Chapter Twenty-five
“Where are you, Vevina?” Stewart caught himself wondering aloud in frustration for the hundredth time, as he circled the camp in the pitch darkness, checking the patrols on duty in the town of Cuidad Roderigo.
He was expecting Wellington to arrive at any moment to assess the situation, but despite the imminent arrival of the head of the army, all his thoughts were filled with Vevina. He still could not believe that she had successfully engineered the fall of Cuidad Roderigo on her own with only a handful of men, but Mitchell, Beckett, and Captain Olivier had told her everything except about her departure for France.
After the battle, Stewart had been frantic when he couldn’t find her, and had checked over and over again through the bodies of the dead and injured, until Captain Olivier had finally been brought to him and had told him that she was alive and well, and had taken his horse. Stewart realized that the Captain knew far more than that, but he was saying nothing.
Stewart was then relieved, and angry, but also filled with admiration and pride for all that she had achieved. He hoped Wellington would see that she was a loyal patriot, and would do what he could about the attaint of treason on her head and Wilfred’s.
As for Wilfred, he was also concerned for his sister’s safety, but he knew she had too many plans for the secret treasure of the Chateau, if it existed, to let it fall into the wrong hands. Once she got hold of it, she could use it as a bargaining point for the safety of Ireland.
Stewart remembered her warmth and softness in his bed, and felt an uncontrollable tightening in his loins. She had been so generous, always giving of herself to everyone, the sick, the needy.
Had he himself been just another charitable act, because he had saved her life? Or had he just been a temporary solace, eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die?
Stewart doubted it, for she had seen the light in her eyes, on her face, when he had made love to her. But he also recognized that things might have been very different had they met each other at home in Ireland. This was a war. Anything could and did happen. She might change her mind about him once of all of this was over.
Worse still, she was in great danger, if not from Samuel, then from the French, the Spanish, and even Wellington himself if he believed Samuel’s lies and decided to move against her.
It was all so worrying, and frustrating that he could do nothing for her except sit and worry week after week, month after month, until she turned up again, or the war ended. And what if she never came back from wherever she had gone at all?
Stewart pushed the grim thought aside, and pondered where she might have gone. He himself did admit he had every reason to be suspicious of some involvement with the French. She had persuaded the Captain of the French garrison at Cuidad Roderigo to in effect surrender, and had saved many lives. This same Captain turned out to be an old friend of the family. And she was now somewhere in Spain or even France?
Captain Olivier had said nothing, but Stewart could guess that whatever she was up to, it had to be important. Vevina had adamantly refused to return home, or even sit out the rest of the war quietly in Lisbon until her affairs could be organised.
No, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, if she was still alive, Stewart was certain it was a matter of life and death. Once again he realized with bitter frustration that he could do nothing to reach her.
But appearances were against her now, and perhaps Vevina really had been a spy all along? Stewart rejected this supposition as well. It was ridiculous. She had stopped the French cavalry charge in its tracks, before it had sent the entire British camp at the foot of Cuidad Roderigo into panic and confusion.
She had made sure that Samuel was off the battlefield, so that Stewart could take over his brother’s command and rescue the desperate situation. She had saved hundreds of lives in this way, and had even spiked the French guns which could have killed hundreds more climbing into the breach.
Mitchell had brought him her message about the defences, and Beckett said she had killed dozens with her pistols and sabre. Surely that had to testify to her loyalty, more than anything he or the others could say.
As for Wilfred’s loyalty to the Crown, he had been drilling the company day after day since then, teaching then how to load more quickly, shoot more accurately.
As Vevina had promised, he was a fine soldier, and Stewart was glad he had bought him the commission. The Joyces could not be spies, and he would stake his career and reputation to defend them against all accusations.
When Wellington finally did arrive, he allowed Stewart to speak first, recounting the whole story of the fall of Cuidad Roderigo.
“I am aware, my Lord, that you sent a message telling Samuel not to move, and yet he did so. He tried to kill Vevina, to make it seem as though the orders never reached him. His men were completely unprepared to attack the fortified town, mined as it was, and with secret cannons strategically placed.
"Furthermore, there was a secret French cavalry battalion laying in wait until we made our move on the town. Vevina discovered it on her way back to camp, and warned us. We all could have been slaughtered if Vevina hadn’t intervened.”
“You defend her because she is your wife, but I have to be suspicious in my position. Where is she now?”
Stewart stammered, stunned that Wellington thought he was married to Vevina. If only he were.
“My Lord, I must be honest. You have the wrong man. Vevina is married to Samuel, my brother, but not by choice. She knew him to be disloyal, and we are certain from talking to Captain Olivier, the commander of the French garrison, that Samuel had letters of safe conduct from Napoleon himself.
