An Early Engagement (20 page)

Emilyann patted his hand awkwardly. “I’m sure you did everything possible, Sergeant. We’re here now. Everything will be fine.”

Rigg looked at her hand, so white and dainty, and shrugged. “I got to admit I never thought to say I was happy to see you, ma’am. But the major’s been a-calling for you, and if you could just keep him easy in his mind when he gets those restless fevers, I figure time can do the rest.”

“He will recover, won’t he?”

It was Jake who answered, “Here now, missy. We come this far, ain’t we?” Then he told the tired batman to get some rest, he and the little countess would watch over the major. “For I reckon I’ve had enough experience doctorin’ man and beast in my time to see the master through. And don’t worry none about missy,” he said, happily ignorant of the circumstances of the first meeting between his mistress and the soldier. “She’s got more pluck than pretty manners, most times.”

* * * *

This was no peaceful sleep, no matter what Rigg tried to tell her in reassurance, before the exhausted batman himself passed out on a cot in the kitchen, the only room beside the bedroom where the major lay. Smoky’s cheeks were clammy, his color yellowish, his skin drawn tight over the planes of his face in a grimace of pain. He looked like Death.

Emilyann brushed the dark hair off his forehead and his eyes opened. It took a bleary moment for them to focus on her, and still seemed to take most of his concentration. “Sparrow?” His voice was no more than a whispered croak.

“Hallo, Smoky. I’m here.”

He waved a hand that trembled like that of an old man, and she caught it and raised it to her face, and told him again, “I’m here now.”

“I thought ... I told ... not to come?”

“Yes, but then you called for me.”

“I remember ... ‘s all right, then. Good girl.” And he went back to sleep.

Emilyann bathed his face while Jake brought in the supplies, and she made broth while the coachman changed Stokely’s bandages. “It’s a nasty cut, make no mistake,” he reported, “but I’ve seen worse. He’ll do.”

The next time the major awoke, Emilyann got some nourishing soup down him, and on him, and he tried to smile for her as she wiped his chin. She busied herself with the bowl and towel so he would not see her struggle to hold back the tears. His sunken eyes never left her, though, and he seemed more lucid.

“Hush,” she told him when he wanted to talk. “Save your strength for tomorrow.”

“No. You weren’t supposed to come. You promised.”

“I promised not to come for the fun and parties. Let me tell you, Everett Stockton, this is not fun.”

“Know that. I’m sorry, Sparrow.”

“You great goose. I like it better when you shout at me.”

“You never listened anyway.... You shouldn’t be here. Too dangerous.”

“No, Smoky, the war is over, and I have Jake and Rigg to protect me.” That seemed to please him, so she went on. “And Aunt Ingrid is back in town, too, organizing prayer meetings and saving souls, I am sure, so you needn’t worry over the proprieties.” She was not about to tell him his sister was here also; she was trying to ease his mind, not send him into a rage. But mentioning Aunt Ingrid reminded her that her scratchy relative would be anxious for news, or Emilyann’s return, before nightfall.

Smoky’s three nursemaids discussed the problem in the kitchen when he nodded off again. Emilyann flatly refused to leave, especially since one of the men would have to accompany her. Jake felt that since he was well rested, he should stay on with his mistress, while Rigg, who had had a few hours’ sleep, knew the roads better and would know where to hire a gig to carry supplies back from town. Rigg could report to the ladies at Charteret, get a decent sleep there and, in the morning, check with headquarters and gather whatever stores he thought they might need, including a new uniform.

Rigg did not want to leave his major, but knew when he was outgunned. And His Lordship was improved by the lass’s visit, no doubt about that, and her man Jake seemed handy enough for a horse doctor. So he left with one of the horses and a list from Lady Stokely. “And remember the lemons. Smoky always liked lemonade, so we brought them all the way from England just in case there were none to be had here.”

Stokely began to sweat not ten minutes after Rigg left, and an hour before his next medication. Great dropules formed on his forehead and soaked the bedclothes. Emilyann and Jake both worked to keep him covered when he wanted to throw the blankets off and dry when his sheets became drenched. This was no place for maidenly modesty, Emilyann found out quickly, bathing her husband to bring the fever down. Jake had to hold the major to keep him from thrashing around, but Emilyann’s voice seemed to soothe him the most, though he was beyond responding. He would call “Sparrow,” and she would tell him yes, she was there, and he would lie quietly for minutes, until the shaking started again.

