The Malady in Maderia Read online

  “Minha Senhora, what is the matter? Why did the Senhora sleep out here? Was the Senhora dissatisfied with her bedroom?” He twisted his hands nervously, looking very unhappy. “We wished the Senhora to be most comfortable, as she is a friend of the deceased Senhor Duque, and of the Senhora Condesa.”

  In her slowest tones Julia told him that, no, her cabin was delightfully comfortable, and she was most grateful for it. But she was exceedingly dissatisfied with the accommodation provided for the four nuns who were going to Africa. “I come out to go on deck and take the air, and find them sleeping here; when I enquire, I find that they are among the emigrants, in mixed quarters, and not even all together. Does the Senhor not know that the rules of religious orders require that nuns should be together on a journey?” Unhappily, the purser muttered that he was vague about this—possibly it was so. Julia assured him that it was indeed the case. “I could not let this situation continue” she went on, “so I put them in my cabin, naturally. What else could I do? These are the servants of God, who leave their home to do His work in a distant land; they are worthy of the very best treatment—far more worthy than I. I hope the Senhor can assure me that he will this morning give them accommodation together, where they have proper washing facilities, and in privacy?—such as it seems do not exist in the quarters where they were put.” The wretched purser began to murmur something about tickets.

  “But the Senhor told me himself, last night, that the boat is not full; will the Company lose any money if these devout women sleep in two first-class cabins, whatever price was paid for their tickets?” Julia asked relentlessly. “I should like the Senhor’s assurance that this will be arranged immediately.” And as he still hesitated—“What would the Senhor Duque have wished?” she asked. And later that morning, when she had dressed and breakfasted, the purser came to her suite and invited her to go with him to inspect two pleasant two-berth cabins, next door to one another, in which he proposed to install the nuns; they collected their modest cabin-luggage from down below, and settled in with happy cries of pleasure and gratitude. “We shall remember the Senhora in our prayers” Reverend Mother said.

  “Yes, do please; do pray for me” Julia said. She hurried away; tears had started in her eyes at the thought of how much she wished to be prayed for.

  The weather, as the purser had foretold, remained calm throughout the short voyage; the further out into the ocean they went, the milder it became—it was very pleasant. Julia made the acquaintance of the Captain, a short, cheerful man; he had heard about her intervention on behalf of the four nuns, and thanked her for it. “This should not have happened, especially with the boat half empty—but these religieuses are so modest.” Modesty was surely an attribute of their profession, Julia pointed out, laughing a little—he laughed too. “I am glad that you were here to concern yourself with them” he said.

  Julia liked the Captain; he was intelligent and well-informed; they got on very well. He asked where she was going to stay, and she told him; it seemed that he knew the Senhor Shergold a little —“He works in the Bank, I think? I have seen him sometimes when I was ashore.” On the last morning, when they were approaching Madeira, he invited her up onto the bridge, and pointed out the new airport, built out almost into the sea, a few miles to the east of Funchal, and on their right the low island of Porto Santo, which before the airport was built had served as an air-strip for plane services to Madeira—“This was not convenient, since the passengers had to go on to Funchal by launch.” It was on Porto Santo, he added, that Zargo and Teixeira, the discoverers, first landed. “But it is said that even before them an Englishman came here, with his bride; they were eloping and put in to a bay called Machico—the Senhora should go and see the place; it is not too far from the Serra, where she will be staying.”

  “Did they settle down?” Julia asked.

  “Ah no, Senhora; they perished! The island was uninhabited then. This is so strange about Madeira, that till the fourteenth century it has no human history—no mediaeval ruins, no Roman remains, nor Iron-age sites, as in Portugal.”

  Julia was struck by this—it had never occurred to her that there was any part of the Western world so wholly without a past. She was beginning to ask how the original discoverers came on it, when with a brusque “porfavor” the Captain stepped hastily past her to the starboard end of the bridge, putting a pair of field-glasses up to his eyes as he did so. He stared intently for a few moments, and then gave an angry exclamation. “Again!”

  “What is it?” Julia asked—her immense grey eyes were as myopic as they were beautiful, and all she could see was the shape of a small ship steaming tranquilly along some distance away.

