Dead Man's Walk (53 page)

Gus was determined to gamble--he had asked several of the Mexicans who worked in the convent if they had any cards; one woman with only three teeth took a shine to him and managed to find an incomplete deck. It was missing about twenty cards, but Gus and Long Bill soon devised a game. They broke a few straws off a broom to use for money.
While they were making up rules for a card game involving only thirty-three cards, a black woman taller than Gus came across the courtyard. She didn't seem to be a leper-- her face and hands were normal. She approached them in such a dignified manner that the men straightened up a little. Gus hid the cards.
"Gentlemen, I have an invitation for you," the Negress said, in English better than their own.
"Lady Carey would like to ask you to tea." "Ask us to what?" Gus asked. He was taken by surprise. Although he had just shaved the day before, the dignity and elegance of the black woman made him feel scruffy.
"Tea, gentlemen," the Negress said.
"Lady Carey is English, and in England they have tea. It's like a little meal. Lady Carey's son, the viscount Mountstuart, will be taking it with us. I'm sure you've seen him playing with the Mexican children. He's the one who's blond." Call, too, was startled by the black woman's courtesy and poise. He had never seen a Negress so tall, much less one so well spoken. Few black women in Texas would dare to speak to a group of white men so boldly, and yet the woman had not been rude in any way.
She had an invitation to deliver, and she had delivered it. Like Gus, he felt that the few Rangers left were a rugged lot, hardly fit to take food with an English lady.
While he and Gus and Wesley and Long Bill were looking at one another, a little uncertain as to how to respond, the black woman turned to Matilda Roberts and smiled.
"Miss Roberts, Lady Carey knows you've traveled a long way across a dusty land," the Negress said. "She was thinking you might appreciate a bath and a change of clothes." Matilda was surprised by the woman's serenity.
"I would ... I would ... mainly I've just had a wash in the river, when we were by the river," Matilda said.
"That river comes out of the mountains," the woman said. "I expect it's cold." "Ice cold," Matilda confirmed.
"Then come along with me," the Negress said.
"Lady Carey has a tub, and the water is hot. These gentlemen can wait a few minutes-- tea will be served in about half an hour." Matilda looked a little uncertain, but she followed the black woman across the courtyard and up the stairs.
"I wonder what kind of meal it will be," Wesley Buttons said. "I hope it's beefsteak. I ain't had no beefsteak in a good long while." "For it to be beefsteak there'd have to be cattle," Gus remarked. "I ain't seen no cattle around here, and I don't know how a cow would live if there was one. It would have to eat sand, or else cactus, and if it wasn't quick the dern dogs would get it." A problem they considered as they waited for it to be time to go to Lady Carey's was that Brognoli's condition seemed to be getting worse. He turned his head more and more rapidly, back and forth, back and forth, and he had begun to drool; now and then he emitted a low, thin sound, a sound such as a rabbit might make as it was dying.
A little later, the black woman appeared on the balcony above them and motioned for them to come.
Gus had doubts about taking Brognoli, but it seemed unfair to leave him, since food was being offered. It was true that the Mexicans who ran San Lazaro had been generous with soup and tortillas, but Wesley Buttons had put the notion of beefsteak in their minds. It seemed wrong to exclude Brognoli from what might be a feast.
"Come on, Brog," Gus said. "That lady that did that singing over Bigfoot and the boys is up there waiting to give us grub." Brognoli got up and came with them, walking slowly and still swinging his head.
None of them knew what to expect, as they went up the stairs and along the narrow balcony that led to Lady Carey's quarters. Gus kept brushing at his hair with his hands--he had meant to ask Matty for her broken comb, but forgot it. Of course, he had not expected Matilda to be led away by a tall black woman who spoke better English than any of them.
Suddenly, the little blond boy jumped out of the shadows, pointing a hammerless old horse pistol at them.
"Are you Texans? I am a Scot," the boy said.
"Why, I'm part Scot myself," Gus said.
"That's what my ma claimed. You're as far away from home as I am." "But that's why my mother wants to see you," the boy said. "She wants you to take us home. She told me we could leave tomorrow, if you would like to take us." Call and Gus exchanged looks. The little boy was handsome and frank. Perhaps he was merely fibbing, as children will, but there was also the chance that his mother, Lady Carey, had told him some such thing.
Call didn't mean to stay a prisoner of the Mexicans long, but neither had he expected to leave in a day.
