Beauvallet (15 page)

Beauvallet owned to a Spanish friend, and said that this one had enjoyed the acquaintance of Don Manuel de Rada y Sylva. Had he the name aright?

‘Ah, the late Governor of Santiago!’ Don Juan said, and shook his head.

The golden pomander was held to the Chevalier's nose. Over it his eyes were watchful. ‘I had thought to present myself to him,’ Beauvallet said.

‘You have not heard, señor: Don Manuel is dead these three months. A strange tale!’

‘Dead!’ Beauvallet said. ‘How is that?’

‘The West Indian climate, señor. Treacherous! ah, but treacherous! But there was more to it: a tale to take one's breath away!’

‘But let me hear it, señor, of your kindness!’

The Southerner spread out his hands. ‘Have you in France heard of a certain English pirate? One named El Beauvallet?’

‘Assuredly!’ Sir Nicholas’ eyes danced. ‘Who has not heard of him? The Scourge of Spain I have heard him called. Am I right?’

‘Very right, señor. Alas! They say the man uses witchcraft.’ Don Juan crossed himself, and was swiftly imitated. Sir Nicholas’ black lashes hid the laughter in his downcast eyes. When he raised them again they were grave, if you could discount the merriness that must always lurk at the back of them. Don Juan, absorbed in his tale, did not notice it. ‘He sacked and sank the ship that bore Don Manuel home,
and – you will scarce credit it – took Don Manuel and his daughter aboard his own vessel.’

‘So!’ Beauvallet raised politely surprised eyebrows. ‘But where for?’

‘Who shall say, señor? A mad whim one would suppose, for one can hardly credit such a man with chivalrous intent. They say he is mad, who have had traffic with him. But he had the effrontery, señor, to put into a port of Spain, and there to set Don Manuel ashore!’

‘You astonish me, señor,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘I suppose he bore off the daughter to England, this famous freebooter?’

‘One might have expected it, but no. Dona Dominica took no hurt, though her father died soon after his landing. She is under the guardianship of her good aunt, Dona Beatrice de Carvalho.’

‘Thank you for that information,’ thought Sir Nicholas, and made a mental note of the name. Aloud he said: ‘But this is a wonder that you recount, señor! To escape unhurt from the clutches of so desperate a villain as this Beauvallet!’ His shoulders shook ever so slightly.

A gentleman standing close to them turned his head and looked keenly. He bowed to Don Juan, and again to the Chevalier. ‘Your pardon, señor, but you spoke a certain name. Has that freebooter been taken at last?’

Don Juan made the introduction, but it was Beauvallet who answered. ‘Nay, nay, señor! Surely he bears a charmed life? I have heard men say so.’

‘As to that, we shall see señor,’ said the newcomer. ‘You have set eyes on him, maybe?’

‘I have seen him, yes,’ Sir Nicholas answered. The long fingers that swung the pomander gently to and fro never quivered. ‘In Paris, where he sometimes visits.’

Don Juan displayed a lively curiosity. ‘Is it so indeed? And is he as mad as they say? They tell us, who have had dealings with him, that he is a man with black hair who laughs.’

White teeth gleamed for a moment. ‘Yes, he laughs, señor,’ said Sir Nicholas. A chuckle came, they little knew how audacious. ‘I dare swear if he stood in this room surrounded by his enemies at this moment, he would still laugh. It is a habit with him.’

‘One hardly credits it, señor,’ the stately gentleman replied. ‘There would very soon be an end to his laughter.’ He bowed slightly, and passed on.

Don Diaz came up at that moment, and laid his hand on Beauvallet's arm. ‘I have been searching for you, Chevalier. I would present you to a countryman of yours: your ambassador, M. de Lauvinière.’

Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Beauvallet betray how unwelcome this courtesy was to him. Danger crouched before him; he went smiling towards it: Beauvallet's way!

Don Diaz led him across the room, and spoke in a soft undertone. ‘It is judged best, señor, that no secret should be made of your visit to Madrid. M. de Lauvinière might then suspect. I need not warn you to be on your guard with him. There he stands, near the door.’

