The cook of castamar, p.10
The Cook of Castamar, page 10
‘I understand that your mother is still the same, the poor thing,’ she added. ‘As soon as we heard about the tragedy, I wrote to your father.’
‘We were very grateful. Ever since she had the stroke that affected her mind, she’s scarcely been herself,’ Amelia replied. ‘That’s why Father decided to stay away from court.’
‘The court can be so troublesome at times,’ Doña Mercedes replied wearily.
‘But also so necessary, my dear Doña Mercedes,’ the marquess commented.
Finally, the carriage passed through a gateway and onto a paved road lined with chestnut trees. They left behind them the gatehouse with its small detachment of armed guards, the coach houses, stables and estate workers’ quarters. As they passed, Doña Mercedes related how her son had had them renovated out of concern for the comfort of their inhabitants. They also crossed a bridge, with stone pilasters at either side supporting spheres of granite, just as Amelia remembered. This took them over a stream, and they continued up a pine-covered slope until they came to a small plateau. When they reached the top, they saw the great house of Castamar, its lights glowing in the darkness. Amelia was overcome with the same sensation as when she had seen it for the first time.
The building was simple and majestic, more in accordance with the Bourbons than with the Habsburgs of the previous century. It was surrounded by high railings with gilded tips, and on either side of the straight paths, neat flowerbeds were laid out. Amelia thought the gardens a match for those of France, burnished by the reds, yellows and oranges of the setting sun. The carriage came to a halt in front of the main door, a grand affair with a heavy lintel resting on fluted columns, where the servants were waiting to assist them. As she stepped onto the footboard, Amelia admired the four-storey palace and had the sensation of returning to a safe haven.
She descended, assisted by one of the footmen, with Don Enrique following behind. Doña Mercedes, removing her hat, asked the butler for news of her son. When they reached the top of the flight of stairs that led up to the entrance, a footman appeared, bowed, and took their coats. The duchess smiled and invited the marquess and Amelia to wait in one of the small rooms off the enormous, marbled hallway. Meanwhile, she instructed the head butler to provide them with whatever they might need, and then disappeared down a corridor.
Amelia looked out of one of the room’s high windows. ‘What a wonderful view,’ she said, to fill the silence.
The marquess placed his cocked hat on an armchair and poured himself a glass of liqueur. Amelia, her back to him, pretended to admire the view. The butler, seeing that nothing more was required of him, pulled the doors closed behind, leaving two ushers on duty outside the room.
‘Señorita Castro, I have a confession. Our friend has told me your secret,’ the marquess whispered.
On hearing these words, Amelia froze inside, but she forced herself to hide her feelings. She didn’t even turn around.
‘I know your father died two years ago,’ the marquess continued, ‘that he sold the Cadiz estate in an attempt to pay off his gambling debts, and that all you inherited from him was his poverty. And Doña Mercedes has told me of your father’s previous attempt to marry you off to Castamar, and I am sure that, driven by desperation, you are going to make a second attempt. You need to be very careful – if people at court find out about your situation, you will be a pariah. Nobody will receive you in their home.’
Could he have brought her here just to take advantage of her misfortune, as others had done in Cadiz? She turned towards him, her head bowed, scarcely able to look at him for shame.
‘Verónica shouldn’t have told you any of that,’ she said. ‘All she needed to say was that I wanted to attend the party.’
‘A true friend never lies,’ he replied discreetly. He took a sip from his glass and approached slowly, until he stood just a few yards away. ‘But don’t worry, you have nothing to fear,’ he added calmly. ‘I’m here to help you and to keep your secret safe. My friendship with Verónica Salazar goes back many years, and my dedication to you is a tribute to that, but I could hardly have abandoned a damsel in distress.’
Amelia gulped. She was desperate to believe him but was unsure what to say. This man had brought her to Madrid, had saved her from the clutches of the odious Don Horacio a mere two hours ago, had gained her entry to Castamar, and all this in full knowledge of her past. She felt torn between immense gratitude and deep concern at the harm he might do her.
