Cavendish nodded. "We lost the Content the night we sailed from San Lucas." But he could hold back the question no longer.
"I warrant the Senora Catherine sailed on the Santa Anna, then?"
"Aye," said David.
Cavendish eyed Lola. "Did you see aught of the Senora de Montoro, madam?"
Lola's voice came from over her shoulder as she watched the flames.
"Si, senor," she said.
"I understood the senora was Madam Cavendish," David said.
Cavendish said, "She is. But I'll warrant it's not much hindrance to her." He felt the black anger beating through his body. In a minute he would ask whether she was in Spain or whether she had stayed in America. In either place, he had a quick vision of capturing her; he saw himself raiding a town in America, and facing her again.
"Is the senora in Spain?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
Lola started to answer, but David cut her short. "So your vanity is suffering, is it, Tom?" he asked. "I wish she were in Spain. I wish she were sitting now, as you vision her, telling the richest man
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in Spain that unfortunately you had forced her to marry you. I wish it were true, Tom. But it isn't."
Cavendish said roughly. "Then where is she, David? In America?"
"Aye," said David. "Your vanity doesn't need to suffer any longer.
She loved you. Catherine would be here if she could be. Catherine
is dead, Tom. She died in childbirth. You have a daughter.
Catherine named her Bess."
For a moment he stared at them—white, unbelievingly. Then he turned abruptly, flung open the door, and went out. After a few paces, the sound of his footsteps ceased echoing, and there was only silence again—a dead silence broken finally by shouts and laughter in the distant gallery.
Chapter XL
Snow was falling gently, the flakes were big, and they floated quietly to the ground and melted quickly on the dark bare earth. Only to the brown branches of the trees did they cling, and to the slate roof of the sprawling brick house.
Smoke came from its eight huge chimneys. The yews were laden with the wet snow.
"I've never seen it before!" Kate said, excitedly, letting go of the reins with one small hand and holding out her palm to catch the snow. It melted on her glove instantly.
Cavendish said, leaning over to grasp the reins, "No more galloping in this."
"We're almost home," Kate said. "There is a carriage, too."
"We have visitors," Cavendish said, looking ahead. He reined in,, and jumped to the ground, lifting Kate from her little mare, and setting her on her feet just as the big door opened.
"It's the Countess of Earlsham," Cavendish said to Kate. "Come, you must be presented." He looked at her critically, his Kate. She was dressed in velvet riding clothes and her hood and gloves were edged with fur.
"Madam," he said, bowing. "We are so glad we did not miss you. May I present my daughter, Catherine."
Catherine swept a curtsey. Just then little Anthony de Dasi came running up. Kate's green eyes sparkled.
"May I go to the stables, sir, with Tony?" she asked, as Tony took the reins of her mare. "I'll not stay long."
"Certainly," said Cavendish, looking at her proudly, and she started away.
The Countess arched her brows. Did she disapprove? Cavendish frowned, and said, "She will be the finest horsewoman in Suffolk, madam."
"She rides astride?"
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"I've forbidden sidesaddle," Cavendish announced. "It is a silly fad."
"Is the little dark boy her page?" the Countess asked, drawing her cloak close around her.
"He is," said Cavendish. "He's a Filipino."
"How old is your daughter?" asked the Countess, knowing perfectly well.
"She is seven, madam," Cavendish answered, seeing Tyler out of the corner of his eye, "Well, Tyler," he said, sharply, "it took you some time. Get him dry." He turned back to the Countess who was waiting. "Excuse me, madam."
"The little one is your stepdaughter, then?"
"Kate is Madam Cavendish's first child," Cavendish said.
The Countess moved toward her coach. "She is very lovely," she conceded.
"She is as fair as her mother," Cavendish said, helping her into the coach. "I am happy for you to have met her and seen for yourself."
He stood out in front of the house, bareheaded, while the coach disappeared down the drive. Tyler came around the corner of the house.
"Her daughters look like horses," Cavendish said to him. He turned, and strode into the hall, brushing his wet hair back. The hall was empty, the fire blazed on the hearth, and he started up the wide stairway. Cosmos met him at the top.
"The bailiff is with Master David in the study, sir," he said.
Cavendish strode along to his own room. Cosmos divested him of his heavy boots, replacing them with comfortable leather house shoes lined with fur.
"I'll go see the bailiff," Cavendish said.
He went out into the hall; he stopped at the entrance to a long low room with bright new painted furniture. He saw Lola.
She had the baby in her arms; she was sitting before the fire in a low chair, and when she saw Cavendish, she rose, and brought the baby over to him.
"Listen to her talk, Tom," said Lola, making little noises that the baby answered eagerly.
Cavendish felt again an enormous thankfulness for Lola's obvious love for the baby. "The Lord must have sent you," he said.
Lola smiled. She put the baby in Cavendish's arms. He said, "She is finally accustomed to my voice."
The baby's blue eyes were on him. She looked a little uncertain
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at the sound of his deep tones; then she made a small grimace.
"Is she smiling?" Cavendish asked.
"I don't think so," said Lola, laughing at him.
"Her hair is turning lighter," Cavendish said. "I wanted it to."
Lola said seriously, "I think her hair will be auburn, dark red, a combination of yours and Catherine's."
The baby began to breathe fast.
"I'm beginning to know when she's going to cry," Cavendish said. "Faith, Lola, look how angry she is."
"She's sleepy," Lola said, taking the baby. She laid her down in the blue-painted cradle. "She'll not cry long," she assured him.
He was not sure. "I'll wait here till Tina comes," he said, sitting down by the cradle. Lola left him there.
The baby stopped crying. He sat quietly, staring into the flames. There really was no need for him to see the bailiff. The bailiff was competent; never had Trimley and its farmlands and tenant houses looked so well. And David was competent, too. Trimley would run itself, and David would run it, and he and Lola would live here and raise their own children, here in this peaceful English county. David was writing, too. Every afternoon, after the morning duties were done, he sat alone at his table. David would stay at Trimley, so near to Ipswich, where the sea pounded. In the direction Cavendish was facing this moment, through the brick wall, a few miles away the sea would be gray and winter cold now, heaving, immense.
He looked down at the baby. She slept, her arms folded, her hands tightened into little balls. The more he looked at her, day after day, the more beautiful she became to him. Already she seemed to know Lola, and Tina. But she didn't know him—not yet.
He reached over and touched her little hand with his finger. She slept on. In the silent house, he suddenly heard Kate's voice, chattering eagerly in her broken English with Tony. He heard her excited laughter.
"No, no, no!" she cried, and then he heard her running steps going away from him. "Lola! Lola!" she called. A door banged, and then there was silence again.
They were forever taken care of, these children. He had given them everything—his name, these wide estates, the fortune which was his. Even though David's son would inherit, Trimley's was theirs to live in, always.