‘Such considerations would not weigh with them. Besides, your birth and education are as good as theirs and your wit better than most.’
She returned the smile. ‘I have often thought that I should like to see England. My sister has told me a lot about it.’
‘I hope you won’t be disappointed.’
‘Does it really rain as much as she says?’
‘Our climate is renowned. It’s why England is known as a green and pleasant land.’
‘Dolores says that your lower classes are more prosperous and better educated than their Spanish counterparts. That they play a game called cricket in which they mingle with noblemen.’
‘True enough. Sport tends to dissolve class barriers—for a while anyway. The finest batsman I ever saw was a village blacksmith.’
‘Such a blurring of social boundaries would not happen here.’
‘I imagine not.’
What Elena might have said next was unknown because Jack and Concha returned just then, both in apparently good humour.
‘The dancing is about to start,’ said Concha.
Elena smiled wryly. ‘Will they let us join in, do you think?’
‘I wasn’t going to ask for permission.’
Jack grinned. ‘Aye, well, saves ’em t’embarrassment of a refusal, eh?’
‘From that I infer you use the same stratagem.’ Concha paused, her expression speculative. ‘Do Englishmen know how to dance?’
‘Some do, I reckon, but I regret to say that in my case it were never a strong suit.’
‘Then it’s time that you learned.’
‘I were thinking more of watching from here like.’
‘You learn best by doing, not watching. Come.’ Concha extended her hand imperiously.
He threw a look of mute appeal towards his master. Harry shook his head.
‘When a lady has made up her mind argument is fruitless.’
‘I swear life were never this hard in t’army.’ As he caught sight of Concha’s expression Jack threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right. No need for bloodshed. I’ll come quietly.’
As he and Concha went off to join the dancers Harry looked at Elena.
‘Shall we join them?’
She smiled. ‘Why not?’
The music and the wine on their own would have been sufficient to make her smile, but when combined with the presence of a handsome and charismatic partner they took enjoyment to another level. In spite of being a tall man Harry was a graceful dancer. Moreover he seemed familiar with most of the steps. She wondered who had taught him. Belén, perhaps? Determinedly she pushed the thought away, unwilling to spoil the evening with another impertinent question. Instead she gave herself up to the music.
Harry smiled. ‘You know I had a suspicion you’d dance well. I was right.’
‘You don’t do so badly yourself.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I just wish I were more suitably attired for the occasion.’
‘Clothes don’t make the dancer,’ he replied. ‘Besides, most of the women here would be prepared to kill for your figure.’
The warm colour deepened in her cheeks. ‘I’m flattered you should think so.’
‘It wasn’t flattery.’
The expression in the grey eyes set her heart to beating a little faster. Did he find her attractive, then? He’d shown little sign of it and she could hardly ask. Yet the thought that he might was pleasing rather than not, like the touch of his hand when the dance brought them together. It filled her with sensations she had not experienced for years and had not thought to have again.
Eventually they retired to rest awhile and presently were joined by Jack and Concha. Then they talked and drank more wine. Conversation flowed just as smoothly amid joking and laughter. It seemed to Elena that this was what Harry had meant when he spoke about the dissolution of class barriers. Her uncle would never have countenanced this for a moment. Yet it seemed right and natural somehow. On the surface of it they were an ill-assorted group whom circumstances had thrown together, yet it worked. When she spoke to Harry of respect she had meant it. She was also fast coming to like Jack Hawkes too. When things got tough he too could be relied upon to do his part.
A series of explosions drew her out of thought and she looked round quickly. A spray of coloured stars filled the sky. The fireworks had started. Realising that there wasn’t the least danger, she settled back again to watch.
Her reaction had not gone unobserved and Harry smiled. This evening she had been more relaxed than he had ever seen her, more animated too, in conversation and in laughter. He had always thought her a beautiful girl but tonight it was as though some invisible restraint had been cast off. The atmosphere had touched a chord in her and, aided by the wine perhaps, had brought out the natural exuberance and sense of fun that she usually kept hidden. It was damnably alluring. She was damnably alluring, even dressed in men’s clothing. Much as he’d tried to ignore the thought it refused to be banished. Just then he would have given a great deal to see her in the red gown she had worn on the evening when first they had met. For a moment he indulged the fantasy, and then mentally removed the gown altogether. The result was a coil of tension in the region of his groin. He suppressed it ruthlessly. By rights he ought not to be thinking in those terms. However, he was forced to acknowledge now that he did want it to happen. Just when that change had occurred he was unable to say; he only knew it had.
Eventually, as the hour grew late, they made their way back to the inn. Elena felt weary now but also exhilarated and pleasantly tipsy. When Harry offered her his arm she took it; somehow it seemed a natural thing to do now. They strolled in companionable silence; then he glanced her way.
‘Did you enjoy yourself this evening?’
‘More than I have for a long time. And you?’
‘Equally,’ he replied.
‘I’m glad my horse cast that shoe.’
‘I cannot say I’m sorry either. I did not think this journey would be so enjoyable.’
‘You are kind.’
‘No, just truthful.’ He stopped and drew her round to face him. ‘You must stop thinking of yourself as some kind of encumbrance.’
