Page 41 of Sweet Savage Love
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T hey talked about the masquerade ball for months afterwards. What a shocking scandal, whispered the older, more conservative members of society. The others merely laughed and said that it had been delightful. What a change from the usual, dull affairs of Carlotta’s time! And of course, they would add, particularly the men, the other ladies were all jealous at having their dull and unimaginative costumes outdone by simplicity.
As they had deliberately planned, Agnes and Ginny made a late entrance, alone. Their escorts for the evening were to wait for them at the palace itself, and they had promised not to be too late.
Heavily cloaked, and riding in a borrowed carriage, Ginny had begun to giggle helplessly when the heavily-armed French sentries at the first checkpoint made some difficulty about letting them through.
“You’re—entertainers?” the young sergeant questioned, frowning as he scrutinized their passes. “But no one told us—”
“Oh, you mean the musicians?” Agnes du Salm said sweetly, leaning forward so that the hood of her cloak fell slightly back from her face. “But they’re with me, Sergeant! I can vouch for them.”
“We always take our own musicians everywhere with us,” Ginny murmured, smiling innocently at the confused young man.
He colored, looking from one to the other of them. These ladies! He recognized the Princess du Salm at last, but not her companion. Obviously, they were up to some mischief, but he resigned himself to the fact that he could do nothing about it. Let the guards at the entrance to the palace itself worry about it! He stepped back with a stiff salute and waved them on, cursing his luck at having been appointed for guard duty tonight of all nights. It seemed as if he always missed the fun!
Monsieur Eloin, onetime court musician and now one of Maximilian’s closest friends, was bustling about behind the raised marble dais, preparing for the entertainment of the evening. The little Belgian was not very happy with the fat Italian soprano who was to give a selection of operatic arias, but at such short notice, what could one expect? He only hoped that the guests would not show their boredom too openly, as some had done before, even in Carlotta’s presence.
When the Princess du Salm made her sudden appearance through the servants’ entrance, accompanied by her new friend and constant companion Madame du Plessis, M. Eloin gave a start of surprise. His astonishment turned almost to shock when the lady, her black eyes sparkling, whispered her scheme. He shook his head at first. “ Non! No, it absolutely would not do! What would Prince du Salm have to say? And the comte, what about him? ”
But poor Monsieur Eloin—he found himself helpless against the personalities of these two determined young ladies.
Agnes du Salm brushed aside his last objection with an impatient wave of her hand. “Nonsense, my dear Monsieur Eloin! You know how these people love to be surprised! Do you mean to say that they will prefer to hear the screeching of Signora Guzzi for the next hour?”
The guests, preparing for a siege of boredom, began to sit up and take notice when they saw the brightly-clad Mexican musicians walk on to the stand with their guitars. This did not appear to be quite M. Eloin’s style of entertainment after all! They all knew that his taste ran to Bach and the opera—perhaps someone had persuaded him to hire some dancers from the Teatro Imperiale!
The musicians struck up, the curtains parted, and there was a concerted gasp of amazement, mixed with shock. Agnes du Salm, dressed in her short, spangled circus rider’s costume actually rode her horse out onto the small stage!
In time to the music, the well-trained animal stepped daintily round and around in a small, tight circle with Agnes standing gracefully on its back.
“Hop la!” she said suddenly, and the magnificent Arabian mare leaped cleanly and nimbly from the stage. Alice cantered it around the enormous ballroom, while the crowd parted before her. She came to a stop directly before the Emperor’s ornately-carved chair and dismounted, curtsying to him demurely. Maximilian, whose face had been a study a few moments before, now burst out into hearty laughter, which was the signal for a storm of hand-clapping and cries of “bravo!”
“My dear Princess,” he said dryly as he handed the smiling Agnes to a seat, “we can always count on you to surprise and entertain us all! But tell me, where is your lovely friend tonight? Surely she is not going to disappoint us?”
