Fortune's Bride (6 page)

“It is the Bishop of Oporto who has set the price.” This was
not actually a lie. Bishop Antonio’s secretary had discussed with Robert what
he would be likely to have to pay for the purchase or hire of mules and oxen.
Robert recognized, of course, that it would cost the British army more than the
Church—if the Church paid at all—and he continued with his set lines.
“Naturally, there will be extra pay for serving a foreign army. If you have
animals to sell or hire out to us, bring them to the field opposite the Church
of Santa da Lapa. They must be fit for work, not lame or starved or too old.”

“But how can we know—” old Pedro began.

Young Pedro, like every other villager who was not out
fishing, had come into the open area near old Pedro’s house as soon as the
priest had established Robert’s bona fides. But young Pedro was not listening
to his father. Unburdened by any responsibility for the welfare of the village,
he did not allow himself to be distracted by talk of mules and oxen. The
foreigner was English and he had money. Here was his opportunity, young Pedro
thought, to get what had been promised to them and also to rid himself of the
threat of a plain, sharp-tongued wife, who said openly she did not want to
marry him and thus would grow uglier and sharper tongued with every year.

Quietly young Pedro eased himself through the group of men
and women who were listening intently and made his way to
Tia
Maria’s
hut. There he grasped Esmeralda by the wrist and began to pull her out. He did
not explain. Although he, no more than his father, would have given Esmeralda
up to the French, she had hurt his pride, and he was spiteful enough to wish to
give her a good fright.

He succeeded completely in this purpose. Esmeralda struggled
violently, believing that she had gone too far and convinced father and son
that she would not be able even to pay what Henry had promised them and that
they were thus about to rid themselves of the danger her presence posed to the
village. However, this time her struggles were ineffective, since Pedro knew
she would resist and was prepared. The only thing he feared was that she would
scream, for he did not want the Englishman who had the ear of the Bishop of
Oporto to think that he or anyone in the village had harmed a countrywoman of
his. But, frightened as she was, Esmeralda did not make a sound. To scream
would only attract the attention she was fighting to avoid.

Having dragged her out of the hut and had his little
revenge, Pedro tried to tell Esmeralda that the visitor to the village was
English, not French. By then, however, she was so terrified, knowing how the
French troops would use an Englishwoman who had no proof of her identity and
thus no claim to honorable treatment that she could not take in what he said.
Now young Pedro regretted his petty revenge. He certainly did not wish to drag
a struggling, disheveled girl before a man of wealth and influence. It would
make it very difficult to claim that they were her saviors and had been good to
her and that therefore the Englishman should pay her debt to them.

Young Pedro paused behind one of the houses and shook
Esmeralda until her neck nearly snapped. “You fool!” he snarled. “It is your
countryman to whom I bring you. Listen! The man is English, not French.”

Esmeralda heard, but she did not believe him. She thought he
was saying it only to trick her into going willingly. Of course, there was no
sense in that, but she was too much afraid to think clearly. She made one last
effort to wrench herself free, managing to kick young Pedro most painfully on
the shin and sink her teeth into his hand. He howled, as much with shock and
surprise as with pain, and Esmeralda managed to gain her freedom.

She did not know what to do with it, however. She darted
away behind another building, but there she paused. She could hear young Pedro
cursing as he trotted back toward his father’s house. If the headman had
already betrayed her, she realized, there was no sense in running. The
Frenchman was on horseback and could easily catch her. The only hope Esmeralda
had was to convince him she was a lady and that there would be serious
repercussions from his officers if she was molested. Thus, she fought back her
tears, smoothed her hair quickly, and came out into the open.

The very first thing she saw was Robert, who had just
remounted his horse. For a moment, Esmeralda believed that terror had unhinged
her mind. In the next instant, she remembered that young Pedro had insisted the
visitor was an Englishman.

“Captain Moreton,” she gasped, but shock froze her voice and
the words came out scarcely louder than a whisper.

Robert, who had said his goodbyes, lifted his reins. Again
Esmeralda tried to cry his name, but this time no sound at all came from her
throat.

