by Carola Dunn
It had been raining, and from the courtyard rose the fresh smell of damp earth, mingled with the overpoweringly sweet fragrance of some unknown jungle flower. Andrew breathed it in and was about to go to bed when he heard footsteps approaching along the gallery. In the near darkness nothing was visible but the pale blur of a white shirt-front.
For a moment he almost hoped it was the unconventional Miss Danville, looking for a romantic tryst beneath the tropic moon. Then he recognised the boy who had been so quiet at dinner. Marco, he thought his name was.
"Sir, would you mind if I asked you something?" the youth blurted out shyly. "Were you ever at a university?"
Andrew confessed to having read history at Oxford. He was hard-pressed to answer the flood of questions that followed. Marco wanted to know everything there was to know about university life.
At last he said passionately, "If only I could go there! The new school in San José is supposed to be an alternative to universities abroad but it teaches only the rudiments of philosophy, and indeed most classes teach basic reading and writing!"
"How much schooling do you have?"
"I expect I should have to have a year or two of tutoring," Marco said in a humble voice. "Don Eduardo has bought me all the books he could lay his hands on, even though it is illegal to import them except from Spain. And I have had some help from the priests in Cartago."
"I fear Catholics are not allowed at Oxford and Cambridge, though many Emancipation bills have been presented in Parliament and perhaps one has passed since I left."
"Oh, I am not a Catholic. Papa would not permit Mama to have us baptised. It is one of the few things they ever argue about. Papa says he is still an Englishman and an Anglican though he has not set foot in England or in church for a quarter of a century, and as far as he is concerned we, as his children, are all honorary Englishmen and Anglicans. No, that is not a problem. The problem is getting to England in the first place."
Andrew looked at him. "If Oscar is to go with me to Jamaica..." he said slowly.
"You don't suppose you could persuade...?"
"I shall see what I can do," promised Andrew recklessly, then wondered why he felt he was letting himself in for far more than he realised.
Chapter 2
Teresa woke to a feeling of anticipation.
Why? she wondered sleepily. In all her twenty-three years, only her birthday in October and the August fiesta in Cartago, in honour of Nuestra Señora de los Angeles, had made her feel this way, but this was June. Besides, for the past few years even those great events had lost their attraction. Life was dull.
Then she remembered: the Englishman Papa had brought home with him. She was to spend the day showing him the hacienda.
Tossing the patchwork quilt around her shoulders against the morning chill, she went to the window. The sky had scarcely begun to pale in the east but it was clear, full of stars. The summit of Irazù loomed black against the deep blue, seeming near enough to touch. Her father had been to the top once, when he first settled in the area, and her brothers had often talked of going up to see the crater, but somehow there were always too many other things to be done.
This was her opportunity, she thought in sudden excitement.
It would be much more interesting than looking at crops and livestock. Sir Andrew had not mentioned ever seeing the inside of a volcano on his travels, and if it was clear enough, according to Don Eduardo, they would be able to see both Atlantic and Pacific from the top. Perhaps the sight would wipe that censorious look off his face.
She scrambled into her riding skirt and snatched up a broad brimmed hat, then ran along the gallery to tap softly but insistently on his door.
"Señor!" she hissed at the window. "Wake up, please wake up."
"Miss Danville!" His sleepy face, fair hair tousled, appeared between the curtains. "What is it?"
"I want to take you up the volcano, and we must leave at once if we are to get there before the clouds gather."
"Huh?"
"I'll explain later. Get dressed while I go and make some coffee to wake you up properly. Don't be long!"
He joined her in the kitchen ten minutes later, still tousled. A cup of coffee roused him to the point where he began to think.
"Does your father know about this?" he asked suspiciously.
"I've left a note so they know where we are going," she said, impatient. Picking up a saddlebag full of food, she hurried him towards the stables.
Gayo greeted them vociferously, launching himself from his perch with a shriek of "Hello, hello, hello!" Then he spotted his new friend and flapped across to Sir Andrew. "Dinner," he said in a friendly voice. "Hello, dinner."
