Читать книгу Her Reputation - Talbot Mundy - Страница 8

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"No disobedience! No insubordination! No indignities to any one!"

Consuelo went about her duties with those all too definite limitations humming in her head. All morning long Donna Isabella invented aggravating tasks, as if with the deliberate intention to force rebellion. All her efforts were unsatisfying; weariness was dubbed unwillingness; silent endurance was the sulks; a breathless answer was impertinence.

And it neared noon. Jack Calhoun was coming. Consuelo had made up her mind to get that letter from Jack Calhoun and to take it straight in to Don Andres. There would be no insubordination about that. Don Andres thereafter could take any course he pleased about it, and surely not even Donna Isabella could accuse her of remissness or intrigue.

But the worst of it was that Donna Isabella had a chair set in the patio, not far from the front hall, whence she could oversee everything, and Consuelo could think of no excuse for getting between her and the front door.

At last in desperation she suggested putting fresh flowers in the drawing- room.

"Always some excuse for being lazy!" snorted Donna Isabella. "Go and change the curtains on the bedroom windows."

No disobedience! No insubordination! But what were the Blessed Virgin and the saints all doing? Consuelo, with aching thighs, mounted the stairs to the balcony, and from one of the bedroom windows watched Jack Calhoun come cavaliering in to pay his compliments. She was not surprised that Donna Isabella should receive him courteously; Zeke had already disgorged his several versions of the scene at the convent gate, and Donna Isabella was no fool, to begin by snubbing a man who might help her to be rid of Jacqueline; she invited young Calhoun to sit beside her. Consuelo saw him glance repeatedly to right and left, and knew what he was looking for, but she could not make him see her at the bedroom window, though she prayed to at least a dozen saints to make him look upward, instead of around.

And, as Consuelo had admitted to herself, young Jack Calhoun had brains.

He was a man of his word, of course, but he had not promised to say nothing to Donna Isabella. He and Donna Isabella sat considering each other while he made polite inquiries about Miro's health; and he made a much better guess at her character than he had done at Consuelo's. In turn Donna Isabella summed him up perfectly. He was the necessary man headstrong, handsome, with a fortune not yet squandered.

"Don Andres is not well enough to see you. Have you any particular message for him?" she asked; and something in her bright eyes suggested expectation. He did not hesitate.

"Is he too ill for me to talk to him about Miss Jacqueline?"

"You may talk to me."

He proved a fluent talker, without convincing Donna Isabella in the least. But jealousy will hesitate no more than passion does, to gain its end.

"What chance have I?" he asked her finally.

"None, if you go to Don Andres and ask him."

"I am asking you."

"That is different. You say that she reciprocates your feelings?"

"My God! I believe so. Donna Isabella, I can see her eyes now— innocent and pure and wonderful! I said good-by to her at the convent gate. I kissed her hand.

And she stood watching me as I went, with her eyes full of love—My God! Donna Isabella, I would go through fire for Jacqueline! Her eyes haunt me!"

"Consuelo, of course, permitted you to talk with her?"

For a second his eyes met Donna Isabella's in a flash of scrutiny as swift as pistol-fire. The Calverly-Calhouns are born quick on the trigger.

"Aha! Yes. She's diplomatic, Consuelo is. I'm told the nuns read love- letters, and that's not decent—no more decent than it would be for me to employ Consuelo with out your knowledge. I have hopes of Consuelo's stocking, however, if you've no absolute objection! Of course, I give you my word I wouldn't put anything into a letter to Jacqueline that shouldn't pass a reasonable censor—but you know what nuns are."

Donna Isabella smiled—a wee bit mischievously, as old ladies may who are asked to forward love-affairs.

"What do you think Don Andres would say, if he heard I ever contemplated permitting anything of the sort?"

"Who cares what he'd say as long as he doesn't know?" Calhoun answered with one of his contagious laughs. "Come now, Donna Isabella, you were young once, and I'll bet you've been in love! Haven't I been frank with you? Aren't you going to lend a pair of surreptitious wings to Cupid? Jack Calhoun's your worshiper for ever more if you'll help him this once!"

"Don Andres would never forgive me."

"No need. He'll never know."

"Have you brought the letter with you?"

He produced it, and Consuelo, watching through the bedroom window, saw it change hands. Donna Isabella sat still for several minutes, turning it over and over in her fingers. Fascinated—unable to wrench her gaze away —Consuelo saw the library door open, and then close again, as if Don Andres had seen, or overheard, and, after deciding to interrupt, had changed his mind.

Donna Isabella heard the movement of the door, and took the hint. The letter went into her bosom. Jack Calhoun received his congé and was shown out by the footman. Donna Isabella went to the drawing-room, which Andres never visited if he could invent excuse for staying away, and five minutes later the footman came in search of Consuelo. On her way across the patio she passed Don Andres, but he gave her no inkling whether he knew what was going on or not. Nevertheless, the sight of him encouraged her.

Donna Isabella, seated in shadow in the drawing-room, kept Consuelo waiting with the sun in her face for several minutes before she condescended to speak at last.

"What do you mean by permitting Mr. Calverly-Calhoun to speak to Miss Jacqueline on her way to the convent?"

Consuelo did not answer. If she had spoken she would have rebelled; she held her tongue by a miracle.

