Whispering (29 page)

The hand that took the note trembled. ‘Kidnapped!' She read aloud, her voice wavering only slightly: “We have Miss Gomez. Do we kill her? Or will the great Wellington exchange himself for her? We will come for his answer in fifteen minutes.”'

‘You are mad.' She faced him in the dimly lit attic, breathing heavily from the ruthless manhandling that had got her there. Her dress was torn, her hands were tied behind her back, but she had not been hurt. ‘You are entirely out of your mind, Luiz. What do you think to gain by this lunacy?'

‘Wellington's death. Or yours. I don't much care which. We'll keep our bargain, either way. He won't come, of course. Even if he should wish to, they won't let him. So – he will be disgraced, and you, my sweet love, will be dead. Pity there won't be time for the painful death you deserve, but I have my escape to make after all.'

‘You'll never get out of here!'

‘Oh, yes, I will, my dearest life. Do you remember when the Wares used to deign to invite us to play, as children? I came up here, once, in one of our games of hide-and-seek and found a secret door through to the next house. I expect some long-dead Ware had a mistress there, don't you? So, kill you, kill Wellington, whichever, and I am safe away before the pack can come after me.'

‘But Luiz, why kill Wellington? He's a friend of Portugal!'

‘A fine friend! They care only for their own interests, those British. They let us shed our blood, and destroy our houses, and starve, while he hunts his foxhounds across our ruined fields.'

‘You don't know what he is here for, do you? I suppose you have been up here all day.'

‘Since dawn. Naturally.'

‘There's been an announcement made about the streets. The English Parliament has voted £100,000 for the relief of Portuguese suffering. Wellington is here to arrange for its distribution. That's your enemy, Luiz!'

‘I don't believe it! You are making it up. I won't listen.'

‘Believe me, or be sorry later. You have let the French tell you a pack of lies. Madame Feuillide has been arrested, by the way. I expect you don't know that either, since you have been shut up here all day. She is a known French spy, has been ever since she came here twenty years ago. What does she care for you and your “Friends of Democracy”? She has been using you, Luiz, for French ends.'

‘I don't believe it,' he said again.

‘You had better. Think, Luiz.' Urgently. ‘Either way, the French gain everything, and you lose everything. I am sure you are right in one thing. Wellington won't be allowed to make the quixotic gesture of exchanging his life for mine. But he's got enemies in England will be glad to see him disgraced, and Portugal will lose a good friend. And you will kill me, Luiz, and go through that secret door of yours, but it won't be your friends waiting for you, it will be the French. You will have served their turn, they'll have no more need of you. They'll give you up to justice, and you know what that means. A stinking prison and a savage death.'

‘I don't believe you.' But she thought he was beginning to. And then: ‘It's too late.'

‘It's never too late. Let me go, Luiz, let me go down those stairs. Come with me, see me safe through your “friends” on the way, and I promise I will talk you out of this. Your grandmother will help me.'

‘My grandmother?'

‘She is here. You didn't know that either? Luiz, how little you know. Think about that and stop trusting them.'

‘Why should I trust you?'

‘I'll tell you why. There is something else, Luiz, something you have a right to know. Kill me, and you kill the mother of your son.'

The argument had gone on, round and round, back and forth, hopeless. ‘We can't let you go,' Croft told Wellington once again.

‘I can't not go,' Wellington answered.

Croft was looking at his watch. ‘The fifteen minutes are nearly
up,' he said. ‘When we know what their terms are, we may think of something.'

‘No dodging,' said Wellington. ‘No fudging. The case is clear.' He bent down to Madame Fonsa. ‘Don't fret, ma'am. You will have her back in no time.'

‘Here it is.' All eyes turned to Mrs Ware, who had stood a little back from the group of desperately arguing men. ‘The second note. For you this time.' She handed it to Wellington.

There was a deadly hush as he opened and read it aloud. ‘She is in the attic. Come up the stairs alone. Follow the light. When we see you, we let her go. If we do not see you before the next quarter strikes, we will kill her.' And as he read it, the clock in the main hall struck the first quarter of the hour.

A babble of comment broke out, silenced at once by Wellington. ‘No time for that. Yes, what is it, Craddock?'

Jeremy came forward to confront Mrs Ware. ‘Where did you get that note, ma'am?'

