Part 19 (1/2)

THE RETURN FROM THE FIESTA

The sure-footed mules, braced hard against the weight of the carriage, slid down a steep descent across slippery stones when Clare, who wondered what would happen if the worn-out harness broke, rode into Adexe.

Gleaming white houses rose one above another among feathery palms, with a broad streak of darker green in their midst to mark the shady alameda.

Behind, the dark range towered against the sky; in front lay a foam-fringed beach and the vast blue sweep of dazzling sea. Music came up through the languid murmur of the surf, and the steep streets were filled with people whose clothes made patches of brilliant color. The carriage jolted safely down the hill, and Clare looked about with interest as they turned into the central plaza, where the driver stopped.

”It's a picturesque little town and I'm glad you brought me,” she said.

”But what does the fiesta they're holding celebrate?”

”I don't know; the first landing of the Spaniards, perhaps,” Kenwardine replied. ”Anyhow, it's a popular function, and as everybody in the neighborhood takes part in it, I came with the object of meeting some people I do business with. In fact, I may have to leave you for a time with the wife of a Spaniard whom I know.”

When coming down the hillside Clare had noticed a sugar mill and an ugly coaling wharf that ran out into the bay. Two steamers lay not far off, rolling gently on the glittering swell, and several lighters were moored against the wharf. Since she had never heard him speak of coal, she imagined her father's business was with the sugar mill, but he seldom talked to her about such matters and she did not ask. He took her to an old, yellow house, with tarnished bra.s.s rails barring its lower windows and a marble fountain in the patio, where brilliant creepers hung from the balconies. The soft splash of falling water was soothing and the spray cooled the air.

”It is very pretty,” Clare said while they waited. ”I wish we could make our patio like this.”

”We may be able to do so when Brandon and his friends bring us the water,” Kenwardine replied with a quick glance at the girl. ”Have you seen him recently?”

”Not for three or four weeks,” said Clare.

There was nothing to be learned from her face, but Kenwardine noted a hint of coldness in her voice. Next moment, however, a stout lady in a black dress, and a thin, brown-faced Spaniard came down to meet them.

Kenwardine presented Clare, and for a time they sat on a balcony, talking in a mixture of French and Castilian. Then a man came up the outside staircase and took off his hat as he turned to Kenwardine. He had a swarthy skin, but Clare carelessly remarked that the hollows about his eyes were darker than the rest of his face, as if they had been overlooked in a hurried wash, and his bare feet were covered with fine, black dust.

”Don Martin waits you, senor,” he said.

Kenwardine excused himself to his hostess, and after promising to return before long went away with the man.

”Who is Don Martin, and does he own the coaling wharf?” Clare asked.

”No,” said the Spaniard. ”What makes you imagine so?”

”There was some coal-dust on his messenger.”

The Spaniard laughed. ”Your eyes are as keen as they are bright, senorita, but your father spoke of business and he does not deal in coal. They use it for the engine at the sugar mill.”

”Could I follow him to the mill? I would like to see how they extract the sugar from the cane.”

”It is not a good day for that; the machinery will not be running,” said the Spaniard, who looked at his wife.

”I meant to take you to the cathedral. Everybody goes on the fiesta,” the lady broke in.

Clare agreed. She suspected that her father had not gone to the sugar mill, but this did not matter, and she presently left the house with her hostess. The small and rather dark cathedral was crowded, and Clare, who understood very little of what went on, was impressed by the close rows of kneeling figures, while the candles glimmering through the incense, and the music, had their effect. She came out in a thoughtful mood, partly dazzled by the change of light, and it was with something of a shock she stopped to avoid collision with a man at the bottom of the steps. It was Brandon, and she noted that he looked well again, but although they were face to face and he waited with his eyes fixed on her, she turned away and spoke to her companion. d.i.c.k crossed the street with his hand clenched and his face hot, but felt that he had deserved his rebuff. He could not expect Miss Kenwardine to meet him as a friend.

An hour or two later, Kenwardine returned to the house with Richter, the German, and said he found he must drive to a village some distance off to meet an official whom he had expected to see in the town. He doubted if he could get back that night, but a sailing barquillo would take pa.s.sengers to Santa Brigida, and Clare could go home by her. The girl made no objection when she heard that two French ladies, whom she knew, were returning by the boat, and stayed with her hostess when Kenwardine and Richter left. Towards evening the Spaniard came in and stated that the barquillo had sailed earlier than had been announced, but a steam launch was going to Santa Brigida with some friends of his on board and he could get Clare a pa.s.sage if she would sooner go. Senor Kenwardine, he added, might drive home by another road without calling there again.

Half an hour later Clare went with him to the coaling wharf, where a launch lay at some steps. A few people were already on board, and her host left after putting her in charge of a Spanish lady. The girl imagined that he was glad to get rid of her, and thought there was something mysterious about her father's movements. Something he had not expected must have happened, because he would not have brought her if he had known he could not take her home. It was, however, not a long run to Santa Brigida, by sea, and the launch, which had a powerful engine, looked fast.

In another few minutes a man came down the steps and threw off a rope before he jumped on board. Taking off his hat to the pa.s.sengers, he started the engine and sat down at the helm. Clare did not see his face until the launch was gliding away from the wharf, and then hid her annoyance and surprise, for it was Brandon. His eyes rested on her for a moment as he glanced about the boat, but she saw he did not expect recognition. Perhaps she had been wrong when she pa.s.sed him outside the cathedral, but it was now too late to change her att.i.tude.

The water was smooth, the sun had sunk behind the range, and a warm breeze that ruffled the s.h.i.+ning surface with silky ripples blew off the sh.o.r.e. The rumble of the surf came in a deep undertone through the throb of the engine, and the launch sped on with a frothy wave curling at her bows. Now and then Clare glanced quickly at the helmsman, who sat with his arm thrown round the tiller. She thought he looked disturbed, and felt sorry, though she told herself that she had done the proper thing.

After a time the launch swung in towards the beach and stopped at a rude landing behind a reef. Houses showed among the trees not far off and Clare thought this was the pueblo of Arenas. Then she was disturbed to see that all her companions were going to land. When the Spanish lady said good-by she got up, with the idea of following the rest, but d.i.c.k stopped her.