The Wings of the Morning Read online

  “Well?” Sebastiao said, picking up the pearl ring and slipping it on to her finger. “This looks rather like you, I think, but it’s rather big. That, however, can be remedied.”

  She stared down doubtfully at her finger.

  “Don’t you like it?” he asked.

  She looked up at him with her big eyes — big and clear and brown as softly textured velvet, under the fluttering eyelashes.

  “Pearls mean tears,” she said in a frightened tone.

  He laughed at that, rather shortly.

  “My dear girl, you’ll have ropes of pearls before you’ve finished — my mother’s pearls amongst them — and if you’re going to shed tears for every one that you possess, both you and I will be washed away!” But he set aside the ring she thought might be a badge of ill- omen just the same. “In that case, perhaps you’ll tell me which one you would like?”

  She thought he sounded a little short-tempered, so she indicated the large square sapphire that was mounted on a very fine platinum circlet and said shyly that that was the one she would like. And she felt her heart begin to expand in some strange new way when it just fitted her finger, and once again the thought that it was exactly the color of Sebastiao’s eyes sent a little warm glow through her. The blue of Sebastiao’s eyes, and she would wear it on her finger!

  Her engagement ring — his ring! — and the stone just matched his eyes! She felt quietly, oddly happy as they left the shop, and in his pocket was the satin-lined case in which the ring would repose when she wasn’t wearing it, and on her finger was the most wonderful present she had ever received in her life, catching every ray of April sunshine as they stepped into the street.

  At her elbow Sebastiao laughed with sudden amusement.

  “For the first time I believe you’re really pleased about something,” he said.

  “I am.”

  She looked up at him with strange fervour in her eyes. And then her heart grew cold. Why had she thought that absurd thing about Sebastiao’s eyes...? And why had the thought of wearing his ring, with a stone the color of his eyes, suddenly meant so much?

  Her breath caught as a slightly appalled sensation took possession of her. Oh no, she thought! ... I mustn’t — I mustn’t ever think things like that in connection with Sebastiao! He is going to become my husband, but he is only giving me his name ... He has told me so. He doesn’t want to give me anything else!

  All in a moment she wanted to give him back his ring, and she wanted to run away.

  But the wedding day was fixed, and shopping for it grew more feverish as the days passed. Kathie acquired so many new things — day dresses, evening dresses, sunsuits, underwear — that she couldn’t envisage an occasion when each garment would be worn. The stacks of filmy underwear delighted her, but she felt a little shy when she touched the cobwebby nightdresses, for when she wore them she would be a wife. A wife — and not a wife?

  Sometimes she wondered exactly what it was Sebastiao expected of her.

  He was very kind, very attentive, sometimes rather sweet to her. He would watch her with amusement, with appreciation, and occasionally there would be little flashes of tenderness in his smile when it was directed towards her. Occasionally he was moody, withdrawn, slightly sullen, but he usually made up for these moods by buying her something choice and expensive. A huge bottle of perfume, or a gilded casket of chocolates. These were the sort of toys that had never been bestowed on her before, and they delighted her.

  It amused him to watch her unconcealed pleasure in what he considered simple gifts, and her shrinking from more ostentatious presents — such as the beautifully fitted dressing-case he bought for her, the whole series of soft leather handbags to go with her outfits, the solid gold evening bag and gold cigarettes-case with her new initials — or the initials that would so soon be hers — engraved on it. K. de B. And what was even more startling to a girl who had grown up without any thought of adorning an exalted position one day, a crest!

  She found it impossible to believe that very soon now she would be the Marquesa de Barrateira, and Paula would have become the Dowager Marquesa.

  She and Sebastiao never went about together — if one excluded a short walk in the park to feed the swans — and she wondered whether this was strictly according to the Portuguese idea of what was correct. They went to the theatre as a party of four — Paula making up the silent and always tight-lipped fourth — and they visited one or two galleries, and stood beneath the dome of St. Paul’s and walked in the serenity of Westminster Abbey, on each occasion as a party of four.

  Sebastiao always dropped a light kiss on Kathie’s forehead at parting with her, saluted his godmother’s hand, and appeared to look forward to their next meeting in a condition of easily controlled anticipation.

  The Sheridans were to fly over from Eire the afternoon before the wedding, but the morning before the wedding Kathie received a telegram informing her that her father would not be amongst the party. It was a long telegram, and must have cost him a good deal, affectionate and full of regrets, but he had had a bit of a chill, and old Dr. Barney Halloran had advised against the trip. Which meant, Kathie realized, that Dr. Halloran had put both feet down firmly and said that the air trip was definitely off for Gerald Sheridan. Someone else would have to give his daughter away at her wedding, and if he wanted to give his other two daughters away when their turn arrived he would be good and do as he was told.

  Kathie knew her father sufficiently well to be convinced that no thought of future weddings would have kept him away from hers. He had probably been looking forward to it intensely ever since she said goodbye to him in Eire, and now, instead of escorting her on the most important day of her life, and handing her over to her husband — as it was to be a civil marriage there was no thought of escorting her up the aisle of a church — he would probably be coughing worse than ever, and in the depths of depression because of his ill luck.