‘If they find out about my situation at Castamar, if they find that – despite knowing about it – you brought me here, you could have…’
She was overcome by the memories of the last four years, and her voice trailed off. Her father had made his fortune as a young man by importing tobacco from the Americas and had made a name for himself as a merchant in Seville, Cartagena and Cadiz. He had built up his connections with the aristocracy, who had been among his best customers. She could still remember what he’d said once as they took a ride through Seville in their carriage. ‘You’re going to marry into nobility, my darling.’ And so, she had turned down proposals from wealthy Andalusian families while her father continued to search for the perfect match that would bring her a title. And finally, they thought they had found it at Castamar. But the plans came to nothing and while their search continued without any sign of striking gold, her marriageable years were passing. A year after the setback with Don Diego, she had celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday, a day she would never forget.
Don Luís Verdejo y Casón, Baron of Zahara, was invited to attend the festivities by her father. He had already spoken to her and, despite the age difference, he was set on making her his wife. But everything had changed with her mother’s stroke. The poor woman had been struck down during the party. Driven to madness by the loss of his wife, Amelia’s father had taken to drink and gambling, and neglected his duties to his daughter. In just two years, he had frittered away his fortune, his wife’s dowry, and the money that had been set aside for his daughter’s marriage. Don Luís, the baron, had disappeared as soon as he had heard the rumours of his future father-in-law’s derangement and the situation of the mother-in-law.
Amelia, who had had plenty of suitors from among the highest echelons of Andalusian society, was now rejected by them all for being too poor. The family had scarcely been able to keep up appearances while their creditors came knocking at the door. It had come as no surprise when, one January morning, she had found her father dead. And she was left alone with her mother, a woman who could barely speak. Amelia had inherited a pittance, and they had scraped by on this for the last two years, seeking protection wherever they could find it. Eventually, one of their sponsors had converted their misery into a commercial exchange in which Amelia had been obliged to give in to his requests in order to keep starvation at bay.
She forced herself to abandon her gloomy reverie as Don Enrique approached her again.
‘Señorita Castro,’ he said gently. ‘Look at me.’ She obeyed slowly. ‘Don’t you worry – it’s our little secret,’ he whispered to her. ‘If you don’t want any more help from me, I’ll respect your decision. I’m only offering.’
‘What do you want from me?’ she asked. ‘I know that nobody gives something for nothing and—’
‘Don’t offend me, Señorita Castro. I have never asked for anything.’
‘I’m at your mercy. I…’
Amelia’s cheeks were burning, and she was struggling to hold back her tears. She felt powerless and frustrated. She had already lived with the humiliating shame of watching her father fall into the abyss, and she now saw herself facing the same scenario in Madrid.
‘Don’t be silly. I assure you nothing will happen if you allow me to protect you. Nobody will be permitted to slander you,’ he concluded. ‘I will be your shield and I will crush anyone who dares to try such a thing.’
She didn’t know why, but together with her desperation, she felt a powerful, silent attraction snaking in circles in her belly. Perhaps it was the way Don Enrique had uttered the words she had so longed to hear, his innate elegance or the seductive manner in which he had taken her hand.
Just then, there were two knocks at the door. Don Enrique moved away, and as the door opened, Amelia looked out of the window and tried to master her feelings. Reflected in the glass, she saw a negro dressed like a gentleman, whom she immediately remembered. Before her previous visit to Castamar, her father had told her to behave correctly in his presence but to maintain a certain distance. All of Spain mocked Don Abel’s eccentricity, although nobody ever said anything to his face.
‘Please forgive my interruption. My mother has asked me to accompany you to the salon, where Don Diego is waiting for you,’ the man said, with exquisite manners.
‘Good evening, Don Gabriel,’ Amelia said, turning to face him.
‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, Señorita Castro,’ Don Gabriel replied, bowing slightly.
‘I don’t think anyone gave you permission to enter,’ said Don Enrique, visibly annoyed.
Gabriel looked at Enrique, who was standing before him. Amelia felt the awkwardness of the situation. Don Gabriel was a full head taller than the marquess and more heavily built, and he held the marquess’s gaze as if they were equals. She half expected Don Enrique to take offence and leave, much to his host’s embarrassment.
‘The door was ajar, I did not intend to intrude,’ Don Gabriel replied, not lowering his gaze.
The marquess came yet nearer until they were barely a hand’s breadth apart. ‘Don’t enter again without asking permission,’ he said curtly. ‘It is a question of manners.’
‘I am afraid I must inform you that I have no need for your permission,’ replied Don Gabriel. ‘I am a Castamar, this is my home, and you will speak to me as an equal.’
Amelia took a step back and raised a hand to her mouth in shock. Don Gabriel had defied the marquess as if he were Prometheus challenging the gods of Olympus to give fire to humankind. For a black man to speak to a white man in such a way was unthinkable, particularly when the white man was a member of the nobility, regardless of the status accorded to Don Gabriel within the household of Castamar. The marquess would have been well within his rights to demand that his host apologize for this lack of respect, but instead he simply smiled.
‘I will do no such thing, but as Doña Mercedes considers you to be her son and I have great respect for her, I will say no more on the matter,’ he answered calmly.
‘That will be sufficient,’ the other replied, with a blunt finality. ‘And now, if you will follow me, I will show you through to the salon where your fellow guests are waiting.’
Amelia nodded without knowing quite what to think about the scene she had witnessed. She smiled politely at Don Gabriel, just as she had done in the past. She still did not know how to behave in his presence. She followed him along the corridor, her emotions in turmoil. As she entered the cloistered courtyard, with its Doric columns and Gothic arches, she sensed that the decision to come to Castamar would have some unforeseen consequences.
8
15 October 1720, evening
Clara stoked up the fires and began preparing the birds for the soups and the main dishes: fillet steak marinated in onion with apple compote, chicken rissoles and spit-roasted pigeon. This would be followed by a roast goose. As well as the salads, she had prepared a blackberry fool for dessert that was sure to delight the duke. According to Elisa Costa – the only friend she had made so far – Don Diego liked to pick them during his walks around the estate.
She was conscious that the joy she gained from making the dinner would only last a few more hours, until the dreaded housekeeper returned from Madrid. Still, she could not remember being this happy at any point over the past ten years. She looked to one side, expecting Carmen del Castillo to enter at any moment with the two scullery maids, who, like a pair of lost cats, only ever seemed to be in the kitchen because they had nowhere better to go. She smiled to herself, dipped the ladle into the warm porridge and gave poor Rosalía something to eat. Clara remained lost in thought, sitting on a small footstool. Surviving these first six days at Castamar had been nothing short of miraculous. She had not expected to do anything beyond peel garlic, grind spices and gut chickens, and yet she had already taken over the planning and cooking of meals for the master and his guests. Strangest of all, she had the housekeeper to thank for this.
Before setting out for Madrid, Doña Ursula had told Carmen del Castillo it was her responsibility to make sure Señora Escrivá’s absence was not noticed until that evening. Carmen was made to understand from Doña Ursula’s expression that, if she let the housekeeper down, she’d be out on the street. As it happened, though, Carmen had a solid grasp of no more than twenty dishes, and of these, only two or three were fashionable and practised sufficiently to be presented to the standards expected. After Doña Ursula had left, she had been so nervous she began to shake so much she was incapable of even beating the eggs. The scullery maids had not even looked up from the table as they plucked the pigeons and sliced the bread. Half an hour had passed this way until Carmen had slipped out to the passageway. Clara had found her crying behind the door. She had gently placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. Carmen had turned round, wiping away tears, and had given her that world-weary look which Clara recognized all too well.