"Oh dear," said Teresa, chuckling as she led out a pair of small but frisky horses. "Now he has associated you with that word he will never forget it. I think he had best stay behind today. Will you saddle the horses while I tie him?"
She hooked a tether to the parrot's leg ring, to his noisy disapproval, and made sure he had food and water.
The rest of the household was astir as they trotted round the side of the house, and as soon as they were clear Teresa led the way at a gallop. It was still cool, though the sun was just rising on their right. The muddy track--with the rainy season well under way, everything was muddy--ran between fields of crops among which Andrew recognised potatoes, maize, carrots, onions and bananas. A swell of ground topped by cacao trees hid them from the house, and Teresa slackened her headlong pace to a canter.
"There, that has shaken the fidgets out of them," she said with satisfaction as Sir Andrew reined in beside her.
He looked at her with misgiving.
"Miss Danville, I am sure that this expedition must be frowned upon by your parents. Apart from any other consideration, it is not at all the thing for you to be without a chaperon. It would be highly improper in England, and I know that the Spanish have still stricter rules governing the behaviour of young ladies."
"We are not in England, nor in Spain," she answered, irritated. "Papa lets me ride about the hacienda on my own."
"But you mean to leave the hacienda, do you not, and besides, you are not on your own."
She laughed at him. "Are you warning me to beware of you, Sir Andrew? You must know that I have brought two chaperons."
She drew a pistol, waved it at him and declaimed, "Sirrah, if you do not immediately cease your unwanted attentions, I shall put a bullet through your blackguardly heart!"
Recalling her brilliant shooting of the deadly snake, Sir Andrew suppressed his instinctive nervousness at the sight of the waving gun. Despite his disapproval, he was forced to smile. "A potent argument," he said drily.
"Do you not want to see the volcano?"
"Very much, but I do not care to be subjected to your father's reproaches for leading you astray."
"Papa will know very well that it was I who led you astray. Ah, I have the answer: I shall kidnap you at gunpoint and force you to accompany me. Will that ease your tender conscience?"
"I give way to superior force. You are incorrigible, ma'am!"
Teresa was not at all sure she liked being called incorrigible, but in view of her victory she decided to overlook it. As they cantered along, she pointed out the various crops and answered his questions as best she could.
The way grew steeper and the horses' gait dropped to a walk.
The field crops and fruit trees gave way to cattle pasture, which was in turn supplanted by rows of small coffee trees hung with clusters of green, yellow and red berries.
"Don Eduardo is planting more and more coffee," Teresa informed her companion. "When we win our independence, we shall be able to export our products all over the world instead of just to Spain, and he expects to make a fortune. Did you mean it when you said it is the best coffee you ever drank?"
"The Blue Mountains in Jamaica grow an excellent variety, but yours is as good if not better. I daresay Lord Edward will make his fortune. He seems to me to be doing very well already.
" Sir Andrew was most impressed by the vast acreage cleared from the inhospitable jungle. "How did an English nobleman come to settle in such an out of the way corner of the world?"
"He did not tell you? It is his favourite story. We were all brought up on it."
"Perhaps he did not want it told to a stranger. When I met him I quickly discovered that he was English, but it took all my diplomacy to elicit the information that he was the fourth son of the late Duke of Stafford."
"It was the Duke who forced him to leave England. Papa says he was a cold and unnatural father, who cared for nothing but appearances. Otherwise he will not talk of him. Papa fought a duel, you see, and killed a very important marquis whose wife was his mistress."
"Miss Danville!"
"Oh dear, have I shocked you again? Papa did warn me not to mention that word in company, but I thought that was just because the Spanish ladies like to pretend their husbands do not have amantes, which is quite untrue." She sighed. "In general Papa does not like me to be mealy-mouthed, but I can see that I must watch my tongue when I am with you." She cast him a sidelong glance and was pleased to see that he flushed.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said stiffly. "It is not my place to criticise your speech."
