‘How well you play the jealous lover!’ admired his mother. ‘I never knew you had it in you to hate anyone as you hate this conquering stranger. It is most entertaining.’
There is no doubt this young man had conceived a very violent dislike for Sir Nicholas Beauvallet, and was at increasingly little pains to conceal it. Maybe those blue eyes mocked too openly. Don Diego knew himself for a very exquisite caballero, and it was evident Sir Nicholas had no such notion of the matter. Sir Nicholas had a curl of the lip that offended; he laughed for no apparent reason, and bore himself as though there were few whom he considered worth the snap of a finger. His careless eyes, with the laughter half stayed in them, looked quizzically, as though he would say, ‘Do you want to fight me? Well, I am ready for you, but I shall not wait upon you.’ He went abroad with a light, swinging stride, as though he were very much at home, and the very carriage of his neat head betokened arrogance. Don Diego burned to let a little of this proud blood.
He felt all his suspicions confirmed when he saw that the Chevalier was present at the gathering. Since his mother refused to pay any heed to his suspicions he determined to keep a close watch on Dominica himself, and stayed as near her as he might all the evening. She bore this as best she might, and hoped that Beauvallet would not come near. He was quite capable of coming to her out of sheer devilry, she thought, and when she caught his eye across the room she put all the warning she could into her look. He made a grimace, but for once was obedient to the pleading in her eyes. She had scolded him well for his behaviour at the Casa Carvalho when she had met him last night. She told him that such dangerous work brought her heart up into her mouth, and he had kissed her fingers, and sworn he was a villain to alarm her. That was all very well, but Dona Dominica had realized by now that her lover was not only headstrong, but took a wicked delight in tempting long-suffering Providence. But it seemed her words had had some effect, for he kept aloof from her now. He was in his gayest mood. How could she help watching him, dreading disaster?
She had a feeling of foreboding; maybe it was due to her cousin's unwelcome presence beside her, and the knowledge she had that he too was watching Beauvallet, with scowling hatred in his face. She tried to be rid of him, but he stuck close, and she saw that he suspected her of wanting to have Beauvallet beside her. She was rescued at last by her aunt, who presented her to a prim girl who had said she would so much like to meet the lady who had been captured by the notorious pirate.
Sir Nicholas was within earshot, and what must the prim girl do but ask a score of questions about El Beauvallet. Dona Dominica answered as briefly as she might, afraid every moment that Sir Nicholas’ merry humour would break out. Out of the tail of her eye, as she told her eager listener that she had not been brutally used by the demon-pirate, she saw the smile lilting on his lips, and knew that he was listening.
‘Oh, señorita, it was a miracle!’ said the prim girl fervently. ‘But tell me, what is he like, this terrible man?’
‘Indeed, señora, there is very little to tell,’ said Dominica, impatient. ‘He is a man like other men. I observed nothing remarkable in him.’
‘I had heard,’ said the girl, rather disappointed, ‘that he was very handsome, and we know that he is daring.’
‘He is well enough,’ said Dominica. ‘I think you in Spain have made too great a figure of him. He is nothing above the ordinary.’
The black head turned; to her horror she saw that that left eyebrow had flown up. God send the man Beauvallet was talking to suspected nothing! She turned her shoulder resolutely. Was this a time to send a jesting look at her?
The prim girl, baulked of excitement, began to talk of Santiago, and asked more questions. Dominica was rescued at length by Don Rodriguez, who put a hand on her arm, and smiled at her in the deprecating way he used. ‘There is one present, dear child, whom you would be glad to meet, perchance. One who was lately at Santiago, and whom I think you know.’ He lowered his voice mysteriously. ‘In ill-odour just now, alas, but you will not regard it,’ he said, leading her across the room. ‘He lost his ship – but you would know all that, for it must have chanced before you came home.’ He was making for a group by the door, unconscious of the rising tide of foreboding in his niece. ‘One cannot but feel for him, but he has been much blamed. In ill-odour at Court, my dear, so you will be wary of how you speak of such matters.’
A chill was spreading over her. ‘Who is it?’ she said levelly.
‘Did I not say? It is Don Maxia de Perinat, child. He who was sent to chase El Beauvallet, and – and failed. He tells me that he knew you and your poor father.’ He coughed, and went on hurriedly. ‘Of course you will not mention the disaster.’
Perinat! Perinat in Spain, and in this very house! Perinat, whom she had last seen wild-eyed and stuttering, raving of an English devil who laughed, and cracked a jest in the heat of battle. Every instinct strained to shriek the news to Beauvallet, and tell him to go, go before this looming peril could catch him up. Involuntarily she turned her head to seek him in the crowd. She saw only the back of his black head, the width of his shoulders. And then, while her thoughts raced, she was aware of Perinat bowing over her hand, and offering condolences for the death of her father.
