by Dilly Court
Nettie glanced round at the sound of footsteps and was surprised to see a priest running towards them with his soutane flapping around his skinny ankles. He was waving frantically with one hand and holding on to his biretta with the other.
‘Hola,’ he cried breathlessly. ‘They tell me you are English.’
Duke welcomed him with a smile. ‘Did the angels send you here, Father?’
The priest grinned and shook his head. ‘This is a very small town. We do not get visitors very often.’
‘But you speak excellent English,’ Nettie said, eagerly. ‘How fortunate for us.’
‘I studied at a seminary in Surrey for a year. I do not very often get the chance to use my language skills. I am Father Ignatius.’ He shook Duke’s hand.
‘Marmaduke Dexter,’ Duke said solemnly, ‘and this lady is my wife, Constance. Miss Carroll is my wife’s companion, and this gentleman is Miss Carroll’s father.’ Duke beckoned to Byron. ‘And this young man is the reason for our visit to your town, Byron Horton. He has reason to believe that his mother is living here.’
‘My mother is Lisette Horton,’ Byron said eagerly. ‘But she might be using her maiden name, Joubert.’
Father Ignatius eyed him curiously. ‘We have a French lady living in the castle, but she is Condesa Talavera, and you are English.’
‘My mother is French. My father was English.’
‘She’s a condesa,’ Nettie said slowly. ‘Does that mean countess?’
Constance clapped her hands. ‘How exciting. We must visit this lady, Byron.’
‘You are correct,’ Father Ignatius said solemnly. ‘The French lady married the late conde and came to live in the castle many years ago.’
‘Do you know any more about her, Father?’ Byron was clearly moved and Nettie slipped her hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze.
‘The condesa is something of a mystery. I know no more about her past.’
‘How wonderful if it were true and she is your mother, Byron,’ Nettie said enthusiastically. ‘You have to see her and find out.’
‘The condesa lives alone in the castle, apart from the servants, of course, and she has many visitors,’ Father Ignatius said importantly. ‘The conde died a year or so ago, but we seldom see the lady in the village, or,’ he added darkly, ‘at Mass.’
‘I’ve come a long way to find my mother. Where is this castle?’
‘High up on the rock, overlooking the sea.’ Father Ignatius waved his hand to encompass a large area of the pine-clad cliffs. A beautiful but lonely place.’
‘How would I get there?’ Byron asked eagerly.
‘You would need a guide. It could be arranged, but you look weary. Perhaps a rest before you travel on.’ Father Ignatius smiled benevolently at Byron before turning his attention to Duke. ‘I will be pleased to act as your interpreter. Our church is sadly in need of repair,’ he added pointedly.
Duke nodded and put his hand in his pocket. ‘A worthy cause, Father. Will you accept French francs?’
‘The Lord is not particular,’ Father Ignatius said, chuckling. ‘We are quite near the border, which has caused conflict in the past, but not today. Shall we go into the inn? I have worked up quite a thirst, as you English say.’
He strode off without waiting for an answer, his sandalled feet sending up eddies of dust and sand as he headed towards the inn, Duke and Constance following in his wake and Robert not far behind them.
Nettie fell into step beside Byron. ‘Are you all right? You’re very quiet.’
‘I don’t know how I feel,’ he said softly. ‘None of this seems real.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘The priest said he could find a guide. I’d like to go as early as possible tomorrow.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Nettie asked tentatively. ‘I won’t be offended if you’d rather see her on your own.’
‘I’d be grateful for your company. I might not know what to say when I meet her for the first time.’
‘That’s not like you, Byron Horton. You’ve never been at a loss for words since I’ve known you.’
Robert beckoned to them from the inn doorway. ‘Come on, you two. Stop gossiping and let’s sort out our accommodation. I’m afraid Duke will put us in the cow shed if it means he has a better room.’
‘Constance will make sure we’re comfortable. She knows how to handle Duke.’
Byron hesitated on the doorstep. ‘Why is she sharing with you, Nettie? Duke and she are married, aren’t they?’
