Gallant Waif (13 page)

She turned the wad of pleated skirt over and methodically began to unpleat it. Her voice was flat, bleak. “Then Papa was hit.
In the stomach.
I.
. .I managed to get him and Jemmy away to a deserted building. It was half destroyed, but at least it was shelter… Jemmy died the first
night.
. .Papa lasted two more days… I had a little laudanum and at least
I.
. .I was able to ease his passing…”

Lady Cahill leaned forward. “You poor child—”

“I didn’t remember anything after
that.
. .until more than a month later.” She straightened her skirt with shaking hands, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I awoke one morning and found myself in a French camp. An officer, Henri Du Croix, was interrogating several recently captured prisoners—English prisoners. I had no idea how I got there.”

She shivered and continued, “It was the most terrifying feeling… Later, I learned that the officer, Henri, had found me wandering after Salamanca. I had been wounded—on the head.” Her hand crept unconsciously to the scar almost hidden by her hairline. “Apparently I was unable to remember my name or anything, although he knew, of course, that I was English. I became his
prisoner.
. .and his mistress.”

Kate flushed at the small sound from Lady Cahill. She could not look at the old lady. Her hands began their intricate pleating again.

“I discovered that for the last month I had lived with him, slept with him in his tent…” Kate swallowed in embarrassment, and forced the words out “. .
.living
as man and wife.” She flushed a darker rose colour and added, “I know it was true—I remember it. You must not think he was a totally wicked man—in his own way, I think he was fond of me…but I swear to you I did not realise what had happened until a month after Salamanca…when it was too late.”

She took a deep shaky breath and continued, determined to get it all out in the open. “In Lisbon
afterwards they called me the Frenchman’s
whore.
. .
and a traitress.”

Lady Cahill made a shocked sound.

“Traitress, because I’d tended the wounds of French soldiers.
I have some small skill with injuries, you see. And though they were the enemy I see no wrong in what I did. They were only men, like our men—tired, hungry, in pain, and longing to be with their loved ones, not fighting this dreadful war. That part, I do not regret…”

She
shrugged,
her eyes downcast. “So, now you know.”

The material of her skirt was crushed and twisted. Her voice rose again in distress. “But I did
not
consent to be Henri’s mistress—he told me he was my
husband
and I
believed
him. I found a ring on my finger, though I did not know how it got there. I could not even remember my own name at the time, and so I believed him! He was very convincing. He said I was his English wife. I never knowingly—”

“Hush now, child! Do not distress yourself. I don’t doubt your word,” interrupted Lady Cahill

Huge, swimming grey-green eyes regarded her doubtfully.

“Oh, tush, child,” the old lady said gruffly, patting Kate’s knee. “As if I did not know you are the soul of honour.”

Kate
inhaled,
a long, tremulous breath. Tears trembled on her lashes. “Then you are very singular, ma’am, for few others believed me. They thought me a wanton, a liar, a traitress.”

“Lud, child.
Anyone with a grain of sense could see you are none of those. As far as I am concerned, you did nothing wrong. And I respect you for tending their wounded. Tell me, how
did you return
to English territory?”

“Well, as I said, my memory came back to me when Henri was interrogating English prisoners—perhaps it was the sound of English being spoken that caused it to return. It took me a day or two to find out what happened and make my plans to escape. Then I stole a horse and rode into Allied territory. It was not difficult to pass from behind the French fines—a woman is not so suspect as a man.” She flushed. “But you see why I cannot possibly enter society, or marry.”

“I see nothing of the sort,” said Lady Cahill. “There is no reason for anyone to know of this—”

“It is a matter of public record,” said Kate regretfully. “I returned to the English forces almost six weeks after my father’s death. Naturally I was interviewed, in case I was a spy. Some of the officers who interviewed me didn’t believe I’d lost my memory. Others were only interested in what I could tell them about the French. It was supposed to be kept secret, but when I reached Lisbon everybody there knew the worst,” she concluded bitterly.

There was a long silence. “It is not mere wilfulness or false pride preventing me from seeking a husband, you know,” Kate added. “Ever since I was a little girl I’ve dreamt of my wedding day, waited for the man whom I could love for
ever.
. .and played with other people’s children, preparing myself for the day when I had children of my own.” She smoothed twisted fabric with unknowing hands.

“I have put this dream
away.
. .but
not
of my own volition.”

Lady Cahill opened her mouth to argue, but Kate continued, “In Lisbon I received a taste of what would face me if I ever again tried to enter society. Ma’am, I was shunned,
reviled.
. . even
spat
on—by English ladies, some of whom I’d regarded as friends…” Her throat swelled and tightened, remembering whispers and sidelong glances, prurient curiosity and outright hostility.

“And men whom I thought I knew, whom I thought were decent Christian gentlemen, tried to
touch
me, made obscene suggestions.”
The Frenchman’s whore
—she was fair game.

“Even
Harry.
. .my betrothed…” Kate shuddered. Harry’s eyes had run over her body in a way they never had before. The realisation had entered Kate’s heart like a blade of ice. He was no different from the rest.

“It was unspeakably
vile.
. .and I could not bear to face it again.” She looked wearily at Lady Cahill. “That is why I cannot accept your very kind offer, why I cannot seek a husband or go about in society. I could not bear to meet someone who knows what happened.”

