The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (34 page)

Just
before
Christmas,
I
went
back
to
Valencia
and
had
two
wonderful
days
of
sightseeing
(I
must
take
you
there
when
you
finally
decide
to
come
here).
Anyway,
I
saw
many
beautiful
buildings
and
Ernesto
told
me
their
history,
which
made
them
even
more
splendid.
We
ate
in
a
fine
restaurant,
where
I
had
a
dish
called
‘paella’.
You
can
try
that
for
yourself
when
you
come.
After
dinner,
Ernesto
asked
me
to
dance,
and
although
I
was
scared
of
making
a
fool
of
myself
to
begin
with,
once
I
got
the
hang
of
it,
I
really
enjoyed
myself,
and
Ernesto
said
I
was
very
good
for
a
beginner.

So,
Auntie,
I
hope
this
letter
doesn’t
take
too
long
to
reach
you.
I
can’t
wait
to
see
you
again.
It
seems
like
an
age
since
we
were
together
that
last
day
in
London.
Remember
having
tea
in
your
bed,
with
Pedro
nestled
in
between
us?
We
talked
and
talked,
and
that
is
what
I
miss
the
most.

I
would
be
lying
if
I
said
I
don’t
think
about
Joseph,
because
I
still
think
about
him
every
day
and
wonder
what’s
happening
to
him
and
to
the
farm,
of
course.
I
know
I
promised
not
to,
but
I
still
hate
him,
Auntie.
I
yearn
for
the
day
that
I
can
put
him
firmly
in
the
past,
I
really
do.
The
thought
of
him
destroying
my
father’s
hard
work
incenses
me,
and
I
can
only
pray
to
God
that
one
day
we
will
be
able
to
restore
Merrill
Farm
to
the
wonderful
farm
it
was.
Please
let
me
know
if
there
have
been
any
developments
regarding
Joseph,
for
I
will
feel
safe
only
when
I
know
he
is
behind
bars
or
at
the
end
of
a
rope.

Finally,
Auntie,
if
you
happen
to
see
or
hear
from
Mrs
Baxter,
give
her
a
hug
and
tell
her
that
I
miss
her.
Give
my
kind
regards
and
best
wishes
to
Mr
Ayres
and
Mr
Rawlings,
if
you
ever
see
him,
and
please
could
you
thank
him
for
the
wonderful
books
that
he
sent.
Don
Miguel
was
so
very
grateful
to
receive
them,
as
was
I.

For
now,
I
send
you
all
my
love
and
a
big
kiss
from
Pedro.

Celia

Marie folded the letter and sat for a while digesting Celia’s news. She hadn’t received the letter about Joseph’s arrest! She was sure she posted it; she must have… This meant that she knew nothing. She must think she’d been abandoned.

She opened the letter again and read the part about Ernesto Martinéz. Her niece always talked about him in her letters, but in this one, she had kept her account of him very short. Only two weeks ago, she’d discussed this Ernesto with Mr Ayres, and they had both concluded that there was possibly more to the friendship than Celia was willing to admit. She wrote endlessly about the picnics they had, the horse rides in the mountains, and the time they spent together with the children. She half expected to see her niece in the early bloom of love, which would give her the greatest of pleasure. She didn’t know much about the man her niece was undoubtedly smitten with, but she’d been assured that he was an upstanding gentleman and in no way resembled Joseph Dobbs in any way, shape, or form. “They are as different as chalk and cheese,” Mr Ayres had told her.

Marie folded the letter again and put it inside her purse. Tea arrived, and she drank thirstily. Soon she would tell Celia the biggest lie of all. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d had sleepless nights wondering if she was doing the right thing, but she believed it to be the only way to ensure a decent future for Celia. She couldn’t allow her to live in fear anymore. And how would she take the news of Joseph’s supposed death? She’d been thinking about that too. Would Celia be able to hide this news from the Martinéz family? Or would she think it better to tell them the truth? Would she mourn Joseph at all? She didn’t think so. But Joseph was Peter’s father… No, Pedro. She must remember to call him that when she arrived at La Glorieta. No matter what Joseph was, no matter what he’d done, nothing would ever change the fact that he was the father of Celia’s child, so would she want to lie about his death to protect her son’s interests? Would she want to return home to Merrill Farm and begin a new chapter… or would the memories be too painful for her ever to go back?

