“Is it a large estate?” Marina asked Joaquim.
“I’m not certain. The man who investigated it for me gave me the size in a unit called jornal, which means nothing to me.” He wouldn’t have grasped the size if it was explained in hectares either. He’d lived in a city all his life, where land measurements were irrelevant. “She’s a marquesa, so I would expect it to be large.”
Marina’s eyes went wide. She glanced down at her costume, a plain white shirtwaist and a twilled brown skirt, and in a plaintive voice said, “You didn’t tell me that before.”
“That she’s a marquesa?”
“Yes, you failed to mention it.”
Joaquim glanced at the back of the driver’s head. Was the man listening to them? Or would he plead the oft-claimed Spanish inability to comprehend Portuguese? “I didn’t think of it,” he said. “But I told you my mother was a gentlewoman, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she snapped, waving a horsefly away from her face. “But you treat all women like they’re gentlewomen. I thought you were being polite.”
He glanced at Alejandro, who just shrugged, so he turned back to Marina. He stared at her face as the carriage continued to bounce along the dirt road. “Are you offended that I didn’t tell you? Or that I have a nobleman somewhere back in my lineage?”
“That you didn’t tell me,” she said in a milder tone.
He turned his gaze in the other direction, trying to figure out how to answer that. Vines marched in careful rows on low trellises, the fresh green of early summer. He turned back to her. She was rubbing her hands together as if they ached. She always did that when upset, and he hated that he’d overset her. “I didn’t mean to, Marina. It didn’t occur to me that it mattered.”
“Because you’re so adamantly republican that you don’t want to be related to anyone with noble blood?”
He opened his mouth but closed it before the protest could come out. He was adamantly republican, although no one had ever said as much to his face before. Not even Duilio. She wasn’t going to let this go, was she? “I tend to be wary of people with titles.”
“Is that why you feel bad taking the Ferreiras’ money for this trip?”
That wasn’t the same thing at all, was it? “I don’t feel it’s my money.”
“So you don’t feel entitled to your father’s fortune, but you think others should?” Her eyes flicked toward Alejandro as she said it, and he recalled his insistence in their late-night conversation that the boy deserved to have a portion of the family’s fortune, no matter what his birth. Marina hadn’t pointed out the fallacy in his argument then, and he hadn’t seen it for himself. Now that she’d said something, it made a shambles of his logic.
The driver turned his carriage off the main road onto a smaller one that paralleled a stream, cedars growing up on the far bank and hiding the vines that climbed up the hills in neat rows. After a short distance, they reached a pair of splendid gates of sand-colored stone and wrought iron. The gates stood open, so the driver took the carriage on through toward an old house with plastered walls and a tiled roof that was brown with lichen rather than the clay red Joaquim knew from the Golden City. It was more like a farmhouse than a manor, but the size of it was stunning, with outbuildings and wings all running together in his view.
Another wall separated the house itself from the drive. The driver stopped and let them down, promising he’d stay to take them back to the town. They entered through that gate onto a wide terrace that surrounded the house. Ivy climbed the walls, local cactus stood in urns and planters near the stairs, and two large fan palms flanked the green-tiled steps that led up to the house. Marina clutched Alejandro’s hand while trying to brush off her skirts with her free hand. Joaquim waited until she finished and picked up her handbag from the stone walkway, then led her to the house. She walked up the steep steps to a heavy-looking door.
Joaquim rapped smartly with his knuckles. No one answered, and after a moment, he raised his hand to knock again, but the door was opened by a stout gray-haired man who must be the butler. The old man squinted at them. “How may I help you?”
“We’ve come to speak with the marquesa.” Joaquim didn’t have any calling cards like the ones Duilio carried, so he settled for giving the butler his name. The butler allowed them inside but directed them to wait in the parlor while he determined whether the lady was home to callers.
Joaquim hoped she was. How annoying it would be to come all this way only to be ignored.
CHAPTER 26
TERRASSA
Marina held on to Alejandro’s hand. She didn’t think the boy would steal anything, but the parlor was cluttered with porcelain trinkets. Only imagine if he snatches something that belongs to Joaquim’s great-grandmother. It would not be an auspicious introduction.
The room was crowded with ancient furnishings, shawls and throws covering aging fabrics and torn upholstery. Marina ran her fingers over the arm of the blue upholstered couch in the center of the room and tugged the ivory throw over to cover a rip. A cigarette or cigar burn marred the old Persian rug on the floor, the rug’s original colors faded by the sunlight into drab tans.
It wasn’t the home of a poor person, an owner who couldn’t afford to replace things. No, this was the home of someone so set in his ways that he refused to change anything, even when it fell into disrepair. It reminded Marina of the house of one of her father’s clients she’d visited last year to drop off and pick up paperwork. The client was wealthy, but aged and infirm. He hadn’t wanted to spend time refurbishing a house he could barely enjoy.
Near the door was a prayer niche, the Virgin standing within with her pale marble hands outstretched. Marina tugged Alejandro over so she could look at it. A Bible lay opened out atop the kneeler’s shelf, open to the Psalms, perhaps a source of solace to the marquesa. Marina ran her finger down the page, trying to guess what the woman had been reading. When she drew it away, dust clung to her glove.
