"A man who can secure such a friendship as yours has proved itself to be," said Sir John after a short silence, "can scarcely be wholly bad. He may, as you say, have made a mistake. I promise nothing; but perhaps I will make no further attempts to find him."
Conyngham was silent. To speak would have been to admit.
"So far as I am concerned," said Sir John, rising, "you are safe in this or any country. But I warn you--you have a dangerous enemy in Spain."
"I know," answered Conyngham, with a laugh, "Mr. Esteban Larralde.
I once undertook to deliver a letter for him. It was not what he represented it to be, and after I had delivered it he began to suspect me of having read it. He is kind enough to consider me of some importance in the politics of this country owing to the information I am supposed to possess. I know nothing of the contents of the letter, but I want to regain it--if only for a few moments. That is the whole story, and that is how matters stand between Larralde and myself."
CHAPTER XXII. REPARATION.
"Il s"en faut bien que l"innocence trouve autant de protection que le crime."
For those minded to leave Spain at this time, there was but one route, namely, the south, for the northern exits were closed by the Carlists, still in power there, though thinning fast. Indeed, Don Carlos was now ill.u.s.trating the fact, which any may learn by the study of the world"s history, that it is not the great causes, but the great men, who have made and destroyed nations. Nearly half of Spain was for Don Carlos. The Church sided with him, and the best soldiers were those who, unpaid, unfed, and half clad, fought on the southern slopes of the Pyrenees for a man who dared not lead them.
Sir John Pleydell had intended crossing the frontier into Portugal, following the carriage conveying his prisoner to the seaport of Lisbon, where he antic.i.p.ated no difficulty in finding a ship captain who would be willing to carry Conyngham to England. All this, however, had been frustrated by so unimportant a person as Concepcion Vara, and the carriage ordered for nine o"clock to proceed to Talavera now stood in the courtyard of the hotel, while the Baronet in his lonely apartment sat and wondered what he should do next. He had dealt with justice all his life, and had ensued it not from love, but as a matter of convenience and a means of livelihood. From the mere habit, he now desired to do justice to Conyngham.
"See if you can find out for me the whereabouts of General Vincente at the moment, and let the carriage wait," he said to his servant, a valet-courier of taciturn habit.
The man was absent about half an hour, and returned with a face that promised little.
"There is a man in the hotel, sir," he said, "the servant of Mr.
Conyngham, who knows, but will not tell me. I am told, however, that a lady living in Toledo, a Contessa Barenna, will undoubtedly have the information. General Vincente was lately in Madrid, but his movements are so rapid and uncertain, that he has become a by- word in Spain."
"So I understand. I will call on this Contessa this afternoon, unless you can get the information elsewhere during the morning. I shall not want the carriage."
Sir John walked slowly to the window, deep in thought. He was interested in Conyngham, despite himself. It is possible that he had not hitherto met a man capable of so far forgetting his own interests as to undertake a foolish and dangerous escapade without anything in the nature of gain or advantage to recommend it. The windows of the hotel of the Comercio in Toledo look out upon the market-place, and Sir John, who was an indoor man, and mentally active enough to be intensely bored at times, frequently used this opportunity of studying Spanish life.
He was looking idly through the vile panes, when an old priest pa.s.sed by, and glanced up beneath s.h.a.ggy brows.
"Seen that man before," said Sir John.
"Ah!" muttered Father Concha, as he hurried on towards the Palazzo Barenna. "So far, so good. Where the fox is, will be found the stolen fowl."
Concepcion Vara, who was saddling his horse in the stable yard of the inn, saw the Padre pa.s.s.
"Ah, clever one!" he muttered, "with your jokes about my wife. Now you may make a false journey for all the help you receive from me."
And a few minutes later Concepcion rode across the Bridge of Alcantara, some paces behind Conyngham, who deemed it wise to return to his duties at Madrid without delay.
Despite the great heat on the plains, which, indeed, made it almost dangerous to travel at midday, the streets of Toledo were cool and shady enough, as Sir John Pleydell traversed them in search of the Palazzo Barenna. The Contessa was in, and the Englishman was ushered into a vast room, which even the taste of the day could not entirely deprive of its mediaeval grandeur. Sir John explained to the servant in halting Spanish that his name was unknown to the Senora Barenna, but that--a stranger in some slight difficulty--he had been recommended to seek her a.s.sistance.
Sir John was an imposing-looking man, with that grand air which enables some men not only to look, but to get over a wall while an insignificant wight may not so much as approach the gate. The senora"s curiosity did the rest. In a few minutes the rustle of silk made Sir John turn from the contemplation of a suit of armour.
"Madame speaks French?"
"But yes, senor."
Madame Barenna glanced towards a chair, which Sir John hastened to bring forward. He despised her already, and she admired his manner vastly.
"I have taken the immense liberty of intruding myself upon your notice, Madame."
"Not to sell me a Bible?" exclaimed Senora Barenna, with her fan upheld in warning.
"A Bible! I believe I have one at home, in England, Madame, but--"
"It is well," said Madame sinking back and fanning herself rather faintly. "Excuse my fears. But there is an Englishman--what is his name? I forget."
"Borrow."
"Yes; that is it, Borrow. And he sells Bibles; and Father Concha, my confessor, a bear, but a holy man--a holy bear, as one might say- -has forbidden me to buy one. I am so afraid of disobeying him, by heedlessness or forgetfulness. There are, it appears, some things in the Bible which one ought not to read, and one naturally--"
She finished the sentence with a shrug, and an expressive gesture of the fan.
"One naturally desires to read them," suggested Sir John. "The privilege of all Eve"s daughters, Madame."
Senora Barenna treated the flatterer to what the French call a fin sourire, and wondered how long Julia would stay away. This man would pay her a compliment in another moment.
"I merely called on the excuse of a common friendship, to ask if you can tell me the whereabouts of General Vincente," said Sir John, stating his business in haste and when the opportunity presented itself.
"Is it politics?" asked the lady, with a hasty glance round the room.
"No, it is scarcely politics; but why do you ask? You are surely too wise, Madame, to take part in such. It is a woman"s mission to please--and when it is so easy!"
He waved his thin white hand in completion of a suggestion which made his hearer bridle her stout person.
"No, no," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door.
"No; it is my daughter. Ah! senor, you can scarce imagine what it is to live upon a volcano!"
And she pointed to the oaken floor with her fan. Sir John deemed it wise to confine his display of sympathy to a glance of the deepest concern.
"No," he said; "it is merely a personal matter. I have a communication to make to my friend General Vincente or to his daughter."
"To Estella?"
"To the Senorita Estella."
"Do you think her beautiful? Some do, you know. Eyes--I admit-- yes, lovely."
"I admire the senorita exceedingly."
"Ah yes, yes. You have not seen my daughter, have you, senor?
Julia--she rather resembles Estella."
Senora Barenna paused and examined her fan with a careless air.