The Jade Dragon (2 page)

“Oh no.”

How bitterly ironic! Having believed until today that I had no blood relation in the world, I now discovered that I had a grandmother living, only to learn in the next instant that I was to lose her very soon. Almost before the idea had taken shape in my mind, I found myself announcing, “I
shall go to Portugal to meet my grandmother. I shall go at once.”

Stafford Darville stared at me incredulously. “Clearly, you do not understand the position, Miss Rosslyn. Your grandmother will have no wish to meet you. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“But I want to meet her. I want to make her understand before she dies that she was wrong in opposing my mother’s marriage—that it was not an unsuitable one, but a very happy one.”

“I’m afraid there is no hope of that,” he said coldly. “But I can see only too well what you really have in mind. Like your grandmother, you refuse to believe that the Milaveira coffers are almost empty. I tell you once more that your grandfather was in debt when he died—severely in debt. Please accept the fact that there is no wealth for you to inherit, no future of luxury awaiting you in Portugal.”

“You are insulting, Mr. Darville. I had no such thought in my mind. You have no right to judge me by your own base standards.”

His face tightened, but he controlled his anger. “Please be sensible, Miss Rosslyn. What possible motive could I have for misleading you?”

“That is the very question I am asking myself,” I returned. “It is evident that you are trying to prevent me from meeting my grandmother. I’d like to know why.”

His dark eyes glinted, and I heard his swift intake of breath. For an age, it seemed, we stood looking at each other defiantly. When at last he spoke again, his voice was distant and chilling.

“Naturally, you must do as you please. I can’t prevent you if you wish to go rushing off to Portugal, but I warn you that if you go, you must be prepared for rejection and bitter disappointment.”

I wished I could feel a flush of victory, but he seemed to have conceded nothing. Forcing a note of firmness and confidence into my voice, I told him, “I shall most certainly go to Portugal, Mr. Darville. I shall arrange a passage at the earliest possible date.”

* * * *

“This is utter madness, Elinor. You must not think of traveling to Portugal. At any rate, not until you have heard from the lawyer in Lisbon that your presence there is required.”

I had, of course, informed Dr. and Mrs. Carlisle of Stafford Darville’s visit immediately upon their return from the medical society luncheon they had been attending. I found, though, that it was one thing to fling my impetuous decision at the disagreeable Mr. Darville and quite another to explain it to my benefactors.

“But if I don’t go now,” I argued, “it might be too late. Mr. Darville was insistent that my grandmother hasn’t long to live. As for the cost of the journey, I thought I could use some of the money my father left in trust for me.”

Dr. Carlisle frowned his deep displeasure. “My dear Elinor, you should know that the question of money is my least concern. But I ask you to reflect a moment. What kind of person is this grandmother you are so anxious to meet? A woman who heartlessly rejected her own daughter. It caused your dear mama lasting sorrow, I know that for a fact.”

“If you knew so much,” I said, unable to keep reproach from my voice, “why did you never tell me that I had relatives living? Why did you allow me to believe that I was completely alone in the world?”

“But dearest girl,” protested Mildred Carlisle, clasping her hands to her tight-corsetted bosom, “you were
not
alone in the world. The doctor and I have always felt the deepest and closest affection for you.”

“As I have felt for you, Aunt Mildred,” I said with warm sincerity. “Forgive me if I sound ungrateful. You have been kindness itself to me, and I truly appreciate all you have done.”

“It is nothing, Elinor,” said the doctor gruffly. “When your father met his untimely death, it was the least I could do to offer his daughter a home. As you know, Charles Rosslyn saved my life when we were medical students together, rescuing me from a narrow ledge after a mountaineering accident, and that is a debt no man can adequately repay. But in these past six years we have loved you for your own sake, my dear child. And lately—lately it has been our fondest hope that you will never leave our family circle.”

These last words, meant with such genuine affection, bore down upon me like a heavy weight. A suspicion flitted through my mind that my determination to go to Portugal might stem partly from a need to escape the future the Carlisles were planning for me. I shied away in panic from the prospect of marriage to Oliver. It was a life I could never accept. But to tell his parents this would be to cause them immeasurable distress.

