The overland journey had gone better than he had dared hope with warnings of rebel Spanish guerrilla activity fresh in his mind, against which even his nationality was not guaranteed proof, and he attributed this to the fact that he traveled alone, drawing no attention.
As he neared the camp, two armed sentries stepped forward to challenge him, raising their rifles to shoulder level and demanding that he identify himself. His horse fretted nervously as he waited whilst a sergeant was called and he was escorted into the camp. Half-curious eyes followed him as, dismounting, he led his horse amongst the tents in the wake of the sergeant, none being curious enough to forsake the comparative shelter they afforded for sight of a mere civilian stranger.
As he neared the larger accommodation set aside for the officers, a familiar voice hailed him. “By all the saints, do my eyes deceive me or is that you, Waverly?” demanded Lord Marchant, hastily coming forward into the downpour, hand extended to greet his friend.
The sergeant halted abruptly and saluted. “You know this gentleman, sir?” he asked.
“I most certainly do,” responded Marchant, grinning and gripping the earl’s hand. “Though how the deuce he comes to be here, I know not.”
“He is asking to see Wellington himself, major.”
“Then you may leave him with me. I will make the necessary arrangements,” assured Marchant, saluting a dismissal in return. Commanding a passing soldier to take my lord’s horse to the lines, he led the earl out of the deluge and into his tent.
“I had not looked to see you here,” said the earl, divesting himself of his waterproof and hat, and handing them to His Lordship’s batman. “I had thought you to be still with Leith?”
“I have been promoted to Wellington’s staff,” replied Marchant, not without some pride. “But tell me, what in the name of Hades brings you here? I had thought you cozily ensconced in the Ministry at Horse Guards. Do they tire of you already that they send you to this God forsaken place?”
“I cannot divulge my reasons at this juncture,” replied the earl, accepting a glass of brandy and seating himself at the small campaign table. “Let it be sufficient to say that there is an issue of which Wellington must be immediately made aware. More I cannot say. He will no doubt apprise you of the matter in good time.”
“Then I will go to him immediately and inform him of your arrival,” said Marchant, throwing his cloak about his shoulders before once more braving the elements. Pausing by the tent’s entrance, he turned and grinned. “By-the-bye, I believe I am to call you cousin,” he said. “Diana wrote to tell me of your marriage to Caroline. I offer you my felicitations.”
The earl smiled and raised his glass in return as Marchant, still grinning, disappeared through the tent flap. Sitting well back in the chair, he eased his long legs out before him, grateful for being at last out of the rain. For as much as it had been only fifteen days since he had left Lordings, ten of which he had almost continually spent in the saddle, England and his wife seemed an eternity away. Almost as if they belonged to another moment in time. His body ached and he was unbelievably tired, but the graying tent with its sodden floor seemed as a palace compared to the inhospitable terrain he had endured, and putting aside his glass, he felt the benefits of the brandy course through his veins, bringing warmth to his stiffened limbs.
It was not long before Marchant reappeared, bringing a tall angular individual in his wake. “This is Caldwell, His Lordship’s ADC,” he informed, making the introductions as the earl rose to greet the new arrival. “Wellington is engaged with his officers at the moment, but Caldwell is to take you to him shortly.”
The ADC came forward. “I do believe we have met before, Your Lordship,” he said, shaking the earl’s hand with vigor. “Though it may be some years ago.”
“It was at Vimierio,” confirmed the earl.
“I saw you lead the advance of Roth’s Lancers,” grinned Caldwell. “Damned fine affair, if I may say so, sir.”
“But my last outing,” grimaced the earl ruefully, “I was injured in the cross fire and was forced to return to England where I have been obliged to remain in the Ministry.”
“Not such an unworthy occupation as you would have us believe,” said Marchant, smiling. “Though one cannot but be aware of all the hot air that is talked within its walls!”
“A great deal of hot air,” laughed the earl. “It’s as well that the wars are not fought within those portals, merely their machinations.”
“You are to billet with me if you have no objections,” said Marchant, “though I cannot offer you the comforts to which you are accustomed.”
“If those comforts you refer to are those of a groundsheet, I can assure you I would welcome any alternative, and thoughts of a hot meal certainly appeal.”
*****
The following morning, the earl was once more called to Lord Wellington’s tent, having spent the greater part of the preceding evening in His Lordship’s presence.
“Take a seat, Waverly,” commanded Wellington as Caldwell brought one forward for the earl’s use. “I have had discussions with my advisers and we believe that whilst the situation is less than ideal, it is by no means hopeless. Our stratagems are too far advanced to abandon them, but we believe that with your aid, the damage that has been done may be limited. Unfortunately, it necessitates your remaining in Spain for a short while. I cannot command it, but I ask it of you.”
The earl sat forward in his seat, accepting the glass of wine presented to him, but not carrying it immediately to his lips. “If by my staying I may be of some assistance, then so be it. What is it you wish me to do?”