"Nor my behaviour."
"Nor your behaviour."
"Then let us cry friends and I shall tell you the rest of Papa's story. When the duke told him to leave the country, he rode off to Bristol, where he found a ship called the Jenny Belle, about to set sail for Jamaica. He decided that this was a good omen, as Jenny was the name of the high-flyer he had been keeping in London."
Sir Andrew bit his lip but held his tongue. Teresa decided to throw in one last provocation to see if she could shake his resolve.
"As the Jenny Belle sailed down the Bristol Channel, Papa made the acquaintance of a lightskirt who was travelling as maidservant attending a family on board." She did not dare look at Sir Andrew's face lest she burst out laughing. "His enjoyment of her favours made the voyage pass rapidly, and not until they were a day or two out of Kingston did he begin to wonder what he should do when he arrived."
"Miss Danville, I do believe you are teasing me," said Sir Andrew in a long-suffering voice.
"It was irresistible," she confessed, with a gurgle of laughter. "But since you have guessed it, there is no point in continuing. I shall omit the rest of Papa's amatory adventures and just tell you how he came to Costa Rica. Look, we have reached the end of the coffee trees. There is not much in the way of a track from here, and the footing is uncertain. We must ride single file. Go carefully."
The native trees had been felled for a hundred feet beyond the edge of the plantation. Rotting stumps were overgrown with vines, ferns, and flowers in a dozen vivid shades of pink and red. Soon the trail was nothing more than a faintly marked line where the plants grew less thickly. Teresa saw tiny three-toed footprints in a patch of mud and decided the track had probably been made by a herd of peccaries, not people, but she had no intention of turning back and admitting that the expedition was a mistake. After all, if they rode always upwards they must reach the summit sooner or later.
They went on, between scattered trees and thorn bushes, up and up, the slope growing ever steeper until they had to cut across it at an angle. The summit was invisible, hidden by a ridge. Soon areas of bare volcanic ash and lava showed through the scrubby grass. This close to its source, it had not yet weathered to the rich black soil to be found farther down the mountainside. The horses began to slip on the rough scree. Irazù had looked so close this morning! The way was much longer than Teresa expected, but no sign of her misgiving was in her voice when she said that they must now dismount and go on on foot. Sir Andrew looked as if he would have liked to turn back but did not dare suggest anything so poor-spirited.
They ate some fruit from Teresa's saddlebag, and she fastened a pair of leather bottles of tamarindo water to her belt, beside the pistols, before they set out again.
At last, hot and sweating, they reached the top of the ridge. Irazù stood clear and rugged against the deep blue sky. Teresa told Sir Andrew that she was relieved to see that there were still no clouds gathered about it to spoil their view when they reached it. Nothing could have made her admit that she would have welcomed the excuse to abandon the climb. The summit was still so high above them, she wondered if perhaps Don Eduardo had taken more than one day to reach it.
Slipping and sliding down into a shallow ravine, they found a stream among the bushes at the bottom. They washed their faces in the cool water, then sat in the meagre shade of a yellow-flowered shrub and drank some sour, refreshing tamarindo.
Teresa stood up and stoppered the bottles as she eyed the rocky hillside ahead of them.
Sir Andrew groaned. "Miss Danville, have mercy! You will think me a poor creature but remember that I am quite unused to exercise in such heat. Sit down, pray, and tell me the rest of your father's story before we go on."
She squinted up at the sun, which was almost overhead. "It is past midday," she said doubtfully, "and there is still some way to go."
"It is bound to be quicker going back, downhill all the way."
"I suppose so." She sat down with mingled reluctance and relief. "I told you Papa had nearly reached Jamaica? Well, the Jenny Belle was taken by a Spanish privateer. He and his men plundered the ship, then let her continue to port unharmed. However, Papa decided to throw in his lot with the privateer."
"Lord Edward sailed with a Spanish privateer? You are gammoning me!"