I could only fall back upon a reiteration of what I had already said—that I longed to meet my grandmother now that I knew of her existence, that I wanted to try and persuade her to forget the bitterness of the past, that I somehow felt it was vitally important to do this.

Dr. Carlisle sighed deeply. “There is something more I should tell you, my dear—something your father told me in confidence, as between close friends.” He was standing with his back to the fireplace in a characteristic pose, smoothing
his gray sidewhiskers. “It was a great sadness to your mother that she was forced to make a choice between her filial duty and the man she loved, and she always longed for a reconciliation with her parents. When you were born, Elinor, she believed that the moment had come to try and move their
hearts. She wrote to them at some length, certain they would share her happiness at the news that they now had a granddaughter. She pleaded for their understanding and forgiveness, begged for their blessing upon her marriage, and asked that she might take you to see them. However…”

“You mean, her letter was ignored?”

He shook his head. “Worse than that, Elinor. Two weeks passed, and a letter arrived from Portugal. Your mama opened it joyfully, but inside she found only her own letter. It had been read; the envelope was slit open. But there was no other enclosure, no word of love or affection—nothing. It almost broke your dear mother’s heart.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” I exclaimed. “Poor Mama.”

Dr. Carlisle’s pale gray eyes regarded me with compassion. “So you understand, Elinor, why it is impossible for you to think of going to Portugal. It is quite out of the question.”

“No, it is more important than ever now,” I insisted. “Don’t you see, I must try to put things right, to wipe out the bitterness. I must somehow make my grandmother understand that her daughter was not a wicked, unfeeling young woman, that she only disobeyed her parents because of the supreme love she felt for my father—love that could not be denied. My grandmother must accept this for her own sake as much as anything. Before she dies, she must find it in her to forgive her daughter.”

I was speaking with great passion, justifying my decision. Yet even as the words left my lips I wondered to what extent they represented the truth. This old lady who was my grandmother made only a hazy picture in my imagination, whereas before me, as clearly and distinctly as if he were still standing in the room, was the tall, overbearing figure of Stafford Darville. How much of the stubborn determination that filled me now, I asked myself uneasily, was a refusal to heed his unwanted advice—a need to demonstrate that I cared not one jot for his opinion?

Whatever the reason, nothing — no one was going to make me change my mind.

The persistent thumping of the engines had kept me awake for most of the night. Or perhaps it was my thoughts that held sleep at bay. These past few days, preparing for my journey, I had been swept along on a high tide of excitement. But now that I was actually en route for Portugal, I had time to pause and consider whether I had acted too impetuously. Had I been altogether wise, I wondered now, in insisting on catching the first mailboat sailing to Lisbon from the London docks?

I glanced across to the other berth, where my traveling companion seemed to have slept the night through undisturbed. Mrs. Forrester had been selected by Dr. Carlisle from the steamship company’s passenger list and had readily agreed to be my chaperone during the voyage. She was in her early fifties, I judged—a rather dumpy person with a mass of unruly gray hair that was constantly escaping from its pins. But though her appearance did not flatter her, Beatrice Forrester had a cheerful, friendly disposition. Last evening, while we unpacked and settled into our cabin, she explained to me that she had been visiting England for the birth of her first grandchild. She was now returning to Lisbon to rejoin her husband, who was on the minister’s staff at the British Legation.

Typically, the Carlisles had been kindness itself when they realized that I could not be dissuaded from going to Portugal. All the necessary arrangements had been smoothly made, and Aunt Mildred had taken me on a shopping expedition to Harrods in Knightsbridge to fit me out for the trip.

On the evening before my departure Oliver had come from his hospital to dine at Harley Street. Afterward, none too subtly, he and I were left alone together in the drawing room. Oliver had unfortunately been swayed by his parents’ wishes, and imagined himself to be in love with me. Now, to my dismay, I realized that he was about to make a proposal of marriage—or at least attempt to reach an “understanding” with me. By chattering animatedly about this and that I managed to deflect him and defeat his purpose. I suppose it was cowardly of me, but I felt that it would have been too cruel to quench the Carlisles’ hopes just as I was going away. With any luck, I thought, Oliver’s feelings would change by the time I returned.

