Drained, Marina was more than happy to leave everyone in the capable hands of Lady Ferreira, even the cranky marquesa. While the chatter continued in the hallway, Marina opened the door to their suite of rooms and let the men carry Joaquim inside.
The healer followed immediately, instructing the men where to lay him and what to fetch. When they’d brought her everything she needed, she shooed them off and turned her attention to Joaquim’s ankle, where one of the sirenas had bitten him. It had scabbed over, but even Marina could see that the tears in his skin were ragged. “Will it heal?”
The healer set a basin under his foot and proceeded to sponge it with warm water. “Bites are always nasty. Now, Mrs. Tavares, why don’t you leave me to this? I’ve handled plenty of injuries like this before. And I suspect that Alejandro is hungry. . . .”
Marina only then realized that Alejandro had followed them into the bedroom. He sat in a chair to one side, eyes worried. “Alejandro, why don’t we go see if we can find some food?”
He rose at her suggestion and followed her out, casting one glance back at Joaquim. “I’m sorry he’s hurt,” he whispered.
Marina stopped and touched the boy’s cheek with one hand. “Don’t worry,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “He understands why he had to go there. He’ll be fine.”
She was relieved her voice wasn’t shaking. Joaquim had better not disappoint her.
The hallway was empty for the moment, so Marina cocked her head to listen and decided that the refugees were gathered in a room farther down the hall. She led Alejandro that way, only to pause again when she saw a woman coming up the steps—the woman her aunt Jovita had sent to follow them. She had to have been watching the hotel. Marina grasped Alejandro’s hand in her own.
The woman stopped on the landing and inclined her head politely. “Your aunt will be most pleased to see that you’ve returned safely. And you’ve brought the boy back with you. Were you successful in finding his mother?”
“Yes,” Marina said, “although she’s very ill.”
“I see. How unfortunate.”
Marina kept her eyes on the woman’s face. The woman might not know Leandra Rocha, but she should at least put a little sympathy into her voice in front of Leandra’s son. “Yes, it is.”
From a room a few feet farther down the hallway, the marquesa emerged, clutching her cane in one hand and leaning on Father Escarrá’s arm. They came toward the stairwell.
“Since you’ve located the boy’s mother, I’ll need you to turn the journal over to me. For safekeeping,” the woman added, ignoring the marquesa’s approach. “Subminister Paredes wouldn’t want anything to happen to it, and I can get it back to the islands safely.”
Marina wasn’t certain whether or not to trust her aunt’s emissary. She’d left the journal in her handbag, though, back in the bedroom. She turned in that direction, but a glance at Father Escarrá’s expression stopped her. Still a few feet from the woman, he mouthed something at Marina, the word mentirosa—liar.
She turned back to the woman. “I don’t think so. We’ve secured it in the hotel safe,” she claimed, “and it will remain there until we book passage out of here.”
The woman’s head tilted, as if that confused her. “Your aunt asked me to bring it back to the islands as soon as possible.”
“It can wait,” Marina said firmly.
The woman leapt forward and shoved Marina toward the stairs. With a cry, Marina fell. She managed to grab the railing with one hand and fetched to a stop against it. When she got back to her feet, she was three steps down.
But at the head of the stairwell, the woman held Alejandro to her side, a small gun in her free hand. “Let’s try again. You’ll go down to the safe and get that book for me. I’ll trade it for the boy. Simple enough.”
Marina gazed at the woman, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t give up the journal. Her mother had died for it. But she wasn’t going to let this woman hurt Alejandro. She swallowed, and everyone seemed to stand still as if the world waited on what she would do.
Alejandro’s eyes were wide, his lips turned down. He was going to do something, just as he’d done with the man at the stream. Behind him, the marquesa’s expression was one of annoyance, her lips twisted in disdain. Father Escarrá watched the gun in the woman’s hand. Even farther down the hall, Lady Ferreira had emerged from her room and stood still, knuckles white on her handbag.
