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 hoard
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 to-morrow 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.
[Illustration: GEOFFREY GIVES INEZ HER LOVER'S NOTE]
"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
to-morrow. 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
passers-by 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. To-morrow 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 to-morrow 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 curé
who had been taken suddenly ill. This village was situated, he was
told, some six miles south-east 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 fête. 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 passer-by 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 a 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, señora, 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, señora, 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, señora, 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 wore 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 passers-by. Several times she glanced back.
"Do not be uneasy about him, señora," 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
fête. 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 fête, 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."