‘Why – a servant gave it to me, as before.'

‘No. I have been watching you all the time. She is in it too.' He turned to Wellington. ‘I did not realise how deep till now. Surely you can use that, sir. I'm sorry, Ware.' He felt Frank Ware rigid beside him.

Frank was looking at his mother with horror. ‘It can't be true –' He paused. ‘But it is. No use protesting, mother. Too late for that. Your only hope now is to help us save Miss Gomez.'

They were all aware of the desperate minutes ticking away. ‘I can't,' she said. ‘There's nothing I can do. And if there were anything, I wouldn't!' Her voice rose. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. For all the slights, for all the whispers, all the condescensions … I don't much care which of them it is; both if I'm lucky, and him too, your precious grandson, Madame High and Mighty Fonsa. Honouring my house with your presence, after all these years! My poor house!' The horrible parody of her own once fawning voice rose into hideous, screaming hysteria.

‘Take her away' said Wellington. ‘Lock her up. It solves nothing, and time is passing. You had better show me the way to your attics, Ware.'

‘You must be armed,' said Croft, and they all knew that Wellington had won his point.

‘Yes. If you would be so good, Ware? Time's passing. Make haste.'

‘In my study. This way. You trust me, sir?'

‘Of course. And if the rest of you gentlemen would be so good as to keep out of the way. Comfort the ladies, perhaps? How many floors?' To Frank.

‘Three flights and then the attic stairs.'

‘Right. You, Ware, and you, and you,' picking out Croft and Jeremy. ‘Come with me to the last stair. It's narrow, I take it.'

‘Yes.' Handing over the weapons. ‘But –'

‘No time for buts.' They were in the hall and a quick glance at the grandfather clock showed its hands nearing the next quarter. ‘Quiet now.'

If there had been members of the gang on the upper floors, they must have taken flight at the sound of Mrs Ware's hysterical screaming. All was silence and darkness except for the glimmer of light at the head of the attic stair.

‘Right.' Wellington had his pistol in his hand now. ‘Put out your candles. Wait here for her.'

In the sudden darkness, the light at the top of the stairs seemed to grow brighter. There was a sound of movement on the upper landing. ‘Stop there.' Caterina's voice. ‘It's all over. We are coming down. Stand back, please, and wait for us. Do you understand? All's well.'

There was a short, stunned silence, then: ‘Agreed,' said Wellington. ‘We are waiting for you.' They moved a little back in the narrow hall and watched silently as the flickering light grew to reveal Caterina, candle in hand, coming slowly down the stairs. Her dress was torn off one shoulder, her hair hung shaggily round her face; the shadowy figure behind her must be Luiz.

‘Thank you for coming, sir.' She looked gravely up at Wellington, quite unconscious of her own dishevelled state. ‘This
is Luiz de Fonsa y Sanchez. He has made a great mistake. He wants to give himself up. Only, to you, please, to the English?'

Wellington thought about it for a long moment. Then, ‘Very well, Miss Gomez. I think you have earned that.'

‘Thank you. But who was screaming? That's what did it.'

‘My mother,' said Frank Ware.

‘I was afraid so. Poor Frank, I am sorry.'

‘I should be asking you to forgive us.'

‘Too much talk,' said Wellington. ‘You, Croft find a guard for the prisoner. Ware, you had best ask your guests to go home. And Craddock, find our young heroine a shawl and take her down to reassure the old lady.'

‘Oh!' Caterina looked down for the first time, and blushed scarlet. ‘I do apologise.' She did her best to pull the torn muslin together.

‘Now that,' said Wellington, ‘you do not need to do.'

‘But I must know about my son,' Luiz protested as Croft prepared to take him away.

‘His name is Lewis,' Caterina said. ‘And he is mine.' She turned to Wellington. ‘There is a secret way from the attic to the house next door. He meant to escape by it.'

‘Thank you,' said Wellington. ‘Which side?'

‘I don't know.'

‘We'll search both.' He strode swiftly away down the stairs.

‘Caterina!' For the moment, they were alone together on the shadowy landing, lit only by the candle in her hand. ‘You have a son! I shall love him.' What was he saying? He reached out to take the candle from her as her hand began at last to shake, dripping wax on the floor. He put it down on a step of the stair, took her cold hand in his. ‘I seem to understand nothing, but this I know: I love you, Caterina Gomez, always have, always will.' He tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted, her left hand still clutching the torn muslin around her.

