Buch lesen: «Redemption of a Fallen Woman»

Duke of Rothermere

Castonbury Park

Harry,

It is with much regret that I must admit we have wasted precious time in the hunt for the truth. What might have become of Jamie is still unclear and our family name remains in tatters. What was once a powerful dynasty is fast crumbling around us and I fear that we may have to give in to the demands of the woman who calls herself Jamie’s wife.

Harry, I beg of you to stop the rot which is fast taking over the Montagues and discover once and for all what has happened to Jamie. Time is, as ever, of the essence, and I urge you from the bottom of my heart not to find any distractions along the way …

Yours hopefully,

Father

About the Author

JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination and she has travelled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles. Visit Joanna’s website at www.joannafulford.co.uk

Previous novels by the same author:

THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE

THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS

THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE

THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Redemption of a Fallen Woman
Joanna Fulford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For the Old Guard in Madrid

Chapter One

Elena Ruiz stared out of the window letting her gaze range across the rooftops of the city towards the open countryside and thence to the foothills of the Sierra de Guadarrama, shimmering in a dusty haze. Out there, beyond the jumble of pantiled slopes and chimneys, lay freedom. It was an emotive word. Her fellow countrymen and women had spent eight long years freeing themselves from the French invaders. She had played her part in that, and gladly too. When the conflict ended she desired no more than to live a quiet country life, but such freedom was not permitted women of noble birth. For them the choice was simple: marriage or the cloister.

Betrothal had taken place in a past life when she had been a different person. Young, naive and hopeful she had never questioned her pre-ordained role. The war had seemed far off then. It had caught up with her eventually, of course. As a result marriage was out of the question. No man of good family would want her now. In any case the thought of intimacy filled her with dread. Men did not touch her and the only one foolish enough to try had found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Even then it took a bullet crease in his arm to convince him she wasn’t bluffing. The incident was sufficient to keep the rest at a respectful distance. Memories were another matter. By day, useful employment kept them at bay but at night the dreams still returned, less often now but no less violent for that. She would never be entirely free of those. Her hands clenched at her sides and she turned away from the window to resume her slow pacing of the floor.

Her companion surveyed her keenly. Although of a similar age to Elena, her dress revealed her to be of the household servant class. In spite of unfashionable olive skin, her face with its high cheekbones and pointed chin was not ill-looking, though the mouth was too large for conventional beauty. However, the dark eyes were shrewd and intelligent and, just now, expressive of concern.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know, Concha, but somehow we have to get out of this house.’

‘Your uncle’s servants are vigilant.’

‘Vigilant, but not infallible. I’ll think of something.’

‘Better to think quickly, then. We have only a few days more.’

‘I will not spend the rest of my life shut away just to suit notions of family honour.’

‘If we don’t find a way out of here you may have no choice. Your uncle is powerful and, as we have already seen, he has the means to compel obedience.’

That was undeniable, Elena reflected. He had no qualms about bringing her to Madrid against her will, and he would have none about expediting the rest of his plan either. As the head of the family now it was his responsibility to guard its reputation, a duty he took most seriously, and she had become a liability.

‘I’ll think of something,’ she replied, as though repetition might make it true.

Since their arrival two days earlier she had racked her brains trying to think of a viable plan. The only person whom she knew would help her was Dolores, but her beloved older sister was married and settled in England now. She might as well have been on the moon. As for Luisa and Estefania … they were lost to her for good. Even after four years the memory was still painful and she pushed it aside, along with all the others pertaining to that time. The past was done with, and if she didn’t put her mind to the present problem the future would be irrevocably blighted too.

‘At least you are not without means,’ said Concha.

‘Money is not the problem. There’s enough and to spare, but it will be no use unless we can get out of Madrid.’

‘If … when … we do leave, your uncle is certain to mount a search.’

‘We’ll worry about that when the time comes,’ said Elena. ‘In the meantime we must not give any reason for suspicion. Being under house arrest is bad enough. I don’t want to be locked in my room as well.’

