“Why must I?” Dominica blinked at her. “Am I in peril, señora, because your infamous son accuses me of having a pirate for my lover?”
“Yes, was it not foolish of him? Madness!” agreed her aunt. “He has no head. Enough, one would say, to bring the familiars of the Inquisition to our house tomorrow. That, my dear, is one reason why you should be got away, and swiftly wed. We shall give the lie to suspicion of heresy against you. No doubt, if his papers are in order, as I daresay they may be, El Beauvallet will be set at large. Faith, a man who would take his life in his hand right to the heart of Spain might even contrive to snatch you from under my nose! Well, child, all honour to him if he can compass it, but you shall not expect me to lend him my aid.”
“If his papers are in order,” Dominica pointed out, “he will stand proved to be the man he says he is, so what fear?”
“Ah, but I too have brain. I see much now that—I confess—was hidden from me before.” She smoothed the heavy silk of her dress. She was still smiling, still imperturbable. “Such a personable man—to be a pirate. I do not blame you at all, my dear. You made rare work of it aboard that ship, did you not? It is all most enlivening. For you I admit a pang or two. It will pass, and you will remember that you have had more romance than comes to most women in this weary world. But we shall leave Madrid. Certainly we shall leave Madrid.”
“As you please, señora, but you give me no good reasons.”
Doña Beatrice picked up her fan. “I will give you one you may perceive to be good, child. If you stay here you may haply be examined. Now I do not want that.”
“I am very willing, aunt. I can but say what I have said.”
“King Philip, and the Holy Inquisition,” said her aunt gently, “are not nice in their methods of obtaining information. Enough harm has been done already without you becoming suspected to be a heretic.” She rose, and went with her languid step to the door. “We will have you safe married, my dear, and think out some tale against our need. As I see it, my child, you cannot better serve this bold lover of yours than to give the lie in such a way to those who suspect you and him.”
The attack was renewed again next day, by Don Diego now, curbing his anger. He pressed marriage on his cousin, hinted his father might intercede for El Beauvallet, besought her to wed him at once, and trust to his good offices to help Beauvallet.
These were blundering tactics; Dominica curled her lip at them and him. Well she knew that once his identity was proved no power under the sun could save Beauvallet. The Holy Inquisition would step in and claim him; it was not necessary for Don Diego to tell her that she would see her lover burned at the stake. She knew it, had faced the horror squarely, and would not now change colour. Desperate need lent her courage, and agility of mind. She never hesitated, never blanched, could still laugh her scorn. “This is very kind, cousin!” she said tauntingly. “And if the unfortunate gentleman were indeed El Beauvallet and beloved of me no doubt I should avail myself of your offer.” Oh, but her tongue had a sting in it still! She watched him flush, and bite his lip. She curtseyed. “But I have no interest in the Chevalier de Guise, good my cousin, and I doubt he does not stand in need of my help.”
He took her wrist and shook it. “You think you hoodwink me? You think I do not know that fellow for what he is? Well, you shall see him burn!”
She smiled disdainfully. “Shall I so? I think it is you, my cousin, who will know yourself for a fool before many days are out. Loose my wrist. You will get nothing by this usage.”
He left her, sought out his mother. He was in a fret, biting his nails; he flew out upon her coolness, and was urgent with her to have the girl away at once.
Doña Beatrice regarded him blandly. She seemed amused by his agitation, and set her finger at the root of it. “One would say, my dear Diego, that you went in considerable fear of this Englishman.”
“I do not fear any man, señora, but this devil—” He crossed himself. “There’s witchcraft at work! You have not talked with Perinat. He tells me—in league with the devil, señora! What, could he have come otherwise into Spain, or sunk so many good ships of ours? We know El Draque to employ evil arts, and this man was trained under him.”
“Witchcraft?” said Doña Beatrice. Her shoulders shook. “I wonder if his arts will bring him off from that prison?”
“You speak very lightly, señora. You cannot appreciate the dangers of our situation. While that man is alive, and my cousin still a maid, we may not know a moment’s peace! At any time he might even be released! Have you thought of that? Perinat has little credit; his word may not serve against the fiend’s papers. What, are we to have him loose amongst us, and you’ll sit smiling?”
“I was never more in smiling humour,” she remarked. “To see you so disturbed, my son! I owe the pirate a debt of gratitude, it seems. And you were within an ace of biting your glove in his face!”
“And would do so still!” he said sharply. “Make no mistake, señora, if he and I stand up together with a sword apiece I shall know what to do. If I fear aught it is his wiles, his devilish cunning! A man may not fight against witchcraft. Horrible sin! Deadly danger!” Again he crossed himself.
“Do you look to