She shook off the gathering numbness that threatened to overcome her, and forced herself to answer, to go on talking, to keep him by her at all costs, away from Sir Nicholas, so unconscious at the other end of the room of this imminent danger. She hardly knew what she said; her mind was casting this way and that for the means of warning Beauvallet. She stood before Perinat, with a forlorn hope of shielding Beauvallet from his notice, and for the only time in her life was glad to see her cousin approaching. She presented him to Perinat at once, hoping that they would fall into conversation and give her time to slip away to Sir Nicholas’ side.
Don Diego was bowing; Perinat had a polite word for the son of an old acquaintance. And then, in a momentary lull, came the sound of Beauvallet's gay voice, crisp and clear, and fatally carrying.
Perinat's head was jerked up instantly; he broke off in the middle of a sentence. ‘Madre de Dios, I should know that voice! What witchcraft is this?’ he said hoarsely.
Dominica began to talk feverishly, but she was not heeded. Perinat had stepped quickly forward, and was staring at Beauvallet's profile, like one who could not believe his eyes.
Sir Nicholas was talking to his Andalusian friend. Numb with horror Dominica saw the characteristic movement of the back-flung head, and heard the gay laugh that could never be forgotten.
‘Ah!’ The sound, hardly more than a gasp, came from Don Maxia. His hand was fumbling at his sword hilt. ‘Sangre de Dios, am I in my senses? Do I dream? El Beauvallet! ’
The name was shouted. Sir Nicholas swung round of instinct, but in this was nothing singular. There was scarcely a man present who did not spin about at the sound of that dread name flung across the room.
Dominica saw the quick glance sweep the group by the door. Sir Nicholas saw Perinat standing livid and staring, but only the veriest flash of recognition came into his eyes.
Don Rodriguez was bewildered, as was everyone, but found his tongue sooner than the rest. ‘What do you say, Perinat? Are you mad? Who – what – ?’
‘It is he! It is Beauvallet – Beauvallet's self, I tell you! Sangre de Dios, do I not know him? Have I not cause? Shall I ever forget that face, or that laugh, body of God! Ah, dog! ah, villain! At last, at last!’
The startled whisper, ‘El Beauvallet, El Beauvallet! ’ ran round the room; Perinat's shaking hand pointed straight at Sir Nicholas. Amazed faces peered; those near Beauvallet fell back suddenly, and more than one hand felt for a sword hilt. Only Sir Nicholas stood unmoved, an eyebrow raised in mild surprise, a look of interrogation on his face.
‘But – but that is the Chevalier de Guise!’ someone said in a dazed voice. ‘How should El Beauvallet be in Spain?’
‘I tell you it is he! I, Maxia de Perinat, who have fought with him ha
nd to hand!’ Perinat's words seemed to jostle one another. ‘Lay hands on him! Will you let him escape? I swear on the Cross it is El Beauvallet!’
‘Perinat's misfortunes have turned his brain,’ whispered the Andalusian.
Dominica stepped forward a pace. ‘Why, what are you saying, Don Maxia? That is not Beauvallet!’ Her voice was perhaps unnaturally calm. ‘I should know, surely. This man is certainly not he.’
There was a movement behind her; Don Diego's hand gripped her wrist. ‘Ah, jade, I have it at last!’ he said fiercely. ‘This is El Beauvallet, this flaunting Chevalier, and he is your lover!’
There was a buzz of excited whispering. Someone moved to the door, as though to guard it. Beauvallet's voice cut through the subdued babel, ‘God's Life, I am flattered!’ he said, and even in the midst of her sick terror, Dominica could exult in the cool amusement in his tone, and worship the iron nerve that could keep him careless and mocking still. ‘Do you take me for El Beauvallet, señor?’
‘Jesting dog of a pirate, are you not he? Ah, dare you look me in the face and say you are not he?’
‘What need? This is moon-madness, señor, or you are cupshotten. If I were Beauvallet, what in God's name should I hope to make here?’
‘I believe him!’ Don Diego was at Perinat's side. ‘There is more to this Chevalier de Guise than we know. I will tell you what you hoped to make, pirate! You hoped to snatch my cousin away. I see it all now, but you shall go to perdition on my sword's point first!’ He dragged his sword from the scabbard as he spoke, and sprang forward.
There was a hiss of steel, the glint of candlelight on a blue, shimmering blade. Beauvallet's leaping sword was out, a true piece from the hand of Sahagom of Toledo. Don Diego's thrusting point was caught on the swift blade and beaten aside. Beauvallet sprang back to the wall, and stood facing his assailant. Dominica saw the gleam of white teeth as he smiled.
‘Well, gentlemen, well? I await you. Is there any other will come to Don Diego's assistance? If I am El Beauvallet it will take a-many and a-many!’