  Kathie received the telegram at eleven o’clock, and a few minutes later she had dictated a long reply over the telephone. Then she went downstairs and wandered about restlessly until Sebastiao came through the main entrance door, and she rushed up to him with such a forlorn expression that he wondered what sort of disaster had actually overtaken her.

  She explained in a trembling voice:

  “My father won’t be able to be at the wedding. He’s ill ... Or not well enough to travel, and he won’t be able to give me away.”

  Her lips trembled as well as her voice.

  “I’m sorry about that, Kathie,” Sebastiao said gently. He took the telegram from her hand and read it. “But it isn’t as bad as you think, because it isn’t really necessary for anyone to give you away at the kind of marriage ceremony that is to be ours, so long as you have the appropriate number of witnesses. And in any case, my friend, the old Marques de Marialva, is going to be there, and he’ll willingly give you away if you want someone to do so. Or your mother can do it.”

  But she shook her head, trying hard to steady her lips.

  “It isn’t that. Of course, I — I realize it isn’t necessary ... But I was looking forward to my father...” Two slow tears welled up in her eyes, and hung on the bright ends of her lashes, and he took her by the elbow and led her into a quiet room intended for people who liked to write letters without interruption, and sat her down on a stiff Regency settee, and himself beside her.

  “Kathie, I’m truly sorry about this, but your father wouldn’t want you to be unhappy because of something unfortunate that has happened.” One of the bright drops had started to roll down her cheek, and he took out his handkerchief and handed it to her, and his other hand slid gently along the back of her shoulders. “Kathie, I’ve made all arrangements for your father’s trip abroad. He’s leaving for the sunshine in a fortnight from now, and your mother is going with him. Lady Fitz is having Eileen and Bridie until they make up their minds what they’d like to do — either join your parents abroad, or pursue some ideas of their own. Whateve
r they decide to do, their expenses will be paid, and there’s nothing whatsoever for you to worry about. It may even be arranged that your father and mother could put in at Lisbon, and we could meet them and spend some time with them.”

  Kathie gulped.

  “You’re — you’re too kind!”

  “Rubbish!” He spoke almost heartily, the Irish side rising above the Portuguese side. “I’m acquiring a very pretty wife, and I don’t want to see her in tears at our wedding!”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be as silly as that.” But she wasn’t really comforted. That hand at the back of her shoulders was the shapely hand of a handsome elder brother who didn’t like to see a little sister so close to unhappiness when she was so shortly to change her name. Even in his eyes she thought she saw more humor than tenderness, although the tenderness was certainly there — Irish dark blue eyes could always melt into tenderness. And she had a feeling that he was just a little anxious in case someone should surprise them suddenly and he would feel uncomfortable because she was shedding tears.

  She sat up and moved away from his arm, and then handed him back his handkerchief. At least, she held it out to him, and then took it back.

  “I’d better get this laundered,” she said, rather feebly.

  He laughed at that.

  “Don’t be silly,” and put it into his pocket.

  Later she had a telephone call from her mother. They had arrived, and were all safely at Claridge’s, where Sebastiao had arranged for them to be accommodated. Mrs. Sheridan sounded excited and thoroughly happy, and she assured Kathie her father’s ‘little attack’, as she phrased it, was not really serious. Only Dr. Halloran felt he ought to be cautious. She rattled on about the clothes she had bought, and the dresses the girls would be wearing for the wedding, and then said she would see Kathie and Lady Fitz at dinner that night. They were all having dinner together at a restaurant specially selected by Sebastiao — a kind of eve-of-wedding party. She understood there would be one or two of the Marques’s friends to help swell their numbers, too, and Bridie and Eileen were really excited.

  Kathie put down the receiver, and went for a walk in the park. It was raining, and she felt unhappy and distraught. She kept thinking of her father, far away in Eire, and her heart twisted with hopelessness because she couldn’t be near him. She was marrying to help him, and she couldn’t be near him — it was so absurd!

  Then she thought of the Marques’s arrangements for the cruise, and his extraordinary thoroughness. Even Eileen and Bridie were benefiting materially because of

  this wedding of hers. Lady Fitz was happy, her mother was happy ... Only she had a cold burden of ice at her heart, a sick feeling of terror because she knew she was doing the wrong thing. But because everyone else was going to be so happy, surely she ought to rise above her own petty miseries? Even Sebastiao was looking far happier than when she had first met him. He was doing something decisive, something that he felt would be a kind of safeguard to him in future, and his haggard appearance had left him. Was it simply and solely because he felt safe?

  And yet why should he feel safe with her? He didn’t really know her properly!

  That evening she wore the cream silk jersey dress that made her look quite lovely, and Sebastiao sent her cream and gold orchids. But, although she used extra lipstick, her complexion was markedly pale, and her eyes suggested that she was feeling slightly haunted.

  The Marquesa de Barrateira took her aside when at last they returned to Claridge’s.

  “I would like you to come with me to my room,” she said. “I have a present for you, and now is the time, I think, to give it to you.

