Chapter VIII Don Miguel Priego
Memories—A Self-confessed Patriot—Confidences—Plain Speaking—Reflections—A Public Departure
Jack stopped now, and faced round at the speaker, who still had a hand on his arm.
“I recognized you at once,” the man continued, “though your disguise is good, very good. I have not seen you for a good many years, Jackino, but I never forget any face I have once seen, still less one that I have lived with in the days of childhood. Don’t you remember your old friend—”
“Why, you’re Miguel Priego,” interrupted Jack, with no great cordiality of tone. “How you’ve grown! Who would have thought you would have topped me by a couple of inches! And what a swell, too!”
“Yes, I have changed more than you, amigo,” said Don Miguel with a complacency that irritated Jack, already annoyed that his disguise had been penetrated. “Ah! and there have been other changes, great changes, since I last saw you, Jackino. You are an English officer, and I might perhaps not have recognized you so easily if you had been dressed in your uniform like your friends; but the hat and cloak—oh! Miguel Priego would have been a fool indeed if he had not known the dear companion of his boyhood.”
“You’re rather more affectionate than you were when we parted, Miguel,” said Jack bluntly.
“Don’t say that. We were always good friends, Jackino; is it not true? You and I and Juanita—ah! what fun we had in the old house at Barcelona. Do you remember the times when Don Fernan came from Saragossa and brought Juanita on a visit to your father and mine, and how we shared the presents he gave us?”
“Your share usually happened to be the biggest, if my memory doesn’t play me false.”
“Well, I was the eldest of the three; I am three years older than you, amigo mio, and four years older than Juanita.”
“How is Juanita?” asked Jack.
“In fair health, but paler than I should like to see her. But her grief will wear away in time, and when she becomes my—”
“Her grief! What do you mean, Miguel?”
“You do not know, then? I am forgetting; of course you do not get news very well here. I myself rode in only to-day from Saragossa, at the risk of my neck, Jackino, with tidings of the unfortunate misadventure at Tudela, and—”
“Come, Miguel,” said Jack, “we can’t stand here. Where are you staying? While I’m in this rig-out it will be better for me to go with you than for you to come with me.”
“That is true. Come, then; I am staying at the Fonda de Suizo in the Calle de Zamora. We can talk there at ease, and I shall be glad on my part to hear again of my old friends your father and mother, and to tell you of the sad changes that have taken place, and the bright changes also, dear friend.”
Jack was very tired, and in no mood to make himself amiable to a man for whom he had an intense aversion. But he was so anxious to learn the meaning of Miguel’s hints and half-statements that he put his feelings in his pocket and trudged along. Ever since he could remember, he had disliked Miguel, the only son of his father’s second partner, Don Esteban Priego. They had grown up together in Barcelona, and almost his earliest recollections were connected with the petty meannesses and cruelties of Miguel. Three years older than Jack, Miguel had played the bully with the younger boy until he grew strong enough to defend himself; and then, not daring to molest him openly, he had shown great ingenuity in devising petty annoyances which were even harder to bear than his former brutalities. He was cruel to children and animals smaller than himself. Jack remembered how Miguel had once lamed a spaniel of his in wanton mischief, and how, whenever Juanita, the only daughter of Don Fernan the senior partner, had been brought to Barcelona on a visit, she had often run to Jack’s house in tears to seek protection from the boy’s bullying and domineering. The tone in which Miguel had referred to Don Fernan and Juanita gave Jack vague uneasiness, and he paid scant heed to Miguel’s talk by the way, and scarcely answered him.
Don Miguel, however, was quite content to do all the talking. He was a patriot, he said, and high in favour with General Palafox. He had early volunteered in defence of his country, and had won rapid promotion, being now indeed, though but twenty years of age, a major in Palafox’s Hussars. When the news of Castaños’ defeat arrived in Saragossa, Palafox had sent him off with the news to General Moore, and he boasted largely of his readiness to undertake, with only one servant, so perilous a ride. Not, he thought, that his servant would have been of much use had they come across the French; he would have had to trust to his own skill and courage, for the poor man had unfortunately lost an eye; still, he was a faithful fellow and a good forager.
