It was nearly noon when Vicencia gave a sudden cry of joy. “Here he is, Elinor, here he is. Oh, do come and meet him at once.”
She went hurrying out through the great hall, her skirts swirling. I followed her, smiling to myself at her girlish excitement. As we emerged onto the portico steps, a hired carriage was just drawing up. The occupant jumped down and paid off the driver with an easy gesture, while one of the footmen took down a small, wood-bound trunk—and, I was pleased to note, a black violin case.
Julio turned to face his sister with widespread arms, smiling as delightedly as she. Vicencia flung herself at him, and they hugged one another.
My presence temporarily forgotten, I had a chance to study Julio. As Vicencia had claimed, he was a handsome young man, slim-figured, with a look of abounding health and energy. Everything about Julio was compact and of a piece—glossy black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, dark eyes that despite their velvet softness seemed to sparkle with vitality, a clear skin and red lips that curved up at the corners as though well-accustomed to laughter. He was dressed in country clothes of the latest style—fawn checked trousers and a belted jacket. A gold pin shone in his necktie, and he carried a straw hat.
Breaking from his embrace, Vicencia took her brother’s hand and dragged him toward me. “Julio, you must meet my very dear Elinor. I do so want you two to be friends, and I know you will be, because you are both such darling, sweet-natured people.”
Smiling charmingly, Julio took my fingers and held them a moment. “Elinor—may I call you Elinor?”
“Please do.”
“This dear sister of mine has written so much about you, Elinor, that I feel I know you already. I am indeed grateful to you for befriending her. Vicencia was sorely in need of a good friend.”
“The need was mutual, Julio, I assure you. I cannot tell you what a comfort it has been to have Vicencia here.”
“I can believe that. Castanheiros is not the happiest of establishments these days, from all I hear.”
“Far from it, alas.”
“But Julio’s arrival will change all that,” Vicencia promised me gaily. “It is quite impossible to remain in a sad mood when my young brother is around. You will see, Elinor, he is quite irrepressible.”
Julio had his right arm around Vicencia’s slender waist, holding her close to him. As we turned to go into the mansion, he rested his other hand lightly upon my shoulder. It was a simple, natural gesture, and I felt myself included in the aura of warm affection that encompassed brother and sister.
Luncheon was a dismal interlude. Carlota did her best to ignore Julio’s presence and sat eating in an aloof, resentful silence. My uncle made a few efforts at conversation, but he was so condescending to Julio that I felt myself flushing with embarrassment.
“I know the minister of your department well, of course—a most talented man of wide experience. I imagine, however, Senhor Gomez, that in your capacity you will not have had occasion to meet him personally?”
“Alas, no, senhor conde, the honor has not yet come my way,” replied Julio solemnly. “But perhaps one day, if I am extremely fortunate—who knows?”
“Quite, quite. You must be very industrious, young man. Nothing worthwhile is ever achieved except through hard work.”
“I am sure Your Excellency is right. I have only to look at you, sir, to realize the truth of that remark.” Julio’s face had a bland expression, showing proper respect, but when I chanced to meet his eye across the table, he gave me a fleeting wink.
In the afternoon, Vicencia suggested that the three of us should go for a drive. With Julio at the reins of the basket chaise, we set off through shady lanes that wound down into the valley, the wooded slopes and craggy peaks of the Serra da Cintra towering behind us. A river ran beside the road, watering this fruitful land of olive groves and citrus orchards. Here and there we passed a country house set within large walled grounds, or a pretty little cottage nestled among the cork oaks, with chickens and geese pecking in the dust. And further down the valley there were extensive apple fields.
We came to the village of Collares, and the landscape changed. Here it was all vineyards, each plot surrounded by a hedge of woven reeds to prevent the light, sandy soil from being blown away in the wind. Vicencia explained that most of what we could see was Milaveira land.
“You must have an escorted tour around the vineyards and the adegas, Elinor. You would find it most interesting.”
“Er yes.... I expect I would.”