‘Stand back, stand back, this is for me!’ Perinat cried, and thrust Don Diego aside. ‘Measure your sword with mine yet once again, pirate! Do you remember how the deck was slippery beneath your feet? Ha, do you remember, dog?’ He snatched at his dagger, and bore down on Beauvallet, a weapon in either hand.
‘Hold off your madman,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘Perchance I may do him a mischief. So-so, señor! Gently, then, and keep your guard!’ He saw Don Diego advancing on him from the side, and shifted to face him, holding Perinat at check.
Noveli, master of the house, was shocked out of his stupefaction, and rushed forward, pulling out his sword.
‘What, more?’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘Oh, brave! I am well-matched indeed.’
‘Hold, hold!’ Noveli cried, and beat up the swords. ‘What, are you crazy, Perinat? Put up, young señor! put up, I say! This, in my house! Shame! Shame on you both!’
‘Seize on him!’ Perinat gasped. ‘Seize on him, I tell you! Will you let him go, you fools? It is El Beauvallet!’
Beauvallet stood leaning lightly on his rapier, and laughing as though he found the situation irresistibly amusing. ‘Peace, Señor Greybeard, I am here still!’
‘He laughs at you! See how he mocks!’ Perinat cried, almost beside himself. ‘Put my words to the test! Call the guard! Call in the guard!’
Diego put up his sword. ‘Yes, let the guard be called in,’ he said. ‘We will sift this to the bottom. Ho, there! Call in the guard!’
Noveli turned quickly. ‘Do you give orders in my house, Don Diego?’
But many voices took up the cry. ‘Yes, let the guard be summoned! Let the matter be looked to, Noveli! If Perinat is mistaken the Chevalier will pardon it. If he speaks sooth – nay, have in the guard!’
Noveli looked uncertainly at Beauvallet, torn between his feelings as a host, and his suspicions. Behind Beauvallet was a phalanx of men watching for the least sign of an attempt to escape. And Beauvallet held his sword between his hands, and laughed.
‘I should send for the guard, señor,’ he said.
‘Chevalier, you will pardon such seeming rudeness,’ Noveli said, seriously put out.
‘With all my heart, señor,’ Beauvallet answered lightly. His glance flickered to Dominica's face of despair; his hand went to his beard, and for an instant a finger lay across his lips. He saw her eyes fall, and knew that she had understood.
Someone had sped forth to call the guard. Sir Nicholas turned his head, and seemed amused to see so many gathered between him and the door. ‘God's my life, you hold this Beauvallet a desperate man, do you not, señors?’ he said.
Perinat put up his sword. His first wild passion had died down; he spoke calmly now, but with great bitterness. ‘Desperate indeed must you be to dare come into Spain,’ he said. ‘You have made a jest of me, and of others, Beauvallet, but he who laughs last may laugh the longest.’
Beauvallet's eyes glinted. ‘The last laugh, señor, is certainly going to be mine,’ he said. ‘You say that I am Beauvallet, but there is one yonder who says I am not, and it seems she should know.’
‘She does know!’ Don Diego said, ignoring a warning look from his mother. ‘You cannot fool us thus, dog!’
‘Enough of that!’ Again Noveli intervened. ‘This is for other interrogation than yours, Don Diego. Hold your peace, I command you! If we do you an injustice, Chevalier, I hope you will be kind enough only to laugh at us.’
‘You may be sure of it, señor,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘We shall all laugh.’ Again his glance flitted to Dominica's face. ‘Let no one be ill at ease. This affair will have a happy ending, don’t doubt it.’ There came a stir by the door, and the clank of spurred heels. ‘Aha, the guard! Now by my faith you count El Beauvallet a dangerous fellow! As I live, the Guards of the Castile, and a round dozen of them!’
He was surrounded. The lieutenant, who wore a face of incredulous wonder, bowed stiffly. ‘Señor, I regret, I must ask you for your sword.’ It was presented him, hilt foremost. ‘Señor, be good enough to go with us.’
‘With the greatest pleasure on earth, Señor lieutenant,’ said Beauvallet. He looked towards the Andalusian. ‘Don Juan, it seems I may have to forego my game of trucos with you tomorrow, and maybe some other engagements I had made. Accept my apologies. But all the other engagements that I have for later dates shall certainly be kept. Señor, lead on!’
He went out, close-guarded, but his voice echoed still in Dominica's ears: ‘The engagements that I have for later dates shall certainly be kept… shall certainly be kept.’
Fifteen
Joshua Dimmock, prowling in the shadows outside the Casa Noveli, saw enough, and more than enough to set him fingering his dagger. Certain, it itched to be out, but ‘Yarely, my man, yarely,’ Joshua cautioned himself. ‘One man at large is better than two caged.’
