A Mummers' Play by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page A

want to speak of it?”
    Oh, she’d go odds he didn’t! She continued to look at him, so when he lowered the shield of his hands he saw only her. “You owe it to me.”
    She thought he’d protest that, but he sighed and surrendered. “Perhaps you’re right.” He gestured her back to her chair and took the other, but not before getting her a fresh glass and filling it, then refilling his own. “Where do you want me to start?”
    She’d had an account of sorts from the colonel of the regiment, who’d had the facts, of course, from Jack Beaufort. She didn’t expect this retelling to be any different, but she had to hear it from him. She hoped to pick up nuances that would fill in details.
    “Why not start with that Christmas Eve at the estancia?”
    He was studying her over the rim of his glass, puzzled, and perhaps wary. He must be confused by the change from Esme to Justina, from stranger to indirect acquaintance, from nervous spinster to interrogator.
    She could sympathize. She was equally disturbed by the change from faceless monster to troubled man.
    “I’m sorry I mentioned that dinner party earlier,” he said, “I couldn’t know it would upset you.”
    “It didn’t upset me. I just want to hear about it all from the only person who can tell me the truth.”
    Though she watched intently, she detected no flinch at the word “truth.”
    Instead, he sighed. “Very well. If it’s any consolation, it was an unexpectedly merry Christmas. Wellington had put the army in winter cantonments to rest. We’d had the rest, but supplies were thin and there were few luxuries. We didn’t expect much better at Christmas. Anyway, by the time Christmas came we were stirring for the assault, which would start with the New Year. With that in mind, I was sent with a troop of men to investigate the Estancia Cabrera, estate of the Conde de Cabrera. Simon was my lieutenant.”
    He glanced at her as if he expected her to stop him, perhaps hoped that she would stop him. Justina sipped from her glass. “Go on.”
    Again he sighed. “I don’t know how much you know of the situation then. The French were being beaten back and the Spanish were generally on our side, but the Cabrera family had always been suspect. Wellington had plenty of evidence of their support for France in the past, and their estate sat right on the preferred route to Ciudad Rodrigo. He wanted to know the state of affairs there. Whether the family was in residence. How many able-bodied men were around. If there was any sign of the French. We approached the estancia cautiously—it was close to the French lines—but found nothing suspicious. Eventually we left most of the troop in concealment and approached the house. Myself, Simon, and two troopers.”
    He was staring into space, now, looking into the past, perhaps reliving it. “It was a beautiful place even at that time of year—rich golden stone and fertile fields all around. The house was scarcely marked by the war, which was suspicious in itself, since the French armies generally left scars.”
    Just as you are suspiciously unmarked, Justina thought. But then she remembered that he was not totally unmarked and claimed to have other scars besides his hand.
    He was alive, though.
    He was also haunted by many ghosts.
    Suddenly enough to startle her, she realized that her interest was no longer solely to reveal the truth and punish the traitor. She needed, quite desperately, to understand this man’s secrets.
    “Many of their servants had fled or been conscripted into armies,” he said. “We certainly saw no young, healthy males. But the family was managing to keep in quite a good state with just women and older men. However, when we were admitted, we were told that the conde was absent and the condessa was ill, so the three daughters were the only ones available to handle our inquiries.” He came back to the present and looked at her with a hint of humor. “Did Simon mention in his letter that