She stared out the small round porthole, losing herself in the white-fringed waves trailing the ship’s hull. This was going to be even more difficult than she had imagined, and she was losing her nerve. First she would have to tell Celia about Joseph, then John, and that she was now married to Simon. She looked at the ring on her finger and smiled with memories still clear in her mind. She was happy, so happy, but still a little shaken by the quickness of it all. So much had happened all at once; her head was still spinning. Simon had proposed marriage to her right after Joseph’s escape. She’d accepted him without any hesitation or doubt in her mind. Simon was her husband now, she repeated to herself, and rightly so, for they had been together for so long. All that had been missing was the legal document to cement what was always meant to be. She had great affection for him, and the arrangement was as comfortable as an old pair of shoes. Maybe passion was missing, but she’d had all the passion she’d ever need with John’s father. Goodness, how she wished for Simon’s cool head to guide her through this, she thought. He’d know exactly the right way to tell Celia.

Chapter 32

C
elia rode towards the other side of the valley. Ernesto had given her a horse for Christmas, and she’d called him Cid, after the great Christian knight. She rode alone now and had not seen Ernesto for some days.

She stopped at the weeping willow tree where they had picnicked together so many times and looked down into the lowest part of the valley, knowing instinctively that he was there. She missed him desperately. She missed their conversations and the simple pleasure that being in his company brought her. She knew that she’d hurt him. She’d seen that hurt in his eyes. She longed for him, felt the turbulence that love brought: torture yet bliss at the same time. She had felt this with Joseph too in the beginning, but she was not the naive young girl she once was, looking for romance and dreams of a one true love. She’d been captivated by an idea, a vision of how love could conquer all, and she’d stupidly believed that she’d conquered Joseph Dobbs’s heart. Joseph, however, was not the romantic character she’d portrayed him to be. He had been an enigma, which in truth she’d never thought to study or comprehend. From the day she first saw him, he became entwined in her own fantasy world, and in her loneliness, she had built his character, one that was without flaws and full of love.

She laughed scornfully at her own stupidity and then turned her thoughts to Ernesto. She loved him, yet she would say nothing, do nothing. She would not hunt him down and walk off with him hand in hand into the sunset. She and her Jane Austen fantasies had parted ways. Reality was very different; Joseph had taught her well.

Ernesto waited at the entrance to the hacienda. By his calculations, Celia’s aunt would arrive at any time. He checked his pocket watch and heard the sound of the horses’ hooves on the rocky bend just before La Glorieta’s main gates. He opened them and stopped the driver as soon as he came into view.

“Miss Osborne?” he asked Marie through the window of the carriage.

“Yes, and you are?” Marie asked, knowing fine well.

“Ernesto Martinéz. I am at your service, Señora. How was your journey?”

“It was very interesting, dear, but I’m afraid that the sea and I do not get along. I must admit that I’m very pleased to be on dry land.”

“You’re almost at the house. Would you like to talk now or after you’ve settled in?”

“I would appreciate it if we could talk before I see my niece. It’s a matter of great urgency. Here will be fine.”

Ernesto wound his horse’s reins around the branch of a tree, stepped inside the carriage, and sat opposite Marie.

“I hope you are comfortable?” he asked her.

Marie smiled one of her smiles that said,
I
think
I
like
you.

“I’ve come this far. I think I’ll be all right for a few minutes longer.” She smiled again.

For once unsure of herself, she took off her gloves and then nervously shifted them from one hand to the other. On the voyage, she’d been questioning her decision to tell Ernesto Martinéz about Celia’s life in Kent. She had never laid eyes on the man before, didn’t know his character or what his reaction might be. She was taking a risk and hoped to God that he was the fine upstanding gentleman that Mr Ayres had portrayed him to be, that he would look sympathetically on her niece’s plight, forgive the lies, and understand why she’d thought it necessary to deceive his entire family. She began hesitantly.

“Señor Martinéz…”

“Ernesto, please.”

“Yes, thank you, Ernesto. I know you don’t know me at all, and here I am about to tell you the most intimate details of Celia’s life. I can only ask you not to say anything until I have explained everything to you. It will then be up to you as to what action you feel you have to take, if any, concerning Celia’s future here.”

Ernesto let out his breath, nodded, and waited patiently for her to begin again.

