Whispering (24 page)

‘I wish to goodness I knew. If only there had been more time to talk. She's formidable, that old lady. I did wonder if she might not want me out of the picture …'

‘Have him all to herself? You couldn't allow that.'

‘Of course not. Time to cross that bridge when we come to it.' Oh, goodness, with all this going on, I've done nothing about warning Jeremy Craddock. I hardly like to write to him, even if we are supposed to be engaged. And my father has forbidden him the house, did I tell you that?'

‘No,' said Harriet. ‘How absolutely Gothic. Do you think he is in his right mind, Cat?'

‘I think he has talked to no one but Father Pedro for so long that he has quite forgotten what the real world is like.'

‘But surely, at the office –'

‘They are all his inferiors there, terrified of him –'

‘It can't be good for the business,' said practical Harriet. ‘In fact, Mr Ware did say something, the other day, that made me wonder a little. Oh, Cat, you do know, don't you, that if he should ever … that if I … oh, I don't even dare think of it, but there would always be a home for you.'

‘Dear Harryo.' They kissed each other silently.

‘But he won't,' said Harriet. ‘His mother won't let him. And I'm not sure that I should, even if he were still to want me when I'd told him.'

‘Don't think about it, love. It makes me superstitious. And, besides, I must write my dreary tale to the old lady. Do you realise that in less than a week's time, the day after the party, we may be condemned to the silent sisters.'

‘Yes,' said Harriet soberly. ‘I do indeed.'

Jeremy Craddock dropped what he did not know was his bombshell at the Wares' dinner table that evening. He had been glad to find Mrs Ware and her son dining alone, and seized an early chance to ask them to join him in a toast: ‘To my fiancée,' he said. ‘Miss Gomez has made me the happiest of men.'

‘Miss Gomez?' Wine spilled from Mrs Ware's glass. ‘I don't believe it!'

‘Mother –' Frank shot a warning glance at the liveried servants waiting at table. ‘I do congratulate you, Craddock.' He raised his glass and drank. ‘A delightful girl. It will make our party on Tuesday more of a celebration than ever.' Another quick look for his mother, who was sitting rigid between them, scarlet spots clashing with the rouge on her normally pale cheeks. ‘You will be settling with us here in Oporto then?'

‘I'm not so sure of that. Her father dislikes the match, I am sorry to say. He has actually forbidden me the house. I was hoping for your good offices, Ware, to keep me in touch with my fiancée.' He was furious with himself for having failed to recognise Mrs Ware's plans for her son and Caterina. What a blind fool he had been.

‘Nonsense.' Mrs Ware found her voice. ‘Of course Gomez dislikes the match. You'll have no part in this, Frank.'

‘I am sorry to disagree with you, mother.' He looked from her to Jeremy. ‘But what in the world has got into old Gomez?'

‘He talks of sending the two girls to the Little Sisters of St Seraphina.'

‘What?'

‘On Wednesday.'

‘But he has no right –'

‘Certainly none as regards Miss Brown, but Joe Como says a Portuguese father could do this to his daughter if he wished.'

‘Barbarous,' said Frank.

‘Well, they are,' said his mother, who seemed to have recovered herself. They none of them noticed that one of the footmen had slipped quietly from the room.

The servant who took Caterina's second note to Madame Fonsa brought back only her answer to the first one. The old lady had already retired to her room when he got there, he explained, and nobody dared disturb her until next day. The note he brought was short and to the point, written in the old lady's own spidery hand: ‘Thank you. Keep away from him.'

‘As if I would do anything else,' Caterina told Harriet. ‘It's Jeremy I'm worried about now. I do hope she gets up early and does something at once.'

‘Poor woman,' said Harriet. ‘Her own grandson. She must have so hoped you would prove him innocent. I'm afraid you must face it, Cat, it's bound to take a bit of time for her to make up her mind. And then she will have to prove to the authorities that she's not the mad old thing people have thought her. I have the horridest feeling that Luiz is going to hear about your “engagement” and do something drastic to Jeremy Craddock long before his grandmother does anything about him. I do think you ought to warn Mr Craddock, Cat.'

‘But how?'

‘Well, you can't tonight, that's for sure.' She put down her sewing. ‘It's been a long day. I think bed, don't you?'

