The cook of castamar, p.32
The Cook of Castamar, page 32
He heard a door slam in the distance and felt a chilly breeze. A cold wind was blowing along the corridors and down the chimneys of the palace, and the duke found himself affected by it. He had felt torn ever since his butler had made his confession. On the one hand, there was the knowledge that a Habsburg supporter had been living among them all that time, a spy who had stolen secrets and given them to the enemy. On the other hand, when he remembered Don Melquíades, with his head bowed and a pained expression of guilt and repentance on his face, he felt that he had more than paid for his errors. He also knew that, in times of war, a man must follow his conscience, and that was exactly what the butler had done. The decision must have caused him great suffering, as he tried to balance his loyalty to Castamar against his love of the Catalan people.
Now Diego found himself facing the same dilemma as King Felipe, at the end of the war. For a long time, the duke had argued against the repression of the Catalans, and had even dissented from the decision to disband their council and parliament. Later, when Felipe had written to him informing him that work was to begin on the fortification of Barcelona, he had replied warning the king that these defences would be seen as a symbol of oppression. Fearful of renewed insurrection, Felipe had ignored his advice, and others had exploited the situation to repay old grudges against the Catalan people. The duke wrote again, arguing that one showed more greatness by forgiving the defeated than by punishing them, but his letter had no effect.
And the choice he faced now was the same: to forgive or to punish. But the problem was that his rational voice was drowned out by his disappointment and his rage. As a result, he had preferred to postpone the decision until his anger subsided, ordering the butler to remain on the estate until he had reached a fair and balanced judgement. He was grateful that Alba had not had to witness this situation as, after Doña Ursula, the butler had been one of her favourites. However, there was no avoiding the fact that his brother would need to be informed of the bad news upon his arrival.
Gabriel, after confirming that Señorita Castro’s condition was now improved and having taken his leave of Francisco and Alfredo, had left for Valladolid two days earlier with the intention of warning his mother about Don Enrique. While his horse was being saddled, Diego had approached him. The two men had not exchanged a word since their argument in the presence of Doctor Evaristo.
‘I’m sorry I shouted at you,’ Diego had said.
‘And I’m sorry I accused you of whining like an old nag,’ his brother had replied.
It was not the first time they had fallen out, but the two had enough strength of character to both maintain their own opinion and set aside their differences once sufficient time had passed. Diego knew that Gabriel would not act without clear proof against Don Enrique, and also that he would do everything he could to obtain such proof. He also knew that Gabriel was outgrowing Castamar. A world that was reduced to the boundaries of an estate, however large it might be, was not enough for him. His brother had a restless spirit, and the duke was aware that one day he would seek a place where the colour of his skin was of no consequence. They had never spoken of the matter, and indeed, Diego knew they would only do so on the day when Gabriel informed him of his decision to leave. He loved his brother with all his heart and seeing him go without knowing if he would return would pain him, but he would not oppose it.
He returned to his office and sat down at the desk. He inspected the wax seals on the letters that had been delivered that morning and thought about how he should visit Señorita Castro to check on her progress. Since Gabriel’s departure, Don Diego had not wanted to spend more time than was absolutely necessary in her company. It was obvious she felt uncomfortable in his presence, and she continually tried to cover the scar on her cheek.
Among the letters was a missive from King Felipe. He was just about to break the seal when someone knocked softly on the door. He instructed them to enter and looked up to see Don Melquíades’s nephew standing in the doorway. He didn’t remember the lad’s name, although he recalled that he had had the foresight to prepare the carriages the day they had visited Villacor. The servant asked somewhat formally if he might be allowed to speak, and that was when the duke remembered his name: Roberto. The lad smoothed out his footman’s livery, as if keen to ensure his appearance was impeccable. The duke guessed that the boy had come to argue his uncle’s case while also wishing to maintain his own dignity; perhaps, should the duke decide to banish the butler from Castamar, the nephew would also leave. On the one hand, the duke did not see the need for the lad to speak to him in person. On the other, if the boy was brave enough to defend his uncle’s actions, then he could hardly refuse to give him a hearing. Don Diego’s father had taught him that the problems of the servants were also the problems of the master, and that it was his duty to resolve them. He would respect the family’s decision and in no event would he blame the nephew for the actions of his uncle.