Concha nodded. ‘You are right. Let it be thought that you are becoming resigned to your uncle’s will.’

‘Exactly.’ Elena made a vague gesture with her hands. ‘I have no wish to be at odds with him, or any other member of my family, but as it is … there’s no choice now.’

The sound of iron-rimmed wheels and horses’ hooves distracted her momentarily and she glanced out of the window to the street below to see a carriage approaching. Instead of driving past as she expected it stopped outside the house. To judge by the heavily sweating horses and the dust on the bodywork the vehicle had travelled some way. All the same, under the grime, it was a handsome equipage and certainly the property of a nobleman.

As she watched, a servant jumped down to open the door and let down the steps. A single passenger emerged, a gentleman, very elegantly dressed. He paused on the paved walkway and glanced up at the house. Elena caught her breath. Problems temporarily forgotten, she stared, arrested by a face in which strong lines accentuated the chiselled planes of cheek and nose and jaw. The hair visible below his hat was dark. He seemed to be tall too, certainly much taller than the servant with him, and carried himself with the air of one used to command.

Concha came to join her by the window and now stared in her turn. ‘Dios mio! Who is that?’

‘I don’t know. One of my uncle’s acquaintances from the embassy, perhaps?’

‘I imagined all his acquaintances must be old and ugly but I take it back now—unreservedly.’

They had no time for further observation because the unknown caller entered the house and was lost to view. Elena turned away from the window. She must be in more mental turmoil than she’d realised to be staring so at a complete stranger. Men were of no interest other than in a purely professional capacity. Besides, as things stood, she couldn’t afford to let herself become distracted, even briefly. All her thoughts had to focus on a means of escape.

Having presented his credentials, Harry Montague waited in the marbled hallway. It was cool and quiet in here, a welcome relief from the jolting rhythm and stifling heat of the carriage. He had almost forgotten the power of the Spanish sun. Forgetting had been deliberate and, mostly, successful, though he had been aided in that by work. Spain was a land of contrasts—a beautiful and blood-soaked land that was associated with some of the best and all of the worst days of his life. When the war had concluded he hadn’t expected that he would ever return, would never have chosen to—until circumstances made it imperative.

One swift glance around at the elegant furnishings was sufficient to suggest that the man he had come to see was both wealthy and possessed of impeccable taste. Whether he would be able to help as well remained to be seen. Coming here might be a fool’s errand but he had to try. He had promised his cousin Ross. Besides, the revelations of their last conversation were burned into his brain. Until then he’d had no idea how seriously compromised the family’s financial situation was. If he couldn’t obtain the proof he needed about Jamie’s death … He pulled himself up sharply. He would get the proof, one way or another.

Presently, the servant returned. ‘Don Manuel will receive you now, señor.’

Harry was shown into a downstairs salón, also elegantly furnished, where his host was waiting. Don Manuel Urbieta was in his middle years, his thinning hair more grey than dark, like the neat goatee beard he wore. Though slightly above average height, he was still several inches shorter than his visitor. For all that he had the proud, upright bearing that proclaimed a grandee of the hidalgo class.

When the necessary courtesies had been observed the don invited Harry to sit and, having plied him with liquid refreshment, took the chair opposite.

‘Now, my lord, won’t you tell me how I can be of service?’

Harry nodded. ‘I have come to Spain on urgent family business. It concerns my elder brother, James. He served with the British army during the war, but he was lost during the push into France.’

‘I am sorry to hear it.’

‘He was apparently swept away while crossing a flooded river.’

‘Apparently?’

‘My brother’s body was never found. The news of his death was by report only. The only witness, a man called Xavier Sanchez, disappeared shortly afterwards.’

‘I see.’

‘I made enquiries at the time, but the situation was chaotic and all attention was on the push for Toulouse. No one at headquarters was able to tell me very much, giving only the briefest account of the accident. When I tried to find the witness he had vanished too. It was like being confronted by a stone wall.’

