The Flesh and the Devil (55 page)

         
‗Felipe, you must think! If Juana has gone there,
there is no getting her back! That damned Herreros woman is the cousin of the
Inquisitor-General himself, and no man dares even think ill of her, let alone
accuse her; she has only to snap her fingers to have you tortured to death if you
should cross her. An accusation of heresy is all it takes, and with your
background -‘

         
Tristán‘s eyes held his, the hand that had lifted to pry
the clutching fingers from his sleeve suddenly still. ‗Yes, Luis, with my
background?‘

         
The elder man licked his lips. ‗I did not mean–you
know I did not mean - ‘

         
‗You underestimate me, my friend. I have learned
better than any how to give the right answers to the Inquisition. My father‘s
honesty was as inflexible as his tongue, and that taught me the folly of too
much faith. That will not keep me back.‘

         
‗But Felipe, consider,‘ Luis persisted doggedly. ‗You
said that it would be dangerous if it became known that you were here with
Juana. If you try to take her out of that house against her will, half the
province will hear of it the same day. Your life will be worth nothing -‘

         
Tristán was turning back towards the door. ‗Do not
wait,‘ was all he said, but Elisabeta‘s urgent voice made him check.

         
―Felipe, how will you enter the Herreros house? You
know Dona Jerónima‘s ways; she will never admit unvouched-for people in case
they cannot pay her prices. She will never gone there, however you may
persuade.‘

         
‗If the worst comes to the worst I shall buy my way
in with the lady‘s other patrons.‘ Tristán tone was deceptively light, but
there was a cold blaze between his lashes. ‗There will be a throng of
such visitors when it is known that she has a new guest, will there not?‘

         
‗Felipe,
la viuda
grows older. It may be that
she seeks to entertain the little one as a guest only! It is six months and
more since the last girl left her house.‘

         
‗Then she will not care if I go to her house to visit
my wife.‘ Tristán put Luis out of his path as effortlessly as if he shifted a
rag doll, then glanced at Elisabeta. ‗Does she still live in the Plaza
Mayor?‘

         
‗Yes – but listen, Felipe, Luis is right. You cannot
take Juana back from her

         
– she never gives up anything until she has no further use
for it. Heaven knows how the child came to meet her, but if she has gone to her
willingly, you are well rid – Felipe! Wait!‘

         
The sunlight struck Tristán‘s hair into an aureole of flame
as he ducked swiftly under the lintel and out into the street. His booted heel
struck the door, and it slammed behind him with a crash that sounded along the
quiet street like a gunshot.

         
If Juana had not been numb with misery she might have
questioned Dona Jerónima de Herreros‘s pains and preparations on her behalf, for
she found herself treated more as a long-lost daughter than a
chance-encountered guest. Her hostess seemed determined to divert her mind from
her sorrows, no matter the cost to herself; a carriage was hired, gowns
ordered, and shoemakers, jewelers, haberdashers and hairdressers seemed to
throng the Casa de Herreros at all hours of the day and night. Extra servants
were hired in expectation of larger entertainments to come, and Juana‘s
startled protests were swept aside with a bland smile and the assertion that it
would be unkind of her to deny a lonely woman the pleasure of giving.

         
She seemed determined, however, to show Juana off. ‗For
a new face is such a marvel in this backwater, my dear, that your appearance
will be talked of for weeks! You mush allow me to spring this little surprise
on my friends, for none of them save Don Bautista Zorilla has any notion that I
have you here with me.‘

         
‗Señora, I cannot. I do not want to attract notice -‘

         
‗Why not? Are you afraid of that churl who abducted
you learning where you are? Even if he does, he will never get past my door.‘
There was a curious smile in Dona Jerónima‘s yellowish eyes. ‗You could
not be safer in that nunnery you talked of, I give you my word.‘

         
The words of denial dies on Juana‘s lips. She could not
argue further without giving reasons for her fear:
He killed a man for my
sake, and I am afraidto draw pursuit to him
had a wild, unreal sound. She
wondered what Dona Jerónima would say if she spoke the truth, and for an
instant she was tempted to blurt our everything, to ease herself of the
intolerable burden of secrecy. Her lips parted to speak, and then she caught
herself up. In a way, Dona Jerónima was right, she was safe; there was no one
to associate Juana de Arrelanos, who had been taken out of Andalusia by the
Duque de Vanlenzuela‘s servant, with the obscure Margarita Armmendariz here in
Villenos. It might excite more suspicion to oppose her hostess‘s plans than
simply to brave the proposed gatherings. Felipe Tristán would not be there, and
that was all that concerned her.

         
She wondered whether he would leave Spain without her now.
Her flight had set him free without any action of his own; most likely he had
experienced nothing but wry relief when he read her letter, and although she
had kept feverish watch over the Plaza Mayor in the three days since she came
here, she had seen no sign of any disturbance which might mean that he had
followed her.