I knew that my voice lacked enthusiasm, but I was remembering how Stafford had offered to show me the vineyards that fateful afternoon when we stood together on the belvedere at Miramar. It was these sudden, unexpected little reminders of him that were the worst, catching me without warning and filling me with an unbelievable sense of loss.
I made an effort to listen to what Vicencia was telling me. “The old conde used to take a keen interest in the vineyards, but Affonso appears content to leave the management of the estate entirely in the hands of the steward. That is the reason Stafford is so dreadfully concerned about things, though why the poor dear man feels it necessary to worry himself about our problems, I cannot understand. Stafford has often tried to explain the situation to me, but I fear I have little grasp of financial matters. It seems to be all a question of confidence—or lack of confidence. For a long time past, the family’s debts have been enormous, but with a strong man like your grandfather in charge, the financiers were willing not to press for their money. But alas, everything is different now. The creditors are getting restive and are demanding to be repaid.”
I glanced around me, thinking how extraordinary it was that with the magnificent Quinta dos Castanheiros, the Lisbon house, and all these vast estates, the Milaveira fortunes could be at such a low ebb. And destined, it seemed certain, never to rise again. Stafford had told me that the family lawyer was still desperately trying to make order from the chaos, and it would be some time yet before he would be able to give a full report on the state of things.
“The conversation seems to have taken a very gloomy turn,” Julio grumbled, “and that will never do. We are almost at the sea. Do you enjoy being by the sea, Elinor?”
“Yes indeed. The Carlisles—the people I lived with in London— used to spend a month on the coast every summer, at a place called Bournemouth. I always enjoyed it very much.”
He smiled. “Where we are going, you will find it very different from those gentle English resorts, I think.”
How right he was. Even on this balmy summer day I could hear the menacing thunder of the ocean long before we actually reached it. We sprang down from the chaise and walked across the tufty grass to a great promontory with steep, jagged cliffs.
“This is the Cabo da Roca,” Julio informed me, intoning his words like a tourist’s guide, “The most westerly point of the entire continent of Europe. Would the senhora like to take a closer look?”
“No thank you. I’m terrified of heights.”
“Come on,” he laughed, catching hold of my elbow and drawing me closer to the edge. “I can assure you there is no danger.”
“Oh, please—”
“Don’t tease her, Julio,” his sister warned. “Elinor can see everything she wants to from here.”
Never in my life had I witnessed so majestic a sight. The incessant onslaught of the ocean had sculpted weirdly grotesque shapes from the rock face, carving out giant clefts and deep dark caverns. Into these the waves flung themselves with headlong fury, to issue forth moments later in hissing plumes of foam and showers of spray.
“If it’s like this in calm weather,” I said, gazing in awe, “whatever can it be like during a storm?”
“Ah. Then it is truly a sight worth seeing, isn’t it, Vicencia? Wait until winter, Elinor, and then come again when there is a westerly gale blowing. I can promise you, it won’t be a wasted journey.”
But winter was months and months away, and so much could happen between now and then.
I tried to imagine where I’d be at the turn of the year, and what I would be doing. In London, perhaps, back with the Carlisles—and confronted again with the problem of Oliver? Or still here in Portugal, at Castanheiros? I had no idea.
Vicencia glanced at me, and I had a feeling that she sensed the direction of my thoughts. For her, too, the future was shrouded in uncertainty. “Don’t let’s talk about the winter,” she protested. “Heavens above, it’s still such a long way off. Let us just enjoy this beautiful summer day while it lasts.”
“That’s it, Vicencia,” laughed Julio. ‘Take no heed for the morrow. Come on, let’s show Elinor O Fojo.”
“All right, but do be careful,” she said.
O Fojo was a chasm in a giant mass of rock, a cauldron where the sea came rushing in with a thunderous roar. Huge white gulls wheeled and soared above the maelstrom, their shrieking voices adding to the din.
“Do you know, Elinor, the water here is so deep it is said to reach down to the bottomless pit itself?” Julio told me, adding in a sepulchral voice, “Can you hear the taunting voices of the demons from below? And those birds are the spirits of departed sinners lamenting the crimes they committed while on earth.”