The Frenchman was a man with grey hair and a hook nose. His eyes were deep-set, and he looked piercingly. Upon Don Diaz's presentation of the Chevalier he bowed, and looked with a keenness that probed deep. ‘A cousin of the Duc de Guise?’ he said. ‘I do not think…’ He frowned a little, and his eyes never wavered from Beauvallet's face. ‘But I claim the very slightest acquaintance with the Guises.’

Therein lay a certain safeguard, thought Beauvallet. It was not to be expected that a member of the Court party would be on terms of friendship with the great Guise family.

‘I am a distant cousin of the Duc's, monsieur,’ said Sir Nicholas.

‘So?’ De Lauvinière looked still more searchingly. ‘Of what branch of the family, monsieur, if one may ask?’

It would not do to hesitate. ‘Of the junior branch, monsieur. The Duc is my cousin in the second degree.’

‘I have heard of you, monsieur,’ the ambassador said. ‘I had thought you were a younger man. Do you make a long stay in Madrid?’

‘Why no, monsieur, I believe not. I have a desire to visit Sevilla and Toledo.’

‘Ah yes, you should certainly journey south,’ nodded de Lauvinière.

A lady came up on the arm of her husband to claim his attention. Beauvallet drew back thankfully. Had he been vouchsafed a glimpse of a postscript added to de Lauvinière's letter home, and despatched upon the morrow, it might have shaken his nerve.

‘I should be glad,’
wrote his excellency,
‘if you would discover what age man is the Chevalier Claude de Guise, cousin to the present Duc. Let me have what news you can hear of him, in especial of what like he is, of what height, and of what lineaments. Your assured friend, Henri de Lauvinière.’

Ten

I
n bed next morning Sir Nicholas sipped a cup of chocolate and gave ear to his servant. Joshua had the news he wanted, and imparted it after his own fashion as e laid out his master's dress. A bottle of wine with the landlord of the Rising Sun had loosened a tongue that dealt much in gossip. Who so clever as Joshua Dimmock at finding out information? Let Sir Nicholas be at ease: the lady was found.

‘In the guardianship of her aunt. I know,’ Sir Nicholas said.

Joshua was put out. ‘Ay, so it is, and Don Manuel dead these three months. The lady inherits all – all!’

‘That does not concern us,’ said Beauvallet. ‘She cannot carry her lands to England.’

‘True, master, very true. But here is somewhat you may not have heard. Her espousals are talked of.’

Sir Nicholas yawned. ‘They will be more talked of yet,’ said he.

‘Master, the tale runs that she will wed her cousin, one Diego de Carvalho.’

‘So-so!’ said Beauvallet. ‘Early days to talk of betrothals yet. Cousin, eh? That means a dispensation, or I’m much at fault.’

‘You mistake me, sir: nothing is yet done. These are rumours.’ He laid a finger against his nose. ‘This gives to think, master. I learn that the Carvalhos are as poor as may be. Nothing to gape
at there, you say. True; there seem few enough nobles here with coins to rub together. Curious, curious! And yet so much pomp! We do not use that way in England. Under my breath I say it; have no fear of me. Perpend then, master. What if this aunt – her name is Beatrice, for your better information – hath made a little plot to possess herself of all this wealth?’

‘Very possible,’ nodded Sir Nicholas. ‘And a bribe to the Church to hasten the dispensation.’

‘Certain, I think, master. These priests! If what one hears be true!’

‘What do you learn of Don Diego?’ demanded Sir Nicholas.

‘Little to the point, sir. A creature of no weight, as it seems to me. These Spanish caballeros! Foh, match me a young English man, say I! Well, he is prodigal: all young men are so. It's to say nothing. He does what all spring-aids do in ruffling it about the town. For the rest I learn that he is accounted well-looking, rides comely, knows how to handle a bilbo, hath elegant accomplishments by the score. You nose out a fop. I do not gainsay it, for so it appears to me. He need not concern us.’

‘He might concern us very nearly,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘What else? Is the father of this fine sprig alive?’