‘I wish I could.’
‘You have no reason to feel guilty and nor would I have you do so.’
Although his face was in shadow, she heard the sincerity in his voice. He was much closer now, his face only inches from hers, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Her breathing quickened. Could she trust him? She wanted to, but...
He bent his head and she felt his lips brush hers, a gentle touch that sent a charge the length of her body. Doubt receded. Involuntarily she swayed towards him, feeling his arms around her shoulders pressing her closer. The kiss, though gentle still, became a little deeper and now coaxing too, until her mouth yielded to his. The taste of wine on his tongue was headier by far than any she had drunk and it was dangerously arousing, like his warmth and the musky scent of his skin. Memory removed his clothing. Imagination pressed his nakedness to hers. Her whole body quivered in response to the thought.
Harry felt the tremor and recognised it at once. It was tempting to pursue this and give ardour free rein. Yet instinct counselled patience. Elena was apparently not repelled by his advances but she’d had quite a lot to drink this evening. Was it attraction she felt or was it the wine talking? He resolved then that when their marriage was consummated it would be when she was sober and knew exactly what she was doing. Besides, deferred gratification was always stronger. If she really did want him, then waiting would only intensify desire.
He drew back. ‘Forgive me. I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘There’s no need...I mean, it wasn’t...’ She broke off, floundering.
‘It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.’ He took her hand in his. ‘Come. It’s getting late and we have an early start.’
They walked the remaining distance in silence. Elena was glad of the dark
ness now that hid her embarrassment and confusion. What must he think of her? She had permitted that kiss, had wanted that kiss. What she hadn’t expected was her own response. He had clearly misinterpreted it as fear. Yet just then she had no idea how to explain. And if she tried might he not take that as an invitation to further intimacies? For the first time she wondered what it might be like to give herself to him, a thought that titillated and terrified at the same time. At some point it was going to happen, that much was inevitable. He was her husband, after all, and his patience wouldn’t last for ever.
Yet when they returned to their room at the inn he made no attempt to touch her, merely undressed and climbed into bed. Elena stripped off her jacket and boots, then blew out the candle before removing her breeches. In spite of his apparent absence of embarrassment she still lacked the confidence to undress in front of him. Hurriedly she slid into bed and drew the covers over her. Then she heard his voice in the darkness.
‘Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep well.’
The mattress moved as he turned away from her on to his side. Elena’s throat tightened and for no apparent reason she wanted to weep.
Chapter Eleven
Towards the end of that week as they descended onto the open plain, the air became sultry and oppressive. By late afternoon dark thunderheads were massing on the horizon. Harry eyed them with misgivings.
‘I’d like to find shelter before that lot arrives.’
Jack nodded. ‘Aye, my lord. It would be best.’
They rode for another couple of miles but the only sign of habitation was a lone farmhouse in the middle distance. By then the sky was darkening rapidly and the wind picking up. Harry made his decision.
‘We’ll head for the farm.’
By the time they reached it the first drops of rain began to fall. However, the place looked unprepossessing. The farmhouse itself was rambling and dilapidated with a sagging pantile roof. Elena could see two small windows, now shuttered, and a door made from stout oak planks. In front of it a few scrawny chickens scratched in the dirt. At one end was a midden. Adjacent to it were a small byre and a pigsty. Opposite those on the other side of the farmyard was an old barn.
As they approached the property two large and half-starved dogs set up a frenzy of barking and brought the farmer out to investigate. He silenced the dogs with an oath and then came to look at his visitors. A short and burly individual of middle years, his swarthy face was stubbled with several days’ growth of beard. Small dark eyes regarded the newcomers suspiciously.
‘What do you want here?’
‘Shelter from the storm,’ replied Harry.
‘Better you find an inn.’
‘There is no inn close enough.’
‘My house cannot accommodate so large a group.’
Harry kept his tone level. ‘The barn, then. We’ll pay, of course.’ He tossed over a coin.
The man caught it, examining it closely. His eyes widened a little and then he smiled, revealing stained and uneven teeth amongst which were prominent gaps. ‘This way, señor.’
They followed him across the yard and waited while he dragged open the door. Then he gestured for them to enter. The barn, though old, was well-maintained and smelled of hay and grain and horses. In the gloom Elena could make out half a dozen stalls, though only two were occupied, currently by heavy draught horses. In one corner were several feed bins, various barrels and a small pile of sacks filled with corn. At the far end a ladder led up to what looked like a hay loft.
‘You can sleep up there,’ continued their host. ‘In the meantime there are stalls for your horses and hay and grain besides.’
Harry nodded. ‘We also require food ourselves.’
‘That will cost extra.’
‘Naturally. What do you have?’
‘Tortilla. Jamón.’
‘All right.’ Harry held up another coin. ‘We want bread and wine as well.’
The man’s eyes glinted. ‘As you wish.’
‘We want the food as soon as may be.’
The farmer grunted assent and with that he left them and hurried off towards the farmhouse. Outside the rain fell faster.
‘A real charmer,’ said Jack.
‘We have shelter and food,’ replied Concha. ‘We can survive without the charm.’
