Vendetta in Spain

by Dennis Wheatley

  Yet now, at the last moment, he changed his mind. It was he who had wronged the Conde, unwittingly it was true, but that did not alter the fact. And there was always the chance that if he took a snap shot the bullet, instead of lodging in the Conde’s arm or shoulder, might ride a trifle high, hit him in the neck, and kill him. When de Richleau recalled how de Cordoba had cared for him like a brother after Angela’s death, and the way in which, after he had nearly died in Barcelona, he had been nursed back to health and strength in the Villa, he felt that he could not bring himself to injure him, let alone take a chance that might rob him of his life.

  Five seconds after the two men turned the Duke fired, but he had deliberately aimed high. The bullet passed a good foot above de Cordoba’s head. No longer having anything to fear the Conde took careful aim before pressing the trigger of his pistol, but the bullet whistled harmlessly past his adversary.

  The two men walked towards one another and de Richleau said, ‘I have given you the opportunity you desired. I trust you are now satisfied.’

  ‘Certainly not!’ the Conde replied in a still bitter tone. ‘And I shall not be until one of us is too seriously wounded to continue. Let us reload.’

  With a resigned shrug the Duke again loaded his pistol. They followed the same procedure as before. Again de Richleau fired high, but this time de Cordoba’s bullet tore a little strip of cloth from his coat low down near his thigh.

  Grimly he walked back to prepare for the third round. Brave as he was, it required no little courage to stand still and be shot at, and small beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Yet he felt that there was nothing he could do except pray that he would soon receive an injury which, without being too serious, would be sufficient to satisfy the Conde.

  Again they loaded, stood back to back, then marched to their stations. But now, instead of making any pretence of aiming, the Duke turned the point of his pistol straight up and fired into the air.

  As the bullet sailed heavenwards de Cordoba lowered his weapon and came striding towards him.

  ‘How dare you?’ he cried. ‘How dare you? I see now the reason why you have twice missed me. It is because you are not trying. Is not the injury you have done me enough without adding this insult to it? The fact that you happen to be a soldier well practised in arms gives you no right to treat me with contempt as an antagonist.’

  De Richleau sadly shook his head. ‘Believe me, Conde, nothing was further from my thoughts. But after all the kindness you showed me in the past, should I happen to kill you I would never forgive myself. Even to injure you would be a shameful return for the support and comfort you gave me after my poor wife’s death.’

  It was no use. A temporary madness seemed to afflict the Conde, making him deaf to all reason.

  ‘Shameful return,’ he echoed furiously. ‘Have you not made it already? You are one of the few men in whom I would have placed unlimited trust. It is not the seduction of Gulia that I desire to avenge, but your betrayal of my belief in you. I am determined that you shall either be carried from this bay with a wound that will long remain a reminder of your treachery, or that having put a bullet into a man who once had complete faith in you will permanently plague your conscience. Come! Reload; and take your punishment one way or the other.’

  They were just about to place themselves back to back for the fourth time when a shout of ‘Stop! Stop that! Stop!’ reached them.

  Turning towards the slope that ran up to the Villa they saw a female figure running down through the pine woods towards them. Both recognised it instantly as that of the Infanta. Instinctively they stepped apart and waited as she hurried towards them.

  Although only in her late forties Maria Alfonsine was a bulky woman, and now she looked even more so than usual, for she had no corsets on under the thick dressing-gown that was swathed about her. When she reached them her face was scarlet from her exertions, and wisps of her hair, which she had hastily done up in a bun, were floating untidily about her ears. But her high-nosed features displayed the habit of authority and her dark eyes flashed angrily, as she panted,

  ‘Holy Mary be praised that neither of you is yet injured. There is to be no more of this. I forbid it.’

  Made more furious than ever by her arrival on the scene, de Cordoba barked at her, ‘Go back! Go back to the Villa! Leave us this instant. You have no right to interfere.’

  ‘I have every right,’ she retorted. ‘It is obvious that you have forced this duel upon the Señor Duke; and I know you to have done so under a misapprehension.’

  De Cordoba gave a bitter laugh. ‘Since I have a pair of eyes in my head that is impossible. The cause of our quarrel does not concern you; but you may rest assured that no man ever had better reason to call another out.’

  ‘In that you are wrong,’ the Infanta insisted. ‘I have just come from Gulia, and she has told me how you took her by surprise by coming through her window.’

  ‘So she has admitted her shame. I had hoped that everyone other than myself might be spared the knowledge of it. Since she has confessed to you how can you possibly suggest that I had no grounds for challenging this viper whom I believed to be my friend?’

  ‘Gulia has confessed to more than taking him as a lover.’

  ‘To what more could she confess?’