‘Surely, master, but here again I would say, a creature of no account. As I read our host's talk – in his cups he waxes a thought garrulous. Strange sight in one so prim! – he lies beneath his good lady's thumb.’ He made a descriptive gesture. ‘So! By all I can understand that is a lady of odd manners, sir. You would say an original. We shall doubtless know more anon. They have estates somewhere to the north of Burgos, as I apprehend, but at this present, sir, they stay, all four, at their house in Madrid. This I have found, off the Plaza de Oriente. While you slept, master, I have been about the town a little. Some fine buildings, to be sure, and a quantity of Popish Churches – enough to turn a man's stomach. The house of the
Carvalho you may find easily. There is a wall grown with a vine at the back, and, as I judge, a garden upon the inner side.’ He rolled a knowing eye. ‘Thought I, we may find a use for that. Further, master, there is to be a ball given this day week at that house, in honour of our Diego's birthday. This is much talked of, for it seems these Spaniards do not give them often. All the world will be there.’

‘Then so must I,’ said Beauvallet, and sprang out of bed. ‘Now how to make the acquaintance of the Carvalhos?’

‘Walk on the Mentidero, master,’ Joshua advised. ‘It is still the haunt of your Court gallant, as I hear. You might compare it with Duke Humphrey's Walk at home – to its disadvantage, mark you!’

‘A happy thought,’ said Beauvallet, pulling on his netherstocks. ‘I might perchance come up with my friend of last night.’

The Mentidero was a raised walk along the wall of the Church of San Felipe el Real, which stood at the entrance to the Calle Mayor. Here came the wits of the day, and the courtiers, to exchange gossip, to talk the latest scandal, to exhibit a new fashion in cloaks, or a new way of tying a garter. Under it were a score of little booths, where one might buy such trifles as a pair of embroidered gloves for a lady, a loveknot, or an ouch of wrought silver. Across the Calle Mayor lay the Oñate Palace, with the rough sidewalk beneath where painters showed their pictures to attract the Court. The market lay in the centre of the Calle; there were water-carriers gathered there, and the scene was busy and noisy. Round about were shops, and here and there a coffee-house, where one might meet one's cronies.

The gentleman from Andalusia was found upon the Mentidero, and professed himself charmed to meet the Chevalier again. Sir Nicholas joined him in his strolling up and down, and came at length to his business with him. In default
of Don Manuel, whom he had hoped to meet, he would desire to present himself to Don Manuel's worthy brother-in-law. Yet he was uncertain how this project might be effected, since he could claim no acquaintance with the Carvalhos.

The matter was very easily arranged. Don Juan de Aranda would himself present the Chevalier any time he should choose. He might meet Don Diego de Carvalho this very morning, if he wished, since Don Diego was abroad, after his usual custom, upon the Mentidero. They had passed him a while back, talking to de Lara and young Vasquez.

They turned, therefore, and began to walk slowly back the way they had come.

‘I understand Don Diego to be a very proper caballero,’ Beauvallet remarked. ‘The only offspring, I believe?’

‘True, señor.’ Don Juan was a little reticent, and it struck Beauvallet that he had no great admiration for Don Diego. Presently he nodded, and spoke again. ‘There is Don Diego, señor: the smaller of the two.’

A slight young gentleman was lounging gracefully ahead of them, exchanging languid conversation with another, just as elegant. Don Diego was very dark, with black brows, almost meeting over the bridge of his nose, and full, curved lips. He wore a jewel in the lobe of his left ear, was very generously scented with musk, and twirled a rose between one very white finger and thumb. A flat velvet hat with a plume in it was set on his curled head at an angle; his ruff was large and edged with lace, and his short cloak was lined with carnation silk.

Sir Nicholas looked, and said afterwards that he had an instant itching in his toe. Be that as it may, he went forward very pleasantly, and upon Don Juan's introduction, made his best bow.

The bow was returned. As Don Diego straightened his back he found a pair of very bright blue eyes looking into his. The
two men seemed to measure each other; it is probable that each conceived an instant dislike for the other, but each hid the uncharitable emotion.

‘The Chevalier is travelling amongst us for his pleasure,’ said Don Juan. ‘We are all resolved to show him the true Spanish hospitality that he may carry a good tale of us home with him to Paris.’

Don Diego smiled politely. ‘I hope so, señor. But the Chevalier comes at a bad season; the amusements draw to a close, and we all think of the country, just so soon as the Court moves to Valladolid.’ He looked at Beauvallet. ‘A pity you did not come a month ago, señor. There was a bull-fight might have interested you: I believe you do not have them in France. And an
auto da fé
as well. There was a great press of people,’ he said pensively. ‘One turned faint at the heat and the smell of the common people.’