Page 45 of A Column of Fire

‘Please don’t,’ said Farah. ‘It will cause trouble if Romero sees you.’

‘I’m ready for trouble.’

‘I’ll bring Jerónima here. I’ll say a neighbour woman has called and insists on seeing her.’

Barney hesitated, then nodded assent, and Farah went out.

He looked around. There were no knives, pots, jugs or plates. The place had been cleared out. Did the inquisition even sell people’s kitchenware?

Jerónima appeared a couple of minutes later. She was different: she looked a lot older than seventeen suddenly. Her beautiful face was an impassive mask, and her eyes were dry, but her olive skin seemed to have turned grey, and her slim body trembled all over as if shivering. He could see the enormous effort it took to bottle up her grief and rage.

Barney moved towards her, intending to embrace her, but she stepped back and held up her hands as if to push him away.

He looked at her helplessly and said: ‘What’s going on?’

‘I am destitute,’ she said. ‘My father is in prison, and I have no other family.’

‘How is he?’

‘I don’t know. Prisoners of the inquisition are not allowed to communicate with their families, or with anyone else. But his health is poor – you’ve heard him panting after even a short walk – and they will probably—’ She became unable to speak, but it lasted only a moment. She looked down, breathed in, and regained control. ‘They will probably put him to the water torture.’

Barney had heard of this. The victim’s nostrils were closed to prevent him breathing through his nose, and his mouth was forced open, then jar after jar of water was poured down his throat. What he swallowed distended his stomach agonizingly, and the water that got into his windpipe choked him.

‘It will kill him,’ Barney said in horror.

‘They have already taken all his money and possessions.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Archdeacon Romero has offered to take me into his household.’

Barney felt bewildered. Things were moving too fast. Several questions occurred to him at the same time. He said: ‘In what role?’

‘We are discussing that right now. He wants me to take charge of his wardrobe, ordering and caring for his vestments, supervising his laundress.’ Speaking of such practical matters clearly helped her control her feelings.

‘Don’t go,’ Barney said. ‘Come away with me.’

It was a reckless offer, and she knew it. ‘Where? I can’t live with three men. It’s all right for your grandmother.’

‘I have a home in England.’

She shook her head. ‘I know nothing about your family. I hardly know anything about you. I don’t speak English.’ Her face softened briefly. ‘Perhaps, if this had not happened, you might have courted me, and made a formal offer to my father, and perhaps I would have married you, and learned to speak English . . . who knows? I admit I have thought about it. But to run away with you to a strange country? No.’

Barney could see that she was being much more sensible than he. But all the same he blurted: ‘Romero wants to make you his secret mistress.’

Jerónima looked at Barney, and he saw in her big eyes a hardness he had never noticed before. He was reminded of Aunt Betsy’s words: ‘Jerónima Ruiz has her eye firmly on her own selfish interests.’ But surely there were limits? Jerónima now said: ‘And if he does?’

Barney was dumbfounded. ‘How can you even say it?’

‘I’ve been thinking about this for forty-eight sleepless hours. I have no alternative. You know what happens to homeless women.’

‘They become prostitutes.’

This seemed not to shake her. ‘So my choice is flight with you into the unknown, prostitution on the streets, or a dubious position in the affluent household of a corrupt priest.’

‘Has it occurred to you’, Barney said tentatively, ‘that Romero might even have denounced your father himself, with the intention of forcing you into this position?’

‘I’m sure he did.’