         
She wondered listlessly whether this blinding, paralysing
grief would endure for the rest of her life. The days passed in a haze of
stupefaction; she responded to whatever was said to her with acquiescent
disinterest while a weight of unhappiness such as she had never known pressed
down on her. It was nothing like the frantic misery of her days in the
castillo; this was a helpless, all-pervading emotion that shrouded her vision
and turned the people around her to wraiths, that blurred her hearing so that
what they said to her had no meaning. She could feel the burden of it dragging
at her body as she moved, like the weight of a stone within her.

         
‗Turn, Margarita.‘ Dona Jerónima;s voice was
preoccupied, but the sound jolted her out of her daze. ‗Yes, that gown
will do very well, do you not think so?

         
Whoever chose those gloves for you had an excellent eye.‘

         
Juana‘s cheeks blanched. The gloves Tristán had given her
had been in the pocket of her skirt that day – she had carried them with her
secretly, since she took them from his saddlebag on the day they reached
Villenos – and she had had to recover them from Sanchia when the maid showed
signs of burning her discarded clothing in obedience to her mistress‘s airy
order. Dona Jerónima had examined the gloves, admired them, and now she had
ordered a gown to match for them for her guest to wear at the next night‘s
feast.

         
Sachia was holding them out to her, Juana saw, and she took
them automatically, smoothing them over her slender hands. They fitted her
perfectly, she noted without surprise. The heavy satin of gown precisely
matched the pearlcoloured leather, while the embroidery on the gauntlets, coral
and gold and silver, was echoed in the coral petticoat with its thin silver
stripes and the gold lacing on the stiffly-busked bodice.

         
‗Excellent! We must order roses that match the
petticoat, to set in your hair.‘ Dona Jerónima‘s eyes missed nothing. ‗It
will be very subtle – you look almost like a bride.‘

         
Juana caught her breath. ‗I am so such thing, señora,
nor like to be so now. Please -‘

         
―A tender spot? I beg pardon, then. But you will
forget these old sorrows quickly, I promise you, once you have met the gallants
of Villenos. They will leave you no time to remember! You will soon have better
things than sore memories to occupy your thoughts. So forget the past,
Margarita; it cannot touch you.‘

         
Dona Jerónima felt, not for the first time, a stab of
curiosity about the man who had reduced the girl to such a state as this. She
had looked distraught on that first day in San Pedro‘s glancing about her as
though she feared pursuit, but now there was a haunting terror in her long dark
eyes, and her full mouth had the vulnerable look of a sadness that the elder
woman did not understand. She had tried to draw her out about the man, probing
delicately with questions or little silences that asked to be filled, but
nothing had elicited any response. A servant who had lied; Dona Jerónima knew
no more of him now than she had learned at first. Of course, the girl‘s
feelings mattered not at all – she would bear her part in this game whether she
would or no – but all the same, it was perplexing.

         
―The fan, Sanchia. No, not that one – the gold one I
had from my late husband. Do you know how to use a fan – yes, I can see you do.
A very courtly accomplishment.‘

         
The dryness in her hostess‘s tone warned Juana. She had
taken the huge fan without thinking, snapping it open and spreading it against
her skirts with instinctive celerity, and it was only the surprised lift of
Dona Jerónima‘s thin brows that warned her of the incongruity of her gesture.
An unsophisticated girl from the stews of Villenos would not have had any
courtly
accomplishments
. Quickly she swept the fan upwards to hide her face,
pretending to be intent on the pattern of the lace, so heavy that it looked
like beaten gold.

         
‗I had – a friend once, who was to go to court. She
was taught all the right behaviours, and practiced them with me.‘ As she spoke,
Juana was remembering Tia Beatriz‘s painstaking coaching in case her brother‘s
daughters should ever aspire to go to Madrid. Poor Tia, she thought, thanks God
she would never know what had happened to her eldest and most obstinate niece!
Her well-meaning, irritating presence seemed now like a memory from another
world.

         
‗You are an apt pupil, evidently. Well, show me! Dona
Jerónima‘s voice grew slightly sharper. ‗Pretend that I am – say – His
Most Catholic Majesty King Felipe the Fourth. Go to the other end of the room,
turn, walk towards me for a dozen paces and then curtsy. I want to see how you
will do it.‘

         
Juana had turned away instinctively at the name but managed
to alter the movement into one of measured grace as she walked obediently down
the room. Dona Jerónima‘s chamber was the most magnificent room in the house,
scarcely smaller than the ballroom below, and it did not feel absurd to be
parading down it in imitation of the courtiers she had seen thronging the
Castillo with such rigid correctness. She had reached the long window
overlooking the Plaza Mayor and about to turn back again in a whisper of
pearl-coloured satin, when she froze.