Chapter Twenty One.
A Woman’s Scheme.
“My poor Ruperto is indeed in danger! Now I am sure of it. Ah, even to his life! And I may be the cause of his losing it.”
So spoke the Countess Almonté half in soliloquy, though beside her sat her friend Luisa Valverde. They were in a carriage on return from their fruitless visit to the Dictator. It was the Countess’ own landau which had remained waiting for them outside the Palace gates.
The other, absorbed with her own anxieties, might not have noticed what was said but for its nature. This, being in correspondence with what was at the moment in her own mind, caught her ear, almost making her start. For she, too, was thinking of a life endangered, and how much that danger might be due to herself. It was not poor Ruperto’s life, but poor Florencio’s.
“You the cause, Ysabel!” she said, not in surprise, save at the similarity of their thoughts. “Ah! yes; I think I comprehend you.”
“If not, amiga, don’t ask explanation of it now. It’s a hateful thing, and I dislike to think, much more speak of it. Some other time I’ll tell you all. Now we’ve work to do—a task that will take all our energies—all our cunning to accomplish it. However is it to be done? Valga me Dios!”
To her interrogatory she did not expect reply. And the desponding look of Luisa Valverde showed she had none to give that would be satisfactory; for she quite understood what was the task spoken of, and equally comprehended the difficulty of its accomplishment. Perplexed as the Countess herself, and possibly more despairing, she could but echo the exclamatory words—
“How indeed! Valga me Dios.”
For a while they sat without further exchange of speech, both buried in thought. Not long, however, when the Countess again spoke, saying—
“You’re not good at dissembling, Luisita; I wish you were.”
“Santissima!” exclaimed her friend, alike surprised at the remark as at its abruptness. “Why do you wish that Ysabel?”
“Because I think I know a way by which something might be done—if you were but the woman to do it.”
“Oh, Ysabelita! I will do anything to get Florencio out of prison.”
“It isn’t Florencio I want you to get out, but Ruperto. Leave the getting out of Florencio to me.”
Still more astonished was Don Ignacio’s daughter. What could the countess mean now? She put the question to her thus—
“What is it you desire me to do?”
“Practise a little deception—play the coquette—that’s all.”
It was not in Luisa Valverde’s nature. If she had many admirers, and she had—some of them over head and ears in love with her—it was from no frivolity, or encouragement given them, on her part. From the day Florence Kearney first made impression upon her heart, it had been true to him, and she loyal throughout all. So much that people thought her cold, some even pronouncing her a prude. They knew not how warmly that heart beat, though it was but for one. Thinking of this one, however, what the countess proposed gave her a shock, which the latter perceiving, added, with a laugh—
“Only for a time, amiga mia. I don’t want you to keep it up till you’ve got a naughty name. Nor to make fools of all the fine gentlemen I see dangling around you. Only one.”
“Which one?”
She was not averse to hearing what the scheme was, at all events. How could she be, in view of the object aimed at?
“A man,” pursued the Countess, “who can do more for us than your father; more than we’ve been able to do ourselves.”
“Who is he?”
“Don Carlos Santander, colonel of Hussars on the staff—aide-de-camp and adjutant to El Excellentissimo in more ways than military ones—some not quite so honourable, ’tis said. Said also, that this staff-colonel, for reasons nobody seems to know, or need we care, has more influence at Court than almost any one else. So what I want you to do is to utilise this influence for our purpose, which I know you can.”
“Ah, Ysabelita! How much you are mistaken, to think I could influence him to that! Carlos Santander would be the last man to help me in procuring pardon for Florencio—the very last. You know why.”
“Oh yes; I know. But he may help me in procuring pardon for Ruperto. Luckily my good looks, if I have any, never received notice from the grand colonel, who has eyes only for you; so he’s not jealous of Ruperto. As the obsequious servant of his master, hostile to him no doubt; but that might be overcome by your doing as I should direct.”
“But what would you have me do.”
“Show yourself complaisant to the Colonel. Only in appearance, as I’ve said; and only for a time till you’ve tried your power over him, and see with what success.”
“I’m sure it would fail.”
“I don’t think it would, amiga mia; and will not, if you go about it according to instructions. Though it may cost you some unpleasantness, Luisita, and an effort, you’ll make it for my sake, won’t you? And as a reward,” pursued the Countess, as if to render her appeal more surely effective, “I shall do as much for you, and in a similar way. For I, too, intend counterfeiting complacency in a certain quarter, and in the interest of a different individual—Don Florencio. Now, you understand me?”
“Not quite yet.”
“Never mind. I’ll make it more plain by-and-by. Only promise me that you’ll do—”
“Dearest Ysabelita! I’d do anything for you.”
“And Don Florencio. I thought that would secure your consent. Well, mil mil gracias! But what a game of cross-purposes we’ll be playing; I for you, and you for me, and neither for ourselves! Let us hope we may both win.”
By this the carriage had stopped in front of the Casa Valverde to set down Doña Luisa. The Countess alighted also, ordering the horses home. It was but a step to her own house, and she could walk it. For she had something more to say which required saying there and then. Passing on into the patio, far enough to be beyond earshot of the “cochero,” and there stopping, she resumed the dialogue at the point where she had left off.
“We must set to work at once,” she said; “this very day, if opportunity offer. Perhaps in the procession—”
“Oh! Ysabel?” interrupted the other. “How I dislike the thought of this procession—making merry as it were, and he in a prison! And we must pass it too—its very doors! I’m sure I shall feel like springing out of the carriage and rushing inside to see him.”
“That would be just the way to ensure your not seeing him—perhaps, never more. The very opposite is what you must do, or you’ll spoil all my plans. But I’ll instruct you better before we start out.”
“You insist, then, on our going?”
“Of course, yes; for the very reason—the very purpose we’ve been speaking of. That’s just why I ask you to take me with you. It will never do to offend his High Mightiness, angry as we may be with him. I’m now sorry at having shown temper; but how could I help it, hearing Ruperto called a robber? However, that may be all for the best. So, upstairs; turn out your guarda-roba, and your jewel case; array yourself in your richest apparel, and be in readiness for the gilded coach when it comes round. Carramba!” she added after drawing out her jewelled watch,—one of Losada’s best—and glancing at its dial, “we haven’t a moment to spare, I must be off to my toilet too.”
She had made a step in the direction of the street, when suddenly turning again she added—
“As a last word, lest I might forget it. When next you appear in the Grand Presence drop that forlorn doleful look. Misery is the weakest weapon either man or woman can make use of—the very worst advocate in any cause. So don’t show it, especially in the company of Don Carlos Santander, where in all likelihood you will be before the end of another hour. Try to look cheerful, put on your sweetest smile, though it be a feigned one, as I intend doing for Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.”
She took her departure now; but as she passed out through the saguan a cloud could be seen upon her countenance, more than that from the shadow of the arched gateway, telling that she herself needed quite as much as her friend, admonition to be cheerful.