"I can’t see a pattern to all this, but Samuel stole her lands, forced her to marry him, and came here to Spain for some foul purpose. I don’t know where she is now, but I am certain she is trying to stop Samuel.”
Wellington’s eyes bulged, but he said nothing.
Stewart added urgently, “I believe the tide is turning in the affairs of the French, so we’ll just have to wait. But you must trust Vevina, give her the chance to prove her loyalty and get back the estates that were wrongly taken from them.
"Wilfred, her brother, is a nobleman of the highest honor and merit. I cannot think they are anything other than innocent victims of my brother, and I am certain that they are utterly loyal to the interests of King and country.”
Wellington studied him carefully, his cold eyes glittering.
“Very well, Major Fitzgerald, I shall accept what you say to be the truth. I too have received some intelligence of this matter, and will act accordingly. I’m sending certain papers and documents to London. If you hear from Vevina, encourage her to come back here, and I give you my word she will be treated well in Lisbon.”
“Thank you, my lord, I’m obliged to you.”
“No, my dear Major, it is I who am obliged to Vevina Joyce, and your good self for helping to take Cuidad Roderigo, when many said it could not be done. I know you defied orders, but only because you were forced to. To have not acted would have meant a disaster, and none of these men I see before me would be alive now, of that I am sure. If you see Lady Vevina before I do, please kiss her hand for me.
“And one last point before I go. Your men are now well-drilled and trained. You have proven that these Spanish fortresses are not impregnable, so we are marching you to Badajoz.”
Stewart’s mouth went dry. For the first time in a many a day he felt an uncontrollable fear.
“My Lord, you honor me with your confidence, but Badajoz is three times the size of Cuidad Roderigo, and in a far more strategic location. Should I not remain here, in case the French decide to try to retake Cuidad Roderigo?”
“Some of your men can stay, with Captain Joyce in charge. But you and the others will go to Badajoz. Start drilling your men. You leave in ten days.”
Stewart forced himself to salute smartly, and Wellington put his hand on his shoulder.
Stewart was so
astonished at a show of kindness from this cold, calculating leader, that he nearly jumped.
“I give you my word I shall help restore Lady Vevina’s lost estates. And don’t worry, if she is alive, Major, nothing in the world will stop you from finding each other again, of that you can be sure.”
“I pray God it isn’t at Badajoz, but if it is, it may as well be hell,” Stewart predicted with a sinking heart.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Or heaven, Major. Surely you have not damned your soul quite yet.”
Stewart wondered if perhaps he had, as he sat alone in his tent that night, longing for Vevina. Badajoz. The key to Wellington’s whole campaign, the key to French success in the Iberian peninsula. The most fortified town the French held, and the gateway to Portugal, and thus complete victory on the Continent. If Napoleon’s forces held onto it much longer, nothing could stop them from sweeping the British to Lisbon, and to their boats back home.
The siege of Badajoz would be long and bloody, and certain death waited behind the walls. Stewart felt a surge of pride that Wellington should even think of choosing him and his regiment for the task. But the fact was, even if they were successful in taking the mighty fortress, many would die.
Though not a religious man, Stewart found himself praying to God that he would not be one of them. He had a desire to see Vevina one last time, in this life rather than the next.
Chapter Twenty-six
At the end of her two days’ slumber at the Oliviers', Vevina awoke feeling sluggish, but confident that her goal was within reach.
She ached to linger and rest a bit longer, but knew she had to head for the Chateau as soon as possible, conscious every moment that Samuel was right behind her.
Who or what she would find once she arrived at Grenoble was a complete mystery, and one which might prove a great test of courage and ingenuity. But go she must.
The Olivier family tried to persuade her to stay, but to no avail. However, the Duc disliked the idea of Vevina making the long journey over so many poor roads leading into the Alps, and so he arranged for her to travel by river, with the coach instructed to meet her at Grenoble.
“It makes perfect sense, my dear. You sail up the Rhone to where it branches off right to the Isere. Then up that river straight to Grenoble.”
He could sense Vevina’s reluctance to get into a boat again, but the Duc insisted, “It will save you time, and just think of the long trip you will have to make via road back to Spain to see your husband again.”
At these words Vevina gave in, and a few items in a valise were loaded into a small cart, while the large coach, with four magnificent horses, was filled with three trunks of new clothes the girls insisted on giving her.
“You can never have too many fine clothes, especially undergarments,” Eloise giggled.
Though Vevina thought she was being a bit ridiculous, she knew that they would come in handy at some point, if only to barter with.
The Duc escorted Vevina to the river barge which awaited her, and kissed her on both cheeks. “Give our love to Vincent, and if you see Andre, tell him his family would love to have a letter.”
"I will, and thank you all for everything."
"Go with God, dear child."
