Fields of Gold: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices Book 12) Page 7

  “Isabela—”

  “I know,” she gasped. “I forgot to breathe.”

  “And I forgot my friend, for the moment. But he still needs me, and—and I still must go.”

  “One moment.” She clutched his arm, and for a dizzy second he thought she meant to kiss him a third time. “I forgot to tell you. Why kissing you should make me remember, I do not know.”

  “It has rather rearranged my thinking. I would not be surprised if it has rearranged yours, too.”

  He had never seen anything so enchanting as the dimples at each corner of her mouth.

  “You must not say such things. This is serious, and I can hear the horse leaving the stable.”

  He could, too, and the captain would be worried, thinking something had happened to him. “What, then?”

  “I came down to the kitchen in the night because I could not sleep, and surprised one of the Viceroy’s doctors in a welter of vials and grains.”

  That did not sound very newsworthy—certainly less important than a third kiss. “He was likely compounding a tincture. Considering what you and I both believe, I have advised the prince not to drink it.”

  “That was wise. For he packed up his ingredients and instruments hastily when he saw me, and bowed himself out of the room before I could say a word.”

  “Are they so secret?”

  “When I took the lamp over to where he had been working, a few grains of rye had fallen on the floor.”

  “What tincture requires rye, I wonder? Besides whiskey, and he’s not going to make that overnight.”

  “They were not healthy grains.”

  He stared at her, the first waves of horror washing over him as she reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out three or four grains of rye—distended, discolored, elongated with the fungus.

  All thoughts of kissing fled as they stared together at the damning evidence.

  “Ergot,” he whispered. “We were right. I should have recognized it that first night when I smelled his glass.” He closed his eyes in self-condemnation. “Why did I not take it to the apothecary sooner?”

  “The Viceroy is going to die, isn’t he?” she whispered, tears already starting in her eyes.

  “No, he isn’t,” Evan said fiercely. “Not if I can get him to the train and—”

  A second too late, he closed his mouth with a clack.

  Her gaze fixed on his, Isabela stopped breathing.

  The very sun stopped moving in the sky, and the cool breeze off the ocean ceased its whispering in the branches.

  And then she exhaled, and time lurched into motion once again. “I knew it.”

  “You knew he was being poisoned.”

  “I knew it was not the Viceroy, there at breakfast with Senora Fremont.”

  “How?” Oh God, they were undone!

  “It is Joe the translator … is it not?” She struggled for calm, to keep her breathing even, but he could see the effort it cost her. Anyone else would have fainted with the shock—or run screaming for the prince’s guard.

  “How could you tell?”

  “I have seen the resemblance, but more than that—Papa and Mama may be willing to believe the prince has miraculously begun his recovery, because they are devout and see miracles everywhere. But I know how ill he was. A man does not recover so easily from …” Her hand tightened, and she thrust the grains back into her pocket. “What are you planning to do?”

  “To see him back to health.” There was no point in lying, and no time to do so anyway. “You have been so good to help us. Are you going to tell your father?”

  “So that the poisonous doctors in the Ambassador’s employ can go on with their work? Hardly. No, I am going to hold that horse’s head myself until I see my prince safely in that cart and away down the hill. You will tell me when he has recovered?”

  “I will send a message. Coded somehow, in case it is intercepted.” He did not know how he might do that from the river fastnesses of the witches, but now was not the time for doubt.

  “I will wait for it.” She took his hand. “Come. Stealing a kiss was only for practice. Now we are going to steal a prince.”

  Chapter 7

  Gloria was so frightened that the de la Carrera family would see through the hoax that her insides felt as though they had turned to ice water. It was all she could do to make inaudible replies, leaving Joe to carry off the deception. How he was managing it with such style and confidence was more than she could fathom, but here they were, safely back in the Viceroy’s room, the majordomo fussing about with the tall porcelain pot of coffee and giving orders to the servants about the laying of the breakfast table. The earlier tray had been whisked away, the nosegay of flowers put in a vase on the table.

