The cook of castamar, p.52
The Cook of Castamar, page 52
‘Even so, I would like to thank you,’ she said.
‘Well, now you have. You may leave,’ the housekeeper replied.
From that moment on, Doña Ursula had entered into a strange trancelike state, as if she was unable to understand the changes taking place at Castamar. Perhaps it was the rigidity of her character or the belief that, if she softened in response to the kindness of others, it would only make her more vulnerable. Perhaps we are all a little like that, Clara thought. After all, who is not afraid of love? If there was a sentiment that could terrify anyone it was that, and Doña Ursula, who appeared never to have experienced it herself, who had only received punishment and hostility from the world, was disarmed by displays of affection. Perhaps this was why she snatched fleeting glances at Don Melquíades at mealtimes, glances the butler was well aware of, though he sought to keep up pretences in front of the other staff.
Clara could have sworn that the war between them had ended in some manner that she did not understand or, at least, that a truce had been established. The two spoke in a more relaxed tone. One day, in the pantry, Clara came upon the housekeeper stroking her lips with the tips of her fingers while she gazed out of the window at the gardens beyond. Upon being discovered, the housekeeper started and briefly pretended to be carrying out an inspection before she made her excuses and left. When she had gone, Clara went over to the window. Outside was Don Melquíades, directing the porters who were delivering supplies from Madrid.
As the days passed with no news of Don Diego, Clara’s unease had grown. Elisa told her that every morning she found the duchess standing at the window, awaiting the return of Don Diego and Don Gabriel. Clara had barely been able to sleep herself, and she could only imagine how a mother would feel at the prospect of losing both her sons, particularly given how she had been an innocent accomplice in Don Enrique’s plans. Clara’s own concern had led her to imitate Doña Mercedes, spending her time looking out over the avenue, hoping to spy some distant movement that might indicate the return of Don Diego or the delivery of a letter. That morning was no exception and, as she combed her wet hair, the sun was already breaking through the clouds.
‘Doña Ursula told me I might find you here,’ a voice said, catching her by surprise.
She started and let out a little sigh. In the corner of the room, a silhouette gradually took the form of Doña Mercedes. Clara didn’t know how the housekeeper was aware of her morning routine, but nor was she surprised. There’s nothing she doesn’t know, she thought. Clara acknowledged the duchess with a slight bow of her head. She couldn’t help noticing that the duchess’s usual slightly peremptory tone had given way to something more respectful. Doña Mercedes stopped in front of her, her figure bathed in the pale autumn sunlight.
The duchess looked as if she hadn’t slept properly for days. And yet, she also seemed more at ease than she had, as if she had somehow been relieved of the pain of her eternal wait. The duchess took a deep breath before she spoke.
‘My son appears to be quite taken with you.’
Clara blushed.
‘And it is clear that you are also taken with him.’
Clara’s eyes prickled and she felt slightly uncomfortable. Even so, she held the duchess’s gaze as the older woman stroked Clara’s cheek, as if she were able to see into her soul.
‘Your angelic face speaks of your good heart,’ she said, ‘and I can tell from your eyes that you are strong-willed.’
Clara acknowledged the compliment with a bow of her head and sighed lightly.
‘I came to look for you because I’ve just received a letter from my son,’ Doña Mercedes added.
Clara’s heart began to pound at the news that he was still alive and that perhaps all would be well.
‘At noon you will see him ride down this avenue that we have both been keeping a constant vigil over. Thankfully, he will be accompanied by Don Gabriel, whom he rescued before he reached Portugal to be sold into slavery.’
‘Thank the Lord!’ Clara said, unable to contain her relief. The duchess’s eyes filled with tears, and Clara sensed that she was feeling a mixture of joy at the successful conclusion of events and guilt and remorse for her part in what had happened.
‘My son, my Gabriel…’ she stammered, ‘has been brutally whipped and beaten. That was why Diego stopped in Madrid, to seek urgent help.’