Nettie glanced over his shoulder, hoping that no one had heard. ‘I’ll explain later. It’s a delicate matter, so please don’t say anything to Constance.’
‘As if I would.’ Byron stood aside to allow her to enter first. ‘Always a gentleman, Nettie. You should know that.’
Nettie smiled as she walked past him, but she came to a halt as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. The shutters were closed in an attempt to keep the large room cool, and gradually she could make out several tables, laid with white cloths, a bar lined with bottles of wines and spirits and a wooden staircase that curved up to the first floor with a galleried landing. Father Ignatius had already taken a seat at the bar, together with Duke, and Robert hovered expectantly as the landlord filled their glasses with wine.
‘I want to go to my room, Duke,’ Constance said plaintively. ‘I need a bath. I suppose they have tubs here, or do they bathe in the sea?’
‘The Catalans are a civilised people,’ Father Ignatius said huffily. ‘You will find them eager to please you.’ He snapped his fingers and a young maidservant hurried to his side. He rattled off instructions and the maid beckoned to Constance.
‘Come with me, Nettie,’ Constance whispered. ‘I don’t trust these foreigners.’
‘I expect the maid feels the same as you,’ Nettie said, laughing. ‘All right, I’m coming,’ she added hastily as she followed them upstairs.
Their room was bright and airy with a view of the bay. A salty breeze ruffled the net curtains and fluttered the white cotton coverlet on the double bed.
‘It looks like we’ll have to share,’ Nettie said in a low voice.
Constance slumped down on the bed. ‘I don’t care. I think I could sleep on a bed of nails I’m so tired. But I would like a bath.’
The maid said something unintelligible and hurried from the room. She returned moments later dragging a large wooden tub, which she left in the middle of the floor, explaining with an elaborate mime that she was going to fetch water. Nettie went to sit by the window, gazing at the view in wonder. The sea was purple at the horizon fading through shades of ultramarine to turquoise, and the sun shone from an azure sky. Her only previous experience of visiting the coast, apart from her brief time in Dover and Cherbourg, had been many years ago when her father took her to Southend. It had been winter then, and the North Sea had been uniformly grey, merging with dark cumulus clouds at the horizon. This was another world and Nettie was entranced, but Constance seemed oblivious to her surroundings. She stretched out on the coverlet, ignoring the maid, who hurried in with a pail of water and slopped it into the tub before rushing off to fetch a refill.
‘The bath will be cold at this rate,’ Constance said with a sigh. ‘But at least I can wash off the dust. You may have the water after me, Nettie.’
‘I feel like running into the sea,’ Nettie said, smiling. ‘It looks so beautiful and inviting. I wish I could swim.’
‘If we’re to stay here for any length of time you might be able to learn. I prefer to stay on dry land, myself.’ Constance shifted about on the bed, pulling a face. ‘This mattress is stuffed with hay or something similar. Duke will have to find us a proper house soon, or I’ll want to know the reason why.’
‘I’m sure he will, especially now he has Father Ignatius to interpret for him. The old priest probably knows everyone for miles around.’
‘I wish the maid would hurry up,’ Constance said gloomily. ‘I want to get undressed and take
my stays off. It’s so hot I can hardly breathe.’ She lowered her voice, glancing at the door as if expecting the maid to burst into the room. ‘I don’t think that girl was wearing corsets. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be like that? Just imagine being able to breathe deeply and to eat a meal without feeling faint.’
‘Maybe we’ll start a new fashion.’ Nettie rose to her feet. ‘I can hear the maid coming. Let me help you to undress and then it’s my turn. I’m so hot and sticky I feel as if I’m melting.’
The maid was red in the face and perspiring freely when she arrived with the last bucket of water, which she emptied carefully. Constance waited until she had left the room before climbing into the tub and lowering herself to a sitting position.
‘That’s better,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘I’ll just wash my hair and then you can have your turn, Nettie.’ She curled up and ducked her head beneath the water, and Nettie passed her the cake of lye soap.
‘You don’t want to get suds in your eyes, Constance. Keep them tight shut and I’ll rinse the soap off your hair.’