  No one was the wiser. They had pulled off the first twenty minutes of a deception that could last a month—or a year.

  Joe folded himself on to the sofa as though the effort of walking to the dining room had exhausted him—though perhaps it was merely the strain of acting. She had the presence of mind to say, “May I get you a cold cloth, Your Serene Highness?”

  At his nod, one of the servants dipped a napkin in the chipped ice that cradled a green glass pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. She dabbed his forehead, hoping her features were arranged into a suitable expression of wifely concern, with no evidence of the hysterical gibbering that bubbled in her brain like a flock of panicked birds.

  When the meal was arranged, she pulled herself together. “Thank you,” she said to the servants, who bowed themselves out. When the majordomo made as if to serve them, she rose from the sofa. “I shall serve His Serene Highness, thank you, senor. His appetite, as you know, is delicate.”

  “Si, Dona—er, Senora—er—”

  “You may call me Senora Fremont until the bull of annulment arrives. Oh, and should Captain Fremont wish to bid us good-bye, please show him in.”

  But Captain Fremont, as she was informed an hour or two later after she and Joe had demolished their breakfast, had been so overcome with grief at the destruction of all his hopes of happiness that he had left the house with Senor Evan Douglas and his translator, and the majordomo did not believe that he would be back. “He made some mention to Senorita Isabela of boarding the noon train, Senora, and since it has come and gone I can only assume that he was successful.”

  Thank goodness she was sitting, so that the blow of this news did not fell her like a tree.

  He had gone!

  Gloria had known he must—had known that the Viceroy’s safety was the reason for this mad ruse—but still! Until now, she had not realized to the fullest extent how much of her heart she had given him for safekeeping … and how hollow she felt without that vital organ. Now she was without his support, his unconscious grace, his humor, his silent confidence that simply got things done where other men would flail and bluster.

  She was on her own.

  No. She was not, and she must never forget it.

  She had Joe and Ella, two stalwart friends who were risking their lives with every breath to help her in her mission. She must never think of herself as being alone again. Every thought, every movement must be carried out with the welfare of all three of them in mind.

  “The poor man.” She gave a wobbly smile to Joe. “I am sorry that your affection for me has meant such a reversal to his life.”

  “I am not.” Joe squeezed her hand in acknowledgement of the smile, and pushed himself to a sitting position. “I am sure you wish to rest after such an emotional day. Senor, are there rooms prepared for my lady?”

  “Indeed there are,” he said. “The room overlooking the ocean, recently occupied by Senor Douglas and his translator, has been made ready for you.” The majordomo bowed low. “If you will follow me.”

  All Gloria wanted was to kneel by the window and wonder how far down the track the train bearing Stanford and Evan and the Viceroy could be. Would they reach Nuestra Senora de los Angeles this evening? Would the train bearing the b
ull of annulment pass them going the other way?

  But if she had craved solitude, her craving was not to be satisfied.

  “Here you are at last,” Ella said, closing the door firmly on the majordomo’s bowed form. “We have been waiting for ages.”

  “Why? What is it? Do you have a message from the captain? Why didn’t you come to fetch me?” Her questions tumbled out so fast the words practically ran together.

  And then Gloria realized they were not alone, and snapped her mouth shut in case something far more condemning came out of it. She made as though to dip a curtsey to Senorita Isabela as she rose gracefully from the window seat, when the girl put out a hand to stop her.

  “No, no, Senora. It is I who must curtsey to you.” And she did, graceful as a bending willow. Then she dimpled with mischief. “Though the rules of precedence are so muddled at the moment that it is difficult to know for certain.”

  “What … do you mean?” Gloria glanced at Ella for help, but her friend only shook her head, as though telling her, wait—it only gets better.