Don Manuel eyed him shrewdly. ‘I think you have some doubts about this matter, no?’

Harry nodded. ‘There are questions in my mind, although they may just be the result of wishful thinking.’ He paused. ‘In the first place, my brother was an excellent swimmer. In the second, he worked for the Intelligence Service.’

‘Interesting.’

‘As time went on and we had no word, the family lost hope and assumed the worst. However, not long ago we received a letter from a solicitor, acting on behalf of a lady who claims to be Jamie’s wife. This lady has a young child, a son….’

Understanding dawned on Don Manuel’s face. ‘And this son stands to inherit the title if his claim proves to be legitimate.’

‘Exactly so.’

‘Have you reason to doubt this lady’s story?’

‘She may be what she claims.’

‘But you have reservations.’

‘I’m trying to keep an open mind. In view of the circumstances though, it is essential that I discover the truth.’

‘That is quite understandable.’ Don Manuel set down his glass. ‘I have contacts in the Intelligence Service here. They may be able to help. I will see what I can find out.’

‘I would be most grateful.’

‘In the meantime let me offer you the hospitality of my house.’

‘You are most generous, but I couldn’t possibly impose on you in that way.’

‘Nonsense. It will be my pleasure. Mi casa es su casa.’

‘Then I accept.’

‘Good. That’s settled, then.’ The don rose. ‘A room will be readied on the instant. Then, after you have rested from your journey, we will dine.’

The chamber to which Harry was later conducted proved to be large and comfortable. It was a courtesy he had not expected and, he admitted, far better than anything he would have met with at an inn. After the rigours of travel it would be a luxury to sleep in a decent bed again. He shrugged off his coat and then sat down to remove his boots, glancing across the room to where his manservant was unpacking a trunk.

‘I’d like to bathe if that can be arranged, Jack.’

Jack Hawkes looked up and nodded. ‘I thought you might, so I took t’liberty of bespeaking a bath for you, my lord.’

‘Wonderful. I’m beginning to smell rank.’

‘I reckon we’ve both smelt far worse.’

Harry grinned. ‘True enough.’ He tugged off a boot and then set to work on the other. ‘All the same, we’re not on campaign now and I’m not sitting down to dine in polite company until I’ve washed off all the dust.’

‘Aye, t’roads haven’t improved much since we left, have they?’

‘Unfortunately not.’ The other boot came off and Harry began to loosen his neck cloth. ‘Still, we’re here now and if there is any evidence of what happened to my brother this is where it’ll be.’

‘Let’s hope summat comes to light soon, then, my lord.’

Relaxing in the tub soon afterwards, Harry wholeheartedly endorsed that sentiment. Coming here was a long shot but it had to be done. One way or another, the doubt must be resolved. He hadn’t realised until then just how far he had been keeping hope alive. If anyone could find the information he needed it would be Don Manuel and, indeed, the man had shown himself to be a model of courtesy thus far. With his help Harry would find the answers he sought.

On the practical side there was Jack Hawkes. Ordinarily no manservant would have dreamed of or been permitted to address his master with such easy familiarity. But then, Harry reflected, there was nothing remotely ordinary about him. War formed a bond between men and, as a former member of Harry’s company during the Peninsular War, Hawkes had proved his worth a hundred times over. When the war ended and the force was demobilised he’d stayed on in the capacity of personal valet. Harry was glad of it; there were few men who were as discreet and none he trusted more.

As he dried himself and dressed he wondered whether there would be other company at dinner that evening. He had assumed that Don Manuel was married but had no idea if the wife was still living, or whether there were other relatives in the household. On arrival earlier he thought he had detected someone at an upstairs window, but the angle of view and the reflection on the glass made it hard to be sure. It would be interesting to find out.

Concha finished fastening her mistress’s gown and then stepped back, eyeing it critically. ‘It looks well, but … is red the best choice, under the circumstances?’

‘Under the circumstances it’s the only choice.’

