The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

And as if to make sure of it, he dug the spurs deep into the flanks of his now jaded charger, again commanding the “quick gallop.”

Chapter Fifty Six

A Day of Suspense

Dawn was just beginning to show over the eastern Cordilleras, its aurora giving a rose tint to the snowy cone of Popocatepec, as the Hussars passed back through San Augustin. The bells of the paroquia had commenced tolling matins, and many people abroad in the streets, hurrying toward the church, saw them – interrogating one another as to where they had been, and on what errand bound.

But before entering the pueblo they had to pass under the same eyes that observed them going outward on the other side; these more keenly and anxiously scrutinising them now, noting every file as it came in sight, every individual horseman, till the last was revealed; then lighting up with joyous sparkle, while they, thus observing, breathed freely.

For the soldiers had come as they went, not a man added to their number, if none missing, but certainly no prisoners brought back!

“They’ve got safe off,” triumphantly exclaimed the Countess, when the rearmost files had forged past, “as I told you they would. I knew there was no fear after they had been warned.”

That they had been warned both were by this aware, their messenger having meanwhile returned and reported to that effect. He had met the Hussars on their way up, but crouching among some bushes, he had been unobserved by them; and, soon as they were well out of the way, slipped out again and made all haste home.

He had brought back something more than a mere verbal message – a billetita for each of the two who had commissioned him.

The notes were alike, in that both had been hastily scribbled, and in brief but warm expression of thanks for the service done to the writers. Beyond this, however, they were quite different. It was the first epistle Florence Kearney had ever indited to Luisa Valverde, and ran in fervid strain. He felt he could so address her. With love long in doubt that it was even reciprocated, but sure of its being so now, he spoke frankly as passionately. Whatever his future, she had his heart, and wholly. If he lived, he would seek her again at the peril of a thousand lives; if it should be his fate to die, her name would be the last word on his lips.

“Virgen Santissima! Keep him safe!” was her prayer, as she finished devouring the sweet words; then, refolding the sheet on which they were written, secreted it away in the bosom of her dress – a treasure more esteemed than aught that had ever lain there.

The communication received by the Condesa was less effusive, and more to the point of what, under present circumstances, concerned the writer, as, indeed, all of them. Don Ruperto wrote with the confidence of a lover who had never known doubt. A man of rare qualities, he was true to friendship as to his country’s cause, and would not be false to love. And he had no fear of her. His liens with Ysabel Almonté were such as to preclude all thought of her affections ever changing. He knew that she was his – heart, soul, everything. For had she not given him every earnest of it, befriended him through weal and through woe? Nor had he need to assure her that her love was reciprocated, or his fealty still unfaltering; for their faith, as their reliance, was mutual. His letter, therefore, was less that of a lover to his mistress than one between man and man, written to a fellow-conspirator, most of it in figurative phrase, even some of it in cypher!

No surprise to her all that; she understood the reason. Nor was there any enigma in the signs and words of double signification; without difficulty she interpreted them all.

They told her of the anticipated rising, with the attempt to be made on Oaxaca, the hopes of its having a success, and, if so, what would come after. But also of something before this – where he, the writer, and his Free Lances would be on the following night, so that if need arose she could communicate with him. If she had apprehension of danger to him, he was not without thought of the same threatening herself and her friend too.

Neither were they now; instead, filled with such apprehension. In view of what had occurred on the preceding evening, and throughout the night, how could they be other? The dwarf must know more than he had revealed in that dialogue overheard by José. In short, he seemed aware of everything – the cochero’s complicity as their own. The free surrender of their watches and jewellery for the support of the escaped prisoners were of itself enough to incriminate them. Surely there would be another investigation, more rigorous than before, and likely to have a different ending.

With this in contemplation, their souls full of fear, neither went that morning to matins. Nor did they essay to take sleep or rest. Instead, wandered about the house from room to room, and out into the grounds, seemingly distraught.

They had the place all to themselves; no one to take counsel with, none to comfort them; Don Ignacio, at an early hour, having been called off to his duties in the city. But they were not destined to spend the whole of that day without seeing a visitor. As the clocks of San Augustin were striking 8 p.m. one presented himself at the gate in the guise of an officer of Hussars, Don Carlos Santander. Nor was he alone, but with an escort accompanying. They were seated in the verandah of the inner court, but saw him through the saguan, the door of which was open, saw him enter at the outer gate, and without dismounting come on towards them, several files of his men following. He had been accustomed to visit them there, and they to receive his visits, however reluctantly, reasons of many kinds compelling them. But never had he presented himself as now. It was an act of ill-manners his entering unannounced, another riding into the enclosure with soldiers behind him; but the rudeness was complete when he came on into the patio still in the saddle, his men too, and pulled up directly in front of them, without waiting for word of invitation. The stiff, formal bow, the expression upon his swarthy features, severe, but with ill-concealed exultation in it, proclaimed his visit of no complimentary kind.

