CHAPTER XIX
TERESA
As day succeeded monotonous day, even Galva's buoyant spirits began toshow signs of the strain of hope deferred. The first hours of hercaptivity had given her little or no uneasiness, feeling sure that herfriends would discover her whereabouts; if they did not, she toldherself that, armed as she was, she was more than a match for the twocraven souls of her jailers.
But on the second night she had heard the sound of a new voice in theroom down-stairs, whether one voice or more she could not say. Alsothe sound of a motor-horn had come to her through the woods. Thislatter she had not given much thought to at the time, thinking that inall probability it was a car on its way to Alcador. Now that therewere visitors in the room below, the memory came back to her and tookon a new significance.
Whoever it was who was responsible for this muttering that reached herdistantly through the floor, he did not seem anxious for an interviewwith her. She had pounded on the boards with the heel of her shoe, butbeyond a short silence and a little laugh it had had no effect, and themurmuring voices went on again as before. Then she had turned herattention to the heavy fire-irons, and the continued din had broughtold Pieto to the landing to remonstrate through the door, and to assurethe girl, in answer to her questions, that there was no one in thehouse save themselves.
But a little later, Galva had heard the opening of the front door and,in the distance, the sound of a motor-engine being started.
The next morning, she had seen a man digging in the little vegetablepatch, a coarse, black-browed, evil-faced fellow. Galva rememberedhaving seen the same type of man, with their closely-cropped heads,among the loafers outside the bull-rings in Madrid, and she knew theirreputation. She drew back into the room, and for the first time sinceher capture, her heart failed her. Where were her friends, and why didthey not come to her?
Her mind flew, in its need, to the Duc de Choleaux Lasuer, and she toldherself, and thrilled at the telling, that he would rush to herassistance did he know. He had asked her on that last day in Paris towrite to him, should she be in any trouble, and she, seeing no cloudsin her future, had laughed at him. Now she shut her eyes and saw againthe eager boyish face, and she knew what a big place he had in herheart.
She threw herself down on the great bed and buried her face in thepillow. The tears that came were the first she had shed and theyrelieved her. The knowledge that all escape by force was impossibletook from her the thoughts that had buoyed her up. Now, she could nottell how many there were against her, and she knew that the man she hadseen in the garden was not one to be cowed by a girl with a toy pistol.
She sat up and dried her eyes. What could not be done one way, must bedone another. She must think out some scheme, some subterfuge to gainher release. If only she could get a letter or a message sent to VentaVilla. The high road ran only a hundred yards from her window, but thehundred yards might be miles for all the use they were, so securely washer retreat hidden. Of the imaginary accident and of her supposeddeath she of course knew nothing.
After this the days passed with a dull monotony. The prisoner, seeingthat no good was to be expected of it, dropped her bantering tone withthe old people. No longer were her meals served to her at the pistolpoint. For hours together she would sit, a pathetic little figure, inthe great arm-chair which she had pulled into the embrasure of one ofthe windows, not even turning her head when Pieto or his wife entered.She would sit there gazing out across the tree-tops to the arid plainsand the wild desolation of the distant hills. There were dark circlesshowing now under the beautiful eyes, and sometimes the meals weretaken away again untasted.
And then a little gleam of hope came to her. Since her first arrivalat the little castle she had noticed the covert looks, half admiration,half fear, with which Teresa had regarded her. Twice, too, she hadseen that the old woman had been on the point of saying something thatwas in her mind, but each time she had checked herself and broken offwith a sigh. One day Galva spoke to her.
It was a dull and miserable morning, with a fine rain that lashed andblurred the windowpanes, and a high wind moaned through the trees ofthe forest, swaying their topmost branches. Teresa was leaving theroom with the scarcely touched breakfast when Galva laid a gentle handon her arm.
"Teresa," she whispered.
The dame stopped and looked at her. Galva thought she saw compassionin the beady black eyes.
"Teresa--you are a woman and have a heart. I have seen your heartsometimes in your eyes, when you look at me. Have you no pity therefor me? All this is killing me--I am ill, Teresa--I have lived my lifein the open air of God's green world, and this," with a despairinggesture that took in all the room, "is weighing onme--killing--crushing me."
Teresa swallowed something in her throat.
"I had a heart, but I thought it dead--and you say you can see it in myeyes. How can I help you? I act for others."
