NEWS FROM SPAIN.
Peter Brome was a very quiet man, whose voice was not often heard about
the place, and yet it was strange how dull and different the big, old
house in Holborn seemed without him. Even the handsome Betty, with whom
he was never on the best of terms, since there was much about her of
which he disapproved, missed him, and said so to her cousin, who only
answered with a sigh. For in the bottom of her heart Betty both feared
and respected Peter. The fear was of his observant eyes and caustic
words, which she knew were always words of truth, and the respect for
the general uprightness of his character, especially where her own sex
was concerned.
In fact, as has been hinted, some little time before, when Peter had
first come to live with the Castells, Betty, thinking him a proper man
of gentle birth, such a one indeed as she would wish to marry, had made
advances to him, which, as he did not seem to notice them, became by
degrees more and more marked. What happened at last they two knew
alone, but it was something that caused Betty to become very angry, and
to speak of Peter to her friends as a cold-blooded lout who thought
only of work and gain. The episode was passing, and soon forgotten by
the lady in the press of other affairs; but the respect remained.
Moreover, on one or two occasions, when the love of admiration had led
her into griefs, Peter had proved a good friend, and what was better, a
friend who did not talk. Therefore she wished him back again,
especially now, when something that was more than mere vanity and
desire for excitement had taken hold of her, and Betty found herself
being swept off her feet into very deep and doubtful waters.
The shopmen and the servants missed him also, for to him all disputes
were brought for settlement, nor, provided it had not come about
through lack of honesty, were any pains too great for him to take to
help them in a trouble. Most of all Castell missed him, since until
Peter had gone he did not know how much he had learned to rely upon
him, both in his business and as a friend. As for Margaret, her life
without him was one long, empty night.
Thus it chanced that in such a house any change was welcome, and,
though she liked him little enough, Margaret was not even displeased
when one morning Betty told her that the lord d’Aguilar was coming to
call on her that day, and purposed to bring her a present.
“I do not seek his presents,” said Margaret indifferently; then added,
“But how do you know that, Betty?”
The young woman coloured, and tossed her head as she answered:
“I know it, Cousin, because, as I was going to visit my old aunt
yesterday, who lives on the wharf at Westminster, I met him riding, and
he called out to me, saying that he had a gift for you and one for me
also.”
“Be careful you do not meet him too often, Betty, when you chance to be
visiting your aunt. These Spaniards are not always over-honest, as you
may learn to your sorrow.”
“I thank you for your good counsel,” said Betty, shortly, “but I, who
am older than you, know enough of men to be able to guard myself, and
can keep them at a distance.”
“I am glad of it, Betty, only sometimes I have thought that the
distance was scarcely wide enough,” answered Margaret, and left the
subject, for she was thinking of other things.
That afternoon, when Margaret was walking in the garden, Betty, whose
face seemed somewhat flushed, ran up to her and said that the lord
d’Aguilar was waiting in the hall.
“Very good,” answered Margaret, “I will come. Go, tell my father, that
he may join us. But why are you so disturbed and hurried?” she added
wonderingly.
“Oh!” answered Betty, “he has brought me a present, so fine a present—a
mantle of the most wonderful lace that ever I saw, and a comb of
mottled shell mounted in gold to keep it off the hair. He made me wait
while he showed me how to put it on, and that was why I ran.”
Margaret did not quite see the connection; but she answered slowly:
“Perhaps it would have been wiser if you had run first. I do not
understand why this fine lord brings you presents.”
“But he has brought one for you also, Cousin, although he would not say
what it was.”
“That I understand still less. Go, tell my father that the Señor
d’Aguilar awaits him.”
Then she went into the hall, and found d’Aguilar looking at an
illuminated Book of Hours in which she had been reading, that was
written in Spanish in one column and in Latin in that opposite. He
greeted her in his usual graceful way, that, where Margaret was
concerned, was easy and well-bred without being bold, and said at once:
“So you read Spanish, Señora?”
“A little. Not very well, I fear.”
“And Latin also?”
“A little again. I have been taught that tongue. By studying them thus
I try to improve myself in both.”
“I perceive that you are learned as you are beautiful,” and he bowed
courteously.
