Whispering (13 page)

‘She is reading aloud to him at this very moment, poor Harriet. I'm afraid she has been altogether too successful and now he says he can't do without her.'

‘Oh, poor Miss Brown. But I am sure I can count on you not to let him bully her, Miss Gomez.'

‘I hope so. Should I write a note to your mother, Mr Ware?' She thought it time to come back to the matter in hand.

‘No need. I will bring you the dressmaker's direction first thing in the morning, but I do beg you, Miss Gomez, don't let her turn you out in black, like the Portuguese ladies. I can't tell you how depressing it is when they all come to the opera looking like a funeral party. And black would quite quench Miss Brown's delicate good looks.'

‘Yes, it would, wouldn't it?' said Caterina, amused. She rather liked the idea of herself in black. ‘It is sad don't you think, Mr Ware, that even in dress there is a division between Portuguese and British society. I'm grateful to you for reminding me.'

‘And you must belong to us, Miss Gomez. I am sure you will find that all the ladies begin to call on you, once our party has taken place. My mother says they have been hanging back a little …' He stammered to an awkward halt, was silent for a moment, and made a new start: ‘Miss Gomez, as an old friend, may I give you a word of friendly advice?'

‘Of course.'

‘You are so awkwardly placed, you and Miss Brown, between our two societies here in Porto, you need, perhaps, to be a little extra careful of censorious eyes. Please, don't go walking about the town again unattended.'

‘Oh dear.' She smiled at him ruefully. ‘We were seen then? I should have known it. And I did enjoy it so.'

‘Miss Sandeman was looking out of her window. She usually is. And of course she told her mother. And she told Mrs Bland, her best friend.'

‘And Mrs Bland told your mother? And a man with us, too, even if he is a cousin.'

‘He's not Miss Brown's cousin. My mother was wondering if Miss Brown is perhaps connected with her friends the Cavendish-Browns of Bath.'

‘I very much doubt it. But I do thank you for your words of warning, Mr Ware. I had forgotten just what things were like
here in Porto.' She smiled what she hoped was a dismissal, but he lingered for a while and she wondered if he was hoping that Harriet would escape from Father Pedro and join them. It began to look as if here was one battle she would not have to fight with her father. Frank Ware might have planned a union between their vineyards, but that was before he met Harriet. She liked him too well to imagine for a moment that, whatever the advantages of the match, he would propose to her once he had realised that it was her friend he cared for. His mother would be furious, of course. But it was certainly one problem the less for her. She just hoped it would be a long time before her father realised what was happening. Or rather before Father Pedro did.

Frank Ware found his mother and Jeremy Craddock sitting over a cup of tea in her stuffy, chintzy sitting room. There was a glow about Jeremy, and Frank was not surprised to learn that he had just returned from a session with Miss Emerson. ‘She dismissed me early today,' he said. For him there was only one ‘she'. ‘Her brother needed her services as a secretary. There's a ship due to dock this evening and promising a quick return to England, if you have mail for home.'

‘No, but I hope she brings some.' Frank was remembering what Caterina had told him about Harriet's mother, and wishing he could go and enquire about mail for her. But it would automatically be collected by the Gomez servants. ‘I have a message for you, mother.' He accepted a cup of tea. ‘From Miss Gomez. She has decided she needs your dressmaker after all and I promised I would take her the address in the morning.'

‘How wise of her. And our party?'

‘As soon as she has seen – I couldn't remember the name at the time but it is Madame Feuillide, is it not?'

‘Yes. I'll write it down for you.' She poured more tea for herself. ‘A little more for you, Mr Craddock?'

‘No, thank you. I think I'll just step down to the quay and see what's doing there.'

‘And I will come with you,' said Frank.

‘I wish you wouldn't interrupt my sessions.' Rachel Emerson had finished writing to Ralph's dictation. ‘It is so bad for the treatment.'

‘And you were getting along so beautifully! I could have laughed when I came in and saw the young fool making those great eyes at you. You've got him properly to rights, my dear. I hope he is singing like a canary.'