Joaquim paced back and forth behind the couch, arms folded over his chest. He would stop periodically, place his fist against his lips, and then resume his pacing.
Evidently the marquesa didn’t mind keeping guests waiting.
Alejandro didn’t complain. Not that she expected he would. Most boys would have, but not him. She finally suggested that he sit in a chair where he could look out a window. Then she wandered about the room, stopping to peruse the books stacked on one of the tables. She neatly folded the shawl laid over the back of a leather chair. She was tempted to use the corner of it to wipe dust from the mantelpiece, but resisted. The windows could use a good cleaning as well. She came back to where Alejandro sat and gazed out at the terraced vineyards. It was a beautiful view, despite the cobwebs in the corner of the window frame.
Apparently some male cousin of the marquesa’s husband would inherit all this. If life were fair, Marina reflected, Joaquim would inherit this place with its lovely views. Then again, he would never accept it if it were offered to him. He didn’t even want to move into the Ferreira house, even though it would stand empty after Lady Ferreira married.
He didn’t think he deserved such things.
She stole a glance at him. He was still pacing back and forth, his expression worried. “How long has it been?”
He drew out his watch and checked. “Half an hour now.”
Marina shook her head. This delay was intentional. If the woman was struggling to ready herself, she would have sent a servant with her apologies. Much longer and they would miss the return train to Barcelona. “How long do we intend to wait?”
Joaquim licked his lips. “Would you mind giving it another quarter hour?”
The delay annoyed her. If a client had kept her father waiting like this, he wouldn’t be pleased, but Father handled their money, which made him important to them. Joaquim was more accustomed to being kept waiting. Nobles didn’t like associating with the po
lice, and considered them beneath their notice.
Tapping in the hallway alerted her a moment before the marquesa shoved the door open. It banged against the wall. The marquesa was a wizened creature, bent and leaning over an ivory-handled cane. She wore mourning, a dress in heavy black silk perhaps a decade out of fashion. A jet and ivory brooch adorned the high collar that framed her pale face and thinning white hair. Instead of looking frail, she looked fierce.
“What right do you have to come here?” the old woman snapped in a voice that wasn’t frail at all. “Why do you think you can come and disturb me?”
The woman spoke to Joaquim, so Marina kept her mouth shut. She stepped in front of Alejandro, as if she could protect him from the old woman’s spite by keeping him out of sight.
“My name is Joaquim Tavares.” Joaquim inclined his head respectfully toward the old woman. “And this is my wife, Marina.”
Marina bobbed a curtsy, but the old woman didn’t even glance in her direction.
“You didn’t answer my question, young man.” The marquesa tottered toward the leather chair and sat down in it. She set her cane against the chair’s high back and laid her withered hands on the chair’s arms as if it were a throne. “Why are you disturbing me?”
Joaquim held his hands folded like a penitent. “I live in Portugal, but my mother was born here in Catalonia. She was Rosa Castillo i Quintana, your granddaughter.”
That sparked no hint of interest in the old woman’s hard eyes. “What of it?”
Marina rubbed her hands together. She wanted to shake the old woman, but this was Joaquim’s fight.
His dark eyes narrowed. “I only wished to introduce myself to you.”
“You’ve done so,” the marquesa said, waving one hand. “You can leave now.”
Joaquim took a slow breath, but Marina could see his clenched jaw. “I also have a younger brother,” he added, “recently graduated from the university at Coimbra.”
The woman glared up at him. “Do you think I don’t know who you are? You are a policeman and your brother is a builder of boats. If I wanted to contact you, I could have at any time. I chose not to acknowledge your mother, nor will I do so with her children, not even the one who isn’t a bastard.”
Marina hadn’t caught all those words, but that last comment had been clear. Before she thought better of it, Marina snapped, “Do not insult my husband.”
That had come out in Portuguese, but the Catalan must be close enough that the old woman understood. She glared at Marina for the first time. Her face had fine bones, hinting that she would have been handsome when young. “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”
Marina bit back her reply. Clearly the woman wanted a fight.
The marquesa turned back to Joaquim, waving dismissively in Marina’s direction. “And who is this common girl you’ve taken for a wife? If you hoped to raise your station in life, you could have done far better.”
A smile spread across Joaquim’s face. Marina wasn’t fooled by the expression. He was furious now. “I married for love, madam, not to . . . raise my station.”
“Ha! My daughter married for love, and what became of her? Dead before she was twenty.”
Joaquim shook his head. “Then why did you not take in my mother? Did you wish to punish her because you were angry with her mother?”
“My daughter chose to marry outside our kind,” the marquesa said. “Why should I take in that man’s child?”
“Is kindness beyond your experience?” Joaquim asked softly.
Marina guessed they were past trying to earn the woman’s goodwill.
The marquesa harrumphed and grabbed her cane, leaning forward as if she might swat Joaquim with it. “The world has never been kind to me.”
“You knew my mother was mistreated, yet did nothing about it,” Joaquim said. “She was your only grandchild. How could you hold her mother’s faults against her?”