"I am rich, Teresa, you can have anything you wish for. Let me write aletter to my friends. Think of their anxiety. Here," and the girltore at the bosom of her blouse, snapping a thin ribbon that passedround her neck, "take this now--it's valuable, Teresa, very valuable.See, they are diamonds, and that big red stone is a ru----"
Galva broke off and gazed in wonderment at the old woman. At sight ofthe glittering object which the girl with trembling hands held out, asudden change had come into the wrinkled face. She seized on the largemarquise ring and looked at it intently, searchingly, but there was nocupidity in her glance, only a great dawning wonderment. She turnedroughly on the bewildered girl, bringing her old eyes within a foot ofher face.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "For God'ssake--tell me--who are you?"
"I am Miss Galva Baxendale, that is, I--I---- Oh, I see that you know.I can tell by your face that you do."
"I do now. I know that you are the Princess Miranda. I suspectedbefore, and my suspicion has grown every time I saw your eyes. But Itold myself that I was getting old and that I saw things that did notexist--only in my brain."
Teresa was on her knees, pressing Galva's hand to her cold lips.
"It was this ring--the sainted Queen who wore it. Oh, how can I tellyou----"
The old woman was crying softly now, and she had not cried for nearlytwenty years. In a little while she grew more composed and went to thelanding and listened.
"They are at their cards," she said, when she returned, "and Pieto isdrunk; they will not disturb us," and then Teresa told her story.
"You said to-night that you saw the heart that died--for my heart diedseventeen years ago when I buried my Jose. He was only five, but henever walked. He would just lie in the sun in his little wheeledcradle and look up at the sky and smile at me with his deep eyes andask me things I could not tell him. Pieto, too, in those days was agood father and loved his little crippled son almost as much as I did.And then one day there was a jingling of harness and Queen Elene drovepast our little house, that lay up on the cliff road towards Logillo.She ordered her postilions to stop and called me to the side of thecarriage. She had the sweetest smile that ever told of a perfect soul,and tender eyes into which came a mist when I answered her questionsabout little Jose.
"And then she got down and knelt in the dust beside the cradle, and thelittle man looked at her with his great wondering eyes, and put up histhin little hand to touch the glittering ornaments at the Queen's neck.And after that she often drove that way, and would sit with him. Onceshe told me of her own little child, a maid--but I think she thought itunkind to speak of her own blessings in the face of my sorrow, for sheonly spoke of you that once."
Teresa held out her hand and took up the ring that she had laid down onthe tray.
"This was what he admired more than anything, and your mother wouldtake it from her finger and let him play with it, flashing it back andforth in the sunlight. The day before he died she had lent it to himand he had gone to sleep still holding it. The Queen would not awa
kehim, and in the night he died. When, afterwards, I returned it to theQueen, she wept; she would have had me keep it, but it was, she said,the first gift your father had given her. That is my story--and you,Princess? I do not want to know how you escaped the fate of thatdevilish work at the Palace. I know only, that you are here and that Iask nothing better than to die for you, for the sake of your saintedmother, and for the joy she brought into my boy's life."
Galva, her eyes moist with tears, bent and kissed the wrinkled brow.
"And I, Teresa, want you to live. I think I want you always to be withme, to talk to me about my mother."
Teresa shook her head. "I am not worthy," she said. "After Jose wastaken from us, Pieto took to the drink, and I--I did not care whathappened. We took service with Gabriel Dasso--it was rumoured that hiswas the hand that killed the Queen. We hoped to gain evidence that itwas so, and we would have poisoned him. But we learnt nothing. Weobeyed him and did his dirty work, sinking lower and lower until weforgot why we had entered his service. I am not worthy, Princess, totouch the sole of your shoe."
Galva rose.
"I won't write the letter till this afternoon, Teresa. You can get itthrough to Corbo for me?"
"There is a carrier, Princess, who passes here twice a week, aboutnightfall. He reaches Corbo at eleven. To-morrow is his next journey.I will see that he takes your letter."
"And you will come and sit with me, Teresa--we have much to talk over,haven't we? It will do you good, dear. Do not let them seedown-stairs that you have been crying. For the present you must keepour secret."
When Teresa had left the room, Galva crossed over, and leaning herelbows on the mantelpiece looked long and searchingly at herself in themirror.