Tears had now filled Lady Florentia’s eyes. How often had she sat in this chair, in this empty house, and ruminated on her past? Perhaps telling someone else only made it more real, brought it closer to the surface somehow.
“Eventually, he worked himself into the grave. He’d gained a title by then. And so had I. I was a lady! And Jose had saved up quite a lot of money, which he had little use for. Nor did I, at the time. I just wanted my Jose back.”
Lady Florentia wiped her eyes.
“I couldn’t think of a better use for that money than to help other people’s children. I think Jose would have thought it fitting. I don’t know why neither of us thought of it while he was alive.”
“Do you not visit them, the students you sponsor?”
Lady Florentia glanced back at Armada, letting her tears fall now. “My place is here. It is my penance, in a way. It feels like a betrayal to Jose to leave.”
Lady Florentia put her sherry down.
“I do apologise, Constable. Perhaps I shouldn’t drink sherry on the rare occasion I have visitors any more. It does bring out the sentimental side of me.”
Lady Florentia got up and went to the kitchen. She returned a moment latter with a rag, having wiped her cheeks dry.
“I think I can guess what your next question is, Constable. And no, I can’t imagine what that boy Aurelio could have been doing that Gregorio Cordoba wanted to inform me about. I pay the university directly, so there is no way he could be stealing from me. And given I don’t really speak to any of the boys I sponsor, I’m afraid I can’t be of much help there, either.”
Armada rose to his feet.
“Thank you, Lady Florentia. You have been more than helpful. But I feel I should leave you.”
Armada let Lady Florentia escort him to the door. It would have been so easy to spend the rest of the afternoon there, talking about anything except the case. Lady Florentia had ended up being one of the most honest people he had ever interrogated. Even using the word interrogate seemed too strong. It had been a chat, one that could have gone on for hours. They hadn’t even touched upon the books on her shelf, or her love of theatre. It was so rare in his business when Armada met someone who shared his passion. What other well-read opinions did she have? What of Molina? Or Cervantes? What else did she know about Calderon? What could she teach him about Vega?
Instead, Armada found himself at her front door, having strange thoughts about if they were both several decades younger and under vastly different circumstances, how their relationship could be something quite different.
“Well, Constable, it’s been a pleasure.”
Another phrase Armada rarely, if ever, heard. He kissed her lightly on both cheeks.
“‘If thou dost love as thou dost suffer, thou suffers in the happiest way. And the acceptance of thy freedom, is all the ransom thou must pay,’” he quoted. “It’s been a pleasure, Lady Florentia.”
“If you are ever able to return and quote Calderon to me again, Constable, then call me Carolina.”
Armada bowed his head. “Domingo.”
With that, Armada returned to his cart and took his time returning to the city, letting his thoughts drift over one of the most pleasurable conversations he’d had in a long time, and vowing to return under better circumstances.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Armada was feeling relaxed as his cart bumbled along the uncobbled track leading back into the city. It was a warm afternoon as always, with just a few wisps of clouds in the sky to the south somewhere over the sea. The only sounds were the soft footsteps of his mule and the constant squeak from the left wheel of the cart, but Armada still thought it was deathly quiet. There were few signs of people beyond the odd distant goat herd, or a farmer digging post holes to shore up a bit of his fence. He was alone and could now allow himself the indulgence of appreciating the pastoral beauty that surrounded him.
It was something Calderon would have abhorred. Such pastoral romanticism had become quite unfashionable in the theatre. For most, a sheep herder’s life was one of unending tedium, and the attempts by playwrights of a bygone era to use them to represent the beauty of an older, simpler way of life did not last long. It had been seductive to people at first, as the Reconquest, the printing press, and the discovery of the New World had brought massive change very quickly to Spanish society. But audiences quickly saw through the fallacy of such sentimentalism and the genre died a quick death.
But there was still something to say for appreciating the unspoiled countryside. Out here, there were no streets running with sewage, there were no dilapidated buildings around whose corners thieves could easily hide, there was no smell of rotting meat being sold by dodgy meat sellers, no drunks wandering out of a tavern and passing out in the street, and no endless traffic of horses and carts that could drive a man mad.
It made sense why Lady Florentia had retired herself so far out away from the city. Who could get any reading done with the bustle of Salamanca outside one’s window?
This thought made Armada smile, and he promised himself to return and have a discussion with her again that had nothing to do with murder. As he entered the city and returned to his accommodation, Armada thought about what points he might raise with Lady Florentia over a cup of tea. Yet as always, as soon as he was back in the city, so too returned its manic pace.
“He’s with the doctor now. You may want to hurry.”
Armada raced off to his room, shot up the stairs, and burst in through the door to find Lucas laid out on his bed looking very ill.
The doctor, an older man with a large nose and thick spectacles, sat on the foot of the bed and was wrapping Lucas’s ankle in a bandage.
“Lucas…what happened?” Armada asked as he came to Lucas’s side. He was relieved to see when Lucas opened his eyes. His left one had been injured. It was red and swollen, and his eye couldn’t seem to focus on anything. But his right glared back at Armada.
