A FLUTTER OF RED AND WHITE
"At your ambassadorial service!" said the Senorita Concha, bowing still
lower and holding out her skirts at either side with a prettyish
exaggeration of deference; "what commands has your Scottish Excellency
for poor little Concha?"
"Ahem!" said Rollo, more than a little puzzled, "they were not so much
commands as--as--I thought you might be able to help me."
"Now we are getting at it," said Concha Cabezos, nodding with a wise
air.
("I must be on my guard with this girl," thought Rollo, "I can almost
bring myself to believe that--yet it seems impossible--that--the girl is
chaffing me--me!")
"I wished to see you," he went on.
The girl curtsied again, bringing her hands together in a little appeal
almost childish. It looked natural, yet Rollo was not sure. But at any
rate the sensation was a new one. He began to think of what he had heard
in the venta. But no, the girl looked so sweet and demure, such babyish
smiles flickered and dimpled about the mouth--all scented of fresh youth
like a June hayfield. No, she--she must have been traduced. Not that it
mattered in the least to him. He was cased in triple steel. His heart
was adamant. Or at least as much of it as he had not left in the
possession of Peggy Ramsay, and, when he came to think of it, of several
others.
"You were wishful to see me, sir?" murmured little Concha, "a great
gentleman wanting to see me--wonderful--impossible."
"Neither one nor yet the other," said Rollo, a trifle sharply, looking
at the girl with a glance intended to suppress any lurking tendency to
levity; "if I desired to see you, it was not on my own account, but upon
the King's service." He raised his voice at the last words.
"That explains it," said the girl, with her eyes cast down. She raised
the lids sharply once and then dropped them again. Penitence and a
certain fear could not have been better expressed. Rollo was more
satisfied.
("After all," he thought, "the little thing does not mean any harm. It
is only her simplicity!")
And he twirled his moustachios self-confidently.
"It is not often," he said to himself, "that she has the opportunity of
talking to a man like me--here in this village! I suppose it is
natural." It was--to Concha.
But the girl's expression altered so soon as she heard the service that
was required of her, and she followed with rapt attention the tale of
the garrisoning of the mill-house of Sarria, and the dire need of her
former mistress and friend, Dolores Garcia.
Little Concha's coquetry, her trick of experimenting upon all and sundry
who came near her, her moods and whimsies, transient as the flaws that
ruffle and ripple, breathe upon and again set sparkling the surface of a
mountain tarn--all these dropped from the Andalucian maiden at the
thought of another's need. A moment before, this young foreign soldier,
with the handsome face and the excellent opinion of himself, had been
but fair game to Concha; a prey marked down, not from any fell intent,
but for the due humbling of pride. For Concha was interested in bringing
young men to a sense of their position, and mostly, it may be confessed,
it did them a vast deal of good.
But in that moment she became, instead, the eager listener, the ready
self-sacrificing comrade, the friend as faithful and reliable as any
brother. It was enough for her that El Sarria was there in danger of his
life, that Dona Dolores must be delivered and brought into the safe
shelter of the sisterhood, and--this with a glistening of little savage
teeth, small and white as mother-of-pearl--that Luis Fernandez should be
humbled.
"Let me see--let me see," she murmured, thoughtfully. "Wait, I will come
with you." She took a glance at the young cavalier, armed _cap-a-pie_,
and thought doubtless of the horse chafing and shaking its accoutrements
in the shade of the porter's lodge. "No, I will not come with you. I
will follow immediately, and do you, sir, return as swiftly as possible
to the mill-house of Sarria."
And without the slightest attempt at coquetry Concha showed Rollo to the
door, and that arrogant youth, slightly bewildered and uncertain of the
march of events, found himself presently riding away from the white gate
of the monastery with Etienne's ring upon his finger, and a belief
crystallising in his heart that of all the maligned and misrepresented
beings on the earth, the most maligned and the most innocent was little
Concha Cabezos.
And instinctively his fingers itched to clasp his sword-hilt, and prove
this thesis upon Pedro Morales or any venta rascal who might in future
disparage her good name.
Indeed, it was only by checking of his horse in time that he kept
himself in the right line for the mill-house. His instinct was to ride
to the venta straightway and have it out with all the blind mouths of
the village in parliament assembled.
But luckily Rollo remembered the giant Ramon Garcia, reckless and simple
of heart, Dolores his wife and her instant needs, and the imprisoned
Fernandez family in the strong-room of the mill-house. It was clear even
to his warped judgment that these constituted a first charge upon his
endeavours, and that the good name of Mistress Concha, despite the
dimples on her chin, must be considered so far a side issue.
The mill-house remained as he had left it when he rode away. The
sunshine fell broad and strong on its whitewashed walls and green
shutters, most of them closed hermetically along the front as was the
custom of Sarria, till the power of the sun was on the wane. A workman
or two busy down among the vents, and feeding the mouths of the grinding
stones, looked up curiously at this unwonted visitor. But these had been
too frequent of late, and their master's behaviour too strange for them
to suspect anything amiss.