Young Pedro, who saw his release from a shrewish wife about
to disappear, gave up his low-voiced argument with his father, and as Robert’s
mount began to move, turned and cried out, “There is an Englishwoman here who
owes us money.”

He spoke quickly in his haste, so that the only words Robert
caught were those for “English” and “money”. He did not rein in because he did
not wish to waste any more time, and he thought the young man was asking
another question about whether the English could be trusted to pay. However,
the priest understood. He was puzzled by Robert’s indifference and asked, “An
Englishwoman? How did she come here?”

And almost simultaneously, Esmeralda found her voice and
called, “Captain Moreton! Wait!”

The feminine voice drew Robert’s eyes, and he frowned.
Esmeralda, freed from the paralysis caused by fear followed too quickly by
relief, hurried forward. “Captain Moreton,” she cried, “do you not remember me?
I am Esmeralda Talbot. We met in India, in Bombay.”

For a moment, Robert just stared. The face and voice were
only vaguely familiar. His own appearance was notable. Very few people who had
seen him, male or female, forgot those perfect features. To Robert, however,
Esmeralda Talbot had been only one of many plain, uninteresting girls.
Nonetheless, the accent was that of an English gentlewoman. Robert dismounted
again and went to meet her.

“Miss Talbot?”

Esmeralda picked up the uncertainty in his voice. “You must
remember me,” she gasped, beginning to tremble. “You must! Please! Oh, please!”

“Of course I remember you,” Robert assured her soothingly,
taking her hand. It was not exactly the truth. Robert did know that he had met
this young woman before, but where and when had faded into the general blur of
innumerable dull, dutiful parts of otherwise enjoyable social engagements.

“Thank God,” Esmeralda breathed, clutching his hand as if it
were a lifeline. “You must help me, Captain Moreton.”

“I will if I can, Miss Talbot,” Robert said cautiously, “but
I am on duty, and—”

“You cannot leave me here,” Esmeralda cried, her voice
rising hysterically. “The old man wants to force me to marry his son because he
thinks I am rich.”

“Good God!” Robert exclaimed, realizing for the first time
that Esmeralda was not in the village of her own free will.

He had assumed when she said she had met him in India that
her family had moved to Portugal for some business reasons. Robert had left
India in 1805, two years before the French had invaded Portugal. There had been
a reasonably large colony of British in and around Oporto involved in the wine
trade. It was conceivable that some had not believed in the seriousness of the
French threat and had not wished to abandon their businesses and return to
England in 1807. For that kind of greed, Robert—whose family was rich and
therefore could afford to be contemptuous about money—had little sympathy.
However, if this young woman was alone and unprotected, Robert’s duty was clear
to him. He was not happy about it, but he would not shirk it.

“No, of course, that cannot be permitted,” he added hastily,
fearing Esmeralda was about to dissolve into tears. “Something will have to be
done. Please try to be calm, Miss Talbot,” he concluded desperately.

Esmeralda drew a long, shuddering breath. “I am very sorry,”
she said more steadily. “If you will listen to my problem and advise me, I
promise I will not afflict you with vapors.”

“That’s the dandy,” Robert remarked with hearty
encouragement and an enormous sense of relief.

When his sisters started to cry, he had found that they also
seemed to lose the ability to make sense, so that it was nearly impossible to
discover what had caused the distress in the first place and stop the
waterfall. He began to feel more kindly toward Miss Talbot. As his alarmed
concentration on her diminished, however, he became aware of a babble of
excited voices behind him. He turned slightly and noted that the headman was
alternately shouting at a younger man close to him and whining at the priest.
Both the young man and the priest were replying, and owing to the medley of
voices, Robert could not make out a word.

Robert began to feel worried again. If the villagers wanted
to hold the girl, there could be trouble, and Sir Arthur had given strict
instructions that everything was to be done to conciliate the people.
Nonetheless, Robert could not permit the forced marriage of an English
gentlewoman to a common peasant. He cast a glance at Esmeralda, but although
she, too, was now looking at the three vociferous speakers, she showed no signs
of becoming tearful again. He assumed that was because she could not understand
what was being said.

