“But they says she was possessed and you sent the devils to possess her.”
“They are mad themselves.”
“Yes,” she said uneasily. But that was the beginning.
They watched me furtively. When I went into La Laguna I was aware of averted eyes and if I turned sharply I would find people were looking back at me. Once I heard the whispered word “Witch.”
At the Casa Azul the shutters were closed. I heard that Pilar walked through the house lamenting. She stood at the top of the stairs and called to Isabella to come back to her, to tell her what happened on that fateful afternoon.
Felipe pretended to be indifferent to the tension which was building up, but he did not deceive me. He came to our bedroom one evening and his face was set and anxious. He had spent most of the day in La Laguna.
He said: “I would we were in Madrid. Then this nonsense would end.”
“What nonsense is this?” I asked.
“There has been much talk. Someone has been to La Laguna and talked recklessly. There is no alternative. A certain course will be taken.”
“What course?”
“I am speaking of Isabella’s death. There is to be an inquiry.”
Manuela sat mending Carlos’ tunic. Her hands trembled as she did so.
I said: “What ails you, Manuela?”
She lifted her great sorrowful eyes to my face.
“They have taken Edmundo away to be questioned. He was the one to find her. She was lying at the foot of the staircase with her neck broken. He was the one. They will question him.”
“He will satisfy them with his answers,” I said, “and then he will come home.”
“People who are taken for questioning often do not come back.”
“Why should not Edmundo?”
“When they question,” she said, “they will have the answer they want.”
“Edmundo will be all right. He was always so good with Isabella. She was fond of him.”
“She is dead,” said Manuela, “and he is taken for questioning.”
I had learned since Manuela came to us that she and Edmundo had both been in the retinue Isabella had brought with her from Spain. Manuela had been one of her maids and Edmundo had known how to look after her when she was “possessed.” When the raiders had come Manuela had hidden and so saved herself; and she had been with Isabella during the months of pregnancy and the birth of Carlos. She had loved the child and tried to protect him from the alternate devotion and dislike of his mother; and when the boy had been put in charge of that dreadful harridan she had done what she could to help him.
It was understandable that she should be sad because Edmundo had been taken in.
I was astonished at the outcome of the questioning. Edmundo confessed that he had murdered his mistress. He had stolen a cross studded with rubies from her jewel box to give to a girl whom he wished to please. Isabella had caught him in the act of taking the cross and because he feared the consequences he had suffocated her by placing a damp cloth over her mouth. Then he had thrown her down the stairs.
He was hanged in the plaza of La Laguna.
“That is the end of the affair,” said Felipe.
I could not get out of my mind the memory of big Edmundo lifting poor Isabella so gently in his arms as I had seen him do when she was suffering.
“He was so gentle,” I said. “I cannot believe him capable of murder.”
“There are many sides to men and women,” Felipe answered.
“It is hard to believe this of Edmundo,” I said.
“He has confessed and the matter is at an end, my love.”
I was disturbed but glad that I could consider the mystery solved.
Christmas came and went. I thought of home and the mummers, the wassailing and the Christmas bush. I wondered whether John Gregory had reached England yet and whether my mother had my letter.
What a Christmas gift that would be for her!
To Felipe’s disappointment I had not conceived. I was not sure whether I was disappointed or not. I longed for children, and yet I could not forget Isabella; even though Edmundo had confessed to murdering her, she still seemed to stand between me and my husband. Sometimes I felt that my husband was a stranger to me. I never thought for one moment that he had ever loved Isabella. I believed him when he said that there had been one love in his life and that I was that love. That was something he could not hide. His love for me was expressed a hundred times during a single day. It was in the very inflection of his voice. Moreover, I had given him Roberto—a sturdy little fellow now three years of age… But there was something Felipe held back even from me, and perhaps for this reason I willed myself not to conceive. The fact remains that I did not, although I was not unhappy.
It was never cold in Tenerife, for there was very little difference between the winter and summer; the only unpleasant days were those when the south winds blew from Africa and this was not frequent. I liked the damp warm atmosphere and I did not want to leave it for the extremes of temperature which I believed we should experience in Spain. I often thought of the cold winter days at home in the Abbey. Once the Thames had frozen and we had been able to walk across it. I remembered sitting around the great log fire in the hall and how the mummers had slapped their frozen hands into life before beginning their performance. I remembered so much of home; and sometimes I felt a dull pain in my throat, so great was my longing for it.
Yet here I had a husband who loved me and a sweet son.
In January the Cavalcade of the Three Wise Men took place and we took the children into La Laguna to watch it. What excitement there was and I listened with delight to the chattering children.
Yes, there was so much that I enjoyed.
Time slipped away and it was Holy Week and this was a time of great celebration. There were more processions in the town and when I saw the white robed figures coming from the Cathedral I was reminded so poignantly of the day I had sat in the plaza and looked on the misery of men, I felt suddenly nauseated; and a poignant longing for home swept over me.
I had talked of my sudden desire for home to Honey and she admitted that she felt this too. She was adored by Don Luis; she had her little daughter even as I had my son; but our home was something we should never forget; and I believe that at the very heart of it was my mother—for Honey as well as for me.
We had ridden into La Laguna on our mules to see the Holy Week procession and left the children at home because we feared they might be hurt in the crowds. Honey and I stood side by side. There were two grooms with us; we were never allowed to go far without protection. And as we stood on the edge of the crowd I felt someone press against me.
I turned sharply and looked into a pair of fanatical eyes which looked straight into mine.
“Pilar,” I said.
“Witch,” she hissed. “Heretic witch.”
I started to tremble. Crowds in this plaza brought with them such hideous memories.
I said to Felipe: “I saw the woman Pilar in the town. She hates me. I could see by the way she looked at me.”
“She was devoted to her charge. She had been with her since her birth.”
“I think she believes that I am responsible for her death.”
“She is distraught. She will grow away from her grief.”
“I have rarely seen such hatred in any eyes as was in hers when she looked at me. She called me a witch … a heretic witch.”
I was unprepared for the change in Felipe’s expression. Fear was clearly to be seen as his lips formed the word “heretic.” Then suddenly that control which was so much a part of his character seemed to desert him. He took me into his arms and held me tightly against him.
“Catalina,” he said, “we are going to Madrid. We must not stay here.”
A terrible fear had begun to overshadow me. When darkness fell I would often fancy I was being watched. I could not specifically say how. It was just that I would hear footsteps which seemed to follow me; or the quiet shutting of a door when I was in a room, so that it seemed that someone had opened it to watch me and then quietly shut it and gone away. On one or two occasions I fancied someone had been in my room. Some familiar object had been moved from its place and I was sure I had not done this.