“You know she wouldn’t do that, sire,” Agnes responded demurely. “As a matter of fact—do please regard the dais, the evening’s entertainment has only just begun!” The curtains, which had closed again when Agnes left the stage were now flung open, and Agnes said softly, “ Voila! ”
The voluble chattering which had broken out after the Princess du Salm’s shocking performance was suddenly hushed as the musicians broke into a wild gypsy dance. That gypsy—that woman with her cloud of bright hair flowing loose, clad in a tight, low-cut peasant blouse and a bright red skirt reaching only to her ankles, surely that could not be the sophisticated Madame du Plessis? But it was. She gave them all a flashing glance out of familiar, slanted green eyes before her bare feet began to move, faster and faster; the skirt whirling up around her legs.
The musicians played as if they were beside themselves, and Ginette danced like an angel—no, some women whispered among themselves, more like a she-devil! She seemed tireless. Her hair was like a shining, fiery cloud; sometimes shielding her face, and sometimes tossed backward as her body moved like a branch swaying in the wind. She seemed to change her mood as fast as the musicians changed their pace. Sometimes she was all languor, all supple, sensuous promise—a woman dreaming of her lover, waiting for his arms. And then she was a temptress, teasing, seductive, rejecting.
A man, a blue-eyed, fair-haired Mexican, dressed in a silver embroidered charro suit suddenly leaped on to the dais to join her as the music changed to a fandango.
There were whispers again. Colonel Miguel Lopez of the Imperial guard—one of the young Madame Bazaine’s close relatives. They said he was one of the emperor’s closest friends and confidants. What a striking pair they made, as they circled each other warily—now lovers, now antagonists. And the whispers began once more. Was the handsome colonel one of her lovers too? Or did he only plan to be? What would Captain Remy do when he found out?
Ginny, her breasts rising and falling with exertion, smiled teasingly at her partner. She began to seduce him, falling back when he came too close, promising him everything with the passionate movements of her hips as her skirt brushed against him.
“You little devil!” he whispered when they stood facing each other, her fingers snapping derisively over her head as she urged him on. “Is this what you really are under that passionless, ladylike exterior?”
“And is this your real self, Colonel?” she teased him, tossing her head so that her hair whipped his face. “The lover, not the soldier?”
“Sometimes, doesn’t a man have to be both, in order to conquer a particularly desirable woman?”
“Ah—now you are a gallante! ”
She came close to him, her body all but touching his; offering herself for just a teasing instant before she whirled away, feet stamping.
He pursued her, a slight smile curling his lips under the thin mustache.
There was something in the insolent confidence of his manner that reminded her irritatingly and yet intriguingly of Steve. But he’s not Steve, she reminded herself angrily. He’s only a poor imitation. Only Steve had the power to make me completely willing, completely powerless to resist him, just by touching me.
Miguel Lopez whispered, “I know what kind of woman you are—all passion, all fire. Why do you keep it all hidden? You could have any man here, and all his fortune, at your feet. Stop teasing me.”
“You’re flattering. And insulting too.”
She made a small, almost indiscernible motion towards the musicians, and Lopez, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement, formed the word “coward!” with his lips. Traditionally, the dance ended with a declaration of passion. But after her formal surrender to his masculinity, when she would have drawn away, he put his arms around her and pulled her against him, kissing her.
Ginny’s fingers were curled into claws when he released her. If not for their fascinated audience she would have clawed his face—she would have slapped that arrogant, self-assured smirk away! As it was, she merely gave him a daggerlike look and shrugged carelessly for the edification of the emperor and his guests who were now all on their feet, cheering, the shouts of “olé” and “bravo” intermingled.
“Come, I’ll take you to Agnes, she looks impatient to talk to you,” Lopez drawled, bowing to her. Again, she did not resist, but gave him her hand with a forced smile.
“You might have kissed me back,” he murmured as they walked together through the crowd.
“I prefer to be asked, first,” she responded icily.
“Then I’ll certainly do so—the next time we meet.”
There was no time for her to answer him, for he had led her before the emperor, and she was curtsying.