My companion roused when the steward knocked with our early-morning tea, and we both got up and started to dress. Half an hour later we were having breakfast in the saloon. While I did my best with the poached finnan haddie Mrs. Forrester insisted on ordering for me, she inquired, “Do I gather, Elinor, that this will be the first time you have met your Portuguese grandmother? I am sure you must be looking forward to it eagerly.”

“Yes indeed. Though I have to admit that I’m a little apprehensive. Do you happen to know the Milaveira family at all, Mrs. Forrester?”

“Only by hearsay. I knew, of course, that the old
conde
had died rather unexpectedly—that was just before I left Lisbon to visit my daughter. By all accounts, the Milaveiras have had more than their share of trouble recently.”

I looked up at her. “In what way do you mean?”

I sensed her sudden evasiveness and wondered if this could be because she knew the story of my mother. More likely, I thought, she had heard rumors about the heavy burden of debt of which Stafford Darville had told me. Shrugging my question aside, she asked, “Can you speak Portuguese, Elinor?”

“Not really. My mother used to talk to me in Portuguese sometimes when I was a small girl, but it’s years since I heard it spoken. I’ve brought a dictionary and phrase book with me, and I intend to study them during the voyage. Perhaps you will be kind enough to give me some conversational practice, Mrs. Forrester?”

“Of course I will, my dear. But it’s only fair to warn you that my accent is quite atrocious. Many English people find it a difficult language to speak. There are so many subtleties in the vowel sounds, and the rhythm is a little strange to our ears.”

“Oh dear, I hope I shan’t have too much difficulty picking it up.”

“I shouldn’t worry if I were you. Most educated Portuguese are fluent in English or French—often both. I’m sure you’ll get along very well.”

I found myself glancing up instinctively every time anyone entered the saloon, and eventually Mrs. Forrester asked if there was anything wrong. “You seem to be on the lookout for someone, Elinor.”

I felt the color rising to my cheeks. “It’s just that Dr. Carlisle noticed Mr. Stafford Darville’s name on the passenger list, but so far I’ve seen no sign of him aboard.”

“You are acquainted with Mr. Darville, then?” She sounded a
little surprised.

I nodded. “It was he who came to tell me of my grandfather’s death. I have only met him on that one occasion.”

Mrs. Forrester broke off a corner of toast and buttered it slowly while choosing her words. “No doubt Mr. Darville will be joining the ship at Dartmouth, to shorten his time at sea. He will have traveled down from London by train and spent the night in a comfortable bed at the King’s Arms Hotel—very nice too, for those who can afford the luxury.” She paused, then added, “Whether or not you see him on board, though, you are sure to see all you want of that gentleman when you reach your grandmother’s home at Cintra.”

It was evident that Mrs. Forrester did not approve of Stafford Darville, but I could not find the courage to inquire the reason directly. Instead, I said, “I didn’t realize that I should be likely to meet Mr. Darville at the Quinta dos Castanheiros. I suppose he has to go there in connection with his wine business.”

She looked at me strangely. “Surely you know that he is connected with the Milaveira family by marriage?”

“Oh.”

It was odd that I’d not imagined Stafford Darville as a married man. Yet a moment’s reflection told me it was only to be expected—a man of his age and position in the world, whom, undoubtedly, many women would find attractive. He could scarcely have avoided finding a wife.

“To whom is he married, Mrs. Forrester?” I asked.

“He
was
married, my dear—he is now a widower. Goodness gracious, though, I imagined you would know all about that. His wife, let me see now .... she would have been a cousin of your mother’s, I think. Yes, that’s right. She was the daughter of your grandfather’s younger brother. Luzia Darville died a few months ago in the most tragic circumstances. It was not long after the death of their infant son.”

“Oh, how terrible for him!” I exclaimed. “I had no idea. What happened, Mrs. Forrester?”

She made an elaborate business of pouring another cup of tea. “I think it better that you should hear the details from your own family, Elinor. I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”