Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  “Yes, miss, but what then? We can’t go riding through the gates at Badajoz, can we? And once they see we don’t, they’ll all be after us.”

  “We’ll just have to break through. No matter what happens to any of us, this treasure must reach Wellington.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you or Jeanne, miss, you know that,” Francis declared loyally.

  “I know. Nothing will happen. We’re ready, and will move tonight. It’s too risky to try to get through during the day tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be there sometime this evening, if your brother’s calculations are correct,” Francis reassured her.

  They had a bit more to eat, and a small siesta, and then once more, the horses pulled the coach relentlessly towards Badajoz.

  Towards nightfall, true to Francis’ predictions, they could see a huge town shaped like a wagon wheel below them as they descended onto the wide plain, but Vevina could also see an enormous road-block ahead. Red lanterns winked at them, signalling them to stop.

  “What should we do?” Francis called from above.

  “Slow down, and then, when their suspicions are allayed, whip the horses and charge.”

  “This won’t be the only blockade, and the others might see what’s going on,” Francis argued.

  “If we stop, and they capture us, we’re dead anyway!” Vevina argued. “Do as I say, now!”

  Vevina peered into the darkness, and saw one more set of lights winking down along the road. As she looked to her right she could see tents, and knew she would find Wellington somewhere over in what was obviously the British camp.

  The coach slowed, and then suddenly the two coachmen whipped the horses, and they ran on, bowling over the French guards, who opened fire. The soldiers inside the coach returned fire as they chased after them, and one was shot dead in the head. Vevina opened the carriage door and heaved him out, the body causing the French horses in pursuit to rear up.

  A bullet buried itself in the upholstery right next to Vevina’s ear, and she fired her pistol at the pursuing horseman.

  Jeanne cowered in the corner for a moment, until Vevina reassured her that it was all over, and she called up to Francis to assess the damage.

  “One coachman dead, the other’s wounded in the arm,” Francis declared.

  “We’ve got one more blockade to run, a big one, and it’s coming up fast. We’ve got to get through!” Vevina urged. “Load the weapons again, and stop for a moment.”

  She swung down out of the carriage, and examined the team of horses silently. Then Vevina asserted, “Right, we're going to run the blockade, using these horses.” She bent down and removed her petticoat, which she tore into long thick strips.

  “Private Farmer, I need you to get to the back, to return fire. Francis, stay up top, hand him weapons and return fire. Jeanne, I know you can do this. I need you to help the coachman with the horses.”

  Jeanne trembled, but with Private Farmer’s help she scrambled up top. Francis finally asked, “What are you going to do, Miss?”

  By way of reply, Vevina unharnessed the four horses at the front, and loosely retied them using the thick cloth strips which she had knotted. Then she tied the black swathes of cloth from the carriage over their heads.

  “No, miss, you can’t be serious, I won’t let you,” Francis protested, as she struggled to mount the left horse in the third row, a whip in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  “Have you got any better ideas!” Vevina shouted angrily. “Now remember, Jeanne, whip the horses hard when I release each team. The weight of the treasure is going to drag them, and we can’t afford to slow down.”

  The coachman and Jeanne got the horses started, and as luck would have it, the ride was steeply down hill. As they neared the first huge gateway, blocked by an enormous log, Vevina whipped the two horses at the front. Then, extracting her dagger from her boot, she cut through the cloth tracers, to let the team loose.

  As she had guessed, they blindly ran on straight into the barrier. The horses hit the log with a sickening thud, but ripped most of the barricade along with them for a few yards, while Vevina tugged the second team hard to the left to avoid the wreckage. The French fired wildly, and Vevina now cut the cords binding the second team. It swerved to the right, pulling the coach up the middle of the road before they were fully free and thundered into the second barricade.

  Vevina’s own horse stumbled in the wreckage, but she pulled hard, and flicked her cloak off and over the horse’s head so it would not be terrified by the timber and debris scattered everywhere.

  The coach still plunged on, and now Vevina could hear the French behind in hot pursuit. “Keep whipping them, over to the right!” Vevina called.

  As she looked behind her, she could see Jeanne in sole charge of the carriage. The other coachman must have fallen off or been killed, and Vevina had an agonizing choice to make.

  She could stay where she was, guiding the lead horse through any more French defences, or go help Jeanne, or help Private Farmer and Francis.

  She turned around on the horse, and fired her pistol at a French cavalry officer who was coming up to grab the bridle of the lead horse on the right.

  Then she held onto the harness of each horse’s back, and stepped down between the sweating beasts. Her foot slipped, but she hung on, her arm muscles straining as she jolted up and down and finally found a foothold on the leather and silver straps. She moved backwards between the second team, and finally to the first. She was just below Jeanne, but could not see a way to get up to the coachman’s box easily.

  Just then, Francis looked back to pick up another loaded weapon, and saw Vevina being jolted up and down on the team’s harness. He swung down off the top of the coach, holding on to the sturdy wooden frame, and yelled, “Take my hand, Viv, now!”

