Sound of Butterflies, The (39 page)

‘And what about you? Aren’t you scared?’

‘Of course I am. They have ruined me. It is only a warning. If I do anything else — so much as criticise Santos — I will be food for the piranhas. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. But you see that ship out there? In three days I will be on it, bound for Portugal.’

‘And this Roberts? You say he and his friend were imprisoned?’

‘Yes. They didn’t kill them. They can’t risk that yet; the railroad is too important to them. At the moment there is nothing to link the robbery and the imprisonment with Santos. Roberts managed to bribe his way out — don’t ask me how — and he thought by coming to Manaus he could gather further evidence against Santos. But anybody who talked to him refused to sign anything in front of a lawyer. All the lawyers here are probably on Santos’s payroll.’

‘So he did find people to talk to? Do you know who?’

‘He promised them confidentiality, so no, I could not tell you. I only know of one, a carpenter by the name of Assis who once worked for Santos in Iquitos. I don’t know where you would find him now.’

‘And Roberts? Where is he now?’

‘I warned him against it, but he has gone back to Iquitos to try to free his colleague.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘He’ll be dead before he gets there.’

The sun was out and hot light bounced off the wet road. Thomas squinted and shielded his eyes from the blinding flashes as he moved with slow steps back to the house. What could he do? He wanted more than anything in the world to find his butterfly before he left. At times it seemed so close he could smell it; at others it became nothing but a rumour, not even a legend. But today his petty obsession shrank under his touch, shaming him. Santos was the key to finding the butterfly, but how could he be indebted to a man who was responsible for such crimes? Did it mean that Thomas, too, had blood on his hands? But again, what could he do? To confront Santos about it, even Antonio, could be dangerous. But could he just slip away? Jump on the first boat back to Europe? That would take time; after all, he had no money on him, and without Santos’s help a ticket would have to be organised for him at the other end. Besides, what would running away achieve? He could go to the government and inform them about the treatment of the Indians, but what proof did he have? And would they even care? It wasn’t so long ago that the British enslaved natives of all kinds in their colonies. They would dismiss him as a bumbling do-gooder scientist who had failed in his quest.

His only chance was to return to the camp and persuade the others it was time to come home, without letting on his reasons — if one of them were to mention Thomas’s fears to Santos, they might all be done for.

Joaquim walked beside him, matching his sluggish gait. His shorts were blackened by smears of soot from where he had wiped his hands. Thomas reached out a hand and rested it on the boy’s shoulder. He flinched, but didn’t move away, and Thomas gave him a pat before dropping his hand again.

Passing a hotel he saw a familiar figure moving down the steps onto the street: Miss Lillie. She was accompanied by not one but three men, all poised with hands ready to guide her off the steps. One held a parasol over her head, shading her from the sun. Thomas attempted to step around her without being noticed, but Lillie spotted him.

‘Monsieur Edgar!’ she said. ‘What a pleasant surprise! Back so soon from your travels?’

Thomas feigned astonishment. ‘Miss Lillie. How nice to see you.’

She put out her hand, palm down, and he took it, unsure whether he was expected to shake it or kiss it. He squeezed her fingers and bowed slightly before letting her hand drop.

‘And your companions? Dr Harris? Is he with you?’

‘No, I came back alone.’

‘Senhor Santos?’

‘Still upriver as well. I have disappointed you.’

‘Oh no,’ she said, but the smile she gave was forced. Her three companions stood silently by, looking at Thomas with contempt. She must have noticed Thomas’s nervous glances at them because she turned to them and said, ‘Would you excuse us for a moment, gentlemen?’

They murmured their assent and moved a few paces away.

‘You seem to have become very popular,’ said Thomas, as warmly as he could.

‘I have Senhor Santos to thank for that. He graced me with his patronage, and everybody in this town wants what Senhor Santos has. I am now the most sought-after girl in Manaus.’

And the most expensive, I’ll warrant, thought Thomas. The light fell fetchingly on her red hair, making it glow, and her pale face had developed more freckles than she’d had earlier — an effect of the tropical sun. The tip of her nose was slightly pink.

She asked Thomas for a cigarette, and he obliged. Lillie removed her glove to take it and, as he lit it, he noticed two brown sores, the size of pennies, on her hand.

‘Did you burn yourself?’ he asked.

Lillie looked away, and Thomas admonished himself. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.

‘No, that is quite all right. These marks, they just appeared one day. I have them elsewhere.’ With her other hand, she pulled down the neck of her dress to reveal another sore at her throat. ‘This heat, and the lace on my collar. I am foolish, I know, but I just couldn’t let people see me like this.’

‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘No. The truth is I am too scared. If there is something wrong with me, I think I would rather not know. There are so many deaths here, Monsieur Edgar. Nobody speaks of them. They live such a fine life; everybody pretends to be happy. But this place stinks of death. My mistress, Senhora da Silva, she died two weeks ago. Cholera.’

Thomas remembered the sharp-toothed woman at the club, the rustle of her skirts. He took an involuntary step back. Lillie chuckled.

‘You won’t catch it from me, I’m sure of it.’ She exhaled smoke slowly. A patch of it drifted upward from her mouth and wound about her face. She waved it away. ‘I would leave this place, but what is there for me back in Paris? Here I am treated like a queen. There I was merely a courtesan. Oh, I’m making you uncomfortable.’

