The Lion Triumphant (31 page)

The wedding was celebrated at the Hacienda and there was feasting and the people of the surrounding villages were invited to come and dance which they did in the gardens. It was a wonderful sight with the girls and young men in the traditional costumes dancing the Andalusian dances which had been brought from the mainland. They danced and sang to the tunes played on the timple and I heard for the first time the
Isa
and the
Folias.

Songs were sung praising the newly married couple and marriage in general, and afterward the bride and groom returned to the bedchamber and there was none of that ribaldry which would have accompanied such a ceremony at home.

That night I lay sleepless for a long time and I thought: We are farther from home than ever. Honey has accepted her fate and if we could go home now she would not leave her husband. Honey has become one of them. And how could I go and leave Honey here?

I thought: If my mother knew where I was; if I might see her now and then, I could do worse than marry Felipe. He would be a good and devoted husband; Roberto loved his father—how could I separate them?

I was becoming more and more convinced that my life lay here.

In my dreams I took Don Felipe’s hand and I was to be married in the Cathedral, for I would adopt his faith; and then I heard the childish tinkling laughter of Isabella.

And I awoke with the words “Not while Isabella lives” ringing in my ears.

Felipe wished us to take a trip inland …

It would be good for the children, he said. I had only seen the great mountain Pico de Teide from the sea. I should see how truly magnificent it was. He himself had to go to another part of the island, and while he was away our nursery should be transported to a house in the valley which he used sometimes. His servants would look after us. We would come back refreshed after our little holiday.

I knew that there was some motive behind this suggestion. Don Felipe was a man of mysteries. One would often wonder how much his inner feelings belied those which he expressed, but this, in a manner, was a source of fascination to me.

When I learned that there was to be an
auto-da-fé
in La Laguna I thought I understood. Members of his household would be expected to attend and I was known to be an important member of that household—the Governor’s mistress. If I were absent, this would be noted. He did not wish to expose me to that which he knew was abhorrent to me; moreover, he would doubtless fear that I might betray my repulsion. Hence our trip into the mountains.

I was touched by his concern for me. I was beginning more and more to enjoy basking in his care for me.

We set out on mules with packhorses to carry all that we wished to take with us. We had a litter in which the children traveled and Honey. Jennet, Manuela and I took it in turns to ride with them. Sometimes we would carry one before us on our mule. It was a great game to them.

Carlos, with Jacko in his wake, was adventurous. What one would expect, I thought, of Jake Pennlyon’s sons. I believe he had completely put behind him those nightmare days in the shack behind the Casa Azul. He was a child who would come through life unscathed, like his father. There was nothing of poor Isabella in him; he was all Jake Pennlyon. Jacko would be the same, for he followed Carlos in all things.

It was not a long journey, some thirty miles in all, and I was struck by the exotic beauty of the land. We passed a magnificent old dragon tree which was said to be over two thousand years old. I remembered that it was from the resin of this tree that the native Guanches stained their skins when they went in to do battle with their Spanish conquerors. John Gregory—with whom I had formed a kind of understanding—told me of this. Richard Rackell also accompanied us and we took about six servants and a party of half a dozen strong men in case we should need protection.

I was amused by the amount of trouble Don Felipe had taken to get us away from La Laguna.

We arrived in due course at the house in the mountains where we were to stay. We were treated with great respect since we had come from the Governor’s Hacienda. And there in the shadow of the white-topped Pico de Teide we spent some pleasant days.

We rode out into the mountains; we gathered golden oranges; we played games with the children. It was a happy time. Honey missed Don Luis, who had remained behind to take charge in Felipe’s absence. As for myself I was content to be there in those impressive surroundings dominated by the great conical mountain. Felipe had given me books in Spanish so that I might learn something of Spain and improve my knowledge of the language. In these I had read of the Canaries too and of Tenerife in particular, which had been given the name of the Garden of Atlas in which golden apples grew. These were the oranges and the dragon trees were set there to guard this delightful spot.

