Gallant Waif (19 page)

Normally it wouldn’t have bothered Kate so much, but today was proving to be one of those days; first a bird’s nest had fallen down the chimney right into the bouillon which had just reached aromatic perfection. And it was baking day, but the dough stubbornly refused to rise. And the kitchen had been cluttered with damp washing for days.

And she’d been sleeping badly, ever since the accident. That was his fault, too!

Kate saw him only at breakfast. She would not have admitted it to a soul, but she knew she only really started to breathe each morning when he limped through the kitchen door, those tell-tale white lines of pain around his mouth. It was only a matter of time before he injured himself seriously, and they both knew it, but the man was so stubborn!

Last night she’d slept even worse than usual, alternately dreaming of him and worrying about him. She’d awakened feeling scratchy and irritable. And then the wretched man had lurked! Underfoot! All day! Observing each disaster!

So now justice was served, and the sounds of his violent expectorations were as music to her ears. Still chuckling, Kate wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. He re-entered the kitchen, wiping his mouth, which was still puckered at the lingering after-taste.

“Are you trying to poison me?” He grimaced again and scrubbed at his mouth with his handkerchief. “What the hell was that foul stuff anyway?”

“Spermacetti oil, white wax, almond oil,” she said, between giggles. “I haven’t yet added the lemon oil and lemon juice.”

He choked.
“Spermacetti oil?
You were planning to feed me
whale oil?
That’s for burning in lamps!”

Kate giggled again. It was a new recipe she was trying— guaranteed to remove freckles. “I do not usually feed my cold cream to gentlemen, no matter how hungry—or greedy—they are.”

“Cold cream?”

“Cold cream.”

“Hrmph!”
He turned away. His ears turned slightly pink. Another giggle escaped her.

He continued to fidget for some minutes,
then
finally he spoke. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit down, Miss Farleigh. I wish to talk to you.” His voice was serious.

She fetched two cups and placed them on the table, still trying to keep a straight face. Eventually she met his gaze. He looked away, and the laughter died in her eyes. This really was serious.

“That brother of yours—you say he was able to regain the use of his leg?”

“Yes, completely,” she murmured, her pulse beginning to race.

“Because of the treatment you described to me?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, trying hard to suppress her rising jubilation.

“And you think my leg may benefit from similar treatment?”

“I am no medical expert but, yes, I think it would help.” She swallowed convulsively. “At least… I cannot say if your leg will be completely restored, but I firmly believe there would be significant improvement.”

“Because of your brother.”

There was considerable scepticism in his voice, but Kate detected a grain of hopefulness. It was time to tell him the truth. It might cost her his respect, but if he could be convinced to try the treatment he might regain full use of his leg. Faced with that option, there was no choice but to risk it.

“Not only because of my brother—there were many others.”

“Others?”

“Yes, I saw this treatment used on many of our soldiers and, in almost every case, it brought some improvement.”

“And naturally there were hundreds of wounded soldiers in the village in…
where
did you say my grandmother found you—Bedfordshire?”

“No, of course not, but I saw hundreds of wounded soldiers in Spain and Portugal.”

He was incredulous.
“You
were in Spain and Portugal?”

She nodded.

“In wartime?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“For the last three years.”
“On your own?”

She flushed.
“With my father.
And my brothers, where possible.”

“What was your father doing there? Surely he was too old to be in the army.”

“My father felt he was needed more on the Peninsula than in his parish in Bedfordshire.”

“So he just packed up his Bible and went?” he said sceptically.

“Yes, indeed.
Though you would have to have known my father to understand.
Once he had made up his mind there was no gainsaying him.”

“But what of you?”

She looked at him in mild surprise. “I went with him, of course. He was a brilliant scholar, but hopelessly impractical in the domestic field. He had no notion at all of how to procure lodgings or food or any of the other things so necessary to life in a country torn by war.”

“And you had?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Yes, of course.” She flushed, realising she must sound boastful. “Well, not at first, but I soon learned. And once I was able to speak some of the language it became much easier.”

“Incredible. You were—how old—seventeen, eighteen?”

“At first, yes.”

“And you did not mind?”

She opened her eyes at that. “No, I did not mind.” She grimaced wryly. “Remember my unladylike hands? They’re a sign of a terrible hoyden, I’m afraid. I had some of the best times of my life travelling with the army… I see I’ve shocked you.”

“No, not at all.
But.
. .did you not experience a great deal of hardship?” Jack knew several officers’ wives who had gone to war, but all of them had had servants to see to everything.
And a husband to protect them.
A girl who wore the sort of clothes Kate had arrived in certainly would not have had many servants.

“Oh, naturally there were times I wished we were not having to sleep in a dirty, vermin-infested village, or ride for hour after hour in the pouring rain or the sweltering heat—I am not unnatural, you know! But at least it was never dull. There was always something to be done and someone to talk to.”

She could not explain to him how she’d almost welcomed such discomforts because they highlighted her usefulness to her father, making him value her for the first time in her life.

“But the danger.
Did your father not consider that?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” She was indignant at the slur. “Why, at Badajoz he kept me virtually confined to my tent for more than a week.”

