everywhere! But it’s hard work for those poor devils in the mines. The Indians don’t like to work down there any more, so they use convicts, most of the time. That’s where we put some of our Juarist prisoners.”
He was giving her a piercing look, as if he expected her to make some kind of reply, but she only shrugged and turned away. Why speak of such unpleasant things on a beautiful day like this? The war, for once, seemed like a bad dream and she didn’t want to think about it.
It’s really beautiful, far lovelier than I could have dreamed, Ginny thought. I had no idea Mexico had this profusion of beauty, of contrast! How far away she was now from the dry harshness of the vast Meseta Central, across which she’d trudged or ridden so many times in the worst of circumstances. How different it was today, to be travelling in such comfort with such wonderful companions!
When they neared Orizaba, Agnes insisted that she and Ginny must ride too, for she was tired of being cramped in a carriage.
Agnes wore a deep burgundy velvet riding habit, trimmed with sable, and on horseback, she looked really magnificent, riding like a young Diana.
“You shall take the black mare today,” she told Ginny, “and I’ll take the white stallion!” Her eyes laughed. “Let’s show these men that women can ride as well as they!”
To tell the truth, Ginny was relieved to be on horseback again herself. At Agnes’s insistence, she had even worn the new, frighteningly expensive riding habit that Michel had ordered especially for her. When she threw aside her shawl and allowed Miguel to help her mount the restive black mare, Ginny thought she had seen again the barely controlled flare of desire in his eyes. She was aware that she looked exceptionally well.
The habit was of white watered silk and clung closely to her figure, showing every detail of its perfection. The only touch of color, added at her own insistence, was the green velvet ribbon that trimmed it, and set off the small white hat, perched becomingly forward on her shining hair.
“You look like an angel—a vision!” Miguel Lopez whispered. His hand squeezed hers for a moment, although he released it quickly soon afterwards.
As always, riding exhilarated Ginny. She wanted to laugh, to urge her mount to go faster, so that she could feel the wind on her face. Yes, she told herself, I’ve been too long in the city—this is what I’ve been missing!
The path they followed broadened, as they rode downward towards the town of Orizaba, nestled under a whitecapped mountain of its own. They passed more people, obviously refugees, some of them foreigners like herself. All of them, their belongings piled in carts dragged by oxen, seemed to be hurrying.
“They’re like rats, scurrying away from rumors!” one of the Belgians snarled. “Why don’t they wait until the railroad is built?”
“What railroad? I thought the railhead from Vera Cruz ended at Paso del Macho!” someone else interjected.
“Ah, but our good French allies have sent their engineers, and they’re hurrying to put the rails down as fast as they can—perhaps, with luck, they’ll reach Puebla before long.”
“God and the Juaristas willing!” one of the other Mexican officers snickered, and Lopez frowned.
“Of course it will be built! It’s money from the silver mines that’s paying for it, after all! The mine owners want a faster, safer method of transportation for their ore.”
“Who’s building it, though? I thought it was hard to find labor in these parts, for the peasants refuse to be parted from their lands, and the hacendados won’t release any of their peons.”
“Ah!” Colonel Lopez shrugged, kneeing his horse closer to Ginny’s. “More convict labor, I’m afraid. But we have plenty of that, and now we’ve stopped executing our Juarista prisoners—we send them to the mines or the road gangs instead. It’s more practical, you’ll admit, and the hard work kills most of them off in any case!”
He caught a slight shudder from Ginny and smiled at her.
“What an angel you are—do you even feel pity for Juaristas? I wish you were as softhearted towards your ardent admirers, cold one!”
“Why Colonel, are you really one of my gallants? You flatter me exceedingly!”
“You’re playing with me,” he said in a low voice. “I wish I could find the key to unlock that heart of yours—even if only for a moment!”
“Perhaps I don’t have a heart,” Ginny retorted, her eyes meeting the challenge of his without flinching.
“In spite of your cruelty, you have a spirit that I cannot help admiring,” Lopez said. “Never mind—perhaps there’ll be a moment when you’ll feel some slight degree of warmth for me. I’m a patient man.”
“You play the gallant admirably!” she said coolly. And then, “Can’t we ride a little faster? Aren’t we in sight of Orizaba yet?”
“Patience, petite, we’re getting there.” A Frenchman, a friend of Michel’s rode up, grinning. “Phew! It’s really getting hot, isn’t it?”
Miguel’s manner had reverted to that of formal gallantry, no more.
“But there’s no point in exhausting the horses yet. Remember that the Emperor’s hacienda at Jalapilla lies a little beyond Orizaba. In the meantime, why not enjoy the scenery?” They were passing what appeared to be the outskirts of a small village, beyond which stretched a tremendous orchard.
“How pretty it is! What’s this village called?” Ginny dropped back slightly to hear his reply.
“That, belle madame, is no village, I’m afraid. It’s part of the hacienda of the Conde de Valmes. In a short while, we’ll pass the high stone walls which surround the palacio of the conde himself. You’ve met him surely?”
“You mean that stooped over little man with the very white hair and great big mustaches? That conde? The one we are always saying is Max’s shadow?”
Ginny opened her eyes wide in surprise, and Miguel gave a rather sarcastic laugh.
“Precisely! That one. But he’s too busy playing courtier to bother with the running of his hacienda. He leaves that to his wife, who is quite young and er—active, one hears.”
“But that’s incredible, that he should have a young wife. Is she pretty, the condesa? Does he always leave her locked up here alone, or does she ever come to the city?”
“Ah, now at last I’ve managed to pique your woman’s curiosity!” Miguel laughed. “I don’t think you’v
e ever met her—Soledad doesn’t visit Mexico City very often, she says she finds it too boring. However, she’s hardly a prisoner here! She finds plenty to keep her busy, and this part of the world does have its amusements, you know!”
“Stop teasing, Miguel!” Agnes had reined up beside them, her face flushed and smiling. She turned to Ginny. “No, really! He won’t tell you too much because she’s a distant relative of his, isn’t that so, Miguelito? But you know me, I’ve no qualms about gossiping! Our condesa is quite young, compared to her husband, if you can call fortyish young, that is! And she’s considered attractive, too, in a fullblown way! As for her amusements—” Agnes turned her laughing eyes on the Colonel, who had the grace to flush, “what Miguel means is that she doesn’t lack for gallants. Most of them young, and quite handsome! She has quite a discerning eyes for strongly built young men—perhaps it’s her mothering instinct, for they never had a child. Don’t look so curious, my pet, you’ll probably meet her at Jalapilla! She’ll be invited to one of our tertulias, I’m sure, even though her old bore of a husband is sick and lying in bed in Mexico City, surrounded by doctors! La Condesa won’t miss him.”
They all burst out laughing at Agnes’s irrepressible air of mischief, even the colonel.
“You’re quite impossible, dear Agnes!” he murmured to her and she replied with a saucy look, “Am I though? You must admit I’m a born intriguer, isn’t that so?”
He inclined his head at this, with a certain light in his eyes, that had narrowed slightly in appreciation of her innuendo.
It was a gay company that rode so lightheartedly into the outskirts of Orizaba. Even Ginny hardly looked up, except to give one short glance of pity when a ragged, filthy line of men, their legs chained to each other, wrists manacled by long lengths of chain, were ordered to get into the ditch and stay there until the small cavalcade had passed.
Sweet Savage Love Page 53