The Heart That Wins (Regency Spies Book 3) (19 page)

John examined Joude. His eyes were open, but his face was pale and covered by a thin sheen of sweat. He was shaking and there was a sticky mess of blood at his shoulder.

“I think I shattered his shoulder.”

“Good. Take Sophia home. Mary’s waiting in the carriage. Then you need to join your regiment.”

“My regiment?”

“The ball’s over, John. Blücher engaged the French this afternoon.”

This was irrelevant to John. The only thing that mattered was that Sophia was hurt, perhaps dying and he had killed her.

“So you have found me, Monsieur Finch.” Joude’s voice revealed his pain. He struggled to breathe and each breath was a gasp. “I will tell you nothing.”

“I expect you to tell me nothing. There is nothing left to tell.” Edmund’s voice was emotionless. “I expect you to pay – for James Vincent, for Franz Schröder, for the woman who called herself Louise Favelle and all the others who have died because of you.”

“You seem to forget that you killed Louise, or I assume that you did.”

“It was only necessary because you corrupted her.”

Joude’s laugh became a cough, then a groan.

“She came to me a fully-formed monster. When I interrogated you, she begged me to allow her to torture you. Our lovemaking afterwards was like nothing I have known before or since. She lived to cause pain.”

John lifted Sophia into his arms. He had no interest in what Joude wanted to say, but he did not want to leave Edmund alone with him.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“That you should leave me here?” Edmund considered for a moment. “I heard your voice,” he said to Joude. “It was all I ever knew of you, but I have heard it in my dreams every time I have slept since. And I have wondered if we are the same, but I know that we are not, not quite.” He took a deep breath. “I’m safe now, John, thank you.” Edmund pointed his pistol at Joude. “We have a few things to discuss before we’re finished. Take Sophia home, John, and tell Mary that I shall be delayed.”

John left them, making his way surely in the dark. He was no longer concerned about what would happen to Joude. If he did not die from the wound to his shoulder, Edmund would make sure that he did not live past this night. Perseus’ reputation no longer seemed quite so abhorrent.

Sophia’s face was warm against his neck, but he could also feel the stickiness from the blood seeping from her wound.

Edmund must have come into the cellar from the courtyard leaving the door open, for John felt a cool breeze before he came to the stairs to the kitchen. There would be fewer questions if he went that way.

The courtyard was full of people taking their leave. He was familiar with the atmosphere of the night before battle and he recognised it here. There was a sense of anticipation and barely concealed fear. He held Sophia tighter, hoping that no one would notice a man without boots carrying an unconscious woman.

Edmund’s carriage was in the street outside the house. One of the grooms jumped down and held the door open for him. Mary was already inside the carriage. She did not panic when she saw Sophia, but merely examined her wound in the dim light. Paul set the horses in motion; it was obvious they were not expecting Edmund to return with them.

It was a short journey to the house, but still it took some time, as soldiers were leaving their lodgings and filling the streets. All of Brussels seemed to be out to see what was happening. When they reached the house John lifted Sophia carefully out of the carriage and took her up to her bedroom where he laid her on the bed. Mary followed with water, bandages and some jars of ointment. He watched her carefully clean away the blood from the wound. Then he held Sophia so that Mary could bandage her head. Before he set her down again, he kissed Sophia’s cheek. Even though he knew the wound itself was little more than a graze, he had seen soldiers die from less.

John straightened away from the bed. He was a soldier and there was one thing left to do.

“I must go,” he said, as he turned back to Mary.

“I know. Please take care.”

It was a promise he could not make. If he had killed Sophia and there was no point to anything anymore.

16
th
June 1815

Sophia woke shortly before dawn on the day after the ball to see Mary sitting by her bed. Her head hurt and she had no memory of how she came to be here.

“John?”

Sophia’s first, somewhat vague, thought was for him.

“He’s gone. The French have fought the Prussians and all the soldiers have gone to meet them.”

Sophia knew she should be worried about this, but Mary seemed calm. Why was it important that the French had come? Where was John?

“Edmund?”

“I don’t know. He said he would be gone a while.”

Mary’s quiet voice was soothing, if hesitant.

“I..?”

There had been a knife at her throat. Sophia remembered a man with a gun. Had that been John? She did not know.

“You were wounded. John was too shaken to tell me how.”

“I think he shot the man who was threatening me.”

That made some kind of sense.  Sophia began to remember.  She had followed a man for some reason she could not recall. There had been a shot and pain and somehow John had been there and now he was gone.

“Joude.” Her voice was little more than a breath. “Edmund is with him, isn’t he?”

Mary paled.

“Probably.”

Edmund was with Joude and John was with Bonaparte. They would die and not come back and it was all her fault

Sophia slept again.

