The Jade Dragon

by Nancy Buckingham

  “That’s splendid. I’m so happy for you.” Her sudden cheerfulness was in such contrast to her depression of the past few days, and I realized that this brother must mean a great deal to her. “How long is it since you’ve seen him, Vicencia?”

  “It has been weeks and weeks now, not since the last time I spent a day in Lisbon. Julio used to come and stay here occasionally before the old conde died. I have not dared to suggest inviting him since then, though, for fear Carlota would refuse. But now that Julio himself has proposed coming, Carlota cannot say no, can she, Elinor?”

  “Of course not. I won’t allow Carlota to spoil things for you. Your brother must come and stay as long as he can.”

  She hugged me impulsively, her eyes misty with tears. “You are so kind, dear Elinor. I should feel quite lost without you now. And you will like Julio, I promise. You could not help liking him, he is so alive and full of fun. And so handsome, he really is. But he is a proud man—that is why I feel afraid of Carlota’s attitude. If Julio were given the slightest hint he was not welcome here, he would leave on the instant.”

  “Then you and I must make certain your brother feels thoroughly welcome,” I replied. “Don’t worry any more, Vicencia. Write to Julio and tell him to come to Castanheiros with all speed.”

  “I will, I will,” she said gratefully. ‘In fact, I think I shall walk into Cintra at once and send him a telegram.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll come with you, if you like. It’ll make a pleasant stroll.”

  I was so thankful that Vicencia seemed happier at last, for ever since my return from Lisbon, she had been in a very low mood. When Stafford and I had arrived in the carriage from the Quinta Miramar, I was expecting a joyous welcome from her. But instead, Vicencia seemed very subdued.

  “Hello. Have the two of you traveled from Lisbon together?” she asked, coming to meet us as we entered the hall.

  I said, too quickly, “It seemed extravagant for us to come in separate carriages when we discovered that we would be making the journey at about the same time. It emerged yesterday evening, when Stafford came to dine at the Praça dos Cantos. He knows Major Forrester, you see, and the major

  invited him. If I hadn’t come with Stafford, it would have meant borrowing the Forresters’ victoria, and I was glad to avoid the need—”

  I knew that I was talking far too much, but I was anxious to forestall Stafford’s explanation. I preferred Vicencia not to know that he and I had met the day before at Luzia’s graveside or that Stafford’s decision to return to Cintra had been made on the spur of the moment when he heard my own plans. Above everything, I wanted nothing said about us making a detour to the Quinta Miramar, because if this were mentioned, I knew it would be impossible for me to conceal the misery that was tearing me apart. These past fifteen minutes together in Stafford’s barouche, driving back to Castanheiros in tight-lipped hostility, had been unbearable. I was very close to breaking down completely.

  Mercifully, Stafford made no attempt to enlarge on what I’d said. He merely remarked to Vicencia, “I’m afraid I found at the last moment before leaving that I have to return to Lisbon tomorrow. So I shall only be staying the one night.”

  Her eyes clouded in dismay. “Oh, Stafford, must you really go back so soon?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, but it’s imperative.”

  I made my escape then, murmuring that I was hot and wanted to change my clothes. By an unlucky chance I ran into Carlota on the upper gallery. “So you are back,” she said coldly. “I must say, Elinor, I think it very presumptuous of you to have ordered the landau to drive you to Lisbon the other day. When the Conde da Milaveira is obliged to attend some important function, it is hardly fitting for him to travel in other than the best carriage.”

  “I’m sorry, Carlota. I wasn’t aware that Tio Affonso would need the landau on Wednesday.”

  “Fortunately, as it turned out, your uncle did not need the landau. But he might well have. It in no way alters the principle of the matter.”

  I could have pointed out to her that I’d not asked specifically for the landau. But I didn’t want to involve Vicencia and perhaps make further trouble for her. It occurred to me, then, that possibly Carlota was the reason for Vicencia seeming so depressed, a likelihood reinforced when I discovered next morning that in my absence a dinner party had been held at Castanheiros, and Carlota had been spitefully critical about the arrangements.

