The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware (53 page)

‘But, Roger … Roger, what about you?'

‘There are plenty of villages along the river. I mean to break into a house each night and raid its larder. With luck, I'll also be able to steal some clothes.'

‘Then I'll come with you. How can you ask me to go into that town, where there are warmth and food, while
I know you still to be nearly starving and out in this freezing cold?'

‘I am not asking you, Mary. I am telling you what you are going to do. To take you with me is out of the question. To be frank, you would be an embarrassment to me. I'd be worrying all the time that, if I were caught, you would be caught, too. I'll not risk having you tried as a thief and sent to a Russian prison.'

‘But, darling, I just can't bear the thought of leaving you. I love you. I love you terribly.' Tears were running down Mary's cheeks and her face was the picture of misery.

Roger could hardly bear the sight of her distress. He was greatly tempted to give up his plan, take her in his arms and tell her that they would remain together. But he knew that would be fatal for them both. Anxious now only to be finished with playing his distasteful role, he decided to end matters, and said almost brutally:

‘You say you love me. Very well then. Prove it by doing as I wish and give me a chance to save my life. I told you long ago that I was determined not to die in this damnable country.'

Choking on a sob, she remained silent for a moment, then said in a small voice, ‘I see now that I was being selfish. Instead I should have thanked you for having borne with me all these weeks. If you had sent me into a town much earlier, you would by now be in Riga.'

Her pitiful surrender distressed him beyond measure, but he dared not show his feelings. With an effort he raised a smile, and replied hurriedly, ‘That's better, Mary. Now, we have no time to lose. You must be in Plavinas before the light falls. While you were dozing I divided our things. I've put enough food in my pockets to keep me going for a day or two. You must take the rest. And here's my belt with half the money in it.'

With a word of thanks she took the belt, but added, ‘I'll not need any food. You must keep it all.'

He shook his head. ‘No. You must eat these bits of honeycomb and marzipan while you are on your way, to give you the strength for your long walk. I want you to take the mule's blood and brandy, too. There's just a chance that you might not reach the town before dark, and there is no moon now, so you could lose your way and have to spend the night in the open. You won't have the sleeping bag, but drinking this stuff will keep the life in you until morning.'

Submissively now, she agreed to do as he wished, stowed the things in her pockets and, a few minutes later, at his urging that she must make the most of the light, was ready to start. Tearfully, she looked at him and asked, ‘Are you not coming with me for part of the way?'

‘No,' he replied hoarsely. ‘I did not sleep at all this morning, so I must get a good sleep this afternoon in order to be at my best for breaking into some farmhouse tonight.'

Now that the die was cast, he felt that he could afford to show his true feelings. Holding out his arms, he took her into them and said gently, ‘Mary, my darling. Please don't think I am being altogether selfish about this. I do love you. For a long time now you have meant everything to me. But this is our only chance. Given a little luck, I'll get through, then in a month or so we'll be together again in England.'

She returned his kiss and murmured, ‘I can only pray for that.' Then she suddenly broke away and added bitterly, ‘But you don't love me as much as I love you, or you'd have let us die together.'

Turning her back, she stumbled away. He repressed his impulse to run after her; and, with an aching heart, watched her small figure until it was out of sight.

When she had disappeared down the slope, Roger did not get into the sleeping bag. Having resigned himself to death, he saw no point in prolonging his life, and the stomach cramps from which he was suffering, for a few additional hours. But, as he lay down in the snow, he instinctively drew one end of the bag over his head, to save his lips and nose from becoming frostbitten.

Now that he was lying still, his hunger pains eased and he was able to think more coherently. As there was no likelihood in the foreseeable future of his having been able to marry Georgina, and it was now out of his power to marry Mary, he decided that he did not greatly mind dying.

