THE FESTA AT SEVILLE
"And now, Gerald, that you have made your arrangements for the
second half of the plan, how are you going to set about the first?
because you said that you intended to give Donna Inez the option
of flying with you or remaining with her father."
"So I do still. Before I make any attempt to carry her off I shall
first learn whether she is willing to run the risks."
"But how are you going to set about it? You may be quite sure that
she never goes outside the garden without having her duenna with
her. If there is a chapel close by, doubtless she will go there
once a day; and it seems to me that this would be the best chance
of speaking to her, for I do not see how you can possibly introduce
yourself into the grounds."
"That would be quite out of the question, in daylight at any rate,
Geoffrey. I do not suppose she ever goes beyond the terrace by the
house. But if I could communicate with her she might slip out for
a few minutes after dark, when the old lady happened to be taking
a nap. The question is how to get a letter into her hands."
"I think I might manage that, Gerald. It is not likely that the
duenna ever happened to notice me. I might therefore put on any
sort of disguise as a beggar and take my place on the road as she
goes to chapel, and somehow or other get your note into her hand. I
have heard Spanish girls are very quick at acting upon the smallest
sign, and if I can manage to catch her eye for a moment she may
probably be ingenious enough to afford me an opportunity of passing
the note to her."
"That might be done," Gerald agreed. "We will at once get disguises.
I will dress myself as an old soldier, with one arm in a sling and
a patch over my eye; you dress up in somewhat the same fashion as
a sailor boy. It is about twelve miles from here to Ribaldo's place.
We can walk that easily enough, dress ourselves up within a mile
or two of the place, and then go on and reconnoitre the ground."
"I should advise you to write your note before you start; it may be
that some unexpected opportunity for handing it to her may present
itself."
"I will do that; but let us sally out first and pick up two suits
at some dealer in old clothes. There will be sure to be two or
three of these in the poorer quarter."
The disguises were procured without difficulty, and putting them
in a small wallet they started before noon on their walk. In four
hours they reached the boundary of the Marquis of Ribaldo's estate.
Going into a wood they assumed the disguises, packed their own
clothes in a wallet, and hid this away in a clump of bushes. Then
they again started--Gerald Burke with his arm in a sling and
Geoffrey limping along with the aid of a thick stick he had cut in
the wood.
On arriving at the village, a quarter of a mile from the gates of
the mansion, they went into a small wine shop and called for two
measures of the cheapest wine and a loaf of bread. Here they sat
for some time, listening to the conversation of the peasants who
frequented the wine shop. Sometimes a question was asked of the
wayfarers. Gerald replied, for his companion's Spanish although
fluent was not good enough to pass as that of a native. He replied
to the question as to where they had received their hurts that they
were survivors of the Armada, and grumbled that it was hard indeed
that men who had fought in the Netherlands and had done their duty
to their country should be turned adrift to starve.
"We have enough to pay for our supper and a night's lodging," he
said, "but where we are going to take our meal tomorrow is more
than I can say, unless we can meet with some charitable people."
"If you take your place by the roadside tomorrow morning," one
of the peasants said, "you may obtain charity from Donna Inez de
Ribaldo. She comes every morning to mass here; and they say she has
a kind heart, which is more than men give her father the marquis
the credit of possessing. We have not many poor round here, for at
this time of year all hands are employed in the vineyards, therefore
there is the more chance of your obtaining a little help."
"Thank you; I will take your advice," Gerald said. "I suppose she
is sure to come?"
"She is sure enough; she never misses when she is staying here."
That night the friends slept on a bundle of straw in an outhouse
behind the wine shop, and arranged everything; and upon the following
morning took their seats by the roadside near the village. The
bell of the chapel was already sounding, and in a few minutes they
saw two ladies approaching, followed at a very short distance by
a serving man. They had agreed that the great patch over Gerald's
eye aided by the false moustachios, so completely disguised his
appearance that they need have no fear of his being recognized; and
it was therefore decided he should do the talking. As Donna Inez
came up he commenced calling out: "Have pity, gracious ladies, upon
two broken down soldiers. We have gone through all the dangers and
hardships of the terrible voyage of the great Armada. We served in
the ship San Josef and are now broken down, and have no means of
earning our living."