“I do not wish to alarm you,” Robert said, “but perhaps it
would be better to explain later. I would prefer that we leave before there is
any trouble. That young man—”

As he spoke, he had watched Esmeralda anxiously, but instead
of looking frightened a very faint smile appeared on her lips, and when he said
“we leave” she relaxed the tight grip she had kept on his hand. Robert then
gently disengaged his fingers altogether and felt even better pleased when
Esmeralda showed no sign of objecting.

“Young Pedro will not try to keep me,” she said. “His
father—old Pedro is the headman—is angry because young Pedro is the one who
told me there was an Englishman in the village.” Now that she saw salvation
within her grasp, Esmeralda was more than willing to forgive young Pedro for
the fright he had given her and certainly did not wish to make any more trouble
for him than he was in already. “You see,” she continued, “young Pedro is the
one who would have had to marry me, and he didn’t like the idea any more than I
did. I am afraid my putative riches did not make up for…for my other lacks.”

“The more fool he,” Robert said automatically. He was not,
of course, thinking of the “putative riches” Esmeralda had mentioned but only
saying the polite thing to a girl who was obviously too aware of her plainness.
“If you have kept your head in such a difficult situation, you cannot lack
much,” he added, seeking to make the compliment he had paid a little less
empty. Then, to avoid having to find another compliment that was not obviously
a lie, he asked, “Do you understand them?”

“Oh, yes,” Esmeralda replied. “You need not worry about old
Pedro making trouble. The reason he is so angry is because he thinks that the
villagers have lost all chance of obtaining what he feels is owed to them, as
well as personally having lost the chance of snaring a rich daughter-in-law.
But really, if it is at all possible I would like to explain part of the
problem now. You see, I-I do feel I owe the villagers a debt, and I have no way
to pay it until I get to England.” Her voice began to tremble on the final
words, and she stopped and swallowed hard.

“Now, now,” Robert soothed, “there is no need to worry about
money. Something can be arranged, I am sure. How much is this debt?”

Esmeralda uttered a rather tremulous chuckle. “I am not
quite sure. You see, when we were shipwrecked—”

“Shipwrecked!” Robert exclaimed. “You have had a rather
rough time, I’m afraid. Perhaps you would like to sit down.”

A more natural laugh was drawn from Esmeralda. “It was more
than a month ago, and I am quite recovered from the exertions involved,” she
said primly but with twinkling eyes. However, she sobered immediately and
added, “But Papa did not recover. We had left India, you see, because his heart
was weakened and he could no longer tolerate the climate. Although he did
survive the shipwreck itself, the shock was too much for him. And he could not
stop worrying. Papa was terrified of being taken by the French. He offered to
‘pay well’ if the villagers would hide us. But I don’t know whether he ever
offered a particular sum, and old Pedro has never mentioned any specific
amount, either. However, that may be because Papa offered more when the French
were foraging in the area and then reduced the amount again when they were
gone.”

Robert had only been listening with half an ear. As soon as
Esmeralda began to talk about “Papa”, the name Talbot had finally rung a bell
in his mind. He still could not recall distinctly where and when he had met
Esmeralda, although now he was certain he had danced with her at some ball or
other, but Bombay and Talbot had come together to produce a clear memory. He
did remember meeting Henry Talbot and not finding the experience a pleasant
one. The man had tried to interest him in investing in some very dubious
enterprises.

Realizing suddenly that he had made no response at all to
Esmeralda’s mention of her father’s demise, Robert said hastily, “I am very
sorry to hear of Mr. Talbot’s death.”

There was a slight pause during which Esmeralda stood
absolutely still with lowered eyes. She knew what was proper, what was expected
of her. Every daughter was supposed to grieve over a father’s death, but
Esmeralda was envisioning the tens, perhaps hundreds, of times she would have
to mouth falsehoods and pretend emotions she did not feel. What was more, she
had sensed the coolness and reserve in Robert’s tone when he spoke the formal
regret for her father’s death that politeness required. Impulsively she spoke
the truth.