Jack gasped. “You were at
Badajoz
“
He could not believe it. That bloody siege with its even bloodier aftermath! And her father had protected her from blood-crazed rampaging troops with a piece of canvas!

“Yes, and at Ciudad Rodrigo and all the other battles that are now famous, but always I was well to the rear during the fighting,” she said crossly, “for several officers spoke to him and after that Papa was most insistent about it.”

“I should think so too!” he muttered, his hair
raising
on his scalp as he recalled some of the bloodier incidents in his experience of the war.

“Yes, but it was very impractical, for how could I tend the wounded when I was so far to the rear all the time?”

“Tend the wounded?” His tone was incredulous.

Kate flushed, knowing the reason for his surprise. He thought her immodest. Harry too had been incredulous when he had discovered that she had been helping wounded soldiers, not simply her brothers. He had been furious, forbidding her to do anything so indelicate again. Her refusal had caused him to thin his lips and walk off angrily. Obviously Jack Carstairs felt the same—well, his good opinion of her was a small thing to risk, if it meant he might ride again.

“Well, I had to do something to help—there was so much need. And that is how I came to know the Moorish doctor.” She looked earnestly at him.
‘ And
why I have such a strong belief in his methods of treatment.”

He reached across the table and took her small hand in his large one, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin of her small, grubby “hoyden’s hands’. He gazed at her face, noting the delicacy of her features, the small tip-tilted nose, the wide, innocent-looking eyes that had witnessed so much hardship and suffering. “You truly are the most amazing girl.”

Suddenly she became acutely aware of the warmth of his hand, the large brown thumb that was moving caressingly back and forth across her skin, and she flushed and awkwardly pulled her hand away.

“Nonsense,” she muttered gruffly. She started clearing away the cups, intensely aware of his eyes following her every movement. “Would you like me to prepare the hot oils for the treatment? It is not difficult—it only takes persistence.”

Now it was his turn to look awkward. “Can you not explain to Carlos what is required?”

“It would be better if I did it myself,” Kate said. “I can show Carlos once I have ascertained the treatment needed— it is not difficult, but there are a few tricks to it that are better demonstrated than explained.”

Kate saw the look on his face and flushed. He
was
shocked at her indelicacy. Well, there was no need for him to be concerned—she was no delicate flower—but it was very difficult to force
herself
to disillusion him.

“It
is.
. .I…” she began, stambling over the words. With her face averted she continued woodenly, “Mr Carstairs, I am not the innocent you seem to believe me. I have seen the male form before, have cared for a number of wounded men, not only my brother, so, you see, you have nothing to be concerned about.” She avoided his eye, her cheeks rosy. “So, shall I prepare the oils now?”

“No, no, I was only enquiring out of interest,” he said hurriedly, unnerved by her willingness to begin at once.

“But you will think on it.”

He smiled faintly at her intensity. “I shall,” he agreed, “but I have much to do today.”

He stood up and left the room. Kate watched him go, a frown on her face. He had nothing at all to do, she knew. He would probably spend the remainder of the day brooding.
Drinking.
The man had suffered more than physical damage. It was almost as if he was afraid to hope. Well, she could hope enough for two.

That evening, however, Jack did not retire in his customary solitude, but invited Kate and Martha to join him in the parlour where Carlos had lit a fire. He had a bottle of port beside him when they arrived, but he was not drunk. He poured Kate and Martha a glass of sherry, and they settled down in front of the cosy fire and chatted. Kate, initially wary of his motives, soon relaxed, perceiving he was making a genuine effort to play the polite host.

Gradually Jack turned the conversation around to more recent events. Her tale of being with the army had stunned him. He had to know more.

“So tell me, why
did your father drag
you off to travel in the tail of an army?” Jack tried to keep the anger out of his voice. It was ill to think badly of a man he had never met, a man who was dead and gone, what was more, but he could not forgive Kate’s father for exposing such an innocent young girl to the horrors of war, valiant little creature though she might be.

“In the tail?”
Kate grinned. “You can’t think I would be so poor-spirited as to travel at the tail with all the heavy baggage and complaining wives and impedimenta! Nothing so dreary, I’m glad to say. Jemmy found me a charming little Spanish mare and I was able to go where I wanted.”

“Good God!” he muttered, appalled. Had none of her family recollected she was a sheltered young girl of eighteen or so?

“Oh, it was much more convenient, for then I was free to ride back and forth, keeping an eye on Papa, for he was dreadfully absent-minded at times, and also the baggage, which travelled with Luis, our Portuguese servant. And then, you know, I was always on hand to snaffle a good spot when we stopped for the night and make sure everything was comfortable for them and a hot meal ready.”

She smiled as she sipped her sherry. “We were lucky— Jemmy was hunting mad. Even when we were returning to Portugal after Talavera, and food was so scarce that almost everyone was starving, he managed to shoot a hare or something for the pot, just when I thought my stomach was going to stick to my backbone.” She rubbed her stomach reminiscently. “Jemmy could turn even a retreat into a hunting trip.”