‘True enough.’
Harry looked at the others. ‘Let’s see to the horses, shall we?’
By the time they had unsaddled and rubbed them down the rain was falling in earnest. Elena could only feel relieved to have found shelter for the night. It might not be a palace but it would keep them dry. While the men went to fetch hay, she and Concha measured out a ration of grain for each horse.
They had just finished when the farmer returned. He carried a lantern which he hung on a nail by the door. With him were two younger men, in their late teens or early twenties perhaps. Seeing an undoubted resemblance to the farmer, Elena guessed that they were his sons. One carried a large tray, the other a jug and some horn cups. At their father’s instruction they set their respective burdens down on a couple of the larger barrels. Then they turned to survey the newcomers. They glanced at Harry and Jack but their gaze lingered on the two women. Seeing those hot, lascivious looks Elena felt her neck prickle.
Their host smiled unctuously. ‘See, here is your meal. I hope you will enjoy it.’
‘I’m sure we shall,’ replied Harry.
‘If you require anything more, be sure to let me know.’
‘We’ll do that,’ said Jack.
The farmer’s gaze flicked his way and for a moment the two men regarded each other steadily. The farmer was first to look away.
‘We’ll leave you to it, then.’
He turned towards his sons and then jerked his head towards the door. Then all three trooped out. Beyond the door was a grey curtain of rain. Elena shivered and turned away.
‘Let’s eat, shall we?’
‘Good idea.’ Harry smiled. ‘Pull up a barrel.’
In fact, the food, though simple, was surprisingly good. As they ate the rain intensified and thunder rumbled in the distance. Elena was thankful to be indoors, no matter how humble the accommodation. Quite apart from the misery of being soaked through there was the added risk of lightning strikes. This open countryside would offer no protection at all, as Harry was no doubt aware. They had been lucky. They might be sitting on barrels and eating from wooden platters but it was a lot better than the alternative.
Harry’s voice reclaimed her attention. ‘It looks like the hay loft tonight. Shall you mind too much?’
‘I shan’t mind at all,’ she replied with perfect truth. ‘Anything is better than trying to sleep on sodden ground during a storm.’
‘Yet I think few ladies would view the prospect of a barn with equanimity.’
‘Soft living makes one spoilt. A few nights in the open restores an appreciation of the comforts taken for granted before.’
‘I think you’re right.’
‘We rarely appreciate what we have until it’s taken away.’
‘True.’
That succinct reply made her suddenly aware that they were skirting dangerous ground. Happily for her peace of mind, Jack intervened.
‘Nowt wrong wi’ a barn, especially on a night such as this. Where I come from there’s plenty o’ folk’d be glad o’ such accommodation.’
‘Where do you come from?’ asked Concha.
‘Leeds,’ he replied. ‘It’s in Yorkshire.’
‘Your family is there?’
‘Never had a family that I can recall. I were left outside t’workhouse door apparently. I grew up in t’same establishment.’
‘This is a charitable institution, no?’
‘In a manner o’ speaking.’ He smiled wryly. ‘You get a roof over your head and you don’t starve—not quite anyway.’
‘Do you get help to find a trade?’
‘Aye. When I were ten I were set to work in a woollen mill. Hours were long and
t’work were dangerous, to say nowt o’ t’din. I hated it. Another lad and I tried to run away only we were caught.’
‘They brought you back?’
‘Aye, they did that. Then they shaved our heads and flogged t’pair of us before all t’others to serve as a warning like.’
The others stared at him, appalled, not least for the matter-of-fact tone with which the tale was delivered. However, it was at variance with the look in his eyes which suggested emotion usually kept hidden. None of them had the least doubt that what they were hearing now was the truth.
‘So I bided me time after that. Made out as I’d learned me lesson like, and knuckled under. Then, when I were fifteen I ran away again, and that time I didn’t get caught.’
‘Where did you go?’ asked Concha.
‘London, ’cos I knew it’d be easy to disappear there. I found work in a livery stable. Lad had been dismissed only t’week before, see, and they were short-handed. So I got t’job. It were hard work and it didn’t pay much, but it were a sight better than t’mill.’
‘So you remained there until you joined the army, no?’
‘Joining t’army were t’furthest thing from me mind then. Working wi’ the horses were all right but I wanted to earn better money so I found a new job as a doorman in a gambling den. It were a shady sort o’ place and it attracted a similar clientele for t’most part. It were also run by a crook so t’profits to be made were pretty big.’
‘You mean he cheated?’
‘Aye, he did. Got away wi’ it too—for a while. Then one night a young cove came in and lost a lot o’ money. He swore t’cards were marked, which same they were, o’course. He were drunk and angry and eventually I were ordered to throw him out. We had a bit of a tussle, but he came off worse and eventually I got rid of him.’
‘But not for good.’
‘Turned out his father were a lord and he tipped off t’authorities. Next night t’place were raided. Everyone concerned wi’ it were arrested. Being as t’plaintiff were a lord’s son, t’judge sentenced us all to hang.’
Concha paled. ‘But you did not cheat the man. You only removed him from the premises on someone else’s orders.’
Redemption of a Fallen Woman Page 10