"If we were to take you home, what would we ride?" he asked. "Our horses got stolen a long time back." "Oh, my mother has horses," the boy said.
"There's a stable in the back of the leprosarium." "In the back of the what?" Gus asked.
"The leprosarium--aren't you lepers?" the little boy asked. "My mother's a leper, that's why I never get to see her face. But her hands are not affected yet--she can still play the violin quite well, and she's teaching me." "When we get home I shall have the finest teacher in Europe," he added. "Someday I may play before the Queen. My mother knows the Queen, but I haven't met her yet, I'm still too young to be presented at court." "Well, I'm not as young as you--I'd like to meet a queen," Gus said. "Especially if she was a pretty queen." "No, the Queen is fat," the little boy said.
"My mother was beautiful, though, until she became a leper. She was even painted by Mr.
Gainsborough, and he's a very famous painter." Just then a door opened, and the tall Negress stepped out.
"Now, Willy, I hope you haven't been pointing that gun at these gentlemen," the woman said. "It's very impolite to point guns at people--particularly people who might become your friends." "Well, I did point it, but it was just in fun," the boy said. "I couldn't really shoot them because I have no bullets." "That doesn't make it less impolite," the woman said.
Then she looked at the group.
"Of course I've been impolite, too," she said. "I failed to introduce myself. I'm Emerald." "She's from Africa and her father was a king," the boy said. "She's been with us ever so long, though.
She's been with us even longer than Mrs.
Chubb." "Now, Willy, don't bore the gentlemen," Emerald said. "Tea is almost ready. You may want to come in and wash your hands." "We washed once, when they barbered us," Gus pointed out. "It's been quite a few months since we washed twice in one day." "Yes, but you are now under the protection of Lady Carey," Emerald said.
"You may wash as often as you want." "Ma'am, if there's grub, I'm for eating first and washing later," Wesley Buttons said.
"I've not had a beefsteak for awhile--I feel like I could eat most of a cow." "Goodness, you don't serve beefsteak at tea," Emerald said. "Beefsteak belongs with dinner, never with tea. Lady Carey is quite unconventional, but not that unconventional, I'm afraid." The Texans were led into a room where there were five wash-basins; the water in the basins was so hot that five columns of steam rose into the room. There were also five towels, and more extraordinary still, five hairbrushes and five combs. The brushes were edged in silver, and the combs seemed to be ivory. At a slight remove was another table, with another wash-basin, a towel, and another silver-edged brush and ivory comb.
"That's the hottest water I've seen since we left San Antonio," Gus remarked.
"We'll all scald ourselves, if we ain't careful." The sixth wash-basin was for Willy, the young viscount. The Texans were left to scrub themselves after their own inclinations, but while they were watching the water steam in the wash-basins, a short, fat woman in grey clothes burst through a door and grabbed Willy before he could elude her.
"No, no, Mrs. Chubb," Willy said, trying to squirm out of her grip; but his squirming was in vain. In a second, Mrs. Chubb had Willy bent over his own wash-basin; she gave his face a vigorous scrubbing, ignoring his protests about the scalding water.
"Now, Willy, try not to howl, you'll upset our guests," Mrs. Chubb said. She didn't take her eye, or her hands, off her young charge until she considered him sufficiently washed; once her task was done to her satisfaction, the young boy's face was red from scrubbing and his hair shining from a skillful application of comb and brush.
Then the plump woman surveyed the Texans with a lively blue eye.
"Here, gentlemen, your water's cooling-- plunge in," she said. "Lady Carey has a glorious appetite, and your Miss Roberts is eating as if she's been starved for a month." "Two months," Long Bill said.
"Matty ain't had a good meal since we crossed the Brazos." "Well, she's having a splendid high tea, right now," Mrs. Chubb said. "If you gentlemen want anything to eat between now and dinner, I suggest you wash up quickly. Otherwise there won't be a scone left, or a sandwich, either." Willy rushed through the door Mrs. Chubb had just emerged from.
"Mamma, I must have a scone," he said.
"Do wait--I'm coming." The Texans, under the urging of Mrs. Chubb, hastily splashed themselves with the hot water and rubbed themselves with the towels. Though they had shaved and washed just that morning, the towels were brown with dust when they finished their rubbing. Gus took a swipe or two at his hair with the silver brush--the rest of the Texans felt awkward even picking up such unfamiliar instruments, and left themselves uncombed.
Mrs. Chubb, unfazed, shooed them toward the door, much as a hen might shoo her chickens.