“I thank you, Señor; but I lay claim to neither grace.”
“What need is there to claim that which is evident?” replied d’Aguilar;
then added, “But I forgot, I have brought you a present, if you will be
pleased to accept it. Or, rather, I bring you what is your own, or at
the least your father’s. I bargained with his Excellency Don de Ayala,
pointing out that fifty gold angels were too much to pay for that dead
rogue of his; but he would give me nothing back in money, since with
gold he never parts. Yet I won some change from him, and it stands
without your door. It is a Spanish jennet of the true Moorish blood,
which, hundreds of years ago, that people brought with them from the
East. He needs it no longer, as he returns to Spain, and it is trained
to bear a lady.” Margaret did not know what to answer, but,
fortunately, at that moment her father appeared, and to him d’Aguilar
repeated his tale, adding that he had heard his daughter say that the
horse she rode had fallen with her, so that she could use it no more.
Now, Castell did not wish to accept this gift, for such he felt it to
be; but d’Aguilar assured him that if he did not he must sell it and
return him the price in money, as it did not belong to him. So, there
being no help for it, he thanked him in his daughter’s name and his
own, and they went into the stable-yard, whither it had been taken, to
look at this horse.
The moment that Castell saw it he knew that it was a creature of great
value, pure white in colour, with a long, low body, small head, gentle
eyes, round hoofs, and flowing mane and tail, such a horse, indeed, as
a queen might have ridden. Now again he was confused, being sure that
this beast had never been given back as a luck-penny, since it would
have fetched more than the fifty angels on the market; moreover, it was
harnessed with a woman’s saddle and bridle of the most beautifully
worked red Cordova leather, to which were attached a silver bit and
stirrup. But d’Aguilar smiled, and vowed that things were as he had
told them, so there was nothing more to be said. Margaret, too, was so
pleased with the mare, which she longed to ride, that she forgot her
scruples, and tried to believe that this was so. Noting her delight,
which she could not conceal as she patted the beautiful beast,
d’Aguilar said:
“Now I will ask one thing in return for the bargain that I have
made—that I may see you mount this horse for the first time. You told
me that you and your father were wont to go out together in the
morning. Have I your leave, Sir,” and he turned to Castell, “to ride
with you before breakfast, say, at seven of the clock, for I would show
the lady, your daughter, how she should manage a horse of this blood,
which is something of a trick?”
“If you will,” answered Castell—“that is, if the weather is fine,” for
the offer was made so courteously that it could scarcely be refused.
d’Aguilar bowed, and they re-entered the house, talking of other
matters. When they were in the hall again, he asked whether their
kinsman Peter had reached his destination safely, adding:
“I pray you, do not tell me where it is, for I wish to be able to put
my hand upon my heart and swear to all concerned, and especially to
certain fellows who are still seeking for him, that I know nothing of
his hiding-place.”
Castell answered that he had, since but a few minutes before a letter
had come from him announcing his safe arrival, tidings at which
Margaret looked up, then, remembering her promise, said that she was
glad to hear of it, as the roads were none too safe, and spoke
indifferently of something else. d’Aguilar added that he also was glad,
then, rising, took his leave “till seven on the morrow.”
When he had gone, Castell gave Margaret a letter, addressed to her in
Peter’s stiff, upright hand, which she read eagerly. It began and ended
with sweet words, but, like his speech, was brief and to the point,
saying only that he had accomplished his journey without adventure, and
was very glad to find himself again in the old house where he was born,
and amongst familiar fields and faces. On the morrow he was to see the
tradesmen as to alterations and repairs which were much needed, even
the moat being choked with mud and weeds. His last sentence was: “I
much mistrust me of that fine Spaniard, and I am jealous to think that
he should be near to you while I am far away. Beware of him, I
say—beware of him. May the Mother of God and all the saints have you in
their keeping! Your most true affianced lover.”
This letter Margaret answered before she slept, for the messenger was
to return at dawn, telling Peter, amongst other things, of the gift
which d’Aguilar had brought her, and how she and her father were forced
to accept it, but bidding him not be jealous, since, although the gift
was welcome, she liked the giver little, who did but count the hours
till her true lover should come back again and take her to himself.
