4 Under Siege (23 page)

Relations between Vendôme and Berwick had never been harmonious. Meetings between them therefore tended to be conducted with a terse politeness. While Berwick was keen to act, Vendôme was all for delay. It needed a few tart despatches from Versailles to goad the older man out of his obsession with the failure of the French army at the battle of Oudenarde. Spurred into action at last, he issued orders, then stepped outside his quarters to review his troops. A few minutes later, Berwick rode up and dismounted.

‘We are ready to move,’ said Vendôme, complacently.

‘Not before time,’ observed Berwick. ‘Our army should have been on the march long before now.’

‘We had protective duties in this area.’

‘Against whom or what, may I ask, were we supposed to be offering protection? Prince Eugene is committed to the siege of Lille and Marlborough is covering him. Neither of their armies is anywhere near Ghent.’

Vendôme was haughty. ‘I’m well aware of their movements.’

‘Then why have we not responded to them?’

‘Patrols have been sent out day after day. Their orders were to search for and harass any siege train on its way to the enemy. What you call delay is a sensible pause to take full stock of the situation. With all due respect, Your Grace,’ he said, brushing some crumbs off his sleeve, ‘we’ll achieve nothing with ill-directed action.’

‘Our orders are to delay the fall of siege until winter comes to our aid. When cartwheels get stuck in the mud and frost starts to bite the fingers, even Marlborough will lose his urge to continue.’

‘I know your uncle better than you.’

‘I dispute that.’

‘He’ll fight on until Christmas, if need be.’

‘His army will be in winter quarters by then.’

Vendôme grinned. ‘Would you care to place a wager on that?’

‘No, I would not,’ said Berwick, bluntly. ‘And, in any case, I will not be beside you to collect the wager. I’ve come to inform you that I’ve resigned my field command and will henceforth have only an advisory role under the Duke of Burgundy.’

Vendôme was both surprised and shocked by the news. While he’d never warmed to Berwick, he didn’t like the thought that the other man was effectively displaying a lack of confidence in him. For his part, Berwick had no regrets. He’d found Vendôme an unsavoury and impossible colleague. Rather than continue to work alongside him, he was prepared to demote himself to a lesser role in the conflict. Vendôme was patently insulted by his decision but Berwick made no attempt to justify it. Instead, he produced a letter from his pocket.

‘I received this from Marshal Boufflers,’ he said, handing it over. ‘I thought it might interest you.’

‘Does it have any bearing on our orders?’

‘None at all, but it contains a name you might recognise.’

Vendôme read the missive. ‘Captain Rawson!’ he growled.

‘I remember your mentioning his name to me.’

‘It looks as if he’s been up to his old tricks again.’

‘Judging by his success, he’s obviously a brave and determined man. One has to salute such extraordinary nerve.’

‘I don’t salute it,’ said Vendôme, thrusting the letter back at him. ‘I condemn the garrison at Lille for letting Rawson make fools of them. I just hope the rogue crosses
my
path again.’

‘I endorse that hope,’ said Berwick, sardonically. ‘Captain Daniel Rawson seems to be the only person who can instil into you an urge to fight. For that, at least, I’m eternally grateful to him.’

He mounted his horse and rode off. Vendôme seethed with rage.

In the course of his adventures in Lille, Daniel had had little time to luxuriate in thoughts of Amalia Janssen. Back in camp, he could now snatch a moment to dash off a brief letter to her. It would be taken to England by the courier in charge of the official correspondence sent by Marlborough. When Amalia finally read it, the news would be very much out of date but she’d be heartened by the fact that she was in his mind. As with all such letters, his problem was what to leave out rather than what to put in. A detailed description of his exploits would only alarm her and he had no intention of mentioning Rachel Rees at all. To do so would require too much explanation and he had no wish to arouse even the tiniest flicker of jealousy in Amalia. Recalling the jibe from Henry Welbeck, he also kept Estelle’s name out of the letter.

Daniel tried to sound optimistic about the siege even though he knew – having seen the ingenuity of the fortifications – that there’d be no immediate capitulation. What Amalia really wanted to hear was that he was safe and well and looking forward to being reunited with her. That much he could write with great enthusiasm. Having sealed the letter, Daniel kissed it before taking it off to begin its long journey.