"Indeed I am not. When Papa was a boy he always wished he could be a pirate sailing the Spanish Main, so when the opportunity came he took it. He said it was mostly prodigious dull and uncomfortable and unprofitable, not at all as he had imagined. And then the ship was wrecked in a hurricane, and all hands were lost, save Papa. He was washed ashore on the coast of Costa Rica and fell ill with jungle fever. Mama's family took him in, and Mama nursed him back to health, then he married her. It is the most romantic story in the world, is it not?"
"Undoubtedly, though I am sure that what came next was a great deal of very hard work. Lord Edward told me that he has never contacted his family in England since he left. He did not even know that his father was dead and his brother succeeded to the dukedom."
"My uncle Gerald was the only one in the family he regretted leaving. Do you know him?"
"Only by sight and by reputation. I have heard him described as an affable gentleman, never too high in the instep."
"High in the instep?"
Sir Andrew laughed. "An odd phrase, now I come to think on it. It means he does not stand upon the dignity of his rank. You speak English so well that I had forgot you can know only what you have heard from Lord Edward."
"I have read a great many English books," said Teresa, offended. Then her irrepressible sense of humour broke through, "And besides, Don Eduardo talks a great deal! Are you rested? Shall we go on?"
At that moment a gust of wind shook the bush under which they sat, showering them with yellow petals. Teresa jumped to her feet.
"For a moment, I thought that was rain," said Sir Andrew, stretching lazily.
"No, but it soon will be. Look at the clouds! I cannot see the top of Irazù at all. How could they have blown in so fast?"
"Perhaps the summit is in the clear above them. Do you want to continue?"
"No, that would be foolish beyond permission. I should have known better than to come up here in the rainy season; indeed it is rarely clear even in the dry season. We shall have to go down."
Teresa's voice was full of disappointment. Andrew put his arm about her shoulders and gave her a sympathetic squeeze.
They scrambled back up the ridge and started down the other side.
Suddenly, silently, the clouds enveloped them in grey dampness. The loose ash beneath their feet was more slippery than ever and they clung to each other laughing as they slithered and slid down the mountainside. A light rain began to fall.
S
oon they reached a gentler slope, but now the mist grew thicker, swirling about them and hiding all but the nearest trees. There was no sign of a path, no sign of the horses. Peering about, trying to guess their way, Teresa fell over a tangle of vines and twisted her ankle.
Andrew helped her up. She hobbled on grimly, biting her lip with the pain, but he soon guessed she had hurt herself.
Without a by-your-leave, he picked her up and carried her to the shelter of a small tree, where fallen leaves made a soft and reasonably dry carpet.
Here he set her down and lowered himself beside her, both of them self-conscious and somewhat breathless.
"No point in soldiering on," he said gently, "when we don't even know where we are going."
"It is all my fault." She was fighting tears. "Papa will say I am a feather-brained widgeon to have brought you up here, and the worst of it is, he will be right."
"Not at all. You may be a muttonheaded wantwit, but I should never describe you as a feather-brained widgeon."
This sally brought a reluctant smile to her lips. "And you must be touched in the upper works to have come with me," she riposted.
"I see your grasp of colloquial English is greater than I had supposed. Lord Edward must have frequent occasion to complain of his children's folly, to have taught you so many alternatives."
"Mooncalf," said Teresa, "nodcock, rattlepate, shatterbrain, knock in the cradle. He does have eleven children, remember."
Sir Andrew laughed. Teresa thought how different, how much younger, he looked when he was amused. When he was not being disapproving, he could be kind and even charming. She found him much more interesting than the local youths who swarmed admiringly about her at fiestas, though she had to admit that her interest was piqued by his disapproval. Ah well, in a few days he would be on his way back to England, and she would never see him again. A drip from the leaf canopy above splashed on her hand, then another. Sitting still, they heard the patter of raindrops falling, then a rustle, then a roar. Beneath the tropical deluge, the tree was no protection. They huddled together in misery, shivering now since they were still high on the mountain and the dank air was chill on their wet skin. A rivulet washed by their feet.