Free Whispering by Jane Aiken Hodge Page B

but there are still plenty of Whigs in and out of parliament who run him down as a do-nothing Indian general.’
    â€˜I am sure you do not agree with them, Mr Craddock? You must feel, as I do, that he is working to some masterplan of his own.’
    â€˜I am sure of it. But as to what it is! I am neither a fighting man nor a strategist, to my sorrow.’
    â€˜You regret it? Then we must hope that my sister will be able to help you. We are agreed then. We had better ask my sister when she thinks she should see you next. Some people find themselves so fatigued after the first meeting that there needs to be quite an interval before the next one, but you look stout enough to me.’
    â€˜I do feel tired,’ he said, and it was true. Something in him had been profoundly shaken, and it was hard to concentrate on parrying Emerson’s carefully careless questions. Doing so, he was horribly afraid that he might have found the man he was sent to look for.
    But here she was, holding out a friendly hand in farewell. ‘I do hope I have not tired you too much, Mr Craddock. Some people do find my treatment quite disconcerting at first, and do you know, I often think that is a good sign. Do, please, go home and rest for a while. Your man is waiting for you with the servants downstairs. You are staying with Senhor Gomez of course?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He had meant to ask the Emersons’ advice about possible lodgings, now decided against it. If his suspicions were well founded that would simply land him in a nest of spies. ‘When should I come to you again, Miss Emerson? I feel –’ he paused, lost for words, ‘I feel as if something had happened to me.’
    â€˜I hope it has.’ She smiled at him, and his heart jumped. ‘Take a day to find your way round Porto, Mr Craddock, and come to me at the same time the day after.’
    â€˜I shall look forward to it,’ he told her, and meant it more than he liked.
    Caterina had been showing Harriet the terraced garden, when a servant intercepted them by the fountain to announce a caller. ‘Mr Ware? Ask him to join us in the loggia. And wine and cakes, of course. He’s an old acquaintance,’ she told Harriet as they started to move back up the series of terraces. ‘They are a wine family too; we played together as children … a long time ago; they sent him to England to school, well before the Frenchinvaded. I never much liked his mama. Funny, I remember her much better than I do him.’
    â€˜Then he’s not the one –’ Harriet started, and broke off, angry with herself.
    â€˜No, love, he’s not the one. Must I remind you of your promise?’
    â€˜No, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. But, surely, Caterina, such an old friend – would you not like to be alone with Mr Ware, to talk about old times?’
    â€˜Nothing I would dislike more,’ Caterina told her. ‘You are my chaperone, love, remember. And you look less and less like one with every day in the sun, so, please, Harryo, some starchy airs at least, for my sake.’
    Harriet laughed. ‘I’ll do my best, but it’s hard to be starchy when I’m so happy. I just wish you were too, Cat dear. I know I mustn’t ask – but is there no news at all?’
    â€˜None. And I love you for not asking.’ With a quick kiss. ‘But, come, we are keeping our gallant waiting, and he will tell his mother our manners are atrocious, and she will tell all Porto.’
    They found Frank Ware standing in the vine-covered loggia, with a little posy in his hands. ‘Welcome home, Miss Gomez,’ he handed it to her. ‘I remember how you used to love flowers. It seems a long time since I called you Caterina and pulled your hair.’
    â€˜It is a long time. You must meet my good friend Miss Brown. And thank you for these; it’s good to see the Portuguese flowers again.’ She handed them to