“For you and for me, yes, but they see it as degrading. Santiago has refused to set foot on the property since they opened it to the public. In any case, that’s not the only reason Santiago’s concerned about Catarina working; he wants to protect her.”
She lowered her voice in response to Manuel’s look of surprise. “She has problems, women’s matters, you know.” She studied the kitchen table, unwilling to meet his gaze. “They’d been trying for quite a while, and at the end of last year she got pregnant, but she had a miscarriage soon afterward. You can still see it affected her. I was with her that day. She was right here when she suddenly felt a sharp pain and started bleeding. In the hospital they treated her and had to scrape it out. She seems to have recovered. She asked me not to discuss it, but all you have to do is see the way she looks at Samuel to know how much she wants her own child.” She sighed. “But Santiago—well, I told you already what he’s like. It affected him deeply, and ever since he’s been trying his best to persuade Catarina to stop working. The doctor told them there’s no reason to be concerned, a first pregnancy miscarries sometimes, and they’re not likely to have a problem next time, but Santiago is obsessed with her treatment and her health. He’s always in a fret, as if it was his fault. That’s how he is. He blows everything out of proportion.”
Manuel nodded. “And Vicente?”
Herminia pretended not to capture the nuance. “He helps Catarina.”
“I think you understand me. The other day when Santiago scolded her, Vicente looked as if it were all he could do to keep from saying something. As if Catarina were particularly special to him.”
Herminia just looked at him.
“Do you think there’s something between those two?”
“She has no feelings for Vicente, but maybe he thinks differently. I’ve seen how he looks at her. He’s a young man, she’s a beautiful woman, they’re together all day long working with the flowers in the greenhouse, and no one else is around. But she’s devoted to Santiago to the point of self-sacrifice. She’s always taken care of him like that. When Fran died, she was the one who coaxed Santiago back from his depression. She spoon-fed him for weeks, almost dragged him physically out to the garden. They’d sit together by the pond for hours, her talking while he just listened with his head hanging. And now it’s happening again. Sometimes I hear Santiago weeping, and she’s always there consoling him, calming him. The girl has infinite patience. You’ve seen it, how sometimes Santiago has his whims. It doesn’t surprise me that Vicente might feel inclined to try to protect her. And maybe he has even stronger feelings.” But then she dismissed the notion. “But unless he’s a pure fool, he should have learned his lesson by now.”
“Why, Herminia? What happened?”
She met his question with a shrug. “So maybe you are onto something.”
He waited for an explanation and at last the woman exhaled a puff of annoyance. “Look here, fillo, I’ve been a servant in this house since before I got married. I brought up the boys, I cooked for them, nursed them when they were sick—dedicated my whole life to the estate. But I’ve never for a minute made the mistake of thinking that I was one of them or supposing that I was a part of all this. We are employees, they pay us well; but no matter how many hugs and pats you may see, no matter how many secrets we know or how many messes we clean up, we’ll never be anything but servants. Anyone who forgets his place around here gets a swift reminder.”
Manuel couldn’t help taking that personally. Herminia was asserting the same doctrine as the dowager but from another angle. The presumed superiority of an aristocratic class deeply offended Nogueira, but everyone else accepted it. Manuel was only now beginning to understand the depth and extent of it. “Herminia, are you trying to warn me?”
She looked at him with an expression of alarm. “No, I’m not talking about you, fillo, or álvaro either. He was like us. I’m referring to Vicente.”
“Vicente?”
She clicked her tongue in annoyance. Manuel couldn’t tell if she was bothered by having to discuss the situation or annoyed that she didn’t have all the information. “Look, I don’t know what actually might have happened, but they fired him last December.”
“They fired Vicente?”
“Just before Christmas, from one day to the next, without any discussion or explanation. It was very sudden; they just said Vicente wasn’t working here anymore. You can imagine the effect on the rest of us here on the estate. Not that it was the first time they’d fired someone, but it’s not usually done like that. Some of the people in the village have been coming to do seasonal work on the estate for twenty-five years. The custom is always to hire the same ones, and some families have priority.”
Manuel recalled Gri?án’s comment that employment on the estate was seen by many as a mark of special privilege.
“I remember a couple of times. They fired a stableboy and a woodcutter, one for mistreating the horses and the other for theft. It was just the same, harsh and immediate. With one difference: Vicente was given his job back two months later.”
“What explanation did they give?”
“The same as when he was fired—none at all. All I know is that Catarina hired him again, and I suppose he was grateful to her. But believe me, if anyone in this house knows her place, it’s Catarina.”
Manuel’s jaw dropped. He’d heard the same comment about Catarina just minutes before but from a completely different source. The Raven. He himself had perceived Catarina’s grace and charisma.
Herminia got up and served coffee. Manuel took a long, slow swallow. His mind filled with thoughts of Catarina, the way Santiago had made her cry, and the heavy, dizzying perfume of those hundreds of flowers.
“I found withered gardenias in the pockets of álvaro’s jackets.”
She smiled sadly. “A habit he had ever since he was little. I always had to check his pockets before I washed his clothes. I was always finding flowers there.”
“Who knew he had that habit?”
“Who knew?” Herminia shrugged. “Well, Sarita and I, since we do the laundry. Anybody in the house might have seen him tuck a flower into a pocket. Why do you ask?”
“No reason at all.” He avoided her question. “Herminia, another thing—that room, álvaro’s bedroom. Was that where he’d always stayed when he was at the manor house?”
She interrupted her bustling about the kitchen and came back to him. “No, of course not. It’s just a guest room. It was kept locked when he wasn’t here. When álvaro was a boy his room was off the gallery next to his brothers’ rooms. His father sent him off to boarding school in Madrid, and the old man ordered the staff to clear the room and store all his things in the cellar.”
Manuel imagined what a great affront that must have been, the unspoken message álvaro would have received when he was little more than a child, and the warning it must have sent to the rest of the family.
“As if he’d died or were never coming back,” he said aloud.
“I do believe that in a way from that day on, álvaro was dead to his father. The few times álvaro came back to the estate, he always stayed in the guest room.”
“But why, Herminia? How old was he? Twelve? What happened that day?”
Herminia looked down for a moment. “I don’t know. ‘From that day on’ is just an expression. There was no particular day. I’ve never understood it, but perhaps now that you’ve met the Raven, you may have a clue or two of the old man’s character.”
Manuel nodded, still inwardly shuddering at that old woman’s mean-minded attitude. “Herminia, I’m sorry I caused a problem, and I hope you won’t get into trouble because you admitted me. But if you do, let me know; I won’t let them make you take the blame.”
She smiled. “I already know why álvaro chose you.”
Manuel didn’t understand.