Jack caught himself wondering what service the man could have rendered the master. It was scarcely in Miguel’s character to allow a mere question of sentiment to outweigh the loss of an eye. Jack recalled his passion for display; he could not imagine him willingly accepting a one-eyed follower. This thought passed like a flash through Jack’s mind while Miguel was proceeding to dilate complacently on the scenes of butchery and torture he had witnessed as he came through the country of the guerrilleros, who had no mercy on the stray Frenchmen they succeeded in ambushing. Jack at last gave utterance to an exclamation of disgust.
“Ah!” sneered Miguel, “that is your English squeamishness. You English have no nerves. What is the good of your coming out here? We will show you how to deal with these accursed Frenchmen, and if your stomach turns against it, well, go home to your nurses in little England, and play with your tin soldiers and toy guns, for you are no good in Spain.”
Their arrival at the inn checked the reply that rose to Jack’s lips. Don Miguel, in the same oily, languid tone that was causing Jack more and more irritation, ordered the landlord to make himself scarce, as he had important business to discuss with his friend, and in a few moments the two were left alone in the room. The Spaniard flung off his cloak, revealing the resplendent uniform of Palafox’s Hussars, and as he removed his hat Jack noticed a long, livid scar running from his brow to his left eye, disfiguring what was otherwise a well-looking countenance so far as features were concerned.
“And how is your excellent father?” asked Miguel as he lolled in the only easy-chair in the room. “He is lucky, truly, for the stock in London is a good one, and he will do a good business, whereas with us these troubles have brought trade to a stand-still, and we are obliged to suspend all operations. But things will improve. Don Fernan, with his shrewd head for business, foresaw what would happen, and took steps to realize what he could on the stock before the outbreak of war, which was a very lucky thing for my father and myself and Juanita. And he could not have chosen a more convenient moment for dying, for—”
“For dying! Is Don Fernan dead?” cried Jack.
“Dead as a door-post, poor man! I thought you would be surprised to hear it. He had been ailing ever since his exertions in the siege of Saragossa last summer—there was something wrong with his heart, I think,—and when the news came that General Castaños had met with a mishap at Tudela, he held up his hands and cried: ‘Oh my country! my poor country!’ then fell forward and died. He was an old man, of course, and must have died soon, and I have only come a little sooner into the inheritance that was bound to come to me.”
“Did Don Fernan appoint you his heir, then?” asked Jack with a keen look. “What about Juanita?”
“Does it not come to the same thing, my friend? Juanita, of course, is Don Fernan’s heiress, but since in a little while, when the mourning is over, she will marry me—”
“Marry you!”
There was contempt as well as surprise in Jack’s tone, and Miguel evidently felt this, for he replied with flashing eyes, though with no change in his bland manner:
“Yes, marry me—that was what I think I said. Of course if my good friend Jackino has any objection—”
“Good heavens! Juanita is a thousand times too good for you!” Jack blurted out.
“Quite so; she is a thousand times too good for any man. But since she does me the honour to become my wife, you will surely not have the impudence to question her choice, dear friend.”
He hissed out the last sentence, and bent a little forward. Jack shrugged.
“She wasn’t always so fond of you,” he said bluntly.
“That is not the point, is it?” returned Miguel with an exasperating smile. “The match has long been talked of; Don Fernan and my father were agreed that it was an excellent arrangement for uniting the business interests of the two families. And now that Don Fernan is dead I shall marry Juanita as soon as possible, my father will retire, and I shall be the sole partner of your excellent father, for you, of course, have a soul much above business, and will no doubt ere long be a field-marshal. Perhaps, however, you have no ambition to earn fame in the open and heroic way? Your costume would suggest, my friend, that you are satisfied with a more modest and retiring part—but still, no doubt, profitable—”
“It seems to me, Miguel,” said Jack, interrupting him very quietly, “that you have forgotten the last thrashing I gave you. Remember, I am always at your service. But I should not advise you to risk another scar like the one you have already. How,” he added quickly, “did you come by that?”
Miguel’s sullen face assumed a dusky hue, and the scar showed all the more livid. He flinched, as bullies will, before Jack’s menacing attitude.