‘Yes.' But Caterina sat up for hours in her bedroom, trying and failing to write a warning note to Jeremy about Luiz. It was impossible, she decided at last. Her story was not one to be told in writing. She must see him somehow.

It was pouring with rain again in the morning and there was no word from across the canyon. ‘I doubt if anyone would cross in this,' said Caterina gloomily as she and Harriet finished an anxious breakfast.

‘And no one will call either,' said Harriet. ‘Oh how I wish we were in England, love, and all well.'

‘I wish we had never come!'

‘Oh, no.' Harriet turned to the door, where Tonio had appeared.

‘The Senhor Ware has called,
minha senhora
. He apologises for the early hour and asks to see you urgently. Alone.'

‘Me?' Harriet sat as if paralysed for a moment, looking at Caterina. ‘Cat –' She paused, tried again. ‘If he should – if it were … I'd have to tell him –'

‘I think it's time for some telling,' said Caterina. ‘Off you go, love, don't keep the urgent gentleman waiting. And don't let him go without seeing me.'

‘Of course not.' Here at least was a reliable messenger.

Harriet was trembling when she joined Frank Ware in the library, where he had been shown by a servant surprised and interested by the early visit.

‘Miss Brown –' He came forward as the servant closed the door silently behind her. ‘Harriet! Craddock told us his good news last night. It's the best I ever heard. Or it would be if it were not for this lunacy of old Gomez's. Is it really true that he means to pack the two of you off to the silent sisters next week?'

‘On Wednesday.' Her hand was still in his.

‘We can't let it happen,' he said. ‘Craddock is doing his best to stop it, but it will take time.'

‘And there is no time.'

‘Exactly. I'm glad you see it. Harriet!' The way he used her name said it all. ‘I had meant to wait until I had a future to offer you, but I can't now. You must give me the right to protect you both, you and your friend. Let's not pretend with each other, my
love, there's no time for that. We love each other, you and I, we know it. Say you'll marry me, Harriet?' He was beginning to pull her to him, happily sure of her answer.

‘No! Not yet.' She held back, meeting his eyes, with tears in hers. ‘It's not your future that's the problem, Frank Ware, it is my past.'

‘I don't care a straw for your past. And anyway I know about it, love. My mother had enquiries made, I am ashamed to tell you. She told me just the other day. I know all about your mother, and your birth, and the home for foundling children. It doesn't matter, I tell you. It's you I want to marry, not your mother. And, besides, one must respect her for making her own way in the world. Just what I mean to do myself.'

She stood there, for a long moment, meeting his eyes, thinking about it, horribly tempted. Then: ‘I am more grateful than I can say. It only makes me love you more, makes it harder, but I have to tell you. There is more.'

‘More?'

‘And worse.'

‘Worse?' Did he blench?

‘Much worse.' She went steadily on. ‘My mother had ambitions for me. Things were going well with her then. She sent me to a boarding school for the daughters of gentlemen. I made friends with an upper-crust girl there, was asked to stay with them. Mother thought it was wonderful, such a chance for me. Sent me off rejoicing. A girl without friends, without protection, without a name of her own. Little Miss Brown.' She paused, took a deep breath. ‘I wasn't seduced, Frank, I was raped, quite casually, because it was a wet afternoon. Not a member of the family, just a hanger-on. I didn't dare tell anyone. How could I? But I went home pregnant.'

‘Harriet!' At some point he had sat her down on a little sofa, sat himself close, and put a protective arm around her. Now it tightened. ‘And the baby?'

‘Stillborn. I cried myself sick.' Her eyes were far away as she remembered how hungry little Lewis had eased her misery. ‘I still dream of her.'

‘Her? A little girl? Like you … Harriet, we'll have more –' He stopped, searching for words. ‘Harriet, you can – It didn't? –'

‘Oh yes. It was just bad luck, they said. Only they thought it good luck of course.'

‘You poor child. How old were you, Harriet, and then we'll say no more about it?'

‘Thirteen,' she told him, and let him pull her, at last, into the haven of his arms.

Counting out sovereigns for the Emersons, Jeremy Craddock realised that the payment was going to leave him uncomfortably shorts of funds, just when he looked like needing them most. The information they provided had better be good, he told himself, as he dressed quickly for his ten o'clock appointment. He had decided overnight that there was no chance of catching Frank Ware alone before he left for the office, and wild horses would not make him breakfast alone with Mrs Ware today. He would get himself a cup of coffee on his way to the Emersons' house, though it would probably be very nasty.

