Catarina looked round anxiously, searching for one ship amongst the many moored in the broad river. It was impossible. Then she saw a man who, in his smart uniform, looked like some official.
‘The ship, for Brazil, has it gone?’ she panted.
He looked disapprovingly at her. ‘What do you want with it?’
‘My sister, she’s on it. Has it sailed?’
‘Sister? Or sweetheart who’s left you?’ he sneered. ‘It’s gone, hours since. Why don’t you try to swim after it? Might catch it this side of the Atlantic.’
Chortling at his wit he turned away.
Catarina, accepting the truth, turned and walked slowly back to the apartment. Would Joanna never learn? She somehow doubted that Eduardo would marry her. Men did not fall in love with such rapidity, and since he came from an important family it was likely there were plans for his marriage which did not include a foolish girl from England.
She breathed deeply. There was nothing she could do about it. She could scarcely chase after Joanna even if another ship were available. Her first emotion had been distress, then anger at Joanna’s folly. Then a feeling of desolation had swept over her. She felt abandoned. Joanna was the only one of her family left. She did not think of her Uncle Ivor as family, since he had scarcely behaved like it. She had nothing in common with him or his wife, and certainly not with Matthew. She doubted she would ever see Joanna again. Now she was truly on her own.
Then the anger returned. She had rescued her sister from her folly once before. This time Joanna was out of reach of her help and would have to make the best of it. She would be fortunate not to end up in one of Rio’s bordellos. But being Joanna, Catarina thought wryly, she would almost certainly find someone foolish enough to help.
She considered her own plans. As soon as the baby was well enough, and Maria seemed to be recovering, they would go home to England. Clarice had been sworn to secrecy over Maria’s parentage, and vowed she would not reveal it. She knew the situation, and that for it to be known Joanna had borne a child out of wedlock would be ruinous for her reputation. Catarina hoped she could trust her, but she was paying the girl well. As yet she spoke no English, and she had said it would reflect on her own reputation if it were known she was nursemaid to a bastard. Catarina had winced, but she knew the girl spoke the truth.
She would write to Mr Sinclair and ask when a suitable ship would be calling at Lisbon or Oporto. It would be better to embark from Lisbon if at all possible, to avoid the land journey to Oporto, which would be difficult with the baby. Also, there she ran the risk of meeting some of her family. While one part of her said she owed Joanna nothing more, another shrank from revealing her sister’s disgrace. If Joanna ever returned from this mad Brazilian escapade Catarina could not be responsible for preventing her readmittance to Society.
* * * *
Nicholas, on his way to the Grange, was driving past the Bear inn when he saw Mr Lewis going inside. He wanted a word with the man, so he stopped the curricle and walked into the tap room. Mr Lewis had seated himself at one of the small tables and spread some papers and a box in front of him. A line of men formed, and Nicholas realized the farmer must be paying wages to his labourers. He would have to wait, so he ordered some ale and sat down at the far side of the room, beside a window overlooking the roadway.
A few minutes later a short, stocky man came in, blinking as he became accustomed to the dim light. Several more young men crowded in after him. He looked round cautiously, and then pointed his finger at one of the men in Mr Lewis’s line.
‘You’m the one I want! It were your doin’s my Ellen got killed! A good girl, she were, till you bedazzled her!’
Nicholas deduced that this was the murdered woman’s former lover, come to exact vengeance.
The newcomer strode across to the line of men and yanked one of them, Dan, towards him. Before any of the others could grasp what was happening, the stocky man was dragging his victim outside, while his friends, blocking the doorway, made sure none of the locals could easily follow.
Dan’s protests could be heard, but were soon drowned out by the tumult erupting inside the tap room. However much Dan’s activities had been condemned by the village, these farm hands were not going to see one of their own attacked by foreigners from ten miles away.
The fight was vicious, but when the locals resorted to banging pewter tankards on the heads of the intruders, the latter were thrust outside, and the villagers poured out after them. The fight continued, but outside the invaders had the advantage, as there were more of them. Dan was suffering, and Nicholas, observing what was happening through the window where he sat, concluded that Ellen’s lover had considerable science. He must have had experience in the boxing ring.
