of course, Isabel was a little jealous of her sister’s good fortune.’ He smiled, showing even white teeth, brilliant in his dark face. ‘Is it not always the way with unmarried ladies?’
Caroline made an awkward gesture, not quite knowing how to answer him, and taking advantage of her momentary confusion, he came down on to the sofa beside her, his bulk causing the cushions to slope a little in his direction.
‘Señorita!’ He looked diffident, and for a moment she thought he was going to apologise for his own behaviour the night before, but he didn’t. ‘Señorita, I am so glad you have come here. Emilia—my daughter, you understand—is sorely in need of young companionship. I do not know how much Doña Elena—Señora Garcia, that is—told you, but since my wife’s death, Emilia has been brought up by an elderly countrywoman of yours, a Miss Thackerary.’
‘Yes.’ Caroline acknowledged this, without explaining how she was so informed, and he went on eagerly:
‘She was not a good influence on the child, señorita. Many times, she went against my judgment in matters concerning Emilia, and unfortunately my brother Luis took her part.’
‘I see.’ This was deeper water. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’ Esteban was grave. ‘Luis and I are brothers, and it is always sad when blood turns against blood.’
‘Oh, I’m sure—–’ began Caroline awkwardly, only to break off abruptly when Esteban raised his hand.
‘You do not yet understand, Miss Leyton. Just as Tia Isabel was jealous of her sister, so Luis is jealous of me.’
‘No—–’
‘But yes. I regret so.’ And indeed, Esteban did look melancholy. ‘I am the elder brother, entiende? I have inherited our father’s estate. Luis has nothing, except what I give him. His mother, you see, was the puta of whom Tia Isabel speaks.’
Caroline’s face felt frozen in an attitude of disbelief, and as if realising he had gone too far, Esteban hastened to retract.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, as she shrank back against the cushions. ‘I should not have told you so brutally. I do not mean to be—callous, but I cannot forget that it was Luis’s mother who caused my mother’s death. She killed herself, you know, mi madre. She flung herself from a second floor window down to the courtyard beneath.’ He massaged his temples with the middle finger and the thumb of one hand. ‘Believe me, that is not something one can easily forget.’
‘But—–’ Caroline swallowed convulsively, ‘your—your brother’s name is Montejo.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Esteban heaved a heavy sigh. ‘My father married Luis’s mother—afterwards. My brother is no bastard, señorita. At least,’ he paused, ‘he is not illegitimate.’
CAROLINE and her charge were to work in the library.
After unburdening himself of the reasons for the antipathy between himself and Luis, Esteban became calm and businesslike. With a sense of pride, in complete contrast to his inconsequence of the night before, he showed Caroline around the main rooms of the hacienda, pointing out particular pieces of interest, and relating a little of their history. He was knowledgeable about the myths and legends of the area, making her blood tingle with stories of mindless clay men created by the gods, of soulless wooden men whose tools rose up in rebellion against them, and who were turned into monkeys. He showed her an Aztec funerary mask, and described how the evil goddess Tezcatlipoca had dressed the god Quetzalcoatl in such a mask before forcing him to take part in a drunken orgy of lust and incest. The culimination had been that Quetzalcoatl had flung himself on a funeral pyre, and after several days of purification, his heart had risen to the heavens to become the planet Venus.
There were many such legends, each attached to some remnant of history. As well as the overwhelming influence of Catholicism, there were also tiny effigies of Totec, the Mayan god of mankind; Yum Caax, the maize god; Kinich Ahau and Tlacolteutl; Xolotl, Quetzalcoatl’s brother, and Hanhau, the Mayan god of death. The hacienda was a treasure house of gold and antiquity, and although there was something slightly vulgar about it, it was undeniably impressive.
It was while they were examining the azulejos in the music room that Caroline became aware of someone watching them, and turning quickly, she saw Emilia hovering reluctantly in the doorway. Esteban turned and saw her, too, and with a gesture of welcome bade her join them.
‘Come, pequeña,’ he beckoned her affably. ‘Come and meet Miss Leyton. She is your new governess, and I want you to be friends.’
Emilia made no move towards them. Clearly, Esteban had not been lying when he said she disobeyed him, but whether that was through Luis’s influence or not, there was no way of knowing—yet. Certainly Luis’s affection for the little girl had seemed genuine enough, and hers for him, but until Caroline had had a chance to talk with her she could make no real assessment.
‘Emilia! Venga! Inmediatamente!’ Esteban’s voice had lost a lot of its benevolence. ‘Come—see what I have here for you.’ He fumbled in his pocket, as if searching for a gift. ‘If you do not come and look, you will never know what it is I have here, will you? Now, are you going to do as you are told?’
Emilia sighed, and then, evidently curious to know what he was holding, she left her position by the door and approached them with measured steps. She scarcely looked at Caroline. Her attention was all concentrated on her father, and as she neared him she tilted her head slightly, trying to see what he had in his hand.
Caroline was curious, too, but she stepped aside politely, unwilling to intrude on this exchange between father and daughter. It was the first time she had seen them together, but although there was a faint family resemblance, Emilia’s features must more closely resemble those of her mother.
What happened next happened so suddenly, it was over before she could protest, even had she dared to do so. As Emilia stretched out her neck to glimpse what her father was holding, his hand shot out and caught her, biting into her arm with cruel intent, as his other hand delivered a blow to her cheek. Emilia staggered, and would have fallen had he not been holding her. Her face went white, as white as the muslin of her dress, except for the livid marks of her father’s fingers that were rapidly reddening, but she did not cry. Caroline could see her steeling herself, forcing back the tears, and realised, as the blood drained from her own face, that she was holding her own breath.
She expelled it as Don Esteban caught his daughter’s chin between his fingers, forcing her face up to his. ‘Let that be a lesson to you, pequeña,’ he declared, with cold emphasis. ‘You will not make a fool of me in front of Miss Leyton, as you tried to do with Miss Thackeray!’
‘No, señor.’
Emilia spoke respectfully, but her voice was sullen. It was obvious from her behaviour that this was not the first time her father had struck her, but she had learned from experience not to answer back.
‘Now, greet Miss Leyton as the daughter of the house of Montejo should do, with politeness and courtesy, and a smile on that sulky little face of yours,’ he advised, and Caroline had to face yet another mortifying moment.
‘Welcome to San Luis de Merced, Miss Leyton,’ Emilia recited, her eyes downcast. And then, at her father’s insistence, she lifted her head and spread her lips in an unholy rictus. ‘I hope you will be very happy here.’
Caroline gathered herself with difficulty. ‘Thank you, Emilia,’ she replied stiffly. ‘I—hope I will be, too.’
‘So, now the formalities are over, we will show Miss Leyton where you are to work,’ announced Don Esteban, releasing his daughter’s arm. ‘I think you will find my choice of venue