Page 76 of The Taste of Light
"The doctor just left." Anne pouted. "He said it's cholera. Are you familiar with it? Chol-leer-raa?" She stretched out each syllable like a simpleton, and they echoed in the wake of another terrible moan.
Anne watched the effect of their ruse. Both men's eyes widened, and the younger turned a sickly shade of green.
"I didn't know it progressed so fast." She leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "Mamanwas fine yesterday, but today... so much blood." Pressing her nose with the kerchief, she sniffed. "And worse."
On cue, the housekeeper brought a tray with two glasses. The dirt mixed inside made the water brown. Hilaria placed it on the coffee table and cleaned her hands on her apron. "If you will excuse me, madam, I'll take your mother's soup upstairs."
"Of course, dear. Thank you for such kindness." Anne held the housekeeper's gaze and then turned to her audience. "Please, have a drink. The landlord told us the cistern's water has curative properties. If only my poor mother would keep any in her stomach."
It had the desired effect, as it was common knowledge foul water caused cholera. The men eyed the glasses as if they contained eels. The younger one stepped back, hands lifted.
A groan and a pungent scent invaded the parlor. Their unwanted visitors squirmed and shared an alarmed look.
"I'm not thirsty, thank you. We'll search the house, and you can return to your mother." The leader stood, his face resolute.
Anne nodded resignedly. "I'll take you upstairs, then."
She twisted the kerchief in her hands, not daring to breathe, as she led them through the hallways. They needed to convince them the house didn't belong to Pedro. She fervently hoped she was doing the right thing.
Anne showed him to her room first. As she feared, they took their job too seriously, opening the chests and cabinets, inspecting the bathing area, and even looking under the bed. Her heart beat so loudly that they probably heard it downstairs.
After checking every room, they came to the last, the master's chamber. Anne paused, willing away the tremor in her hand. Exhaling deeply, she twisted the doorknob and flung the door inwards.
A miasma of sickness invaded her nostrils. The closed shutters concealed the room in shadows. Paralyzed, a sheen of sweat covering his brow, the leader gaped at the room's tableau. On the four-poster bed, a heavy matron lay, face hidden by the bed curtains. Hilaria's sturdy frame bent over the patient, a steaming bowl of broth in her hands.
Anne covered her nose with the kerchief. "Is Mother better?"
The housekeeper turned to the door, eyes wild and cap askew. "I wouldn't come near, madam. The poor lady spilled out her entrails, a fetid flux of blood and pus." Placing the soup on the tallboy, she grabbed the chamber pot. "Cholera is eating her alive."
The prone woman groaned.
Hilaria discarded the chamber pot and hastened to the bed. "Want soup?" she yelled as if the patient was deaf. "Here, have more."
From inside the bed curtains came a scream of pain and anguish so loud it lifted all the hairs on Anne's nape.
The youth whirled on his feet, chest heaving, and raced downstairs.
"I'm sorry to bother you,madame. Have a good day." The leader nodded curtly and followed his companion.
Anne had to hoist her skirts to follow their longer strides. They flew to the exit, and the youth flung the door open. Anne stopped at the stairs landing, covering her mouth. Through the window, she saw their visitors racing to see who reached his horse first. She never thought it possible to mount so fast.
Beatriz hurried to lock the door as Hilaria descended the stairs. Anne motioned for them to be silent and listened. Only when the clatter of hooves vanished could Anne fill her lungs.
Dante, still wearing the camisole, limped closer to their group. He had pulled the cap covering his hair, but the fake breasts remained. Grinning, Beatriz sidled up to him, and the Italian hugged her, lifting her from the ground.
Anne smiled, admiring the disgruntled couple.
Hilaria slapped his shoulder. "I hope you didn't soil my underwear, Italian! God forgive me. You are as ugly as a cow."
The swarthy Italian puffed his chest, the false bosom framing his square chin. "Bella or brutta, I fooled the sod, didn't I?"
Anne laughed, cleaning some tears of relief. "Where did you learn how to act? Those screams were horrifying."
"Caspita, I didn't act." He wiggled his finger at a brownish stain on his midriff and then pointed it accusingly at Hilaria. "She dropped scalding soup on me. The madwoman burned my bollocks!"
Chapter 32
PedrodismountedandledErebus through the narrow alleys of the medieval village. Peasants leaned out of their windows, but the horse attracted more attention than Pedro did. He emerged from the cramped shadows to a brightly lit courtyard. The Alcobaça Monastery presided over the square, the facade's marble yellowed by the centuries. A tower reached high in the sky, and from their perch over the belfries, the apostles judged newcomers. Pedro would go in, find whatever Fernando had hidden in the temple, and leave.