It was pouring with rain again, dripping through his umbrella, and he found himself envying the Portuguese peasants the curious straw thatches in which they braved the weather. The bag of sovereigns was heavy; his feet were wet; he found no café; he was in a very bad temper when he reached the Emersons' apartment, sharp at ten.

They were sitting comfortably over a breakfast of coffee and rolls and he saw with a mixture of irritation and pleasure that a cup had been laid for him.

‘You'll join us, Mr Craddock?' Rachel reached out for the coffee pot. Her pale hair was neatly braided round her head this morning and it made her look years older. With no sun outside, the little room was dark and gloomy, a million miles from the sea cave where she had enthralled him.

‘Thank you.' He put his bag of sovereigns down with a little click on the breakfast table, close to his hand.

‘Sugar? Milk? Pass Mr Craddock the rolls, my dear,' she turned a wife's glance on her husband. ‘I was sure you could not
face breakfast with your outraged hostess, Mr Craddock.' She smiled at him and he hated her. ‘We are to congratulate you, I believe. Quick work, Mr Craddock.'

Now he hated her entirely: ‘You know already?'

‘I imagine all Oporto knows by now. And that you are forbidden the house. Had you considered that you might find yourself left with the girl and not the fortune?'

‘If there is a fortune,' said Ralph Emerson.

‘That is not what I came to discuss.' Anger grated in Jeremy's voice. ‘You have some information for me, I trust.' It irked him to find himself hungrily eating her bread.

‘Indeed we have. And you, I am glad to see, have the needful for us. You won't believe how the duns come down when they hear you are booked to leave. It's a lady you need to investigate, Mr Craddock, Madame Feuillide, a dressmaker. She makes for your fiancée, I believe, as for everyone else of note here in Oporto. Never for me. I couldn't afford her prices. But of course being so expensive is what makes the ladies adore her. Clever of her, when you think she has been in French pay ever since she came here, almost twenty years ago. Oh, a clever lady, Madame Feuillide, with a spy in every household and an ear at every door. It is not just poverty that makes us wait upon ourselves, it's common sense. What the servants don't know, they can't report back. I have no doubt she is wondering this morning what use she should make of your surprise engagement.'

‘So she has been your paymaster?' He immensely disliked this harping on his engagement.

‘Not directly. We are not supposed to know about her, but I am no fool either, and it was not too difficult to follow the chain and find her at the end of it. She does not – I hope she does not – know that we know. If she does, all the more reason for our being on the next boat home. So –' reaching out for it, ‘we get our money, Mr Craddock?'

‘Not yet.' She had convinced him, but his hand closed over the bag of sovereigns just the same. ‘As I remember it, Mrs Emerson, you said that Oporto leaked like a sieve. The understanding was that you would tell me about all the leaks.'

‘A servant in every house. I told you. And us, of course. I don't wish to brag, Mr Craddock, but it is remarkable what I have been able to pick up from my patients. And my clever Ralph as he walked about the quays. Are you going to make a point of introducing your fiancée to Lord Wellington when he comes next week? I would, if I were you. He has an eye for the girls, they say. I'm really sad not to be able to stay and meet him.' She laughed, and he wondered how he could ever have thought her laugh delightful. ‘Don't look so anxious, Mr Craddock, there's no one to hear but us three. The secret of the “very important guest” is safe with us.' Once again she stretched out a hopeful hand for the gold.

But his was still firm on the bag. ‘I am absolutely certain that you meant more leaks than one,' he persisted. ‘I'm armed, by the way, don't think of violence.'

‘Violence is not our line,' she told him. ‘That's been our strength – and our weakness – all along. As to these “leaks” you are so insistent about, I suppose what I had in mind when I made that rash remark was Madame Feuillide's connection with the household across the valley from your new fiancée's house. Ask her about the Sanchez family, Mr Craddock. I had meant to look into it, but there's been no time, with all this endless packing and arguing about bills. And another thing, while you sit there looking so obstinate, dear Jeremy, be honest with yourself and admit that I have done you a great deal of good, though not perhaps just what you expected. But, of course, you never did suffer from the falling sickness, did you?'