Dark Angel (26 page)

Willing herself to stay calm, Caroline led Emily back to the parlor, gave her the sandwich, and persuaded her to eat. Then she sank down on the sofa and tried to think. Could Talbot's batman be a French spy? But she had convinced herself that the thin man would not come to Freneda to seek out a French agent. Perhaps Colborne had met the thin man in the course of the war and the thin man had sought Colborne out when he reached Freneda. But then what had brought the thin man to Freneda in the first place?

"Mama?" Emily asked, swallowing the last of the sandwich. "Will that man try to take me away again?"

"Of course not," Caroline said with determination. "I won't let him. Nor will Adam or Hawkins. Adam told you we'd be safe once we got to Freneda." But when he said that, Adam had thought the thin man had only been after the dispatch. The thin man must know it was now too late to recover the dispatch. What else could have brought him to Freneda?

It was a quarter-hour before Hawkins returned to the room. As he closed the door behind him, Caroline saw a look in his eyes that sent a shiver of fear through her. Then the look was gone, replaced by a smile. "It's all right," he told Emily, "the thin fellow's long gone from the Cauliflower."

"He won't come back?" Emily asked.

"I very much doubt it," Hawkins told her.

Emily, who was sitting close to Caroline, relaxed visibly at the words, but Caroline was not deceived. When Emily returned to the chess pieces on the floor, Caroline walked over to the windows where Hawkins was standing, his gaze fixed in frowning concentration on the bustle outside. "Tell me," she said, her voice pitched low.

Hawkins started, as if his thoughts had been elsewhere. He turned to her with the same reassuring look he had given Emily. "Best wait for Adam," he advised.

"No." The fact that he did not want to tell her convinced Caroline that it must be even worse than she had suspected. She laid a hand on his arm. "Please, I want to know."

Hawkins hesitated. "The thin fellow's gone," he told her. "Colborne left the inn as well, at least for the moment."

"Then what has you so worried?"

"I had a word with a stableboy who overheard some of their conversation."

"And?" Caroline asked, her voice tight.

Hawkins drew a breath. "The boy only heard a fragment of their talk. There was a lot of haggling about money. The thin man wanted enough to get safely back home." He paused and looked down at her, a concern in his blue eyes that she had not seen in all the hardships of their journey from Acquera. "Colborne said, 'The colonel isn't going to like this.' And the thin man said, 'We almost had her in Salamanca, but there were armed men with her.' "

Caroline heard shouts and the clatter of hooves outside in the yard, and nearer at hand the soft hiss of the fire. They drowned out the conclusion she refused to draw from Hawkins's words. "Her?" she repeated. "The colonel?"

Hawkins regarded her levelly. " 'Her' must be you. And I imagine 'the colonel' is your husband's cousin."

Chapter Twelve

Fitzroy Somerset had mounted Adam on a splendid dark chestnut of his own, Baron being in need of rest, and the two men rode side by side out of Freneda. "I'm taking Mrs. Rawley to Lisbon," Adam said. He wanted to make the matter clear, though he did not expect Somerset to object.

"Of course," the other man said. Then, with a smile, "It's awkward to serve two masters."

Adam grinned. Nominally he was an aide to Sir Charles Stuart, who had been England's minister in Lisbon for the past three years, but in fact he had spent most of those years in Spain, gathering intelligence for the British army. "I lay it at your door," Adam said.

This was not wholly an exaggeration. If it had not been for Somerset, Adam would not have gone to England to investigate the matter of faulty artillery. Five years ago he had left India and come back to England with little in his pocket save an introduction to Sir Charles, who had some connection to the Foreign Office. Stuart was about to leave on a special mission to Spain to meet with the junta which were trying to organize a defense against the incursions of the French. The two men hit it off and Stuart hired Adam as his aide. A month later Adam found himself in Portugal, carrying dispatches from Stuart to the commander of the British forces there. Exactly who was commander at that time was somewhat in doubt, the Government being unable to make up their collective mind, but there was no doubt that the British victories over the French at Rolica and Vimeiro were due to the efforts of Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had later become the Marquess of Wellington;

Wellesley had been in a bitter mood that summer of 1808, having been forced into signing an unfavorable treaty with the French. It was Somerset, one of Wellesley's aides-de-camp, who sought Adam out and told him, in quiet, understated terms, that Wellesley's victories were won despite the cannon that misfired or exploded in their gunners' faces. The matter, he said, should be investigated. He took Adam to see Wellesley, and Wellesley, who had had favorable reports of young Durward from his brother Richard, who had been Governor-General of India, had agreed that Durward was the man to send to London. Wellesley had promised to square Adam's absence with Stuart.