  “It is a Russian trawler” the Captain said, still angrily. He offered her the field-glasses—“If the Senhora can adjust them?”

  In fact Julia was well accustomed to adjusting field-glasses, and soon had them focussed on the ship whose presence so vexed Captain Almeida. To her surprise its rigging was cluttered with all sorts of curious objects which she did not in the least connect with trawling. “What are those funny gadgets on the masts?” she asked. “One is like a shallow bowl. Can they fish with that?”

  “That at least can lead them to the shoals!” Captain Almeida replied sardonically. “ It is a scanner—radar. But you may well ask what the rest of their equipment is for—much bigger fish!” He went on to explain that a year or so earlier there had been a NATO air and sea exercise in the waters round Madeira and the Azores, and that two or three Russian trawlers had dogged them during the whole operation—“With their instruments they could check and record everything; at the end Moscow will have known as much about the results of any experiments as the NATO commanders themselves!”

  “Can’t they be stopped?” Julia asked.

  “Only if they enter territorial waters—the sea, unfortunately, is free, even for spies and saboteurs!” the Captain said bitterly.

  “But why is that boat here now? Surely there is no exercise going on at present?” Julia pursued, puzzled.

  “Ah, Minha Senhora, that is what many people would like to know—it is what they call a sixty-four-thousand-dollar question! But recently she has been constantly about here—this is the third time that I myself have seen her.”

  “And always the same one?”

  “Always. I know her number—fortunately the Russians use the same numerals, at least, as the rest of the world!”

  Julia put up the field-glasses again, and stared through them. “0263” she murmured. “Well, she is an ugly brute.”

  Just then the trawler made a sharp turn to starboard, and swung out to sea again. “Ah yes—she knows the limits well enough” Captain Almeida said vengefully. “But what impertinence!”

  Julia stopped watching the trawler at that point; as they approached the land she was more interested in Madeira, which lay spread out ahead of them, a long bronze-green shape rising like the back of a whale out of the sea, dotted here and there with white villages down near the shore; as they came nearer she could see that the lower slopes were criss-crossed with the brown lines of the walls supporting the minute terraced fields. Now they came in close to Funchal itself, white pink-roofed houses piled up against the steep hillsides in a pretty confusion, with the grey mass of the Pico Fort standing out prominently among them. Close to the land the air was soft, and suddenly sweet with a vague flowery scent; it was very warm. Julia bade the Captain farewell, and went down to say goodbye to the nuns; then she collected Nannie and small Philip, gave a steward orders about the luggage, and they stood on deck to watch what went on.

  The boats on the African run are too large to tie up at Funchal; they cast anchor a little way out, and the passengers are taken ashore in a launch. Nannie Mackenzie looked about her approvingly, as the small vessel came towards them over the water—“It looks a clean pretty place, doesn’t it, Madam? And it’s lovely and warm.”

  Pauline Shergold was waiting for them with the station-wagon; she was tall,
and her chestnut-bronze hair caught the light with a coppery gleam as she stood among the small crowd on the quay. When they stepped ashore—“Well, at last, Julia!” she exclaimed. “I am glad you’ve made it this time. And this is Master Philip? He’s bigger than Susan, but he’s only three, isn’t he? And this will be Nannie Mackenzie, of course. Well, you’ll find quite a nursery party up at the Serra, Nannie, and Marta speaks quite good English now.”

  “How old is Susan?” small Philip piped up.

  “Four! And I’m sure you’re at least an inch taller—we’ll measure when we get home. Now, are you car-sick, Philip? If so, you’d better sit in front.”

  The Philipino denied ever being car-sick, and this was confirmed by Nannie, who was already feeling reassured by this stream of cheerful chat. While Mrs. Shergold was seeing to the luggage at the back of the car—“What a sensible lady!” she muttered in Julia’s ear, “You can see she understands children.”

  As they drove steeply uphill through the sunny little town Julia fairly gasped at the flowers, which bloomed on terraces, fell in cascades over garden walls, and smothered the houses and trees. All visitors to Madeira gasp when they first arrive, and no wonder; flowers from all five continents thrive together in that mild and equable climate, and grow larger than anywhere else—dahlias will run up to eight feet or more. “But that’s a red bougainvillea!” Julia exclaimed, as they passed a house which was positively curtained in brick-red blossom.