"You have nothing to say? What do you mean by spying through a bedroom window all the time I was talking to Mr. Calverly-Calhoun?"

Absolute silence. No answer was possible, unless Consuelo chose to deny the fact or to be openly insolent. She would do neither. She merely hung on —clung to her faith in Don Andres and stood there, looking almost as miserable as she felt.

"If Don Andres were not so ill, I would report you to him." Donna Isabella paused between her sentences like an inquisitor selecting new implements of torture. "You have been careless and unfaithful. If Don Andres knew—"

Consuelo bit her lip—on the verge of rebellion—or tears, she hardly knew which.

"—but he must not know, for the present. Now you needn't look sullen at me; I am not going to discharge you."

Another pause—another long keen scrutiny. And then:

"I understand that you promised Mr. Calverly-Calhoun to take a letter to Miss Jacqueline."

No answer, but a little jerkily defiant nod. Donna Isabella had a definite purpose behind the morning's course of cruelty; she was demanding tears as evidence of good faith. Better for Consuelo to break down and have done with it!

"If you were not an old and trusted servant I would deal more harshly with you. Are you not ashamed to have so abused the confidence we have always placed in you?"

Donna Isabella was as near the end of her resources now as Consuelo was. Unless Consuelo were humbled, repentant, ashamed, she could not use her. She was growing really angry, but disguised it with an effort, forcing her voice to seem almost kind.

"I should have though that after all these years your affection for Miss Jacqueline would have been more faithful."

That did it! It was anger, but it served. Poor Consuelo burst into tears of indignation—rage—contempt—rebellion; flung herself on her knees and buried her face in an armchair. And Donna Isabella, smiling to herself, put her own interpretation on it all.

"There, there now, Consuelo. If you're sorry, I'll forgive you."

Sorry? Consuelo? She bit the chair to keep brimstone Spanish execration in.

"Come, come, Consuelo. If you're sorry it can possibly be mended. Sit up now and listen to me."

Never—not once in fourteen years—had Donna Isabella spoken half so kindly, and it enraged Consuelo all the more, for she was not an animal, to be first beaten and then tamed. But her natural Spanish shrewdness came to her rescue. Donna Isabella must need something and need it badly. So Consuelo went on sobbing.

"Come now, Consuelo. Sit up and stop crying, and we'll see what can be done."

Tears—idle tears—and rapt attention! Hands over ears, but lots of room between Consuelo's fingers to let words filter through!

"The harm's done now. We must make the best of it. Above all, in his present state of health, we must keep any scandal from Don Andres."

Nothing new about that! So another paroxysm of sobs and moans, interpreted by Donna Isabella as signs of panicky fear of her brother. She permitted herself another of her thin rare smiles.

"Come now, listen to me, Consuelo." She need not have worried. Consuelo was all ears. "You have promised to take the letter. We can't break promises, especially when they're made to people of the standing of Mr. Calverly-Calhoun. Besides, if you don't take the letter, I'm afraid he'll grow impetuous and perhaps do something we would all regret."

An old servant is either a consummate actress, or out of work. Consuelo let herself come slowly out of the weeping spell, consenting to sit on a chair at last, but using tears and handkerchief enough to hide her real emotion. So it was as simple as all that! She could have laughed into the handkerchief! Jack Calhoun had seen the key to Jacqueline and seized it —had he? Had he? Did Donna Isabella really think she could hoodwink an old nurse?

"We can't expect a young girl like Jacqueline not to lose her head over her first love-affair, Consuelo. You may take her the letter, but you must talk to her and warn her not to do anything rash."

More handkerchief. So that was it! She was to take a letter to turn a poor innocent's head, and then put thoughts of rashness into the same young head by preaching against it.

"I am agreeing to this, as much as anything to save your face, Consuelo."

The face went into the handkerchief, red and confused.

"I am going to count on you to be extremely circumspect and tactful."

Quite right. Depend on it! Consuelo nodded vehemently over the handkerchief, both hands holding it tightly to her face.

"You must impress on Miss Jacqueline the absolute necessity for keeping all this from Don Andres. He would be furious, and the shock might kill him."

More nods. Consuelo's black chignon bobbed to and fro like the top-knot on a mechanical mandarin.

"You must contrive to manage this without a scandal. Of course, when Don Andres learns that Miss Jacqueline is in love with Mr. Calhoun, he will give his consent, I suppose. I don't see how he can withhold it after all this clandestine business. So distasteful to him, Consuelo. I'm surprised you didn't think of that before you let it go so far. However, now it's too late to remedy that, we must consider Miss Jacqueline, and not break her heart as well as his. My own heart was broken at a very early age, Consuelo. It was the fault of my parents. They interfered, exactly as Don Andres would be likely to. I could not endure to see Jacqueline's heart broken as mine was, and her whole life blighted."

More tears into the handkerchief; then at last orderly, dutiful, controlled words, cautiously emitted between sobs:

"I will be careful and obedient, Donna Isabella!"

Truthful Consuelo! Careful! She would fight to keep young Calverly- Calhoun away from Jacqueline as she-wolf never fought for cub! Obedient? Watch her! She would take the letter—to the convent! She was jealous of the convent sisters—Yes, she would certainly take the letter.

"When, Donna Isabella?"

"Next week, when Don Andres sends the usual flowers and candy will be time enough."