CHIVALRY OF GIL PEREZ

He felt stiff and stupid, with a roasting spot in his back between his shoulders; but he was able to see the light in Gil Perez’ eyes which was a good light, saying, “Well so far but I look for more.” Neither Gil nor the spectacled gentleman in black the surgeon, he presumed spoke to him, and disinclined for speech himself, Manvers lay watching their tip-toe ministrations, with spells of comfortable dozing in between, in the course of which he again lost touch with the world of Spain.

When he came to once more he was much better and felt hungry. He saw Gil Perez by the window, reading a little book. The sun-blinds were down to darken the room; Gil held his book slantwise to a chink and read diligently, moving his lips to pronounce the words.

“Gil Perez,” said Manvers, “what are you reading?” Gil jumped up at once.

“You better, sir? Praised be God! I read,” he said, “a little catholic book which calls itself ‘The Garden of the Soul’ ver’ good little book. What you call ver’ ‘ealthy ver’ good for ’im. But you are better, master. You ’ungry I get you a broth.” Which he did, having it hot and hot in the next room.

“Now I tell you all the ’istory of this affair,” he said. “Last night I see Manuela out a walking. I follow ’er too much salute ’er she lift ’er ’ead back to strike me dead. I say, ’Senorita, one word. Why you give your crucifix to my master ha?’ Sir, she began to shake ’ead shake, knee shake; I think she fall into ’erself. You see flowers in frost all estiff, stand up all right. By’nbye the sun, ’e climb the sky thosa flowers they fall esquash all rotten insida. So Manuela fall into ’erself. Then I talk to ’er she tell me all the ’istory of thata time. She kill Esteban Vincaz, she tell me kill ’im quick, just what I told you. Becausa why? Becausa she dicksure Esteban kill you. But I say to ’er, Manuela, that was too bad, lady. Kill Esteban all the same. Ver’ good for ’im, send ’im what you call kingdom-come like a shot. But you leava that crucifix on my master’s plate make ’im tender, too sorry for you. He think, Thata nice girl, very. I like ’er too much. Now ’e ’as your crucifix in gold, lika piece of Vera Cruz, lika Santa Teresa’s finger, and all the world know you kill Esteban Vincaz and ’e like you. Sir, I make ’er sorry she begin to cry. I think ” and Gil Perez walked to the window “I think Manuela ver’ fine girl like a rose. Now, master ” and he returned to the bed “I tell you something. That man who estab you las’ night was Tormillo. You know who?”

Manvers shook his head. “Never heard of him, my friend. Who is he?”

“He is servant to Don Luis Ramonez, the same I see at the corrida. I tell you about ’im no money, all pride.”

Manvers stared. “And will you have the goodness to tell me why Don Luis should want to have me stabbed?”

“I tell you, sir,” said Gil Perez. “Esteban Vincaz was Don Bartolome Ramonez, son to Don Luis. Bad son ‘e was, if you like, sir. Wil’ oats, what you call. All the sama nobleman, all the sama only son to Don Luis.”

Manvers considered this oracle with what light he had. “Don Luis supposes that I killed his son, then,” he said. “Is that it?”

“’E damsure,” said Gil Perez, blinking fast.

“On Manuela’s account eh?”

“Like a shot!” cried Gil Perez with enthusiasm.

“So of course he thinks it his duty to kill me in return.”

“Of course ’e does, sir,” said Gil. “I tell you, ’e is proud like the devil.”

“I understand you,” said Manvers. “But why does he hire a servant to do his revenges?”

“Because ’e think you dog,” Gil replied calmly. “’E not beara touch you witha poker.”

Manvers laughed, and said, “We’ll leave it at that. Now I want to know one more thing. How on earth did Don Luis find out that I was in the wood with Manuela and his son?”

“Ah,” said Gil Perez, “now you aska me something. Who knows?” He shrugged profusely. Then his face cleared. “Leave it to me, sir. I ask Tormillo.” He was on his feet, as if about to find the assassin there and then.

“Stop a bit,” said Manvers, “stop a bit, Gil. Now I must tell you that I also saw Manuela last night.”

“Ah,” said Gil Perez softly; and his eyes glittered.

“I saw her in the street,” Manvers continued, watching his servant. “She was all in white.”

Gil Perez blinked this fact. “Yes, sir,” he said. “That is true. Poor girl.” His eyes clouded over. “Poor Manuela!” he was heard to say to himself.

“I followed her for a while,” said Manvers, “and saw you catch her up, and stop her. Then I went away; and then that rascal struck me in the back. Now do you suppose that Don Luis means to serve Manuela the same way?”

Gil Perez did not blink any more. “I think ’e wisha that,” he said; “but I think ’e won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I tell Manuela what I see at the corrida. She was there too. She know it already. Bless you, she don’t care.”