The woman pushed herself back to her feet. Joaquim, unable to help himself, moved forward to help her rise, but stepped back when she swung her cane at his shins. “You know nothing of my daughter’s betrayal. You know nothing of who you are.” And then she spotted Alejandro, still obediently sitting in his chair. “And who is this? Your bastard? I know you haven’t been married long enough to have a child.”
Marina’s breath went short. Her jaw hurt from holding in the words that threatened to spill out of her mouth. Apparently the attack angered Joaquim as well. “Alejandro is my foster son,” he snapped.
“Don’t give me that,” the old woman returned, pointing a gnarled finger. “My eyes still work, and that boy looks too much like you to be anything else.”
Marina watched as Joaquim struggled to answer civilly.
“Alejandro is my half brother,” Joaquim managed. “Since our father is dead, I intend to raise him as my son.”
With that the marquesa turned her back on Joaquim and tottered out of the room, her cane crashing angrily against the wooden floor. Joaquim turned to Marina, his face pale and his jaw set. “I have my answer now, don’t I?”
She came around the couch and put her arms about him. He rested his cheek against her hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered against his waistcoat, wishing now she hadn’t pushed him to come.
“Did you understand all that?”
“I missed a few words,” Marina admitted. “But I got the general idea.”
He took a deep breath. “Let’s go home.”
She knew what he meant. Not Portugal, but the hotel. He just wanted to be somewhere where they could be alone. “It’s good we asked the driver to wait.”
Alejandro said nothing as they made their way back out to the carriage, but once they’d settled onto the seat, he peered up at Marina. “She isn’t nice.”
Marina ignored Joaquim’s clenched jaw. Alejandro would have caught most of what the old woman had said to Joaquim . . . and what she’d said about him. “I know she wasn’t, but perhaps she doesn’t feel well today. Since she’s older than us, we have to try to be respectful anyway.”
Alejandro regarded her doubtfully, his eyebrows raised.
“Try,” she repeated softly.
Joaquim shook his head. “It’s hard to believe she would treat her daughter that way just because she married a Spaniard.”
Marina wrapped an arm about Alejandro’s shoulders and was glad when he didn’t flinch away. “It’s never just one thing. Families have convoluted reasons for why they act the way they do. They have all manner of expectations to be failed and feelings to be hurt.”
Joaquim squeezed her hand. “Remind me, when we have children, never to let something turn me away from one of them. If I say something foolish, remind me of how I feel today.”
It was comforting that he was thinking in terms of the future. “I won’t forget.”
* * *
BARCELONA
They left the train station in Barcelona and stopped to eat before heading back to the hotel, but when they finally got there, they had news. The young man from the American embassy had left a message. Joaquim took the sealed note from the desk clerk and when they reached their room, he stopped only to drop his hat on the entryway table before he opened the envelope.
“What does it say?” Marina asked.
Joaquim read down to the bottom of the note. “Mr. Pinter would like us to come to the consulate again. Apparently the missing American turned up at a hospital last night.”
“The one who came from Paris?”
He tossed the note on the bed and let out a breath in frustration. The Americans were helping, but this particular gentleman had been nothing but problematic. “Yes. I have a strong feeling this man’s lost Leandra as well. We just have to hope he has some information for us.”
After freshening up, they headed back to the consulate. This time Pinter met them just inside the con
sulate’s outer doorway. He eyed Alejandro and expressed surprise that they’d located him, although not that they’d kept him. He must have read the message the embassy had forwarded from Duilio, claiming Alejandro as a member of the Ferreira family.
Pinter led them up to the second floor of the building rather than the back hallway they’d visited before. The guard outside the door agreed to keep an eye on Alejandro. Marina seemed reluctant, but since this involved Alejandro’s mother, she agreed that it might be better for them to hear any news first and then tell the boy. So after producing a chair for him, the guard led them into the bright room behind Pinter and then left, closing the door.
On a white-draped bed lay a man with longish blond hair that brushed his shoulders. A dark stain splattered across the front of his expensive linen shirt, dried blood from his swollen nose. A cut over one eyelid had been stitched closed. He held a damp towel to one side of his jaw, but that didn’t hide the bruising there. A suit jacket that looked to be of silk and wool lay over a chair next to the door, ripped up the back where someone had evidently grabbed the skirt of it. Whatever he’d been doing before he landed in a hospital last night, it had involved a fight.
“This is William Adler,” Pinter said. “He’s a specialist at the Paris embassy, and has an interesting tale to tell you, Inspector Tavares.”
The man in the bed turned his eyes toward Joaquim. One showed red at the corner. “You’re the Portuguese we’ve been waiting for?”
The man spoke Portuguese. Joaquim felt the tightness in his shoulders ease, out of relief that he wasn’t going to have to work to understand him. He’d expected Spanish or English. “Yes, I am.”
“And who exactly sent you?”
“The Portuguese ambassador to the Ilhas das Sereias. Your ambassador there gave us her blessing, more or less, although she didn’t mention you, Mr. Adler.”
“She didn’t know I was coming here.” He dropped his head back against the pillow. “So you work for the Foreign Office in Portugal? Which one? Northern or Southern?”
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