Clara raised her hand to cover her mouth in shock.
‘My son would despise me as a mother if, in addition to unwittingly contributing to such pain, anything happened to you,’ she went on, and suddenly hugged Clara. ‘I didn’t want to believe what my sons had told me, or the words of their friend Don Alfredo. All because I trusted in someone who was not of my blood.’
Clara returned the duchess’s embrace, seeking to console her.
‘You should not blame yourself for the actions of that heartless devil. The marquess played upon your good heart.’
‘I must beg your forgiveness,’ the duchess finally said, ‘because it was me who exposed you to unnecessary danger by asking Don Enrique to convince you to leave Castamar for the good of the family name.’
Clara was at a loss as to how to react and simply bowed her head. She understood that it was inevitable that a woman of the duchess’s social standing would have such concerns.
‘No apology is necessary, your grace. It was you who were deceived as to Don Enrique’s intentions,’ she replied. ‘It is not for me to grant or withhold forgiveness when your behaviour was motivated solely by your love for your son.’
The two women looked at each other, and Clara thought she detected a certain unease in the duchess.
‘Señorita Belmonte, I hope that you understand the scale of the danger to which my son will be exposed if he decides to ask for your hand in marriage,’ the duchess said.
Clara knew that she was being tested, and a silence followed. It was the duchess’s way of forcing her to decide whether she would assume responsibility for tarnishing the Castamar name, or whether, on the contrary, she would reject the duke’s proposal. Clara took a deep breath before responding.
‘Allow me, with the greatest of respect that I have towards you, to reserve my answer for Don Diego, as it is to him alone that I must give such a response should the question be posed,’ she said. ‘However, I will say that any sensible woman would accept such a proposal from him, even if he were but a poor man with no title whatsoever.’
‘Now I see how much you admire him,’ Doña Mercedes replied. ‘I am quite old enough to understand what it means to see you standing vigil here every morning awaiting his arrival. I only want you to know that I will not stand in the way of my son’s happiness… or of your own, even if it means the destruction of our name.’
Clara, who all this time had thought that they would never have the duchess’s blessing, was about to thank her, but Doña Mercedes placed her fingers to her lips to signify that it was not necessary. The duchess looked her in the eye, then took her face between her hands, as if performing a scene from a play in which she was unable to contain her emotions.
‘If only you had never come to Castamar, never cooked for us, never met my son. Would it be that love arose only between equals, Señorita Belmonte,’ she said, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘Everything would be perfect, simpler, easier, less complicated. But God does not wish for such a dull world,’ she concluded, and kissed Clara on the cheek as if she were her daughter.
Clara understood that Doña Mercedes had renounced any intention of fighting her son and his disastrous marriage plans. Perhaps she knew she lacked the strength to change Don Diego’s mind, especially when she had seen him suffer so after Doña Alba’s death. Her son’s calvary had lasted ten years but finally he had found happiness in a commoner.
Just as she was about to leave the room, Doña Mercedes turned and placed a small, sealed envelope on the table.
‘The letter I received this morning contained this note for you.’
Without another word, she swept out of the room, and one of the ushers closed the door behind her. Clara opened the note with nervous fingers and began to read.
Dear Señorita Belmonte,
Given my delay in returning, I find myself bound by decorum to dedicate these lines to you explaining my absence. As you will no doubt have realized, I have been kept away from the estate for reasons of great importance, as the life of my beloved brother, Don Gabriel de Castamar, was at stake. That having been said, I wish to let you know that I am still resolved to have that conversation, which we left pending, upon my return.
Do not believe that distance has undermined the deep affection I feel for you or the decision I wish to communicate to you. I am a temperamental man with strong beliefs, but am not given to exaggeration or to futile gestures. I hope that you have not, in the meantime, harboured any doubts as to my intentions. As I informed you before my departure, I will never leave you. I should arrive at Castamar, in the company of Señorita Castro and my brother, who is making a good recovery, this very day.