  Vevina knew timing was of the essence. The French were still in pursuit, and if the horses or carriage hit a rut, she could be bounced underneath the hooves or wheels and killed.

  “I’m ready. One, two,” Vevina cried, leaning towards Francis. With a screamed “Three!” and a mighty leap, she caught his right hand with her own, and hung on.

  Jeanne controlled the team with one hand, and clutched at Vevina’s gown desperately with the other as she hung suspended between the team.

  Vevina grabbed the box with her left hand, and found a toe hold. Francis and Vevina both pulled with a mighty heave, and then she was safely up on the box, just as the French drew close.

  Vevina now realized there was no returning fire from the back. Francis threw himself flat as a bullet whizzed past, nearly catching him in the arm, and then he and Vevina returned fire, until most of the pursuing French were dead.

  The last of the cavalry troop began to slow as they neared the British camp.

  Then Francis waved an English tunic, and Vevina called, “Urgent message for Wellington! Let us through, the French are coming!”

  The soldiers waiting at the gate to the camp had seen their breakneck flight from the French, and two of them opened the gates hurriedly, while the others gave the carriage covering fire.

  Vevina slipped down onto the box, and helped Jeanne slow the frantic team to a trot.

  She looked around in delighted relief, panted with her exertions. They had made it, and at last were safe in Wellington’s camp. Now, if only she could find Stewart, she thought wistfully, with a desperate pang of desire.

  Chapter Thirty

  As Vevina climbed down from the coach-box, two fierce looking guards challenged her. Her disheveled appearance and the French coat of arms on the side of the coach excited much comment, but she demanded again, “I must see the Duke of Wellington. I have an urgent message.”

  She left Francis and Jeanne in charge of the coach, as one of the men finally acceded to her request.

  Vevina was brought into a small chamber, and Wellington glanced up from his papers in astonishment. “Lady Vevina, what has happened to you? Where have you been since January?” />
  “I have carried out my mission sir. I have foiled Samuel Fitzgerald’s plans for the invasion of Ireland, and secured the fortune Stewart Fitzgerald the Duke of Clancar is heir to, which I wish to give to you. Please come outside, my lord?”

  Wellington was convinced she was mad, but she persuaded him in the end, and followed her down the stairs.

  As two soldiers ripped the interior of the coach apart, and the treasure was revealed, his eyes widened.

  He hastened Vevina back inside, and forced her to sit and sip a glass of wine. Vevina offered Wellington the treasure, saying, “Take all of it, please, to pay for the war against Napoleon. The only thing I ask is that you set some aside for Captain Vincent Olivier’s ransom, and a bit more to pay for the clothes and assistance his family gave me in France. I would never have managed to secure the treasure without their help.”

  “Lady Vevina, do you know what even one of these gold or silver bars is worth?” Wellington laughed, shaking his head.

  For a moment Vevina’s face fell. Surely they weren’t fake ingots! All that for nothing?

  “Each one is worth a small fortune. It would make Stewart Fitzgerald the richest man in Europe. I cannot allow you to do this without first consulting him. Even were he to agree, I would refuse on the grounds that you would both regret it.”

  “Please sir, you must accept it. His cousin, the Chevalier de Gerald, wished me to take this treasure to protect Ireland and stop Napoleon. My trip to discover it and stop Samuel was my only way to prove how loyal I am to the Crown. I have no need of such treasure, nor does Stewart. If my estates can be restored, Wilfred and I will have more than we need, and Samuel is no longer alive to drain every penny of profit from Stewart’s lands. Please, take the money.”

  Wellington took her hand and kissed it. “My dear Lady Vevina, you are acting with the typical impetuosity of youth. We will consider all this at a more fitting time, when you are thinking more clearly. Now, I have other pressing duties, so I shall put you in the care of my ADC Monroe, and speak to you in the next few days. May I suggest you rest here, and you shall go to Lisbon once you are well enough to travel further on.”

  “I am well enough now, my Lord, and thank you for seeing me.” Vevina hesitated, then forced herself to ask, “Major Fitzgerald, my lord. At Cuidad Roderigo, I was informed that he had marched here. Can you tell me where he is?”

  “Out there, of course,” Wellington said quietly, pointing out the window. Suddenly there was a burst of cannon fire, and flares lit the night sky. “He will be going in to reinforce the troops taking the breach soon.”

  Wellington offered her a telescope and she peered through it eagerly. She gasped in horror as she saw three small holes being blasted into the vast ninety-foot high stone walls.

  She stared for a few seconds more, and then turned to face Wellington squarely as she handed back the telescope.

  “Permission to fight, sir.”

  “Out of the question!” Wellington exploded. “After the journey you have made in the past few months, and with child too? I most certainly do not give my permission.”

  Vevina shocked the Viscount by beginning to undo her dress, but she merely released the front clasps and strings of her corset, before plunking the jewel bags down on the table.