Gerald had somewhat altered his natural voice while speaking, but
Geoffrey was watching Donna Inez closely, and saw her start when
he began to speak; and when he said they had been on board the San
Josef a flush of colour came across her face.
"We must relieve these poor men," she said to the duenna; "it is
pitiful to see them in such a state."
"We know not that their tale is true," the duenna replied sharply.
"Every beggar in our days pretends to be a broken down soldier."
At this moment Donna Inez happened to glance at Geoffrey, who
raised his hand to his face and permitted a corner of a letter to
be momentarily seen.
"An impostor!" Gerald cried in a loud voice. "To think that I,
suffering from my terrible wounds, should be taken as an impostor,"
and with a hideous yell he tumbled down as if in a fit, and rolled
over and over on the ground towards the duenna.
Seized with alarm at his approach, she turned and ran a few paces
backward. As she did so Geoffrey stepped up to Inez and held out
the note, which she took and concealed instantly in her dress.
"There is nothing to be alarmed at," she cried to the duenna. "The
poor man is doubtless in a fit. Here, my poor fellow, get aid for
your comrade," and taking out her purse she handed a dollar to
Geoffrey, and then joining the duenna proceeded on her way.
Geoffrey knelt beside his prostrate companion and appeared to be
endeavouring to restore him, until the ladies and their servant
were out of sight.
"That was well managed," Gerald Burke said, sitting up as soon as
a turn of the road hid them from view. "Now we shall have our answer
tomorrow. Thank goodness there is no occasion for us to remain any
longer in these garments!"
They went to the wood and resumed their usual attire, and then
walked to a large village some four miles away, and putting up at
the principal inn remained there until early the next morning; then
they walked back to the village they had left on the previous day
and posted themselves in a thicket by the roadside, so that they
could see passersby without being themselves observed.
"My fate will soon be decided now," Gerald said. "Will she wear a
white flower or not?"
"I am pretty sure that she will," Geoffrey said. "She would not
have started and coloured when she recognized your voice if she did
not love you. I do not think you need be under much uneasiness on
that score."
In half an hour the ladies again came along, followed as before
by their servants. Donna Inez wore a bunch of white flowers in her
dress.
"There is my answer," Gerald said. "Thank heaven! she loves me, and
is ready to fly with me, and will steal out some time after dark
to meet me in the garden."
As there was no occasion for him to stay longer, Geoffrey returned
to the village where they slept the night before, and accounted
for his companion's absence by saying that he had been detained
on business and would probably not return until late at night, as
he would not be able to see the person with whom he had affairs
to transact until late. It was past ten o'clock when Gerald Burke
returned.
"It is all arranged, Geoffrey. I hid in the garden close by the
terrace as soon as it became dark. An hour later she came out and
sauntered along the terrace until I softly called her name; then
she came to me. She loves me with all her heart, and is ready to
share my fate whatever it may be. Her father only two days ago had
ordered her to prepare for her marriage with Don Philip, and she
was in despair until she recognized my voice yesterday morning. She
is going with her father to a grand festa at Seville next Wednesday.
They will stop there two nights--the one before the festa and the
one after. I told her that I could not say yet whether I should make
the attempt to carry her off on her journey or after her return
here, as that must depend upon circumstances. At any rate, that
gives us plenty of time to prepare our plans. Tomorrow we will hire
horses and ride to Seville, and I will there arrange with one of
my friends at the Irish College to perform the ceremony. However,
we will talk it all over tomorrow as we ride. I feel as sleepy as
a dog now after the day's excitement."
Upon the road next day they agreed that if possible they would manage
to get Inez away in Seville itself. Owing to the large number of
people who would be attracted there to witness the grand procession
and high mass at the cathedral, the streets would be crowded, and
it might be possible for Inez to slip away from those with her.
If this could be managed it would be greatly preferable to the
employment of the men to carry her off by force. Therefore they
agreed that the band should be posted so that the party could be
intercepted on its way back; but that this should be a last resource,
and that if possible Inez should be carried off in Seville itself.
