Eduardo didn't know and cautiously admitted as much.
Don Gilberto stalked into his office and closed the door, a clear signal that he did not want to be disturbed. He poured himself a liberal glass of wine and sat down in his chair.
He knew that Leonor's activities were a direct challenge to his authority and he could not ignore her any longer. In a few months she would take control and he had no intention of relinquishing his grip on the estate. Any chance of marrying her off had failed with her refusal of Pablo. He could bring other caballeros to the hacienda but he feared the result would be the same. Of course, he could resort to force but then her mother would interfere and take her side and the situation would become openly ugly. He swallowed a great gulp of wine and wiped his mouth fastidiously. No, there had to be another solution for Leonor and he had better find it fast. Perhaps Don Carlos would have a suggestion. It was worth investigating.
"Eduardo, bring me my cloak and hat," he shouted.
"Si, senor. At once."
"And have one of the servants go to the stable and have my horse saddled. Immediately."
A few minutes later Don Gilberto rode toward the pueblo of Los Angeles to find the consul general and see what ideas he might have in solving this problem. He also needed to consult with him on the recent fiasco in the attack on the wagon train. From the reports Don Gilberto heard, something had gone terribly wrong there. He hoped Don Carlos would know what to do to keep it from ever happening again.
The ride to Los Angeles, except for the ever present summer dust, was not unpleasant. After traveling a league and a half through a pass between low hills, Don Gilberto entered a spacious valley, well grown with cottonwoods and alders. Along the valley ran a beautiful river, deep and swift and high because of the recent floods. Across the river were large vineyards of wild grapes and an infinity of roses in full bloom. But the closer he came to the town the less attractive were his surroundings.
Most of the houses in the pueblo belonged to the poorer people and were small, mud-colored, with flat roofs. They were, without exception, one-story structures with rawhide doors and glassless windows. The narrow streets were either a sea of mud in winter or, as now, a drift of dust. Nearer the town square were government buildings and some larger, more comfortable houses than the ones which sheltered the peasants and Indians. Still, thought Don Gilberto, the town was insufferably pretentious to call itself La Reina de Los Angeles, for it was far from being a city, much less The City of the Queen of the Angels!
Don Gilberto drew rein before the largest government building, where he would find Don Carlos, and dismounted. He tossed his reins to his groom. "Do not wander away, Pedro," he ordered. "I do not want a drunken groom when I return."
"Si, Don Gilberto," Pedro muttered, offering his master's retreating back a glance of acute dislike. Such a warning was not necessary, he thought. He had been trained well by Don Roderigo de Reyes and never would he desert his post to go into a tavern and get drunk!
Don Carlos' suite of offices was the first door on the left. Don Gilberto opened the door and entered in time to see the door of Don Carlos's private office pulled open. Somewhere out of sight a woman cried, "Mercy, Don Carlos! He is my only son!"
"The sentence has been passed, senor," Don Carlos said. His heavy, rough voice grated.
"But for such a small theft, senor! Mercy—"
"I have said my last words on the subject. Soldiers, take him away."
Two husky soldiers hustled a white-faced boy, scarcely out of childhood, from the office. Behind him stumbled his sobbing mother. Don Carlos stood in the doorway, a malicious smile on his face, a face that brightened briefly when he saw Don Gilberto.
"Buenos días, amigo. Come into my office."
Don Gilberto returned the greeting and followed the commandant into the small, modestly furnished room. Don Carlos wore a plain, dark brown uniform, adorned with neither decorations nor trim. He was of medium height, thick-chested and with strong, muscular arms and legs. His swarthy face sported a bristly moustache which only served to emphasize the thin scar that ran down his cheek to his chin. His dark eyes were half hidden under shaggy, overhanging brows and viewed the world with more than a touch of cynical disdain. He and Don Gilberto were an oddly assorted pair. Don Carlos looked the soldier he had long been. It showed in his weather-beaten face, in the musculature of his barrel-chested body and in the snap of command in his voice. Don Gilberto was, to outward appearances, the picture of the refined hidalgo. The well-tailored elegance of his clothing set off his tall, spare frame. His thin hands were beautifully kept, the nails carefully manicured. Looking at him, no one would ever have guessed the long struggle he had made to rise from his rank as the son of a poor government clerk to that of the California hidalguía. He had climbed to that height by small, sly steps, rising slowly, painfully, copying the speech and manners of his betters. He had learned an appreciation for the finer things in life and was not about to give up the position he had so long labored for.
"Sit down," Don Carlos said, gesturing at the plain chair across from his desk.
Don Gilberto complied, wishing that Carlos would offer him a drink. The ride was long and dusty and his throat was parched. But he did not ask for one. He knew Carlos would eventually offer refreshment but if he asked for it, he would receive nothing.
"You have pressing information, I think. Otherwise you would not subject yourself to that long, hot ride. What is it?"
Don Gilberto ignored the sarcastic edge in Don Carlos's voice and launched into his story. "You have heard of the fiasco with the attack on the Varanov wagon train?"
"I heard." The answer was not encouraging but Don Gilberto pursued his inquiries.
