The Jade Dragon

by Nancy Buckingham

  “But I am your granddaughter. Nothing can alter that fact.”

  “Hmmm.” She regarded me in silence, caressing the cat’s soft ears with quick, impatient fingers. Then she ordered abruptly, “Come child, follow me. Carlota, you may leave us.”

  I heard a hiss of indrawn breath as my aunt swallowed back her anger. I almost pitied her. In the brief time since my arrival I had seen that Castanheiros was occupied by two proud women. But although Carlota had the advantage in both age and health, her authority was trifling beside the dominant personality of Dona Amalia.

  As I entered my grandmother’s room, I was assailed by a sickly-sweet perfume that hung cloyingly in the air, somehow making me think of death. A huge porcelain bowl of lilies stood on an ebony table by one of the windows, their ivory white petals glowing in the subdued light that filtered through the shutters. They were lovely, but there were far too many of them, so that even in this spacious apartment their scent overpowered the senses.

  Dona Amalia let the cat slip to the floor as she turned to face me. “Take off your hat, child, so that I can look at you properly.” I did so, fumbling with the pins, and waited nervously for her verdict.

  “Yes,” she said at length, nodding her head judicially. “You have the look of Joanneira—something about the eyes and the shape of your chin and that fine head of hair, though the color is quite different. You must have inherited your fairness from your father.”

  I had a sense of unreality, as though this were only a dream. The condessa and I were two strangers making conversation, yet each of us was more closely related to the other than to anybody else in the entire world. How did one behave in such circumstances?

  “Your own hair is still very thick and beautiful,” I found myself saying. “Was it a deep, rich brown like my mother’s when you were a young woman?”

  I was awarded the first slight relaxing of her expression, though it could scarcely be called a smile. “My hair was always greatly admired,” she announced with pride. “It grew to below my waist. I was even able to sit on it when it was combed out. Did your mother never tell you that?”

  “Mama told me nothing of her life before she was married,” I said regretfully. “I did not even know of your existence, Grandmama. That was why I was so anxious to come and meet you before—”

  “Before I die? You need not hesitate to say it. I know full well that I have not long for this world. You had better sit down, child, while we talk. Over there, where I can see you.”

  The old lady herself chose a high-backed velvet chair with carved arms. As she sat down, a magnificent white cat sprang at once into her lap and another cat, with tortoise-shell markings, leapt up behind her shoulder. I could see now, as I glanced around me, that there were several others in the room—a huge black and silver tabby lay curled asleep in a thin shaft of sunlight, and one with fur of a lovely honey gold was perched on a marble pedestal, licking its paw in a lazy fashion. A slight shiver ran through me. Normally, I was fond of cats—the cook at Harley Street owned a ginger tom (her old moggy, as she called him fondly) that would often come up the basement stairs to greet me with a friendly rasping purr. But these cats were different. They were hostile, silent, watchful, somehow sinister.

  “So your mother told you nothing about her family, Elinor,” the condessa said thoughtfully, her eyes not leaving my face. “No doubt Joanneira was too ashamed. She did not care to explain how she had turned her back upon the parents to whom she owed everything.”

  “That was only because you opposed her marriage,” I burst out fervently. “Mr. Darville told me what happened, Grandmama, and that’s the chief reason I wanted to come to Portugal to see you. I wanted you to know how wonderfully happy Mama and Papa were together. They were devoted to one another, and I feel quite certain that Mama would have been the most contented woman in the world but for the rift with you and her father.”

  “It was entirely Joanneira’s own doing. Her father had chosen a husband for her, a man of mature years, a man of position and wealth. It would have made a highly suitable match. But no, Joanneira willfully and disobediently ran off with this penniless doctor, a person of no status whatsoever.”

  “My father was a fine man,” I protested. “He was

  truly worthy of her love, and he loved her in return. Surely no marriage arranged by her parents could have been more suitable?”

  Dona Amalia’s jet eyes flashed. ‘You forget yourself, child, speaking to your grandmother like that.”

