The Devil on Her Tongue by Linda Holeman

Author:Linda Holeman [Holeman, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-36164-6
Publisher: Random House of Canada
Published: 2014-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

When Senhor and Senhora da Silva arrived for dinner, Espirito and Olívia and Cristiano and I were in the salon.

Senhor Eduardo da Silva was a portly man with a neat moustache, his silver hair showing the tooth marks of a comb. He bowed over my hand, greeting me formally.

When Olívia and her mother went into the kitchen to confer with Ana and the da Silvas’ maid, who had come to help cook and serve that evening, Bonifacio appeared. He went to Senhor da Silva; the other man stood and they shook hands. Bonifacio then went and sat on one of the elegant salon chairs.

“Dinner will be ready momentarily,” Olívia said, coming back into the salon. When she saw Bonifacio, she stopped.

Bonifacio half stood, bowing his head. “Olívia,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she said, more than the usual edge in her voice. “Please. Everyone come to the dining room.”

We were served the first course. Cristiano sat beside me, and I saw him studying the confusing number of utensils. I waited until I saw Senhora da Silva pick up the outside fork, and then did the same. Cristiano copied me.

“First thing tomorrow we’ll go to the Counting House, Bonifacio,” Espirito said. “You can meet with the men who already work there. You may have questions for them.”

Bonifacio didn’t respond, but Senhora da Silva kept the conversation going, chattering about the weather, the latest new shop in the square, people they knew, and how she was redecorating her salon. Various courses were served, and I watched Senhora da Silva carefully. I followed her lead, not wanting to appear uncouth, although I quickly realized only Cristiano paid me any heed; everyone seemed ill at ease.

I took Cristiano upstairs to bed as soon as it was polite to do so. When I came downstairs again, Senhora da Silva and Olívia sat in the salon. “The men have gone outside to walk. Eduardo likes to have his pipe after dinner, and the smoke bothers Olívia.” She rose and went to her daughter. “You must go to bed now,” she told her. “It’s been a long day.”

Olívia rose silently.

“That’s my good girl,” her mother said. “Would you like me to send Ana up with a warm drink?”

“No, thank you, Mother. Good night, Diamantina.”

I said good night.

After she was gone, Senhora da Silva settled herself by the fire again, and shook her head, gazing at the flames. “I worry so about her. She’s my only child.”

“Has she had the illness all her life?”

“It started when she was a little older than Cristiano, but it was mild. It steadily grows worse. The English physician says that the chronic inflammation of the airways creates the coughing spasms. She …” She looked away from the fire, and at me. “She wasn’t always as you see her.”

I waited.

“She was full of life before the grip of the illness and Bonifacio leaving her. And I must say that Bonifacio looks terrible.”

I waited three heartbeats, digesting what she had just said.

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