“But I care,” said Manvers sharply. “I’ve got her on my conscience. I don’t intend her to suffer on my account.”

“That,” said Gil Perez, “is what she wanta do.” He looked piercingly at his master. “You know, sir, I ask ’er for your ’andkerchief.”

“Well?” Manvers raised his eyebrows.

“I tell you whata she do. She look allaways in the dark. Nobody there. Then she open ’er gown so!” and Gil held apart the bosom of his shirt. “I see it in there.” There were tears in Gil’s eyes. “Poor Manuela!” he murmured, as if that helped him. “I make ’er give it me. No good she keepa that in there.”

“Where is it?” he was asked. He tried to be his jaunty self, but failed.

“Not ’ere, sir. I ’ave it I senda to the wash.” Manvers looked keenly at him, but said nothing. He had a suspicion that Gil Perez was telling a lie.

“You had better get her out of Madrid,” he said, after a while. “There may be trouble. Let her go and hide herself somewhere until this has blown over. Give me my pocket-book.” He took a couple of bills out and handed them to Gil. “There’s a hundred for her. Get her into some safe place and the sooner the better. We’ll see her through this business somehow.”

Gil Perez very unlike himself suddenly snatched at his hand and kissed it. Then he sprang to his feet again and tried to look as if he had never done such a thing. He went to the door and put his head out, listening. “Doctor coming,” he said. “All righta leave you with ’im.”

“Of course it’s all right,” said Manvers. But Gil shook his head.

“Don Luis make me sick,” he said. “No use ’e come ’ere.”

“You mean that he might have another shot at me?”

Gil nodded; very wide-eyed and serious he was. “’E try. I know ’im too much.” Manvers shut his eyes.

“I expect he’ll have the decency to wait till I’m about again. Anyhow, I’ll risk it. What you have to do is to get Manuela away.”

“Yessir,” said Gil in his best English, and admitted the surgeon with a bow. Then he went lightfooted out of the room and shut the door after him.

He was away two hours or more, and when he returned seemed perfectly happy.

“Manuela quite safa now,” he told his master.

“Where is she, Gil?” he was asked, and waved his hand airily for reply.

“She all right, sir. Near ’ere. Quita safe. Presently I see ’er.” He could not be brought nearer than that. Questioned on other matters, he reported that he had failed to find either Don Luis or Tormillo, and was quite unable to say how they knew of his master’s relations with the Valencian girl, or what their further intentions were. His chagrin at having been found wanting in any single task set him was a great delight to Manvers and amused the slow hours of his convalescence.

His wound, which was deep but not dangerous, healed well and quickly. In ten days he was up again and inquiring for Manuela’s whereabouts. Better not see her, he was advised, until it was perfectly certain that Don Luis was appeased. Gil promised that in a few days’ time he would give an account of everything.

It is doubtful, however, whether he would have kept his word, had not events been too many for him. One day after dinner he asked his master if he might speak to him. On receiving permission, he drew him apart into a little room, the door of which he locked.

“Hulloa, Gil Perez,” said Manvers, “what is your game now?”

“Sir,” said Gil, holding his head up, and looking him full in the face. “I must espeak to you about Manuela. She is in the Carcel de la Corte to-morrow they take ’er to the Audiencia about that assassination.” He folded his arms and waited, watching the effect of his words.

Manvers was greatly perturbed. “Then you’ve made a mess of it,” he said angrily. “You’ve made a mess of it.”

“No mess,” said Gil Perez. “She tell me must go to gaol. I say, all righta, lady.”

“You had no business to say anything of the sort,” Manvers said. “I am sorry I ever allowed you to interfere. I am very much annoyed with you, Perez.” He had never called him Perez before and that hurt Gil more than anything. His voice betrayed his feelings.

“You casta me off call me Perez, lika stranger! All right, sir what you like,” he stammered. “I tell you, Manuela very fine girl and why the devil I make ‘er bad? No, sir, that imposs’. She too good for me. She say, Don Luis estab my saviour! Never, never, for me! I show Don Luis what’s whata, she say. I give myself up to justice; then ’e keepa quiet say, That’s all right. So she say to Paquita that big girl who sleep with ’er when when ” he was embarrassed. “Mostly always sleep with ’er,” he explained “She say, ’Give me your veil, Paquita de mi alma.’ Then she cover ’erself and say to me, ‘Come, Gil Perez.’ I say, ‘Senorita, where you will.’ We go to the Carcel de la Corte. Three or four alguazils in the court see ’er come in; saluta ’er, ‘Good-day, senora at the feet of your grace,’ they say; for they think ’’ere come a dam fine woman to see ‘er lover.’ She eshiver and lift ’erself. ‘I am no senora,’ she essay. ’Bad girl. Nama Manuela. I estab Don Bartolome Ramonez de Alavia in the wood of La Huerca. You taka me do what you like.’ Sir, I say, thata very fine thing. I would kissa the ’and of any girl who do that same I kiss your ’and.” His voice broke. “By God, I would!”