Marina’s eyes slid back to the woman’s. The journal wasn’t in the safe anyway. She would have to return to the bedroom to retrieve it. “I have to go back to my room to get my key,” she said in a calming tone, “to prove to the desk clerk who I am. Don’t hurt him.”
The woman’s head inclined, and she took a couple of steps back from the stairwell, dragging Alejandro with her. Marina walked back up the steps to the landing and paused, facing her adversary. “If you hurt my boy,” she whispered, “I will claw your eyes out.”
The woman made a scoffing sound. “Get me the book, and I’ll give you the webless brat.”
Marina made as if to turn toward her bedroom, then fell on the woman’s right arm, letting her weight push the gun away. “Jandro! Run!”
The woman grimaced, shaking her arm as if to get rid of Marina’s weight. Alejandro took advantage of her distraction to jump onto her instep with both feet. Marina clung to the woman’s arm, but the woman swung her other arm at the boy, knocking him back against the wall. He hissed and looked ready to fling himself at her again when a heavy thwack sounded and the women’s eyes rolled up into the back of her head. She crumpled forward, bearing Marina to the landing with her.
Marina struggled to get out from under her, pushing the dropped gun to one side with her foot as she did so. She let loose a sigh of relief when she saw that Father Escarrá had Alejandro safe in his grasp. The woman remained slumped on the floor, the frail marquesa standing over her, gripping her ebony cane in both hands like a club.
“Thank you, Marquesa,” Marina said breathlessly.
“Stupid woman,” the marquesa grumbled. “Turning her back on me because I’m old. It’s my legs that are weak, not my arms.”
Marina reminded herself never to underestimate that woman.
Lady Ferreira approached and, without a word, picked up the gun that lay on the carpet. “I take it that I should shoot her if she moves?”
“She’s not going to move for a good long while,” the marquesa muttered.
Lady Ferreira shrugged, checked to be sure that the safety on the gun was off, and tucked it into her cummerbund. “Well, then, I will just keep an eye on her until the guards arrive.”
Marina stared down at her crumpled adversary. She would have clawed the woman’s eyes out if she’d hurt Alejandro. She’d meant those words. But she was glad she didn’t have to take on her enemies alone.
“Guards?” she asked Lady Ferreira, wondering if she’d heard that correctly.
“Yes, dear. From the Portuguese consulate. They should be here shortly. Before I left the Golden City, I informed the prince that Joaquim was in trouble. He didn’t ask for details, just sent word to the consulate here that they were to provide whatever we needed. I had a porter place a call directly after you arrived.”
Marina closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks. It was a wonderful thing to have friends.
CHAPTER 47
SATURDAY, 2 MAY 1903; BARCELONA
Since Joaquim was still sleeping under Miss Prieto’s watchful eye, Marina carried a lunch tray down to the last bedroom on the hotel’s hallway. The Portuguese consulate guard standing at the end of the hall nodded smartly to her and, after knocking, opened the door for her.
She’d been putting this off, this difficult talk. But she needed to make her position clear. With the children gone to a park under the watchful eyes of Marcos and a handful of guards, and the women about to leave
on an excursion to a shop, they would have some time uninterrupted.
So Marina gathered her nerve and carried the tray inside the room where Leandra Rocha lay still abed, her face bruised but composed. The woman had bathed, and her dark hair was braided neatly. Her splinted hand lay atop the covers. She pushed herself into a sitting position when Marina entered, moving slowly, as if in a fog.
“Can I help you?” Marina asked, setting the tray on the table next to the bed.
“No, please. I’d rather you keep your distance,” the woman said in her soft voice as she finally sat with her back against the wooden headboard. “How is your husband faring?”
“His fever has broken,” Marina said, “although the healer wants to keep him asleep for now in hopes that his ankle will heal faster if she can keep him off it.”
“I never meant for that to happen to him,” Leandra said. “I am sorry. We never thought he would be treated that way. We assumed he would be taken to the main prison like any other prisoner.”
