Chapter Fifty Nine.
Ready to Start.
As in all Mexican country houses of the class mansion, that of Don Ignacio Valverde was a quadrangular structure enclosing an inner courtyard—the patio. The latter a wide open area, flagged, in its centre a playing fountain, with orange trees and other ornamental evergreens growing in great boxes around it. Along three sides ran a verandah gallery, raised a step or two above the pavement, with a baluster and railing between. Upon this opened the doors of the different chambers, as they would into the hallway of an English house. Being one-storeyed, even the sleeping apartments were entered direct from it.
That into which the ladies had retired was the cuarto de camara of Don Luisa herself. No sentry had been stationed at its door; this being unnecessary, in view of one posted at the patio. But through a casement window, which opened into the garden at the back, they could see such precaution had been taken. A soldier out there, with carbine thrown lightly over his left arm, was doing his beat backwards and forwards.
As they had no thought of attempting escape, they might have laughed at this had they been in a mood for merriment. But they were sad, even to utter prostration.
Only for a time, however; then something of hope seemed to reanimate the Condesa, and communicate itself to her companion. It was after a report brought in by Pepita; for the lady’s maid was allowed to attend upon them, coming and going freely.
“He’s got away—safe!” were her words, spoken in a cautious but cheering tone, as for the second time she came into the room.
“Are you sure, Pepita?”
It was the Countess who put the question.
“Quite sure, your ladyship. I’ve been all around the place, to the stable, grounds, everywhere, and couldn’t hear or see anything of him. Oh! he’s gone, and so glad I am. They’d have made him prisoner too. Thanks to the Blessed Virgin, they haven’t.”
The thanksgiving was for José, and however fervent on Pepita’s part, it was as fervently responded to by the others, the Condesa seeming more especially pleased at the intelligence.
She better understood its importance, for, but the hour before, she had given him conditional instructions, and hoped he might be now in the act of carrying them out.
Upheld by this hope, which the Doña Luisa, when told of it, shared with her, they less irksomely passed the hours.
But at length, alas! it, too, was near being given up, as the night grew later, nearing midnight. Then the little mertiza came in charged with new intelligence; not so startling, since they anticipated it. The Dueno had got home, and, as themselves, was under arrest. Astounded by what he had learned on return, and angrily protesting, the soldiers had rudely seized hold of him, even refusing him permission to speak with his daughter.
She had harboured a belief that all might be well on the coming home of her father. The last plank was shattered now. From the chair of the cabinet minister Don Ignacio Valverde would step direct into the cell of a prison! Nothing uncommon in the political history of Mexico—only one of its “cosas.”
On their feet they were now, and had come close to the door, which was held slightly open by Pepita. There they stood listening to what was going on outside. The sounds of revelry lately proceeding from the sala grande were no more heard. Instead, calls and words of command in the courtyard, with a bustle of preparation. Through the trellis-work they could see a carriage with horses attached, distinguishable as their own. It was the same which had just brought Don Ignacio from the city. But the heads of the frisones were turned outward, as if it was intended to take them back. Men on horseback were moving around it; soldiers, as could be seen by their armour gleaming in the moonlight.
Those regarding their movements were not left long in suspense as to their meaning. One of the soldiers on foot, whose sleeve chevrons proclaimed him a corporal, stepped up into the corridor, and advancing along it, halted in front of their door. Seeing it open, with faces inside, he made a sort of military salute, in a gruff voice saying:
“Señoritas! Carriage ready. I’ve orders to conduct you to it without delay.”
There was something offensive in the man’s manner. He spoke with a thick tongue, and was evidently half intoxicated. But his air showed him in earnest.
“You’ll allow us a little time—to put on our cloaks?”
The request came from the Condesa, who for a certain reason was wishful to retard their departure as long as might be possible.
“Carrai-i!” drawled out the cabo, the same who had won the dagger from darling Perico. “I’d allow such beautiful doncellas as you any time—all night—if ’twere only left to me. For myself, I’d far rather stick to these snug quarters, and the company of this pretty muchacha.”
At which, leaning forward, with a brutish leer, he attempted to snatch a kiss from Pepita.
The girl shrunk back, but not till she had rebuked him with an angry retort and a slap across the cheek. It stung him to losing temper, and without further ceremony he said spitefully—
“Come, come, I’ll have no more dilly-dallying: nos vamos!”
There was no alternative but to obey; his attitude told them he would insist upon it, and instantly. Time for cloaking had been a pretence on their part. They were expecting the summons, and the wraps were close at hand. Flinging them around their shoulders, and drawing the hoods over their heads, they issued out upon the corridor, and turned along it—the soldier preceding, with the air of one who conducted criminals to execution.
A short flight of steps led down to the pavement of the court. On reaching these, they paused and looked below. There was still a bustling about the carriage, as if some one had just been handed into it. Several of the soldiers were on foot around it, but the majority were in their saddles; and of these three or four could be distinguished as officers by the greater profusion of gold lace on their jackets and dolmans—for they were all Hussars. One who glittered more than any, seeing them at the head of the stair, gave his horse a prick with the spur, and rode up. Colonel Santander it was, like all the rest somewhat excited by drink; but still not so far gone as to forget gallantry, or rather the pretence of it.
“Ladies,” he said, with a bow and air of maudlin humility, “I have to apologise for requiring you to start out on a journey at such a late hour. Duty is often an ungracious master. Luckily, your drive is not to be a very extended one—only to the city; and you’ll have company in the carriage. The Doña Luisa will find her father at home.”
Neither vouchsafed rejoinder—not a word—scarce giving him the grace of a look. Which a little nettling him, his smooth tone changed to asperity, as addressing himself to the soldier, he gave the abrupt order:
“Cabo! take them on to the carriage.”
On they were taken; as they approached it, perceiving a face inside, pale as the moonbeams that played upon it. It was a very picture of dejection; for never had Don Ignacio Valverde experienced misery such as he felt now.
“’Tis you, father!” said his daughter, springing up, throwing her arms around him, and showering kisses where tears already trickled. “You a prisoner, too!”
“Ay, nina mia. But sit down. Don’t be alarmed! It will all come right. Heaven will have mercy on us, if men do not. Sit down, Luisa!”
She sat down mechanically, the Countess by her side; and the door was banged to behind them. Meanwhile, Pepita, who insisted on accompanying her mistress, had been handed up to the box by a cochero strange to her; one of the soldiers, pressed into the service for the occasion, a quondam “jarvey,” who understood the handling of horses as every Mexican does.
All were now ready for the road; the dismounted Hussars had vaulted into their saddles, the “march” was commanded, and the driver had drawn his whip to lay it on his horses, when the animals jibbed, rearing up, and snorting in affright!
No wonder, with such an object suddenly coming under their eyes. An oddly-shaped creature that came scrambling in through the saguan, and made stop beneath their very noses. A human being withal; who, soon as entering, called out, in a clear voice,—“Where is the Colonel?”