"Then you know it failed. Not a wagon was lost, I hear, and your men fled in terror. I thought perhaps you would have an explanation?"
"Por Dios! I am surrounded by fools!" Don Carlos said harshly. His face was a mask of rage and the feral expression in his eyes caused shivers to run down Don Gilberto's spine. The more controlled Don Carlos sounded, the more dangerous he was. He sat down at his desk and picked up a small wooden device and toyed with it. Don Gilberto recognized it. It was part of that torture instrument, the thumbscrew. Don Carlos often fingered it while he talked. Some years before Don Gilberto had asked him where it came from but Don Carlos, his eyes glinting maliciously, only shrugged and would not elaborate. Now he glanced down at it as he said, "That Russian bastard has claimed his inheritance and as long as he is here, we do not have a chance of taking his estate. I never knew a clever Russian. Most that I have had dealings with in the past were easily duped."
"His mother was Spanish."
"No doubt that explains it. It was a clever ruse to hide the men inside the wagons! One would not have thought he was that cunning but it is not a mistake we will make again. Next time—"
"Can we afford a 'next time'?"
Don Carlos eyed his colleague. "We must destroy Don Dimitri, as soon as possible. Do you agree?"
Don Gilberto nodded, but with a certain reluctance.
"You do not seem so concerned about this. Is there another problem that I am not aware off?"
"Leonor has suddenly become a problem. You know she inherits in less than eight months. But she does not wait. She rides about the farms, giving the peasants money and food, keeping the old and infirm alive. She interferes with the discipline and causes confusion wherever she goes."
Don Carlos looked at Don Gilberto in complete surprise. "You are allowing a chit of a girl to disturb you, Gilberto? Surely you jest? Beat the bitch and lock her in her room with no food or water. That will bring her to her senses."
Don Gilberto squirmed and admitted, "That is not easily done, not with her mother in the house, and her maid underfoot."
"So your women are giving you trouble and you care not to soil your dainty hands to deal with them? You choose to tread lightly? Then, marry Senorita Leonor to someone you can control."
"I tried but d
id not succeed," Don Gilberto admitted reluctantly, licking his dry lips. His parched throat ached and he swallowed with difficulty. He tried to tell himself that it was thirst alone that tightened his throat but he could not repress his fear of this man he had allied himself with in his quest for power and wealth. Carlos was ruthless, utterly ruthless, Don Gilberto knew, and even he, his partner, was terrified to thwart him.
Don Carlos continued to toy with the thumbscrew. Then he glanced at Don Gilberto. "Forgive me, my friend. You need refreshment. How could I be so remiss?" As he spoke he reached behind him to the marble topped table and poured a small glass of wine for Gilberto. He did not pour any for himself. Don Gilberto sipped the wine slowly, trying to make it last as long as possible. Then he briefly told Don Carlos about his attempts to betroth Leonor to Pablo.
"That would have solved our problem with the girl but only temporarily. We must think of something that will be a permanent solution."
"You don't mean—"
Don Carlos waved a negligent hand at Don Gilberto. "Not necessarily, my friend. Only as a last resort. Besides, do you not know? There are worse things than death, much worse things. I will think on it," he continued briskly.
"I do not think," began Don Gilberto hesitantly, "that I wish to be rid of Leonor permanently."
"You do not wish," said Don Carlos softly. "I do not pander to your wishes, Gilberto. Your stepdaughter is a problem. She stands in the way of our getting what we wish to have. Is that not correct? We must remove her from being an obstacle. She and the Russian . . . if you cannot deal with these obstacles, I will be . . . shall we say, pleased to do so."
Gilberto paled. Yes, he wished to be rid of Leonor but one did not go around killing women, just because they were in the way. He tried to think of some way to relay his thoughts to Don Carlos, but he did not relish raising the man's fury. When angry, Carlos could frighten the devil, thought Don Gilbert.
"Did you notice as you rode through town that there were fewer loiterers than usual?" asked Don Carlos.
"Yes. How did you manage it?"
"I can take no credit for it. Since the Mother Country has been so busy trying to put down the rebellion in Mexico, she has less time than usual to show attention to California. Therefore, these lazy Indians and peasants have had to go to work. Welfare from Spain and the padres has decreased substantially. Most of them scratch out little but a bare living but they still have time to drink and wench."
Don Gilberto nodded, bored with the turn the conversation had taken. Whether or not there were loiterers in Los Angeles did nothing to solve his immediate problems.
"I trust," said Don Carlos, "you are praying nightly that the rebellion will be put down."
"The rebellion in Mexico?" asked Don Gilberto, looking longingly at the bottle of wine. "I have little interest in it."
"You had best show some interest! If those, Mexican traitors win and declare their independence, they will take us with them. Even if your knowledge of geography is lacking, you must know that Mexico City is much closer to us than Spain is. We are far better off with Spain's neglect. Neither of us would prosper under Mexican rule. But I stray from the subject. I will concoct a plan to rid us of the lady and the gentleman in question. You have no objections, do you?''