“What rubbish,” I protested, laughing at him.
“But that’s how the story goes, isn’t it, dear
sister? Another legend, even more spine chilling, says that---”
“Oh, stop it,” cried Vicencia. “It’s very naughty of you to try and frighten poor Elinor. Look, those boys are just about to descend the Judgment Stone. Let us go over and see them.”
We walked over to a headland where the cliff rose sheer above the sea. Three ragged youths were clambering like monkeys up and down the steep face of the rock where seemingly there was neither hand nor foothold. It looked so fearfully dangerous that I could hardly bear to watch.
“They might easily slip and fall to their deaths,” I cried in horror. “Shouldn’t we try to stop them from being so foolhardy?”
“But they are doing it especially for our benefit,” Vicencia explained. ‘They expect us to give them money for the performance.”
“Then for goodness’ sake get them to come up at once, and we’ll give them the money now. I’m far more terrified watching this than I was hearing Julio’s nonsense about the bottomless pit and damned souls.”
Julio did as I begged, and the lads ran off well-pleased with their coins. As we walked back to the chaise, he said with an amused grin, “So you have no time for old legends, Elinor?”
“Not when they are based upon superstition,” I replied firmly.
Yet for all my conviction, I wasn’t sorry when we turned inland, leaving behind the tumult of the ocean and the melancholy wailing of the seabirds. Demon voices from the bottomless pit, the shrieks of souls in torment—of course, of course it was utter nonsense. Just as nonsensical as clinging to a belief in the magical properties of a lump of green jadestone carved in the shape of a dragon. I wondered suddenly if Vicencia had told her brother about the Jade Dragon’s disappearance. Probably not, I decided, if what I had begun to suspect was true—that she herself had removed it to please Stafford.
For the remainder of that long summer afternoon and on into the evening we traveled through the lanes in the basket chaise, stopping occasionally to climb up to some wayside shrine or visit a little church. Once we stayed for quite a while on a high, commanding viewpoint, gazing out across the shimmering ocean, which, with the dipping of the sun, changed before our eyes into a lake of liquid gold. The superb view sent my mind spinning back again to the belvedere at Miramar and that painful scene with Stafford, and I shivered as though a cloud had lain its shadow over me. Determined to keep the carefree mood of the day, I steeled myself to join in the laughter as Julio made some amusing remark.
“I have an idea,” said Vicencia presently. “Let us not go back to Castanheiros for dinner. There is an inn at Collares where they will give us a tolerable meal.”
“But won’t we be expected back?” I asked.
“I did happen to mention that we might decide to stay out. Anyway, Elinor, can you imagine Carlota caring? She’ll be pleased rather than the reverse.”
And so we had a meal at Collares, served to us by the inn keeper in a room lit by smoky candles—fresh-caught sardines grilled over glowing charcoals, with coarse, crusty bread and a carafe of local red wine, followed by a dish of figs. To me this plain, simple fare seemed the most delicious food I had eaten since coming to Portugal.
While we dined, a strolling minstrel came to lean in the open doorway with his guitar and serenaded us with haunting ballads of love and longing, of absence and despair. I felt tears come to my eyes, and I was thankful that the flickering candles shed so little light.
Afterwards, we let the tired ponies amble slowly homeward, taking their own time. The pale rays of a waning moon shone down on us through the foliage of ancient chestnut trees and cork oaks, and the light of a thousand fireflies glowed in the velvet shadows. The sweet fragrance of a summer evening was all around us.
Julio quoted softly, as though to himself, “I am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream.”
Only a dream ....
Chapter 12
The days passed, and I clung to the dream, clung to the thought that I was happy. Always in the morning I went to see my grandmother. But in the afternoons there were more expeditions with Vicencia and Julio. We climbed to the tiny Cork Convent, a strange mist-haunted place, long abandoned now and lost amid the high crags of the serra. And we visited the pleasure gardens of Pena Verde and others of the beautiful quintas in the neighborhood. Sometimes we went into Cintra itself, wandering through the pretty lanes and up and down steep flights of steps where the old houses leaned against each other, huddled close, with aromatic herbs in pots on the window ledges and singing birds in cages on the walls.