‘Your grace, I only wanted you to know that neither my mother nor I knew of my uncle’s low and treacherous behaviour. If we had, we would have come to you at once. We are not renegades like my uncle; we would never betray—’
The duke raised his hand. The young man’s declarations had taken him by surprise.
‘You have not come to argue your uncle’s cause?’ he asked.
The lad shook his head, referred to Don Melquíades as a filthy traitor and, had the duke not interrupted him, would have said far worse things.
‘Silence!’ the duke thundered. The lad blanched and took a couple of steps back. ‘Before you say another word against your uncle, remember that he has cared for Castamar, for my wife, for my father, my mother, my brother and, of course, for me. I will not hear him spoken of in this way. Do you have anything more to say?’
‘No, your grace,’ the lad answered, his head bowed.
‘You may go, then,’ the duke said, and the lad made a hasty exit. ‘Dear God, what a family!’ Diego muttered angrily, after he had gone.
In an effort to calm himself, he turned once again to the letter from the king. As before, the king told him that he wished to abdicate, that the crown weighed too heavily upon him, that he was beset by fits of melancholy, and that he wished the duke was still the captain of his personal guard. He asked after the duke’s own spirits and urged him to be strong. I know you have never lost your strength of will or that determination that was a bulwark in the war against the Habsburg pretender. Diego smiled upon reading this and was about to pen his reply when he spotted another letter in the pile. It was from his brother, sent from their mother’s house. He must have written it the day he had arrived in Valladolid. He opened the seal and read attentively.
Dear brother,
I am writing to let you know that I will spend some days with Mother, as this is her wish. You know how stubborn she can be, and I lack sufficient strength to deny her. I should also say that I have spoken to her about Don Enrique and she insists that we are talking nonsense, that she is well acquainted with this gentleman, who, according to her, wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone Señorita Castro, with whom he was on excellent terms at Castamar.
I made it clear that I completely disagreed, and I asked her to promise to show the utmost caution in his regard and not to mention our suspicions. She reluctantly consented, while complaining that she is quite capable of managing such issues with discretion. She also confirmed that she had no intention of seeing Don Enrique for some time, as her diary was already very full of engagements. However, she told me she would not cease to treat him as a friend of the family, unless I could demonstrate otherwise, and I do not therefore believe we can prevent her from inviting him to the celebrations later this year.
Please also find enclosed a letter for Señorita Castro, as I do not wish her to believe that I have neglected my obligations as a host, and I want to explain in my own words the motive for my departure and assure her of my impending return. I ask you to ensure in my absence that she lacks for nothing. I believe that she is in need of our help, and if previously I was inclined to think she might be conspiring against us, I now suspect you were right, that in the light of the tragic events she has experienced, she is more a victim of Don Enrique than anyone. I know you well enough to imagine that you will be smiling to yourself at this acknowledgement of mine. Did Alba not always say that your favourite sport was to be in the right whenever you argued?
Other than this, I hope all is well. In a few days I will return to Castamar, and expect to arrive on Saturday night unless I am delayed.
Your loving brother,
Don Gabriel de Castamar
Postscriptum: Now that mother has been warned as to the possible danger of Don Enrique, upon my return, and while our friends pursue their enquiries at court, I intend to investigate that house of ill repute, the Zaguán. According to information received from my man before his death, Don Enrique’s lackey is a regular visitor. I must find out if someone can tell me more about the identity of the marquess’s men.
