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Victoria: A Tale of Spain

By Sarah Scheele

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The Alcazar, Segovia, Spain: 1714


Many people’s parents have friends. Victoria’s did not.

They were Spanish nobility, for one thing—which explained most of it. Spain had been the dominant power in Europe at one time, but had steadily lost importance, a decline largely caused by the sixteenth-century king, Felipe II. Felipe (given the polite nickname of the “The Prudent” when he was really thought of as “The Hated”), had had the wonderful idea of making his tightly governed, closed regime an international presence by persecuting everyone who belonged to a branch of religion other than his own. There were, at that time, many, many such people in Europe.

Spain was now extremely unpopular—even the king of its closest ally, the Austrian empire, recommended avoiding it—and chronically hostile to outsiders. The proud aristocratic families were very reclusive, and when a phenomenally strict practice of their faith was added to an enforced haughty coldness designed to make them appear majestic, it made sense that Duke Carlos of Segovia and his wife, Duchess Sarasa, had practically no friends at all. And, of course, if they had no friends their children could not think of having any. That would be quite disrespectful.

“I don’t mind it now,” Bella remarked to Victoria. She stood before the mirror and draped a long lace veil over her head. Their parents emphasized heavy, old-fashioned clothes, but Bella did not mind the veil. It protected from the intense Spanish sun. “No, don’t look sarcastic. It’s really true.”

“I wasn’t looking sarcastic,” said Victoria, indistinctly. “You try smiling like a saint with pins in your mouth.”

She was sewing. The duke and duchess were great advocates for the domestic arts, even though their isolated daughters had no visitors to whom to show off their neatly mended sheets. The two sisters were lucky to be halfway good-looking. Because the Spanish royals were on bad terms with nearly everyone, they had been marrying into a tiny gene pool of their cousins for a long time, and this had translated down into the nobles who frequently married into them. Most Spaniards of any rank were rather ugly, but the sisters had somehow contrived to appear acceptable. Bella’s bouncy black hair hung in curls over her expressive eyes, whereas Victoria’s smooth hair was quite thin and her eyes were almost unblinking.

“You are not old,” Victoria remarked, without looking up.

Bella smiled embarrassedly, turning from the mirror. “Am I that predictable? I don’t drone about health like Mother, do I?”

“No, you don’t sound like Mother. But you are predictable—at times.”

She smiled quickly, so Bella would not feel hurt. After a lifetime of stinging loneliness spent in the castle, Bella was as raw as a hunk of beef hanging in the sun. Victoria knew all about it. She knew many other things as well, but she was good at keeping secrets. That was largely her occupation these days.
Bella looked soberly in the mirror. Beneath the soft white flow of shining lace, the sadness behind her eyes was almost invisible. “It’s hard when I reflect on the future. After so long, it would be difficult for me to make friends without being hurt. Loneliness twists your mind so you can’t meet people openly.”

Victoria glanced thoughtfully at her. “What you say is very true. You are always truthful. And that, dear Bella, is why you fail.”

The walls of the Alcazar, the ancient castle that had been handed into their family’s keeping after the Habsburgs moved into newer palaces, were sharply silhouetted by the blazing sun that poured in through the balcony, the walls of which were lined with arches. Where the girls were sitting it was cool and dark, the room lighted only by rich brocade on the sofa and bright colors on the painted walls.

“It is not a failure to be a deeper person,” said Bella. “Perhaps I would not have been so if my life had pleased me better.”

She sounded defiant. Most people, rather faintly, despised Bella, because she was not married and because her parents were tyrannous to her. But then, they were stupid people. Victoria was not stupid.

“If I’d been spoiled like Neva and Therese, I might have been selfish like them. But I can look in that mirror and know that it will not show me anything to be ashamed of. That is what matters.”

Victoria eyed Bella as if seeing her for the first time, coldly sizing her up. Victoria often did this, which was why she was close to few people. It’s unsettling to be looked at by a person who seems to see your underwear. But it did not bother Bella, from which Victoria concluded that Bella wasn’t stupid. She was simply honest, which was the same thing as being not quite a grownup in Victoria’s book. That was sad perhaps, but it was not the same thing as stupidity.