‘It’s all right, just pass me a towel.’ Constance ducked her head beneath the water before rising to her feet. She grabbed the towel from Nettie and, dripping water on the floorboards, she padded over to the window seat.
Nettie slipped off her gown and undergarments and stepped into the tub. The water was cooling rapidly and she spent as little time as possible over washing, but she felt refreshed and reasonably clean when she stepped out and dried herself on a coarse huckaback towel.
Constance was lying on the bed, wearing only a thin silk wrap, and a gentle snore confirmed that she was sound asleep. Nettie went to sit by the open window, combing her hair and allowing it to dry in the warmth of the sun. It was too late in the day to think about travelling on, but tomorrow they would go to the castle on the cliff and find out if the mysterious condesa was Byron’s long-lost mother.
There was much discussion over breakfast next morning, but in the end it was decided that they would all accompany Byron to the castle, and Duke ordered their horses to be saddled. Father Ignatius arrived on a stocky mountain pony, together with a man whom he introduced as Pedro, their guide, and they set off for the long ride into the forest. It was still early morning and the air was fresh with the resinous scent of pine trees as the narrow, tortuous lane climbed to the top of the cliffs. It was cool in the shade, but the heat was intense when they reached the summit and found themselves outside tall wrought-iron gates.
Pedro dismounted and tugged a chain, which set a bell clanging so loudly that Nettie put her hands over her ears, but it had the desired effect and a man emerged from the gatehouse. After a brief conversation, the gatekeeper set off along a dusty avenue that ended with another pair of gates, behind which the stone walls of the castle gleamed like silver in the sunlight.
Pedro muttered something to Father Ignatius, who translated eagerly. ‘Pedro said that his cousin Mateo, the gatekeeper, has gone to find out if we will be admitted.’
Nettie had the feeling that Father Ignatius was enjoying the drama of the occasion, but she sat back to await events. Byron had said little that morning, but she felt the tension building up in him, and she wished she could do something other than offer mute sympathy.
‘What will you do if she isn’t your mother, Byron?’ Constance demanded impatiently.
‘Let’s wait and see, shall we?’ Robert said sharply. ‘No point surmising, Constance.’
‘It’s a perfectly reasonable question.’ Constance urged her horse to move closer to Nettie’s mount. ‘It’s all very well coming to a place like this, but what will we do here? How will we live?’
‘That’s for me to worry about. You needn’t concern yourself with such matters, Connie.’ Duke smiled condescendingly and Constance’s cheeks reddened.
Nettie glared at Duke, irritated by his attitude. ‘I think it matters to each of us. We’re not just part of your entourage, Duke. You may be the one with the money, but there’s no reason why Pa has to remain with you. In fact, we’d probably be better off on our own.’
Duke’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. ‘And how would you live? Tell me that. A second-rate artist fleeing from the English police, and a girl whose only asset is a pretty face and a neat figure.’
‘Hold on, Duke.’ Byron wheeled his horse round so that he faced Duke. ‘That was uncalled for. Leave Nettie out of this.’
‘I’m not a second-rate artist,’ Robert protested. ‘You made a lot of money from selling my original works, Duke. Admit it! And if I’d been aware that you were passing my copies off as originals I would have refused to work for you.’
Duke curled his lip. ‘You must have had your suspicions, Robert. I can’t believe you’re that naïve, or are you terminally stupid?’
Pedro leaned against the gates, looking from one to the other as he rolled a cigarette and held it between his lips while he struck a match on the sole of his boot. He muttered something under his breath and exhaled a plume of blue smoke into the still air.
Father Ignatius held up his hands. ‘Gentlemen, please. This is not the time for an argument. You need to talk your problems over in a civilised manner, but not here and certainly not now.’
‘Look,’ Constance said urgently. ‘The gatekeeper is coming back. I hope he’ll let us in. I really want to see inside the castle.’
Nettie reached out to pat Byron on the shoulder. ‘Fingers crossed.’
He gave her a half-smile in return, but she could tell from the rigidity of his spine to the white lines at the corners of his mouth that he was desperate to learn the truth, and yet afraid of the answers he might find within the walls of the stone fortress.