She tried to smile. “It is not so very bad, you know. I cannot miss what I’ve never had. I’ve not had the sort of upbringing that other girls have. And I’m young and healthy and—” she wiped her eyes ”—generally not such a dreadful watering pot. If I could only find a position
as a children’s
nurse or companion… You could help me with that, could you not?”

Lady Cahill was deeply moved. Kate had been badly wounded, she could see that. There was no point in pushing her to agree to any plans at present. She was still too vulnerable to risk her heart and her hopes again—she needed time to recover. Lady Cahill would help Kate, but not to a position as a children’s nurse. No, if an old woman had any say in the matter, Maria Delacombe’s child would have her dream. She reached out and took Kate’s hand in a tight grasp.

“Of course I will help you, child. Try to put the whole horrid business behind you. You found yourself in a difficult situation, but you conducted yourself with honour as a true Christian lady. I am sure that both your father and your mother would have been very proud of you. I know I am.”

Tears spilled from Kate’s eyes. Kindness, she suddenly found, was so much harder to withstand than cruelty. The old woman gathered the girl into her arms and held her tightly for a moment or two.

“Lady Cahill, you see—”

“I see nothing at all at the moment,” Lady Cahill interrupted, wiping her eyes. “This dratted face paint has run and I refuse to do or say another word until it is repaired. Fetch my maid to me, and in the meantime go and wash your face and comb your hair. Return to me in twenty minutes.”

Kate stared at her, dumbfounded. Suddenly laughter began to well up inside her and she sat back and laughed until the tears came again.

Sympathy and warm, wicked humour gleamed back at her from the admittedly smudged face of the old woman. “That’s right, my girl.
A good cry and a good laugh.
That’s what the doctor ordered. Now,” she continued briskly, “fetch Smithers to me and go and wash your face. You look a sight!”

Later that afternoon Kate helped the old lady climb into her travelling chaise, and stood in the driveway, waving her off. Lady Cahill had promised to “do what I can to help Maria’s gel’, and Kate felt sure that she would find her a position as a children’s nurse in some quiet, pleasant household.

In return, Kate’s job was relatively simple—she had to put Mr Jack Carstairs’s house in order. That was well within her capabilities. She might not enjoy housework very much, but there was no doubt that Sevenoakes was badly in need of attention, and there would be real satisfaction gained from restoring a ramshackle house to a graceful residence. And her old nurse, Martha, was to come and live here. That would be wonderful, thought Kate. Martha was a dear and would keep Kate from feeling too lonely. Martha had also known and loved Jemmy and Ben.

Moreover, Kate thought, mentally ticking off her advantages, she was surrounded by lovely countryside and could go for long rambles whenever she wanted to. In fact, she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted to. She was her own mistress and she meant to enjoy that rare freedom while she had it. And she was needed.

Kate had no doubt whatsoever that Lady Cahill’s grandson needed her skills, and that once he saw how much easier his life would be with Kate as housekeeper he would be grateful. Perhaps she could also use her healing skills—possibly even help him to strengthen his injured leg and reduce that dreadful limp. They might even become friends, she thought optimistically. To be sure, he had proved a trifle autocratic and difficult to get along with at first, but that was largely
her own
fault for teasing and tricking him.

Kate felt sure that Jack Carstairs would prove to be exactly like Papa and the boys and all the other men she had ever known—as long as his surroundings were clean and comfortable and his stomach was full of good cooking, he wouldn’t care what she did.

Carlos grinned as he heard the sound of his master’s voice raised yet again, this time from the direction of the breakfast-room. He crept closer to peer in at the open window.

“I’ve told you
before,
I
won’t
have you scrubbing floors!” The deep, angry voice was raised in frustration.

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten your preference for dirt.” Kate’s voice was dry.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” snapped Jack.

“Then what would you have me do?” she retorted crossly. “You can see for yourself that these floors need scrubbing. Someone must do it and you know perfectly well that Martha is too old to do such a task. I am young and strong and, no matter what you may say, if something needs scrubbing, then I will scrub.”

“It is not fitting!”

“Now you are being ridiculous!” Kate said, exasperated. “Tell me, what is fitting for a housekeeper? When I take down the curtains to wash them, you roar and forbid me to do it! If I clean the windows, so I can see out of them instead of gazing at a view of dirt, you appear out of nowhere and bellow that it is not for me to be doing that! Your interference is quite insupportable! Please, Mr Carstairs, go away and let me get on with my work!”

“I said
,
I will not have you scrubbing! Look at you, you’re a mess! You’ve got dirt on your chin, a smudge of something else on your nose and your hair is falling all over the place!”

“Oh, yes, mock me for doing honest work!” Kate scrubbed furiously at her face with one hand, dashing curls from her eyes with the other.

“You missed a spot.” He reached out and flicked her small tip-tilted nose, his lips twitching with reluctant amusement.

Kate made an infuriated noise and returned to her scrubbing, ignoring the man standing in front of her.

“I said I
won’t
have you scrubbing.”

Carlos grinned. He knew that tone. There would be fireworks if Senorita Kate didn’t do as she was bid. He moved closer for a better view,
then
ducked hastily as a bucket was flung through the window.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” exclaimed Kate.
“How very childish!”

Carlos’s eyes widened. To answer back to Major Jack! In that mood! And call him childish! Carlos cautiously raised his head to look in again,
then
ducked as he noticed his master striding towards the window. Desperate not to be caught eavesdropping, he dived into a nearby bush.