Which, Adam reflected, was how he went to London, learned of Jared Rawley's guilt, bedded Jared's wife, and sowed the seeds of mistrust between Caroline and himself that would bear bitter fruit for the rest of their lives.

Adam glanced at the young man riding beside him, five years his junior and already a lieutenant-colonel. He could hardly blame Somerset for the way things had turned out. A man might cut the cards to his advantage, but in the end he played the hand he was dealt. Adam knew he was responsible for his own mistakes.

Forcing his mind from the past, Adam looked over the flat country through which they were riding. Walls of loose stone divided the uncultivated fields. Hay was grown here, Somerset said, and Adam could in fact see occasional green shoots battling the rocky ground, but he was left with an impression of abandonment and desolation. As they neared the River Coa the ground grew rocky and the country wilder. They crossed the Coa on a crude bridge of stones made slippery by the water's spray, climbed a rocky path on the other side of the river, and descended to the plain in which lay Villa de Tomo.

The review was over. They met Wellington and his party on their way back to Freneda. There were a dozen or more officers with him, both English and Spanish. Wellington called a halt and rode alone toward Somerset and Adam. "Durward," he said, his voice loud and friendly, "I'm glad to see you back. What news of Lieutenant Rawley?"

"Dead, sir, before I arrived."

Wellington shook his head. He was harsh and often unfair to his troops in the mass, but he cared deeply for each individual soldier under his command. "And Mrs. Rawley?"

"In Freneda. The child as well."

"Good God." Wellington frowned. "I didn't know there was a child."

"Nearly four years old, and not badly harmed by her experience."

"Recover quickly, don't they." It was not a question. Many women followed their husbands to war, and the presence of infants and young children on the march was not uncommon. "What did you see of the French?"

"A foraging party in Acquera—that's where Rawley died. And we went to Salamanca."

Wellington's blue eyes darkened. "Good God, Durward, what were you doing taking an Englishwoman to enemy quarters?"

"It was necessary, sir. I had a dispatch from
guerrilleros
we met north of Palencia. The child was taken hostage and we had to go to Salamanca to get her back."

Wellington exchanged a look with Somerset that said clearly that Durward was an impetuous fool, but a good man all the same. "Do you have the dispatch?"

"In a manner of speaking—" Adam began, but he no longer had the general's attention. There was a sharp yipping of dogs and Adam turned around to catch a glimpse of a reddish-brown bush with a half-dozen greyhounds in hot pursuit. Three officers, not of their group, were galloping after them, but before the officers passed Adam, Wellington gave an ecstatic "View halloo!" and was off in the lead.

"He's only had one fox all winter," Somerset said, as though that excused the general's leaving Adam in mid-sentence. Adam was not surprised. The general was mad for hunting, as were half the officers under his command, many of whom had brought their dogs with them from England.

Adam abhorred the sport. He hated the killing of a defenseless creature, and he hated more the killing by a mob. He remembered still the sight of his mother lying on her back in a dusty street, her eyes open to the sun blazing down from overhead. The fixed horror on her face had told him she was dead, and he had knelt down and smeared his face with the blood that gushed from her breast, howling like an animal with a pain he could not endure.

"Do you hunt?" Somerset asked.

"I've never cared to," Adam said trying to hide the revulsion in his voice.

Somerset looked at him in surprise. "Ah, well, some people don't." He was being tactful, but he seemed suddenly uncomfortable in Adam's presence. A tiny rift had been made in their friendship. Gentlemen hunted, that was what he meant. You're not one of us.

The general's party stayed apart, talking and laughing among themselves. Adam was silent, listening to the river spilling over rocks and the receding sounds of hoofbeats and the yapping of dogs. A cold wind came up. Somerset's horse grew restless and he pulled him closer to Adam's chestnut. "About Salamanca," he said.