On reaching Seville they put up at an inn. Gerald at once proceeded
to the Irish College. Here he inquired for a young priest, who had
been a near neighbour of his in Ireland and a great friend of his
boyhood. He was, he knew, about to return home. He found that he
was at the moment away from Seville, having gone to supply the place
of a village cure who had been taken suddenly ill. This village
was situated, he was told, some six miles southeast of the town.
It was already late in the afternoon, but time was precious; and
Gerald, hiring a fresh horse, rode out at once to the village. His
friend was delighted to see him, for they had not met since Gerald
passed through Seville on his way to join the Armada at Cadiz, and
the young priest had not heard whether he had escaped the perils
of the voyage.
"It is lucky you have come, Gerald," he said when the first greetings
were over, "for I am going to return to Ireland in a fortnight's
time. I am already appointed to a charge near Cork, and am to sail
in a Bristol ship which is expected in Cadiz about that time. Is
there any chance of my meeting you there?"
"An excellent chance, Denis, though my route is not as clearly
marked out as yours is. I wish to heaven that I could go by the
same ship. And that leads to what I have come to see you about,"
and he then told his friend the service he wished him to render.
"It is rather a serious business, Gerald; and a nice scrape I should
get in if it were found out that I had solemnized the marriage of
a young lady under age without the consent of her father, and that
father a powerful nobleman. However, I am not the man to fail you
at a pinch, and if matters are well managed there is not much risk
of its being found out that I had a hand in it until I am well
away, and once in Ireland no one is likely to make any great fuss
over my having united a runaway pair in Spain. Besides, if you and
the young lady have made up your minds to run away, it is evidently
necessary that you should be married at once; so my conscience is
perfectly clear in the business. And now, what is your plan?"
"The only part of my plan that is settled is to bring her here and
marry her. After that I shall have horses ready, and we will ride
by unfrequented roads to Malaga or some other port and take a
passage in a ship sailing say to Italy, for there is no chance of
getting a vessel hence to England. Once in Italy there will be no
difficulty in getting a passage to England. I have with me a young
Englishman, as staunch a friend as one can need. I need not tell
you all about how I became acquainted with him; but he is as anxious
to get out of Spain as I am, and that is saying no little."
"It seems rather a vague plan, Gerald. There is sure to be a great
hue and cry as soon as the young lady is found to be missing. The
marquis is a man of great influence, and the authorities will use
every effort to enable him to discover her."
"You see, Denis, they will have no reason for supposing that I have
had any hand in the matter, and therefore no special watch will
be set at the ports. The duenna for her own sake is not likely to
say a word about any passages she may have observed between us at
Madrid, and she is unaware that there have been any communications
with her since."
"I suppose you will at once put on disguises, Gerald."
"Yes, that will of course be the first thing."
"If you dress her as a young peasant woman of the better class and
yourself as a small cultivator, I will mention to my servant that
I am expecting my newly married niece and her husband to stay
with me for a few days. The old woman will have no idea that I,
an Irishman, would not have a Spanish niece, and indeed I do not
suppose that she has any idea that I am not a Spaniard. I will open
the church myself and perform the service late in the evening, so
that no one will be aware of what is going on. Of course I can put
up your friend too. Then you can stay quietly here as long as you
like."
"That will do admirably, Denis; but I think we had best go on the
next morning," Gerald said, "although it will be a day or two before
there is anything like an organized pursuit. It will be supposed
that she is in Seville, and inquiries will at first be confined to
that town. If she leaves a note behind saying that she is determined
even to take the veil rather than marry the man her father has
chosen for her, that will cause additional delay. It will be supposed
that she is concealed in the house of some friend, or that she has
sought a refuge in a nunnery, and at any rate there is not likely
to be any search over the country for some days, especially as her
father will naturally be anxious that what he will consider an act
of rebellion on the part of his daughter shall not become publicly
known."
"All this, of course, is if we succeed in getting her clear away
during the fete. If we have to fall back on the other plan I was
talking of and carry her off by force on the way home, the search
will be immediate and general. In that case nothing could be better
than your plan that we should stop here quietly for a few days
with you. They will be searching for a band of robbers and will
not dream of making inquiry for the missing girl in a quiet village
like this."