‘No, Jeremy.' Very quiet, very firm. Thoughts scuttered through her head: Rachel Emerson … Little Lewis … Luiz. ‘You will see things quite differently in the morning,' she told
him gently. ‘And be grateful to me. And now, here in good time is Carlotta, and that shawl.'

Downstairs, the rooms had emptied, and Madame Fonsa's carriage was at the door. ‘God bless you.' She rose stiffly from her chair to embrace Caterina, held out a hand to Jeremy. ‘I do thank you, Mr Craddock.' Her piercing black eyes moved from him to Caterina and back again. ‘Come to me in the morning, Mr Craddock, and tell me the whole tale. No more talking tonight. The child has had enough.'

‘Yes.' Jeremy kissed the old lady's hand and then, more slowly, Caterina's. ‘I am glad she has you, ma'am.'

‘She has. Take me to my carriage, young man. Mr Ware will see to the young ladies.' She let him settle her in her corner of the huge, dark vehicle and leaned back with a little sigh. ‘In the morning, Mr Craddock, early, and now, good night!' As he bowed and withdrew, she reached out a clawlike hand to touch Caterina's. ‘I thank God you are safe,' she said. ‘We'll talk when you come to me tomorrow. Now, be quiet, rest, you have earned it. But I do thank you for my grandson's life. And no tears, please.'

‘No tears.' Caterina managed something between a smile and a snuffle and was glad to sit in a quiet daze, Harriet's warm arm around her. The morning would be time enough for thought.

But when they reached the Gomez house, Tonio was on the lookout for her. ‘I'm glad you are here,
minha senhora
, your father is still up, he wants to see you.'

‘My father?' She could not believe her ears.

‘Yes, he is in his study,
minha senhora
.'

‘I'll wait up,' said Harriet.

‘Thank you.' She was glad that Carlotta had insisted on pinning the shawl securely round her shoulders and had tidied her hair for her.

‘Father?' She found him sitting staring into the fire, and thought suddenly how old he looked, how forlorn.

‘Caterina. You have a son.' It was not a question.

‘Yes.' She had known that the fact of little Lewis would not be a secret for long, once Madame Fonsa went to her lawyers, but had not expected it to be out quite so soon as this.

‘And you did not tell me.' Again it was not a question.

‘No, father.'

‘Fool of a girl!' Out of old habit, he took refuge in anger. ‘Could you not see that this changes everything. A grandson. An heir! How old is he? Where is he?'

‘Three. Harriet's mother is looking after him.'

‘And Madame Fonsa means to adopt him as her heir.'

‘Yes, father.'

‘To call him Sanchez?'

‘No, Fonsa.'

‘Impossible! He must be Gomez. I have sent Father Pedro back to his order with a flea in his ear. He took too much for granted. I hadn't realised … Caterina –'

‘Yes?'

‘Must I apologise?'

‘I really think you should, father.'

‘Then I will. I do. Don't go to Madame Fonsa, Caterina.'

‘But I have said I will.'

‘Please, Caterina.'

‘I'm very tired, father. Something happened at the Wares' party. You'll hear about it in the morning. Let it wait till then, please?'

‘But let him be Gomez?'

‘Fonsa y Gomez?' She rose to her feet. ‘Goodnight, father.'

Jeremy did not sleep much. Madame Fonsa's words had been a command and he had promised to obey, but he resented it. Why must he pay his first call to that imperious old lady when all his heart was set on an urgent explanation with Caterina? But he had said he would go, and he did.

‘You came. I am glad.' The old lady was ready for him.

‘I said I would.'

‘A man of your word. I have a favour to ask of you, Mr Craddock, some advice to give you, and an offer to make you. I knew your aunt, by the way. I think I loved her a little.'

‘My aunt?'

‘Caterina's mother. I suppose you never met her, never thought about her much. Your mother's older sister. They were an unlucky pair, those two. Motherless girls who married the first men who asked them. Disastrous. Don't blame only your mother, Mr Craddock. Look at Caterina's father, and think about your own. And now, my favour. Will you go to England for me, and fetch my great-grandson?'