Thomas was indeed uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to having a woman speak so frankly to him of such things; but then again, nothing in his life was as it once was.

‘Will you see Dr Harris again soon?’

‘Soon I think, yes.’

‘Would you pass on my regards? Tell him …’ She blushed. ‘Tell him he is very lucky to have Senhor Santos as a friend. And that I will see him very soon.’

Thomas clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Why do you say that?’ What did she know?

Lillie laughed. ‘Dr Harris is in love with me, Monsieur Edgar. Surely you knew that.’

He
had
known about Ernie’s feelings for her, but he had turned away from the thought, for surely this woman, and those like her, had nothing to do with love. He wasn’t even sure that Ernie was capable of such emotion, something so sublime. The doctor inhabited his body so fully, abusing it, taking pleasure in it — not even caring if anyone saw him do it. Love was what Thomas felt for Sophie, not what a man like that could feel for a woman like this. He gave a shudder. For he had admired Ernie so much when they first arrived in Brazil, and perhaps he had let himself be influenced a little too much.

‘Monsieur? Are you all right?’

‘Yes. I … I hadn’t even thought about it. But what does it have to do with Mr Santos?’

She tilted her head and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Her eyes were nearly obscured by the brim of her elaborate hat. ‘If it weren’t for Senhor Santos, your friend would never be able to afford me.’

She tossed her cigarette, half smoked, into the gutter and put her glove back on.

‘So nice to see you,’ she said. ‘Au revoir.’

Thomas managed to get back to the house before the rain started again. He went straight to his room and lay down; not only did he still tire easily, but the heat saturated his body today, and he needed to lie down to absorb what he had learned.

He watched the fan turn sluggishly overhead. Images of the mutilation walked before his eyes; he remembered the scars he had seen on a couple of workers at the camp up the River Negro. He had wondered about them — hoped that they were merely tribal, but now he knew the truth. He had seen backs thatched with healed welts — how many more had not healed, and had been infected with gangrene or worse?

And Santos. The man had shown his cruel streak to Thomas, but no harm had been caused. With all the violence happening upriver, how could he make the connection between his benefactor, who had so far been incredibly generous to Thomas and his colleagues, and atrocities he could only imagine?

He should speak out about it, confront Santos. Surely Thomas’s British citizenship would protect him. But what if it didn’t?

I’m a coward, he thought.

A soft knock at the door brought him out of his reverie. Antonio entered, carrying a tray of tea, which was surprising — he never waited on anyone like this; he usually gave the orders to others.

‘I trust you had a good morning?’ Antonio set the tea things on the desk.

‘Yes,’ said Thomas, alert.

‘And what did you do?’

‘Do? Oh, I just wandered about a bit, looked at the opera house, things like that.’

‘Magnificent, isn’t it, sir?’ Antonio finished pouring the tea and handed it to Thomas. ‘Did you manage to find anyone to talk to?’

‘Only a young lady. A friend of Dr Harris’s.’

‘Oh yes. I thought that was you I saw. In front of the hotel.’

The tea burned Thomas’s lips as he took a sip. So that was it. Antonio had been following him. His eyes flicked to Antonio’s and for a moment the two men just looked at each other.

‘Yes, possibly,’ Thomas said at last. He handed Antonio the teacup, surprised at how steady his hand was. ‘Might I have a touch more milk?’

‘You know,’ said Antonio as he handed it back, ‘you should be careful who you talk to.’

‘Oh?’ Thomas kept his gaze straight ahead and tried to appear as if he was concentrating on his tea. He wasn’t going to push the man. If Antonio knew he had talked to Rodrigues, Thomas wasn’t going to let on that he knew he knew.

‘I only mean …’ Antonio chuckled. ‘Those women. They will take all your money if you let them.’

‘I think I am quite safe, thank you, Antonio. Thank you for the tea.’

Antonio bowed his head in a slow nod. His eyes were hard. Thomas noticed for the first time how black they were, like tar, with no definition between the pupil and the iris. The man’s tongue flicked out like a knife and licked his lips. ‘Dinner will be served at four, sir.’

The next day, Thomas knew what he had to do. He wrote a letter to the American Rodrigues had described, Mr Roberts. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, and spent long minutes gazing out at the garden where two black men squatted, pulling out weeds and wheeling them away in a barrow. Finally he put his confused thoughts into the most basic terms.
I would like to speak with you and look at the possibility of helping you in your investigation
.

He went downstairs to the dining room, where breakfast was laid out for him, but nobody was about. He pocketed a bread roll to eat along the way and set out.

It wasn’t hard to find his way back to the printing factory. The route was etched on his memory like the scratch of a pin, and when he was close, the stench of ash and soot wafted over him. He didn’t know how to get the letter to Roberts, but Rodrigues might know. Thomas had to be prepared for the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to help him; after all, Roberts could be back in prison by now, or dead.

The door to Rodrigues’s building stood open. Inside hung a smell that Thomas couldn’t place — sweet and sickly, tinged with metal and candle wax. His hand trailed on the banister as he walked up the stairs, and he felt grit beneath his palm. He stopped and pulled his hand away. It was black with the soot that had drifted over the road from the fire.

At the top of the stairs he tapped on the closed door. Nothing. He knocked louder. The sound seemed to rise sharply, then be absorbed just as abruptly by the walls. The door was unlocked, so he pushed the door open and stepped inside.