Black Sheep's Daughter (3 page)

"Miss Danville!"

"Oh dear, have I shocked you again?  Papa did warn me not to mention that word in company, but I thought that was just because the Spanish ladies like to pretend their husbands do not have
amantes
, which is quite untrue."  She sighed. "In general Papa does not like me to be mealy-mouthed, but I can see that I must watch my tongue when I am with you."  She cast him a sidelong glance and was pleased to see that he flushed.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said stiffly. "It is not my place to criticise your speech."

"Nor my behaviour."

"Nor your behaviour."

"Then let us cry friends and I shall tell you the rest of Papa's story. When the duke told him to leave the country, he rode off to Bristol, where he found a ship called the
Jenny Belle
, about to set sail for Jamaica. He decided that this was a good omen, as Jenny was the name of the high-flyer he had been keeping in London."

Sir Andrew bit his lip but held his tongue. Teresa decided to throw in one last provocation to see if she could shake his resolve.

"As the
Jenny Belle
sailed down the Bristol Channel, Papa made the acquaintance of a lightskirt who was travelling as maidservant attending a family on board."  She did not dare look at Sir Andrew's face lest she burst out laughing. "His enjoyment of her favours made the voyage pass rapidly, and not until they were a day or two out of Kingston did he begin to wonder what he should do when he arrived."

"Miss Danville, I do believe you are teasing me," said Sir Andrew in a long-suffering voice.

"It was irresistible," she confessed, with a gurgle of laughter. "But since you have guessed it, there is no point in continuing. I shall omit the rest of Papa's amatory adventures and just tell you how he came to Costa Rica. Look, we have reached the end of the coffee trees. There is not much in the way of a track from here, and the footing is uncertain. We must ride single file. Go carefully."

The native trees had been felled for a hundred feet beyond the edge of the plantation. Rotting stumps were overgrown with vines, ferns, and flowers in a dozen vivid shades of pink and red. Soon the trail was nothing more than a faintly marked  line where the plants grew less thickly. Teresa saw tiny three-toed footprints in a patch of mud and decided the track had probably been made by a herd of peccaries, not people, but she had no intention of turning back and admitting that the expedition was a mistake. After all, if they rode always upwards they must reach the summit sooner or later.

They went on, between scattered trees and thorn bushes, up and up, the slope growing ever steeper until they had to cut across it at an angle. The summit was invisible, hidden by a ridge. Soon areas of bare volcanic ash and lava showed through the scrubby grass. This close to its source, it had not yet weathered to the rich black soil to be found farther down the mountainside. The horses began to slip on the rough scree. Irazù had looked so close this morning!  The way was much longer than Teresa expected, but no sign of her misgiving was in her voice when she said that they must now dismount and go on on foot. Sir Andrew looked as if he would have liked to turn back but did not dare suggest anything so poor-spirited.

They ate some fruit from Teresa's saddlebag, and she fastened a pair of leather bottles of tamarindo water to her belt, beside the pistols, before they set out again.

At last, hot and sweating, they reached the top of the ridge. Irazù stood clear and rugged against the deep blue sky. Teresa told Sir Andrew that she was relieved to see that there were still no clouds gathered about it to spoil their view when they reached it. Nothing could have made her admit that she would have welcomed the excuse to abandon the climb. The summit was still so high above them, she wondered if perhaps Don Eduardo had taken more than one day to reach it.

Slipping and sliding down into a shallow ravine, they found a stream among the bushes at the bottom. They washed their faces in the cool water, then sat in the meagre shade of a yellow-flowered shrub and drank some sour, refreshing tamarindo.

Teresa stood up and stoppered the bottles as she eyed the rocky hillside ahead of them.

Sir Andrew groaned. "Miss Danville, have mercy!  You will think me a poor creature but remember that I am quite unused to exercise in such heat. Sit down, pray, and tell me the rest of your father's story before we go on."

She squinted up at the sun, which was almost overhead. "It is past midday," she said doubtfully, "and there is still some way to go."

"It is bound to be quicker going back, downhill all the way."