  “I was so careful to make sure that nothing could possibly go wrong,” Vicencia confided. “But you know what Carlota is like. She enjoys making me feel like little more than a servant in this house.”

  I nodded sympathetically, and Vicencia gave me an apologetic little smile. “How selfish of me to burden you with my troubles when clearly you have worries of your own. You do not look at all well, my dear Elinor. Ever since your return from Lisbon yesterday you have seemed ... preoccupied. Did something occur while you were away? Would you care to tell me about it?”

  I avoided her eyes, still afraid of betraying too much. Through the long hours of the night I had lain sleepless, reliving all that had taken place between Stafford and me on the verandah at Miramar. I could feel again the tender urgency of his lips. I heard again his softly whispered words that held such sweet promise. Why, why in the name of heaven had I ruined everything by my stupidity? Why had I allowed a petty flash of jealousy to override my reason? If only I could unsay those foolish, reckless words. If only I were permitted to go back in time to the precious moment when Stafford and I had made a silent confession of our love.

  “There is nothing wrong,” I insisted to Vicencia, forcing conviction into my voice. “I suppose, like you, I’m just depressed by the atmosphere here.” She nodded and gave a deep, sad sigh, a sigh laden with regret and longing.

  But now, three days later, the outlook for Vicencia had brightened—her brother was coming to stay. I determined I would make a big effort to rise above my despair, to crush all thoughts of Stafford and of the happiness the two of us could have shared. I resolved to do everything within my power to make Julio’s visit a success, for Vicencia’s sake.

  That evening, after the usual uncomfortable hour at dinner, with Carlota being as ill-disposed as ever and my uncle pompously polite, I had a summons to go to my grandmother’s room. Dona Amalia was sitting before a blazing log fire, the white cat on her lap. With the windows closed and the curtains drawn, it felt breathlessly hot, and the scent of lilies was overpowering.

  “I am feeling restless tonight, Elinor,” she said petulantly. “I need company. And who else is there in this house to talk to, now that Stafford has taken himself off again?” Her glinting eyes fixed upon me. “Do you play chess?”

  I hesitated. I knew she sometimes played chess with Stafford, and I suspected that my grandmother’s standard was high. “I’m afraid I only have a rudimentary knowledge of the game, Grandmama. Papa used to play quite often with the rector, and they taught me the various moves. But that was when I was a little girl. I have never played seriously.”

  “Fetch the table,” she commanded, “and we shall see how much you know.”

  It stood in one corner, a beautiful little rosewood table with a checkered top of inlaid ebony and mother-of-pearl, and some of the squares were already occupied by the carved ivory chessmen. Carefully, I carried the table and set it down beside my grandmother’s chair, and started to rearrange the pieces in their commencing ranks.

  “No, do not move them, Elinor. We may as well finish this game. I was black and Stafford was white; so you take white.”

  “Oh, but I don’t think—”

  “It will be good practice for you. Draw up a chair, child, and let us get started.”

  I felt strangely nervous to be in Stafford’s role, handling the pieces he had handled, trying to maneuver them as he had intended in his opening play. Not surprisingly, I was no match for Dona Amalia. In no more than a dozen moves she had me in check.

  “Mate, I think.” she cri
ed gleefully. ‘This is my first victory over Stafford for some time.”

  I was wryly amused that my grandmother could regard such an easy triumph as a “victory over Stafford” but her win had put her in a high good humor. She instructed me to set up the chessmen for another game. This time, though, she didn’t give it such concentrated attention.

  “I suppose, Elinor, that having sampled the pleasures of Lisbon, you must find this house very dull by comparison. No doubt you’ll want to be off again soon?”

  “No, Grandmama, I haven’t any such plans—not in the immediate future.”