After all, he had had a wonderful life. He had met the majority of the most famous men of his time, travelled far and wide and, for many years past, had had more money than he needed. He had also been blessesd more than most men in that many lovely women had found him very attractive. Amanda had been a sweet wife to him, and they had been happy until she had died in giving birth to Susan. Then there had been his dear Clarissa. What a tragedy that he had lost her when she was still so young. And Pauline. It was an intriguing thought that he might have married the sister of an Emperor. But Napoleon was really only a cardboard Emperor and, but for his remarkable achievements, Pauline would have remained only the little Corsican whore she was at heart. Yet nature had endowed her with the beauty of a fairytale Princess.

Other women drifted through his mind, not only ones he had loved, but his dear mother and young Susan. What a pity that his mother had not lived long enough to know Susan. She would have been so happy at having a charming grand-daughter. What a pity, too, that until he returned from abroad as a grown man, he had so hated his stern and uncompromising father. Admiral Sir Chris,
as King George used to call him, was really a very likeable sort of man. What a tragedy it was that so often young people and their parents failed to appreciate one another's good qualities, sometimes until it was too late.

He could take pride in the fact that both his father and himself had served their King well. Was the poor old madman still alive? But where would England be now without Billy Pitt? Frail and ill for a great part of the time, for over fourteen years, with indomitable courage he had fought to save Britain and all Europe from self-seeking demagogues and spoliation under irresponsible mob rule.

Would Talleyrand and Metternich replace him, and destroy once and for all the demon power of Bonaparte to inflict untold misery on millions of men and women? What a good friend Talleyrand had been, and dear Droopy Ned, who had been closer than a brother to him, ever ready to welcome him back to London and help him with shrewd advice.

Then there were his friends the enemy, who had blindly followed the dynamic Gorsican's star: Duroc, Rapp, Lavalette, Bourrienne, Lannes, Bernadotte, Eugene, and the rest. Several of them were now dead, the others Princes, Dukes and Counts. What a glorious company! Unrivalled in all history, they had fought and laughed their way into Brussels, Amsterdam, Mayence, Cologne, Milan, Rome, Venice, Madrid, Vienna, Hanover, Berlin and even Moscow.

What had happened to the Grand Army? That fabulous host that Napoleon had led across the Niemen six months ago. How many of them would recross it? From the scene Gobbet had described of the crossing of the Berezina, probably not more than a few thousand. How many of them had left their bones to crumble and fertilise the Russian soil? Well, he, Roger Brook, was just one of them.

Then it seemed as if the fur over his eyes dissolved and he saw Georgina standing beside him. She was enveloped in a halo of light. He wondered if she was dead and had come as an angel to carry his spirit away, united at last with his own. She was smiling down at him. In the warmth of her smile, he fell asleep.

Roger had a terrible nightmare. He was being beaten unmercifully. Someone was alternately smashing fists into his ribs and slapping his face and thighs. Groaning and moaning, he made a feeble attempt to escape the blows by turning his head from side to side. Then he managed to open his eyes. Candlelight told him it was night.

An ugly giant of a man, naked to the waist and with beads of sweat standing out on his forehead was belabouring him vigorously. The ugly man grinned and said in Russian:

‘That is better, friend. I feared we were going to lose you.'

Roger's breath was coming in painful gasps, so he could not reply or ask any questions. The pummelling and slapping continued. He became conscious that he was lying on a bed, nearly naked, and that there were hotwater bottles at his feet and behind his neck.

Apparently at last satisfied with the result of his exertions, the giant stood back, covered Roger with blankets, then went to the door and shouted something. Two minutes later a middle-aged man and a portly, well-dressed woman came into the room. She was carrying a pewter mug that held a steaming liquid. While they stood on either side of Roger, the lady fed the brew to him with a spoon, and he found it to be mulled wine. After he
had had a few sips, he had the strength to ask in Russian:

‘Where am I?'

To his surprise the man answered in English. ‘My name is William Colgin. I am a fur trader and you are in my house. Our coachman, Jan, has been massaging you. We feared you dead, and are greatly pleased that you have recovered.'

