The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

Then the carriage containing the two ladies passed on out of sight, other carriages following, with other ladies in them; more cavalry – Lancers, Hussars, and heavy Dragoons – more music, mingling with the shouts and cheers of the fickle populace, as they swarmed along the foot-walk, every now and then vociferating —

“Viva, Santa Anna el Illustrissimo! Viva, el Salvador de la Patria!”

Chapter Twenty Five

A Mysterious Missive

“O! Ysabel! To think of it! In the chain-gang – in the sewers! Madre de Dios!”

Thus passionately exclaimed Luisa Valverde, half addressing herself to the Condesa Almonté in her father’s house again, to which they had just returned from the ceremony of the procession. They were in the sala, seated upon the chair, into which they flung themselves, as if overcome with fatigue.

And weariness it was, but not of the body. Their souls were a-wearied through being unable to give utterance to the thoughts and passions that for hours had been convulsing them. Ever since passing the chain-gang they had been forced to keep up faces, seem as they felt not, smile when they could have wept. This the Condesa had counselled for reasons already hinted at; and now back home, with no one to see or hear, they were giving way to the wild tumult of emotion so long pent up.

For a time the Condesa made no rejoinder, herself as much affected as her friend. Both sat in despairing attitudes, heads drooped, and hands clasping them as though they ached; bosoms rising and falling in laboured undulation, the hearts within them painfully pulsing. All so unlike themselves, in such discordance with their great beauty, and the rich robes they wore. Looking at two such women, one could ill believe it possible for them to be otherwise than happy; yet, at that moment, both were miserable as misery itself.

“Ah, yes!” sighed the Countess, at length, and like as if awakening from some weird dream, its impress still upon her face. “To think of it; and fearful it is to think of. I understand things better now. My Ruperto is indeed in danger – more than I this morning believed. And your Florencio too. I could read his death in the eyes of Don Carlos Santander; and one told me the Tejanos are all to be shot!”

“O Ysabel, say not that! If they kill him, they may kill me! The man I love! Santa Guadalupe – Blessed Virgin! Save, oh, save him from such a fate!”

Against the wall was a picture of this, the patroness Saint of Mexico – for there is one in every Mexican house – and, while speaking, the young girl had risen from her chair, glided across the room, and fallen upon her knees before it. In this attitude she remained for some moments, her hands crossed over her breast, her lips moving as though she muttered a prayer.

Altogether differently acted the Condesa. She was not of the devotional sort, where it seemed unlikely to be of practical service. Good Catholic enough, and observant of all the ceremonies, but no believer in miracles; and therefore distrustful of what Santa Guadalupe, or any other saint, could do for them. She had more belief in the Cromwellian doctrine of keeping the powder dry; and that she meant to practise it, not with powder, but with her purse, was soon made evident by her speech.

“It’s no use kneeling there,” she said, starting to her feet, and again showing spirit. “Let us pray in our hearts. I’ve been doing that already, and I’m sure so have you. Something else should be done now – another effort made – this time with money; no matter how much it takes. Yes, Luisa, we must act.”

“I want to act,” rejoined the other, as she forsook the kneeling posture, with an abruptness not common to devotees; “only tell me how. Can you?”

For some seconds the Condesa let the question remain unanswered. Once more her hand had gone up to her head, the jewelled fingers met and clasped upon her brow – this time to quicken reflection; some scheme, already half conceived, needing further elaboration.

Whatever the plan, it was soon worked out complete, as evinced by her words following.

“Amiga mia; is there in your service one we can implicitly trust?”

“José. You know we can trust him.”

“True. But he won’t do for the first step to be taken: which is, indeed, only to deliver a letter. But it needs being adroitly done, and a woman will be the better for that. Besides, José will be wanted for something else, at the same time. There are two or three of my own female following could be relied on, so far as fidelity is concerned; but, unluckily, they’re all known on the Callé de Plateros, as well as the street itself; and there isn’t any of them particularly intelligent or dexterous. What we stand in need of now is one possessed of both these qualities – either woman or girl.”

“Would Pepita do?”

“You mean the little mestizo, who was with you at New Orleans?”

“The same. She’s all that; and, besides, devoted to me.”

Don Ignacio’s daughter had reason to know this, from experience in the Casa de Calvo, in which Pepita had played a part.

“She’ll do,” said the Countess; “the very individual, from what I’ve seen of her. Get me pen, ink, and paper – quick! At the same time summon Pepita!”

The Countess was now all action; and, responding to her roused energies, the other rushed towards the bell-pull, and gave it two or three vigorous jerks.

As it chanced, there were writing materials in the room; and, while waiting for the bell to be answered, the Countess made use of them, hastily scribbling some words on a sheet of paper, which she folded without putting into an envelope; instead, twisted it between her finger, as if dissatisfied with what she had written, and designed cancelling it. Far from this her intention, as was soon made manifest.

“Muchacha!” she said to Pepita, who, being lady’s maid, had answered the bell herself. “Your mistress tells me you can be trusted on a matter which calls not only for confidence, but cleverness. Is that so?”

“I can’t promise the cleverness, your ladyship; but for the other, I think the Doña Luisa knows she can rely on me.”

“You’d be good at delivering a letter, without letting all the world into the secret, I suppose?”

“I’ll do my best, your ladyship, if Duena command it.”

“Yes, I wish it, Pepita,” interposed Doña Luisa, herself the “Duena.”

“Muy bien Señorita. Into whose hands is it to be put?”

Though speaking direct to her own mistress, the interrogatory was more meant for the Condesa, between whose fingers and thumb she saw the thing she was to take charge of.

The answer to her query called for some consideration. The note was for Ruperto Rivas; but the girl knew him not; so how could she give it him?

Here was a difficulty not before thought of, for a time perplexing both the ladies. In this case Doña Luisa was the first to see a way out of it, saying in a whisper: —

“Let her give it to Florencio; she knows him, and he can – ”

“Carramba!” exclaimed the Countess interrupting. “How wonderfully wise you are, amiga! The very thing! And it never occurred to me! No, you tell her what to do.”

“This, Pepita,” said her mistress, taking the crumpled sheet from the Condesa, and passing it to her maid, “this is to be delivered to a gentleman you’ve seen, and should know.”

“Where have I seen him, señorita?”

“In New Orleans.”

“Do you mean Don Carlos, my lady?”

“No;” the abrupt negative accompanied with a dissatisfied look.

“Who then, señorita?”

“Don Florencio.”

“Ay Dios! Is he here? I did not know it. But where am I to find him?”

No need to repeat the dialogue as continued. Suffice it that, before leaving the room, Pepita received full instructions where to find Don Florencio, and when found what she was to do and say to him.

So far all this was easy enough. More difficult the commission to be entrusted to José – more dangerous too. But it was made known to him in less than twenty minutes after; receiving his ready assent to its execution – though it should cost him his life, as he said. One motive for his agreeing to undergo the danger was devotion to his young mistress; another to stand well with Pepita, who had a power over him, and as he knew had entered upon her part with an ardent alacrity. But there was a third stimulus to keep up his courage, should it feel like failing – this having to do with the Condesa. Drawing out her grand gold watch – good value for a hundred dollores, and holding it up before his eyes, she said:

“That’s your reward, José; that or its worth in money.”

No need saying more. For the commission he was to execute much preparation was to be made, in all haste too. And in all haste he set to making it – determined to win the watch.

Chapter Twenty Six