“You were magnificent, madame,” Maximilian said, his rather watery eyes lingering on her breasts. “I hope you’ll do me the honor of dancing for me again—perhaps somewhere more private…” his message was unmistakable, making Ginny recall, uncomfortably, certain reports she had heard of his strained relations with his wife. But she had no choice now except to smile and tell him she’d be delighted.
Then, at last, Agnes was clasping her hands, exclaiming that it had all gone off so successfully, and hadn’t it all been such fun?
“We’ve really given the gossips something to whisper about this time, look at them chattering!”
Miguel Lopez had gone back to his partner, whoever she was, and Ginny subsided thankfully into a chair. She began to wonder, at last, what Michel was going to say.
He was furious, of course. Within hours after his return he had been told the whole story, with the usual embellishments. It seemed to make it worse, to him, that Ginny had stayed on, with the other guests, until the very end, dancing until dawn.
“Dear God! Couldn’t you have thought of the consequences? You and Agnes—what an irresponsible pair you make! And I suppose you danced with Colonel Lopez again—haven’t you heard what a reputation he has?”
“Haven’t you heard what a reputation I have?” Ginny retorted angrily, stung by what she thought of as his uncalled-for jealousy. “After all, they do call me la cortesana! I’m your mistress, Michel darling—a cheap woman you literally picked up off the streets. You should not have such high expectations of me!”
“Ginny!” Thunderstruck, he stared at her.
A sudden pang of remorse seized her when she saw the white, tormented look on his face.
“Oh, Michel, Michel! I’m sorry! How horrible I am—I don’t deserve any of your kindness. I should be grateful to you, and instead…”
She thought he was going to strike her, but he only seized her by the shoulders, fingers digging into her naked flesh.
“I don’t want your gratitude!!” He shouted the words at her, wondering at the same time why she didn’t wince, why she didn’t shrink from his anger.
“Oh, Ginette, Ginette!” He said in a choked voice, “Don’t you see that I’ve fallen quite wildly in love with you? I don’t care what you say you are, or what you have been, it’s nothing I can help, this feeling. But you’re capable of driving me mad with jealousy, don’t you see that?”
“I’m sorry, Michel,” she repeated in a low voice. “It’s not what I intended to do—I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. I suppose I’ve just learned not to care about consequences. I haven’t been unfaithful to you.”
“No—not physically, perhaps! Not yet!”
Anger had begun to creep into his voice again, making it shake with emotion he could not control.
“Ginette—don’t you understand? You’ve obsessed me, I can’t eat or sleep for thinking of you, thinking of your body, the feel of your lips. You haunt me, I’m so infernally jealous that I—”
“No, Michel!”
“Yes, Ginette. You must listen to me, let me say it. I’m jealous! And not just of your pack of admirers—no, I’m sure they really mean no more to you than I do! Damn it, I’m jealous of your husband—the man whose name brings tears to your eyes—the same name you cry in your sleep sometimes…it’s like a knife in my heart! God knows he deserved to die, he deserved all that happened, but why does his memory have to stand in our way. Do you see how foolish I’ve become, how insane? I’m jealous of a dead man. I want to wipe his memory from your mind as well as your body! Oh God, if only I could be completely sure of you!”
It was a cry from the heart, and Ginny flung her arms around him.
“Darling Michel, please don’t! I’m not good enough for you—I didn’t intend to make you unhappy!”
“But you don’t love me, do you? It’s only gratitude that keeps you here. Gratitude! Don’t you see that I would have done what I did in any case? I’m grateful to you. Yes, I’ll never forget that day, how brave you were, how you saved my life by bandaging up my wound, and risking your own. It is I who owe you a debt, it is I who am privileged to be your lover.”
She began to place soft kisses on his face, and as usual he was unable to resist the desire he felt for her.
“Oh, what a witch you are!” he groaned. “You bewitched me completely, I’m besotted!”
He carried her to the bed and could hardly wait until she had thrown aside the robe which was all she wore. But even after his desire had been sated, the torment still remained in his mind. She would never be his! How could he keep her?