Each day as we returned to Castanheiros, we reveled in a wonderful new sense of freedom. For Affonso and Carlota had departed for the Lisbon house, and the quinta seemed a different place without their presence, not gloomy any more.
On Sunday, the three of us went to the fortnightly fair at Sao Pedro de Cintra. The open space beyond the church was packed with a noisy, good-humored crowd, and we had to thread our way between the stalls. A huge display of decorated earthenware was spread upon the ground, and behind it piles of colorful, handwoven rugs. A dim little booth sold ribbons and combs, and a brown-faced old woman stood holding out beautiful lacework collars. There were kitchen pots and pans, brass oil lamps, saddlery and harness, and a hundred other things. People stood around eating with their fingers fresh-roasted suckling pig or grilled sardines, and drinking tumblers of dark red wine drawn straight from wooden firkins.
We came to a booth displaying silverware, and the stall keeper pounced upon Julio, pressing him to buy something for the senhoras. Temptingly, he held up a couple of pretty filigree pendants.
“How about it?” asked Julio, turning to us. “Do you like them?”
I smiled and shook my head. Though very attractive, the silver pendants looked too expensive to be a gift I could properly accept from Julio.
“If you really want to buy us something,” Vicencia told him, “then let it be just a trinket, Julio dear. You mustn’t waste your money on us.”
“I can think of no better way of spending it,” he replied gallantly, and asked the man how much he wanted for the pendants.
Ten milreis each, Julio was told—a couple of gold sovereigns or more. I declined firmly, saying, “How about one of those little brooches— they look rather nice?”
An argument ensued, with Julio and the stall keeper on one side, and Vicencia and myself on the other. But we had our way in the end. We left the stall with the brooches pinned to our bodices, and Julio’s pocket was lighter by no more than a few shillings.
Back at Castanheiros, when I went up to my room, Maria was laying out my dinner gown. She happened to notice the brooch and commented that it
was very pretty. “Yes, isn’t it, Maria? It was a little gift from Senhor Gomez. We have been to the fair today.”
“Oh.”
I could see she was longing to tell me something, but wondered whether she should. In the end, discretion lost the struggle, and from beneath her white collar she withdrew a pendant on a chain, a charming pendant in filigree silver. I stared in amazement, for it was an exact match of the ones Vicencia and I had considered too expensive for Julio to buy us.
“Where did you get that, Maria?” I asked warily.
She was blushing with pleasure and pride. “Pedro gave it to me, senhora. My brother is so good to me.”
“Indeed, he must be, it’s a very splendid present. Is it your birthday, Maria? You should have told me.”
“Not today, senhora. My birthday does not happen until next month. But Pedro bought this at the fair, and he thought I would like to have it at once.”
“You are lucky to have such a generous brother. Be sure, Maria, that you take great care of the pendant.”
She left me, and I started on my toilette, but a feeling of anxiety lingered. How could Pedro, a junior coachman, possibly afford a gift for his young sister that must have cost him several weeks’ wages? Into my mind flashed the memory of Pedro talking with Stafford in the pagoda, a conversation that had looked furtive to me. Again I recalled that it was Pedro who’d driven Luzia to Cascais on the day of her death.
Could there be any connection, I wondered uneasily?
One afternoon, Vicencia confessed to a severe headache, something to which lately she had become rather prone. But when I suggested that we should cancel our plans for an outing and remain quietly at home instead, she would not hear of it.
‘There is no reason why you two shouldn’t go out,” she protested. “Julio, why don’t you take Elinor up to Pena Castle?”
“And pay a call on our ex-king-consort?” he joked. “Perhaps Dom Fernando will invite us to stay for tea. What do you say, Elinor? Dare you trust yourself to my tender care?”
The Jade Dragon Page 12