  “Yes, isn’t it nice?—much prettier than the purple. The flowers here are one of the things I wanted you to see, only you never would come,” Mrs. Shergold said, driving the car with great dexterity up streets whose steepness surprised Julia almost as much as the flowers beside them. “Of course we don’t have all these tropical things up at the Serra” she went on; “that’s quite a different climate. I hope you brought plenty of woollies.”

  “Yes, Colin told us to. How is Mrs. Hathaway?” Julia now asked.

  “Oh, in fine form; they had a nice trip out, and I think it really did her good. And what a delightful person that maid of hers is.”

  “Delightful? Watkins?” Julia said incredulously; she had not heard of the new arrangement. Mrs. Shergold laughed.

  “Oh Lord no! Horrible old Watkins! No, she’s got a French maid, an absolute charmer, who really takes care of her, and is the most wonderful needlewoman.”

  “Goodness!—she can’t have brought Madame Bonnecourt?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “But how on earth did she get rid of Watkins?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Reeder fixed that—rather arbitrarily, I gather” Pauline Shergold said laughing. “But Mrs. H. is rather thankful that she did, I think; I’m sure I am.”

  “So am I” Julia said fervently.

  Beyond the town the road, still climbing, emerged into the extraordinary landscape of tiny terraced fields which is so characteristic of Madeira—minute patches of vines, wheat, sugar-cane or sweet potatoes, clinging precariously to the slopes; at one turn of the sandy road they came on two peasant women, who were spreading onions out to dry along the verge—in fact the onions impinged so much on the roadway that it would have been difficult to pass another car. “Demasiado!” (Too much) Mrs. Shergold called out of the window at them, shaking her head; the women only laughed. “They will do that,” she said—“You can’t stop them.”

  Higher still they passed large plantations of eucalyptus and pines—both foreign importations, Mrs. Shergold told her guest; now the angle of the road eased off a little, and above them, to their left, stretched wild open country, rising to high, almost bare peaks, one of which was identified for Julia as the Pico do Ruivo, the highest point on the island. “We’ll go up it one day; it’s quite an easy walk” Mrs. Shergold said.

  The house stood just where the plantations ended and the open country began—a grove of tall eucalyptus trees enclosed the whole place, and their strong medicinal smell filled the air. “This should be good for Mrs. H.’s chest—no need to inhale!” Julia remarked, as they got out of the car.

  “Where’s Susan?” young Philip demanded—“I want to measure.”

  “They’ll be back for tea—I expect they’ve gone picking bilberries” Mrs. Shergold said. “Antonioh! Bagagem!” she called loudly; a shirt-sleeved gardener appeared and carried the luggage indoors. The house was large and cool, with spacious, rather bare rooms; upstairs Mrs. Shergold showed Nannie Mackenzie her quarters, a bedroom with a cot for the child, and a sunny sitting-room. “I’m afraid you’ll have to use Mrs. Jamieson’s bathroom, Nannie; we aren’t all that well off for baths. But you’ve got your own basin.”

  “Perfectly all right, Madam” Nannie replied, looking about her with approval.

  “And the day-nursery is here next door” Mrs. Shergold went on, throwing open another door. “Julia, you’re down the far end of the passage, next to Mrs. H. and us—we keep as far away from the row as we can! You and Mrs. H. have to share a bathroom too. Ah, that’s right, Antonio—show him which is Nannie’s stuff, Julia.”

  Julia’s own luggage was then brought along a broad corridor and through a baize swing door—“That keeps out some of the noise” Mrs. Shergold explained cheerfully. “I expect Mrs. H. is resting still” she went on, showing Julia into a rather small room. “Sorry this is so minute, but I’ve turned the biggest double room into an upstairs sitting-room for her, for when there’s a crowd in —a lot of people tire her, sometimes, I think.”

