(2/3) The Teeth of the Gale by Joan Aiken Read Free Book Online Page A

be healthy," he said as I stooped to kiss his brow.
    "And I am glad to
see you
looking well, dear Grandfather."
    This was not really true, but he sniffed, waved a dismissive hand, and let it pass.
    "How extremely fortunate," he said, "that your grandmother and great-aunts are still asleep in their beds. They lie long, these days, the old señoras. We can discuss our affairs before they all come cawing and pecking about you."
    "I shall be glad to do so, sir."
    "You were a good boy to make such admirable speed. And so was Pedro. Both good boys—"
    At this moment Gaspar, the majordomo, brought in a great breakfast for me—we were in my grandfather's library, with the parrot, Assistenta, clambering about the bookshelves as was her habit—so the Conde waited until he had withdrawn.
    "Eat, my boy—help yourself to chocolate and
churros
—you must be half starved if you have been riding all night."
    "How about you, sir?"
    "Half a cup of chocolate—no more. I eat sparingly these days."
    "Now, sir," I said, when he was served. "Do, please, tell me what the matter is, for I am dying of suspense. Is it some trouble? Government business? Does it relate to the Liberal party? To politics?"
    The Conde shook his head.
    "Not exactly. Yes and no.
Trouble
there is, yes, but it relates to your friends rather than to mine."
    "
My
friends?"
    "Your help has been requested."
    I was running my mind through the small tale of my friends, trying to think who could have asked for my help—the millers family in San Antonio, the English sailor, Sam, married to the blacksmith's daughter at Llanes, the priest in Santillana?
    Suddenly a notion, burning and improbable, flashed like a comet across my mind.
    "
Who
has asked for my help, sir?"
    My grandfather had the most elaborate wheelchair, constructed out of oak, steel, and damask. It was equipped with a hinged writing desk, a side table, a lamp, and a mirror. He now pulled forward the writing desk and searched methodically among the neatly piled papers, each pile tied with a differently colored thread of silk.
    "I have had a letter," he said, finding a packet tied with a blue thread and selecting a paper from its contents. He put on a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles and peered through them. "A letter from a con- › vent—
    "A
convent
? In Bayonne?" My heart shot up and lodged in my windpipe.
    My grandfather squinted at me over the top of his spectacles.
    "Bayonne? No, in Bilbao."
    My heart sank down again.
    "Bilbao? I—I believe that I know nobody in Bilbao."
    "I had better read you the letter," said my grandfather. "It is from the Reverend Mother at El Convento de la Encarnacion, Bilbao." He cleared his throat. "Ahem! 'Esteemed Señor: It is with the most humble apologies and the deepest diffidence that I take the liberty of approaching your gracious self, and I would hardly venture to do so if the matter were not one of life and death.'"
    "Life and death!" I gasped.
    "Humph." My grandfather again looked at me over his glasses, then resumed reading. "'One of the novices in our sister convent of Notre Dame de Douleur, in Bayonne—'"
    "Ah!"
    "'—in Bayonne, Sister Felicita, has been appealed to by a female relative of hers who is in extreme distress. The name of this female relative is Doña Conchita de la Trava y Escaroz. You may recall the name of her husband, Don Manuel de Morales de la Trava, who was consigned to prison in Barcelona last year for expressing revolutionary and antiroyalist opinions of the most disgraceful nature.'"
    "
Did
he do so, Grandfather?" I asked, partly to quell the frantic beating of my heart.
    "It depends upon your own views as to whether you consider his disgraceful," replied the Conde, pursing his upper lip. "I certainly knew of Manuel de la Trava, and that he had been imprisoned." He continued reading. '"Upon the imprisonment of Don Manuel, Doña Conchita, whose political opinions are of the most exemplary nature, was obliged to sever all connection with her