The Spanish Marriage by Madeleine Robins Page B

barge in
Peso da Regua. He had offered to buy the mules himself, and Matlin’s
pocket now held a few precious gold coins with which to buy their passage. Thea
watched the three-cornered bargaining between her husband, the bargeman, and
Roybal as interpreter, arguing loyally for both men. When at last Thea and
Matlin climbed onto the barge, their bundles with them, he had two of his five
gold pieces left.
    The trip down the river took less than a full day; the currents
were good, and the bargeman was familiar with the journey. Thea concentrated on
the scenery, trying to distract herself from the mild discomfort in her stomach
and the fierce pain in her head. She was achingly tired but unable to sleep
and, when Matlin brought out their food that afternoon, she was unable to eat
either. The bargeman offered Matlin wine, which he refused with a significant
glance at Thea. He seemed a little kinder today, she thought hazily. Even
without counting that “sweetheart” of the night before which had so
deeply affected her, Thea thought the distance was a little less. Perhaps there
was hope after all. She kept silent, still unsure of what to say or how to
please him. It was enough for now that there was hope.
    o0o
    The sun had almost set when the bargeman docked in Oporto.
Matlin left Thea in the charge of the bargeman and his wife, who met the boat
at the dock, and went off to learn the news of ships in the harbor. There were
soldiers everywhere, but Thea had worried so much that, now, curiously, she
could not worry more. His Portuguese, at least, was little worse than his
Spanish, which was more than Thea could say. While she sat with the bargeman’s
wife in the shelter of a patio and watched crates being unloaded on the dock,
Matlin reappeared, dirty and fatigued but with a grin of triumph.
    “I’ve found us passage, a trifle unconventional.
It’s a privateer from America that does a little, uhh, traffic in Exeter.
For a price, which I had, and the promise of silence when we reach England, a
promise which I was happy to make for both of us, the Captain was willing to
take us on. We may have to go ashore in a rather rough and ready manner, you
understand.”
    “Smuggled in, I gather.” Thea said dryly.
    “Scruples?”
    “Me? I was just trying to clarify the situation.”
She turned and made shift to thank the bargeman’s wife. Then she picked
up her bundles and pronounced herself ready to go. One of the privateer’s
crew would take them out to the ship in a dory, Matlin explained. By habit Thea
fell in behind Matlin and thought as she did so that this would be the last
time she needed to adopt that subservient, wifely manner.
    By the time they reached the Lark Thea was thoroughly
chilled and shivering. The Lark was a small, fast-looking boat; her
fittings reflected the moonlight with a dull glow. Her captain was obviously
anxious to sail as soon as possible. “The mate will show you your cabin,
miss. I’d suggest, begging your pardon, that you stay there for the trip.
The crew is made up of a good sort of lads, but a woman on board is what they
ain’t used to.”
    “I’ll undertake to see that she stays below,
sir,” Matlin assured him, and he followed after as Thea was led to a tiny
cubby that showed signs of rapid evacuation of the mate’s belongings.
    “You’ll be all right? You look tired. You
needn’t fear—I will be bedding down with the crew, so....”
    Bitterness vied with exhaustion: Matlin was so determined to
have nothing to do with her. It was best to show him she cared not in the
least. “I want only one thing,” she croaked.
    “What?”
    “A basin. You asked yesterday if I was a good sailor?
I’m not, I was wretched all day on that barge, and I don’t imagine
I’ll be any better now.”
    The look which crossed Matlin’s face was so comical a
mixture of panic and concern that, once he had left the cabin, Thea laughed a
little, until the ache in her head made her stop again.

Chapter