"Well, we will leave that open, Gerald. I shall let it be known
that you are expected, and whenever you arrive you will be welcome."
As soon as the point was arranged Gerald again mounted his horse
and returned to Seville. There upon the following morning he engaged
a lodging for the three days of the festa in a quiet house in the
outskirts of the town, and they then proceeded to purchase the
various articles necessary for their disguise and that of Inez.
The next morning they started on their return to Jeres. Here Gerald
made arrangements with the band to meet him in a wood on the road
to Cadiz at eight in the morning on the day following the termination
of the festa at Seville. One of the party was to proceed on that day
to the house among the hills they had fixed upon as their hiding
place, and to get provisions and everything requisite for the
reception of their captive. They received another five crowns each,
the remaining fifteen was to be paid them as soon as they arrived
with their captive at the house.
The party remained in ignorance as to the age and sex of the person
they were to carry off, and had little curiosity as to the point,
as they regarded this but a small adventure in comparison to the
lucrative schemes in which they were afterwards to be sharers.
These arrangements made, Gerald and Geoffrey returned to Seville,
and reached that city on the eve of the commencement of the festa,
and took up their abode at the lodging they had hired. On the
following morning they posted themselves in the street by which
the party they expected would arrive. Both were attired in quiet
citizen dress, and Gerald retained his formidable moustachios and
bushy eyebrows.
In two or three hours a coach accompanied by four lackeys on horseback
came up the street, and they saw that it contained the Marquis of
Ribaldo, his daughter, and her duenna. They followed a short distance
behind it until it entered the courtyard of a stately mansion,
which they learnt on inquiry from a passerby belonged to the Duke
of Sottomayor. The streets were already crowded with people in holiday
attire, the church bells were ringing, and flags and decorations
of all kinds waved along the route that was to be followed by the
great procession. The house did not stand on this line, and it
was necessary therefore for its inmates to pass through the crowd
either to the cathedral or to the balcony of the house from which
they might intend to view the procession pass.
Half an hour after the arrival of the coach, the marquis and his
daughter, accompanied by Don Philip de Sottomayor, sallied out,
escorted by six armed lackeys, and took their way towards the
cathedral. They had, however, arrived very late, and the crowd had
already gathered so densely that even the efforts of the lackeys and
the angry commands of the marquis and Don Philip failed to enable
them to make a passage. Very slowly indeed they advanced some
distance into the crowd, but each moment their progress became
slower. Gerald and Geoffrey had fallen in behind them and advanced
with them as they worked themselves in the crowd.
Angry at what they considered the impertinence of the people
for refusing to make way for them, the nobles pressed forward and
engaged in an angry controversy with those in front, who urged,
and truly, that it was simply impossible for them to make way, so
wedged in were they by the people on all sides. The crowd, neither
knowing nor caring who were those who thus wished to take precedence
of the first comers, began to jeer and laugh at the angry nobles,
and when these threatened to use force threatened in return.
As soon as her father had left her side, Gerald, who was immediately
behind Inez, whispered in her ear, "Now is the time, Inez. Go with
my friend; I will occupy the old woman."
"Keep close to me, senora, and pretend that you are ill," Geoffrey
said, to her, and without hesitation Inez turned and followed him,
drawing her mantilla more closely over her face.
"Let us pass, friends," Geoffrey said as he elbowed his way through
those standing behind them, "the lady needs air," and by vigorous
efforts he presently arrived at the outskirts of the crowd,
and struck off with his charge in the direction of their lodging.
"Gerald Burke will follow us as soon as he can get out," he said.
"Everything is prepared for you, senora, and all arrangements made."
"Who are you, sir?" the girl asked. "I do not recall your face,
and yet I seem to have seen it before."
"I am English, senora, and am a friend of Gerald Burke's. When in
Madrid I was disguised as his servant; for as an Englishman and a
heretic it would have gone hard with me had I been detected."
There were but few people in the streets through which they passed,
the whole population having flocked either to the streets through
which the procession was to pass, or to the cathedral or churches
it was to visit on its way. Gerald had told Inez at their interview
that, although he had made arrangements for carrying her off by
force on the journey to or from Seville, he should, if possible, take
advantage of the crowd at the function to draw her away from her
companions. She had, therefore, put on her thickest lace mantilla,
and this now completely covered her face from the view of passersby.