It was with some regret that I turned my mule homeward toward La Laguna.

There a shock awaited us.

Isabella was dead.

A terrible fear came to me and hung over me like a dark shadow, for Isabella had fallen from the top of the staircase on the Casa Azul and broken her neck. It had happened five days after we had left—on the day of the
auto-da-fé.

I was aghast. It had happened so neatly. I was away; Don Felipe was away. How many times had he said: “If it were not for Isabella”?

I wished that he had never mentioned marriage to me. I wished that Isabella was still in the patio at the Casa Azul playing with her dolls.

Don Felipe had come home. He greeted me courteously but coolly; but I was aware of the intensity of the passion which he suppressed.

Jennet was agog with excitement. It was she who told us how it had happened. She had had a detailed account from her lover in the stables.

I made her tell me all she knew.

“’Twere like this, Mistress,” she said, “’twere the day of the
auto
and the whole household had gone into Laguna.”

“Pilar would not leave her.”

“She did. She did this once. You see it was the day of the
auto …
a sacred duty to go.”

I closed my eyes. Oh, God, I thought. Everyone was sent away … because it was the day of the
auto-da-fé.
It was a sacred duty to attend. Everyone was afraid of not attending … and even Pilar went. Had he planned it just so?

“And what of her … the poor young creature?”

“Well, she didn’t go, Mistress. None ’ud expect her to. She was to stay behind with her dolls.”

“Someone was with her?”

“Edmundo, the big man…” Jennet could not help the lilt in her voice, even when recounting such an event as this, at the mention of Edmundo, the big man. “He were there. Working in the garden. He could see to her if she was took bad. They say he could lift her when she was kicking and screaming as easy as though she were a rag doll.”

“Someone else was in the house, surely?”

“Two of the maids … silly little things.”

“Where were they?”

“They said they’d left her sleeping. It was hot … and she was taking her siesta. The next thing she was found at the bottom of the staircase.”

“Who found her?”

“The two maids. They went to her room and she weren’t there. Then they came down the stairs and there she was lying there. They said there was something strange about the way she lay there. And then they went and looked and they ran screaming to Edmundo. He saw what was wrong and left her just as she’d fallen. ‘She’s gone,’ he said. ‘Poor mad soul. She’s gone.’”

I had closed the shutters and was lying on my bed. I wanted to lie in the darkness, but even so that brilliant sun penetrated between the shutters and there was some light in the room.

The door opened slowly and Felipe was standing by the bed, looking down at me.

I said: “You should not be here.”

“I had to see you.”

“There are other places.”

“To see you alone,” he said. “Now she is dead…”

“So recently dead, so strangely dead,” I interrupted.

“She fell and killed herself. It is a wonder she did not fall before.”

“She fell when she was more or less alone in the house. Everyone but the two maids and Edmundo had gone to the
auto-da-fé.
Pilar had gone.”

“It was their duty to go. It was rarely that she was left almost alone in the house.”

“It needed only once.”

“She is dead. You know what that means. I am free.”

“It is not wise to say such things. The servants listen.”

He smiled faintly. “Once I so cautioned you.”

“It is of more importance now than then.”

“You are right. We will wait, but the waiting will be easy because in the end I shall have my heart’s desire.”

“You remember my Queen and her lover. He had a wife, Amy Robsart. She died. She fell down a staircase. Why, how like this! It could almost seem that one who had been impressed by that incident had decided to repeat it.”

“Lord Robert Dudley murdered his wife with your Queen’s connivance.”

“Did he? I think you are right. Some say it was suicide. Some an accident.”

“But many knew the truth.”

“The Queen dared not marry him.”

“It was because she would not stomach a rival on the throne.”

“That … and because to have married him would have been to connive at murder … and maybe run the risk of being suspect.”

“That may be.”

“Don Felipe,” I said, “you are in like case. Amy Robsart’s servants went to a Fair; yours went to an
auto-da-fé.
Then when the house is almost empty your wife dies.”