Full realisation of the past then flooded back to Roger and he asked anxiously, ‘Have you seen aught of an English girl? She was wearing men's clothes. We parted up on the cliff, a few miles east of the town.'

It was the lady who replied. ‘Yes. You have no need to be concerned for her. She now lies in bed in the next room. It was she who took my husband and others back the way she had come, to find and bring you in. By the time they returned she was near overcome with exhaustion and distraught with anxiety. I'd not have wagered a penny herring that we'd succeed in reviving you, but I told her I was confident we could; so she was persuaded by me to imbibe a sleeping draught. When you have finished this wine, I am going to prescribe one for you, too.'

It was daylight when Roger was roused by a soft kiss on his lips. Mary, clad in a dressing gown much too large for her, was smiling down at him. Quickly she told him how he had been rescued.

‘After you had sent me off on my own,' she said, ‘I suddenly had a feeling that 'twas not really your intent to try to get to Riga. My belief was confirmed by looking at the bits of honey and marzipan you had made me take. I felt certain you had given all we had left to me. You had already become so weak that, without sustenance of any kind, I doubt if you could have walked another ten miles, let alone muster the strength to break into a house and rob a larder. I was much of a mind to turn back. But I realised you were giving your life for me, so I decided
that I ought to accept it and do my utmost to save yours as well.

‘On the outskirts of the town I met a pedlar and enquired of him the whereabouts of the town hall. He kindly took me there, and I asked if there was an English family living in the town. Good people there gave me hot soup and drove me in a sleigh here, to Mr. and Mrs. Colgin. To them I told the truth about you; that, although wearing a French uniform, you were an English gentleman in disguise. A party was quickly assembled and we went out with lanterns to search for you. In the dark I don't think we should ever have found you, but we saw a most strange light, like a will-o'-the-wisp, and we walked in that direction to find out what it could be. As we approached, it vanished, but below where it had been hovering was your body.'

Roger felt certain that the light must have been an emanation from Georgina's spirit, and that by the strange psychic link between them she had saved him yet again. But he could not spoil Mary's belief that she alone had been responsible on this occasion; and, indeed, his guardian angel could not have caused his half-frozen body to be recovered and revived. Taking her hand, he squeezed it and said:

‘My spendid Mary. 'Twas stupid in me not to have thought of sending you ahead of me, into a town earlier. But until we had been reduced to such desperate straits I would have been loath to allow you to face the dangers of the road alone. As long, too, as we were in the heart of Russia, we could scarce expect to come upon any English people who could believe me to be their countryman and give me their protection. It is to your courage and good sense that I owe my life.'

She shook her head. ‘But, my love, 'tis to you that I owe mine. It was your willingness to die, so that I might live that saved us both.'

An hour later a doctor, who had been sent for to examine Mary's eye, arrived. Roger knew nothing of this until Mr. Colgin came in to tell him the result. Whether she would regain the sight of the injured eye was very dubious, but it was just possible. If so, that would be due to the fact that ever since she had sustained the injury she had kept a bandage over it, and no attempt had been made to remove the great scab that had formed in the socket above the eyeball. The doctor had eased off the congealed mass of dried blood and tissue and at once put on a new bandage, which was not to be taken off for a week or more, except for brief intervals in a darkened room.

For three days they remained, recruiting their strength with the hospitable Colgins. By the end of that time, when removing the bandage, Mary could distinguish the flame of a candle; but the doctor would not encourage her to believe that the sight of the eye would ever be fully restored.

Now that they had recovered from their terrible ordeal Roger hired a sledge to take them in to Riga. On Boxing Day they crossed the Baltic to Stockholm. Bernadotte was in residence at the Castle. He received them most kindly and from him they learned the fate of the Grand Army.

Far out on the Eastern flank Schwarzenberg had retreated across the frontier of his own country, having lost comparatively few of his men. To the west, the bulk of Macdonald's corps had escaped down the Baltic coast, and out in that direction St. Cyr had also got most of his troops away. But the whole of the rest of the army had piled up at Borisov on the Berezina.