Free The Jade Dragon by Nancy Buckingham Page A

substance?”
    “Dr. Carlisle is a man of considerable substance,” I retorted. “He practices in London, at Harley Street, and he has many wealthy and celebrated families among his patients. He and Papa remained close friends from their student days. Apparently, while on a climbing holiday in the Welsh mountains with a party of other medical students, Eustace Carlisle became trapped on a narrow ledge. It was my father who saved him, at great peril to his own life. Both Dr. Carlisle and his wife have been extremely good to me, Grandmama. Living in their home, I have had everything I could need or want.”
    The condessa sniffed. “From the way you speak, Elinor, it surprises me that you were able to tear yourself away from these estimable people and come to Portugal.”
    Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. What was the point of staying on here, I thought wretchedly—unwelcome and unwanted? I had no hope of vindicating Mama’s action in marrying the man she loved, no hope of restoring her belatedly to her own mother’s affection. There was nothing left for me to do. I must acknowledge defeat and return to England. I would have to admit to Dr. and Mrs. Carlisle that they had been right all along and that I had made a foolish error of judgment. With typical generosity, my benefactors would forgive me, and everything would revert to what it had been before that afternoon two weeks ago when Stafford Darville had called to see me.
    I said, “You and Carlota have made it very clear, Grandmama, that I am not wanted here. So it is best that I leave for England as soon as a return passage can be arranged. I will have inquires made at once.”
    Dona Amalia stared at me, her eyes widening in astonishment. “What are you talking about, child? You have only just arrived.”
    “But what is the use of my staying, in view of your unyielding attitude? Even if my mother’s actions were wrong in your eyes, even if she did offend against some rigid code of conduct, surely the time is long since past when you should have been ready to forgive her? But you even hold your bitterness against me, the next generation. And on and on forever, I suppose?”
    “Forever, child. What is forever to me?”
    “I ... I am sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”
    Her black eyes were glittering as I had seen them glitter by candlelight the night before, when she stood over my bed and looked down at me. This time, I could swear, they were moist with tears. But tears of sorrow and regret, or of pride?
    “Where is your courage, Elinor?” she demanded brusquely. “You have Milaveira blood in your veins, never forget that. You are a member of a proud and ancient family. Yet you snivel and want to run away because you are not embraced here with open arms. Or is it because you believe those stories Stafford is spreading, that we are ruined financially?”
    “No.” I protested fiercely. “My reason for leaving has nothing to do with that.”
    For a moment longer the black eyes challenged me. Then her erect body slumped back against the pillows, and her hands dropped limply on the gold and crimson quilt. “Ring the bell for Josepha,” she muttered. “I am tired ... so tired.”
    I hastened to obey, fearful of a repetition of yesterday’s collapse. And when the elderly servant came hurrying in, I knew I was not wanted and quietly left the room.
    To calm my turbulent emotions I decided to stroll in the topiary garden. The blazing heat of the sun was reflected up from the graveled pathways as I moved between fragrant beds of lavender and gillyflowers. I perched on the stone rim of one of the fountains and trailed my fingers in the cool, limpid water. Silver jets spurted from the mouths of dolphins and pattered down upon the floating water-lily leaves, the only sound in this still afternoon. Then from far off, faintly, I heard the notes of a melody, a simple tune played upon a flute. Who, I wondered, was the unknown flautist