At last it was time for his next dose and Emilyann and Jake were both drained when Stokely finally sank into a deep stupor.

“Whisht, lass, it’s gonna be a long night,” Jake told her, wiping his own forehead before sitting down to the meal of cold meat, bread, and cheese they had carried with them. Rigg had set out a jug of ale and the remains of a rabbit pie. “Best you get some sleep now, an’ you’re able. I’ll wake you when things get bad, then you can sit up with ‘im whilst I rest a bit.”

Jake made sense, and Emilyann realized she had hardly slept since that courier came with the message. It was strange, with Smoky lying there so deathly still, how she felt relieved, as if just seeing him were reassurance enough. She might never have seen him again. Yes, she would sleep for a few hours, but she dragged Rigg’s cot into the bedroom and curled up in a blanket that smelled comfortingly of horse.

She did not move when Smoky woke the first time and asked for her.

“She’s right over there, Master Stokely,” Jake told him, holding the candle up so the major could see the blond-haired bundle in the corner.

Smoky’s lips almost curved in a grin, and he slept that way awhile. The next time he roused, he was troubled. “You ... ?”

“It’s Jake, my lord,” the old man told him, keeping his voice soft in order not to disturb Lady Em. “You remember, the old duke’s head coachman. You used to pester me to let you drive the four-in-hand.”

“I remember. Jake, you’ll look after her, won’t you, if ...”

“I allus does, Master Stokely, when she lets me. You’re the only one as had any reins on the filly when she gets the bit ‘tween her teeth though, so you better be back in the saddle soon.”

“Headstrong girl, my Sparrow. Shouldn’t be here. You’ll take care ... ?”

He did not know Jake when he woke next, wet and trembling. Jake was trying to sponge him down, determined that Emilyann should get as much rest as possible. The major started throwing himself around, however, and Jake put his arms on him, lest he fall off the bed altogether.

“No!” Smoky shouted. “No, you filthy graverobbing bastards, I’ll not let you have my watch!” Even in his delirium the officer was strong enough to throw Jake’s arms off and swing out and clout the old stableman on the chin. “I’m not dead yet, you damn vulture.”

Emilyann jumped up, wide-eyed, and screamed for Jake to leave the room. Couldn’t he see he was upsetting Smoky? She ran to kneel on the bed next to him and clasped his face in her hands. “Smoky, wake up, dearest. No one will hurt you, Smoky. You’re safe now.”

“Sparrow?”

“Yes, it’s Sparrow. I’m here. You’re safe.” She kept repeating it, stroking his face, until the tension left his muscles and he relaxed against her. She got him to take some more broth, and put a fresh case on the pillow, then sat down next to him again when he struggled to talk.

“I want to tell you. All that time ... trying to get somewhere safe ... warm, out of the rain ... trying to hold my guts together with my hands ... I was laughing, Sparrow. Know why? ‘Cause all those years, all those battles and skirmishes, I came out with hardly a scratch.”

She touched the scar on his jaw, more noticeable now that he was so gaunt. “That’s not just a scratch. A few inches more ...”

“You don’t understand. No one cared. Then I finally had something to go home to, don’t you see?”

“Yes, Smoky, I see. I cared. But why were you laughing?”

“So I wouldn’t cry, Sparrow. So I wouldn’t cry.”

Smoky rested a few minutes, his head cradled in her lap and one hand holding hers. Then his face grew troubled and he asked her to go send Rigg in to him.

“Rigg has gone back to town for supplies and things. He’ll be back in the morning.”

“Then get your man Jake, will you, Sparrow?”

“He’s fast asleep, Smoky. What is it?”

Smoky raised his other hand from under the sheets. It was covered in blood. “I think you better wake him.”

* * * *

“Me? I can’t do that, Jake. You know I can’t.” Her voice was pleading, unsteady.

The old man held up his hands, the knuckles bent and swollen with arthritis. “Well, these fingers can’t hold a needle steady enough, and my eyes ain’t what they used to be neither, lass, so it’s either you start stitchin’ or we sit around hopin’ he don’t bleed to death afore that batman of his gets back.”

“I vote for Sparrow,” her husband put in, waving Jake’s flask.