It was his habit to lurk near whatever house Sir Nicholas stayed in. He was laughed at for his pains, but laid a finger to his nose. ‘I look for trouble,’ quoth Joshua Dimmock. ‘I don’t wait to have it brought to my notice.’
It seemed he had good reason. The gentleman who went running out to fetch in the ginetes from the barracks hard by little knew how nearly he ran on death. The dagger was out, a wicked blade, long and razor-edged; Joshua, guessing from the sound of turmoil within what evil fate hard chanced, guessed also this flying gentleman's errand. To stab him where the neck joined the shoulder would be easy enough. Ay, and then what? Joshua put up his dagger, snatched so instinctively from its sheath. No way to get Sir Nicholas off, that.
He bethought him that he had maybe let his mind jump at conclusions; drew farther into the shadows, and waited. He saw the ginetes come; they passed so close he might have touched one. They went into the house, and came out again soon with Sir Nicholas Beauvallet in their midst.
‘Ay, I beagled it out well enough,’ Joshua muttered. ‘Now what?’ He saw Sir Nicholas walking briskly between his guards, h
eard him say something to the lieutenant, and laugh. ‘He goes fleering to death!’ groaned Joshua. ‘Mocker, mocker! Will you not look your fate in the face and know yourself sped at last? But this is to tax idle circumstance.’ He pulled himself together. ‘Up, mother-wit! No time for mourning, this.’ He peered towards the open door of the house, where two lackeys stood talking excitedly together. ‘I see the first step of my way. Now to sound these hildings.’ He withdrew a little way, came out from the shadow of the wall, and went towards the Casa Noveli at a brisk trot. ‘What's here?’ he cried out. ‘Guards at your place! Who was’t? Strange doings!’ He became the epitome of curiosity, and got his answer.
‘Madre de Dios! ’ one of the lackeys said. ‘They say it is the pirate, El Beauvallet!’
‘Jesu!’ Joshua fell back, and crossed himself. ‘That fine gentleman? Do you make a jest of me? How should such a thing be, pray you?’
The first man shook his head hopelessly; it was his companion who answered, as he prepared to go indoors. ‘Why, there's Admiral Perinat within, foaming like a mad dog.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘He it was who cried out on the Chevalier.’
Joshua wanted no more. The lackeys went in, remembering their duties; Joshua went speeding towards the Puerta del Sol.
He was in time; no guards had come yet to the Rising Sun to ransack his master's baggage. He slipped in at the back entrance, waited for a cook-maid's back to be turned, and so got him upstairs unseen.
He did swift work there. Doublets, hose, boots, shirts were flung from the chest by the window, some of them stowed away pell-mell into a pack, the rest left to lie on the floor.
‘Here we play the knavish servant,’ Joshua encouraged himself. ‘What it is to have a head on one's shoulders!’ He found Sir Nicholas’ strong-box, and forced it open with the point of his dagger. ‘Ay, thus it goes. We take the money, and some few papers we may need, and leave the box to tell of our thieving. Ha, what's this?’ He unfolded the Chevalier de Guise's pass. ‘Softly, Joshua, that should be found, for I think we have no more need of it, and it may very easily help Sir Nicholas. We must be supposed to have searched in vain for it.’ He looked round him, saw a loose mandilion he had pulled out of the cupboard, and caught it up. ‘In the pocket, I believe. Lie there then, and I hope they may find you.’ He tucked the pass into an inner pocket, and hung the coat up at the back of the cupboard. ‘Ay, we sought it, and found it not. It may serve you yet, master.’ He came away from the cupboard. ‘Cheerly, Joshua! all will be well yet. Now to stow these clothes away.’ He packed as much of Sir Nicholas’ raiment as he could carry with him, hid the jewels about his own person, and nipped out to get such of his own traps as he should need. Still there came no sound of guards approaching to seize Beauvallet's papers. Joshua spied from the window, listened, heard only the voice of a tapster below, and drew in again to finish his work. Two neat bundles stood ready upon the floor, but this did not seem to be enough for Joshua Dimmock. He went to work to create more havoc, and succeeded very fairly. A small chest he had emptied he chose to lock, and then break open. He tossed an old doublet into it, a pair of stocks, a riding boot. ‘Ay, that is the way it goes. The naughty knave to rifle his master's chest! Master, you may live to thank God you have me for your servant yet.’ He stood back, and surveyed the litter. ‘A rare gallimaufry, by my faith! What more? God's light! The sword!’ He slapped his forehead, and darted to unearth the weapon from the depths of the cupboard in the wall. Out it came, that blade from the hand of Ferrara, delicate, flexible, with straight quillons, and a knuckle-bow of two shell shapes, chased with gold. ‘My bite is sure! ’ quoth Joshua. ‘I warrant me!’