Days of the Dead.pdf - Upgrade Systems

Though his crimson livery was cut in the fashion of the previous century, he did not wear a wig, and like
most of the hacienda servants, he wore crude, moccasin-like zapatos rather than shoes. His Spanish
was good. "I heard them say that you were Don Hannibal's friend. That the English government sent you
to help him."
"Indeed they did," said January, casually fishing a silver reale from his pocket, which Bonifacio
accepted without hesitation or embarrassment. News traveled as fast, January reflected, through the
servants' dormitories here as it did among the slaves back in New Orleans, and for the same reasons.
When your life and your livelihood depend on the folks in the Big House-on their whims and
preferences­-gossip takes on a completely different dimension than mere pastime. You cannot say of a
man "His anger is his prob­lem, I don't have to truckle to his crochets" if he has the power to sell your
children, or to keep you safe from the re­cruiters of a voracious Army, or to throw your family off the
land that is the only thing between you and the hope­less life of ape on the streets of the capital.
And every silver reale is one more bright little weapon with which to battle hopelessness and fear.
"Did you see his body?"
"Oh, yes, Señor. I was one of those who helped carry it down to be cleaned by the women."
"Would it be permitted that I speak with some of these women?"
“Of course, Señor. I will take you to them myself." Bonifacio straightened the last of the napkins and
tableware on the sideboard as he passed, and led the way out into the corredor.
"On the night of Don Fernando's death, do you think someone could have come into the study through
Don Prospero's room?"
"I don't think so, Señor." The footman nodded a greet­ing as they passed other servants on the stair,
carrying up cans of hot water for guests. "The door from the Padre's room into the corredor was locked
with a padlock, and the one that connects it with the chamber beyond-the cham­ber that used to be the
dressing-room between Don Prospero's chamber and that of his wife-was also bolted. I don't think
Señorita Natividad would have opened it for any reason."
January glanced back over his shoulder as they de­scended the tiled stair, mentally raising his eyebrows
at the idea of the master of the house giving his son's fiancé former mistress or not-a bedchamber
adjoining his own. "And who has that room now?"
"Señorita Natividad," replied Bonifacio without change of expression. "It is where she always stays."
"I see," said January, wondering-as Consuela had wondered-why it was Fernando who had been
murdered and not his father. "And who had the corner room, then?"
"That was Don Fernando's room, Señor," answered the footman. "He stayed there whenever he was at
Mictlán, and locked it up and kept the key with him when he was away in town. It was his mother's
room, you understand-­ Doña Maria-Exaltación de Borregos-and after her, that of Doña Melosia,
Valentina's mother. It was Doña Melosia who had the lock put on, though she seldom stayed here on
the hacienda. Doña Melosia was a woman of great sensibil­ity," the servant added tactfully. "A woman
of the city, un­used to the countryside and its ways. She stayed mostly at the town house as Don
Prospero came here more and more. When her husband entertained the gods inside his head"-he tapped
his temple significantly-"you can see how troubling it would be for her."