Limbo Lodge (12 page)

“He will not. I mean,” said the Senhora correcting herself, “he cannot. The Senhor is – is indisposed. He is unwell.”

“In that case,” suggested Dido, “how about Lord Herodsfoot? He’s a college-learned fellow, he’d oblige. I bet he’d do it for ye, all hunky-dory.”

Despite the Senhora’s look of even greater disapproval, Talisman said, “Is Lord Herodsfoot in the house? Yes, from all I hear of him, he would be an excellent choice. Let him be sent for.” And putting her head out the door, she ordered, “Let the English milord be wakened and brought here directly.”

“Senhora Medica,” said Dona Esperanza crossly, “we must of
course
be obliged to you for saving my daughter’s life – and the child—” (She don’t sound a
mite
thankful, Dido thought.) “But now you go beyond what is needed or seemly.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Doctor Talisman cheerfully. “Not at all.”

“You come here – a stranger to us, an outsider—”

“Not entirely, ma’am. I was born in this island twenty-five years ago.”

“Indeed.” This news seemed very unpleasing to the Senhora.

“And furthermore,” Talisman went on, “I have, from one of my parents, the gift of knowing in advance – a very little – what fortune keeps in store for some of my patients. For instance—” she leaned down and touched one of the baby’s fists with her finger; instantly the tiny hand grasped the finger and held it. Dr Talisman looked up, smiling, at the angry grandmother. “For instance, ma’am, just by this contact with your granddaughter’s hand, I can tell you two things: one is that in the circle of people closely connected with her at this moment there is one who wishes her great harm. Safely christened, she will be in less danger from that. And, secondly, your granddaughter has an unusual future ahead of her.
If
– and it is only
if
, mark you – if she reaches the age of an adult, she may well become the ruler of this island. Of course that is only
one
chance among many – at every moment of our lives so many different choices face us, do they not—?

The Senhora did not seem particularly enchanted at the suggestion that her granddaughter might one day become Queen of Aratu. She began, “I do not at
all
understand—” in an angry voice, but at this moment Lord Herodsfoot entered the room, tying his cravat with a hasty negligent hand, wearing the slightly blind, bemused, helpless look of a person who ordinarily wears glasses but has mislaid them. He was followed by Tylo, plainly anxious not to miss anything interesting that might be going on.

“You sent for me, ma’am? – Goodness gracious me,” he added, peering about him at the disorderly, candle-lit room, “have I come to the right place?”

“Mylord Oklosh!” cried Yorka joyfully, “see, see, see! Shaki Talisman fix your glasses, very best!” And she ran forward, pulled Herodsfoot’s hand so as to bring his head down to her level, and carefully, tenderly fitted the glasses on to his nose.

“My word! That
is
an improvement!” ejaculated Lord Herodsfoot, adjusting the spectacles with the palms of both hands. Then he looked straight ahead, and the first thing he saw was the face of Dr Talisman, studying him across the tumbled bed, wearing her usual expression of keen, alert attention.

“Dr Talisman, I believe?” He gave her his wide, friendly smile. “I cannot tell you, ma’am, how exceedingly happy I am to meet you, and how grateful I am for this work of rescue—” He touched the mended glasses. “I have been hearing so much about you, both from Miss Twite and from the boy Tylo here. But now, how can I be of use? – for I feel this is not a room where male guests are welcome for longer than is strictly needful.” Now catching sight of the Senhora, grim and silent in the shadows, he made her a low bow, and said, “Ma’am: your most obedient servant . . .”

She slightly, silently inclined her head, but made no reply.

“We need this child christened,” Talisman said briefly. “And the Senhora here is of the opinion that the ceremony is best performed by a man. Sir, will you be so good . . .?”

It was plain that, during Lord Herodsfoot’s extensive travels round the world, he had at various times been faced with unusual circumstances equal to these. He said: “Certainly; if you wish it, ma’am?” glancing from Talisman to the Senhora, who again very slightly inclined her veiled head.

“Would you have such a thing as a drop of holy water, or a thimbleful of djeela-nut oil?” “Certainly not!” snapped the Senhora.