Soon a thoroughly defeated Dan was being tossed almost contemptuously into the duck pond, and with a cheer the invaders disengaged and marched away.
Mr Lewis went and stood in the doorway, glowering.
‘I’ll finish paying you ruffians tomorrow. As for you, Dan,’ he went on, surveying the bedraggled, weed-draped figure who had been pulled from the pond by his friends, ‘this is the end. I’ve warned you several times of late. You’ve not worked well these past months, and I’ve tried to make allowances, but I’ll do so no more, if you bring such a rabble here. You can get out of the cottage by tomorrow.’
There were protests from Dan’s friends when they realized they would be unable to buy ale until the following day, but they clearly held Mr Lewis in awe, and though they grumbled, they gradually drifted away.
Mr Lewis turned back into the tap room and began to collect his papers. He glanced at Nicholas and shrugged.
‘You may think me hard,’ he said, almost apologetically, ‘but I haven’t had a decent day’s work out of him since it happened. And it was his own fault. If he hadn’t been chasing that Ellen from the Dower House, poor Annie wouldn’t have done what she did.’
‘What will he do? Has he family?’
‘No, he’s a foreigner, from Devon. If I was him I’d want to go back there. The men might have fought for him today, but that was local pride. They blame him, and he doesn’t have a pleasant time of it here. Annie was born here, see. Some of them think what she did was justified.’
‘We spoke for her, but it didn’t influence the judge. Mr Lewis, I wanted to have a word with you about the drainage scheme. I’ll order some ale and we can talk about it here.’
* * * *
It was March before Catarina arrived back at the Dower House. She had hired a post chaise in Bristol, refusing to accept Mr Sinclair’s invitation to spend a few days with his family to recover from the voyage, which had been rougher than usual at that time of year.
‘I need to get home to the Dower House as soon as possible, I’ve been away far too long,’ she said.
They had been fortunate in being able to start at daybreak. Having docked late at night, Catarina had decided it was easier for them all to remain on board until morning, rather than move to an inn for just one night.
Clarice, to her relief, had proved to be a good sailor, and when Catarina herself had to retire to her bunk she had been thankful the girl could take charge of Maria. The child had thrown off her illness and was growing fast. Making up for being born early, Clarice said with a laugh.
The coach journey was, Catarina thought, almost as wet as the sea voyage. It rained incessantly, and from the drenched look of the countryside and the pools of water in low-lying fields, it seemed to have been raining for weeks.
It was dark before they arrived, but the house was ablaze with lights. She had written to tell Staines of her return, but had not been able to predict which day. He had clearly been prepared for her whenever she came, and when they clambered stiffly from the chaise and went into the house, Catarina blessed his efficiency as she almost collapsed, Maria in her arms, into a chair before a roaring fire of sweet-scented apple logs.
‘Welcome home, my lady. I’ve sent the post boys round to the stables, and to get some food.’
He studiously avoided looking at the baby, who was smiling up at him. She was not, like some babies, shy of strangers, and occasionally Catarina felt a twinge of apprehension in case she turned out to be like her mother.
‘This little one is Maria de Freitas,’ Catarina said, ‘and Clarice, her nurse. She is the child of a cousin, who died when she was born, and as her father had been killed in a hunting accident the poor thing was orphaned. Her father’s mother was English,’ she added, thinking that this was the only partly truthful thing she was saying, ‘so I have taken her in. We can turn the main guest room and dressing room into a nursery, since the Dower House is not supplied with one.’
‘No, my lady. I will see to it at once.’
‘Is there a fire there?’
‘Yes. We expected Miss Joanna to be with you.’
Catarina had decided it was too difficult to explain in a letter. Besides, she had in some way felt that if she were present when people were told of Joanna’s marriage, there would be less speculation. She took a deep breath.
‘While we were staying in Lisbon Joanna met a Brazilian gentleman, and she has married him and gone with him to Brazil. It will probably be some years before we see her again.’
If ever, she added to herself. Unless this romance is also a disaster and Joanna runs back to me.