‘They’re going to kick me out,’ she said. ‘I’m not a good enough to cook for the duke.’
‘But I am,’ Clara replied boldly. ‘If you permit me, I assure you that Don Diego and his companions will eat the best food they’ve had in a long time.’
Once she realized her position was safe, Carmen had looked at Clara as if she were an angel. Clara had smiled as she watched Carmen’s face visibly relax, while her own face in turn lit up with the joy of knowing she would be running the Castamar kitchen for the day. Together they had returned to their positions, where, under Clara’s direction, they began preparing the food for the duke and his friends. Now, as night began to fall, there was no denying things were going marvellously. The whole day had been like a dream come true.
Clara had just given the last spoonful of porridge to Rosalía, and the affection-starved girl hugged her impulsively. Clara laughed and then wiped the girl’s face and hands with a clean cloth. It was a miracle she had survived in Señora Escrivá’s care.
Clara got up to stoke the fires again, just as Carmen and the two scullery maids returned from their brief rest. After giving them some instructions, she headed to the pantry to tell the porters to bring the loin for the fillets. Then she went to fetch some ripe apples to be cored and seeded and cooked into a compote. She took her two notebooks and used her quill to note down what she would be taking, but when she tried to open the door, she found it barred from the inside. Her hand slipped from the handle, and she hit her knuckles against the wood. She cried out in pain, and when the door swung open and she entered the room, she found herself standing face to face with the duke.
‘Forgive me, your grace, I didn’t know—’
‘It’s alright, Señorita Belmonte,’ he interrupted. ‘My clumsiness is to blame.’
She lowered her head as she realized he had addressed her using her surname, making it obvious Don Diego now knew about her.
‘Your grace.’
‘Let me see that hand,’ said Don Diego.
Clara felt his firm grip and couldn’t help looking up. She scrutinized his features, which looked as if they’d been painted by an artist, and his amber eyes examining her hand. She watched his fingertips unconsciously stroking her palm, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. She remembered how Don Diego had caught her spying on him and felt the need to apologize, but the duke looked up, and for a moment they gazed at each other in silence. After another second, he smiled, tilted his head to one side, gracefully withdrew his hand and took a step back.
‘It doesn’t look too serious. My apologies once again,’ he said, rather awkwardly, and turned to go.
Clara took a breath and was about to curtsy once more when the duke stopped and walked back to her as if he had only just remembered why he had come down to the kitchens. This time, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor and waited for the duke to speak.
‘I came to inform Señora Escrivá that I will be dining alone tonight. The others have already eaten, and Don Francisco and Don Alfredo will only require a light supper. They’re very tired from hunting this afternoon,’ he told her.
A silence settled on them, forcing her to look at him. His amber eyes rested on her once more. She felt she could detect an excuse in his words. It wasn’t normal for the master of the house to come down to these quarters and it certainly wasn’t his personal responsibility to inform Señora Escrivá about the number of diners, since any servant could have delivered that message. She couldn’t imagine what had brought him here. Clara nodded while keeping a prudent silence, reasoning that, if he hadn’t heard already, it would be unwise to inform him of Señora Escrivá’s expulsion. Perhaps Doña Ursula didn’t want him to know until she had everything under control.
He cleared his throat to break the silence. ‘As well as the marquess and my mother, we will have a new guest in the house. Señorita Amelia Castro, who will dine in her room,’ the duke added. ‘I hope it will not be a problem to inform Señora Escrivá at such short notice.’
They looked at one another for a third time, and Clara gulped, not quite knowing what to say.
‘Absolutely, your grace,’ she answered finally.
Without another word, the duke turned to leave. She stood still as he disappeared around the corner. Then, as she thought about how she ought to send one of the scullery maids to find out what Señorita Castro wished to eat, she unconsciously lifted her hand to her nose and breathed in the sweet fragrance of rose and lavender that Don Diego had left on her skin.