All their friends, even Agnes du Salm, were astounded when their engagement was formally announced the following month. Colonel Miguel Lopez, who had continued to pursue Madame du Plessis with the persistence of a panther stalking its prey, was furious.
He made the Princess du Salm his confidant.
“But it’s ridiculous!” he swore, pacing up and down her small sitting room. “Who ever heard of a man marrying his own mistress? He’ll make himself a laughingstock!”
“I don’t suppose he cares,” Agnes said sweetly. “I think he’s genuinely in love with her. And after all, why not? She’s as well born as he is—I happen to know her whole story. Why shouldn’t she marry him? Oh come, Miguel my pet,” she added, seeing the feral glitter in his eyes, “you know as well as I do that all your influence with Max isn’t going to stop their marriage. It’s an open secret now that the French are on the verge of pulling out. It’ll be brave soldiers such as you,” she added maliciously, “and of course the mercenaries like my husband who fight wars because it’s their only way of life, who will be left to save Mexico for the Emperor. Keep your mind on the war, I’m sure it’ll prove much less frustrating!”
Putting on a smile and a casual air, he sat down by Agnes and held her hands.
“Come on, Agnes! You’ve been my friend for too long to deny me now. Why won’t you arrange a private meeting for us? All right—so she’s going to marry Captain Remy and make herself a comtesse. I suppose I can understand that ambition. But I want her, and I think she’d have me if I can only see her alone. Her fiancé need never know, nothing will be affected. I give you my word on that!”
In spite of her teasing and vehement headshakes, he continued to flatter and plead with her.
“We’ll see—” was all Agnes would say, but since she combined the words with a half-smile he took heart. And the story she had told him, after swearing him to secrecy, intrigued him tremendously. Almost as much as the woman did. And, what an interesting life she had led—who would have thought it? He was determined to have her, though, at all costs.
The French withdrawal began, very gradually, in August. Feeling herself torn between two loyalties, Ginny made few comments as she listened to the talk that incessantly flowed round her. It was all the fault of the United States, and particularly Secretary Seward, who had always been vehemently opposed to the French intervention in Mexico. And now the man was actually forcing the Emperor of France to back down. Some of the French officers were talking of resigning their commissions to stay on and fight with the cazadores and the mercenaries from Austria and Belgium who also elected to remain loyal to Maximilian. The emperor himself, sick with the dysentery, seemed a lost, withdrawn man without Carlotta. And there were rumors about her too. She had met with Louis Napoleon and Eugenie, but they had rejected her pleas, weeping all the while. She was traveling to the Vatican to see the Pope himself, refusing to give up. And then—whispers of her “illness.” The wild accusations she had made that the French Emperor had tried to poison her, that he had hired assassins to kill her. Poor Max! Ginny thought. What on earth will he do now? She really pitied him, of all people. He was such a good man, really—and he loved Mexico. What would happen to him in the end?
Because of Agnes du Salm’s pleading, Ginny had begged Michel to stay in Mexico as long as he could. Strangely enough, she had almost begun to love the country herself. So much had happened to her here—and not all of it had been bad, after all. Mexico City itself was still a gay place to be, although its gaiety now seemed too loud and too spurious. There were still balls and tertulias and masquerades to be attended, and the theater was always crowded. Once or twice, Ginny had actually danced on the stage there, before an audience, when she was told that the proceeds were to go for hiring more mercenaries, buying more guns for the Imperialist armies. Even Michel had not dared to grumble too much, because after all, it was for the Cause! He seemed a little more sure of her these days, and talked of Paris, and the life they would lead there.
“You know that you’re nothing but a little Parisienne at heart,” he teased her. “Think how happy your uncle and aunt will be to have you there again! And I’d like to see the look on your cousin Pierre’s face!”