By this both were on their feet, looking offended, even angry, at the same time alarmed. And yet little surprised, for it was only confirmation of the fear that had been all day oppressing them – its very fulfilment. But that they believed it this they would have shown their resentment by retiring and leaving him there. As it was, they knew that would be idle, and so stayed to hear what he had to say. It was —

“Señoritas, I see you’re wondering at my thus presenting myself. Not strange you should. Nor could any one more regret the disagreeable errand I’ve come upon than I. It grieves me sorely, I assure you.”

“What is it, Colonel Santander?” demanded the Countess, with sang-froid partially restored.

“I hate to declare it, Condesa,” he rejoined, “still more to execute it. But, compelled by the rigorous necessities of a soldier’s duty, I must.”

“Well, sir; must what?”

“Make you a prisoner; and, I am sorry to add, also the Doña Luisa.”

“Oh, that’s it!” exclaimed the Countess, with a scornful inclination of the head. “Well, sir, I don’t wonder at your disliking the duty, as you say you do. It seems more that of a policeman than a soldier.”

The retort struck home, still further humiliating him in the eyes of the woman he loved, Luisa Valverde. But he now knew she loved not him, and had made up his mind to humble her in a way hitherto untried. Stung by the innuendo, and dropping his clumsy pretence at politeness, he spitefully rejoined —

“Thank you, Condesa Almonté for your amiable observation. It does something to compensate me for having to do policeman’s duty. And now let it be done. Please to consider yourself under arrest; and you also, Señorita Valverde.”

Up to this time the last named lady had not said a word, the distress she was in restraining her. But as mistress there, she saw it was her turn to speak, which she did, saying —

“If we are your prisoners, Colonel Santander, I hope you will not take us away from here till my father comes home. As you may be aware, he’s in the city.”

“I am aware of that, Doña Luisa, and glad to say my orders enable me to comply with your wishes, and that you remain here till Don Ignacio returns. I’m enjoined to see to your safe keeping – a very absurd requirement, but one which often falls to the lot of the soldier as well as the policeman.”

Neither the significant words nor the forced laugh that accompanied them had any effect on her for whom they were intended. With disdain in her eyes, such as a captive queen might show for the common soldier who stood guard over her, the Condesa had already turned her back upon the speaker and was walking away. With like proud air, but less confident and scornful, Luisa Valverde followed. Both were allowed to pass inside, leaving the Hussar colonel to take such measures for their keeping as he might think fit.

His first step was to order in the remainder of his escort and distribute them around the house, so that in ten minutes after the casa de campo of Don Ignacio Valverde bore resemblance to a barrack, with sentinels at every entrance and corner!

Chapter Fifty Seven

Under Arrest

Scarce necessary to say that Luisa Valverde and Ysabel Almonté were at length really alarmed – fully alive to a sense of their danger.

It was no more a question of the safety of their lovers, but their own. And the prospect was dark, indeed. Santander had said nothing of the reason for arresting them; nor had they cared to inquire. They divined it; no longer doubting that it was owing to revelations made by the hunchback.

Sure now that this diminutive wretch not only himself knew their secret, but had made it known in higher quarters, there seemed no hope for them; instead, ruin staring them in the face. The indignity to their persons they were already experiencing would be followed by social disgrace, and confiscation of property.

“Oh, Ysabelita! what will they do to us?” was the Doña Luisa’s anxious interrogatory, soon as they had got well inside their room. “Do you think they’ll put us in a prison?”

“Possibly they will. I wish there was nothing worse awaiting us.”

“Worse! Do you mean they’d inflict punishment on us – that is, corporal punishment? Surely they daren’t?”

“Daren’t! Santa Anna dare anything – at least, neither shame nor mercy will restrain him. No more this other man, his minion, whom you know better than I. But it isn’t punishment of that kind I’m thinking of.”

“What then, Ysabel? The loss of our property? It’ll be all taken from us, I suppose.”

“In all likelihood it will,” rejoined the Condesa, with as much unconcern as though her estates, value far more than a million, were not worth a thought.

“Oh! my father! This new misfortune, and all owing to me. ’Twill kill him!”

“No, no, Luisita! Don’t fear that. He will survive it, if aught survives of our country’s liberty. And it will, all of it, be restored again. ’Tis something else I was thinking of.”

Again the other asked “What?” her countenance showing increased anxiety.

“What we as women have more to fear than aught else. From the loss of lands, houses, riches of any sort, one may recover – from the loss of that, never!”

Enigmatic as were the words, Luisa Valverde needed no explanation of them, nor pressed for it. She comprehended all now, and signified her apprehension by exclaiming, with a shudder, “Virgen Santissima!”

“The prison they will take us to,” pursued the Countess, “is a place – that in the Plaza Grande. We shall be immured there, and at the mercy of that man, that monster! O God! – O Mother of God, protect me!”

At which she dropped down upon a couch despairingly, with face buried in her hands.

It was a rare thing for the Condesa Almonté to be so moved – rather, to show despondence – and her friend was affected accordingly. For there was another man at whose mercy she herself would be – one like a monster, and as she well knew equally unmerciful – he who at that moment was under the same roof with them – in her father’s house, for the time its master.