  The Infanta waved an impatient hand. ‘Be quiet, José, and listen. An hour ago I was wakened by angry voices. There came the slamming of a door and footsteps past my room, then ten minutes later more footsteps. I felt that I must find out what was going on. I went to Gulia’s room and found her sobbing her heart out. She told me of your unexpected return and that you had caught her in flagrante delicto with the Señor Duke. Then that twice, three years ago and again this summer, she had done her utmost to persuade him to become her lover. But he had proved adamant in rejecting her advances.’

  ‘It’s said the road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ sneered the Conde, ‘yet the fact remains that he thought too little of his honour to stay the course. Had he possessed the integrity with which I credited him, he would not only have repulsed but left her.’

  ‘Wait, José. Wait! Having failed to seduce him from his loyalty to you, she hatched a most subtle plan. She told him that your valet had returned from South America with the news that you had been attacked by a puma and died of your wounds. According to her story the man had brought a letter from you expressing your last wishes. They were that Ruiz should conceal your death for the next two months, and meanwhile call in all doubtful loans; so that the bank should be strong enough to withstand a run upon it when your death was publicly announced. Only then, believing her to have become a widow with the right to dispose of herself as she wished, did the Señor Duke agree to become her lover.’

  The anger suddenly drained from de Cordoba’s square-bearded face. Turning towards de Richleau, he asked, ‘Is this the truth?’

  The Duke nodded. ‘Yes, that is what happened. But it was not for me to tell you so.’

  Tears sprung to the Conde’s eyes, and he exclaimed, ‘Oh my poor friend, I see now that I have done you a terrible injustice. And you! With what chivalry you have behaved. For the insults I heaped upon you I could not have blamed you if you had killed me. Yet you stood there as a target for my bullets and would not even use your skill to render me hors de combat. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Willingly,’ smiled de Richleau. ‘Most willingly. I am overjoyed that out of this unhappy affair we should at least have salvaged our friendship. You cannot guess the distress that I have suffered in this past hour from knowing that you believed so ill of me.’

  Overcome with emotion, the Conde opened his arms in the Spanish fashion and the two men embraced, kissing one another on both cheeks. But the Infanta’s voice caused them to turn again to her.

  ‘To see you reconciled is a great joy to me, but you do not yet know everything. Gulia tells me that in mid-August she believed herself to have become encinta, and a few days ago she became certa
in of it.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘She is going to have a child!’ Swinging round he met the Conde’s eyes, and faltered, ‘I … I had no idea of this. How … what are we to do?’

  Maria Alfonsine said quietly, ‘I feel this is a matter which can only be settled between you. May the good God in His wisdom give you guidance.’ Then she turned and left them.

  When she had covered a little distance, de Richleau said, ‘I imagine you could find some pretext to secure an annulment. If so, I should, of course, be willing to marry her.’

  For a few moments de Cordoba remained deep in thought, then he shook his head. ‘No. To secure an annulment would take at least two years. If I put her from me and long before she can be married to you she has a child, that is certain to become known. It would bring dishonour upon my family, and later reflect on her, on you and above all on the child. It is better that she should remain with me.’

  After a brief hesitation, de Richleau said, ‘About the child you are unquestionably right. But we have also to think of her happiness.’

  ‘True. And at the moment I have little doubt that she would prefer to leave me for you. Time, though, as we know, is the inevitable destroyer of passion. Hers for you would be bound to suffer additional strain if until the annulment came through she had to live as your mistress in furtive secrecy. Afterwards there would be the constant strain upon you both of never knowing when some woman of position, such, for example, as Maria Alfonsine, having learned that Gulia had lived with you before your marriage, would refuse to receive her. Within a few years I fear you would have tired of one another, yet find no compensation in a happy social life together.’

  ‘There is much in what you say,’ the Duke admitted. ‘But what if she remains with you? Are you … would you be willing …’

  ‘To forgive and forget,’ de Cordoba finished for him. ‘Yes. Gulia is not alone to blame for this. When I persuaded her to marry me I was already too old to do her full justice. Experience tells one that few young and healthy women, unless they are deeply religious, do not on occasion succumb to nature’s urges. Therefore I have no real right to complain if she takes a lover now and then; provided she is discreet about it.’

  The Conde paused a moment, then he went on. ‘There is another thing that I will tell to you, but would tell to no one else. I have known for some years that I am no longer capable of begetting a child. But to have one would be a great joy to me. And I know no man whom I would rather have had to sire an heir for me than yourself.’

  De Richleau lowered his glance. ‘You could not pay me a greater compliment, José. In fact you overwhelm me. May I … may I take it then …?’

  ‘That I will not act harshly towards Gulia? Yes, you may rest content about that. She has made a punishment for herself, in that she is certain to suffer for some time to come from having lost you. But now she carries the child that is to bear my name I shall lose no opportunity to cherish her.’