"I suppose so."  She sat down with mingled reluctance and relief. "I told you Papa had nearly reached Jamaica?  Well, the
Jenny Belle
was taken by a Spanish  privateer. He and his men plundered the ship, then let her continue to port unharmed. However, Papa decided to throw in his lot with the privateer."

"Lord Edward sailed with a Spanish privateer?  You are gammoning me!"

"Indeed I am not. When Papa was a boy he always wished he could be a pirate sailing the Spanish Main, so when the opportunity came he took it. He said it was mostly prodigious dull and uncomfortable and unprofitable, not at all as he had imagined. And then the ship was wrecked in a hurricane, and all hands were lost, save Papa. He was washed ashore on the coast of Costa Rica and fell ill with jungle fever. Mama's family took him in, and Mama nursed him back to health, then he married her. It is the most romantic story in the world, is it not?"

"Undoubtedly, though I am sure that what came next was a great deal of very hard work. Lord Edward told me that he has never contacted his family in England since he left. He did not even know that his father was dead and his brother succeeded to the dukedom."

"My uncle Gerald was the only one in the family he regretted leaving. Do you know him?"

"Only by sight and by reputation. I have heard him described as an affable gentleman, never too high in the instep."

"High in the instep?"

Sir Andrew laughed. "An odd phrase, now I come to think on it. It means he does not stand upon the dignity of his rank. You speak English so well that I had forgot you can know only what you have heard from Lord Edward."

"I have read a great many English books," said Teresa, offended. Then her irrepressible sense of humour broke through, "And besides, Don Eduardo talks a great deal!  Are you rested? Shall we go on?"

At that moment a gust of wind shook the bush under which they sat, showering them with yellow petals. Teresa jumped to her feet.

"For a moment, I thought that was rain," said Sir Andrew, stretching lazily.

"No, but it soon will be. Look at the clouds!  I cannot see the top of Irazù at all. How could they have blown in so fast?"

"Perhaps the summit is in the clear above them. Do you want to continue?"

"No, that would be foolish beyond permission. I should have known better than to come up here in the rainy season; indeed it is rarely clear even in the dry season. We shall have to go down."

Teresa's voice was full of disappointment. Andrew put his arm about her shoulders and gave her a sympathetic squeeze.

They scrambled back up the ridge and started down the other side.

Suddenly, silently, the clouds enveloped them in grey dampness. The loose ash beneath their feet was more slippery than ever and they clung to each other laughing as they slithered and slid down the mountainside. A light rain began to fall.

Soon they reached a gentler slope, but now the mist grew thicker, swirling about them and hiding all but the nearest trees. There was no sign of a path, no sign of the horses. Peering about, trying to guess their way, Teresa fell over a tangle of vines and twisted her ankle.

Andrew helped her up. She hobbled on grimly, biting her lip with the pain, but he soon guessed she had hurt herself.

Without a by-your-leave, he picked her up and carried her to the shelter of a small tree, where fallen leaves made a soft and reasonably dry carpet.

Here he set her down and lowered himself beside her, both of them self-conscious and somewhat breathless.

"No point in soldiering on," he said gently, "when we don't even know where we are going."

"It is all my fault."  She was fighting tears. "Papa will say I am a feather-brained widgeon to have brought you up here, and the worst of it is, he will be right."

"Not at all. You may be a muttonheaded wantwit, but I should never describe you as a feather-brained widgeon."

This sally brought a reluctant smile to her lips. "And you must be touched in the upper works to have come with me," she riposted.

"I see your grasp of colloquial English is greater than I had supposed. Lord Edward must have frequent occasion to complain of his children's folly, to have taught you so many alternatives."

"Mooncalf," said Teresa, "nodcock, rattlepate, shatterbrain, knock in the cradle. He does have eleven children, remember."