“Many times she has been saved from inflicting harm on herself.”

“And this time there was no one to save her. There will be people to talk. If you married now, Don Felipe, there might be some to say you had rid yourself of a wife to do so.”

“I am the master here … Governor of these islands.”

“My Queen was the mistress of England. She was wise.”

He looked momentarily forlorn; then he lifted his head and I saw the stern pride of him, the determination to succeed. It was this which had made him undertake the intricate operation of bringing me to Tenerife. He was now equally determined to marry me, to proclaim Roberto his legitimate heir. He would stop at nothing.

And I asked myself: Felipe, what part did you play in this? You were not here when Isabella died. But you did not come to England to bring me here. You are a man who sets himself a goal and employs others to carry it out. Have a care, Don Felipe.

He held out a hand to me, but I did not take it.

“Go now,” I said. “Take care. Let no one see in what direction your ambitions lie.”

He left me then and I lay on in my darkened room.

Isabella was buried with accompanying pomp.

It was said that she had been possessed by devils as she had attempted to descend the stairs and as she had been seen to do so many times fell and so met her death.

Death set a shadow over the household. Only in the nursery did it fail to penetrate and Honey and I spent a great deal of our time there. The weeks began to pass; we fell back into our routine.

Often I would think about Isabella and wonder what had really happened. Had she suddenly missed Pilar? Had she gone to look for her? I thought of her often, standing at the top of that staircase and then suddenly falling to the bottom. I pictured her lying there. Poor little Isabella.

How often had he said: “If it were not for Isabella”? But he had been away.

Lord Robert Dudley had been away from Cumnor Place at the time of his wife’s death; but that did not exonerate him from murder.

Men such as Sir Robert and Don Felipe did not do evil deeds themselves. They employed others to do them for them.

Edmundo was at the Casa Azul; he was the strong man; he had picked up Isabella and carried her as though she were a rag doll. He was Felipe’s servant. Would he do anything his master asked … anything?

So ran my tormented thoughts.

Six months had passed and Felipe said to me: “It is time we married.”

“It is too soon,” I said.

“I cannot wait forever.”

“Six months ago you had a wife.”

“I have no wife now … nor did I ever have a wife.”

“I know it to be unwise.”

“I will protect you. Shortly we shall go to Spain. I must take you with me.”

“We should wait awhile.”

“I will wait no longer.”

“I am undecided. I think often of my home. My mother will never forget me. She mourns me now.”

“Tell me you will marry me and I will have a message sent to your mother. It is folly. It is dangerous. But this I will do to show you how much I care for you.”

I looked at him and I felt a great tenderness surge over me. He held out his arms and I went toward him. I was held firmly against him. I could no longer resist love such as he was offering.

Had I not learned most bitterly that one does not hold out for the perfection of one’s dreams? Honey knew it. She had taken Edward and enjoyed some happiness and now with Luis. And this man had proved to me that he regarded me with a tender devotion which amazed even himself. I could not reject that.

He said: “My love, you shall write a letter to your mother. You will tell her that you are well and happy. John Gregory shall take it. We will arrange it. The next ship that leaves shall carry him. There is one stipulation: You must mention no names; you must not mention where you are. I must run no risks. But, my Catalina, this shall be done. You will see how I love you!”

And so I promised to marry Don Felipe.

We were married quietly in the little private chapel of the Hacienda. I was not unhappy; sometimes I laughed within myself, for I could not help remembering the occasion of my humiliation when I had no alternative but to submit to him; I remembered how he had ordered that I should wear gowns made for Isabella, use scent which was hers, so that as he lay with me he should imagine I was the beautiful girl bride. There was no one but myself he wished to think of now. But Isabella was a shadow between us. More so for him than for me.

How changed everything was. How he loved me, this strange quiet man! How strange that he, whose emotions were so rarely aroused, should feel this searing passion for one of an enemy race, a race he despised as barbarians; and here was one who was typical of that race—and yet he loved her.