Several times she glanced back.
"Do not be uneasy about him, senora," Geoffrey said. "He will not
try to extricate himself from the crowd until you are discovered
to be missing, as to do so would be to attract attention. As soon
as your loss is discovered he will make his way out, and will then
come on at the top of his speed to the place whither I am conducting
you, and I expect that we shall find him at the door awaiting us."
A quarter of an hour's walk took them to the lodging, and Inez gave
a little cry of joy as the door was opened to them by Gerald himself.
"The people of the house are all out," he said, after their first
greeting. "In that room you will find a peasant girl's dress. Dress
yourself as quickly as you can; we shall be ready for you in attire
to match. You had best do up your own things into a bundle, which
I will carry. If they were left here they might, when the news of
your being missing gets abroad, afford a clue to the manner of your
escape. I will tell you all about the arrangements we have made as
we go along."
"Have you arranged--" and she hesitated.
"Yes, an Irish priest, who is an old friend of mine, will perform
the ceremony this evening."
A few minutes later two seeming peasants and a peasant girl issued
out from the lodging. The two men carried stout sticks with bundles
slung over them.
"Be careful of that bundle," Inez said, "for there are all my jewels
in it. After what you had said I concealed them all about me. They
are my fortune, you know. Now, tell me how you got on in the crowd."
"I first pushed rather roughly against the duenna, and then made the
most profuse apologies, saying that it was shameful people should
crowd so, and that they ought at once to make way for a lady who
was evidently of high rank. This mollified her, and we talked for
three or four minutes; and in the meantime the row in front, caused
by your father and the lackeys quarrelling with the people, grew
louder and louder. The old lady became much alarmed, and indeed
the crowd swayed about so that she clung to my arm. Suddenly she
thought of you, and turning round gave a scream when she found you
were missing. 'What is the matter?' I asked anxiously. 'The young
lady with me! She was here but an instant ago!' (She had forgotten
you for fully five minutes.) 'What can have become of her?'
"I suggested that no doubt you were close by, but had got separated
from her by the pressure of the crowd. However, she began to
squall so loudly that the marquis looked round. He was already in
a towering rage, and he asked angrily, 'What are you making all this
noise about?' and then looking round exclaimed, 'Where is Inez?'
'She was here a moment since!' the old lady exclaimed, 'and now
she has got separated from me.' Your father looked in vain among
the crowd, and demanded whether anyone had seen you. Someone said
that a lady who was fainting had made her way out five minutes
before. The marquis used some strong language to the old lady, and
then informed Don Philip what had happened, and made his way back
out of the crowd with the aid of the lackeys, and is no doubt
inquiring for you in all the houses near; but, as you may imagine,
I did not wait. I followed close behind them until they were out
of the crowd, and then slipped away, and once round the corner took
to my heels and made my way back, and got in two or three minutes
before you arrived."
The two young men talked almost continuously during their walk to
the village in order to keep up the spirits of Donna Inez, and to
prevent her from thinking of the strangeness of her position and
the perils that lay before them before safety could be obtained.
Only once she spoke of the future.
"Is it true, Gerald, that there are always storms and rain in your
country, and that you never see the sun, for so some of those who
were in the Armada have told me?"
"It rains there sometimes, Inez, I am bound to admit; but it
is often fine, and the sun never burns one up as it does here. I
promise you you will like it, dear, when you once become accustomed
to it."
"I do not think I shall," she said, shaking her head; "I am accustomed
to the sun, you know. But I would rather be with you even in such
an island as they told me of than in Spain with Don Philip."
The village seemed absolutely deserted when they arrived there,
the whole population having gone over to Seville to take part in
the great fete. Father Denis received his fair visitor with the
greatest kindness. "Here, Catherine," he cried to his old servant,
"here are the visitors I told you I expected. It is well that
we have the chambers prepared, and that we killed that capon this
morning."