Wellington leaned forward across the desk, an almost cunning look crossing his austere countenance. “Consider then, Waverly, the effect on the French if they believe that they have been deliberately supplied with false information, that the memorandum which so easily fell into their hands contained information which was intended to divert them from our true operational plans. Think of the havoc it will wreak on the enemy force should they concentrate all their resources on the new location, leaving themselves defenseless to our original plan of attack. Our counter-intelligence force would inform them that you carried the true campaign plans with you into Spain and these plans could—quite unexpectedly of course—fall into French hands. A mock skirmish would be enacted whereupon the documents would be rested from you and supplied to the French.”
The earl considered the plans for a moment, finally partaking of the wine. “If you think it will serve, I am quite willing to play my part,” he said thoughtfully, “but what assurances do we have that the documents will find their way to Bonaparte?”
“We have ways and means of filtering information into their system, as no doubt they have into ours,” smiled Wellington, “but this need not concern you, you will have played your part admirably. Information of the attack as by way of procuring the orders will infiltrate their intelligence, so none should suspect.”
“Am I to enter into this skirmish alone?”
“No, I send a small company of men with you. It will be thought that they have been dispatched to escort you into Spain. It will appear that you have not as yet arrived at my camp.” Sweeping wide his hand, “The whole of what you see before you is a mirage, an optical illusion. Unfortunately, it necessitates your removal before intelligence of your being here is broadcast. I will send Marchant with you and Caldwell will supply you with the new dispatches.”
Leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, Lord Wellington smiled. “Now, Waverly, before you make your preparations, tell me what stories of the campaign are filtering through the corridors of Horse Guards? I receive scant information from London and one wonders how one’s efforts are being received and one’s actions represented.”
Chapter Twelve
“Certainly you should celebrate the child’s birthday. I am sure it is what Richard would wish,” said Lady Victoria, smiling as she put aside the latest novel she had p
rocured from Hookhams. “Indeed it may be just what you need. I have never seen you as downcast as you have been these past few weeks. A diversion is what is required to brighten you. When do you expect my brother to return, has he given any indication of how long he expects to be away?”
“I have heard nothing from him at all,” replied Caroline. “’Twould appear his business is taking longer than he expected, but I am sure he won’t be absent any longer than is necessary.” Then after a moment’s thought, “Yes, I think we should give a small party for Julia. Nothing grand, friends and family only. Diana can bring her brood. The children will love it,” and rising, she crossed to the escritoire to pen notes of invitation to her cousin and other select family members and friends.
They sat cozily ensconced in the small salon, being warmed by a roaring fire that spat occasionally and crackled up the chimney, when a discreet tap came on the door and a footman entered to announce the arrival of Constable Millington.
“Show him in. I will speak to him directly,” ordered Caroline.
Lady Victoria once more forsook her novel at news of the visitor, and marking her page, rose to leave. “I will not intrude,” she said. “I am sure you are eager to hear his findings and will wish to be private.”
“Won’t you stay and listen to what he has to say?” asked Caroline, reluctant to see her sister-in-law leave. “I may be in need of your support.”
“Pish, you are in no need of my support. You will manage quite creditably without me,” said Victoria, but seeing the look of unease on her companion’s face, she resumed her seat. “I must own to being curious on the matter. Therefore, if you will not think me meddlesome, I will stay. This whole affair is distressing for you and I only wish Richard were here to deal with it.”
“So do I,” replied Caroline, with a great deal of feeling, “but I must prove that I am able to cope in my husband’s absence. He wouldn’t wish to think of me as incapable of dealing with the situation.”
“There is no doubt as to that,” chuckled Victoria. “I have never seen you so determined on a matter. Indeed, many a young bride would have been content to sit back and wait for their husband to return and sort the matter in their stead, but I can see it isn’t so in your case.”
At that moment, the footman entered bringing a small ferret-like man in his wake. “Constable Millington, my lady,” he announced.
Caroline greeted the man with a smile, saying, “Will you not be seated and take some tea, constable, and then you can tell me of your findings, for you must know I have been impatient to hear them.”
The ferret-like features stretched into a wide grin. “I would very much welcome some refreshment, my lady,” he beamed, “but if you have no objections, I would appreciate something a little stronger than tea.”
“Would a glass of port suffice?”
“It would suffice most excellently,” he replied, the grin widening still further.
Dispatching the servant to procure the necessary liquid, Caroline indicated that the constable should take a seat by the hearth and she herself sat with Victoria on the chaise to face him.
Once Millington had drained his glass and set it aside, it was seen that he took on an official air, straightening himself in his chair and appearing to prepare himself for the giving of his report. “I am afraid my findings may not be what you are hopeful of hearing, my lady,” he said solemnly.
“You have drawn a blank?” asked Caroline incredulously, sitting forward in her agitation.
Millington dropped his eyes. “I can assure you ma’am, my men have been very thorough, I would even say zealous in their investigations,” he replied, almost defensively. “We have interviewed Lord Melchin’s guests as we were ordered, but everything appeared exactly as it should, everyone could account for his movements for that afternoon. Indeed each was able to corroborate the other’s story.