“Well, it is no matter. I have a thimbleful myself, which this boy’s great-grandfather was so kind as to give me, in return for my reciting Shakespeare’s sonnets to him.” And he pulled a beautiful little spiral shell from his pocket. “Do you have a pin, my dear Doctor?”

Talisman produced a pin from her neck-cloth and Herodsfoot, with extreme care, removed a tiny plug of clay from the opening of the shell, and tipped a minute drop of oil on to his finger. Very quickly he replugged the shell with the speck of clay and returned it to his pocket. Meanwhile the overwhelming aromatic scent of concentrated djeela-juice filled the air of the whole chamber.

“Now,” said Herodsfoot briskly, “where is this baby? Ah – there you are, my dear—” and he scooped the baby from its basket. She stared at him peacefully but made no sound.

“What name is she to be given, senhora?”

Grimly, the Senhora shook her head. “Her name is no affair of mine.”

“Doctor Talisman? Do you know?”

“No, sir. I entered this house only in time to help with the confinement.”

“Dear me! Shall we have to wake the mother? I would be most reluctant to do so.”

“You would not be able to,” said Talisman. “I gave her a draught which will keep her asleep till morning.”

“Then we shall have to choose a name,” said Herodsfoot, undaunted. “Senhora, what would you say to the name Vitorinha?”

But, as she was beginning a distasteful motion of her head, Yorka spoke up. “Baby’s name be Miria.”

“How do you know that?” inquired Talisman.

“My mother’s sister Tala’aa tell me so.”

“Good. Miria it shall be. Lord Herodsfoot—?”

He nodded, touched the baby’s forehead with the finger anointed in djeela nut oil and said rapidly, “In the name of this island and its ancestral powers I pronounce this child’s name to be Miria Francisca Ereira.”

Then he popped her back into the basket, adding apologetically, “I always think it best for a child to have two names, in case it doesn’t fancy the first one, so I gave her one of mine; I hope you don’t think it a liberty, and that she will not object.”

“Thank you sir,” said the Senhora dourly. “At least Francisca is a more godly name than Miria – she should properly have been given her father’s name also—”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, ma’am – I had understood that in this land a child carries its mother’s name?”

“That is so,” the Senhora answered grimly, “but the father’s name is customarily added as well.”

“In that case let us add it by all means.”

“Most unfortunately,” said the Senhora, as if the words were being pulled out of her by pincers, “most unfortunately we do not know the father’s name.”

Dido noticed Doctor Talisman give a compassionate glance at the sleeping girl on the bed.

“Then,” said Lord Herodsfoot, “I will write it down as I spoke it.”

Pulling a notebook from his pocket he rapidly scribbled a couple of lines, remarking “Doctor in attendance: shall I put Dr Talisman Van Linde?”

She nodded.

“And witnesses – Dido Twite and Yorka – can you sign there, my dears?”

Yorka could not write, but made her mark, a little flower-drawing. Dido wrote DIDO. Then Herodsfoot dripped a bit of wax on to the paper from a candle and pressed it with his seal-ring.

“There you are, ma’am, signed, sealed, and all in order: from this moment little miss is safe from all ghostly enemies.”

He handed the paper to the Senhora, who looked far from pleased but received it with civility.

“Now we should all return to our chambers,” she announced. “Doctor Talisman – I do not know which of my servants admitted you to my house—?”

Dido wondered very much what explanation Doctor Talisman would give for her presence in the mansion, but at this moment they were all startled by a clamour of shouts in another part of the building, and a thunderous banging on some distant door.

“Oh, heavens above, now what?” ejaculated the Senhora.

A footman came running in to announce: “Senhora, it is the Very Honourable Gerente Manoel – with a troop of Civil Guards – he asks admission—”

Dona Esperanza hurried away.

“
C
OME WITH ME
!”
WHISPERED A VOICE
. “C
OME
with me quickly, meninha – you and your friends!” It was the maid, Katarina. “You must not stay to meet the Gerente Manoel – they say he means you great harm!”

She led them along a passage to a large, damp library, its walls lined with shelves and shelves of musty, leather-bound books which looked as if nobody ever read them. A dying fire faintly warmed the air. In one of a pair of leather-covered armchairs a red-faced man snored, fathoms deep in slumber; a fumy odour of wine came from him, and half a dozen empty bottles lay on the floor by his chair. Dozens of candles in wall-sconces guttered and flickered towards their end.

