When the Heavens Fall (26 page)

“Is he staying with you, sir?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then that will be extra, I'm afraid.”

“That is fine. Put it on my bill. And please hurry with the food. Come along, Philemon.”

He led the way upstairs. When they got to his room, he looked the man over. Philemon Smith was a slight man of medium height with sandy hair and light-blue eyes. His cheeks were gaunt, probably from hunger, and his cheek and his eye were swelling from Brandon's punches

“Sit over here.”

Philemon obediently did as he was bid. Brandon dipped a cloth into a bowl of water and said, “Put that on your eye to stop it from swelling.” He sat down and questioned Philemon carefully. As far as he could determine, the man was telling the truth. His speech was better than that of most servants

Finally the meal came

“Are you hungry?”

“I haven't eaten in nearly three days, sir.”

“Well, don't gobble too much.”

For a time he watched as Philemon ate. Then he said, “Smith, I want you to serve me.”

Smith looked up and blinked with surprise. “How can I do that, sir?”

“My name is Brandon Winslow. I'll be in Spain for some time, and I'll need somebody to take care of my clothes and do the things that you probably did for Sir Watson.”

“Oh, indeed, sir, I can do that!”

“Very well. You'll sleep in this room. I'll have them rig up some sort of bed. Tomorrow we'll fit you out with new clothes, and we'll see how it works out. I'll pay you well for your time.”

“How long will you be here in Spain, Mr. Winslow?”

“That's uncertain. I'm going to Madrid tomorrow. You'll go with me.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. I'll serve you well!”

“Why, you look much better, Philemon,” Brandon said. He stepped back and looked at his new servant, who had been fitted out with new clothes and had had his hair trimmed. His eye was still swollen, but he looked well in the brown suit that the tailor had provided. “Now, come along. I need to get to Madrid, and the safest way is to buy my own carriage. Can you drive?”

“Not as well as you, I would think, sir.”

“Well, you'll do well enough.”

The morning was spent finding transportation. Brandon bought two bays, perfectly matched, and a fine carriage. The carriage had belonged to a Spanish don who had lost it gambling. It was just what Brandon needed. He also bought a pistol for Philemon and an extra one for himself. By noon they were ready to go. Philemon loaded the carriage, climbed into the driver's seat, and Brandon said, “Well, we're off to Madrid.”

“I thank the good Lord that you found me, Mr. Winslow. Or that I found you.”

Brandon shared a smile with him. For a moment, he was tempted to say something about his dangerous mission, but he
dared not trust the man. He spoke to the horses, and they started out at an eager trot. “A beautiful team, aren't they?”

“Yes, sir. May I ask, sir, are you a Christian?”

“I was baptized. Why do you ask?”

“Well, things are so bad in England now that if a person is a Christian, he'd better be a Catholic or his life may be forfeit.”

“That'll change some day.”

“I hope so, sir. I purely hope so!”

The trip from San Sebastián to Madrid took three days of hard driving. Brandon chose to spend the second night at a small inn. He was pleased with Philemon, who cared for him as if he were royal. The man knew how to arrange clothes, how to dress him, and he shaved Brandon as neatly as any barber. Not since his days at Stoneybrook had Brandon been so well cared for

At midday, Brandon pulled the carriage up in front of an inn in Madrid. “That looks like a good place to stay. I'll see if they have a room.”

Philemon took the reins. Brandon found the innkeeper, arranged to have the horses cared for, got a room, and added an extra mattress for Philemon. Then he went outside and said, “Philemon, I want you to do something. There's a man here in Madrid called Jaspar Mendoza. He has a daughter named Dolores. I want you to make some friends here and find out what you can.” He pulled some money out of his pocket. “Find some woman that gossips and romance her a little. I wish you spoke Spanish.”

“Why, I
do
speak Spanish, sir. I spent two years with my master while he was an ambassador in Madrid. Exactly what did you want to know about this Mendoza?”

“Everything you can find out about his family. Who their friends are. If there's any gossip about the girl. And keep your mouth shut. You understand?”

“Of course, sir. That's understood.”

Brandon went at once to the royal palace, an ornate building with many spires. The palace swarmed with crowds of people. He was directed to a gate, where he was halted by six sentries. “I have a letter here for the emperor,” he said in Spanish

“And your name is?”

“Brandon Winslow.”

“I will see if the emperor will see you, but it may be a long wait.”

“That'll be fine.”

“Please sit down over there. I'll have some wine sent if you'd like, sir.”

“That would be excellent.”

Indeed, it proved to be a long wait, at least two hours. Finally the guard he had spoken with returned and said, “The emperor will see you, but his time is very short.”

“I will be very brief.”