“You see, Celia, as you already know, was married. Joseph Dobbs was a man whom I can only describe as the worst kind of human being. He was cruel, sadistic, a gambler, a thief, and a murderer. He killed Celia’s father out of greed and his own father out of revenge.”

“Dios Mío… My God!”

“Yes, exactly,” Marie said. “He beat Celia on a regular basis and almost killed her the day before she gave birth to her son. There is no way now we could begin to comprehend the terror she must have felt every day whilst she was with him. She is proud, Ernesto, and she suffered at his hands for months before telling me what I already suspected, and to my shame, I did nothing. I said nothing until most of the damage had already been done, and I will never forgive myself for not intervening sooner. However, my inaction is the reason I’m telling you the truth about her husband and why I’m going to leave nothing out now; you must know everything.”

She coughed and asked for water. The first lie was out. There was no going back now, she thought gratefully.

Ernesto called to the driver and told him to bring water. She watched him, a good-looking man, she decided, and a gentle soul. She put the water to her lips and composed herself.

“First of all, my niece is not a deceitful woman by nature. You must believe that. When we finally learned the truth about Joseph Dobbs, we decided that the only way we could keep her safe was to send her away. She agreed, but at the same time, she insisted that her baby be born at the farm, her family home. She was adamant about this and no measure of persuasion would change her mind. Or maybe I didn’t try hard enough.

“In any case, Mr Ayres and I concocted a plan to rid her of her husband for good. I was determined to make Joseph Dobbs pay dearly for his crimes. I was not content to have him arrested for murder. I wanted to humiliate him in every way possible first. I wanted to destroy him as he’d destroyed my family. I allowed the farm to fall into disarray, to incur debt, and to be vandalised beyond recognition. I wanted Joseph to have the rope to hang himself, and in some devious part of my mind, I wanted Celia to find the situation intolerable. I wanted to force her to leave, you see, but at the same time make her believe that it was her decision.

“Now, there are details that I shall omit at present, but I will tell you that we did get rid of him, and before he was charged and found guilty of Peter Merrill’s murder, we made sure he was stripped of his pride, money, possessions, and dignity—although the latter was something he’d always had in short supply.

“Ernesto, Joseph Dobbs was hanged eight weeks ago. Celia knows nothing about any of this, and she played no part in his demise. She doesn’t even know about the trial, never mind what we did to Joseph before his arrest.”

“So she thinks he is still alive? Living at the farm?” Ernesto asked with a calmness that surprised Marie.

“Yes, and my greatest worry now is that when she finds out he is dead, she will not be able to live with the secret. She has suffered so much already, too much, Ernesto. So I’m asking you to share her burden, the load she may never be able to shed.”

Ernesto shook his head and brushed his fingers through his hair. A thousand and one questions must be circling his mind, Marie thought. He looked as though he were about ready to burst. His anger was evident, but she observed that there was something more than anger in his eyes. It was pain! She leaned over and laid her hand on his shoulder.

“Is there anything you want to ask?” she asked. “Please don’t be afraid. You have every right to know all the details.”

“I had no idea. So she was not a widow when she arrived here?” he asked.

“No, she wasn’t. We decided that the stigma of being a woman separated from her husband would be unsatisfactory and would involve too many questions that she couldn’t answer. She was never going to return to Joseph, so the guise of widow just seemed less complicated. Ernesto, I’m not asking you to understand why we did what we did. I’m asking you to forgive her; none of this is her fault.”

Marie watched him in silence. Guilt spread through her body, burning her skin. She was so hot that she thought she would faint. She had told him the truth, the truth she wanted him and Celia to know, but she had kept the real truth to herself, and although it would eventually eat her alive, she was willing to take on that burden herself.

Ernesto suddenly looked up, anger still planted firmly on his face. “What do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it.” He spoke in a hard voice that shocked Marie.

“I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure that I want you to do anything. I think I just want to hear you say that you and your family will forgive her. Forgive all of us.”

“Of course I forgive her; that goes without saying. I just wish I’d met this man. He would not have reached the gallows alive! When will you tell her?”

“I think the sooner the better, although I must say that I’m dreading it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and thenErnesto said abruptly, “Allow me to tell Celia about her husband’s death. That way, she’ll know that I am aware of everything.”