  “For instance, as the wife of the captain for another day or so, you could expect a curtsey from an unmarried girl such as I. Though, since I outrank you here in the Royal Kingdom, that could be disputed. As the fiancée of the Viceroy, of course, you may expect every woman in the land to do you honor. But as the fiancée of Joe San Gregorio—why, you would be lucky to get a bob from a servant. It is terribly confusing, isn’t it? Is it like this in the Fifteen Colonies?”

  Silence fell, in which the girl’s cheerful words seemed to clang in the air, like the mission bells.

  Like an alarm. Fear, fire, foes!

  Gloria stared at her, hardly able to comprehend—to believe she meant what she had said. “You—what are you saying, Isabela?” In her extremity, she used her first name. The girl was lucky Gloria did not take her by the shoulders and shake a sensible sentence out of her. “What are you saying?”

  “Simply that I know. It has taken me some hours to adjust to the discovery, I will admit. But I am all right now. Senor Douglas and el Capitan have safely boarded the train with—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “—with our prince. I watched from the hill with the horse and cart we used to get him to the train, and saw it with my own eyes.”

  “You—” Gloria was going to be sick. She had made a pig of herself with the fresh orange juice, and now she was going to regret it. Deep, even breaths, that was the ticket. She must keep herself under control. “You know?”

  “Oh, yes, as soon as you entered the dining room. Such a healthy-looking man could not be the Viceroy, despite the so strange similarity between them. Joe did his best to seem ill, but I see things that others do not.”

  “Clearly,” Gloria managed. “What are you going to do?”

  Should she offer money? What could she offer the daughter of a grandee, who had known nothing but luxury her entire life? Even one of the precious gold guineas in her corset was probably less than Isabela’s pocket money for a month. What could she offer the girl for her silence? A place at court? A position of honor?

  “Do?” Isabela looked puzzled. “Why, I shall put on my own domino and join the masquerade. Though I must say, I never saw such daring in all my life. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “I do not.”

  “Then you will need help.”

  “And … and at what cost will this help come?” Gloria braced herself. “I have only a little gold, but you are welcome to it if you will keep our secret.”

  The light faded from Isabela’s face and she seemed to draw back, to take on dignity as a woman draws on a cloak against the cold. “Do you imagine me capable of blackmail?” The gentle consonants fell with the sting of hail.

  “I only met you two days ago, so I have no way to know,” Gloria said, shock making her rather more blunt than such a delicate situation called for.

  Isabela lifted her chin. “Then know this—Senor Douglas trusts me implicitly. It was I who learned of the exact poison the doctors have been using on my prince. When I shared my discovery with Evan this morning, it became even more urgent that he take the prince into his care. If I trust him to do that, and he trusts me to keep Joe’s secret safe, then what is your excuse?”

  She might be small and dainty, and a little spoiled, and very young, but Isabela de la Carrera y Borreaga was no fool.

  Gloria crossed the carpet to her, hand outstretched. “I have none. I spoke out of fear, not knowledge or suspicion, and I beg you to forgive me.”

  The tilted chin did not lower, but the dimples at the corners of her mouth flickered back. “I forgive you. And I in my turn must beg you to forgive me. Mama says a lady must control her tongue, and she is perpetually reminding me I am not a lady yet.”

  “I need to learn the same lesson,” Gloria confessed. “We will help each other, then—with that, and other things.”

  “Agreed.” Isabela smiled happily at her and Ella.

  “You have not said what the poison was,” Ella reminded their new ally.

  “Ah. So I have not.” She pulled something out of her pocket and showed them.

  While Gloria gazed at three ugly, misshapen seeds in her palm without recognition, Ella drew in a breath. “Ergot. No wonder he was hallucinating and having such terrible dreams. To say nothing of losing his appetite and his vigor.”

  “What is ergot?” Gloria had never heard the word before.

  “It is a fungus that grows on rye,” Isabela explained. “When it is ingested, it produces effects that may be mistaken for—well, for being possessed of the Holy Spirit.”