Caroline showed her impatience. “Does that not seem strange to you, constable? Too glib?” she said. “I cannot believe that a shooting party would not be aware of happenings so close to them. I know for certain that Peter owned no firearm, yet everyone at the shoot had a weapon so readily to hand. Surely that speaks for itself?”
“The matter was investigated Your Ladyship,” said Millington apologetically, knowing his report found no favor with her. “More we cannot do. You must be aware that we are put at a distinct disadvantage when attempting to interview the aristocracy. They are a law unto themselves, and we are obliged to accept whatever reply they feel inclined to give. It is very difficult to continue to press the point when they have so convincingly given their response to our questions.”
“And you are prepared to let the matter drop without any further action?”
“What other option do we have? The boy was a known poacher, and his end seemed very fitting, considering his chosen career.”
“He had given up poaching. I would swear to it.”
“Then one must ask how else did he exist? He had no money or means to support himself, yet he survived well enough. He was never seen to purchase food in the vicinity, so what other conclusions could be drawn?”
“I still don’t believe it of him,” cried Caroline, rising to pace the hearth in frustration.
“I am very sorry my lady, but it appears a very straightforward case of accidental death,” continued Millington, “and I must explain to you, that we have been ordered to pursue the matter no further.”
“Who gave the order?” demanded Victoria unable to contain her impatience at the situation any longer.
Millington once more dropped his eyes, unable to meet her stern gaze. “It was Lord Melchin,” he said quietly.
“Then that speaks for itself,” she scoffed giving him a meaningful glare.
“I do not believe you would take notice of him,” reproved Caroline vehemently, momentarily halting her perambulations. “It is in his interest to uphold his guests’ statements, which surely must prove his motives to be suspect?”
“Being that he is a magistrate, we are obliged to obey his orders. We cannot go against him. Therefore, our investigations must cease.”
Caroline resumed her pacing, not knowing what could be her next move, only being aware of a great reluctance to relinquish her cause.
Victoria watching her anxiously ventured forth a suggestion, “Do you think it would serve if I asked Henry to get involved? Although I think the intervention would carry more weight if it came from Waverly. It seems we are powerless when we come up against such opposition. Indeed, if Melchin is a magistrate, it will require someone with more authority than you or I to contest his orders.”
“I don’t know how much longer my husband will be away,” cried Caroline, frustrated at her ineffectiveness in such a situation. “He has been gone more than a month already. The matter cannot rest until his return. It will be pushed to one side and forgotten if it is not pursued now.”
“The fact that the youth will be seen as nothing but a poacher will go against hopes of reopening the case,” affirmed Millington.
“He was not a poacher,” cried Caroline hotly, and then more quietly, “His last act was to protect me and that is what I believe led to his death. It is only fitting that I should assure that justice is done and his murderer brought before the courts.”
“Then Henry seems our only option,” stated Victoria. “Although I know he will deny it, I am sure he will know exactly what to do. He always does in an emergency. I will send him to Lordings.”
“Do you think it would serve?” asked Caroline anxiously. “I owe it to Peter that his murder does not go unresolved. His death cannot be allowed to go unchallenged.”
“I will assign one of my men to His Lordship when he arrives at the house,” said Millington. “Quite unofficially of course, but he may be of some help.”
“Then the moment Henry returns to town, he goes to Lordings,” affirmed Victoria.
Millington rose to take his leave. “I am very glad you are prepared to take the matte
r further, my lady,” he said confidingly. “From what you say, there is certainly more to the situation than immediately meets the eye, and even though the case is officially closed, it appears further efforts are needed to bring about a satisfactory conclusion.”
Caroline extended her hand in farewell, and smiled briefly. “I thank you for your understanding of the matter. I am sure my husband will show his appreciation when he returns. Until that time, I can only ask you to believe in my cause.”
Bowing, Millington took his leave to return to his constabulary and make the necessary arrangements, leaving Victoria to pen a note to Henry to tell him of her decision.
*****
The day of Julia’s birthday dawned crisp and bright and although she had shed a few tears that Papa had not chosen to arrive for the occasion, by the time the first guests started to arrive, she was consumed with excitement. Birthday gifts filled the hall tables as each new arrival presented their offering for the occasion and Julia giggled her enjoyment at each unwrapping. The children were eventually taken to the nursery floor where all manner of games and pastimes had been devised for their amusement, whilst the adult guests were in the large dining room where a hot meal was served. Victoria remained at Caroline’s side once the meal was over and they mingled amongst the visitors in the salon. Inwardly, she marveled at how much more confident her sister-in-law appeared from the new bride who had entered the family but scant months ago. Her shyness, which had formerly rendered her almost speechless when in company, now seemed to have completely disappeared as she greeted each guest with just the right mixture of openness and decorum, winning approbation from even the strictest of society’s forerunners who now so eagerly courted her attention.
His Shadowed Heart ((Books We Love Regency Romance)) Page 14