  I could have retorted that only minutes ago she had challenged my right to this relationship. But I held back. I had not made this long journey to fan the flames of bitterness.

  There was a pause while the condessa slowly and deliberately stroked the white cat in her lap, as if to demonstrate that she had affection for the animal, but none for me. When she spoke, her tone was sarcastic.

  “So you traveled all the way from England because you wanted to tell me that your parents loved one another. Really, Elinor, you will have to be more convincing than that.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked faintly. “It is the truth.”

  “I know very well what the truth is,” she snapped back. “You couldn’t wait, could you, to come hurrying by the very first boat to claim your inheritance? There is no justice in the world. Why should any of my husband’s estate go to your mother—or to you, now that she is dead—when she deliberately defied her parents’ wishes and abandoned us so disgracefully? But that fool of an advogado insists that it is the law, and must be so.”

  The wound went so deep that I found it difficult to speak. “My mother never abandoned you, Grandmama—it was you who abandoned her. In any case, how can you possibly imagine that I have come to claim any inheritance? I am perfectly well aware that there is nothing to inherit, that the estate is hopelessly in debt.”

  “Who told you that?” she demanded in a piercingly shrill voice, sweeping the cat from her lap.

  “It was Mr. Darville. When he came to tell me about my grandfather’s death, he explained the whole position to me.”

  Dona Amalia rose abruptly to her feet, with none of the grace and poise I had noticed earlier. She suddenly looked like an old woman, and I was afraid she might fall. Hastily, I moved nearer.

  “Grandmama, are you not well? Do sit down again.”

  She clutched my arm, and her long fingers had become like claws, digging into my flesh. “They keep saying this—Stafford and the lawyer. But it is a lie, do you hear, a wicked lie. Of course there are a few debts. Every great family has been through periods of financial embarrassment, but such things

  are of passing importance, soon overcome.” She gasped pain fully for breath. “Do you imagine that the Milaveiras will ever be brought down merely for want of a little money? If so, child, you know nothing of the family, nothing. While I have the strength in my body, while I keep faith with---“

  She shuddered violently and went suddenly slack. Somehow I caught her before she fell, and lowered her gently to the floor. Dona Amalia lay crumpled and still, her arms held out as though to ward off some dreaded thing, her eyes wide open and staring. The cats had been alarmed by her outburst and they came forward hissing at me angrily, their backs arched. I had an eerie sensation that I was encircled by a demon ring of evil.

  “Grandmama,” I cried wildly. “Please speak, please say something.”

  But she gave no answer, and I could detect no flicker of movement in her gaunt, contorted features. I was filled with a dreadful fear that she was dead.

  Chapter 4

  In an agony of guilt, I waited alone in the bedroom to which I had been banished in disgrace.

  Mercifully, my grandmother had not died, as I had at first feared. But I still felt desperately worried about her, and I found this waiting well-nigh intolerable. If only someone would bring me news, I thought anxiously. If only someone would come and assure me that Dona Amalia was indeed going to recover.

  In those first few moments of panic
, seeing my grandmother slip lifelessly to the floor, I think I must have screamed out. Somewhere behind me a door had opened and an elderly woman servant came hurrying in. She thrust me aside with a cry and knelt down beside her mistress, crooning to her in a lilting flood of words that I could not follow. She spared me a fleeting glance, and the look in her eyes was charged with hatred. Then in one swift movement she gathered up the frail body in her arms and carried my grandmother through to the adjoining bedroom. I followed her, attempting to help, but my assistance was contemptuously rejected. In a daze I stood watching while the woman laid Dona Amalia gently on the brocade bedcover, removed the jet brooch at her throat, and loosened the fastenings of her bodice. She found a phial of smelling salts on the marquetry side table and held it to the old lady’s nostrils. It was then that I saw the first stirrings of life, and a great wave of thankfulness flooded through me.

