Whispering (5 page)

Other eyes, behind other spyglasses, were also watching the unloading of the
Anthea
. On the second floor balcony of a prosperous house in the Rua Nova dos Inglesas, Mrs Ware handed the glass to her son. ‘There's Caterina Gomez! I'd know her father's boat anywhere, so shabby, and that dour old Felipe of his. At least she looks quite the lady.'

‘And why should she not, mother?'

‘Well, you know the stories. We are going to forget them, of course. After all, poor child, motherless, no proper female companionship, and that ramshackle household full of hangers-on and priests. How was the poor child to know how to go on? I just hope she proves educable. Lord knows, she's young enough still.'

‘Going a little too fast, aren't you, mother? I've not said I'll do it, even if old Gomez don't change his mind, which ten to one he will.'

‘But, dear boy, just think how wretchedly we are placed! With your father's death at such an awkward moment, and this cruel war, ruining everything for everybody, and those Portuguese merchants the only ones who have contrived to come out of it with their businesses intact. Frank, do please remember that it seems to be Miss Gomez or starvation.'

‘Suppose I decide I would rather starve, mother? Or do a job of work, perhaps? I was talking to Major Dickson at the dinner for the Prince of Wales's birthday the other night. He seemed to think he could find work for me if I were so minded.'

‘Work for you? What kind of work, for goodness sake?'

‘You don't think me capable of working, do you, mother? And whose fault was that but yours and my father's? Having me educated at Eton and Cambridge like a gentleman, when I should have been learning my trade. Well, it may surprise you, but when I told Dickson I was a senior wrangler in mathematics he seemed quite interested. Said he wanted to talk to me again, but would be too busy while the
Anthea
was unloading. I think he is having a hard time of it with some of the English officers here; they rank above him in the English army – his rank is Portuguese you see – and you can imagine how they feel about that.'

‘Lord, yes! I was talking to Mrs Bland the other day, and she said most of the Portuguese levies – what do they call them?
ordinanzas
– were no more use than girls from the seminary. No clothes or shoes, and half-starved most of the time, and the officers not much better. She had thought of going with her husband when he moves up country next week, but he advises against it. He came through the mountains with Dickson and says the conditions are little short of barbarous. And as for the roads! Dickson has written Lord Wellington urging a change of route, because the one from Peso da Regua to Trancoso was so dreadful. The gun-carriages would be shattered to pieces, she says. But he doesn't seem to think conditions at Pinhel would be
any better from her point of view and urges her to stay here where she is comfortable.'

‘Which I am sure she is glad enough to do,' said Frank. ‘But, mother, should she be telling you the things her husband says to her? I know we are all friends here in Oporto, but you must remember what Dom Antonio the Governor said just the other day about careless talk and the possibility of French spies among the servants.'

‘What a slanderous thing to say! I trust my American blacks just as I would English servants. Just think of the way they looked after things for me here during the French occupation! When I got back there was not so much as a spoon missing. And as for that Antonio, he may be acting Governor in Colonel Trant's absence, but there is no need for him to give himself such airs. Look,' she handed him the glass, ‘they are disembarking now; you can get a better view of Miss Gomez. She looks well enough to me; dowdy provincial clothes, of course, but what else would you expect of a girl straight from the convent. I'll soon put that to rights. Who is that man gallanting her?' Sharply.

‘Oh, that must be her cousin. Gomez asked him to bring her out; he's coming for his health – hopes for a cure from Miss Emerson, I believe.'

‘Oh – an invalid.' She dismissed him, relieved. ‘Much good may that Rachel Emerson do him. Calls herself a healer! All she did was put her hands on my head and ask me a lot of impertinent questions! I'm not going back to her in a hurry. A pair of charlatans! I cannot imagine how they came to be admitted into society.'

‘They had introductions to Joseph Camo, I believe. And you know what a debt we all owe him for the way he looked after our affairs while we were in exile in England.'

‘Exile.' She sniffed. ‘What an odd word. And I have always been convinced that that man Camo had his share of the goods from those merchantmen that were snapped up by the French.'