Staines was imperturbable. ‘Would Miss Clarice care to bring the little one upstairs? I will see that she has all she needs, and perhaps you, my lady, would prefer to have supper on a tray here in the library, in front of the fire? It is warmer here than in the dining parlour.’
‘That would be perfect. But not a big meal. I’m sure Cook will know exactly what I need.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ Staines said, and turned away. He seemed about to say something else, but shook his head slightly, then indicated to Clarice to follow him.
Catarina relaxed. She was home, Staines was in charge, and she could trust him to do all that was necessary. She wanted to know what was happening at the Grange, but that could wait until tomorrow, until she had slept in her own bed once more, and recovered from the journey.
* * * *
Perhaps it was being back at Marshington, Catarina thought, that induced dreams of Lord Brooke. She blushed as she recalled some of the images which had invaded her sleep. She could still remember everything about him, and he had seemed so real, as though he had been in the room with her.
This was strange. She had thought little about him while she had been away, but she had been preoccupied with so much else during the past few months. She had not dreamed of Walter once.
Before descending the stairs for breakfast she went to see how Clarice was settling in, and whether Maria was content. She found her housemaid Liza, who had just brought up a tray for Clarice’s breakfast, cooing over the baby.
‘Oh, my lady, she’s beautiful! She’s got such lovely big eyes, a sort of hazel colour. Were they blue when she was born? They say they turn darker. Rosa will be so envious of this lovely hair. It’s so dark, and thick, and curly. Her own little one has only a few strands of fair hair.’
‘Rosa has a baby already?’
Her maid had been married just before they left for Portugal.
Liza giggled. ‘A honeymoon baby! I told Rosa it was as well it didn’t come a couple of months early. My lady, your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like a tray, or will you come down?’
‘I’ll come down, thank you.’
She must find a new maid to take Rosa’s place as soon as possible, so that Liza did not have that work to do as well as her own. She’d write to the Bristol Registry offices today.
Clarice said she was being well looked after, had all she needed, and although she was learning some English from Catarina, she found it impossible to understand what Liza said.
Catarina laughed. ‘She has a local accent. I’m afraid you’ll find most of the people round here speak in the same way. But you will soon begin to understand. You have a quick ear, and have already learned much.’
She went downstairs into the dining room, where Staines brought her coffee, and helped her to ham and boiled eggs and sausages.
‘I have missed these sausages,’ Catarina told him. ‘Now, while I eat, tell me all that has been happening. Is Mr Jeremy settling in at the Grange? Have they finished the drainage? What other news is there?’ And, she added to herself, has Nicholas been here often? Would she be likely to see him soon?
When the butler did not reply she glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. He took a deep breath and turned away from her. When he spoke his voice was muffled and she had difficulty in hearing him.
‘We tried to send to you, but no one knew where you were. His lordship wrote to your aunt, he even set one of his friends who lives in Portugal on to try and find you.’
Catarina slowly put down her knife and fork.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What on earth has happened to cause such trouble to be taken?’
‘It’s Ellen, my lady.’
‘Ellen? My cook? Has she left? Is that all? Are you telling me you had to hire a new cook?’
‘No, we didn’t like to. Liza’s been doing the cooking for us while you’ve been away.’
‘Then what is the problem? We can soon hire someone else. I’ll write when I ask about a new maid to replace Rosa.’
‘It’s not just that, my lady. It was a terrible thing to happen. Ellen — she was killed, struck down.’
Catarina stared at him. ‘Killed? Ellen? Oh, how terrible. What happened? Was it a carriage accident?’
He shook his head. ‘It was Annie, you know her, Dan’s wife, him that worked for Mr Lewis. Dan, well, he was playing about with Ellen, and Annie knew, and came after Ellen with some sort of club. She killed her. Late one night, it was, and we didn’t find the poor lass till morning.’
Sinking her head into her hands Catarina tried to take in the full, unexpected horror of it.
‘Poor Ellen! But what has happened to Annie?’
‘Transported, to New South Wales. Dan’s beside himself, and he’s lost his job and his cottage since he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, work properly. Mr Lewis turned him off in the end, though he’d been sympathetic to begin with.’