Don Diego looked sharply; Dominica kept her eyes down. She judged from her aunt’s faintly derisive tone that she had ascertained the date of Tobar’s arrival in Madrid. She could have wished it had been nearer, since every day Sir Nicholas spent in Madrid added to his danger. There could be no peace for her while he stayed. A grim fear stalked beside her; every day she dreaded to hear of his capture; every time she saw him his very carelessness brought her heart into her mouth. There was a price to be paid by the lady who was loved by Mad Nicholas.
He came that evening to wait on Doña Beatrice. It seemed he had an assignation with her; she had lent him a Romance, and he came to give it back to her, and stayed on talking French with her.
His audacity passed all bounds, Dominica thought. She withdrew towards the window, and looked severely when he flung a compliment, like a challenge, at her. She bore herself like a maid whose primness was shocked; only he was to know that her reproachful look was to reprimand his recklessness, not his gallantry.
She wondered whether she dared tell him that she was to leave Madrid that next week. While she sought in her mind for a phrase that should seem innocent enough, her aunt took the words out of her mouth.
Having got the information he wanted Sir Nicholas soon took his leave. There was some idle play between him and Doña Beatrice; Dominica had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Sir Nicholas humoured Doña Beatrice to the top of her bent, whispered his audacities into her receptive ear, and showed his watchful lady very plainly that he knew well what way to use with her sex. But even as he devoutly kissed Doña Beatrice’s large white hand he shot a rueful, laughing look at Dominica, as though to deprecate her silent reproof.
He came to take his leave of her; she was on tenterhooks at what his mad humour might prompt him to say or do, and curtsied very stiffly. She would not look at him as she held out her hand. It lay in his, held firmly, but he did not kiss it at once. His voice sounded, brimful of teasing mischief, “But how she is cold!” he said.
She tried to draw her hand away; she was near to boxing his ears.
“My dear Chevalier, you have shocked my niece,” said Doña Beatrice, amused. “She is unused to your French ways. We do not go to work so hardily in Spain.”
“Have I shocked her? Will she not look at me, and smile at me as she knows how?”
At that her eyes lifted. She had no smile for him, but a straight look, a little fierce. She saw the laugh dancing in his eyes, and dropped her own again. “I fear she is very angry with me,” said Sir Nicholas sadly. “She frowns, alas! I think if she had—let us say, a dagger—to hand, I were sped.”
Her hand quivered. “You are pleased to jest, señor.”
He bent his head, and kissed her fingers. “Señorita, my heart is under your feet.”
“Chevalier, Chevalier, you are a trifler!” said Doña Beatrice. “A moment since I had thought it was under mine.”
Dominica got her hand free at last. Sir Nicholas turned to Doña Beatrice. “Ah, madame,” he said, “you are severe. But I have so many hearts.”
She laughed. “Ungallant, I protest! And is there ever a one among the many that will be true, I wonder? Oh, these Frenchmen!”
“Only one, madame,” said Sir Nicholas meekly.
She raised her brows, willing to be entertained. “Ah? To whom this one?”
“Madame, to my betrothed,” said Sir Nicholas, “She hath it all.”
She shrugged at that. “Why, it’s very dutiful, señor, but I wonder what you will say—a year hence?”
Dominica turned her back, and looked out into the garden.
“Oh, it is of so faithful a disposition, madame, I am very sure I shall but repeat myself. But I shall still have a heart to lay in—admiration—at your feet.” Upon which he took his leave, not before it was time, thought Dominica.
Her aunt began to talk of the coming journey to Vasconosa.
But there was to be another traveller bound thitherwards of whom she knew nothing. Back at the Rising Sun again Sir Nicholas studied such maps as he could come by, and conned the road as best he might. Joshua Dimmock, watching, took heart again, and said darkly to the coat he was folding that the sooner they were off upon this journey the better it would be for them. “Yet,” said he, brushing dust from a pair of hose, “I must ask myself, what if the Venture be not there? With the General not on board it is to be questioned whether she may keep safe in Spanish waters. Ay, there’s a rub.” He eyed his master’s abstracted profile, and sighed. “We may make marks upon a map, I grant you, and mutter of stages, but I hold, and mark me well, that we may not be sure of a happy issue. I had rather than fifty pounds I were snug at home. It needs not to tell me that we shall make that smuggling port. I make bold to say that we may do that in spite of all these bisson Spaniards. But how if we come upon this port, and find no ship awaiting? Ay, then we are shent. We spend the remainder of our days in Spain, and they will not be many, I warrant me! All to hang upon the Venture, and the Venture sailing without her General!