"No, no—" said Don Gilberto hastily but he wondered if, perhaps, he had made a mistake in working with this entirely unscrupulous man. He was sure that Don Carlos would do anything to further his own devices.
"And now you must excuse me, Gilberto. I have pressing business. I have an execution to attend. The young man you saw leaving my office when you arrived. Perhaps you would like to accompany me?"
"No, no. I also have pressing business."
Don Carlos smiled, put down the thumb screw and then rose. "Let us meet again soon. Goodbye."
As Don Gilberto left the office, he found he was damp with perspiration. Had Don Carlos always been so sinister, so vicious or was he slowly changing into a thoroughly unpleasant person, a person who could persuade Don Gilberto to do something he had no stomach for?
"Pedro, go into that tavern and get me a bottle of wine," he said to his groom. Perhaps, after several drinks, the ride home would not be so tiresome. After several drinks he, Gilberto, would think of some way to solve his problems so that he would not have to leave it all to Don Carlos Balsas!
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Paquita had not exaggerated her fears when she warned Leonor about her stepfather's anger. She knew, much better than her youthful mistress, what the master of the estate was capable of when angered. And Paquita's source of information was far too reliable to be dismissed as mere rumor. Eduardo, that lofty, disdainful young man who was far too pleased with himself, in Paquita's opinion, had actually boasted to her of his master's growing fury with the senorita's activities. Paquita knew that Eduardo was trying to impress her by the extent of his knowledge of the master's affairs, but she didn't discount the information on that account. Since his arrival at the hacienda, Eduardo had eyed her voluptuous curves and saucy smile with desire but had found her to be friendly, pleasant and yet curiously evasive. The less she responded to his cocky preening, the more determined he became to impress upon her his worth. So he had taken to strolling into the kitchen when he knew she would be there preparing her mistress's breakfast and endeavoured to further his pursuit of her. Paquita smiled, chatted and listened and the more she learned, the more concerned she became.
Now she rolled over in the narrow bed and pulled the covers over her bared shoulder.
"Que hay? What is it, querida?"
Paquita looked down at Andres as he slipped an arm around her back. "I am worried, Andres. Eduardo tells me—"
Andres scowled and withdrew his arm. He pushed the pillow, filled with rustling straw, against the plain headboard of the bed and propped against it, his dark gaze smouldering at her. "Eduardo! Is that gallito pestering you still?"
Paquita dismissed it with an impatient wave of his hand. "I do not pay any attention, amante, to that one, only to what he tells me about Senorita Leonor! And I am worried about her. The master is very angry, Andres, very angry indeed and she will not listen to me."
Andres lightly stroked her flushed cheek. "I know that he does not like her riding the estate and visiting the farms but what could he do to her? She is his daughter, Paquita mía. One does not beat one's daughter!"
"Stepdaughter," she corrected him. "He does not care for her, Andres. He is master there now and would like to remain so."
"So, what do you fear?"
Paquita shrugged helplessly. "I do not know. I only know that he has said nothing to her. He has not told her to stop, nor scolded her . . . and it is that silence that makes me uneasy."
Andres drew her down to him, his lips nuzzling her warm throat and sliding up to her cheek. "What do you think we can do about it?"
"Tell Don Dimitri?"
Andres smiled. "You think the senor could do anything?"
"He is her cousin."
Andres laughed. "He is not. It is a distant relationship, no es verdad? It gives him no right to tell her stepfather how to treat her."
"He will try. He is interested in her, Andres."
His brows flew up in astonishment. "Interested? Don Dimitri? I have heard nothing of that!"
She sniffed and firmly removed his hand from her breast. "You do not listen! He is interested. He may believe he is interested because they are distant cousins but, amigo, I don't believe that! If he knew how angry Don Gilberto is, perhaps he would caution her. She may listen to him where she will not listen to me."
"I will tell Cesar and he can tell Sergei, who will tell the senor," Andres promised lazily. "I think you make much of this, querida, but I will make certain that Don Dimitri knows. Will that satisfy you?"
She smiled tenderly at him. "It will help. I can wish that more could be done but that will do very well for a start."
"Good! Now, let us talk about what will satisfy me—"
>
His hand pulled the covers from her naked shoulders and she protested. "It is time for me to go, Andres. It will be light soon and I must be back before dawn."
"It is not yet dawn, Paquita. There is time—" He drew her down into his arms, muffling her half-hearted protest with his hungry lips. With a feeling that she had eased part of her burden by sharing it with Andres, Paquita responded to his demands, giving herself up to the solace and ecstasy of his arms.
Chapter Six
An uneasy peace seemed to hang over the de Corderras and de Reyes estates for well over two weeks, then the trouble began. Leonor continued her activities, ignoring the fact that Don Gilberto had been monitoring them but what puzzled her was the fact that he said nothing to her about them at all. Her mother, ignorant of what her daughter was actually doing out on her rides, continued in blissful innocence and was not enlightened by either her husband or her daughter. So Leonor escaped the scoldings of both and divided her outdoor time between practicing with the bullwhip and visiting the farms and involving herself in their day to day problems.
Surrender by Moonlight Page 8