Shaking her head, Marina lifted the tray again and set it across the woman’s lap. “You cannot plan for everything, even with a seer aiding you. Now, you need to eat, to get your strength back.”
“Do not worry about me,” Leandra said. “I’ll be gone soon.”
Marina felt her stomach go hollow at that pronouncement. “You shouldn’t say that. We know healers in Portugal, terribly strong ones. One of them healed her husband’s tuberculosis. Surely she can help you.”
They would reach Portugal before Leandra became too ill. They’d had word from the Americans that a Portuguese ship would arrive tonight from the islands to take the former prisoners to the Golden City and from there to the islands if they wished. Consequently this would be a day of rest for them all, something they sorely needed, although the sooner they got away from the shores of Spain, the happier these women would be.
Leandra shook her head. “The more quickly this is done, the better. I don’t want my children to watch me linger on for months. Once I’ve made out my will and we’ve gotten them safely out of Spain, the Vilaró will take me elsewhere.”
Marina sat in the chair near the bed. “To die?”
Leandra gazed down at the food on the tray and began awkwardly cutting her sausage.
“Let me do that,” Marina said, gently pushing away the woman’s bandaged hand. She took the plate with the sausage, set it on the table, and began cutting the sausage into manageable pieces to put in her soup. “You would be far more comfortable at the . . . at our house in the Golden City. There’s no need for you to be alone.”
“No,” Leandra said. “I won’t stay in the same house as my children. I won’t risk infecting them, or everything we’ve worked for will be for naught.”
Marina passed the plate back to her and Leandra slid the sausage into her soup. “Then where will you go?”
A hint of a smile touched Leandra’s lips. “He says he will take me to a place where I won’t be sick any longer. I would never be able to return, but he claims I will be able to watch my children grow from a distance.”
Something about her expression struck Marina. “Do you love him?”
“The Vilaró? Yes, rather foolishly,” Leandra said, “as I don’t think it’s possible for him to love me. He doesn’t seem to possess that manner of sentiment. But he is very fond of me, and enjoys being adored. It makes him stronger.”
That sounded like a strange relationship, but she wasn’t going to criticize this woman’s choices, not after all Leandra had been through.
“What about William Adler?” Marina asked. Mr. Pinter had brought the news that Adler was still recuperating in the hospital, but was now expected to make a full recovery.
“William is, I’m afraid, the same young man he was when I met him a decade ago, whereas I am . . . a thousand years older. That is why I’ll be leaving Liliana in his aunt’s care rather than his, if she’ll accept. She would be a far better guardian for a capricious child such as Liliana.”
Given that the girl was also a sereia and coming into her powers, Marina had to agree that Ambassador Norton would be a better choice. Adler would be defenseless against his daughter’s call.
But the part of this conversation she’d most feared lay before her now. She dreaded asking the question. “So she’ll take Alejandro back to the islands as well?”
Leandra suddenly began coughing. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief while Marina pulled the tray away from her. The fit passed after a moment, and Marina returned the tray so Leandra could resume eating.
“I was hoping,” Leandra said wearily, “that Alejandro would live with his family in Portugal. I didn’t know his father was dead.”
“You don’t want them raised together?” Marina asked, trying to keep the delighted note out of her voice.
Leandra shook her head. “They barely know each other as it is. And I want him to have the advantages that human males have, even if he’s half sereia.”
“We would willingly raise him,” Marina said before Leandra went any further.
“I saw you with him,” Leandra said. “You’re good with him, and that’s what he needs. He needs someone who will love him, and not care that he’s only half human.”
“Joaquim and I both want him to stay with us. We plan to—”
“Madam,” came a velvety voice in the hallway, “I do wonder why you think those fish girls, as you persist in calling them, would want you along on this excursion.”