Adam saw nothing but friendly interest in Somerset's eyes and decided he had made too much of that slight withdrawal over the matter of hunting. He might not belong to Somerset's world, but then he didn't care to. At least they respected each other and that counted for a great deal. So he told Somerset how Emily had been abducted and how they had gone to Salamanca and got her back. He stressed Lescaut's helpfulness. In war it helps to know which of one's enemy one can trust.

Some twenty minutes later the general rode back, his horse frothy with sweat. "Lost him," Wellington said cheerfully. "He went to earth in the rocks near the river. Splendid ride." His face red with exertion, the general leaned down and patted his horse. "I don't want to let him stand about. Ride back with me." He signaled to his officers to follow and made his way to the slippery bridge over the Coa.

When they had reached the flat land on the other side, Wellington waited for Adam and Somerset to catch up. "About that dispatch," he said.

"I'm afraid I had to give it up," Adam said. "The price of the child's return."

Somerset's eyes glinted with amusement. "It was well watered, sir. Quite indecipherable. Durward had taken a tumble in a river."

Wellington frowned and looked at Adam. "You'd read it first?"

"Of course." Adam proceeded to reel off the substance of the dispatch, which concerned General Clausel's movements in the north, the state of his army, the number of their mounts and their artillery, and the problems with their supplies.

Wellington grunted, a sign of his approval. "Useful. Confirms much of what we've heard by other means. What will you do with Mrs. Rawley?"

"I'm taking her to Lisbon and putting her on a ship for England. And I should meet with Sir Charles."

Wellington dismissed Sir Charles with a wave of his hand. "Talk to Colonel Rawley. He'll be going back to Oporto soon. Closer to England than Lisbon. Perhaps he'll agree to take Mrs. Rawley and the child there and find them passage home. Rawley is a good man," Wellington continued when Adam did not answer. "I'm surrounded, often as not, by fools." He smiled suddenly and it warmed his bony face. "Somerset excepted, of course. But Rawley is a man I can trust."

They were entering Freneda by now and Adam was saved from the need of a reply. In a few minutes Wellington pulled up at the house that served as his headquarters. "Durward." The hint of a smile elongated his well-shaped mouth. "We'll be marching in two months or less. Come back when you can."

Adam dismounted, leaving Somerset to follow the general, and made his way to the Cauliflower on foot. Rawley, good as his word, had obtained the use of a parlor for Caroline. He found her there with Emily and Hawkins as well. Emily ran to him and flung her arms round his knees. He stooped and lifted her up, but she had no welcoming smile. "We saw the bad man," she said, her face grave with the message she had to impart. Startled, Adam glanced at the others and saw the child's worried look reflected in their eyes.

"We have a bit of a problem," Hawkins said.

"Emily saw the thin man, the one who got away in Salamanca." Caroline's manner was composed but Adam heard the tremor in her voice. "He's gone now, and Hawkins learned that he's on his way back to Spain. So there's nothing to worry about, is there,
querida?"
she added, speaking to Emily. "Though he gave us quite a scare."

"He won't come back." Emily's voice was uncertain. She looked into Adam's face for confirmation, but before he could assure her that the man would not—God in heaven, how could he promise her anything?—Emily was distracted by the sound of girls' voices. Wriggling out of Adam's arms, she ran to the window. "Look, Adam. They're dancing."

The three adults followed her to the window. A half-dozen little girls—the oldest not more than ten—were dancing a bolero, their only accompaniment the clicking of their castanets and a small, parchment-covered box which another girl beat with her palms. The men standing in the inn-yard clapped their hands in rhythm and one or two burst into song. Emily turned round, her eyes shining. "I want to dance, too."

"I'll take you." Hawkins swung the child to his shoulders and made for the door. As he opened it he gave Adam a look that said as clearly as words that he had yet to hear the whole story.

In a few minutes they saw Hawkins come into the inn-yard and let Emily down to the ground. She ran quickly to the girls who smiled and made room for her in their dance. "He's so good to Emily," Caroline said. "He's comfortable with her. I'm afraid Jared never was."