  Dona Amalia nodded her head, seeming pleased. Since my return, the atmosphere between us had been easier—she appeared to welcome both my company and my help with her embroidery repairs. Though we often sat stitching for some time in silence, it was a silence that I now found less prickly than hitherto.

  I put out my hand to move a bishop, and her laugh crackled. “If you do that, child, I shall take your queen, don’t you see?”

  “Oh ... oh, yes.”

  We played for a few moments without speaking, then my grandmother surprised me by asking, “How do you get on with the rest of them here?”

  “I like Vicencia very much,” I replied cautiously.

  Dona Amalia shrugged her thin shoulders, clearly not much interested in Vicencia. “She is to be pitied, I suppose. She has no real place here, no purpose in her life since her husband died. Not that Carlos was any great loss. He was a feeble sort of man—something, I fear, that is not unique in the Milaveiras.”

  She made a sudden swoop, capturing one of my castles. Then she sat back in her chair and looked at me thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you, Elinor, that you are the very last member of this family? Not in name, of course, but through your Milaveira blood. There is nobody to follow on now.”

  Somehow, her words made me more deeply aware of my long heritage. The Milaveiras had not been without fault. There was much in their history to criticize and condemn. But there had been greatness, too, and it seemed poignant that an ancient family that over the centuries had left its mark on Portugal should finally be dying out.

  “It’s a pity my uncle and Carlota have no children,” I said. “I suppose it’s too late for that now.”

  Dona Amalia sniffed contemptuously. “If it ever was a possibility, which I doubt. So now the two of them live out their lives in mutual resentment, each blaming the other for their childless state. Affonso, the incompetent fool, wastes his time pretending to be a man of influence in politics, while Carlota endeavors to play the grande dame, a role for which she is singularly unfitted.”

  Staring at the blazing logs, I thought about this empty marriage between my uncle and his wife. I knew it had been no more than a marriage of convenience, a match arranged by one side to gain noble connections and by the other to swell the dwindling finances. This partnership, this bondage that had begun without love, was destined to fail miserably by producing no heirs for the proud Milaveira line. Over the years, I supposed, the recriminations between Affonso and Carlota must have mounted as their hopes for a child faded and finally died. And now, I was sure, they felt only contempt and dislike for one another.

  A log shifted, sending up a shower of sparks. The sound roused me from my reverie, and I glanced up and met my grandmother’s eyes. “It is your move, Elinor,” she reminded me.

  But heedless of the chess game I burst out, “It seems horribly unfair for my uncle and Carlota to resent me so much. What harm am I doing them by being here?”

  Dona Amalia pursed her withered lips, choosing her words. “After my death, Elinor—and it will not be long delayed now—Carlota was looking forward to being the unchallenged mistress of Castanheiros. It has long been her dream, and nothing seemed to stand in her path. Your mother went away so long ago, vanishing without a trace, and it could safely be assumed that she was dead.”

  “No one had the right to assume that,” I said angrily. “Not without investigating. In any case, it isn’t true that Mama vanished without trace. You knew very well where she and my father were living.”

  “What do you mean by that?” the old lady demanded, jerking up her head and giving me a startled glance.

  I was of two minds whether to tell her I knew about the conciliatory letter Mama had written after my birth, a letter that had been callously spurned, sent back to her without comment. But though I thought my uncle’s attitude toward me most unfair, he was right in saying that it would serve no purpose to throw the unhappy episode of the letter in my grandmother’s face. If she already knew and was a party to it, she would only deny it now. If she didn’t know, then the discovery of her husband’s cruelty to their only daughter would surely break her heart.

  “I meant,” I said weakly, “my mother was not in hiding. She could easily have been traced at any time if anyone had chosen to do so.”

  There was a silence in the room, except for the faint crackling of the fire. On the Indian hearthrug, the tortoise-shell cat yawned and stretched luxuriously. My grandmother’s eyes had the glazed, withdrawn look that elderly people have when dwelling sadly upon events long past. At length, she said huskily, “Be that as it may, child, the fact remains that Stafford’s discovery of your existence came as a severe shock to Carlota. She imagines that her supreme position here is threatened by your presence.”