That evening Gerald Burke and Inez de Ribaldo were married in the
little church, Geoffrey Vickars being the only witness. The next
morning there was a long consultation over their plans. "I could
buy you a cart in the village and a pair of oxen, and you could
drive to Malaga," the priest said, "but there would be a difficulty
about changing your disguises after you had entered the town. I
think that the boldest plan will be the safest one. I should propose
that you should ride as a well to do trader to Malaga, with your
wife behind you on a pillion, and your friend here as your servant.
Lost as your wife was in the crowd at the fete, it will be a long
time before the fact that she has fled will be realized. For a day
or two the search will be conducted secretly, and only when the
house of every friend whom she might have visited has been searched
will the aid of the authorities be called in, and the poorer quarters,
where she might have been carried by two or three ruffians who may
have met her as she emerged in a fainting condition, as is supposed,
from the crowd, be ransacked. I do not imagine that any search will
be made throughout the country round for a week at least, by which
time you will have reached Malaga, and, if you have good fortune,
be on board a ship."
This plan was finally agreed to. Gerald and his friend at once went
over to Seville and purchased the necessary dresses, together with
two strong horses and equipments. It was evening before their return
to the village. Instead of entering it at once they rode on a mile
further, and fastened the horses up in a wood. Gerald would have
left them there alone, but Geoffrey insisted on staying with them
for the night.
"I care nothing about sleeping in the open air, Gerald, and it would
be folly to risk the success of our enterprise upon the chance of
no one happening to come through the wood, and finding the animals
before you return in the morning. We had a hearty meal at Seville,
and I shall do very well until morning."
Gerald and his wife took leave of the friendly priest at daybreak
the next morning, with the hope that they would very shortly meet
in Ireland. They left the village before anyone was stirring.
The peasant clothes had been left behind them. Gerald carried two
valises, the one containing the garments in which Inez had fled,
the other his own attire--Geoffrey having resumed the dress he
had formerly worn as his servant.
On arriving at the wood the party mounted, and at once proceeded on
their journey. Four days' travel took them to Malaga, where they
arrived without any adventure whatever. Once or twice they met
parties of rough looking men; but travelling as they did without
baggage animals, they did not appear promising subjects for robbery,
and the determined appearance of master and man, each armed with
sword and pistols, deterred the fellows from an attempt which
promised more hard knocks than plunder.
After putting up at an inn in Malaga, Gerald went down at once to
the port to inquire for a vessel bound for Italy. There were three
or four such vessels in the harbour, and he had no difficulty in
arranging for a passage to Naples for himself, his wife, and servant.
The vessel was to sail on the following morning, and it was with
a deep feeling of satisfaction and relief that they went on board
her, and an hour later were outside the port.
"It seems marvellous to me," Gerald said, as he looked back upon
the slowly receding town, "that I have managed to carry off my
prize with so little difficulty. I had expected to meet with all
sorts of dangers, and had I been the peaceful trader I looked, our
journey could not be more uneventful."
"Perhaps you are beginning to think that the prize is not so very
valuable after all," Inez said, "since you have won it so easily."
"I have not begun to think so yet," Gerald laughed happily. "At any
rate I shall wait until I get you home before such ideas begin to
occur to me."
"Directly I get to Ireland," Inez said, "I shall write to my father
and tell him that I am married to you, and that I should never
have run away had he not insisted on my marrying a man I hated. I
shall, of course, beg him to forgive me; but I fear he never will."
"We must hope that he will, Inez, and that he will ask you to come
back to Spain sometimes. I do not care for myself, you know, for
as I have told you my estate in Ireland is amply large enough for
my wants; but I shall be glad, for your sake, that you should be
reconciled to him."
Inez shook her head.
"You do not know my father, Gerald. I would never go back to Spain
again--not if he promised to give me his whole fortune. My father
never forgives; and were he to entice me back to Spain, it would be
only to shut me up and to obtain a dispensation from Rome annulling
the marriage, which he would have no difficulty in doing. No, you
have got me, and will have to keep me for good. I shall never return
to Spain, never. Possibly when my father hears from me he may send
me over money to make me think he has forgiven me, and to induce
me some day or other to come back to visit him, and so get me into
his power again; but that, Gerald, he shall never do."