Michel made an effort to keep her days filled with activity, and he escorted her everywhere when he was in the city, but his absences had begun to get on Ginny’s nerves. She hated the thought of the risks he took, especially now that the Juarista guerillas were everywhere, and the armies of el presidente drawing closer, like a ring of steel. Juarez was in Chihuahua—he was moving up to Zacatecas, to make his headquarters there. Ginny heard the name again with a pang. What bitter memories that little town held for her! She could not help wondering too, how the advancing of the Juarista armies had affected the hacienda of Don Francisco. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine that indomitable old man leaving his house to run away, or giving up any of his vast estates. And Renaldo. Had he ever received her letter? She had heard nothing from him—from any of them.
All the news they heard now seemed to be Juarist triumphs. Porfirio Diaz, whom Steve had once called his friend, has escaped from prison in Puebla and returned to his province of Oaxaca, where he now headed an enormous army. Tampico fell—Guadalajara fell. Vera Cruz was now the only port that flew the Imperialist flag, and the diplomatic corps had begun to move slowly and unobtrusively out of Mexico City.
In October, Agnes du Salm came frantically to Ginny with bad news.
“Oh God! It’s confirmed now, by transatlantic cable, of all things. Carlotta has been declared insane—they say she’s lost her wits completely. Her brother is having her looked after at Miramar.”
“But that’s terrible!” Ginny was sleepy-eyed from a late night at a tertulia, but the news shocked her. “Oh, poor Max!” she burst out. “The poor, haunted man! Will he—do you imagine that he will really abdicate now?”
“I don’t know! Nobody does!” Agnes shook her head distractedly. “They’re trying to talk him into it, of course, but I don’t think he understands what anyone is saying. He must feel as if he’s been deserted by everyone.” Then, with a flash of her old manner, Agnes added briskly, “That’s why I’m here. The court is being removed to Orizaba—we’ve all been asked to stay at Max’s little hacienda at Jalapilla, such a lovely, peaceful place! You must come with me, Ginny! The poor man needs time to think, I’m sure, and he’ll need to feel he has friends around him. Come on! Everyone is going—you can’t stay on here in Mexico City without any friends!”
“But—but Michel? He’s gone again to Durango, they’re really in a bad way there. And the general is right here—”
“Bah! Michel will understand! I’ve already talked to Marshal Bazaine, and he understands! He says he’ll make it all right with Michel—and that in fact he’ll send him to Orizaba as soon as he gets back. He was intending, in any case, to transfer Michel to Puebla—the French have their largest garrison there now, you know. And it’s just a few miles from Orizaba. I won’t let you refuse me this time, Ginny!”
In the face of Agnes du Salm’s impatient pleading and her stubbornness, once she had made up her mind that Ginny must go with her, there seemed to be no alternative but to accede. Agnes was right, Michel would understand, especially when he talked to Marshal Bazaine. She couldn’t let poor Max feel that she too had been merely one of the court sycophants, eager for invitations to the palace only when things were going well. And she had heard, many times how beautiful it was in Orizaba, the heart of the tierra templada.
“Oh, very well,” Ginny said tiredly at last, “I’ll go! But you must give me time to pack, and to write a letter to Michel.”
“I’ll be by with my carriage in two hours,” Agnes warned her. “You must hurry, love, because we don’t want to miss arriving there in the daylight, with all those guerillas haunting the barrancas. Although you needn’t worry,” she added cheerfully, already halfway down the stairs. “We’ll have an escort, of course!”
In the end, in spite of Agnes’s repeated urgings for Ginny to hurry, their journey seemed infuriatingly slow and leisurely. The Prince du Salm had already gone ahead with Maximilian and the rest of his entourage which included, Agnes whispered to Ginny with a flash of her eyes, that insufferable German Jesuit, Father Fischer. Ginny frowned, because she had never liked the thin, black-frocked man herself. But she was even more annoyed to find that Miguel Lopez was to be one of their escort.
Agnes, as usual, seemed in her element, surrounded by a bevy of adoring young officers. Her particular gallant of the moment was a dashing young Austrian Hussar in a spotless white uniform that looked as if it had never seen battle. In the end, because they had so much baggage between them, Agnes had brought two light, open carriages for herself and Ginny.
“This way, we can both be surrounded by our respective swains,” she teased, pretending not to see the cold look that her friend shot at the handsome colonel.