‘Very likely,' said her son. ‘But he did us yeoman service, just the same. He mixed up the figures so successfully that the
French did not dare distrain the half of our British property for fear of offending their American friends. You know how badly they want the Yankees to join them against us.'

‘Much use they would be. And how do you know he didn't blind you with his figures too? That's probably why we find ourselves so poor now. What he saved from the French, he quietly took for himself.'

‘Mother, will you listen to me for once? I understand figures too, and I know what a good job Joseph Camo did for us. I do beg you to watch what you say about him. He's been a good friend to us all, but I tell you, he could make a formidable enemy.'

‘He's like all the rest of those Americans,' she said. ‘He smells of the shop. No wonder he was prepared to sponsor those dubious Emersons. And besides, you have only to look at him to see that he has Portuguese ancestry; no wonder he goes on so well here. Dark-haired, large-nosed and oily like the rest of them.'

‘Mother!' He was exasperated. ‘Do you want me to marry Miss Gomez and her fortune, or do you not?'

‘Well, of course I do. Whose idea was it anyway? And, really, she could be a lot worse by the looks of her.' She put down the glass as the little party landed and vanished into the network of alleys behind the quay.

‘Well then.' Quietly now, but with emphasis. ‘She is half Portuguese remember. Her father entirely so.'

‘But she has been to school in England for – what would it be? Three years? Surely that must have civilised her. She needs to learn to dress, of course, but let me alone for that. I would never have suggested the match, my dear, if I had thought she would come to us with a lot of sluttish Portuguese habits … I have your interests too much at heart for that, my dear boy.'

‘If you truly have my interests at heart, mother, I do beg you to be immensely careful what you say. I know it is hard to remember, here in Oporto, with things so nearly back to normal, but there is still a war being fought up in the mountains, hardly two days' ride away.'

‘As if I would forget! Do you realise that it is only a few weeks till vintage – such as there will be this year, after all the fighting upriver – and Major Dickson who you are such friends with has taken over every available boat on the river for his mighty secret operations.
And
all the oxcarts upriver, Helen Bland says. It is going to be a black year for the wine trade, dear boy, and how we are to get through next winter is more than I can imagine.'

‘We'll manage, mother.' He said it more cheerfully than he felt. ‘And I promise you, next year will be better.'

‘I cannot imagine what makes you think so. So far as I can see, this horrible war is going to go on for ever. And all they send out from England is powder and shot!' With a despairing gesture at the busy scene around the
Anthea
. ‘I wrote your Aunt Betty to send me all kinds of things I needed, and I bet you a pound to a dollar that there is nothing on that ship but arms and ammunition.'

‘I hope you are right, mother.'

A Londoner, Jeremy Craddock thought he was used to city streets, but nothing had prepared him for the noise and filth of Oporto's narrow, steeply climbing lanes. He began by trying to give an arm to each of the young ladies in his charge, but soon recognised that this was impossible, and agreed tacitly to follow Caterina's lead, with Harriet between them, looking terrified he thought, and no wonder. Caterina, on the other hand, was quite obviously in her element, ploughing her way through the crowds, with what sounded like an exchange of insults from time to time when someone got in her way. It was a far cry from the apparently demure young lady he had rescued from disgrace at the convent. But then, for how long had he been deceived by that modest front of hers? Not for long after he had seen her drawing. He thought, with something between regret and relief, that his fears of becoming attached to her had been quite groundless. There was no place in his life for this young amazon. He might as well have stayed on deck and enjoyed the voyage.

It irked him a little in retrospect, and he spoke more sharply than he intended when she paused to wait for them at the top of one of the steep flights of steps that punctuated the alley. ‘How
much further, Miss Gomez? We are getting quite breathless, Miss Brown and I. And attracting a great deal of attention. I begin to think we should have hired sedan chairs after all.'

‘I'm sorry. You are probably quite right, but it is a last taste of freedom for Harryo and me. Once we are behind the great doors of my father's house we are going to have to behave like the young ladies we are supposed to be.' She shouted something fierce in Portuguese at a group of ragged children. ‘Don't give them anything, Harryo, you'll have the whole quarter on our heels.'