Amalia had kept her spirits up by refusing to believe that Daniel had been killed in action. She told herself that he was too experienced a soldier to die at French hands. It was the careless and the unwary who fell first. Emanuel Janssen sustained her by reminding her of Daniel’s remarkable capacity for survival, demonstrated most clearly in his rescue bid at the Bastille and in the subsequent race to freedom. He’d saved their lives as well as his own. Amalia called to mind her later rescue from the French camp. Daniel’s achievement on that occasion had bordered on the impossible.

‘He’s still alive,’ she said, smiling. ‘I feel it in my bones.’

‘So do I, Amalia,’ said her father.

‘Yet you believed the news at first.’

‘That was only because Sir John seemed so certain about it. But, as he pointed out, mistakes do creep in. We’d not be the first people to mourn a soldier who was still very much alive. Sir John was in a quandary,’ he continued. ‘He confided to me that he wasn’t at all sure whether or not he should tell you what he’d found out. At first he’d wanted to keep it to himself and spare you the agony. But that would only have delayed the shock and he felt that he was cheating you by holding the information back.’

‘I’d rather have known,’ she said. ‘He made the right decision. It was good of Sir John to take the trouble to find word of Daniel.’

‘He’s been a wonderful host in every way.’

‘I know, Father. We’ve never enjoyed such hospitality. Sir John has been so considerate. He’s treated us like members of his family.’

Janssen smiled. ‘No member of my family would ever buy me such a splendid painting as that one of the Sheldonian Theatre.’

‘I, too, have had lovely gifts from him.’

‘He’s very fond of you, Amalia.’

‘It’s his consideration that I appreciate. When he saw how badly shaken I was by the news, he wrote at once to Her Grace to postpone the dinner he’d arranged. I’m so relieved that he did that,’ she said. ‘In my present state of mind, I don’t wish to see
anybody
.’

‘Unless his name is Captain Rawson, that is.’

They shared a smile. They were in the living room at the house and, although Janssen sat beside her and held his daughter’s hand, he kept flicking one eye at the painting given to him by Sir John Rievers. He’d already decided on which wall it would hang when they returned to their home in Amsterdam.

‘How can we thank
him
, Amalia?’ he wondered.

‘Sir John?’

‘I feel as if I should weave a tapestry for him.’

‘He’d be delighted with that, Father.’

‘First things first,’ he said. ‘Let’s wait until this big, black cloud hanging over us has been lifted.’

‘Daniel is alive, alive, alive,’ she asserted.

‘We’ll soon know the truth of the matter.’

‘It
has
to be a mistake.’

‘I pray that it is, Amalia, and so does Sir John. That’s why he’s gone back to London to see if the earlier report was a false one. He’s eager to bring you good news.’

Sir John Rievers stood on the quay and handed a purse over. The man felt its weight in his palm and nodded approvingly.

‘There’ll be twice as much as that if all goes to plan.’

‘It will, Sir John,’ said the man. ‘I’ve never failed you before.’

‘This will be your most difficult assignment.’

‘Where’s the difficulty? You forget that I know the region well. I fought there when I was in the army myself. I’m sailing on a fast ship,’ he said, indicating the vessel beside him, ‘and the weather could not be better for a voyage.’

‘I only wish that I was able to take care of this myself.’

‘Leave it to me, Sir John. It’s the kind of work I enjoy.’

‘Send me word as soon as it’s done.’

‘I will.’

Andrew Syme had a smirking confidence. He was a slim, sinewy individual in his thirties, with a military air about him. Sir John knew that he could be trusted to obey orders and to keep his mouth shut when he’d done so. The man’s mission was simple. He had to turn a cruel lie into a truth. Only then, Sir John realised, would Amalia Janssen come within his reach.

‘May good fortune attend you!’ said Sir John.

‘I need no luck for this enterprise.’

‘Much is riding on your success.’

‘You may take it as a foregone conclusion, Sir John.’

They shook hands. The man was about to move away when he was held by the shoulder. Sir John looked deep into his eyes.

‘A word of warning,’ he said. ‘Don’t come back until Captain Daniel Rawson is dead.’

While artillery was employed to great effect by both sides, there was abundant action for the Allied troops. Advancing from the north, they met with strong resistance, particularly at the chapel of St Magdalen where there was fierce hand-
to-hand
fighting. The booming of the cannon was interspersed with the popping of muskets and the clash of steel as bayonet met bayonet. But the attack was inconclusive and the Allies eventually withdrew. Their own defences weren’t neglected. Towards the end of August, the nine-mile-long lines of circumvallation (facing outwards from the town) and contravallation (facing inwards) were completed, signalling to the enemy that they were endeavouring to put a stranglehold on Lille. In blistering sunshine, the digging of trenches continued apace with a reluctant local peasantry pressed into service. With August drawing to its close, Eugene’s breaching bombardment became more intense. As the siege rolled on into its second month, hostilities reached a new pitch of ferocity.