As his brother had predicted, Diego had smiled to himself upon finding that Don Gabriel had been won round to his view of Señorita Castro. However, after reading the final lines, his smile disappeared. He didn’t like the idea of Gabriel visiting a house of ill repute. Who could tell what consequences that might bring? He looked up at the portrait of Alba and asked himself what she would have done in this strange situation. Was his butler a disloyal traitor or a man who had repented his errors? Did Don Enrique wish evil upon Castamar or was he just a proud and licentious noble? Was Señorita Castro the defenceless young victim of a powerful man or an unscrupulous schemer? These doubts had built within him like a house of cards, and one bad decision might precipitate disaster. Had she been there, Alba would have known what to do, although she too would surely have hesitated as to what he should do with his other problem: Señorita Belmonte.
He could not deny that he took pleasure both in giving her those books and, perhaps even more, in eating the dishes that she prepared with such skill from the recipes they contained. But he had to recognize that there was something else, that he had drawn even more enjoyment from the note she had sent him following his most recent gift. He did not know where this might all lead, but he could not deny that he wished it to continue. And so, he picked up his goose quill, postponed his reply to the king, and began to pen a letter to his bookseller.
26 January 1721
In their looks of contempt, Don Gabriel was constantly reminded of the intolerance of the Spanish people, who saw in him not a gentleman but a negro in disguise or a slave who was treated too leniently by his master. This contempt was then followed by surprise and incomprehension at seeing a black man whose mount bore the coat of arms of Castamar. This had been the response upon his arrival in Valladolid and the same was true upon his departure. He had experienced so much hostility throughout his life that he was now inured to it.
After spending two days with his mother and another two on the road, he arrived at Castamar at night-time, as he had promised his brother. Despite going to bed late, he got up early the next morning to walk around the estate with the duke. Notice of Don Melquíades’s betrayal and the discovery of the corpses of the four men who had assaulted Señorita Castro by the banks of the Manzanares was enough news for one day. Fortunately, Amelia’s situation had improved, although she was still confined to her bedroom. He planned to visit her to see if she could cast any light on matters, but preferred to wait until after mass. He made confession, took communion and said goodbye to the chaplain, Father Antonio Aldecoa, who was one of the few priests whom Gabriel truly respected. Gabriel remembered clearly how, when he was barely ten years old, he had asked the priest why his skin was a different colour. The priest had leaned down and, smiling kindly, had said, ‘God loves his creations in all their variety.’
Don Gabriel rode back to the palace, eager to question Señorita Castro about her attackers. One of the grooms was waiting to take his horse’s reins, and he dismounted, smoothed out his frock coat, and took a moment to recover his breath before climbing the stairs to the upper floors. Upon reaching her bedroom, he knocked at the door and waited for her reply before entering. He bowed and explained that he had come to check on her condition and to ask if she had received the note he had written her a few days earlier. Amelia made as if to smile but immediately covered her face in shame. Then, looking somewhat sheepish, she said she had received his kind letter and was very grateful for it.
‘You don’t have to thank me for anything. I just want you to make as swift a recovery as possible.’
‘Even so, I am grateful for your care and your support,’ she answered haltingly. She paused for a moment to clear her throat. ‘The last time you were here, I…’
He knew she wanted to apologize for what had happened when they had been together, how she had pulled her hand away when the servants had entered. Accustomed to such gestures, he had given the matter no importance.
‘There is no need to apologize. Your reaction was quite logical.’ He changed the topic. ‘Señorita Castro, you are an intelligent woman. We both know who caused this scar, but only you know the motive. Perhaps you could clear up those doubts.’
She looked at him in silence. Gabriel noted the hesitation and saw her chin tremble. Her jaw clenched, as if a battle was being fought inside her. Although he had no alternative, he felt bad about upsetting her. It was clear that Diego was even closer to the truth than he had suspected: Señorita Castro, consciously or not, had found herself playing a role for which she was clearly unprepared.
‘I was attacked,’ she finally said.
Gabriel hesitated for a moment, then despite her discomfort, he insisted. She held the key that would unlock the secret of Don Enrique’s plans.
‘I understand. But have you no idea who might have given the order? Who might have wanted me to find you and bring you here?’