Moreover, and quite apart from any private conversation between us, it is imperative that I speak to you regarding certain past events of which I have become aware, events directly related to the death of your father.
Yours,
Don Diego de Castamar
Both pieces of news left her shaken. The first because she understood that Don Diego intended to ask for her hand in marriage. The second because she could not imagine what the duke could have discovered about the death of her father, who had sacrificed his life valiantly defending the hospital camp. She had to read the letter several times. Just looking outside brought her out in a cold sweat.
As she returned to her bedroom, she wondered how she would react when she saw him, how they would both behave – if he would come to see her as soon as he arrived or if he would wait a little to avoid arousing too much curiosity. And try as she might, she could not sleep. An hour later, she was in the kitchen to ensure that the Sunday staff were performing their duties. Then, along with most of the other servants, she went to midday mass. Her ability to tolerate open spaces had grown over the recent days and she decided she could do without her blindfold inside the carriage. Throughout Father Antonio Aldecoa’s sermon, she couldn’t stop looking at the entrance in case Don Diego should appear. As they returned to the house, the only thought on her mind was whether Don Diego would have arrived before them.
It was Don Melquíades, sitting next to her, who said that the master must have returned, since there was a carriage, a wagon and several horsemen at the house. She calmed her nerves, aware that everyone would be observing her reaction. She was relieved that Doña Ursula, who was sitting opposite her, appeared to be more interested in Don Melquíades. When they arrived, she placed the blindfold over her eyes and, guided by the butler’s arm, crossed the same courtyard she had traversed more than a year ago. She thanked Don Melquíades for his kindness and was heading for the kitchen when the under butler informed her that the duke was waiting for her in one of the upstairs rooms.
Her hands clammy and her breathing coming fast, she left the kitchen and the inquisitive glances behind, ascended the stairs and walked along the gallery towards the small library where Don Diego often played the harpsichord. She told herself there was no reason to be nervous. Hanging on the walls were portraits of the duke’s ancestors and she felt as if they were watching her. She stopped before the final painting, the one of Don Diego and Doña Alba. She admired the duchess’s distinguished appearance and felt a pang of fear that she would never be capable of satisfying the expectations of the highest echelons of the Spanish aristocracy. Just then, the notes of the harpsichord floated down the corridor. She waited until the piece had finished before continuing to the library, where two ushers stood guarding the door. One of the ushers knocked and the duke invited her to enter.
Don Diego asked the servant to close the door behind him and to ensure they were not interrupted by anyone and that nobody would be in a position to overhear them. When Clara looked up, Don Diego was standing silhouetted against the window, calmly contemplating her.
He seemed not to care what the servants might make of the fact that he had called her without delay. Indeed, the only thing he seemed to care about was talking to her, as if there were no time but the present and the separation had been a torture for him. He strode over, with that self-confidence that accompanied all his actions, and which sometimes overawed her. She was so nervous that she forgot to curtsy, instead drawn to him as if by some magnetic force.
She stopped, her heart pounding in her chest, and waited for him to reach her and take her by the hand. With exquisite decorum, Don Diego kissed her hands and she wordlessly allowed herself to be enveloped by his fragrance. They looked at each other in a silence that was heavy with unspoken words.
‘Señorita Belmonte,’ he said, fixing her with his gaze. ‘I don’t think I can contain my desire to kiss you any longer, and so I am here with the sole purpose of asking you to do me the honour of becoming my wife. I cannot stand the idea that you do not know that I love you intensely, more than any other person on this earth, and if you accept me, I will be your most devoted husband. I will look after you, I will protect you, and I will never abandon you.’
Clara, barely able to contain herself, did not even answer. Instead, she simply drew closer, nodded, and stroked his face. He sought out her lips with his own and she felt secure in his embrace. Their mouths met, as if they were drinking from each other. A torrent of emotions rose up within her as the devotion that she felt for this man whom she loved against all expectations was finally released. For the first time since the death of her father, she felt safe and protected.