Marlborough still felt partly under siege himself. Though he was satisfied with the progress made so far, he was dogged by ill health, depressed at the possibility of a long siege, worried by the appearance of a French army of one hundred and ten thousand men on the River Dender, irritated by reports of political machinations back in England and shaken by the letter he’d just received from his wife. After reading it through once more, he tossed it aside and brought a hand to his aching forehead. At a time when he needed to concentrate on the siege, he didn’t wish to be distracted by Sarah’s searing account of what had happened at the thanksgiving service. Until the missive had arrived, Marlborough had believed that relations between his wife and Queen Anne could not deteriorate even more. That misconception had now been shattered.

He was alone in his quarters, slumped in his chair with his periwig on the table in front of him. Marlborough’s famed vigour was nowhere in evidence. His face was drawn, his eyes dull, his whole body slack. He seemed to lack energy and sense of purpose. Not for the first time, he began to wonder how long he could go on commanding a coalition army and bearing the concomitant responsibilities and frustrations. Yet when he glanced down at the letter, he couldn’t envisage a return to domestic life in England as a source of real contentment. His wife’s feud with the queen was set to bring further upheaval to the Marlborough household.

Hearing voices outside, he quickly replaced his periwig. Adam Cardonnel entered with Daniel Rawson at his heels. Even though Marlborough had straightened his shoulders and tried to look alert, they both noticed an uncharacteristic listlessness about him. After an exchange of greetings, the newcomers took their seats. It was Cardonnel who recognised the handwriting on the letter that lay open on the table.

‘You’ve had word from Her Grace, I see,’ he noted.

Marlborough sighed. ‘Indeed, I have.’

‘Not bad news, I hope.’

‘It could never be construed as
good
news, Adam.’

‘Oh?’

Picking up the letter, Marlborough looked from one to the other.

‘I know that I can rely on your discretion,’ he said. ‘What I tell you now must go no further.’ They nodded obediently. ‘Much as I love my dear wife, I have to admit that she can be rather bellicose at times and those times are not always well chosen. It transpires that she had a furious argument with Her Majesty on their way to the thanksgiving service in St Paul’s. It concerned some jewels that were put out for Her Majesty and which she refused to wear.’

‘Ah,’ said Cardonnel, ‘I can imagine how the quarrel began. Her Grace felt insulted that the jewels she chose were spurned.’

‘It matters not what the argument was about, Adam. The fact that it took place at that particular time is what annoys me. They were on their way to celebrate our victory at Oudenarde.’

‘And rightly so,’ observed Daniel.

‘It’s maddening,’ said Marlborough. ‘We beat the French in a pitched battle yet again and are entitled to have a thanksgiving service in honour of it. Yet the event is notable less for a violent encounter between two armies than for a squabble – in public, alas – between two ladies who should know better. Do forgive me,’ he added. ‘I mean no disloyalty to my wife but there is an important point at issue here.’

‘The continuance of the war depends on political support from the British government,’ said Daniel. ‘Now that Her Majesty is under the influence of the Tories, that support is starting to waver.’  

‘It’s done so for some time, Daniel.’  

‘The queen ought to be wooed,’ said Cardonnel, ‘and not further estranged. If it’s the latter, we stand to suffer the consequences.’  

‘I blame that damnable barrister,’ complained Marlborough. He saw the look of bafflement on Daniel’s face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Let me explain. I was referring to Arthur Maynwaring, a so-called friend of my wife who’s been giving her all manner of bad advice and making grotesque allegations about Her Majesty’s private life. I won’t regale you with the details. They’re too distressing for me to repeat. Of far more interest to you is something in the letter that pertains to Captain Rawson.’  

‘What’s that, Your Grace?’ asked Daniel.  

‘Actually, it pertains to your inamorata. It appears that Miss Janssen and her father were due to dine with my wife in the company of Sir John and Lady Rievers but the dinner had to be postponed because Miss Janssen was indisposed.’

Daniel was alarmed. ‘Indisposed – in what way?’  