‘It's a funny thing,' she said thoughtfully. ‘He talks a great deal, but it is all about the deep past, about his mother, his wretched childhood …'

‘Well you had better apply your mind to bringing him up to date.' He took the finished letter from her and signed it with a flourish. ‘I'll take this down myself; there's no trusting the servants not to dally on the way.' He was looking past her out of the window. ‘Yes, as I thought, she is docking on the south bank as the
Anthea
did.' He picked up his tall hat, turned back in the doorway. ‘Should you not call on Miss Gomez? You are the older inhabitant, after all, by the ridiculous rules of the British visiting game.'

‘Oh, should I?' Doubtfully. ‘I wonder if she would see me.'

‘Surely she would, and be grateful. By all accounts her Portuguese
fidalgo
kin are turning her the coldest of cold shoulders, and the British ladies hanging back too. I wish I could get the full tale of what happened before she was sent away, but they're close as oysters about that.' He looked at his watch. ‘Too late for today, but run along tomorrow, there's a good girl, turn on that charm of yours, get her talking and see what you can find out. I reckon she'll greet you with open arms, with no company but that little shrimp of a Miss Brown who don't look as if she had two ideas to put together. You'll be best friends in no time!' He clapped his hat on his head. ‘Don't wait up for me. I'll get something to eat at the coffee house.'

‘Can we afford it?'

‘Whose fault is it if we can't?' He slammed the door behind him.

Madame Feuillide turned out to live on the fringe of the city in the direction of Braga, so once again it would be possible to take
the carriage for their late afternoon appointment. This way, the traces of the French assault two years before were all too apparent. Some houses still stood as burned and blackened ruins, others were in the slow process of repair, while broken-down walls revealed ravaged gardens where the fighting must have been heaviest. Madame Feuillide had apparently been lucky. Her little house was outside the defences that had been hurriedly thrown up at the news of the French advance, in a little hollow screened from the road by a wall and trees.

‘Yes, they missed me completely.' Madame Feuillide was tiny, dark and sharp-featured and still spoke with a strong French accent. ‘Was it not a blessed thing? I cowered here, like a mouse, listening to the shouts, the screams, the savage sounds of the battle, praying that my little house would be spared. I was lucky.'

‘You did not think of running away?' asked Caterina, admiring her courage.

‘
Mademoiselle
, I did not dare. The mob were tearing French prisoners to pieces. And I am French, after all, and still sound it, though I have lived happily here in Porto for more than twenty years. I was one of the lucky ones when our terrible revolution happened in France. Our chateau was in the south, near Bayonne. I got away with my faithful Marie, over the border into Spain with so many wretched others, but again I was lucky: I had friends here in Porto. I came to them; they were wonderful to me, kindness itself, helped me to turn my skill as a needlewoman into something that would support us, me and my Marie, God rest her soul, and theirs. All dead, Mademoiselle Gomez. I am alone now, but, thank the good God, I am able to support myself, and give a little to charity in memory of those who have been so good to me. But why am I wasting time in talk? My friend Mrs Ware says I am to outfit you for your début in English society, and I can see that it will be the greatest of pleasures. And your charming young friend. With whom am I to begin? You will have to respect my little habits. I am an artiste, as I am sure you will understand; I cannot bear an audience at my work. I must concentrate entirely. The lady I am not working
on will have to retire to the shade of my little garden. I hope it will not be too tedious for you?' to Harriet. ‘I will begin with Mademoiselle Gomez.'

As easy as that, thought Caterina, submitting herself to be measured by the voluble little Frenchwoman who must be more than the thirty or so years she looked, if she had been old enough to make her escape from revolutionary France back in the early nineties, when blood began to flow. She tried a question about the escape, but Madame Feuillide had her answer ready. ‘Forgive me,
mademoiselle
, but I need all my energies for the problems of design. If you will bear with me, we will work in silence.'

She was altogether a perfectionist, Caterina thought, almost an hour later, when she in her turn was despatched to the secluded garden and Harriet took her place in the workroom. ‘I am afraid I may have to take a little more time with your charming young friend,' Madame Feuillide had warned. ‘Her figure is not perhaps quite such an ideal one for modern fashions as yours, but I promise I will do my very best by her, if it takes the rest of the afternoon.'