“Hot-tempered as ever,” he said with an attempt to smile. “Why will you take offence so easily? What have I said? Here I find you, an Englishman, in Spanish dress, and I conclude, naturally enough, that you are fulfilling an office of very great importance and usefulness, and when I—”
“Now look here, Miguel, I don’t want to quarrel with you, but you’d better understand at once that I’m not a child, and that your oily tongue won’t do you any good with me. I don’t suppose we shall see much more of each other; when—if—you marry Juanita you will settle down, I suppose, in Saragossa, and our paths won’t cross. I tell you frankly I’m astonished that Juanita will have you; but she’s old enough to know her own mind—though our girls in England don’t marry so early—and I hope with all my heart she’ll be happy. And now I think I’d better say good-night!”
“And good-bye!” said Miguel sweetly. “I will carry your good wishes to Juanita, be sure of that.”
“Where is she, by the way?” asked Jack.
“In Saragossa, with her aunt the Doña Teresa.”
“And you are returning immediately?”
“Oh no! I go on to-morrow towards Leon, with despatches for the Marquis of La Romana. The Spanish generals will have to strike a blow without the assistance of your General Moore, it appears.”
Jack ignored the sneer.
“Well, good-bye!” he said. “There’s no need to suggest that you should take care the French don’t catch you.”
“True, true, Jackino. Give my respects, when you see him, to your excellent father, to whom I hope to have before long the honour of sending the documents relative to the changes in the business. Adios, amigo mio!”
He accompanied Jack to the door, and looked after him with a mocking smile. Jack, pulling his cloak more closely around him, and his sombrero lower over his eyes, walked rapidly to his quarters, where, proceeding directly to his room, he threw himself upon his bed with a sigh of weariness and contentment.
But it was long before the much-needed sleep came to him. He lay awake, unable to keep his thoughts from running round the circle of his adventures and dwelling on his unexpected meeting with Miguel. The more he thought of his conversation with that gentleman the more puzzled he felt. As a child, Juanita had shrunk from the boy and had never willingly gone into his presence. It was very odd that she should have overcome her dislike and now be ready to marry him. Perhaps she still disliked him, and had agreed to the match merely because it was desired by Don Fernan and Miguel’s father, Don Esteban. But even then it was extraordinary, for Don Fernan himself had never shown any liking for Miguel, and had indeed on many occasions taken him severely to task and punished him for acts of deceit and dishonesty. Miguel did not appear to Jack to have changed: what had altered Don Fernan’s opinion of him? Then, too, there was Don Fernan’s letter, in which he had spoken of his anxiety on behalf of his daughter. Why, if he were satisfied with the proposed match, should he be anxious about her future? And what had General Palafox to do with all this? Miguel was the general’s trusted messenger; could Palafox have influenced Don Fernan’s judgment? Jack wished he could go to Saragossa, and enquire for himself into all the circumstances—see Juanita, and discover whether she were in truth a willing bride. And then he thought of the phrase Don Fernan had so carefully impressed upon his memory: “Palafox the man, Palafox the name,” and with this repeating itself to the hundredth time in his weary brain he at length fell asleep, and slept on until he was awakened about ten o’clock next morning by loud cries in the street.
Springing from bed, he ran to the window. Men were waving their hats, women their fans and handkerchiefs. At every window there was a fluttering scarf. Loud vivas rose into the air as an officer in full uniform, followed by a gorgeously-dressed orderly, clattered by.
The officer smiled with gratification at the warmth of the cheers, and kissed his hand gallantly to the ladies who peeped at him out of their mantillas. Jack smiled satirically.
“Pooh! It’s only Don Miguel Priego! Confound the sneak!”
He was about to withdraw, when the orderly turned his head to the left, as though seeking a share of the admiration so lavishly bestowed on his superior. Jack noticed that one eye-socket was closed; the man’s remaining eye had a curiously malign glitter that gave the beholder a strange sense of uneasiness.
“Is this how people feel when they talk of the evil eye?” he said to himself with an unmirthful laugh. Then he donned his own clothes and went gloomily downstairs to find his brother officers.