‘I thought you would say that.’ The maid smiled wryly. ‘Your aunts won’t like it.’

‘They disapprove of me anyway. Besides, virginal white would be inappropriate now.’ Elena glanced at the clock and sighed. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go down there. The thought of another meal in that company has no appeal whatever.’

‘I know. All the same, it will be better if you do.’

‘Lull them into a sense of false security, you mean?’

‘If you appear to be following domestic protocols they are less likely to suspect anything. Then, when you have conceived your plan, they will be taken by surprise.’

Elena thought she could probably manage the protocols part, but the plan was another matter. In spite of racking her brains for a solution she had still not come up with anything feasible.

‘I’d better go. Wish me luck.’

‘Always,’ said Concha.

Elena squeezed her arm gently and smiled. Then, taking a deep breath, she headed for the door.

Chapter Two

When Harry arrived in the salón just before the appointed hour, it was to find Don Manuel already present. With him were four others. The two gentlemen, both with greying hair, appeared to be in their late forties. Both were of short stature and tending to corpulence. The two ladies looked older and both were expensively if severely gowned in black. If either ever had pretensions to beauty it was no longer evident. Nor was this deficiency ameliorated by their haughty and unsmiling demeanour. Don Manuel introduced them as his sisters, Doña Inéz and Doña Urraca. The gentlemen, Don Fernando and Don Esteban, were cousins.

As the introductions were performed Harry made a formal bow. Doña Inéz inclined her head in acknowledgement and offered a faint condescending smile that stopped well short of her dark eyes.

‘You honour us with your presence, Lord Henry. I trust that your journey here was satisfactory.’

‘Thank you, yes.’

‘I do not care to travel myself,’ she replied. ‘It is too fatiguing and the state of the roads leaves much to be desired.’

He agreed that they did. Thus encouraged, Doña Inéz went on to cover the hazards of ruts, dust, brigands and heatstroke. She was just embarking on a comprehensive condemnation of all the inns she had ever stayed in, when the salón door opened again. Harry glanced round and then, as he set eyes on the newcomer, all other thoughts went out of his head.

Elena paused on the threshold, hoping that her composure wouldn’t desert her now. Concha was right; it was important to play along for a while. Her gaze swept the room in distaste. With their dark clothing her relatives reminded her of nothing so much as a gathering of crows around their prey. They had shown about the same amount of compassion too. Then she noticed the tall figure standing beside Aunt Inéz. The man had his back to her but, as the conversation died down around him, he glanced round to find the reason.

Elena caught her breath, recognising him at once. However, that former fleeting glance through the window hadn’t done him justice; to begin with he made all the other men in the room look short, even her uncle. The lean, broad-shouldered frame suggested both strength and energy and was shown off to advantage by formal evening dress. It was severe, almost austere, and a perfect complement for his dark hair. The face, which she had formerly thought arresting, was rather more than that, like the cool grey eyes that were now surveying her steadily. The effect was to create an odd fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach.

The silence intensified. Then her uncle stepped forward. ‘Lord Henry, may I present my niece Elena?’

Harry stared, taking in the slender and willowy figure in the deep red gown. Ebony hair framed a face whose sculptural beauty was accentuated by a complexion that reminded him of ivory and roses. Her brown eyes were flecked with purest amber and, just then, expressive of some strong emotion that resisted precise identification. Curiosity stirred. Then, recollecting his manners, he made his bow.

She returned a graceful curtsey. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, my lord.’

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he replied, with perfect sincerity.

‘May I ask what brings you to Madrid?’

He summarised his mission briefly. ‘Your uncle has kindly offered his assistance.’

‘Then I hope his enquiries will be successful.’

‘Thank you, although after all this time I dare not hold out great hope.’

‘Even a little hope is better than none,’ she replied.

‘You are right, of course.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But enough about business for now. Tell me something of yourself. For instance, do you reside here with your uncle or are you just visiting?’

Before she could reply, Doña Inéz interposed. ‘My niece is visiting for a short while only.’