“What next?” said Manvers, moved himself.

“Sir,” said Gil Perez, “those alguazils clacka the tongue. ’Soho, la Manola!’ say one, and lift ’er veil and look at ’er. All those others come and look too. They say she dam pretty woman. She standa there and look at them, lika they were dirt down in the street. Then I essay, ’Senores, you pleasa conduct this lady to the carcelero in two minutes, or you pay me, Gil Perez, ’er esservant. Thisa lady ’ave friends,’ I say. ‘Better for you, senores, you fetcha carcelero.’ They look at me sharp and they thinka so too. Then the carcelero ’e come, and I espeak with him and say, ’We ’ave too much money. Do what you like.’”

“And what did he do?” Manvers asked.

“He essay, ‘Lady, come with me.’ So then we go away witha carcelero, and I eshow my fingers so to those alguazils and say, ’Dam your eyes, you fellows, vayan ustedes con Dios!’ Then the carcelero maka bow. ’E say to Manuela, ’Senora, you ’ave my littla room. All by yourself. My wifa she maka bed you first-class in there. Nothing to do with them dogs down there. I give them what-for lika shot,’ say the carcelero. So I pay ’im well with your bills, sir, and see Manuela all the time every day.”

He took rapid strides across the room but stopped abruptly and looked at Manvers. There was fire in his eyes. “She lika saint, sir. I catch ’er on ’er knees before our Lady of Atocha. I ’ear ’er words all broken to bits. I see ’er estrike ’er breasts Oh, God, that make me mad! She say, ’Oh, Lady, you with your sorrow and your love you know me very well. Bad girl, too unfortunate, too miserable your daughter all the sama, and your lover. Give me a great ’eart, Lady, that I may tell all the truth all all all! If ‘e thoughta well of me,’ she say, crying like one o’clock, ’let ’im know me better. No good ’e think me fine woman no good he kissa me’” the delicacy with which Gil Perez treated this part of the history, which Manvers had never told him, was a beautiful thing “’I wanta tell ’im all my ’istory. Then he say, Pah, what a beast! and serva me right.’ Sir, then she bow righta down to the grounda, she did, and covered ’er ’ead. I say, ’Manuela, I love you with alla my soul but you do well, my ‘eart.’ And then she turn on me and tell me to go quick.”

“So you are in love with her, Gil?” Manvers asked him. Gil admitted it.

“I love ’er the minute I see ’er at the corrida. My ’earta go alla water but I know ’er. I say to myself, “That is la Manuela of my master Don Osmondo. You be careful, Gil Perez.’”

Manvers said, “Look here, Gil, I’m ashamed of myself. I kissed her, you know.”

“Yessir,” said Gil, and touched his forehead like a groom.

“If I had known that you but I had no idea of it until this moment. I can only say ”

“Master,” said Gil, “saya nothing at all. I love Manuela lika mad that quite true; but she thinka me dirt on the pavement.”

“Then she’s very wrong,” Manvers said.

“No, sir,” said Gil, “thata true. All beautiful girls lika that. I understanda too much. But look ’ere if she belong to me, that all the same, because I belong to you. You do what you like with ’er. I say, That all the same to me!”

“Gil Perez,” said Manvers, “you’re a gentleman, and I’m very much ashamed of myself. But we must do what we can for Manuela. I shall give evidence, of course. I think I can make the judge understand.”

Gil was inordinately grateful, but could not conceal his nervousness. “I think the Juez, ’e too much friend with Don Luis. I think ’e know what to do all the time before. Manuela have too mucha trouble. Alla same she ver’ fine girl, most beautiful, most unhappy. That do ’er good if she cry.”

“I don’t think she’ll cry,” Manvers said, and Gil Perez snorted.

“She cry! By God she never! She Espanish girl, too mucha proud, too mucha dicksure what she do with Don Bartolome. She know she serve ’im right. Do againa all the time. What do you think ’e do with ’er when ’e ’ave ‘er out there in Pobledo an’ all those places? Vaya! I tell you, sir. ’E want to live on ’er. ’E wanta make ’er too bad. Then she run lika devil. Sir, I tell you what she say to me other days. ’When I saw ‘im come longside Don Osmundo,’ she say, ’I look in ’is face an’ I see Death. ’E grin at me then I know why ’e come. ’E talk very nice soft, lika gentleman then I know what ’e want. I say, Son of a dog, never!’”

“Poor girl,” said Manvers, greatly concerned.

“Thata quite true, sir,” Gil Perez agreed. “Very unfortunate fine girl. But you know what we say in Espain. Make yourself ’oney, we say, and the flies willa suck you. Manuela too much ’oney all the time. I know that, because she tell me everything, to tell you.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Manvers.

“Bedam if I do,” said Gil Perez.