The Flesh and the Devil (62 page)

         
For an instant she had thought he referred to Elisabeta,
and her lips moved in the beginning of a protest, then she understood. He was
telling her that Dona Luisa was dead - and could he mean that Eugenio was
alive?

         
'Poor woman!' Dona Jeronima's voice was ironic. 'Was her
sacrifice wasted, or did the husband recover?' 'He lives still and is gaining
strength.'

         
Juana wondered wildly how Tristan could sound so detached;
he spoke as lightly as though Eugenio de Castaneda's life or death was of
little moment, and it reminded her with sudden, hideous clarity of how he must
have stood waiting for Bartolome to die. It was Agostin's voice, with an
undercurrent of resentment in it, that recalled her wandering thoughts.

         
'How does such a tragedy benefit you, senor?'

         
'It is only part of the whole - the rest concerns some
business in which I have an interest.' The slanting eyes were hooded now, and
secret. 'I stood proxy for the gentleman's nephew in some dealing that was not
concluded when I departed, and I feared I might be called to account for him.
But now -' the gold lashes flickered in Juana's direction and then away again -
'I learn that the matter has been well concluded without my presence, and I am
told that I need not hold myself responsible. The worthy gentleman who
conducted the conclusion of the matter has ordered things so that I shall not
be held responsible. I confess, it relieves my mind.'

         
The world swam before Juana's eyes, and all the sound in
the square seemed to stop. She was aware that her heartbeat was monstrously
magnified, thudding through her body like the strokes of a battering-ram as she
fought to retain her senses; then, in a fraction of time, she was back in
reality with the hot sun overhead, the voices of the others in her ears, and
the scent of Dona Jeronima's perfume wafting towards her as she approached.

         
'Gentlemen, you must forgive us, Margarita is fatigued.
Will you not thank our kind hosts for our entertainment, Margarita? ' 'Of
course.'

         
Juana was almost stammering, her mind reeling under the
impact of Tristan's news. If he was not to be called to account for Bartolome's
death . . . did it mean, then, that Torres was prepared to condone the Duque's
slaying? She forced out words of thanks to the de Frontenera brothers, smiling
stiffly and impartially upon both, and inclined her head to Tristan without
daring to speak.

         
As though from a great distance Juana heard Dona Jeronima
say, 'Shall we be honoured with your company tomorrow night, Senor Stanford?'
and saw Tristan's mouth curve slightly.

         
'I should not dream of losing such an opportunity, senora.
On my last visit I could not appreciate to the full all the treasures your
house has to offer.'

         
'Indeed? You have a flattering tongue, senor.' The widow
spoke sharply, but she did not seem displeased. 'Well, we shall expect you.
Come, Margarita.'

         
Tristan bowed briefly, allowing his eyes to travel to the
rapt faces of Elena's two brothers, and said sardonically, 'Your sister still
lacks her carriage, gentlemen.' The two young men glared, then took their
departure in a flurry of bows and farewells. Juana stood rigidly until they had
driven off, her lips clamped together against the welling nausea rising in her
throat; then she turned blindly and stumbled up the steps of the house, so
quickly that she trod on the hem of her scarlet gown. She had barely reached the
coolness of the hall before she swayed and fell against the wall, retching and
vomiting helplessly in the instant after the door closed.

         
Dona Jeronima watched her with hard-eyed disdain, drawing
her skirts a little aside. She waited until the paroxysms had abated, then
said, 'Follow me,' in a voice that brooked no argument, and Juana obeyed
instinctively. She felt drained and weak, incapable of any reasoned thought, as
she stumbled in the elder woman's wake.

         
She halted to find herself in the small withdrawing-room to
which she had been taken when she first arrived, and watched incuriously while
Dona Jeronima shut the door firmly behind them. The carefully immobile face was
like stone except for a nerve that worked furiously beside the thin lips, and
in a voice that Juana had never heard from her before the widow rapped, 'How
long have you had this - infirmity?'

         
'Since just before I came here. Three weeks, perhaps a
month....I do not know.'

         
'And that is why you lay abed so long in the mornings?'

         
'Yes.' Juana answered the questions automatically, empty
now of all feeling but the longing for a cool drink to rinse the bitter taste
from her mouth.

         
Dona Jeronima's interrogation was like a series of pistol
shots, and her face became darker and her voice more harsh with each succeeding
question until at last she rasped, 'Well, that makes the matter plain enough.
You are with child, you little fool.' Juana could only stare at her, wide-eyed.

         
'With child,
pregnant
-is that plain enough? You are
carrying the bastard of that knave who carried you off, no doubt. If you had
had the sense to tell me before I might have mended the matter, but it is too
late now, we are in too deep. There would be too many questions if you were
seen to fall sick now, and some might lead to the right answer. We must do the
best we can.' She was chewing her thin underlip in frustration, then as she saw
Juana's hands creep protectively to shield her body, her voice softened with
startling suddenness. 'Oh, be at ease! I do not mean to do you any mischief.
What is done is, done, and I shall not scold you further, but we must think how
to preserve your reputation amongst my friends: I thought I had a maid in hand.
Go along now to your room, and we shall talk of this again tomorrow — perhaps
you may go to your wished-for convent after all.'