“Dear me,” said Herodsfoot. “Is that our host?”

“Senhor don Enrique,” said Katarina. “But he will not stir till noon – he never does – he is full of wine. You will be safe in this room – nobody will think of looking for you here.”

“But why should we hide? We have done nothing wrong.”

Katarina looked impatient at Herodsfoot’s simplicity.

“Not you perhaps, milord – but your friends. First, in the town hospital – the knife-work done on that Outros man – then, in the prison – one of the guards killed – they say the doctor did that—”

“One of the guards
killed
?” said Talisman, astounded. “But I never touched any of the guards – Yorka’s aunt Tala’aa let me out while they were all playing Cows and Leopard—”

“However that may be, a guard
was
killed. And a page from the doctor’s notebook was found on him—”

“Oh, croopus,” said Dido, “I reckon it must have been one of the two guards that nabbed me. They were fighting each other – they were half-seas over and both had knives – one of them must have finished off his mate. And now they put the blame on Doc Tally. Well, but I could tell them how it really happened—”

“No,” said Talisman. “That would not help. They will never believe you. They will not want to believe you. They will blame us both equally.”

“You must at once leave this house,” insisted Katarina. “All of you.”

“Lord Herodsfoot’s not accused of anything,” objected Dido. “He could stop.”

“And do you think I would stay behind,” he said, “when the rest of you have to flee through the forest? I agree, it does seem the height of injustice when, by what I am told, Doctor Talisman has almost certainly just saved that poor girl’s life – and brought her baby in to the world – but I fear these Angrian folk are not at all reasonable – especially when it comes to the treatment of women—”

“Hush!” entreated Katarina.

They could hear heavy footsteps and voices all over the house. Some passed the library door. They heard someone ask a question, and apparently receive a negative answer.

“So how are we to get away from here?” breathed Dido.

“I show you Don Enrique’s private way to stable.”

Katarina pulled back a section of shelves lined with sham books and opened a door. A flight of steps descended to a yard. Katarina led them round it, keeping in shadow, and so to the stables. She whispered something to a sleepy stable-hand who, without argument, brought out their horses. In another yard, not far away, they could hear the stamping, shouting, clatter, and whinnying of the Guards troop who had come in search of them; the noise drowned the sound of their own horses’ hoofs as they moved away down the track.

“Katarina, thank you,
thank
you!” whispered Dido. “I hope you won’t be in trouble from this—”

“No, no, meninha, why should they think of me? Now, make haste, make haste—”

The horses were rested (all except Talisman’s mule, but it, luckily, had not had such a long journey on the previous day) and so they went quickly down the valley occupied by the Quinquilho ranch and into another one where the forest grew thick and untouched. By now the greenish light of dawn was beginning to flood the sky.

Lord Herodsfoot was still fretting about their unceremonious departure.

“No chance to say thanks to the old lady – not that she was very friendly – but after all she did give us dinner and beds—”

“I wonder if she is a friend of Manoel Roy?” said the doctor.

Herodsfoot turned towards her eagerly. “Are you acquainted with that man? I believe I heard Dido say that you had met him in Europe?”

“Yes, my adopted father and I used to meet him here and there in gambling towns. And he often urged me to take a trip back to Aratu some time – suggested that I should return to visit the place where I was born—”

“Now I wonder why he did that?” mused Herodsfoot. “Do you think he can have had some private motive?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Old Asoun told me – when I was staying with him and we were discussing affairs in Aratu – he said Manoel is devouringly ambitious – he would like to succeed his brother as ruler of the island. Also, he hates his brother, who stopped supplying him with money to travel to Europe. (Apparently there was some disgraceful episode – he cheated at cards, or killed a man in a duel – the Forest People, of course, know all these things.)”

“But why would Manoel want Doc Tally back here?” broke in Dido, who was riding, with Yorka perched on her saddle-bow, a few paces behind the others. “The island folk might like Tally better than him? If old John King’s her father? If she’s the heir? If she’s the kid that got chucked in the sea?”