The Duc kissed her three times, and then the barge glided smoothly up the deep blue waters of the river Rhone.
The journey proved quite pleasant, for a wintry sun shone, and Vevina could recline on a soft set of cushions which had been provided for her. She reflected that she had now been travelling almost continually for five weeks, and if she returned over land to Spain, it was going to take her at least eight.
She missed Stewart dreadfully, and once again closed her eyes and recalled the happy times they had shared in the short month they had been together. They had had a lovely Christmas, but she doubted they would be seeing each other for Easter.
She hated the thought of being away from Stewart for so long, so she hoped for speedy success at Grenoble. But she would have to wait for Samuel to turn up at the Chateau, and he was probably not as well provided for as herself. He might be weeks behind if he had had to walk or ride most of the way.
Vevina felt unaccountably weary by midday, and so she napped as the barge sailed on. She awoke just in time to catch sight of the mighty river basin where the two rivers forked, then they sailed passed Chateauneuf and headed on to Grenoble. The sailors protested that Madame should rest, but as the sun set, she insisted they press on. They lit their small oil lamps, and at about two in the morning, tired and frozen, they arrived at Grenoble.
The landlord of an inn provided her with a stout horse, and after making a few enquiries, she rode south to the small village of St. Vizier, where the magnificent Chateau Gerald stood on a high promontory overlooking the Lans mountain range.
Vevina stared in awe at the Chateau which seemed to touch the sky, and then spurred her horse up the last great hill to the gates.
The household was just rising to start its chores when Vevina’s horse clattered into the courtyard. Exhausted and half-frozen, she swung down off the horse, twitched her skirts into some semblance of order, and demanded to see the person in charge of the house.
The manservant who had been gathering firewood for the kitchen stoves said, “Impossible, the Chevalier is a very old man, and he must have his rest. He seldom rises before eleven, and even then, he does not give audience to just anyone. Who are you, and where do you come from?
“I am Lady Vevina Fitzgerald, of Cork, wife of the heir to the Fitzgerald estates in Cork. I have reason to believe the Chevalier was trying to contact my husband about an inheritance of some sort?”
The manservant nodded violently, and forgetting himself, pulled her by the hand, and rattled away as he pulled her into a drawing room, “I am Philippe. Sir will be so pleased to see you. For months we have heard nothing, and we were beginning to give up hope. But now you have come, he will be so relieved.”
Philippe dropped his voice to a low whisper, and said, “To tell you the truth, I think he has been waiting to die until you came, and the matter of his will could be settled.”
Vevina nodded, and began to relax. Obviously there had been no word form Samuel, and perhaps he wasn’t even on his way. Maybe his French friends had other uses for him, she wondered, such as planning the invasion.
Her heart sank at that thought, and she wondered how much she could trust the old man with the truth. She would have to wait to see the Chevalier before she could make up her mind.
Philippe led her into an enormous study, and began to light the fire. “There will be much for you to look over and report back to your husband, so I shall leave you here, and have the maid bring you your breakfast,” he said.
Philippe tucked Vevina into a large armchair with a blanket wrapped around her, and then left her alone with a huge pile of papers. She studied the plans of the chateau, and was astonished at the number of rooms it contained. From the outside, it looked rather small, though the turrets hanging over each cliff were certainly imposing enough. She realized that much of the house must have been built right into the mountain itself, for the purposes of security and surprise. No one could come around the back to launch a surprise attack, all the food stores could be laid up and well hidden, and the number of people present in the Chateau would be incalculable to an outside foe.
Vevina estimated that the Chateau must have been started in the sixteenth century, and as she read the old papers, mainly about the family history of the Fitzgeralds, she began to get a clue as to the nature of the treasure it held.
The Fitzgeralds in Ireland had come into conflict with the English crown in the 1560s, as more and more English had looked covetously upon their lands in Cork, and desired them for themselves. The Fitzgeralds had been persecuted, tortured, until 1572, when the English Privy council, realising that the Fitzgeralds’ nearest neighbor, the Earl of Ormond, had dangerous pretensions to the throne as Queen Elizabeth I’s closest cousin, had allowed the Fitzgeralds
a period of relative calm and stability. This had lasted until 1579, when one of the junior members of the Fitzgerald clan, James, made a secret deal with the Pope for some French and Italian troops to expel the English from their lands.
The uprising had proved abortive, and the clan was scattered, with their leader Dermot and his sons hunted down and killed like dogs in 1583 even though they had played no real part in the rebellion.
His nephew and the heir to the estates had fled to France, and there met and married a cousin of the French royal family. They had built their Chateau, and their descendants had lived there ever since.
The Pope had given him many gifts and money, and it was said that before Sean Fitzgerald had left Ireland, he had taken the wealth of the monasteries with him rather than allow it to fall into English hands.
Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series) Page 22