         
Juana's hands were clasped before her, cradling herself
with a new, wondering understanding. 'Very well, senora. Thank you.'

         
She hardly knew whether she was thanking her for her sudden
forbearance or for the revelation that, so harshly delivered, had transformed
her nightmare world into a brief paradise. 'Be off with you, then.'

         
Dona Jeronima managed to instil tart amusement, even a
trace of affection, into the brief words, but as the door closed behind the
girl her facial muscles contracted, drawing the composed features into a
crumpled mask of fury; bones and angles and deeply-graven lines, contorted in a
look of venom which, if she had seen her own reflection at that moment, would
have horrified her.

         
Pregnant, and for so long; by the girl's own account things
were far too advanced to rid her of the child lightly, as Dona Jeronima had
managed to do two or three times for herself. Nor could she continue to pursue
her original plan, which was to continue the game to its limits, dangling the
virgin prize in front of a dozen contenders while she milked them; the girl's
condition would be apparent soon, and not even the most besotted man would pay
to share his bed with a pregnant virgin. The only possible course was to cut
losses and end it now, before the truth became inescapable.

         
Tomorrow's ball would make the ideal opportunity. Once the
dupe had paid his levied fee, it mattered little what happened when he found
that he had been beguiled. Dona Jeronima was in no mood to care in what manner
Juana bore the brunt of his disappointment-she had been cheated, she
considered, and the wretched girl deserved no better.

         
The message could go to Don Diego Ruiz this very hour, Dona
Jeronmia thought rapidly, letting him know that for thirty thousand reales he
could have his desire without more ado. And another to Don Bautista, warning
him that because of Margarita's stupid treachery they would only get twenty
thousand by her. With a grim smile beginning to curve her thin lips, the widow
began to weave a new web out of the ruined shreds of the old.

         
Don Bautista was taking wine with his newly-arrived guest
when the letter was brought to him, and he was grateful for the diversion. It
was still early evening, but already he found his tongue labouring for some
subject that would ease the conversation, and inwardly cursing the chance that
had obliged him to offer shelter to a virtual stranger. If it were not for the
request of Don Dalman Ruiz....

         
'You are wondering why I am here.' The guttural statement,
out of silence, made Don Bautista's hand jerk, and a few drops of wine spilled
on the polished surface of the table.'

         
'No, no, nothing of the kind - though I admit that such
visitors as the town has are most often those who come for the fiesta, and that
was over weeks ago.'

         
'Indeed.' There was no direct answer to the implied
question, only a faint sharpness in his guest's voice. Don Bautista,
withdrawing to his own chair with his glass clutched tight in one hand,
continued uneasily, 'Yes, Villenos is a quiet town, but we have a few
gentlefolk to leaven the common herd - enough to offer you some diversion while
you are here, senor. I know that my neighbours will be most happy -'

         
'I am not here for diversions.'

         
There was another heavy silence, and Don Bautista, for once
wishing wholeheartedly for the company of the wife he barely tolerated, was
still floundering for a response when the other man spoke again, slowly and
ponderously. 'Don Dalman Ruiz'

        
'Yes? He wrote only that you would be making an indefinite
stay here, and that he desired me to render you all the assistance I could.
What may I do for you, senor?' 'I have been . . . robbed . .by someone who may
be here. In Villenos.' A deep, scouring reath. 'I want restitution.'

         
Don Bautista's plump jaw fell. 'But how can I. . . .' 'Tell
me.' There was a venomous glint in the other man's eyes. 'Any strangers, new to
the town . . . any uncommon chance. Don Dalman wrote to me.' Again a pause,
straining his hearer's nerves. 'He mentioned his son ... in thrall to some
young woman, newly arrived. The time is right, and I have already had a
clue....leading here. A friend who was followed.'

         
'A young woman?' The mayor swallowed half his wine at a
gulp, choked and dabbed at his beard with his handkerchief. 'Surely you were
not robbed by a woman?' 'In some sort. I want her caught.' The other's hand
trembled as he lowered his glass to the table. 'It is simple - get young Ruiz
to bring her here. Let me see her.' He sat back in his seat, breathing heavily.

         
'Senor, I do not know what to say to you! To presume, on so
slight an occasion, that the lady you seek is here-' 'She may be. That is
enough. If I am mistaken ... no harm.' The fierce will that had driven Eugenio
de Castaneda so many tortuous leagues still drove the harsh, difficult voice
from between his twisted lips. 'What was taken from me...was priceless. I mean
to be revenged.'

         
'Senor, I -' Don Bautista broke off thankfully as the door
opened. 'A letter from Dona Jeronima de Herreros-'

         
'Not now!'