‘But they look so wretched,' said Harriet. ‘I thought I knew what hunger looked like, but this is worse than anything … Even the pigs look starving.' The noisome alley that they were climbing seemed to be shared equally by pigs, hens and ragged children.

‘At least the pigs don't beg,' said Jeremy Craddock.

‘You would beg if you were as hungry as these babies are.' Harriet turned on him fiercely, her whole face suddenly hard and sharp.

‘Don't, Harryo,' Caterina's voice was gentle. ‘Don't think about it. Please.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Harriet. ‘I don't know what's the matter with me. It's the heat, I think, and these poor children …'

‘I know,' said Caterina. ‘But, remember, love, the kind climate makes their lives easier. And, look, the worst is over now; we're getting into the better part of town. No more pigs, Mr Craddock, and we will be smelling the flowers in my father's garden soon.' She had turned left at the top of a flight of steps into a slightly wider alley running between high walls, and Jeremy saw evergreen trees rising above them.

‘It's good to be out of the crowd,' he said. ‘Keep in the shade, Miss Brown, and you won't mind it so much.' He took Harriet's arm as a group of priests dressed all in black surged past.

‘So many priests,' she said. ‘They fair give me the creeps.'

‘Nonsense,' said Caterina. ‘They are just a lot of harmless old men.' But Jeremy noticed that she got out of their way like everybody else, as they marched along the centre of the narrow street, black robes flowing behind them.

‘Here we are.' Caterina stopped at a door in the wall to their left, and tugged hard on the bell pull beside it. ‘Home,' she said and Jeremy wondered if there was a question in her voice.

The big door swung open on to a green courtyard, and instant pandemonium. Three black-garbed old women plunged forward to seize and hug Caterina, passing her between them like a child's toy. A group of other servants stood around shrieking welcomes.

‘Enough.' An upright, white-haired old man in rusty black had been standing a little back from the animated scene. Now he stepped forward and bent to kiss Caterina's hand. ‘You are dearly welcome home,
minha senhora
.'

‘Oh, Tonio.' Her eyes were full of tears. ‘I am so very sorry about Maria.'

‘I try to think of it as the will of God, but it is hard. Father Pedro says thoughts of vengeance are wicked, but I tell you,
senhora
, if a Frenchman were to come in at that door, now, I would kill him with my bare hands.' He looked down at them, surprised at what he had said. ‘It is good to have you back,
minha senhora
. Your father expects you in his study. You and the
senhor
.'

‘Miss Brown had best come too,' said Jeremy. ‘Unless any of your servants speak English, that is.'

‘Gracious no.' Caterina found the idea absurd. ‘Yes. Come along Harriet, he can't bite you.' Jeremy wondered how sure she was of this.

The house door faced them across the courtyard, standing open in welcome. Jeremy had a vague impression of an old, asymmetrical building, set about with flowers and covered in vines, before he followed the two girls into a dark, cool corridor.

It was suddenly quiet as the door swung to behind them leaving the chattering servants outside in the courtyard. ‘This way.' Caterina led the way down what seemed an endless passage, dimly lit from the occasional open door to left or right, then paused before knocking once, firmly, on the door at the end.

The dark room smelled of dust and damp. Senhor Gomez was busy behind a huge desk piled high with papers. He rose, tall and gaunt, to survey his three visitors with a cold eye.

‘Father.' Caterina offered her cheek for his reluctant kiss.

‘Caterina. Welcome home.' He spoke with no trace of feeling, turned to Jeremy. ‘Mr Craddock, thank you for bringing her.' He held out a limp hand to Jeremy's warm clasp. ‘And this is?'

‘Miss Brown. Harriet Brown.' Caterina spoke into the little silence that followed the question. If she had hoped Jeremy would answer it, he had failed her. ‘My friend – and chaperone.'

‘Chaperone?' With a look that made Harriet quail. ‘She don't look fit to chaperone a mouse. Your idea I take it, Mr Craddock. My daughter was never one to think of such fallals. Pity, perhaps.' With a darkling look for Caterina.