When the Texans entered Lady Carey's room they were shocked to see Matilda Roberts, pink-faced, and with wet hair, in a clean white smock, sitting on a stool eating biscuits.
Beside her, in a chair, was the lady in black, the one who had sung so movingly over their fallen friends. Gus had hoped to get a glimpse of her face, but he was disappointed: Lady Carey was triply veiled, and the veils were black. Nothing showed at all, not her hair, not her face, not her feet, which were in sharp-toed black boots. Call supposed the woman's face must be badly eaten up, else why would she cover herself so completely?
He could get no hint even of the color of her eyes. Yet she was eating when they came in, eating a small thing that seemed to be mostly bread. When Lady Carey wanted to eat, she tilted her head forward slightly, and slipped the little bite of bread under the three veils--just for a second he saw a flash of white teeth, and a bit of chin, which seemed unblemished.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Lady Carey said, in a low, friendly voice. "When I'm hungry I have no manners--and I always seem to be hungry, in San Lazaro. I expect it's the wind. When I'm eating, I don't mind it quite so much." "It blows, don't it?" Long Bill said--he was surprised that he had been able to utter a word, to such a great lady. They were in a large room whose walls had been hung with patterned cloth. The two windows were tightly shuttered. In one corner was a large, four-poster bed with a little dog sitting on it; beside it was a smaller bed where Willy slept.
"Certainly does--it blows," Lady Carey said. "Eat, gentlemen. Don't be shy. I expect it's been awhile since you've sat down to a tea such as this." Lady Carey's hands, too, were gloved in black--she reached down with two gloved fingers, took another small piece of the bread, and popped it under the veils and into her mouth.
Gus felt that it was his turn to speak--he had been about to address Lady Carey when Long Bill rudely jumped in ahead of him, and only to make a pointless comment about the wind. Before them on the table was an array of food, and all of it was rather small food, it seemed to him: there were little pieces of bread, cut quite square, with what seemed like slices of cucumber stuck between the squares of bread. Then there were biscuits and muffins, and larger, harder muffins with raisins stuck in them: he thought those might be the things called scones that Willy had referred to.
Besides the various muffins and biscuits there were little ears of corn, with a saucer of butter and salt to dip them in; there were tomatoes and apricots and figs, and a plate of tiny fish that proved very salty to the taste. Gus had every intention of saying something complimentary about the food, but something about Lady Carey intimidated him, preventing him from getting even a word out of his mouth. He looked at her and opened his mouth, but then instead of speaking, put a bit of biscuit in his mouth and ate it.
The Texans were shy in the beginning--most of the foods they were being offered were foods they had never tasted. They stuck, at first, to what was safest, which were the biscuits--but, in part because they stuck to them so strictly, the biscuits were soon gone. Then the muffins went, then the scones, then the corn, and, finally, the various fruits. All the Texans, though, avoided the cucumber sandwiches, even preferring the salty fish. All the while, Mrs. Chubb supplied them with large cups of hot, sweet tea; the tea was sweet because Mrs.
Chubb dropped square lumps of sugar into it with a pair of silver tongs.
"Lord, that's sweet," Gus said. None of the Texans had ever tasted pure sugar before. They were amazed by the sweetness it imparted to the tea.
"Oh well ... that's the nature of sugar," Lady Carey said. She, too, was having tea, but instead of drinking it from a cup, she was sipping it through a hollow reed of some kind, which she delicately inserted under her veils.
"This was refined by my chemist, the learned Doctor Gilley," Lady Carey said. "It came from sugarcane grown on my plantation, in the islands. I do think it's very good sugar." "That's where Mamma caught leprosy," Willy said. "On our plantation. I didn't catch it and neither did Emerald and neither did Mrs. Chubb." "Poor luck, I was the only one afflicted," Lady Carey said.
"Well, Papa might have had it, but we don't know, because the Mexicans shot him first," Willy said. "That's when we were made prisoners of war--when they shot Papa." "Now, Willy--these gentlemen have traveled a long way and lost many friends themselves," Lady Carey said. "We needn't burden them with our misfortunes." "I lost my Shad," Matilda said. "It was a stray bullet, too. If he'd been sitting anywhere else I expect he'd still be alive." "Well, Matty, that's not for sure," Gus said. "We walked a far piece, after that, through all that cold weather." "Cold wouldn't have kilt my Shad," Matilda said. "I would have hugged him and kept him warm." "It is cold in our castle," Willy said.