  Side by side they left the golden sands and walked up the slope. At its top they shook hands and, having wished one another good fortune, parted, the Conde to go into the house, the Duke to collect his mount from the orchard.

  As he rode away from the Villa, now that all the tension and uncertainty were over, a terrible depression descended on him. The thought that never again would he hold Gulia in his arms distressed him beyond measure. Yet he knew that de Cordoba had been right, and that her prospects of future happiness were far brighter if she remained with her husband than if he had taken her away. In fact, with this new bond of the child to bring them together there was every hope that in due course they would achieve as great a state of contentment as fell to most married couples.

  It was he who was left in the air. Angela and the prospect of having a child by her had been taken from him; now he had been thrown back into much the same state of loneliness and indecision as he had been shortly after her death. He had many friends and innumerable acquaintances, but no family. He owned a fine property and a great mansion, but they were situated in the most sparsely populated area of Central Europe, far from any city or cheerful community of neighbours. He was a highly trained officer, with experience of many forms of warfare, but no army worthy of the name was open to him. He was intelligent, wealthy and ambitious, but his life as a soldier had left him ill-equipped to enter on any other career. Yet he loathed the thought of idling away his life in one pleasure resort after another.

  In this unhappy state of mind, he had ridden only about half a mile towards San Sebastian when he saw two other horsemen cantering towards him. As they came nearer he recognised Don Alfonso, evidently out on an early morning ride attended only by a groom.

  With a cheerful shout of recognition, the young King reined in his horse. De Richleau dutifully made his service. The King gave an amused glance first at his face, then towards the Villa, and said with a smile:

  ‘From your unshaven chin, Duke, it looks as though you have given up keeping butterflies for your friend, and been out all night giving your attention to a beautiful moth.’

  There could be no mistaking the King’s meaning, and it would have been churlish to pretend not to respond to his rallying; so with a wan smile in reply, the Duke said:

  ‘Alas, Your Majesty, I have had to surrender my enchanting charge into the hands of the friend for whom I was looking after it.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed the King. ‘Is José de Cordoba back from South America, then?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. He returned last night.’

  ‘And you? I fear the cessation of your duties as custodian will leave a sad gap in the pleasant life you have been leading in San Sebastian.’

  ‘It will indeed, Sir. In fact I fear to find this place so dull that I intend to leave it not later than tonight. Permit me, therefore, to take this opportunity of asking Your Majesty for my congé.’

  ‘I am sorry that you are leaving us, Duke. Where do you intend to go?’

  De Richleau shrugged. ‘I hardly know. I am at a loose end. I may pay a visit to my late in-laws in England and shoot pheasants with them. Or perhaps I’ll return to Central America and shoot some more unfortunate Indians. I expect that is where I shall end up.’

  For a moment Don Alfonso remained thoughtful, then he said, ‘The advice you gave us at that conference of Generals I asked you to attend was taken. I am forming another Cavalry Division. Although you are a British subject, as a Knight of the Fleece you also owe allegiance to the Crown of Spain. It has just occurred to me that I could find no man better fitted to command it.’

  ‘A Cavalry Division!’ gasped the Duke, his face suddenly lighting up. ‘Can Your Majesty possibly mean it? To command a Cavalry Division has been the ambition of my life.’

  A new and bright horizon had opened for him.

  1 Historical Note. Ferrer was shot on September 12th, 1909. Vigorous protests at his execution appeared in Liberal newspapers all over the world. So great were the demonstrations in Madrid against the Government that Señor Maura, the Conservative Prime Minister, was forced to resign. The Liberal leader Señor Moret stepped into his shoes on October 22nd. Nevertheless there can be no doubt whatever that Francisco Ferrer was morally responsible for the deaths and wounding of many hundreds of people. D.W.

  A Note on the Author

  DENNIS WHEATLEY

  Dennis Wheatley (1897 – 1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world’s best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.

  Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.

  His first book, The Forbidden Territory, became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. Durin
g the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming’s James Bond stories.

  During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.

  Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.

  Discover books by Dennis Wheatley published by Bloomsbury Reader at

  www.bloomsbury.com/DennisWheatley

  Duke de Richleau

  The Forbidden Territory

  The Devil Rides Out

  The Golden Spaniard

  Three Inquisitive People

  Strange Conflict

  Codeword Golden Fleece

  The Second Seal

  The Prisoner in the Mask

  Vendetta in Spain

  Dangerous Inheritance

  Gateway to Hell

  Gregory Sallust

  Black August

  Contraband

  The Scarlet Impostor

  Faked Passports

  The Black Baroness

  V for Vengeance

  Come into My Parlour

  The Island Where Time Stands Still

  Traitors’ Gate

  They Used Dark Forces

  The White Witch of the South Seas

  Julian Day

  The Quest of Julian Day

  The Sword of Fate