“How could you…?” Lucas whispered before coughing painfully.
“Don’t excite him. He’s in quite rough shape.”
“Is he all right?” Armada asked.
“I think so. I’ve managed to stop the bleeding and gotten him wrapped up. But he’ll need quite a long time to recover. Those boys beat him pretty badly. I only wish I’d gotten here sooner.”
“Those boys?”
Armada turned to Lucas. “Julian did this?”
“No, sir…,” Lucas whispered. “You did.”
Armada resisted the urge to be offended at that. He turned to the doctor.
“Thank you for coming by, Doctor. You can give your bill to the porter and I’ll make sure it is paid.”
The doctor rose and collected his things quickly, having sensed the rising tension in the room. He mumbled to Armada how he should let the boy rest and, sensing his advice would probably be ignored, disappeared from the room.
Armada knew his next move should have been to sit by the bed, take the boy’s hand, and have a sensible discussion with him. He should let Lucas be angry, let him get it out. Possibly let him rest for the night. Then, perhaps they could have the conversation that was beginning to brew.
Instead, Armada found himself at his sherry barrel, removing the tarp that hid it from the porter and pouring himself a goblet-full. He resisted the urge to go over to the boy, preferring to remain on his feet on the opposite side of the room. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, but it was definitely fear that held him there.
“Now, Lucas. What is this nonsense you’re accusing me of?”
It hurt Lucas to breathe, but his anger made his heart race. He wheezed, trying to save up enough breath to speak. Armada could see now that his left leg and ribs had taken the majority of the damage. The leg was possibly broken, just above the knee, and the doctor had wrapped his midsection in a large bandage, in the middle of which a red stain was already forming. The left side of his face was swollen so bad his left eye had almost entirely disappeared from view.
“You told Emiliano…everything you knew…about the election…Julian knew it was me that told you…it was easy to figure out…that’s why they did this…it’s all ruined….”
Armada could see that despite the injury to his eye, Lucas was still able to tear up, and now droplets were dripping down his cheek.
“They liked me, sir…they respected me…and now…it’s all ruined….”
Armada could see it wasn’t the physical injuries that were hurting Lucas. Those would heal in time. It was something much deeper that had been wounded, and Armada felt his anger melt away. This poor boy, he thought. He had no sense of himself yet. He was not equipped to resist Julian’s seductive charms. What had he done to the boy? Why had he not thought any of this might happen?
“I can only apologise, Lucas. I never should have sent you in there to begin with. You were too young.”
Lucas glared at Armada, the tears still flowing from his one good eye. “I am not too young, sir. You always say that, but I’m not.”
The boy was so full of youthful passion now, and there was no predicting how it would come out.
“You are on a murder case, Lucas. Do we need to return to the scene of the crime to remind you? This was all done in order to find a killer. Nothing more. I will feel guilty until the end of my days for what happened to you. And I do feel responsible, even though it may be years before you believe me. But what Julian may think of you is immaterial to the case. I don’t need you to spy on him any longer.”
It sounded cold. Armada knew that. But as was happening more and more often these days, Lucas was challenging the boundaries of their relationship, forcing Armada to be stern and more disciplined with him. Armada hated the tone of voice he’d been forced to adopt. He’d hated hearing it when he, himself, was a boy. But what else could he do? The days of Lucas dutifully following all of his instructions were over. He could hardly just let the boy do what he wished.
Lucas stared at the toes of his left leg, which were all that had been left exposed by the bandage the doctor had wrapped.
There was so much that needed to be said, but Armada couldn’t find the words. Half-phrases floated through his mind, trying to find meaning to assign to the feelings, but the words were never adequate. None of them fit, and now the silence was getting uncomfortable.
The case. There was nothing else to do but return to the case.
“It’s clear now that Julian de Benaudalla worked for Gregorio Cordoba, making serpentine at night. Something happened between them that soured their relationship, and whatever it was had something to do with Aurelio Martinez. Gregorio Cordoba attempted to contact Aurelio Martinez’s benefactor to inform her of what he’d found, and he was killed before he could tell her. Which suggests to me that both Julian de Benaudalla and Aurelio Martinez were there for this incident, and it is very likely one of them is our killer. Tonight, I will arrest Aurelio Martinez and interrogate him. Tomorrow, I will do the same with Julian de Benaudalla. Hopefully a bit of time in a prison cell will loosen their tongues enough to get the truth.”
Lucas said nothing.
“There is a good chance this case will be over by tomorrow morning, Lucas. Get some rest tonight. Because as soon as we have our killer, we will return to Granada for you to recuperate and perhaps discuss the terms of your employment.”
Armada turned to go. He was starving and happy about having found a reason to exit the room. He looked forward to a nice meal and some ale down at the tavern, and perhaps a little time to sort out everything in his head. He wasn’t sure what he’d meant by discussing the terms of Lucas’s employment. He’d just wanted the boy to know that it was still his choice about whether to employ him or not. He didn’t want the boy thinking he owed him a job and that it could be taken for granted.
“Did you ever think about it?”
Armada stopped at the door, surprised at Lucas’s suddenly vulnerable tone.