  The woman had reached for a corded bellpull that hung at the head of the canopied bed and tugged it vigorously. Two more servants appeared almost at once and were swiftly dispatched with orders. A minute later Carlota arrived. Ignoring me, she went quickly to the bedside and talked in whispers with the woman servant. Then she swung round to face me, her eyes blazing with fury.

  “You see what you have done, Elinor? You are fortunate not to have killed your grandmother outright.”

  “We were just talking,” I said wretchedly, “and she suddenly collapsed. At first ... at first I was afraid that she was dead. But thank God she has recovered.”

  “Before you offer thanks to God, it will be as well to wait and see what the physician has to say,” Carlota remarked grimly. “And now you had better leave us and go to your room. Josepha will show you the way.”

  “But may I not stay? There must be something I can do to help.”

  “Your presence has done quite enough harm already,” she retorted. “Kindly remove yourself, and allow us to attend to Dona Amalia in peace.”

  And so here I was, and I could scarcely have felt more a prisoner if I had been locked and bolted in the room, the windows barred with an iron grille.

  Hearing a tap on the door, I spun around quickly, but it was only a footman bringing my luggage. I gave him a nervous smile and summoned up a few words of thanks. As he withdrew, I sat gazing uncertainly at my brassbound leather trunk. I still wore the garments in which I had traveled, and I longed to change into fresh clothes. In the circumstances, though, it somehow seemed unfitting for me to unpack and make myself at home here. With a sigh I crossed to the toilet stand and poured a little water into the rose-patterned bowl.

  After washing I at least felt less untidy as I continued my anxious waiting.

  The view from the tall, balconied windows, had I been in any mood to enjoy it, would have been breathtakingly lovely. The gardens sloped gently down in a series of formal terraces, with marble statuary and stone balustrading and flights of shallow steps. Cool fountains splashed into pools, and exotic flowers gleamed richly against a backcloth of topiary hedges and cypress trees. Sweeping up on either side of the quinta grounds rose densely wooded hills that were tinted in a hundred subtle shades of green, softly leading one’s eye through the valley to a distant vista of the sunlit sea.

  Presently, a tray of food was brought to me by another manservant. But the appetite I had earlier felt so keenly had quite deserted me now. The chilled white wine was refreshing, but I picked at the platter of cold meats without interest, then pushed it aside, returning yet again to gaze out of the windows. The afternoon wore on, and as the sun moved across the sky, its rays caught the water cascading from the fountains, tinging it with all the sparkling colors of the rainbow.

  This time, the knock at the door was little more than a light fingertap on the wooden paneling.

  “Entre, “I called eagerly, yet with a quickening of my fears.

  The woman who came in, while not arresting, was endowed with a soft prettiness in every feature. Her warmly brunette hair was worn in a low chignon, with neat curls upon her brow. They framed an oval face, the skin a pale honey tint, the eyes a deep velvety brown. She was dressed in a simple, dove gray skirt and a white blouse with lace ruching. The total impression was of gentle femininity, but above everything I noticed her welcoming smile. It was the first real smile I had seen since my arrival at the Quinta dos Castanheiros.

  “Elinor, my dear. I regret not being here to greet you, but I have been out on some domestic business. So unnecessary— it could have waited until another day, but Carlota insisted that I go. I am sure it was deliberate, to have me out of the way when you arrived.” She spoke in a soft voice that matched her appearance, and slowly, choosing her English words with care.

  “You are ... Vicencia?” When she nodded, I hurried on, “Can you please tell me about my grandmother? How is she?”

  “Dona Amalia is recovering. The doctor has seen her and pronounced her to be out of immediate danger.”

  “Oh, I am so relieved. I was afraid—”

  She nodded sympathetically. “Yes, I heard about the upset. But you must not blame yourself, my dear Elinor. It is just one of her attacks.”

  “You mean she has had them before like that?” I asked in astonishment. “From what Tia Carlota said, I thought it was all my fault.”

  “How like Carlota. She would seize upon it as an opportunity to put you at a disadvantage. I am sorry to say, Elinor, that Carlota is not happy about your coming here.”