  “But that’s a completely unfair attitude,” I protested. “All this talk about my rights here—none of it comes from me. I challenge no one. I have explained to Carlota, as I’ve explained to you and everybody else, why I came to Portugal. When Stafford called at Harley Street, I suddenly learned that I had relatives, after believing for years that I had no one. I wanted to get to know these relatives—especially you, Grandmama. Is that so impossible to believe?”

  She did not answer me, and her expression was veiled, unreadable. After a few moments she indicated the chessboard and asked sardonically, “Have I beaten you, Elinor? Are you conceding victory?”

  I made a helpless gesture. “I am no match for you, Grandmama.”

  She nodded, looking pleased once more. “The whole art of chess, Elinor, is to counter your opponent’s moves before he makes them. That is why I so enjoy playing with Stafford. His skill is quite masterly.”

  I restored the chessmen to their starting ranks and carried the table back to its place in the corner. When I returned, my grandmother had picked up one of the cats and was stroking its glossy fur. I knew I should leave her now. She clearly expected me to go. But I had a sudden urge to bring up something I found puzzling.

  “You seem to get a great deal of pleasure from Stafford’s company, Grandmama, even though you sometimes speak of him so critically.”

  “Stafford Darville has a shrewd brain, Elinor. I have a very healthy respect for that young man’s intelligence, though there are some matters that he does not seem able to grasp.”

  “But it is more than that—there’s something between you I cannot understand. A special sort of bond.”

  She had been staring into the flames of the fire. Now she glanced up and met my eyes fleetingly. Long enough, though, for me to see the shadows there—an inexpressible sadness.

  “You are talking nonsense, child. Run along, now, and do not bother me with your silly fancies.”

  Chapter 11

  The whole morning long Vicencia had been on tenterhooks, awaiting the arrival of her brother. From long before Julio could possibly be expected, she kept glancing out the window.

  “I do hope he will bring his violin, Elinor,” she said anxiously at one point. “I told him to, but you know what men are like. If he remembers, the three of us can form a trio, with you at the piano.”

  ‘There aren’t many compositions for pianoforte, flute, and violin,” I pointed out practically.

  “I found a few when I looked through my music yesterday. And other pieces we can adapt. It will be such fun, almost like the old days at home. Oh, Elinor, they were such good times—when Papa was
becoming well-known in musical circles, and we had the money to afford a few luxuries. We lived in Rua das Flores—only a small house, you understand, but really quite elegant in its way. And all of us, Mama too, were so devoted to music, we thought of little else.”

  Vicencia had happy memories of her lost childhood, just as I did. But in one respect she was luckier than I—she had a brother. How wonderful it would be, I thought enviously, to have someone as close to me as Julio was to Vicencia, someone to whom I need never pretend. Someone to whom, in times such as now, I could spill out my heart and be comforted.

  To forestall any unpleasantness from Carlota, I had made it clear that Julio was visiting Castanheiros with my full approval. This was the first time I had ever exerted my status in the household, and I would have preferred not to have done so. But I thought it necessary for Vicencia’s peace of mind.

  “It really is most inconvenient,” Carlota had complained when I told her Julio was coming. “I cannot imagine what you are thinking of, Elinor.”

  “Why is it inconvenient?” I asked in a reasonable voice. “We have dozens of bedrooms here that are not used. Why shouldn’t Julio occupy one of them for a short while? Think of the pleasure it will bring Vicencia to have her brother here.”

  “You appear to care more about Vicencia than anyone,” Carlota said testily. “Do not think it has passed unnoticed that you spend so much time in her company?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I would have thought that Vicencia’s luckless situation calls for sympathy and compassion from us all. That is why,” I added firmly and finally, “I insisted that she should invite Julio to come and stay.”

  Carlota had given me a look of pure hatred, but I knew that, on the question of Julio at least, I had defeated her.