It was now the hottest time of the forenoon, and the heat made Rollo
long for some of Don Luis's red wine, which he would drain in the
Catalonian manner by holding the vessel well out and pouring a narrow
stream in a graceful arch into his mouth. But for this he must wait. A
captive quail on the balcony said _check-check_, and rattled on the bars
of his cage to indicate that his water was finished, and that if
somebody did not attend to him speedily he would die.
As Rollo went down the little slope, past the corner of the garden where
Ramon had spoken first with La Giralda, it seemed to him that over the
broiling roofs of the mill-house he caught the glimmer of something cool
and white. He halted his horse and stood momentarily up in his stirrups,
whereupon the glimmer upon the roof seemed to change suddenly to red and
then as swiftly vanished.
Certainly there was something wrong. Rollo hurried on, giving the three
knocks which had been agreed upon at the closed outer door of the house.
It was opened by La Giralda.
"Who is signalling from the roof?" he asked hurriedly.
The old gipsy stared at him, and then glanced apprehensively at his
face. It had grown white with sudden anxiety.
"A touch of sun--you are not accustomed--you are not of the country to
ride about at this time of day. No one has been signalling. Don Ramon is
with his wife, waiting for you; and, as I think, not finding the time
long. I will bring you a drink of wine and water with a _tisane_ in it,
very judicious in cases of sun-touch!"
The latter was much in the line of the young man's desires, yet being
still unsatisfied, he could not help saying, "But, La Giralda, I saw the
thing plainly, a signal, first of white and then of red, waved from the
roof, as it seemed, over the mill-wheel."
La Giralda shook her head.
"Eyes," she said, "only eyes and the touch of the sun. But tell me,
what of Concha, and how you sped with the Lady Superior?"
But Rollo was not to be appeased till he had summoned El Sarria, and
with him examined the strong-room where the prisoners were kept; as
before, Don Luis sat listlessly by the table, his brow upon his hand. He
did not look up or speak when they entered. But his brother moaned on
about his wounded head, and complained that La Tia had drunk all the
water. This being replenished, Don Tomas wandered off into muttered
confidences concerning his early travels, how he had made love to the
Alcalde's daughter of Granada, how he had fought with a _contrabandista_
at Ronda fair--with other things too intimate to be here set down, ever
returning, however, to his plea that the Tia Elvira had defrauded him of
his fair share of the water-jug.
"Nay, not so," said the Tia, soothingly; "every drop of the water you
have drunk, Don Tomas. But it is your head, your poor head. I turned the
poultice, and with the water he speaks of moistened the leaves afresh.
And how, worthy Senors, is the dear lady? I trust, well. Ah! had she
been left in my care, all had gone right with her!"
"In _your_ care! In _your_ care, hell-hag!" cried El Sarria, fiercely,
taking a step threateningly towards her, "aye, the kind of safety my
child would have experienced had that gentleman, your brother there,
been allowed to finish his grave-digging business. Let me not hear
another word out of your mouth, lest I do the world a service by cutting
short a long life so ill-spent!"
The Tia took the hint and said nothing. But her eyes, cast up to the
roof, and her hands spread abroad palm outwards, expressed her
conviction that ever thus do the truly good and charitable suffer for
their good deeds, their best acts being mistaken and misinterpreted, and
their very lives brought into danger by the benevolence of their
intentions.
Had Rollo but followed the direction of her gaze he might have had his
doubts of La Giralda's theory of sunstroke to explain the signalling
from the roof. For there, clearly to be seen out of the half-open
trap-door, was a little scarlet strip of cloth stirred by the wind, and
doubtless conspicuous from all the neighbouring hills about the village
of Sarria.
But Rollo, eager to get to his task of arranging the transport for the
evening, so that Dolores might be taken in safety and comfort to the
Convent of the Holy Innocents, was already turning to be gone, while
Ramon Garcia, afraid to trust himself long in the same apartment with
the traitor, stood outside fingering the key.
"Bring wine and water!" cried Rollo to La Giralda, "and, Don Luis, in an
hour I will trouble you to take a little tour of the premises with me,
just to show your men that all is right."
Luis Fernandez bowed slightly but said nothing, while the invalid from
his couch whined feebly that all the water was for him. The others might
have the wine or at least some of it, but he must have all the water.
So Rollo Blair and his companion withdrew into the cool guest-chamber of
the mill-house without having seen the little waving strip of red upon
the roof. As soon as they were gone, however, Don Luis leaped up, and
with a long fishing-pole he flaunted a strip of white beside the red,
waving it this way and that for a long time, till in the close
atmosphere of the strong-room the sweat rained from him in great drops.
Then he leaped down at last, muttering, "If the General is within twenty
miles, as I think he is, that ought to bring him to Sarria. The angels
grant that he arrive in time" (here he paused a moment, and then added
with a bitter smile), "or the devils either. I am not particular, so be
that he come!"