“Marriage,” Mr. Belvedere announced. “Contract. Husband. Wife.” He mimed a ring on his finger, then pointed to Sophia, who blushed crimson.
The notary frowned.
His assistant—a wiry young man with ink-stained cuffs—piped up in hesitant English. “You want—marriage contract?”
“Yes!” Theodore said with relief. “Now, please, if it’s at all possible.”
The assistant rattled off rapid Portuguese to his master. The notary pursed his lips, looked them over, then shrugged in a Latin gesture of “why not?” and motioned for them to sit. An iron grille covered the open window, and they sat before a scarred oak desk.
“You joinsoldados—the soldiers?” the assistant asked. He held a pretend musket and fired it. The Portuguese were very lively with their hands. “You Englishmen—need contract because not Catholic.” He crossed himself.
Mr. Belvedere grinned. “Another lover of charades! What luck. Yes, that’s it. I want to get it all legal before I join the army.”
The assistant took Sophia’s hand and kissed it. “Muito romântico.You have money,senhor?”
From an inner pocket, Thedore removed several crowns and half crowns. “I have English money, but notreals.”
The boy exclaimed like it was golden treasure, “Ah! Yes, very good.” He spoke in Portuguese with his master, and then picked up one crown, pushing the other coins back toward Theodore. “We need witnesses.” He held up two fingers. “Two. You wait.”
“Right you are. I love this boy.”
The assistant disappeared into the street, and Sophia felt awkward waiting with the notary who looked vaguely amused. “I suppose the exchange rate is very good—do you think that’s why he exclaimed?”
“I suspect it is. I think I heard that one pound is worth nearly three thousand reals, or threemilreis, as they call it. They might be overcharging us—they almost certainly are—but I don’t feel the need to haggle for this.”
The notary went back to his work, copying something that might have been a death certificate into a bound book, but eventually the assistant popped up again. He had with him a small, dapper man with a silk cravat.
“I am here to translate,” he said brightly. “Manuel da Costa, at your service. I speak the King’s English very nearly as well as I drink it.”
Theodore shook his hand. “Splendid. My fiancée and I wish to contract marriage under Portuguese law.”
Sophia flushed at the word fiancée, though she had insisted upon this herself. She felt very much like a conspirator in a play.
“I am happy to help, sir. A small fee—the boy says you are willing?” They easily agreed on terms, a half-crown for his assistance as interpreter and witness.
“We will need one more witness,” he said.
“Of course.” Theodore stuck his head out the open door. “You there—an honest gentlemen for a quick signature? A shilling in it for you, sir.”
A British seaman—an enlisted man, not an officer—stumbled over from a nearby wine shop. “What’s all this then?” he asked amiably.
“We need another witness to our marriage contract,” Theodore explained.
“Ah, right enough! Congratulations.”
The notary pulled out a blank contract form and a stick of sealing wax. He spoke slowly, and the translator helped relay their information. “Names? Ages? Widow or bachelor? Will you live as husband and wife?”
They paused now and again as he wrote it out. “Agree… property… consent.” Each time Theodore nodded and said “Yes, yes,” until Sophia elbowed him in the ribs to be patient.
The notary read the civil contract in sonorous Portuguese when it was done. Manuel murmured each line in English, including their names, nationalities, Sophia’s widowhood, Theodore’s gentlemanly status, and their mutual consent “to live as husband and wife.” There was even a token dowry clause, which Theodore had grinned and listed as five pounds.
The notary’s quill scratched; thin wax seals were pressed. The sailor scrawled a few characters which might’ve been Smalls or Simons, and Mr. da Costa signed in an elegant hand.
At last the notary handed them a copy. Manuel translated his instructions. “Now you are… legally bound, in Portugal. They wish you to understand that it must be blessed by the church to be fully recognized. Here in Portugal, that would be the Catholic church; in England, your own church.”
“Yes, we understand,” Theodore said. “But this is legal—if I died?—”
Manuel translated the question and answer from the notary. “Yes. Thesenhorawould inherit everything. The notary also says he does will and testament—if you so desire? Also, he urges me to remind you that children will be legitimate and impossible to repudiate, even without the blessing of the church?—”