18
th
June 1815

On Sunday morning Mary and the boys had not gone to church, partly to give Sophia the chance to rest and partly so that Edmund’s continued absence would not be noticed. Sophia suspected that the real reason was that Mary wanted to be in the house when Edmund returned. Sophia had made a good recovery, but her nerve had gone. The smallest noise made her jump and she cried whenever she thought of John, which was most of the time.

Mary sat with her as much as she could, but even the sight of her nursing Elizabeth could not raise Sophia’s spirits. She was so certain that John would die that she had no desire to recover.

Mary encouraged her to sleep, but Sophia could not. Everything she had done for John had failed and John would die, because she had not been able to prevent the battle.

Wearily she had got up and joined Mary and Freddie for breakfast, but had been unable to eat anything. For the rest of the morning she sat listlessly in the sitting-room, unable to take up any sewing or even to talk to Mary. The book of sonnets lay in her lap. From time to time she opened it. The words on the page made no sense to her, but she knew they contained John’s love and it was important to hold on to that.

Paul had come back from church with the news that many people had fled Brussels and gone to Antwerp for safety. Mary had said they could not be blamed for being afraid and they had, themselves, run away from Paris. She did not add that they had had a purpose in doing so.

The boys were excited; it was obvious that something was happening. All the adults in the house were quieter than usual and one of the Bruxelloise maids started weeping in the entrance hall. Finally, when the guns started just before midday, Mary told Freddie that there was a battle taking place nearby.

“Is that where Papa is?”

Mary laughed. “No. Your father owns a manufactory. He is not a soldier. Uncle John is there.”

“Then we will be safe.”

Mary smiled at him. Sophia cried, careful to hide her tears from Freddie.

Edmund returned just before dinner. He was filthy and tired. After reassuring himself that Sophia was well, he went for a bath. Mary disappeared with him and dinner was delayed. Neither woman asked what had happened with Joude.

The mud on Edmund’s clothes worried Sophia. Her restless sleep had been full of dreams about John’s horse getting stuck in the mud, leaving him at the mercy of French lancers or sharpshooters. The thunderstorm outside had punctuated her dreams and woken her frequently.

“Should we leave?” asked Mary when they discussed those who had fled at dinner. She and Sophia looked at Edmund who shook his head.

“I’m in no position to protect you if we do or if we don’t.”

Sophia had never seen Edmund so indecisive. To some extent she and Mary could protect themselves. Edmund had taught them both to shoot and Sophia had been surprised to discover that Mary always carried one of Edmund’s knives.

“I can’t leave,” she said. “Not until John…”

Her tears had stopped her speaking. Mary patted her hand and Edmund said, “There will be much to do either way and John…”

He shrugged.

Sophia’s tears turned to sobs. Mary held her as she cried and Edmund’s hand rested on her shoulder.

Edmund went to bed after dinner, but Mary and Sophia waited until there was news of the battle. Throughout the night there were conflicting reports, most of them giving the victory to the French. Mary said that they would not give up hope until the French arrived in Brussels. When Paul returned with news that he had seen French soldiers on the streets she said she would not believe it until she saw them in the square outside. Finally Paul returned with a smile. The French army was retreating. There was no longer any danger to Brussels.

“We should go to bed now,” said Mary.

It was almost light

“In a moment. You go, don’t worry about me.”

“But I do.” Mary smiled ruefully. “Staying up will not make any difference to John and he will not return tonight.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow, I think perhaps we should drive to the battlefield and help with the wounded.” It was a hesitant suggestion. “We have plenty of room here,” continued Mary, as if Sophia had agreed. “We can bring some men here and care for them. They will have little enough care otherwise.”

Sophia said nothing, certain if she went to the battlefield she would find John’s dead body. She sat for a while after Mary had gone to bed with a single candle, too tired to move. When she awoke it was because Edmund was saying her name.

“I have food and bandages.” He held up a basket. “Mary will make the house ready and we will bring as many men as we can fit into the carriage.”

Not wishing to delay him by washing and dressing, she stood and smoothed down her gown; she was going to a battlefield, not a ball.

Sophia slept most of the way. Edmund had told Paul to take the road south out of the city, but the coachman had no difficulty finding his way; the road was full of wounded men who had been walking through the night to get to Brussels.

As they drew nearer to where the battle had been, Sophia forced herself to look out of the window at them. These were men who had been wounded, but were still able to get themselves away from the battlefield; the ones they were going to help would be in a much worse state. Some of the men she saw could only walk with the help of others and some were being carried. Many were sitting by the roadside, unable to go further. She began to calculate how many they could bring back to Brussels; it was not a large number.

After a while, the carriage moved more slowly until it finally came to a halt. For some time Sophia had been able to hear the groans of wounded men and the occasional scream. Now that they were here, she was not sure she wanted to get out. She had already seen terrible things through the window. Dead men lay with dead horses. Many bodies wore only shirts and had been plundered of anything useful they had worn or carried.