It seemed as if they were merely going on some kind of a picnic, Ginny thought with annoyance. There was so much laughing and gay chatter—so many stops to admire the scenery! In the end, they had to spend the night at Puebla, and the only thing that Ginny could not complain about was the impeccability of Miguel Lopez’s manner towards her. She had to admit, grudgingly, that after all he was a gentleman. True, he had ridden by her all the way, and helped her in and out of her carriage each time it stopped, but his conversation dealt only with polite trivialities, and his compliments were merely polite, not bold, as they had been in the past. “Perhaps he’s changed, perhaps he’s not too interested in me any longer,” she thought, and wondered why the thought gave her a slight pang of irritation. I’m really getting to be a horrible flirt, she scolded herself. I’m engaged to Michel, and I’m going to be happy with him. Why do I want every man I meet to adore me? And in any case, she reminded herself, Lopez had already made his advances and she had rejected them. It was a good thing he didn’t plan to stay in Orizaba for long!
They left Puebla heavily cloaked and muffled against the morning chill—fortified by a magnificent breakfast provided by the French commandant. Before they left they had heard the French bugles, and seen the tricolor come up with the rising sun in the background. Little barefoot children came out to cheer the soldiers and gape at the fine ladies in their carriages. Puebla the impregnable fortress, Puebla, city of cathedrals. Ginny was almost sorry she had to leave it so soon—it would have been interesting to explore.
She turned back once, to see the twin volcanoes that towered above the twin forts of the city, their snowcapped peaks now pink from the newly risen sun. Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl—harsh Indian names that were hard to remember, much less to pronounce. Then Lopez was at her side, leaning close to ask her if she was cold, if she needed anything. The moment of almost-sadness passed and she was the gay flirt again, her eyes flashing laughter at his sallies. She could not help thinking how charming he was when he wasn’t trying to prove his own machismo. She was almost glad now that he was at her side, and not Agnes’s. At least, he knew the country through which they were passing, and could describe what lay ahead, give her the names of every mountain, every river.
The highway seemed nothing more than a series of dry gullies or barrancas, running up and down like a switchback. They had started out above the cloud level, and now began the slow and almost imperceptible descent into the tierra templada, with its warmer, more pleasant climate. The ladies discarded their cloaks and were daring enough to sip some tequila, in small silver-chased goblets that Colonel Lopez had produced. Every now and then they halted, while the small company of soldiers who had also accompanied them scouted ahead for any sign of Juarista guerillas. And it was for this same reason, too, that they avoided many of the small villages they must otherwise have passed through.
“Too much chance of an ambush there,” one of the Austrians said tersely. “They’re all Juarista sympathizers, anyway!”
The roads seemed incredibly narrow, but at least here everything was green, and flowers grew in profusion on the mountainsides.
“But wait until you’re near Orizaba!” Agnes called back to Ginny. “It’s really beautiful there—you’ll think you’ve never seen such a profusion of tropical beauty!” She smiled when she saw that Ginny had just accepted a small bouquet of flowers from Miguel and had tucked them into her shawl.
They encountered a heavily escorted wagon train, hauled by mules, and had to pull off to the side of the road until it had passed.
“It’s silver, from the mines nearby,” Colonel Lopez explained. “They’ll take it back to Puebla first, and then the soldiers will take it back to Vera Cruz.”
“Mines, in this part of the country? It doesn’t seem possible,” she murmured, looking up into his handsome face. He smiled down at her.
“Oh yes, why do you think my ancestors came to Mexico? Gold, silver, precious stones, they are everywhere! But it’s hard work for those poor devils in the mines. The Indians don’t like to work down there any more, so they use convicts, most of the time. That’s where we put some of our Juarist prisoners.”
He was giving her a piercing look, as if he expected her to make some kind of reply, but she only shrugged and turned away. Why speak of such unpleasant things on a beautiful day like this? The war, for once, seemed like a bad dream and she didn’t want to think about it.