Next morning she was up early, clothed in her riding-dress, for the day
was very fine, and by seven o’clock d’Aguilar appeared, mounted on a
great horse. Then the Spanish jennet was brought out, and deftly he
lifted her to the saddle, showing her how she must pull but lightly on
the reins, and urge or check her steed with her voice alone, using no
whip or spur.
A perfect beast it proved to be, indeed, gentle as a lamb, and easy,
yet very spirited and swift.
d’Aguilar was a pleasant cavalier also, talking of many things grave
and gay, until at length even Castell forgot his thoughts, and grew
cheerful as they cantered forward through the fresh spring morning by
heath and hill and woodland, listening to the singing of the birds, and
watching the husbandmen at their labour. This ride was but the first of
several that they took, since d’Aguilar knew their hours of exercise,
even when they changed them, and whether they asked him or not, joined
or met them in such a natural fashion that they could not refuse his
company. Indeed, they were much puzzled to know how he came to be so
well acquainted with their movements, and even with the direction in
which they proposed to ride, but supposed that he must have it from the
grooms, although these were commanded to say nothing, and always denied
having spoken with him. That Betty should speak of such matters, or
even find opportunity of doing so, never chanced to cross their minds,
who did not guess that if they rode with d’Aguilar in the morning,
Betty often walked with him in the evening when she was supposed to be
at church, or sewing, or visiting her aunt upon the wharf at
Westminster. But of these walks the foolish girl said nothing, for her
own reasons.
Now, as they rode together, although he remained very courteous and
respectful, the manner of d’Aguilar towards Margaret grew ever more
close and intimate. Thus he began to tell her stories, true or false,
of his past life, which seemed to have been strange and eventful
enough; to hint, too, of a certain hidden greatness that pertained to
him which he did not dare to show, and of high ambitions which he had.
He spoke also of his loneliness, and his desire to lose it in the
companionship of a kindred heart, if he could find one to share his
wealth, his station, and his hopes; while all the time his dark eyes,
fixed on Margaret, seemed to say, “The heart I seek is such a one as
yours.” At length, at some murmured word or touch, she took affright,
and, since she could not avoid him abroad, determined to stay at home,
and, much as she loved the sport, to ride no more till Peter should
return. So she gave out that she had hurt her knee, which made the
saddle painful to her, and the beautiful Spanish mare was left idle in
the stable, or mounted only by the groom.
Thus for some days she was rid of d’Aguilar, and employed herself in
reading and working, or in writing long letters to Peter, who was busy
enough at Dedham, and sent her thence many commissions to fulfil.
One afternoon Castell was seated in his office deciphering letters
which had just reached him. The night before his best ship, of over two
hundred tons burden, which was named the Margaret, after his daughter,
had come safely into the mouth of the Thames from Spain. That evening
she was to reach her berth at Gravesend with the tide, when Castell
proposed to go aboard of her to see to the unloading of her cargo. This
was the last of his ships which remained unsold, and it was his plan to
re-load and victual her at once with goods that were waiting, and send
her back to the port of Seville, where his Spanish partners, in whose
name she was already registered, had agreed to take her over at a fixed
price. This done, it was only left for him to hand over his business to
the merchants who had purchased it in London, after which he would be
free to depart, a very wealthy man, and spend the evening of his days
at peace in Essex, with his daughter and her husband, as now he so
greatly longed to do. So soon as they were within the river banks the
captain of this ship, Smith by name, had landed the cargo-master with
letters and a manifest of cargo, bidding him hire a horse and bring
them to Master Castell’s house in Holborn. This the man had done
safely, and it was these letters that Castell read.