Beneath the irritation caused by that unwarranted interruption, he was conscious of a stab of something much like disappointment. ‘What a pity.’

‘It is a necessary deprivation for us all,’ said Doña Inéz, ‘since, in a few days’ time, she is to enter a convent and commence her novitiate.’

Elena made no reply, although her dark eyes revealed a brief flash of anger, then were swiftly veiled.

Harry was dumbfounded. The very idea that such a lovely young woman should become a nun seemed absurd—more than absurd, a criminal waste. Then he reflected that customs were different here, and that if she had such a vocation she should be entitled to follow it. Besides, it was none of his business.

‘In that case,’ he replied, ‘I wish you well on your chosen path.’

Elena looked up and again he caught that flash of anger in her eyes. However, her face remained otherwise impassive.

‘Thank you. That is most kind.’

The smooth tone held an inflection that was much like irony, and in spite of himself his curiosity mounted. He would have liked to pursue it, but not in Doña Inéz’s company. Unfortunately she showed no sign of moving away. The woman was acting like a strict dueña, almost as though she were mounting guard over her niece, though goodness only knew what she thought might happen in a room full of people.

Just then dinner was announced and Don Manuel suggested he might like to take Doña Inéz in. Good manners dictated gracious acquiescence. To his chagrin he found himself seated next to the lady at table as well. Elena took her place opposite, beside Don Fernando.

The conversation at table ranged over various topics, all of them innocuous. Everyone was perfectly civil and nothing could have been more refined than their manners, but Harry became aware of something rather different underneath, an undercurrent of tension that he couldn’t pin down. He reminded himself again that it was none of his business, that he had come here to obtain proof of Jamie’s death. Interference in family politics was no part of his plan.

After the meal, when the ladies had withdrawn, and the gentlemen had settled down to their port and cigars, the conversation turned to other matters. Harry listened politely, though in truth his mind was preoccupied with his quest rather than the current political situation. It was only the mention of Elena’s name that drew his attention squarely back to the company.

‘… and so, after we have seen her safely admitted to the convent, I must return to my estates,’ said Don Fernando. ‘There are matters requiring my attention.’

Their host nodded. ‘Of course. It was good of you to take the time to come at all.’

‘I felt it to be my duty.’

‘A duty we all share,’ said Don Esteban. ‘The restoration of our family honour is dear to us all. A life of reflection and piety will atone for sin.’

Harry’s glass paused in mid-air and he shot a quizzical glance at the speaker. Don Manuel intercepted it.

‘You are no doubt shocked, my lord, that sin should be mentioned in the same context as my niece.’

‘I was surprised,’ Harry admitted, wondering what possible sin so lovely a creature could have committed. He could think of a few that men might want to commit with her, but such a thing would be unthinkable for a highborn young woman and one so zealously guarded.

‘My niece’s story is not one that we would wish to be generally known.’ Don Manuel eyed him keenly. ‘I am sure we may rely on your discretion.’

‘Of course.’

‘When Elena was eighteen she was betrothed to a nobleman of high standing, indeed one of the highest in the land. Unfortunately it was during a period in the war when the action intensified. My brother-in-law, her father, was killed by enemy soldiers. His death fired a young girl’s imagination with misplaced patriotic zeal and she ran off and joined a guerrilla band.’

Harry regarded him in genuine amazement. Whatever he might have imagined it wasn’t that, but then Elena seemed to defy convention in every way.

‘War affects people strangely,’ he replied, mentally including himself in that category.

Don Manuel nodded. ‘Many unfortunate events occur in times of conflict and, goodness knows, our country has seen enough of such things. They leave a bitter legacy.’

‘Yes, they do.’ Harry felt his gut tighten. The topic came too close to home, reviving memories he’d tried to bury.

‘Elena’s sisters were models of exemplary conduct. They were originally intended for marriage but, after their father’s death, they chose to enter a convent. She did neither of those things, electing instead to live with a group of men like any common drab.’

