Lola Montez Conquers the Spaniards Read Online Free Page A

aggressive!”
    â€œNot for the women; that is not how they operate. Formality on the surface, hostility well hidden. Have you seen the Spanish women with their fans?” She snapped hers in my face. “All fan gestures to men have sensual implications, and the slower the movement the more intense the implication. Do you follow me?”
    â€œOh yes.” My fan caressed the imaginary arm of a grandee, moving lower, and ending with a mischievous flick.
    At this, she gave me quite the look. Perhaps it was this little indiscretion, this braggadocio, on my part that gave her the dastardly idea in the first place. The woman would do anything for money.
    â€œWhere were you raised?”
    â€œMany places,” I told her. “India.”
    â€œAha. That odd, displeasing lilting—it is barbaric, stop it at once.” She looked me up and down in a calculated manner. “Where else have you lived?”
    Still hoping to impress, silly me, I lied, “Oh, Paris. C’est joli! ” I’d been accustomed to fabricating, teasing provincial young girls during the many dreary years I’d lived at the Ladies’ Boarding Academy in Bath, lonely and bored with my real life. At age twelve I’d declared I would go by Rosana because it had a Continental zing, and had severely exasperated the Misses Aldridge by refusing to answer any longer to Eliza.
    â€œSpain?” Miss Kelly prodded.
    â€œ Sí. Seville for a summer, and of course Madrid.” Pure invention.
    â€œThen how can you be so dense about the power of the fan? Other than carnal, which you seem to understand all too well.”
    In the middle of the second month, Miss Kelly finally allowed me to play a scene, with herself as my partner. For reasons unknown to me, she had invited a strange little man with dyed jet-black hair and an appearance of being shriveled by the sun. She didn’t bother to introduce us, just had him sit off to the side while we went at it, and being observed by this fellow, who contorted himself into excited shapes and squiggles (in turn grabbing his hair, covering his eyes while peeking through his fingers, then corkscrewing his legs around one another)—well, I failed the scene utterly.
    â€œYou cannot seem to grasp the first rule of the theatre, Miss Gilbert!” an exasperated Miss Kelly cried, flinging down her pages. “You do not actually feel this, you portray it! God in Heaven!”
    â€œBut I wish . . . I want . . .”
    â€œWishing and wanting will not bring it to you, girl. I give up, you are not an actress.”
    â€œBut I must be something!” I began to tremble, horrified to have come so far and have spent so much only to be told I was terrible.
    â€œYou possess an impressive self-importance, this is true,” the termagant continued. “A strong will. And an abnormally restless body. Perhaps you are a dancer. Although, since you have no training there, that is likely also an avenue that is closed to you. What do you think, Mr. Hernandez?”
    The dark little gnome leapt to his feet and pointed one toe. “ Maravilloso. I think she will do, Miss Kelly. She is exactamente what we—that is, I —am looking for.”
    â€œGood. Then I’ll leave you.” And without further ado, other than to take my guinea from me, my teacher swept off.
    I was at a loss. Here I was, sweaty from effort, left to deal with this stranger who thought I would do. Do what?
    â€œDo you speak Spanish, Miss Gilbert?” His thick accent drew out every vowel in a greasy manner, especially when he spoke my name.
    â€œThat is not one of my languages, I regret to say, monsieur.”
    â€œBut you do speak languages?”
    I wondered where this was leading. “Of course. French, impeccably. Latin, German. Hindi, including several dialects.”
    â€œI am a dancing master, Miss Gilbert. I teach the dances of my country, of España. Do you know the dances to