One of them was from his partner Bernaldez in Seville; not in answer to
that which he had written on the night of the opening of this
history—for this there had been no time—yet dealing with matters
whereof it treated. In it was this passage:
“You will remember what I wrote to you of a certain envoy who has been
sent to the Court of London, who is called d’Aguilar, for as our cipher
is so secret, and it is important that you should be warned, I take the
risk of writing his name. Since that letter I have learned more
concerning this grandee, for such he is. Although he calls himself
plain Don d’Aguilar, in truth he is the Marquis of Morella, and on one
side, it is said, of royal blood, if not on both, since he is reported
to be the son born out of wedlock of Prince Carlos of Viana, the
half-brother of the king. The tale runs that Carlos, the learned and
gentle, fell in love with a Moorish lady of Aguilar of high birth and
great wealth, for she had rich estates at Granada and elsewhere, and,
as he might not marry her because of the difference of their rank and
faiths, lived with her without marriage, of which union one son was
born. Before Prince Carlos died, or was poisoned, and while he was
still a prisoner at Morella, he gave to, or procured for this boy the
title of marquis, choosing from some fancy the name of Morella, that
place where he had suffered so much. Also he settled some private lands
upon him. After the prince died, the Moorish lady, his lover, who had
secretly become a Christian, took her son to live at her palace in
Granada, where she died also some ten years ago, leaving all her great
wealth to him, for she never married. At this time it is said that his
life was in danger, for the reason that, although he was half a Moor,
too much of the blood-royal ran in his veins. But the Marquis was
clever, and persuaded the king and queen that he had no ambition beyond
his pleasures. Also the Church interceded for him, since to it he
proved himself a faithful son, persecuting all heretics, especially the
Jews, and even Moors, although they are of his own blood. So in the end
he was confirmed in his possessions and left alone, although he refused
to become a priest.
“Since then he has been made an agent of the Crown at Granada, and
employed upon various embassies to London, Rome, and elsewhere, on
matters connected with the faith and the establishment of the Holy
Inquisition. That is why he is again in England at this moment, being
charged to obtain the names and particulars concerning all Maranos
settled there, especially if they trade with Spain. I have seen the
names of those of whom he must inquire most closely, and that is why I
write to you so fully, since yours is first upon the list. I think,
therefore, that you do wisely to wind up your business with this
country, and especially to sell your ships to us outright and quickly,
since otherwise they might be seized—like yourself, if you came here.
My counsel to you is—hide your wealth, which will be great when we have
paid you all we owe, and go to some place where you will be forgotten
for a while, since that bloodhound d’Aguilar, for so he calls himself,
after his mother’s birthplace, has not tracked you to London for
nothing. As yet, thanks be to God, no suspicion has fallen on any of
us; perhaps because we have many in our pay.”
When Castell had finished transcribing all this passage he read it
through carefully. Then he went into the hall, where a fire burned, for
the day was cold, and threw the translation on to it, watching until it
was consumed, after which he returned to his office, and hid away the
letter in a secret cupboard behind the panelling of the wall. This
done, he sat himself in his chair to think.
“My good friend Juan Bernaldez is right,” he said to himself;
“d’Aguilar, or the Marquis Morella, does not nose me and the others out
for nothing. Well, I shall not trust myself in Spain, and the money,
most of it, except what is still to come from Spain, is put out where
it will never be found by him, at good interest too. All seems safe
enough—and yet I would to God that Peter and Margaret were fast
married, and that we three sat together, out of sight and mind, in the
Old Hall at Dedham. I have carried on this game too long. I should have
closed my books a year ago; but the trade was so good that I could not.
I was wise also, who in this one lucky year have nearly doubled my
fortune. And yet it would have been safer, before they guessed that I
was so rich. Greed—mere greed—for I do not need this money which may
destroy us all! Greed! The ancient pitfall of my race.”
As he thought thus there came a knock upon his door. Snatching up a pen
he dipped it in the ink-horn and, calling “Enter,” began to add a
column of figures on a paper before him.
The door opened; but he seemed to take no heed, so diligently did he
count his figures. Yet, although his eyes were fixed upon the paper, in
some way that he could not understand he was well aware that d’Aguilar
and no other stood in the room behind him, the truth being, no doubt,
that unconsciously he had recognised his footstep. For a moment the
knowledge turned him cold—he who had just been reading of the mission
of this man—and feared what was to come. Yet he acted well.
“Why do you disturb me, Daughter?” he said testily, and without looking
round. “Have not things gone ill enough with half the cargo destroyed
by sea-water, and the rest, that you must trouble me while I sum up my
losses?” And, casting the pen down, he turned his stool round
impatiently.
Yes! there sure enough stood d’Aguilar, very handsomely arrayed, and
smiling and bowing as was his custom.