Redemption of a Fallen Woman. Joanna Fulford
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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