Bella spoke as if to herself. “Since the Inquisition, our family has been afraid. Afraid that we have sunk in the estimation of other countries, and afraid that the factions at home resent us because of the past. When people don’t feel proud of themselves, they hate the truth. You’ve always been able to tell them exactly what they want to hear.”

“There’s nothing elevated about being injured senselessly. Then how can you help others?”

Bella smiled. “I know.”

She rose abruptly and began adjusting her veil as her stepmother entered. Duchess Sarasa was the daughter of a minor duke from the Granada area, and many people had questioned her marrying into a dukedom situated so near the royal family, who lived at El Escorial a few miles away. Her native region was packed with remaining, secret Moors and her family was known to be sympathetic toward them. Her lack of popularity and widespread mistrust of her among the people of Segovia had sped up her husband’s withdrawal from society. The two were a very unfriendly pair. Carlos rarely went outside his domains and Sarasa did not like visitors. Her ideal life was to sit alone in a medieval castle, employing her six daughters in projects while assuring them that the outside world was a horrible place. She sat down, sighing and visibly touching her back. Her health had turned a little weak after delivering five children (two of whom had died) but she exaggerated the illnesses for effect these days.

“Did you see that the oregano is growing so well? It was a lot of work for me to set them out, but it really does lend an aromatic scent. Aroma is so important to your father, you know.”

Victoria ignored the duchess’s condescending tone. Duchess Sarasa had not gone to any work over the eight hundred potted oregano plants that now lined the south balcony like a forest. She had merely planned the project, and Bella and Lucinda had spent a day in the blazing sun doing the actual labor. Neva had whined out of the chore by complaining that she felt ill and Araina really had become ill halfway through and retired to bed with a stomach-ache.

“Oregano is one of the best plants. I think it smells like babies,” Victoria remarked, demurely.

Sarasa emitted a wide, patronizing smile. “Well, I’m sure there are people who would contest that! It’s an Italian plant, after all, cultivated since the ninth century by the monks of Tuscany. I suppose there are people who think it smells like pasta!”

She chuckled almost hysterically, as if apologizing for saying something so intellectual to an untrained mind. Her daughter might not be able to handle the origins of oregano quite yet, being at twenty-seven just barely getting older. Victoria’s face was calm.

“But then, it’s true I used to use a little oregano to sweeten the diapers for Neva and Araina,” the duchess added, simpering. “You probably remember that? From when you were very young, dear.”

Victoria assured her, sweetly, that she did remember. Sarasa had refused to employ a nursemaid, insisting that it wasn’t natural and motherly to let someone else care for her babies. But then she had been constantly tired or having a backache. In reality Victoria and Bella had changed all those diapers and spent nights awake with their step-siblings. Carlos had talked a great deal about his wife’s blue circles and how she certainly mustn’t overwork herself. Yes, Victoria remembered the oregano. In fact, though it was not her general nature to have strong emotions, she wasn’t overly fond of the plant.

Sarasa rocked as she munched some cheese from a small silver platter. “Babies. I’ve always liked babies. But then, I’m such a terribly devoted mother—I always try, at any rate.”

“You’ve given us the most valuable moral instruction, not like those flighty mothers who think only of dances or clothing,” Victoria said, as if on cue.
Sarasa quite beamed. Her eyes lighted up and suddenly she seemed to see Victoria very well indeed. Sarasa’s habitual expression was intentionally bleary, but flattery did wonders to restore her eyesight. Bella remained at the mirror, not participating. Stiffness hung constantly between her and the duchess these days. Her stepmother, though unwilling to admit it even to herself, had always secretly disliked Bella. Bella had become desperate under this disapproval, since her confined existence had elevated both parents to an almost godlike status, and she had really come to believe there was something wrong with her because she could never quite please. She had deliberately worn clothes she hated in a hope that her stepmother might like them. She had refused friendships because she hoped the duchess would be flattered by her loyalty. She had even hidden from male attention because her stepmother constantly preached at her that only a bad girl would seem the least bit encouraging. These were the things that Victoria had seen, and she suspected that she had only seen half of what went on. Bella didn’t tell her everything, naturally enough. After all, a heart, like any other sort of innard, is best kept hidden where it belongs.

