Inés thought it was hypocritical of her aunt to say such a thing, especially when she had a bank account. Her aunt was not hiding her money under the mattress. How much was in that account? She’d have to find out. Whatever it was, she needed to split it with Ulises. But anything was surely better than the few pesos Inés had.
“Anyway, you shouldn’t concern yourself with those matters. It’s not something a young lady should think about.”
“Filomeno hasn’t been doing too well.”
“Tell me, who is doing well? Do you see boxes of bonbons and sweets lying around? If you pity people, they’ll take advantage of you. Don’tbother me about Filomeno again and go help in the kitchen. What a silly girl you are, just like your mother in every way.”
“Yes, Aunt Perla,” she said mechanically, and the memory of her mother hardened her resolve.
Her aunt would never let her go. She needed to run away, with enough money to make a successful escape and never return the way her mother had returned, driven by necessity.
She was a creature full of wants and she hungered. Against that hunger all thoughts of meekness and obedience melted away.
Hell was reduced to a speck, a nothing.
—
“You aren’t intending to waste your afternoon with those old hens, are you?” Nepomuceno asked.
Inés had a tray with canapés in her arms and Nepomuceno held the door to the sitting room open for her. The dog, which had been waiting for an opportunity to sneak inside, rushed ahead of her, merrily wagging its tail.
It was right after High Mass, and since it was Sunday, the servants had the day off. This suited Inés because there was less chance of anyone noticing what she was up to.
“I said I’d help.”
“If you turn pious and join that Committee for Morality and Good Taste, I’ll be disappointed.”
“No danger of that. This is one meeting to help plan the festivities.” She quickly deposited the canapés on a table and turned around to go back to the kitchen for more food, but not before she shooed the dog out of the room. If left alone, it would gobble the entire tray.
Nepomuceno followed her after pocketing one of the snacks. “Mr. Linares must be mad or utterly bored to be joining the reunion.”
“I think he was being polite to the Zorrilla sisters when he said he’d sit down with them. I’m not sure he’ll stay for the whole meeting.”
“There won’t be much in terms of drinks, will there?”
Inés quirked an eyebrow at him as they reached the door to the kitchen. “Professor Nepomuceno—”
“Don’t chide me, dulcet child. My throat is parched, and I have a bit of a cough. We both know the remedy for that is a drop of sherry.”
“A cup of gordolobo tea would be better for that,” she said, but then he looked at her with his sad eyes, that old scarecrow of a man, and she nodded. “You’re not supposed to drink, the doctor said so.”
“What does the doctor know?”
“If not the doctor, think about my aunt. She’ll have you out of the house if you continue to take sips from her sherry.”
“She’ll have me out of the house anyway. I owe her two months of rent and I have no chance of catching up. She’ll put me out in the street in a few weeks, with my books piled around me.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“She would,” he said, but without resentment.
“I suppose so,” Inés said. “She’s heartless.”
“You shouldn’t judge her too harshly. The world kicks you around enough, you develop a callus. I ought to know.”
He looked so exhausted when he spoke, so old, that she wouldn’t have been able to deny him even if she’d wanted to. “A thimble, you hear me? If too much disappears from the bottle, I’ll be in trouble. And take Diógenes with you. My aunt will complain if he’s running around the sitting room again.”
“I will.”
