happened?'
Micky frowned. 'There was another boy swimming in the pool when we got there.'
'Who?'
He shook his head. 'I couldn't see his face, and I didn't know it was going to be important.'
'Did he see what happened?'
'I don't know. I'm not sure at what point he left.'
'But he had gone by the time you got the body out of the water.'
'Yes.'
'I wish we knew who it was,' Augusta said anxiously.
'He may not even have been a schoolboy,' Micky pointed out. 'He could be from the town. Anyway, for whatever reason, he hasn't come forward as a witness, so I suppose he's no danger to us.'
No danger to us. It struck Augusta that she was involved with this boy in something dishonest, possibly illegal. She did not like the situation. She had got into it without realizing, and now she was trapped. She looked hard at him and said: 'What do you want?'
She caught him off guard for the first time. Looking bewildered, he said: 'What do you mean?'
'You covered up for my son. You committed perjury today.' He was unbalanced by her directness, she saw. That pleased her: she was in control again. 'I don't believe you took such a risk out of the goodness of your heart. I think you want something in return. Why don't you just tell me what it is?'
She saw his gaze drop momentarily to her bosom, and for a wild moment she thought he was going to make an indecent suggestion. Then he said: 'I want to spend the summer with you.'
She had not expected that. 'Why?'
'My home is six weeks' journey away. I have to stay at school during the holidays. I hate it--it's lonely and boring. I'd like to be invited to spend the summer with Edward.'
Suddenly he was a schoolboy again. She had thought he would ask for money, or perhaps a job at Pilasters Bank. But this seemed such a small, almost childish request. However, it clearly was not small to him. After all, she thought, he is only sixteen.
'You shall stay with us for the summer, and welcome,' she said. The thought did not displease her. He was a rather formidable young man in some ways, but his manners were perfect and he was good-looking: it would be no hardship to have him as a guest. And he might be a good influence on Edward. If Teddy had a fault it was that he was rather aimless. Micky was just the opposite. Perhaps some of his strength of will would rub off on her Teddy.
Micky smiled, showing white teeth. 'Thank you,' he said. He seemed sincerely delighted.
She felt an urge to be alone for a while and mull over what she had heard. 'Leave me now,' she said. 'I can find my way back to the headmaster's house.'
He got up from the pew. 'I'm very grateful,' he said, and offered his hand.
She took it. 'I'm grateful to you, for protecting Teddy.'
He bent down, as if he were going to kiss her hand; and then, to her astonishment, he kissed her lips. It was so quick that she had no time to turn away. She searched for words of protest as he straightened up, but she could not think what to say. A moment later he was gone.
It was outrageous! He should not have kissed her at all, let alone on the lips. Who did he think he was? Her first thought was to rescind the summer invitation. But that would never do.
Why not? she asked herself. Why could she not cancel an invitation extended to a mere schoolboy? He had acted presumptuously, so he should not come to stay.
But the thought of going back on her promise made her uncomfortable. It was not just that Micky had saved Teddy from disgrace, she realized. It was worse than that. She had entered into a criminal conspiracy with him. It made her unpleasantly vulnerable to him.
She sat in the cool chapel for a long time, staring at the bare walls and wondering, with a distinct feeling of apprehension, how that handsome, knowing boy would use his power.
PART I
1873
Chapter ONE
MAY
Section 1
WHEN MICKY MIRANDA WAS TWENTY-THREE his father came to London to buy rifles.
Senor Carlos Raul Xavier Miranda, known always as Papa, was a short man with massive shoulders. His tanned face was carved in lines of aggression and brutality. In leather chaps and a broad- brimmed hat, seated on a chestnut stallion, he could make a graceful, commanding figure; but here in Hyde Park, wearing a frock coat and a top hat, he felt foolish, and that made him dangerously bad- tempered.
They were not alike. Micky was tall and slim, with regular features, and he got his way by smiling rather than frowning. He was deeply attached to the refinements of London life: beautiful clothes, polite manners, linen sheets and indoor plumbing. His great fear was that Papa would want to take him back to Cordova. He could not bear to return to days in the saddle and nights sleeping on the hard ground. Even worse was the prospect of being under the thumb of his older brother Paulo, who was a replica of Papa. Perhaps Micky would go home one day, but it would be as an important man in his own right, not as the younger son of Papa Miranda. Meanwhile he had to persuade his father that he was more useful here in London than he would be at home in Cordova.
They were walking along South Carriage Drive on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The park was thronged with well-dressed Londoners on foot, on horseback or in open carriages, enjoying the warm weather. But Papa was not enjoying himself. 'I must have those rifles!' he muttered to himself in Spanish. He said it twice.
Micky spoke in the same language. 'You could buy them back home,' he said tentatively.
'Two thousand of them?' Papa said. 'Perhaps I could. But it would be such a big purchase that everyone would know about it.'
So he wanted to keep it secret. Micky had no idea what Papa was up to. Paying for two thousand guns, and the ammunition to go with them, would probably take all the family's reserves of cash. Why did Papa suddenly need so much ordnance? There had been no war in Cordova since the now legendary March of the Cowboys, when Papa had led his men across the Andes to liberate Santamaria Province from its Spanish overlords. Who were the guns for? If you added up Papa's cowboys, relatives, placemen and hangers-on it would come to fewer than a thousand men. Papa had to be planning to recruit more. Whom would they be fighting? Papa had not volunteered the information and Micky was afraid to ask.
Instead he said: 'Anyway, you probably couldn't get such high-quality weapons at home.'
'That's true,' said Papa. 'The Westley-Richards is the finest rifle I've ever seen.'
Micky had been able to help Papa with his choice of rifles. Micky had always been