It’s really beautiful, far lovelier than I could have dreamed, Ginny thought. I had no idea Mexico had this profusion of beauty, of contrast! How far away she was now from the dry harshness of the vast Meseta Central, across which she’d trudged or ridden so many times in the worst of circumstances. How different it was today, to be travelling in such comfort with such wonderful companions!
When they neared Orizaba, Agnes insisted that she and Ginny must ride too, for she was tired of being cramped in a carriage.
Agnes wore a deep burgundy velvet riding habit, trimmed with sable, and on horseback, she looked really magnificent, riding like a young Diana.
“You shall take the black mare today,” she told Ginny, “and I’ll take the white stallion!” Her eyes laughed. “Let’s show these men that women can ride as well as they!”
To tell the truth, Ginny was relieved to be on horseback again herself. At Agnes’s insistence, she had even worn the new, frighteningly expensive riding habit that Michel had ordered especially for her. When she threw aside her shawl and allowed Miguel to help her mount the restive black mare, Ginny thought she had seen again the barely controlled flare of desire in his eyes. She was aware that she looked exceptionally well.
The habit was of white watered silk and clung closely to her figure, showing every detail of its perfection. The only touch of color, added at her own insistence, was the green velvet ribbon that trimmed it, and set off the small white hat, perched becomingly forward on her shining hair.
“You look like an angel—a vision!” Miguel Lopez whispered. His hand squeezed hers for a moment, although he released it quickly soon afterwards.
As always, riding exhilarated Ginny. She wanted to laugh, to urge her mount to go faster, so that she could feel the wind on her face. Yes, she told herself, I’ve been too long in the city—this is what I’ve been missing!
The path they followed broadened, as they rode downward towards the town of Orizaba, nestled under a whitecapped mountain of its own. They passed more people, obviously refugees, some of them foreigners like herself. All of them, their belongings piled in carts dragged by oxen, seemed to be hurrying.
“They’re like rats, scurrying away from rumors!” one of the Belgians snarled. “Why don’t they wait until the railroad is built?”
“What railroad? I thought the railhead from Vera Cruz ended at Paso del Macho!” someone else interjected.
“Ah, but our good French allies have sent their engineers, and they’re hurrying to put the rails down as fast as they can—perhaps, with luck, they’ll reach Puebla before long.”
“God and the Juaristas willing!” one of the other Mexican officers snickered, and Lopez frowned.
“Of course it will be built! It’s money from the silver mines that’s paying for it, after all! The mine owners want a faster, safer method of transportation for their ore.”
“Who’s building it, though? I thought it was hard to find labor in these parts, for the peasants refuse to be parted from their lands, and the hacendados won’t release any of their peons.”
“Ah!” Colonel Lopez shrugged, kneeing his horse closer to Ginny’s. “More convict labor, I’m afraid. But we have plenty of that, and now we’ve stopped executing our Juarista prisoners—we send them to the mines or the road gangs instead. It’s more practical, you’ll admit, and the hard work kills most of them off in any case!”
He caught a slight shudder from Ginny and smiled at her.
“What an angel you are—do you even feel pity for Juaristas? I wish you were as softhearted towards your ardent admirers, cold one!”
“Why Colonel, are you really one of my gallants? You flatter me exceedingly!”
“You’re playing with me,” he said in a low voice. “I wish I could find the key to unlock that heart of yours—even if only for a moment!”
“Perhaps I don’t have a heart,” Ginny retorted, her eyes meeting the challenge of his without flinching.
“In spite of your cruelty, you have a spirit that I cannot help admiring,” Lopez said. “Never mind—perhaps there’ll be a moment when you’ll feel some slight degree of warmth for me. I’m a patient man.”
“You play the gallant admirably!” she said coolly. And then, “Can’t we ride a little faster? Aren’t we in sight of Orizaba yet?”
“Patience, petite, we’re getting there.” A Frenchman, a friend of Michel’s rode up, grinning. “Phew! It’s really getting hot, isn’t it?”
Miguel’s manner had reverted to that of formal gallantry, no more.