“And I’m quite sure you’ve had enough of that, my lord, what with the laudanum and that other stuff that smells like spoiled eggs,” she answered, snatching the flask away. “Smoky, I just cannot do it. It’s not that I’m going missish on you, you know I wouldn’t. But remember all the samplers we paid your mother’s maid to finish for me?”

“You still owe me twenty-five guineas. Maybe it was forty-five.”

“And they tried and tried at Miss Meadow’s, but I never got the hang of it, Smoky. The plaguey thread is always tangling and the knots come undone and—”

And Jake was already boiling water and laying out a gruesome array of scissors, knives, and powders from a pouch in his saddlebag.

“You old windbag,” Emilyann accused him. “You said you could do whatever was needed. I wouldn’t have brought you else.”

“That’s why I said it. Now, here, watch close. Tarnation, girl, open your eyes or you’ll be sewin’ him to the bed.”

Emilyann felt bile rise in her throat as Jake pulled the bandages back and she saw the great gaping wound for the first time.

“It looks worse’n it is,” he assured her. “At least you don’t have to sew up any intestines or anything.”

She excused herself for a moment to be thoroughly sick outside. When she came back, Smoky gave her a drunken, lopsided grin before sinking into unconsciousness, and she took up the needle.

“Smoky mightn’t like looking like an altar cloth with little crosses up and down him,” she murmured, “but, by heaven, where is Aunt Ingrid now that I need her?”

“And your aunt says she’s praying for the major. And I says all to the good; he needs all the help he can get.”

Rigg was back, all spruced up, his mustachios neatly trimmed, driving a donkey cart. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but it’s a hell of a thing for a cavalry man to be reduced to,” he told Emilyann, but it was the only rig for hire in the town that wouldn’t get bogged down in the muck. Rigg brought food and supplies, a few chickens, a change of clothes for Emilyann, who still wore her crumpled riding habit, and news from town.

“It’s settling down now; provisions are coming back in finally, and more of the men are being shipped home, those that can travel. Oh, and little sister sends her greetings. She is busy entertaining the troops, though they be officers mostly.”

Emilyann glanced nervously toward the bedroom, and Smoky. “She’s not doing anything too outrageous, is she?”

“What, with the preacher-lady there? No, she sings church songs to them, and reads from the Holy Book. Of course, as soon as Lady Aylesbury heads out on an errand or somewhat, they switch to little ditties and waltzes and some novels the gel brought from home.”

“Nadine is not left unchaperoned, is she? That doesn’t sound like my aunt.”

“Now, how could the gal be unchaperoned with you billeting half a battalion at that palace? Every English lady in this country sits in your parlor of an afternoon, ‘specially those what has daughters, doing their share for the lads’ morale.”

“That’s all right, then.”

“Sure, and I used some of the money you gave me to have that rat-faced concierge unearth a few bottles for the men from that count’s cellars, and a couple of packs of cards. They’re all fine.” He looked at her more closely through shaggy brows, noting the dark circles under her eyes. “But how are things here?”

The major was awake when Emilyann took Rigg in to see, and he was wanting to know about their conversation. “I didn’t hear you mention my little sister, did I?” he accused her.

“Little sinners, Smoky, Aunt Ingrid is reforming the little sinners. That’s what you heard.” When he raised one eyebrow she hurried on, “I think I’ll ride back to town this afternoon to see for myself. Aunt Ingrid sent the wrong dress, anyway, and I—”

“Wear something blue, Sparrow. And tell Nadine to toe the line. I’m not grassed yet.”

Later, when Rigg went to change the bandages, he squawked, “By all that’s holy. Major, what the hell happened to you? You got more lacings than an opera dancer’s corset.”

“There was a little difficulty last evening. That nightmare, I suppose.” He looked down, admiring Emilyann’s handiwork. “Lovely, ain’t it? We’re aiming for tapestries next.”

“Cor, I hope you were unconscious at the time.”

“Most of it. I did wake up when she finished.”

“You mean the chit did this? I mean, Lady Stokely?”

“Aye, and knocked off a swig after, like a regular trooper.”

“I thought all women knew how to sew. Thought they was born with it, like a dog wagging his tail.”

The major laughed, and Rigg could have forgiven her anything for the sound, even making his major look like a Christmas goose that had been trussed by a jug-bit chef. “Well, it don’t seem to have done you any harm, at least. Seems you look a mite better, in fact. Having the lady here must have done the trick.”

Either that or Jake’s whiskey.