“What?”
“School. For me. Was it something you ever thought about?”
Armada realised he had no answer. That wasn’t true. He did have an answer. He just didn’t like it.
“That…would have been difficult. You see how much I travel.”
Lucas nodded in acknowledgement and went back to staring at his toes. He didn’t seem angry any more. Just disappointed.
“Perhaps I should have given it more thought. But I needed a page, and you needed a home. I could hardly leave you back in that village, not with your parents’ killer still….”
Armada couldn’t finish the sentence. The killer of Lucas’s parents was still on the loose because he had failed to find him. It was his fault Lucas’s life had ended up like this. But that was hardly new. Was that all Lucas was trying to say about this?
“I know, sir.”
Armada found himself suddenly on the defensive. Lucas would have been fine had he just walked out the door, right now. It was only a step or two away. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He couldn’t leave things like this.
“I don’t understand, Lucas. You’ve never mentioned wanting to attend school before.”
Lucas shrugged, staring at his toes.
“I’m not sure how it would work, Lucas. School requires you to be in one place. And I need you here….”
“But you never even thought about it, sir. How am I supposed to know all the things I’m supposed to know? Like Latin, and counting, and law. All you ever teach me is how to find killers, and how to sneak barrels of sherry around. But what can I do with that when I grow up? I wouldn’t be smart enough for university. And I was never a soldier, so I can’t join the Brotherhood, even if I wanted to. So, what am I supposed to do then?”
A great weight of failure fell on to Armada’s shoulders. The boy had given his life far more thought than Armada had. And he had no answers. He had seen his hiring of Lucas as a page as an act of charity, a way to allow him to escape the dangers of his home village. But he had escaped, he was safe. Armada hadn’t thought about it much after that. He’d always been focused on the next case, the next killer, of which there was always a next one.
It was an issue that Armada had contemplated much over the past few years. What was his role here? He wasn’t the boy’s father. And he wasn’t really a guardian. He was an employer, technically. Which meant the boy was free to leave his employ whenever he wished. Lucas was hardly a slave.
But he was still dependent on Armada. Did that mean Armada was obliged to prepare the boy for manhood? Murder had always seemed to usurp that responsibility. He didn’t have the time to educate the boy. He couldn’t be distracted by taking time out of an investigation to school the boy on his Latin. A case required absolute concentration. It’s why he’d hired Lucas, to take care of the duties that distracted him from the case. It was the whole point.
But Armada felt he was reaching for a justification there. His instincts told him he might be getting this wrong. The boy was indeed his responsibility, like it or not.
Yet Armada hadn’t wanted a son, only a page. If he’d known what kind of responsibility he was taking on back then, would he still have done it? Perhaps not. He hadn’t given it that much thought back then. He’d just done it. It had felt right to him. It must have, for he’d never needed a page before then. There had been some other instinct at work there when he’d taken Lucas on, an instinct he had yet to understand.
The boy wanted to know what he was to become. What was it for him, Lucas, to be a man? He had no father or other family to ask, only Armada. So he asked, as any boy would.
“I’m not sure I can help you with that, Lucas. It’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
Lucas only stared ever harder at his toes, leaving Armada to feel he’d let the boy d
own. He wasn’t sure what else he could have said. Perhaps something more inspiring? Was that what he was supposed to do now? Would Lucas even be receptive to that? It felt hollow. He would have felt like a performer on stage, pretending to be optimistic about Lucas’s future when in reality, he wasn’t. He couldn’t see a path to wealth and success for Lucas any better than Lucas could. So, the only response was honesty, as painful as it was.
Sensing Lucas wished to be alone, Armada promised to bring food back, and he left the room.
In the tavern, far from being alone with his thoughts to contemplate the case, Armada found himself distracted. Lucas’s questions had cut into his own gut like a knife. How had he failed Lucas so badly?
The tavern was busy and filled with noise. Drunks shouted and laughed with each other over rickety tables while barmaids constantly bumped into the back of Armada’s chair, holding trays of ale and food and spilling bits of them everywhere. Arguments began and were dragged outside, glasses were smashed, and the boisterous atmosphere only got louder as the night wore on.
Even though he sat in the middle of such chaos, Armada felt it was deathly quiet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucas wasn’t about to just lie there for the rest of the night. He was angry, and why shouldn’t he be? The old man had just shut the door on his future and locked it. He was not even fifteen years old and had just been told he had few prospects to ever be anything but a slave or a vagrant in life.
Four years. That’s how long he’d been travelling with the old man. Four years of washing his clothes and gathering his meals and feeding his mule and hoisting his sherry barrels up and down stairs, of loading carts and unloading carts and sorting out provisions and packing and unpacking and all the rest of it. Four years of listening to him ramble on about theatre plays he’d been to and actors he didn’t care about and quoting things that never made sense. Four years of being told his way of looking at things was nonsense, how the physical clues in a case were “useless bits and pieces,” even though they had helped many times before. Four years of being told he was almost always wrong, and always needed help, and could never do anything right for himself without Armada’s help.
The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set Page 70