“But there’s no point in exhausting the horses yet. Remember that the Emperor’s hacienda at Jalapilla lies a little beyond Orizaba. In the meantime, why not enjoy the scenery?” They were passing what appeared to be the outskirts of a small village, beyond which stretched a tremendous orchard.
“How pretty it is! What’s this village called?” Ginny dropped back slightly to hear his reply.
“That, belle madame, is no village, I’m afraid. It’s part of the hacienda of the Conde de Valmes. In a short while, we’ll pass the high stone walls which surround the palacio of the conde himself. You’ve met him surely?”
“You mean that stooped over little man with the very white hair and great big mustaches? That conde? The one we are always saying is Max’s shadow?”
Ginny opened her eyes wide in surprise, and Miguel gave a rather sarcastic laugh.
“Precisely! That one. But he’s too busy playing courtier to bother with the running of his hacienda. He leaves that to his wife, who is quite young and er—active, one hears.”
“But that’s incredible, that he should have a young wife. Is she pretty, the condesa? Does he always leave her locked up here alone, or does she ever come to the city?”
“Ah, now at last I’ve managed to pique your woman’s curiosity!” Miguel laughed. “I don’t think you’ve ever met her—Soledad doesn’t visit Mexico City very often, she says she finds it too boring. However, she’s hardly a prisoner here! She finds plenty to keep her busy, and this part of the world does have its amusements, you know!”
“Stop teasing, Miguel!” Agnes had reined up beside them, her face flushed and smiling. She turned to Ginny. “No, really! He won’t tell you too much because she’s a distant relative of his, isn’t that so, Miguelito? But you know me, I’ve no qualms about gossiping! Our condesa is quite young, compared to her husband, if you can call fortyish young, that is! And she’s considered attractive, too, in a fullblown way! As for her amusements—” Agnes turned her laughing eyes on the Colonel, who had the grace to flush, “what Miguel means is that she doesn’t lack for gallants. Most of them young, and quite handsome! She has quite a discerning eyes for strongly built young men—perhaps it’s her mothering instinct, for they never had a child. Don’t look so curious, my pet, you’ll probably meet her at Jalapilla! She’ll be invited to one of our tertulias, I’m sure, even though her old bore of a husband is sick and lying in bed in Mexico City, surrounded by doctors! La Condesa won’t miss him.”
They all burst out laughing at Agnes’s irrepressible air of mischief, even the colonel.
“You’re quite impossible, dear Agnes!” he murmured to her and she replied with a saucy look, “Am I though? You must admit I’m a born intriguer, isn’t that so?”
He inclined his head at this, with a certain light in his eyes, that had narrowed slightly in appreciation of her innuendo.
It was a gay company that rode so lightheartedly into the outskirts of Orizaba. Even Ginny hardly looked up, except to give one short glance of pity when a ragged, filthy line of men, their legs chained to each other, wrists manacled by long lengths of chain, were ordered to get into the ditch and stay there until the small cavalcade had passed.
“Are those miserable vermin your railroad builders?” one of the Austrians asked. “Well, here’s part of the railroad, and I suppose those anxious-looking men are your French engineers!” another officer replied.
“I’m surprised that any of them has the strength to lift a pick, much less one of those heavy sledgehammers!” Agnes said with a shudder. “Poor devils!”
Ginny continued to smile at something the colonel had said. Really, she didn’t want to be bothered all day by thoughts of men chained like animals, having to work their miserable lives away in this heat! She heard Agnes say petulantly, “I do feel sorry for them, but I wish their guards wouldn’t let them stare so! Fancy, they probably haven’t seen a woman in months—and in spite of the rags and those heavy chains I’m sure they’re quite dangerous!”
At the moment, Miguel Lopez had picked up Ginny’s hand and was kissing it. “You’re the dangerous one,” he murmured. “Who can blame any man for wanting to stare at you?”
“And you’re far too bold!” she said, but her voice didn’t sound angry, and she was smiling when she said it.
Well content for now, Lopez dropped her hand, but continued to ride by her side all the way into Orizaba.