  “You are good, Pauline!” Julia said impulsively. “This is perfect for me.” She went over to the window and looked out at the garden below. “Oh, how lovely! It’s quite like an English garden.”

  It was, almost. In the wide borders late phlox, day-lilies and red-hot pokers stood jumbled together, a hedge of sweet peas rose beyond the lawn; there were beds of roses. But there were also huge groups of blue and white agapanthus, and white and blue hydrangeas. “Do they stay out all the winter?” Julia asked.

  “Oh Lord yes. Now I expect you’d like to throw your things out, and then come down. The brats eat upstairs, except lunch. I’ll show you the bathroom and the loo.” She did so, and went away.

  Julia did a little hasty unpacking, and then made her way back to the nursery end of the house. The stairs were the far side of the swing door, and as she went through it Julia realised what her hostess meant by “the row”—shouting and laughing, what seemed a mob of children came running up, followed by a short dark woman whose frizzy black hair and splended rows of teeth betrayed some African blood. On the landing the young Shergolds swarmed round her—“Oh, are you Philip’s mother? Where is he?” Julia, firm and calm, insisted on getting them sorted out by name: twin boys of seven, Marcus and Henry, Theodore, aged five-and-half, and Susan; all three boys had their mother’s bronze-auburn hair, but Susan’s small face was surrounded by a fair frizzy cloud. To her amusement the nurse, Marta, made no attempt to quell their clamour as they jumped round her, shouting their names, each trying to outshout the other.

  “All right—now I’ve got you taped you can come and see Philip—but only two at a time.”

  “Why?”—in chorus.

  “Because I say so.” They gaped at this; Marta tittered. “Come on, Susan and Theodore.” She led the two smallest into Philip’s nursery. “Nannie, here are Susan and Theodore, the smaller half of a gang of ruffians!—you’ll have to be much tougher here even than at Glentoran. Now Philip, when you’ve said how-do-you-do we’ll measure you and Susan.”

  Philip advanced shyly, holding out a small fat hand—rather to Julia’s surprise the two smaller Shergolds shook it quite politely. “Now, Theodore, which do you think is tallest, Philip or Susan?”

  “Susan!—I’ll bet an escudo!” Theodore pronounced.

  “Well, we’ll soon see. Stand back to back, you two.” She took a picture-book, which Nannie Mack had just unpacked, off the table and laid it across the two heads.

  “There’s not a lot in it, Madam” Nannie observed.

&nb
sp; “No, there isn’t, Nannie. Where’s Philip’s ball?”

  “Susan’s taller! Susan’s taller!” Theodore began to shout.

  “Wait and see.” When the ball was produced Julia laid it in the middle of the book; it rolled gently forward and fell off over Susan’s face. “There you are, Theodore.”

  At that moment the door opened a crack and two bronze heads peered through. Julia went over. “Clear off! I said two at a time.” She closed and locked the door; at once a loud hammering began. “They are little devils!” she said laughing; she went through into the night-nursery and out into the corridor, where she administered a smart slap to each sunburnt face.

  “I say! What’s that for?” one twin protested.

  “Making a filthy row, and being little hooligans” Julia said tranquilly. “Now unless you’re perfectly quiet you won’t see Philip at all today—is that clear? All right, now wait here, and when the others come out you can come in.”

  “But we want to see the measuring.”

  “All right, Susan can stay till you’ve seen it.” She returned by the way she had come, ejected Theodore, and let the twins in.

  “I say, that’s smart!” Marcus exclaimed, when the book and ball were demonstrated again.

  “Yes, well there can only be half a centimetre in it, if that” Julia said. “Now, that’s enough for now. And remember, you are only to come in here if Nannie Mackenzie says you can, and you’re to go out the moment she tells you. Now where’s Marta? I want her to meet Nannie and Philip.”

  “I’ll shout for her” a twin said—as he opened his mouth for that purpose Julia clapped a hand over it.

  “Oh no, you won’t! Go and fetch her.” Again slightly to her surprise he did as he was told, and ran off grinning. When Marta came and the introductions were made, the Portuguese proved, indeed, to talk odd but perfectly comprehensible English, but it was in Portuguese that she told her charges to go and wash their hands and get ready for tea.