She closed her eyes and began to weep silently. Then, in her anguish, she asked, ‘Do you think it might have been premeditated?’
She wanted to discover what his suspicions were. Although she knew more than she was letting on, she wanted him to show his cards, to reveal what was behind his questions.
‘The attackers you described to the watchmen have been silenced. Their bodies were found three days ago on the outskirts of Madrid. And on the night of your attack, I was sent my own card telling me to go to the grove where I was to meet my man, who was keeping an eye on the marquess. I know that the marquess and you have been in close contact these last few months. That is why I deduce that the attack was planned in advance.’
Gabriel could see that she felt trapped. She was struggling to decide whether to reveal the truth and accept the disastrous consequences or to remain silent. She appeared to be weakening, as if her lips were striving to speak the truth and to pronounce the name of Don Enrique de Arcona. Driven more by necessity than by decorum, he pressed her further.
‘Señorita Castro, who would have wanted me to find you and bring you to Castamar? Was it the marquess? Did he want to punish you for refusing to marry him? Believe me: your life and your honour are safe here.’
She turned pale and began to shake with terror, as if reliving the attack. Unable to speak, choked by fear, she grasped his hand, then looked away and stammered, ‘I don’t know.’
Gabriel stayed with her until her nerves calmed, her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep. Even then, he did not move, aware that his presence mitigated the panic she felt. He sat there, stroking her hair. And, just as he was about to release her hand, she grasped it tight, raised it to her lips and kissed his fingers.
28 January 1721
El Zurdo thought to himself how life was just a hazardous journey of survival. This whore, Jacinta, was the only person with whom he had any kind of sentimental relationship. He felt a certain fondness for her, albeit mixed with contempt.
As soon as he had finished, he rolled over and ordered her to tell La Zalamera, Sebastián’s cook, to prepare some food for him. Women were necessary to satisfy one’s needs, but the rest of the time they were little more than an annoyance. At least Jacinta didn’t charge too much. And she even put the occasional piece of work his way, like that business with Doña Alba a few years ago. She had overheard a lad asking about the grooms at the stables at Castamar. She already knew that El Zurdo had some dealings with the estate and, suspecting there might be money to be made, had told the lad she might know somebody. The lad had led her to an alleyway. There, a man had questioned her from inside his carriage. Jacinta had not mentioned El Zurdo; she had only said she might know one of the grooms at Castamar.
That night, while he was eating, she had approached and casually let slip, ‘Zurdo, the word is you’ve left the butchery trade.’
‘Whose word is that?’ he asked, between spoonfuls.
She whispered that people were saying he looked after the horses at Castamar.
He gulped down a mouthful of rough wine and shrugged. ‘Life is hard, and everyone does what they can to survive.’
‘Is that the only thing that’s hard?’ she said, slipping her hand between his legs.
He grabbed her wrist and pushed her away. He didn’t like being touched without his permission, and certainly not by a whore who had seen as much use as the old razors of a cheap barber.
‘I was going to tell you about some work a gentleman mentioned,’ she said.
Suddenly, he was all ears. He needed as much money as he could get if he was to have any hope of realizing his dream of setting himself up as a horse breeder. He invited her to sit down.
Somewhat reluctantly, she obeyed and asked him again if he really worked at Castamar. He nodded and she flashed back a smile.
‘We could do nicely out of it.’
And so the plans for the death of the Duchess of Castamar had begun to take shape, cooked up between a cheap whore, a stranger in a carriage and El Zurdo. A few nights later, in a lonely Madrid street, in the pouring rain, the final details were agreed. Jacinta had led him there to meet with Doña Sol’s man. Nobody told him the name of his client; he had to discover that for himself by following the intermediary to Doña Sol’s Madrid townhouse. As far as he could deduce, she had fallen into disgrace as a result of the duchess’s actions. Later, when the time had come to collect his debt, he had made it clear that he knew the names of both the go-between and his mistress, and had threatened to reveal their secret.