  “So I have gathered,” I said dryly. “But please tell me more about my grandmother’s illness. What exactly is the matter with her?”

  “As far as we can understand, Dona Amalia is wasting away from some organic malfunction. You would not believe that until two years ago she was a big woman, would you? She has these attacks occasionally, and we are used to them by now.”

  I felt greatly comforted to hear this. I also felt indignant that I had been made to suffer such anguish these past couple of hours. I smiled at Vicencia warmly. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I do not know who you are—only your name. Are you a member of the family?”

  “Yes, Elinor, I am a Milaveira by marriage. But I am a widow now, and I suppose one might say that I live here at Castanheiros on sufferance. My husband was the son of your grandfather’s younger brother. In other words, he was your mother’s cousin. Poor Carlos died four years ago, and I am still permitted to call this my home. Alas, I have no other.”

  “But surely,” I protested, “you have every right to be here. As much right as anyone else.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I will tell you the whole unhappy story sometime, Elinor. Suffice it to say that my husband’s side of the family long ago gave up all claim to their share of Milaveira properties. So although I have lived at the quinta for some years, I have no ‘rights.’ Only grace and favor, and there is little enough of that from Carlota, I fear. She considers me useful as someone who can run the household for her, and I must be thankful for that. Otherwise, I would be dispatched without a scruple the moment it was within her power to do so.”

  It seemed a shameful situation to me, and I made that clear. “As far as I’m concerned, Vicencia, this is where you belong. And I shall say so to anyone who tries to suggest the contrary.”

  Impulsively, she came forward and kissed me on the cheek. “How kind you are, Elinor. I am so glad we can be friends.” She paused, her hands lightly clasped, while she studied me. “You are very pretty, my dear—but then, I daresay you are often told that. You must have many admirers in England.”

  I smiled at her. “I have never allowed myself to take too much notice of complimentary remarks. Young men are apt to be carried away and say extravagant things they don’t really mean.”

  “But is there not some young man who wants to marry you?” Vicencia persisted.

  To explain to her about Oliver would have been too complicated, so I merely shook my head. With a little shrug of disappointment, she continued, “Do you like this room, Elinor? It would be easy enough to prepare
another for you if it is not to your taste.”

  I looked about me, really noticing the apartment for the first time. In my concern over my grandmother I had only been aware of its magnificence, hardly taking in any of the details. The paneled walls were painted with a series of allegorical pictures against a pale, celestial background, rising to a lofty, gold-coffered ceiling. The four-poster bed was draped in peacock-blue silk, embroidered with a classical laurel-leaf design, the theme being echoed in the curtains at the two tall windows. A Brussels carpet with a pattern of entwined roses was laid upon the floor, and a matched pair of rose pink porcelain oil lamps stood one upon the dressing table and one upon the bedside console.

  “It rather takes my breath away,” I confessed. “In fact, everything I’ve seen here does. It’s all so grand and so beautifully cared for.”

  Vicencia beamed her pleasure. “Then you will not want to hasten back to England, Elinor. My wish is that you will stay for a long, long time.”

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure if that is possible, Vicencia. Will any of the Milaveira family be able to remain here for much longer? I must admit that I am very confused. Mr. Darville told me that my grandfather left a great many debts, and he was emphatic that when these had all been settled, there would be virtually no money left over. But my grandmother insists that this is utter nonsense, that the debts are unimportant. I do not know which of them to believe.”

  Vicencia sighed unhappily. “You must believe what Stafford says, Elinor. He knows about these matters. You may be quite certain that he would never tell you such a thing if it were not true. He is far too honest and sincere a person.”

  I looked at Vicencia in surprise. Up until now, everyone to whom I had mentioned Stafford Darville’s name—Mrs. Forrester, Carlota, and my grandmother—had all reacted with marked disfavor. Yet Vicencia clearly approved of him. I wondered why. A sudden thought occurred to me, although if I were right, Vicencia’s attitude was all the more difficult to understand.