Pedro took a last puff on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground. ‘Hola, Mateo.’
The gatekeeper produced a ring heavy with large iron keys and unlocked the gates, which he opened wide enough to allow them all to enter. They rode slowly along the avenue and, at Pedro’s command, they dismounted outside the second set of gates, which were opened by a couple of male servants, who took their horses across a cobbled courtyard to a stable block.
The small party were left to stand and stare at the crenellated building, which looked to Nettie as if it had been built in the time of the Crusaders, and, as if reading her thoughts, this was confirmed by Father Ignatius.
‘Castillo Talavera was built by a member of the Knights Templars in the twelfth century,’ he announced grandly. ‘The Crusades had ended, but the Templars continued to fight for what they believed in. The castle has seen many bloody battles, murders and struggles for power within the family. Some say it is haunted, and very few of the villagers ever come here.’
‘Very interesting,’ Duke said in a bored voice. ‘I take it that the lady of the house is willing to grant you an audience, Byron. Good luck, my boy.’
‘Yes,’ Robert added hastily. ‘I hope this turns out well for you.’
Byron opened his mouth to reply but at that moment the studded oak door was opened by a manservant resplendent in knee breeches and a tailcoat frogged with tarnished gold braid.
‘The condesa welcomes you to the castle,’ he said in halting English. ‘Please to come this way.’
Nettie grasped Byron’s hand. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered, as they followed the servant into a large, echoing stone entrance hall, which was reminiscent of the château, except that it was cool and dry and did not reek of damp and mildew. The walls were hung with old-fashioned weapons, shields and banners, more reminiscent of a military museum than a home, but the servant marched on and they all trooped after him, with Father Ignatius at the fore.
Nettie had no preconceived notion of what the interior would be like, although having entered the fortress she would not have been surprised had the rest of the building been as grim and forbidding as the antechamber. It came as a pleasant surprise when the long, dark corridor opened out into an inner hall giving the impression that they had stepped into another century.
The walls were painted a delicate shade of green with panels outlined in ornate plasterwork in which hung gilt-framed oil paintings. There were portraits – presumably of the Talavera family – going through the centuries, landscapes and seascapes, all of which attracted Robert and Duke, who broke away from the party to examine them more closely.
The servant came to a halt beside an elaborately carved plant stand, which supported a silver urn overflowing with roses, lilies and trailing greenery. He made an announcement, which Father Ignatius repeated in English.
‘You will all please wait here, except for Mr Horton. He is to come with me.’
‘I want Nettie to accompany me,’ Byron said hastily. ‘Tell him that, please, Father.’
Father Ignatius translated once again and after a brief discussion he turned to Byron and nodded. ‘You may take one person with you.’
Nettie squeezed Byron’s fingers. ‘Now for it. I hope the condesa is your mother, I really do.’
Byron said nothing, but his hand was trembling and she held on tightly, willing everything to turn out as he had hoped. They followed the servant through double doors into a wider passage, lit by candles in wall sconces, and their feet sunk into the thick carpet. At the end of the corridor the servant flung open another pair of double doors and light flooded in from a series of windows overlooking the sea. The air was scented and fresh, and the large room was furnished with beautiful antique sofas, chairs and tables. Tall mirrors reflected the light and there were numerous vases filled with flowers. Nettie let go of Byron’s hand as she gazed round in wonder. It was by far the most beautiful room she had ever seen, and for a moment she forgot why they had come to this extraordinary residence. It was not until a voice from a chaise longue set by an open window brought her back to reality and she found herself staring at the woman who rose to her feet in a swish of silk, sending a waft of expensive perfume across the room. She dismissed the servant with a wave of her hand and beckoned to Byron.
Nettie gazed at her in astonishment. The motherly figure she had imagined was so far from the truth that she would never have thought this exotic beauty could be old enough to have a son in his early twenties, and then it occurred to her that perhaps this was not the woman who had abandoned her child. Maybe their journey was in vain and Byron was going to suffer disappointment and humiliation. Nettie clutched her hands at her sides, hardly daring to breathe.