Harry barely managed to conceal his astonishment. It seemed quite incongruous to think of Elena in such a role. He had seen quite a few common drabs in his time—the army had its camp followers—but she didn’t resemble them in any way.

‘In fighting for her country her role was perhaps unusual,’ he replied, ‘but surely not dishonourable.’

‘For a woman to take up arms is unnatural. That she should live among men in that way is utterly shameless.’

Harry was tempted to probe further. Had Elena taken a lover from among the guerrilla band? It was entirely possible and yet it didn’t seem consistent with what he had seen. She was courteous and friendly but there was not the least hint of flirtatiousness in her manner. All the same, he knew better than to ask. Instead he shifted the focus of the conversation a little.

‘What of her betrothed?’

‘When he learned of her shame he ended the betrothal.’

‘I see.’

‘Elena remained with the guerrillas for two years.’ Don Manuel made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Of course, there is no possibility of marriage for her now, and she cannot be permitted to live as a single woman. Such a thing is unheard of. The only honourable course is for her to enter a convent.’

‘We have arranged it,’ said Don Fernando.

Harry’s fingers tightened on the stem of his glass. ‘Am I to understand that Doña Elena is not in accord with this plan?’

‘She is a wilful and stubborn young woman who has erred most grievously,’ Don Fernando replied. ‘It is the responsibility of her family to put a stop to such folly. The convent will do the rest. It is a closed order and a strict one. From now on she will lead a life of piety and prayer away from the eyes of the world.’

Don Esteban nodded. ‘The discipline will be highly beneficial and will help her to atone for her behaviour. In time she will come to realise that our decision was made in her own best interests.’

Harry’s jaw tightened. There were many things he could have said, indeed wanted to say, but he bit them back even though it went against the grain. The affair was none of his business. Things were done differently here and much stricter controls exerted on young women of good family. Nor was it uncommon for daughters to be given to God, with or without their consent. The latter proposition had always rankled with him. Entry into the religious life through choice was one thing; entry under compulsion was quite another. To use a convent as a means of incarceration was indefensible in his eyes, and he pitied any young woman caught in that situation.

‘The family are gathered to witness the ceremony of admission,’ Don Esteban went on. ‘When it has taken place we shall all breathe easier.’

Don Fernando nodded. ‘Indeed we shall.’

The conversation remained with Harry long after he had left the company and retired to his room. More than ever their plan seemed like a criminal act even though, in the eyes of the law, it was perfectly legal. It was certainly a criminal waste. He had no illusions about why it was happening in spite of all the pious cant he had heard that evening. In the eyes of her family Elena had become a liability and they meant to put her quietly away for good. It was a harsh penalty for something that, presumably, had been a matter of conscience. However, war spawned many atrocities.

Harry shut his eyes, trying not to think about Badajoz, but the darkness was suddenly filled with flames and gunfire and the shouts of drunken soldiers—British soldiers. For three days they had run amok in an orgy of murder, arson, rapine and plunder. Filthy, blood-stained, crazy with drink and consumed with greed, they spared none. When their officers tried to intervene the mob turned on them too. He swallowed hard, feeling sweat start on the palms of his hands, once again watching helplessly as a man fell under a rain of blows from the butt ends of muskets, the scene backlit by the ruddy glow of burning buildings. And in one of those buildings was Belén….

Work held the memories at bay most of the time, along with the social round. For a while it was possible to forget. It was only when he lay in bed at night that the memories revived, often in terrifying dreams. Time had helped, of course, but had never entirely eradicated them. And then fate had taken a hand and brought him back to Spain….

He turned over and thumped the pillow hard. In spite of everything, he had promised Ross to do all in his power to find the proof they needed about Jamie’s death. But what if the proof he sought couldn’t be found? What if Sanchez was dead now? Harry pushed the thought away, unwilling to contemplate the thought of failure. Too much hung in the balance. He had a job to do and past demons couldn’t be allowed to get in the way.