Victoria knew that Bella was gifted enough to gain much social importance if she were ever allowed to know her own abilities. Her personality was not suited to the introverted, sour mood that dominated Spain at the moment and she was trapped in it like a bird in a cage. Sarasa, on the other hand, was easily overlooked and fiercely aware of women she considered more powerful. Her personality was perfectly suited to the current mood of the Spanish court, but she had been so dull and unable to make even a small effort that she had been a total failure anyway. Now she was eaten up with almost unconscious, vicious jealousy of anyone who could be successful. Though hardly admitting to her own resentment, the duchess had stubbornly refused to see that Bella, with no friends and no influences other than her stepmother, was not powerful but powerless and easily hurt. She had felt only a primitive need to keep her stepdaughter humble. Victoria had escaped similar dislike through her bizarre ability to make people believe she was whatever they wanted her to be. Sarasa had seen Bella’s growing sadness, but refused to admit it was there. Of late, Bella’s eagerness had been replaced by a lingering shadow in the eyes that remained like haze after a detonation.

Victoria returned to her work. The duchess, conscious that a silence had fallen, changed the subject. Her sister, one of the few people with whom she kept up any connection, was visiting the Alcazar. This woman had brought news of the outside world.

“Did you know what your Aunt Faline told me? Your cousin Rosina is getting married! Wouldn’t you two like to go to the wedding? I could talk to your father about it . . .”

Bella frowned and even Victoria couldn’t muster more than a neutral expression. As the girls had aged, increasing awareness that they were not married—with refusal to admit potential husbands had not been provided for them—had prompted an endless string of ecstatic news bulletins about the marriages of other girls. Sarasa clearly expected Bella and Victoria to feel married by association. Neither girl knew Rosina. Neither wanted to attend her wedding.

“But . . . all my old friends will be there!” Sarasa exclaimed, baffled.

“We don’t know them,” Bella informed her, calmly.

Sarasa flushed crimson. “Oh, of course you know them! Don’t you remember? They came here years ago!”

“We were about nine,” said Bella. “And they didn’t talk to us.”

Sarasa looked helplessly at Victoria, who didn’t argue. The duchess stitched her lips and softly drifted out of the room. A faint air of disapproval lingered, but Victoria was immune and Bella past caring. They quietly resumed their activities.

It was late afternoon and the sun was at its highest. The contrast between the blazing streams of light and the rest of the dark, cool room was intense. Victoria could hardly see the lush red and gold hues of the painting of her grandfather’s receipt of the dukedom on the wall at the far end of the room. As she sat sewing, her mind drifted to a new course. She glanced over her shoulder, to where a row of triangular parapets stood like sentinels, almost invisible in the whitish sunlight that poured over them in dusky shafts.
There were six sisters in the Alcazar, the three youngest born after Sarasa’s marriage to Duke Carlos. The reaction of the other girls to their dull, artificially juvenile existence had been very different from Bella’s frantic effort to please. Victoria knew that the three younger ones crept out of the castle nearly every night, to wild parties and excesses of which their parents had no notion. Therese, the third sister, had eloped with the first man who showed any interest in her—according to reports now some kind of good-for-nothing puppet duke near Austria. Victoria supposed it was only human to be deceptive, given their unreasonably confined mode of life. But, in her heart, she knew that Bella was correct not to do such things. Ironically, their parents foolishly viewed Bella as the least loyal because she occasionally disagreed with them! What Victoria said was always true—but what Bella said was always more true, in a way Victoria had never quite been able to define.

“It is so strange that you do not lie and betray like everyone else,” she mused. “Maybe it isn’t quite ‘grownup’ to tell the truth. But in that case the truest friend is never quite a grownup.”

When she turned around, the room was empty, streaks of golden light shining over the vacant sofa. Bella was gone.

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