Sir Andrew laughed. Teresa thought how different, how much younger, he looked when he was amused. When he was not being disapproving, he could be kind and even charming. She found him much more interesting than the local youths who swarmed admiringly about her at fiestas, though she had to admit that her interest was piqued by his disapproval. Ah well, in a few days  he would be on his way back to England, and she would never see him again. A drip from the leaf canopy above splashed on her hand, then another. Sitting still, they heard the patter of raindrops falling, then a rustle, then a roar. Beneath the tropical deluge, the tree was no  protection. They huddled together in  misery, shivering now since they were still high on the mountain and the dank air was chill on their wet skin. A rivulet washed by their feet.

"I never thought to feel cold this close to the Equator," murmured Sir Andrew. He put his arm about Teresa's shoulders and pulled her close against him. A comforting warmth arose where their bodies touched, and with the warmth a peculiar sensation that made her breathe faster.

The storm seemed to go on for ever. When at last it stopped raining, the mist had cleared but heavy grey clouds still lowered overhead, and Teresa was afraid it was growing dark.

"My ankle feels much better now," she said, pulling away from him with considerable reluctance. "Shall we go?"

"Do you not think your family will come searching for us soon?  I believe we shall do better to stay here and wait, rather than wandering farther in what might be the wrong direction."

"Yes, I daresay you are right. Perhaps we should call for help, so that they can find us?"

They took it in turns to shout, feeling more and more foolish when there was no reply. At last they fell silent. It was definitely growing darker. A family of peccaries wandered past, rooting in the undergrowth with their pig-like snouts, and then an armadillo trotted up the hill. Both were nocturnal creatures.

Teresa tried not to think about the jaguars and pumas that might be out hunting soon.

She remembered that she had brought her ocarina, in case she met a snake to charm. Music might keep the animals at bay, or at least keep up their spirits. She drew it from inside her shirt, where it dangled on a leather thong.

"What is that?" asked Sir Andrew.

"My ocarina. It is a native instrument." She passed him the small clay object, fashioned into the shape of a toucan, with several small holes bored in it.

"You can make music with that?"  He was sceptical.

She put it to her mouth and played a minor scale, then a  mournful, piping tune.

As if in answer, an owl hooted close by and they both jumped.

Teresa wondered whether the ocarina might attract wildlife rather than repelling it. In any case its sound was too melancholy for their present situation. She put it away.

"Do you not think we should go?" she asked. "If we go downhill..."

"We are more likely to break our necks than to find your home, I fear."

She nodded. The owl hooted again
...
no, it was a human voice!

They stood up and shouted till they were hoarse. In a few minutes they saw a speck of lantern light, bright in the gathering gloom. They started down towards it and in no time Teresa was stumbling into her father's arms.

"Little featherhead," he said, hugging her close.

She winked over her shoulder at Sir Andrew, who grinned and shook his head.

"Peagoose," he murmured.

Lord Edward released his errant daughter, waved his lantern and shouted, "
Están aquí, les he encontrado! 
I've found them!"

Answering shouts came from both sides, and they saw lights moving in the distance. They started downhill, walking with care, and gradually the lights converged until they were joined by several brothers, two or three peons, and Sir Andrew's servant, Rowson.

"Thought I'd lost you for good and all, sir," said the latter cheerfully. "Can't say as I'd like to get lost in this here  jungle, with the wild beasts wandering about, all ready to eat you."

"I was never in the least danger," responded Sir Andrew. "Miss Danville has her pistols, and I know her to be a crack-shot."

"Yes, bacon-brained but a crack-shot," agreed Oscar.

Teresa was too pleased by Sir Andrew's praise to rise to this bait. Instead she said, "That is one I forgot."

Sir Andrew laughed, but they refused to explain the joke.

Tired as she was, Teresa had a bounce in her step as they went on down the mountain. There was something pleasingly intimate about a shared private joke.

In the morning, as Teresa had expected, she was called to see her father in his study. Don Eduardo was a lenient parent but,  in spite of Sir Andrew's expressed faith in her, she had put them both in danger.

To her relief, Don Eduardo was not seated behind his desk, as he would have been in case of a major crime. He patted the sofa seat beside him.

She ran forward and flung herself into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Papa," she cried. "I did not mean to cause so much trouble."

"I know, my darling," he soothed her. "You just wanted to impress our guest."