“You can stay here, if you want,” said Edmund and she wondered if she had spoken aloud. “I know you’re strong, but this might be too much even for you.”

“No,” she said, “I won’t scream or faint or be sick.”

She owed these men more than that.

“I know you won’t.”

He helped her down.

“If you don’t think you’ll be too much in the way, Paul, wait here or nearby,” he said to the coachman. “God knows it shouldn’t take too long to find seven or eight men to take home.”

“Won’t you need me to help carry them? Begging Miss Arbuthnot’s pardon, but she’s not as strong as me.”

Edmund considered quickly.

“Wait here and we’ll see if we can find Captain Warren before we start gathering passengers. I’ll need your help then.”

Sophia started. “John?”

Edmund’s smile was brief.

“Since we’re here, we might as well see if he’s well. We can spare half an hour to find him, if you can bear it.”

“I can bear it.”

He must have known it was hopeless, but she appreciated the gesture. Some degree of optimism had returned with the new day.

“Thank you.”

Sophia looked around. Her first surprise was that she was not the only woman here. Frightened wives and daughters, she thought as she watched them moving around the dead, dying and wounded, although Edmund said ‘Looters’ under his breath. There were also soldiers trying to find fallen comrades. Above it all was the sound of hundreds of young men groaning and crying. She wanted to blank it all out, but she did not have the right. Despite all their efforts, despite Franz’s death, they had failed and these men had paid the price for their failure.

“Miss Arbuthnot?”

Sophia turned at the shout.

“Captain Dennis. I’m so glad to see you.”

At least one of their friends was still alive.

The young man smiled.

“Not as glad as I am to see you. Good morning, Mr Finch.”

Dennis’ voice was unnaturally loud and Sophia glanced at Edmund, who shook his head. Dennis bowed. There was a bandage around his forehead, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“We’re looking for Captain Warren,” said Edmund, his voice equally loud. “Have you seen him?”

“Not this morning, but I saw him during the night.”

Sophia groaned and her legs gave way. Edmund grasped her elbow and she collapsed against him, crying.

“I say,” said Dennis, “did I say the wrong thing?”

“Just the right thing,” said Edmund. “Thank you. Can I take a message back to Brussels for you, unless you’re returning soon yourself?”

“Please tell Miss Jane Cudmore-Aspinall that I’m well. The wound is slight. I suppose it would be kinder to tell her I’m wounded.”

Despite her tears, Sophia managed to nod.

“I don’t know when I’ll get back to Brussels, but I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“Of course, it would be my pleasure to tell her. Come, Sophia, we can still spare a few minutes.”

Sophia released him and wiped her eyes.

Dennis told them where he had seen John and they set off in that direction.

“It was the guns,” said Edmund as they walked away.

“The guns?”

“You heard them in Brussels, imagine how loud they were here.”

“Will they all be deaf?”

“Only for a few days. It passes.”

The battlefield seemed vast and they had such little time. They concentrated their efforts on men they could see walking around, although Sophia found it hard not to kneel down by each wounded man and take his hand.

“Sophia! What are you doing here?”

John stood up from the wounded man he had been helping and came towards them.

Sophia ran to him and threw her arms around him. He lowered his head and kissed her. His relief was palpable and Sophia remembered belatedly that she was not the only one who had thought the other might die. Abruptly he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice as loud as Dennis’s had been. “This is hardly the time or the place.”

Reluctantly Sophia let him go. She noticed Edmund standing beside them.

“We’ve come to take as many wounded men as we can back to Brussels.”

Edmund spoke, perhaps sensing that she could not.

“Oh, Sophia, you shouldn’t have to see all this.”

“I’m seeing you,” she said as she reached out for his hand. She repeated herself when his frown showed she had not spoken loudly enough.

“And the sight of you is truly good for sore eyes. But I’d much rather you weren’t here. You should still be resting.”

“You’re not wounded?”

She ignored his concerns for her well-being, for it must be obvious that she was not fully recovered, but able to stand with the assistance of her cane.

John looked exhausted. He was covered in mud and, now that he was close, she could smell him. His hand shook slightly and his eyes were bloodshot from the effort of keeping them open. He hesitated and her fear came out of her in a gasp.

“Surely not seriously,” said Edmund, as he started to search John’s clothing for blood. “I can see nothing through this mud.”

“My arm,” said John, stretching out his left arm so that they could see the tear in his jacket. “A lancer caught me with his spear.”

Edmund removed the jacket and pulled up John’s sleeve.

“Your own handiwork, I see.”

He untied the bloody cravat that John had used to stem the flow of blood. John did not even wince, but Sophia could see that the wound was worse than he had wanted them to know.