  Kathie accompanied her to her room. She had a strange disinclination to accept a present from the Marquesa, and she hoped it was nothing very costly. She was beginning to feel burdened beneath the weight of costly things, and between her and Paula de Barrateira there would never be any true liking or warmth, she knew. The Marquesa herself didn’t wish it, and Kathie was too retiring to offer anything that was not wanted.

  She need not have worried about the Marquesa’s present. It was quite valuable, but not oppressively so, and perhaps a little strange. It was a miniature of Sebastiao, painted when he couldn’t have been much more than a year old; and it was surrounded with seed pearls and tiny diamonds. It was very charming, depicting an exquisite golden-haired infant, and the beauty of the child melted Kathie’s bones as she studied it.

  “I thought you should have it,” Paula said, “because one day you will bear Sebastiao’s heir.” A kind of shock ran through Kathie, almost an electric shock, and for a moment her hand jerked so that she nearly dropped the miniature. Bear Sebastiao’s heir...? Was that what the rest of them were thinking? Was that what her father was thinking that one day he would be grandfather to a future marques?

  Paula’s eyes were on the Irish girl.

  “Because of the position that will be yours from tomorrow, I felt that you should have the miniature instead of myself. You will naturally want to compare your child, when it arrives, with — its father!” Was there a queer, momentary, malicious pause between the words? Kathie couldn’t be certain, but she was certain the black eyes were malicious. “Hildegarde, Sebastiao’s first wife, didn’t want children — in fact, I don’t think she had any intention, ever, of having any — but Sebastiao would have renounced everything, even his inheritance, if he could have kept Hildegarde with him. She was lovely in the way so many Germanic types of women are, coolly perfect, and as golden as himself. They were a splendid pair.” Her accent became pronounced. “So beautiful that everyone turned their heads to look at them, you understand? How is it you say? — Paris and Venus!”

  Kathie swallowed. She set down the miniature on a little table, as if she hadn’t quite made up her mind to accept it.

  Paula’s voice grew frankly hard, as well as accented.

  “I am telling you all this so that you will not expect too much when you are married. You will be Sebastiao’s wife, but you will never possess his heart. That is in the grave of a dead woman! And if it were not, there is one other woman to whom he would give it before he gave it to you! Someone he loved all his life until Hildegarde bewitched him, and he let her go...”

  She obviously felt so intensely about all this that her face was white and grooved with malice.

  “He met Hildegarde on a holiday for the wintersport, and when he returned to Portugal the girl who planned to share her life with him had her dreams shattered. Ruthlessly — because Sebastiao is like that — cruelly! She was younger and less experienced than the Austrian widow, and she could not compete. She just had to let him go!” The Marquesa’s beringed fingers clutched one another, because they were shaking as Kathie’s had shaken a few moments ago. “It is almost certain that you will meet her, and you will see for yourself that she is incomparable ... She has everything! And Sebastiao couldn’t return to her because his conscience forbade him. How could he go back to a young and beautiful girl and say, ‘Take me, all that is left of me since my heart is in the grave, and I will make you happy’? He has too great a fondness for her for that, perhaps too great a weakness ... For he likes to think that Hildegarde will always come first.”

  Kathie handed back the miniature, and her voice was firm.

  “I do not think I will have this!”

  “As you please.” The Marquesa put it back in the jewel-case where she kept it. “And perhaps you are wise. What would you care to have in its place?” delving her hands into the contents of the jewel-box.

  “Nothing,” Kathie answered, and fled from the room. In the corridor she ran full tilt into Sebastiao, who was looking for her to take her back to Brown’s Hotel.

  “Kathie, it’s getting late,” he said. “I think you ought to be going, since you have rather a full day ahead of you tomorrow.”

  Was his voice as dry as his stepmother’s? Kathie was in no condition to be a sound judge, but she caught at his arm with both her hands and looked up a
t him with wild eyes.

  “Sebastiao,” she gasped. “There is one thing you must understand before we are married. I am marrying you for one reason only ... One reason only!” she repeated. “For my father’s sake! ... Only for his sake!”

  He looked down into her strangely tormented brown eyes.

  “There isn’t anything else that would induce me to

  marry you!... Not one single other reason!”

  “Very well, Kathie,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

  She ran a hand across her eyes, and turned away

  from him.

  “It is the truth,” she insisted fiercely. “It is the whole truth!”

  “And if your father died tonight, and there was no need for you to make this sacrifice?” in an extraordinary voice.

  “Then I would hand you back this ring — gladly!” and her voice broke on a sob as she wrenched it off and held it between her fingers, the blue blaze from the sapphire almost blinding her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was five days later that Kathie learned that her father had been taken seriously ill on the afternoon of the day before her wedding, and had died during the evening. Barney Halloran, his lifelong friend and doctor, had wired that it was Sheridan’s last wish that everything should go on as arranged, and that at all costs the wedding must take place. The wedding, therefore, had taken place, with the bride knowing nothing at all of what had happened, and her mother and sisters and Lady Fitzosborne had returned to Eire immediately after it and the departure of the couple for Lisbon.