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knew that look, she thought; he was making plans. She had seen
that narrow-eyed raptness just before they had left their small estate to come
here to Andalusia, before that last, worst miscarriage had robbed her not only
of their son but of the ability to bear any more children. She had thought she
detected signs of it a little before her brother Esteban's sudden death, but
she had told herself then that she was mistaken; In her quiet, remote voice,
she said, 'But what of Bartolomé? It may be that he-'
     
              'He is eager enough to wed, God knows! And to make sure
that all goes well with him I have hired that doctor - the one who cured the
late Infante of the sweating sickness. He will be able to tell for sure if the
boy can succeed or no.'
             
             
              'You could have sent for him before. Why did you not?'
             
             
              'What, and alert the King's spies? Oh, there is one in the
household, I make no doubt - Olivares's men sprang up like toadstools while he
lived, and carry on spying for his successors. If I had called a doctor, the
King would have known within three days that there was something afoot, and we
might have bad to deal with the prying of His Grace de Medina de las Torres,
damn his soul. Besides, what need, when there was no bride in the offing? We
could not afford rumours, especially after that business with the Conde de
Maranon.'
             
             
              He was watching her expectantly, and she knew that she must
ask the question he wanted. Smothering her inner distaste, she said, 'What
happened? You wrote that you were sure of securing his daughter. It was she 1
expected when you arrived.'
             
             
              'Yes, and gaped like a fish at the Arrelanos girl!' he
replied spitefully. 'I came near disaster - the Conde was harder-headed than I
thought-, he wrote to his friends and uncovered some part of the truth. Oh, not
the worst!' He grinned savagely. 'No one can guess at that. But that Bartolomé
is not seen in Madrid, that his name is not mentioned at court - and he began
to question me. Did not the law require that members of the nobility require
the King's leave to marry? Would his daughter's wedding be celebrated in
Madrid? It was simpler, in the end, to find another bride than to keep
inventing answers that would satisfy him. The little Arrelanos is the daughter
of his next neighbour - not so rich, nor so meek, but much fairer.'
             
             
              He eyed his wife belligerently, as though he dared her to
comment, and after a moment she said in a strained voice, 'But suppose this
doctor finds that Bartolomé is not well enough - that he cannot -'
              'It matters little, once the girl is securely wedded to
him.' The meaty shoulders shrugged. 'The King is too godly a fool to set aside
the marriage sacrament, and the girl may foist on Bartolomé any man's brat she
chooses. For my part I care not whose it is so long as there is a child.'
              He looked up quickly and gave a rough laugh at her
expression. 'You take me too seriously, my dear Luisa; I was only jesting!
Bartolomé is strong and healthy enough, I am sure. But you know how vital it is
to have an heir to his estates in direct succession, or else Torres will find
means co get them back for the Crown - and I lost my stewardship here.'
             
             
              She nodded and be patted her hand, his eyes shrewd on her
face. Luisa was too squeamish, he was thinking: he would have to plan the next
game alone. The girl upstairs both irked and excited him, with her proudly-held
head and the pretence of indifference that thwarted him. He wanted to see her
composure shattered, her spirit broken. It was not strictly necessary, for she
would serve his turn now whatever