  “I’m not as pregnant as I look, sir. It seemed a good place to hide them at the time.” She grinned.

  Wellington gasped as he opened one of the bags, and placed them in his strong box under his feet.

  “I will keep these safe for you and Major Fitzgerald, until you have had a chance to tell us all about this mysterious inheritance. But I must also keep you safe. If he comes out of Badajoz, he will have my guts if I am forced to tell him you were alive after so many months, and unscathed after so many dangers, only to get killed here because I let you go off to fight. No, I won’t let you throw your life away, so go upstairs and rest,” Wellington ordered sternly.

  “Please, my lord, none of this is worth anything without Stewart,” Vevina croaked tearfully.

  Wellington saw she was not referring to the treasure.

  He studied her for a moment, before saying, “Your innocence has been proven, your lands in England and Ireland are yours once again. You don’t have to prove your loyalty to the Crown any more.”

  “I must go to him,” Vevina insisted, raising her chin.

  Wellington sighed. “Very well, take what you need from the stores, and the stables, and go with God.”

  Vevina called to the orderly, who turned out to be none other than young Bob. An ecstatic reunion, Vevina whisked off the tattered remnants of her gown, and waited until Bob brought her a uniform.

  “Listen, take all my trunks over to the field hospital, open them, and tear all the clothes that are suitable into bandages for the men. The casualties are going to be dreadful, and Doc Gallagher will need all the help he can get. Take my maid Jeanne with you, and Francis Baines.”

  “But, Viv, all your clothes? You need something to wear after this!” Bob protested.

  “It doesn’t matter, cut all the underclothing up. They’re made of good clean white cotton. And any warm dresses you can’t use, put off to the side for the camp women,” Vevina instructed, as she turned her back to remove her corsets.

  “All right, Viv, you’re the boss. I’ll see to it straight away,” Bob agreed. “Major’ll be so glad to see you back, Viv, and the rest of us,” he added shyly, and blew her a kiss from the door.

  “I’m glad to be back, Bob. I’ve missed you all too,” Vevina said sincerely. "But now, I need to find Stewart."

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Once Vevina had pulled on the breeches and shirt, and shrugged into a red tunic, she clambered to the top of the coach. She took down two rifles, two muskets, and loaded them. She fixed her bayonets, and then took two pistols, which she tucked in her belt.

  She took a sabre and tied it around her with a sash, and also her bag of ready made bandages, then ran to the stables. Within seconds, she saddled a fine bay gelding, vaulted onto its back, and began racing towards the walls of Badajoz.

  Vevina’s breakneck journey across the battlefield was a terrifying one, with the roar of the cannons, the shriek of shells flying overhead, and the shots that rang out. At any moment she expected to be hit, or her horse to be blown to pieces underneath her.

  But the worst of it was the darkness. It was full of imagined terrors. Vevina waited to be shot or bayonetted, or sent flying into one of the deep trenches that had been dug around the city walls.

  A flare suddenly lit the moonless sky, and Vevina desperately sought a fleeting glimpse of the ground in front of her. Soon she came upon some British soldiers, who were just waiting as reinforcements for their turn at the breaches.

  “Major Stewart Fitzgerald of the South Warkwickshires, where is he?” she shouted above the din.

  “The regiment are just going up to the ditches ahead there,” one of soldiers pointed, eyeing her with unabashed curiosity. “Are you the lady who helped them take Cuidad Roderigo?”

  Vevina nodded, but wasted no time pressing on. As another Congreve rocket flared, she began to pick her way through the debris, trenches, dead and wounded. It was an unspeakable scene of carnage. When she got closer to the city walls, Vevina could see in the dim light of gunfire the number of men who had been sacrificed in the hope of taking even one of the walls which had been opened up by the continuous bombardment.

  As she got nearer to the first breach, she searched everywhere for a glimpse of Stewart, but instinct told her these were not his troops. Some were half-hearted, and many disorganized. There would be no getting into the breach there, just an endless round of slaughter unless someone took control soon.

  Vevina knew Wellington was probably relying on sheer strength of British numbers to carry the day, but she also recognized that the attempt to force the siege to a conclusion had been a desperate one.

  If they had waited to batter down the wall of Badajoz, it would
only have meant more time for the French to send for reinforcements. If the British took Badajoz, they would ensure the safety of Portugal, and press on to recapture the main Spanish towns the French held. If Wellington’s ploy didn’t succeed, it could well be the finale of the Peninsular campaign, and the end of freedom in Europe.

  Vevina’s grim thoughts led her to spur her horse harder, and she galloped on through the darkness, until suddenly the horse slipped, and she was thrown into a stinking, slimy trench full of dead. Vevina was weighed down with the weight of the guns, rifles and ammunition she carried, but her fall was broken by the makeshift first aid kit she had tied around her back. It stuck out like a hump, but it had prevented her from doing herself a serious injury against the bank and stones in the trench.