Brandon followed the guard into the palace, which seemed to be an intricate maze of hallways. Beautiful pictures were on the wall, many of them of the Virgin and of Jesus on the cross. Eventually they came to another guard

“What is your name, sir?”

“Brandon Winslow. I have a letter for the emperor.”

The guard disappeared through an impressive door and was back almost at once. “You may come in.”

Brandon was somewhat surprised to find a rather ordinary-looking, aged man in fine clothes—the emperor, the most powerful man in the world—sitting at a desk, just as his father might. His hands were unsteady. He had an aquiline nose and aristocratic features

“I thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” Brandon said, stopping ten paces away. “I have a letter here from Queen Mary.”

“Ah, very good!” The emperor beckoned him forward, took
the letter, opened it, and scanned it. “It is good to hear from my fellow monarch. She speaks well of you, sir.”

“She's been very kind to me and to my family.”

“You've known Queen Mary for a long time?”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty. My father, Stuart Winslow, is one of her favorites.”

“Well, I want to hear much more, but I have no time just now, Mr. Winslow.” He paused, considering him. “We're having a ball tonight. Please join us and afterward we'll have time to talk.”

“Thank you. That's very gracious of you.” Brandon saw that he was dismissed

He made his way back to the inn and sat down for a meal. While he was eating, Philemon Smith came in and said, “Well, sir, I've heard a few things.”

“Sit down. Order something.” He waited until Smith had ordered his food and said, “Now, what did you find out?”

“Well, I found out that Mendoza is a cutthroat. He was a pirate in his younger days until middle age. Bad reputation, sir. Not a good man to cross.”

“What does he do now?”

“He breeds horses, and he does a few other things that are not quite so respectable. He owns three ships, and they have been known to raid others and bring the booty into San Sebastián.”

“What about his daughter?”

“Why, the lady I was talking to says she's a beautiful creature. She had a friend who was a maid to Miss Dolores, and this friend of hers said that the lady is unhappy.”

“Why is she unhappy?”

“Her father's determined to marry her off to a rich grandee. Someone who can raise Mendoza's status. He's looking for respectability.”

“He'd have to give up pirating if he got that.”

“I suppose so. But if his son-in-law is powerful enough, he won't have to do such things. Anyway, Miss Dolores's maid said that she was unhappy because she's romantic, and there's not much romance about a marriage in Spain among aristocrats. The family decides, the girl obeys.”

“A little like in England, isn't it?”

“Even more so here, sir.”

When Philemon finished, Brandon said, “I'll be going to a ball tonight. Find me something suitable to wear.”

“Shall I go with you, sir?”

“No. You keep nosing around to see what you can find out.”

“Yes, sir. I'll do some more digging.”

Dolores Mendoza snapped angrily, “Juanita, you're sticking me with that pin!”

“Oh, my lady, I am sorry! I'm so clumsy.”

Dolores looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. “This is a frightful dress.”

“Well, it cost enough. It ought to be pretty.”

“Well, it's not. It's hideous.”

“Who will be at the ball tonight, lady?”

“The same people that are always there.”

“So many men that want to marry you,” Juanita clucked in approval as Dolores stood up. “It must be wonderful to have so many men after you.”

“They're not after me. They're after my father's money. I'm sick and tired of it, Juanita. Women are kept like prize dogs or horses. One of my father's horses has more freedom than I have.”

“Oh, lady, you mustn't say that!”

“Why not? It's true. I wish—” Dolores broke off abruptly as her father entered the room

“Ah, you look charming, my dear.” Mendoza was a strongly
built man with dark coloring and a pair of sharp black eyes. He wore expensive clothing, but it could not hide the lack of grace in him

“Thank you, Father.”

“I have good news. Don Pedro Varga will be at the ball. I want you to show him a great deal of attention.”

“Of course, but he's an old man.”

“Why, he's not old. He's only fifty-two, and he's one of the most influential men in Spain. The emperor has complete trust in him. He would make you a good husband.”

“You have different ideas from I about a husband. I want love! With a young man!”

Mendoza laughed, came over, and touched her cheek. “You're too romantic. Who has filled you with such foolish ideas?” His expression grew more serious, determined. “You must pay much attention to Don Pedro, Dolores. He's a man who can do great things for us.”

Dolores listened and she nodded, but she dreaded the idea of spending time at the ball with an old man. Almost at once after Medoza left, her stepmother came in and said, “You need to hurry, Dolores. And do as your father says about Don Pedro.”

“Yes, Mama.” She used the term solely as a means of paying respect. Her mother was Mendoza's third wife. She was only twenty-six. She was fairly plain, but her father was wealthy, and a huge dowery had come with her

“What a catch Don Pedro would be! You'd be one of the nobility. Your father wants that.”

“He wants to wipe out his early days as a pirate, but that can never be.”