  “I see.” How horrible, to have one’s mind nearly broken because of the ulterior motives of others! “You believe the doctors to have been administering it to him?”

  “I know it. I caught one of them compounding the tincture late last night. He cleared away everything, but missed these few grains on the floor.” She gazed at the damning evidence, then pocketed them once again. “I only hope that wherever Evan is taking him, there are excellent doctors.”

  “I believe there are,” Ella said solemnly. “You will forgive me if I do not say the name of the town aloud, in case the worst happens and we are questioned.”

  “Of course.” Isabela smiled. “Evan has promised to bring our prince back to us safe and well, and I trust him to keep his promise.”

  “In the meanwhile,” Ella said a little hesitantly, “I wonder if I could impose on you for some help?”

  “Of course,” the girl said promptly. “You have but to name it and it is done.”

  “Joe—er, His Serene Highness, well—before he meets anyone outside the family, he needs lessons in how to be a prince. Do you know anything of that?”

  “I thought he did rather well,” Gloria put in. “I was paralyzed with terror, and he carried the entire performance.”

  “He did well,” Isabela said, nodding, “but there is a great difference between the informality of a family meal and the kind of state engagements he will be expected to perform. I have had limited experience there myself, but luckily so has he. He has not even been on the throne a year, and with so much of the time spent in the sickroom, he has not been much in the public eye.” She glanced at Gloria with a twinkle. “But with an engagement to announce, there will be more dancing and feasting and progressing about the kingdom than we have seen in many a long year.”

  Gloria’s knees really did fold up this time, and she sank into a chair. “Thank heaven I have my friends about me.” She reached for both girls’ hands, and squeezed them. “For if I did not, I would not have the courage to attempt … what we are about to attempt.”

  Ella looked pleased, and squeezed her hand in return. But the soft brown eyes of Isabela, inexplicably, were welling up with tears.

  “My dear friend, what have I said?” Gloria asked anxiously.

  “I—it is just that—well, I have never had a friend,” Isabela said a little shyly. “I have my sisters, but I cannot say we have ever bee
n friends, exactly. And there are the daughters of the other grandees, but they are so far away, and friendships often fade like flowers between fiestas. It feels … strange … to be called so. Strange, and wonderful, like so many other things that have happened today.”

  “Strange … and wonderful,” Gloria repeated. “I, for one, am happy to call the two of you my friends. If we are to pass through the fire like Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego, then I am glad that of all women in this part of the world, I am in your company.” She raised an eyebrow in Ella’s direction. “Perhaps we might even call her sister, one day.”

  Ella’s smile broke out in the sweet, irrepressible way she had. “I hope so. She would look lovely in red roses.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Isabela demanded. “Red roses are for married love—certainly not for girls such as we.”

  “Ah, but for girls such as we, they are for blood, and sisterhood, and power,” Gloria told her. “When the time is right, we will show you what we mean.”

  Ella nodded. “I wish I had my paint-box at this very moment. If Joe is to be made to look ill, it would have come in handy.”

  “Paint? You mean rouge, and kohl?” Isabela asked. “I am not supposed to know about such things, but Mama has them in her dressing-table. Would you like me to fetch them for you?”

  “It will be a start,” Gloria said after another exchange of speaking looks with Ella. “Before the announcement is made, we must transform my fiancé into a prince. But first, we will start with the magic of the paint-box.”

  The next morning, following the arrival of the train from the south, the bishop of Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa himself waited upon Joe and Ignatio de la Carrera. Gloria was already in Joe’s sitting room eating the private breakfast that had appeared without its being asked for, following the pattern Gloria had established and the household had observed the day before. When the grandee and the monk were shown in, she dabbed her lips with a napkin and rose.

  The two men bowed low to their prince, and Gloria curtseyed to her host and the representative of the church, who held a leather folder similar to the one Joe had received earlier and which had accompanied the Viceroy on his journey to the river canyons.