‘Thank you.' It could hardly have been made more clear, Caterina thought, taking Harriet's place on the rustic bench in the little summerhouse between yew hedges at the far end of the shady garden. It was not really surprising, though it had surprised her, that the French had not found this secluded spot. But how did Luiz know of it, and how soon would he appear?

She sat there in the quiet garden for a little while, waiting for him, dreaming about him, wondering what dangers he was risking to come to her.

‘At last!' He emerged suddenly from behind one of the thick yew hedges. ‘Have you had to wait long, my little love?' He swept her at once into a strong embrace and she felt the old exultant tide sweep through her. ‘Is not this well planned?' He was glowing with satisfaction. ‘Madame Feuillide is a true friend of our cause and will see to it that she keeps your worthy companion out of our way as long as possible. I am only sorry I cannot offer you greater comfort.' He let her go and took off his all-enveloping brown cloak to reveal the blue jacket and plush
breeches of a peasant in his holiday best. ‘I am the maid's cousin in from the country for the day,' he told her. ‘You should just see the big eyes she makes at me, but I have none for her, I can tell you.' He had spread the cloak on the paved terrace, now held out his hand to her. ‘I've missed you with every bone in my body –' His hand was warm on hers, persuasive. Possessive?

‘But, Luiz –' The blood seethed in her veins. Her body yearned towards him, to submit, to let go, to be at last entirely his again. So, why was she still standing there, her eyes locked with his, resisting that imperious hand? Instinct battled with instinct. And then, the shriek of an ox-cart's wheels on the road beyond the garden wall came as a reminder of how risky their position was. ‘I can't,' she said. ‘Not here, not like this. Besides, we must talk, I have so much to tell you.'

‘My splendid girl. Business first.' She had hit on the one thing that could distract him. He sat down on the bench and put a warm arm round her waist. ‘So, you have managed to get news for me; I knew you wouldn't fail me.'

‘But I
have
failed you, Luiz, that's just what I need to tell you. I found Frank Ware at the house when I got back the other day; that's why I was able to make my appointment here so quickly. But when I asked him, very casually, about the
Anthea's
cargo, he gave me a great scold about military secrets. I shall have to be very careful, I can see. But there's good news too,' she went on eagerly. ‘He is sure that Lord Wellington is holding his own at the border. I pretended to be afraid and wondering whether to go back to England and he promised me there was no need: Wellington is bound to outmanoeuvre Marmont.'

‘Bound to?' She had his full attention now. ‘But he did not know for sure?'

‘No.' Reluctantly. ‘I suppose not. There's another ship in, did you know?'

‘Yes, the
Chloe
, unloading on the south bank as the
Anthea
did.'

‘She left England in a great hurry,' Caterina told him. ‘We had hoped for mail, Harriet and I, but she caught a wind and came away without it.'

‘Too bad.' He did not sound much concerned. Well, how should he know what a bitter disappointment it had been to them? ‘But what is she carrying, my own, that's the important thing. Why was she in such a hurry?'

‘Nobody knows,' she told him. ‘But it looked very much like what the
Anthea
was carrying. And it's all going upstream as her cargo did. On small boats because the river is so low.'

‘For what that's worth.' His hand had found its way, distractingly, to her breast. She was dizzy for a moment with all the memories, all the confusing passion it aroused. ‘Did you name the day for this great British party of yours?'

‘It's to be just as soon as Madame Feuillide sends our clothes home. She promises them in a week or so.'

‘Good.' With an approving touch to her nipple that made her catch a quick breath. ‘There's an odd couple in Porto I'd like you to see are invited. The Emersons, brother and sister; do you know of them?'

‘Of course. My cousin Jeremy Craddock came out for treatment from Miss Emerson; I'm told she is doing him a great deal of good.'

‘Who told you that?'

‘Frank Ware.'

‘I'd forgotten about him.' Dismissively. ‘And that mother of his. But they will be useful to you, my angel, as sources of information. ‘Has Ware made you an offer yet?'