Harriet perched on the edge of the desk. “How did you come to hold Tesoro for them? And why did they have him in the first place? Seems an odd thing for two sailors in His Majesty’s Navy stationed aboard a ship of the line to acquire.”
Nick had been wondering the same.
Father Miguel folded his hands on top of the ledger book. “Your father took exception to the way Tesoro was being treated by his owner.” He turned to Nick. “Your father tried to buy him outright but was refused.”
“The old whip scars on his hindquarters,” Zach said softly.
“Yes, he was mistreated.” Father Miguel gave a sad nod. “When the owner would not sell him, Senhor Chase engaged the owner in a card game. Sheffield put up the coins to guarantee the wagering. The game lasted until almost dawn before they were able to achieve their goal.”
“And that’s how we became partners,” Nick said.
Harriet smiled back at him, and his stomach did the same delightful little lift and roll as when his ship crossed from a river into the open sea.
She wasn’t satisfied yet. The teacher needed to know more. “But you, Father. How did you become involved?”
“Lord Sheffield attended services in my humble iglesia when he could come ashore. We are not of the same faith but we worship the same God, he said. We had a small farm for our parishioners, and I was able to stable Tesoro there, away from the fighting and his former owner. Until the shelling started. I left the clue in the graveyard hoping they could follow me.”
“And you evacuated to this winery. But how did you know to come here?”
“The bishop who presides here at Perseguição was one of my teachers when I was in seminary. I did not know that until I arrived in Porto, but I knew that several of the brothers in my class had been assigned in the area. After the French retreated and the winery opened again, I came here, praying your fathers would recognize the similarity in name and find me.”
Father Miguel turned to the last page with entries in the ledger book. “The bishop does not charge me a livery fee here. Barring large fluctuations in the price of grain, I estimate there is enough money left to feed Tesoro through the winter, until plowing begins again in the spring, and to replace his shoes every six weeks. The farrier was here last month.”
Harriet’s mouth briefly fell open. “We don’t owe you for his upkeep after all this time?”
“On the contrary, my child.” He reached deep into the same drawer that had held the ledger and set a purse on top of the desk with a heavy thunk of coins. “Now the funds to care for him through the winter are yours.”
“Or at least cover the expenses to transport him back to England.” Nick straightened with a sigh of relief. He glanced at Harriet. “We’re going to need more hay,” they said in unison.
Zach glanced between the two of them, probably wondering what they found so amusing. Nick considered letting him in on the joke, but they heard a bell clanging from the main building.
“It is time for supper,” Father Miguel said. He tucked the letters in the ledger and put it and the purse back in the drawer and locked it. “Tomorrow you will take these with you. Tonight, you will dine in the tasting room and enjoy fado.”
“Is fado a local delicacy?” Harriet asked as they emerged into the waning daylight of the courtyard.
Father Miguel laughed.
Chapter 19
Farm workers, merchants, and other locals filled the tasting room, seated at tables clustered around the fireplace, the bar, and in neat rows before a small stage. Servants brought out platters of delicious smelling food, and everyone had at least three wineglasses attended by the three servants going around with wine bottles, a different vintage served with each course. Olive oil, piri-piri sauce, garlic, and other spices and seasonings livened up even peasant fare like potatoes, bacalhau , and boiled cabbage.
Zach ate a particularly spicy bite, then quickly downed a gulp of wine and fanned his mouth, drawing a smile from Harriet. Once his mouth sufficiently recovered, he forked another bite of chorizo and held it closer to the candles in the center of the table. “Note the flecks of pepper, clove and other spices,” he said to Harriet. “You won’t see this back home.” She leaned near to get a better look. “England conquered half the world in search of spices,” he confided, staring at her intently, “and decided they didn’t like any of them.” He popped the bite into his mouth.
She sat back in her seat and burst out laughing, a musical sound.
Nick did not grind his teeth in annoyance at Zach flirting with Harriet, or her lapping it up with such obvious delight. Though he did chew his bite of chorizo with greater intensity than the hapless hunk of spicy sausage warranted.
The mood in the room was joyous, tongues loosened by the free-flowing wine and excellent food. Father Miguel checked on them often but did not stay with them. Instead he went from table to table, checking with all the guests, helping to make sure everything went smoothly in the kitchen and bar.
They had reached the dessert course when performers came out on the stage—two musicians in somber black, and a female vocalist. She wore a tall tortoiseshell comb in her upswept gleaming black hair, yellow lace mantilla flowing from the comb down to her brilliant yellow gown and dyed-to-match silk slippers. The musicians tuned their instruments—one playing a twelve-string round guitar, the guitarra Portuguesa, the other on a ten-string baroque guitar—and began to play.
The crowd instantly hushed, avidly listening to the melancholy tune and heart-rending voice of the singer. They applauded wildly at the end of the song, and after briefly basking in their adoration, she launched into another equally mournful yet beautiful tune, accompanied by the guitarists.
“Fado,” Father Miguel told them quietly. “It has become our most popular form of entertainment. Senhora Gomez and her brothers play for us tonight. She sings for her lost love, for the war that ravaged her village, for the hope of a good harvest to see us through the winter.”
Nick watched Harriet watching the performance, how her face lit up at the fantastical guitar solos, how she empathized with the anguish and yearning in the songs, understanding the emotions even if she couldn’t understand the words.
Senhora Gomez finished her last song and curtsied deeply, then one of her brothers escorted her to a reserved seat and waiting glass of wine.