Marina hid a smile. Lady Ferreira and the marquesa were bickering again, the lady in a soft tone, and the marquesa in her usual raspy growl. Despite the fireworks, they seemed to like each other, and Lady Ferreira had already invited the marquesa to visit with them at the Ferreira house so that she could meet Joaquim’s brother, Cristiano. Father Escarrá had returned to Terrassa that morning to have the marquesa’s maid pack for her. “They’re taking the women to a shop to purchase new clothing,” Marina whispered to Leandra, “so they won’t have to wear the uniforms from the prison.”
“They are fish girls,” the marquesa insisted from the hallway.
“As your great-grandson is married to a sereia,” Lady Ferreira returned, “perhaps you should learn the proper term. Also, the proper name for a seal girl is a selkie, if you were contemplating bandying that one about.”
Leandra actually smiled.
“When did seal girls enter this conversation, you foolish woman?” the marquesa snapped.
“You are speaking to one,” Lady Ferreira said regally.
The marquesa grumbled something unintelligible in answer, and then said, “Come over here, young man, and help me down those stairs. . . .”
The voices moved off down the hallway, leaving Marina and Leandra in silence again. Leandra sipped a spoonful of soup and then said, “I will list you as Alejandro’s guardian, then.”
Marina sat back, feeling as if she could breathe freely for the first time since she’d seen the woman on the steps of the town hall in Lleida. “Then will you tell me everything? I need to know what family you have back on the islands, about your execution, how you escaped the first time, what you remember of Alejandro’s father, what the prison was like. I need to know everything so that I can tell Alejandro when he’s older.”
“Will he want to know, do you think?” Leandra asked wearily.
“Yes,” Marina said. “I will make certain he never forgets you and all you sacrificed for your children.”
EPILOG
MONDAY, 11 MAY, 1903; THE GOLDEN CITY
In the front sitting room of the Ferreira home on the Street of Flowers, Oriana sat with Duilio, making their farewells. Fortunately. the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had given Oriana permission to stay in Portugal a few days longer than originally planned so that they could attend Saturday’s festivities: Rafael’s wedding to Miss Jardim and the small private ceremony that fol
lowed in which Duilio’s mother married Joaquim’s father. But with those ceremonies behind them, it was time for Oriana and Duilio to resume their duties on Quitos. Costa and Inês Guerra, recently married in Lisboa under his grandmother’s auspices, would return with them.
Madam Norton, with a still-sulking Liliana in tow, had departed earlier on an American vessel bound for the islands. For her part, Liliana had actually seemed happier once under her great-aunt’s firm control, perhaps recognizing that she couldn’t wrap the woman around her finger. Oriana suspected that the girl would soon learn to see her great-aunt as an ally rather than adversary.
The Spanish healer had ordered Joaquim to stay off his feet, so he and Marina wouldn’t accompany them to the quay to see the Tesouro off for its return voyage to the islands. While Joaquim had made it through Saturday’s festivities, leaning heavily on the silver-headed ebony cane his great-grandmother had left for him when she’d returned to Spain on Wednesday, Oriana suspected he needed the rest.
Duilio scanned the headlines of the newspaper Joaquim had handed him before passing the paper to her. Oriana glanced at the headline. “It just sank?”
Joaquim nodded, leaning back in his ivory brocaded chair. “The harbormaster said the sand crept out to the ship and devoured it. That was the word—devoured.”
A steam corvette at dock in Ferrol had sunk overnight. The suddenness of the sinking had caused enough sensation to make the newspapers in Portugal. Oriana had no doubt what ship that was—one that usually flew dark sails, had a mermaid figurehead, and a recently replaced bowsprit—the ship that had carried Leandra to slavery in Spain. Oriana wasn’t surprised. Over the last week, word had been filtering back of women across Spain being exposed as sirenas. The Spanish government was taking careful steps to figure out which government officials had been compromised, and there was already talk of forcibly repatriating the sirenas. For her part, Oriana doubted they would like being returned to the Canary Islands. “I suspect your Vilaró was making a point.”
The Shores of Spain Page 40