It made sense, Marie thought, looking out the carriage window. But if he did tell Celia, he would unwittingly become party to a terrible lie. She could feel him waiting for an answer, and she wished again for Simon.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? Maybe I should be the one to tell her. After all, it’s my duty, not yours.”

“Yes, it may be your duty, but it’s my obligation,” he told her. “She has to know that I support her, that I don’t blame her, and that she is loved by all my family.”

There was silence and then Marie said, “Celia talks about you all the time in her letters.”

“Really, she does?”

Marie smiled. She wasn’t sure what prompted her to say that. It just felt right to do so. “Yes, and I know she trusts you… Tell me, is there anything I should know about?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Excuse me for prying. It’s just that I don’t want to see Celia get hurt again… Is there anything between you two?”

Marie watched him fight with unspoken words. He shuffled his feet like a vulnerable child in a man’s body, and at that moment, she suspected that he was afraid of her disapproval.

“Please tell me,” she urged him.

“Miss Osborne, I am in love with Celia. I love her with all my heart. I have never felt this way about any woman, yet I fear she does not return my feelings.”

“Dear Lord…”

“And I would do anything for her. I assure you that I could not and would not ever hurt her.”

“So you love my niece.”

“Yes.”

“Then you must know that you are facing an uphill struggle. You will have to be patient with her. She has suffered and will not trust again easily.”

“I know,” he agreed. “And I will do everything I can to gain that trust. I won’t give up without a fight.”

Marie wasn’t sure if she should be happy or worried about Ernesto’s declaration of love. Celia was a mysterious woman who kept everything close to her chest, and it was anyone’s guess as to which way this would go.

She waited until he mounted his horse to respond. The meeting had gone better than she could have dared hope, and she now felt, for the first time, that all would be well for Celia from now on.

“Ernesto, I wouldn’t be so sure about Celia’s lack of feelings for you. I’m her aunt, and I know her well. Fight for her. She’s worth it.”

Celia sheltered from the wind under the tree. It was their tree, the one where she’d learned to love again. How she missed him. If only he knew that. She loved him. If only he knew that too. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist, wishing that they were his arms. She pictured what she’d say to him if he gave her the opportunity. She’d tell him that she was sorry for her unforgivable behaviour, that she wanted his touch, his love, his understanding, and his trust. Of course, as a testament to her foolishness, she had lost all possibility of having any of those things. He probably thought her childishly hysterical, vain, and ungrateful, not to mention arrogant, and she had no one else to blame but herself if he did.

When she heard the distant sound of horse hooves, she didn’t dare open her eyes. Only when the horse snorted did she look up to see Ernesto.

She stood up with hidden legs trembling beneath her long black skirt. She panicked. Had he come to send her away?

“Hello, Ernesto,” she said meekly.

“How are you? Are you well?” he asked without moving any closer.

“I’m fine, thank you. And you, Ernesto? Are you well?”

He nodded his head and sat on a rock a short distance from her. She sat down not far from him and wondered again why he’d come. He looked tired. His forehead was creased in anger. Or was it pity?

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“My mother told me.”

“She did?”

“Yes, you know my mother. She knows everything. Celia, I would like to apologise for the distress I caused you the last time we were here. Please understand that my actions were in no way meant to insult you.”

“I know that,” Celia told him, daring to hope that he’d forgive her. “I can’t explain why I behaved the way I did. But it’s me who should be saying sorry, not you.”

He averted his eyes. “I miss our picnics under this old tree. I miss talking to you,” he told her.

“Me too,” Celia replied.

“Then do you think we can start again? Do you think we can be friends?”

“Friends? Yes, of course. I would like nothing better.” She walked towards him and sat down next to him. Without speaking, she stretched out her hand, and he took it in his. “Celia,” he said softly, stroking her hand. “There’s something I have to talk to you about.”

“Of course…”

“It’s about your husband, Joseph.”

“J-Joseph?” Celia stuttered.

“Yes, I know all about him. I know what he did to you and to your father, and I understand why you wanted to keep the truth hidden. You weren’t ready to tell us.”

Her body grew rigid. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her, placing his finger on her lips.

“I think you are the bravest, most courageous woman I have ever met, and I admire you now more than ever. And had you told us in the beginning, we would have loved you just the same. It’s important that you know that.”