“You do not need to offer me sympathy over Papa’s death. He
was not a very nice person and not kind to me. I have nothing to regret. I did
my duty as a daughter, but Papa did not love me and did not wish that I love
him, so there was little in his death to cause me grief.”

Robert had been cursing himself, thinking he had
precipitated a new emotional crisis. He had been casting wildly around for some
sympathetic phrase that would not make matters worse, when Esmeralda had raised
her eyes to his and spoken. In that moment of relief, Robert thought them the
most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Further, he was so delighted that he
would not need to wade through a bog of bathos that he found her candor far
more refreshing than shocking. However, he had not the faintest notion of what
to say in reply to such a statement.

Fortunately, there was no need to say anything because at
that moment the diatribe old Pedro had been delivering to his son and the
priest flooded over onto them. Pointing his finger at Esmeralda, old Pedro
accused her of ingratitude and heartlessness, reminding her of the shelter,
food, and clothing that had been bestowed upon her. Then he turned to Robert.

“She is lying to you,” he declaimed passionately. “She is
saying we were cruel to her and that she owes us nothing—”

“Quiet!” Robert ordered, having remembered that one
appropriate word from his limited Portuguese vocabulary. He then said to the
priest, “Father, would you be good enough to translate what the headman said?
He speaks too quickly when he is so excited for me to understand. And would you
also translate what I say? It would take me too long to find the right words in
your language.”

The priest repeated what Pedro had said. Robert flicked a
glance at Esmeralda, and she nodded, smiling slightly, indicating that the
translation was accurate.

“You are quite wrong,” Robert then replied. “Miss Talbot has
not been accusing you of unkindness at all. She has, in fact, told me that her
father promised you a recompense for what their keep has cost you and for your
good faith in protecting them from the French. We English are honest people. We
do not wish to cheat you.” At least, Robert thought, he had been able to get in
a useful conciliatory statement.

While the priest translated, Robert made a rapid calculation
of the amount of money he had with him. He knew that there could now be no
question of riding farther to seek animals for transport. Sir Arthur, he was
sure, would have agreed, had he been present, that Robert’s first duty was to
get Miss Talbot to Oporto and make what arrangements he could for her safety.
How to get her there, however, presented a problem. He asked the priest to stop
translating for a minute while he consulted Esmeralda.

“I will walk if necessary,” she said gratefully, “but I
could easily ride a mule or an ass. I was accustomed in India to riding long
distances.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Robert replied, “but there is a
problem. I am sure there will be no lady’s saddle in this village, if they have
saddles at all.”

“Dear Captain Moreton,” Esmeralda laughed while she blinked
back tears, “you are very considerate, but this is no time for delicacy. I
would be happy to leave here draped over the back of an ass like a sack of
wheat. I will not object to riding astride on a blanket, I assure you.”

A most reasonable girl, Robert thought. He wondered why he
could not remember her more clearly. She was no beauty, certainly, but she had
fine eyes and a good spirit. Usually he did remember young women who made
interesting conversation.

“Tell the headman that I will give him two hundred escudos,”
he said, “but that must not only clear Miss Talbot’s debt completely but include
a mule and some kind of saddle for the animal.”

Robert then resigned himself to the endless haggling that
followed. First there was a violent protest that a mule was not necessary.
Women, old Pedro claimed heatedly, only rode pillion behind a man. Robert
quelled that quickly enough by saying coldly that he had no intention of tiring
his fine mount by making the horse carry double for that distance. And when the
headman protested that she would only fall off and be hurt, Robert stated even
more coldly that Miss Talbot was no common Portuguese peasant girl but an
English gentlewoman, who knew well how to ride and was not accustomed to being
bumped about on a horse’s croup like a faggot of sticks.

Meanwhile, Esmeralda had been thinking over Robert’s offer,
comparing it with what she knew of the amount of money circulating in the
village. Considering the fleeting expression she had noted on old Pedro’s face,
she soon came to the conclusion that far from feeling cheated, the headman was
afraid that Robert would later think he had overpaid and come back to reclaim
his money if the offer was accepted too eagerly. Thus, she was not surprised
when the first mule presented should long ago have been retired, and the second
had a wheeze that could be heard across the whole square.