The painful memories of the past blurred, as if the pain of that dark phase of her life was now fading. The titanic burden she had carried for all those years – her father’s death, the fall into poverty and misfortune, the break-up of her family – all those things went up in smoke.
Then she gently nibbled his earlobe and clung to him as she whispered, ‘I am yours, your grace. I have been for a long time.’
3 November 1721
Since finding Gabriel at the Leganitos mansion surrounded by Doctor Evaristo and the other doctors, Amelia had not left his side. He was lying face down, his back a mass of wounds. She felt a mixture of pity and shame on seeing him in that state. She sat down by his side and gently took his hand. She stayed there, caring for his wounds, which appeared to be healing well, attentive to any change in his condition.
That same evening, Don Gabriel awoke to find her sleeping in her chair. He squeezed her hand, and when she sat up, he asked her what she was doing there when she was meant to be in Cadiz. Leaning over, she explained that she was there at his brother’s request, and that she had been unable to continue with her journey when she learned he had been taken captive by Don Enrique.
‘Your brother is taking care of the culprits, I am told,’ she concluded. ‘I will understand if you would prefer me to leave—’
Don Gabriel raised two fingers and, turning his face towards her, asked her to come closer. He took her by the hand.
‘I don’t wish you to leave, despite the deplorable condition in which you find me,’ he said. ‘I must confess, Señorita Castro, that during my captivity it was your image that gave me the strength to endure my suffering.’
She was about to reply when Doctor Evaristo knocked on the door. Don Gabriel tried to release her hand, but she gripped his yet more tightly and told the doctor to enter. After examining his patient, the doctor said it was clear that Don Gabriel was in excellent hands, and that he would have supper sent up in half an hour. When the door had closed, Señorita Castro spoke.
‘I must confess that I have not ceased thinking about you and the unhappy manner in which we said goodbye, not for a single moment.’
He closed his eyes and nodded, giving her to understand that he had experienced the same emotions.
‘I should not have judged you,’ he said. ‘I spoke in bitterness, and I ask your forgiveness, Señorita Castro.’
Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head.
‘I was the fool,’ she said. ‘I can never regret enough having remained silent the day your brother questioned me at Villacor. You have every right to despise me for—’
Just then, he drew her hand towards him and kissed her fingertips. She immediately fell silent and knelt before him. Don Gabriel looked at her, her face pressed against the mattress, her lips trembling, and said two simple words.
‘Kiss me.’
She had felt herself drowning in his dark eyes, and very gently, she drew close and placed her lips on his. They kissed for what seemed an eternity, as if they would never part.
After breakfast the next day, they had left Madrid, arriving at Castamar some two hours later. Doña Mercedes fainted when she saw Gabriel’s condition and had to be revived with smelling salts. The duchess was soon well enough to declare her delight at having Señorita Castro at Castamar again, explaining that the loneliness of the huge rooms was unbearable. Amelia’s only wish was to remain by Don Gabriel’s side, but she humoured the old lady, who gradually began to talk of less weighty matters as it became clear that her son was out of danger. Amelia took every opportunity to visit Don Gabriel, who put on a brave face despite being in terrible pain. At times, she felt as if her soul was divided. On the one hand, she felt completely at one with him, and the colour of his skin – which had once been such a barrier – now seemed beautiful. But on the other hand, she worried that any relationship would be doomed to failure and suffering.
After hearing that Don Diego had asked his cook, Señorita Belmonte, for her hand in marriage, both she and Gabriel had congratulated him. Even Don Diego’s mother had given her blessing. Only once, when they were taking tea in the drawing room, had the duchess let slip her belief that there should be a law forbidding children to marry without the consent of their parents. The duchess was sure that some day a wise king would introduce such a measure to prevent unequal alliances.