‘There are no precise details,’ said Marlborough, consulting the letter, ‘but it’s something to do with the death of a friend. When she heard the news, Miss Janssen was so upset that she felt unable to fulfil any social engagements.’

‘A relative of hers must have passed away,’ said Cardonnel.

‘I think not, Adam. My wife describes the person as a close friend. Daniel can probably tell us who it is.’

‘I wish that I could,’ said Daniel, clearly disturbed. ‘The obvious person would be Beatrix, her maidservant.’

‘One
can
get attached to servants, I agree.’

‘Then again, it might be Kees Dopff, one of the apprentices.’

‘Would that be sufficient to make her withdraw into mourning?’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Daniel, running through the list of Amalia’s friends in his mind. ‘On the other hand, she might feel the loss more keenly because she was abroad when it happened.’ He went off into a reverie, then quickly brought himself out of it. ‘I do apologise, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘We’re here to discuss the progress of the siege. I shouldn’t let my personal concerns impinge upon that.’

Conversation switched to military matters but Daniel was only half-listening to the comments of his companions. The news about Amalia had upset him at a deep level. If she was bereaved, he wanted to be there to comfort her. Instead, he was trapped indefinitely in the vicinity of Lille. One question kept tapping remorselessly at his brain like the beak of a woodpecker.

Whose death had caused Amalia such pain?

By dint of repeating it to herself over and over again, Amalia had come to believe that a hideous error had been made and that Daniel was still alive. Janssen was less certain of that but he kept his doubts hidden and made sure that Beatrix did the same. In a crisis such as this, Amalia needed the full support of both of them. Had they been at home in Amsterdam, the news would have been dreadful but at least they’d have been in familiar surroundings. Marooned in England and staying in the property of a stranger, they’d felt the blow more keenly. Amalia’s first thought had been to rush back to the Continent and make her way to the British camp in order to establish the truth or otherwise of the report. Her response was natural but unfeasible. It was only when she emerged from her initial despair that she spied a reason to hope. It took a firm grip on her mind.

‘Daniel is alive,’ she said for the fiftieth time that day. ‘I’d
know
if anything had happened to him.’

‘I’m sure that you would, Amalia,’ said her father.

‘He came through the battle of Oudenarde unscathed. You saw him when he visited us. A siege is very different from a battle. Daniel explained the sequence of events to me.’

‘Soldiers do nevertheless get killed at sieges.’

She was dogmatic. ‘Daniel is not one of them.’

‘No, no, I’m certain that he isn’t.’

‘He always mixes daring with caution.’

They were taking a stroll through the estate and walking in the direction of the lake. While they found the parkland delightful, they were both wishing that they weren’t there. Being in a foreign country made them feel strangely vulnerable.

‘When will Sir John return?’ she asked, impatiently.

‘He’ll come as soon as he has news, Amalia.’

‘I pray that it will be soon.’

‘It was kind of Lady Rievers to write to you,’ he said. ‘She has so many problems of her own to contend with yet she found the time to offer you good advice. Don’t grieve until you are absolutely sure of the facts, she counselled. It’s wrong to endure anguish that may turn out to be completely misplaced.’

‘Her letter was very heartening. In fact…’

The sound of hoof beats made her voice trail away and she turned to see a figure riding towards them. When she realised that it was Sir John Rievers, a mingled hope and consternation whirled inside her head. She tried to discern from his demeanour what news he was bringing but his upright position in the saddle gave nothing away. As he drew nearer, her conviction that Daniel was alive started to weaken. If he had good tidings, she thought, Sir John would surely have given them a signal of some kind. He’d seen the effect that the news had had on her and knew the agony she must be suffering. Out of the affection he bore her, Sir John wouldn’t hesitate to relieve her suffering if it was in his power to do so.

Yet no signal came. When they could see his face clearly, it had a grim expression that made Amalia’s blood run cold. Anticipating bad news, Emanuel Janssen reached out to hold his daughter’s hand. He braced himself to catch her in case she fainted again. Sir John rode up to them, brought his horse to a halt and dismounted. He removed his hat in a gesture of courtesy.

‘Well?’ asked Amalia, now on tenterhooks.

‘What did you find out, Sir John?’ pressed Jansen.

‘Nothing,’ replied Sir John, sorrowfully. ‘I could neither confirm nor disprove what I’d learnt earlier. There was a report of his demise but that could well be an unfortunate error.’

Janssen grasped at straws. ‘It may even be that the Captain Rawson who is listed may not be the one we know. It’s not a common name,’ he went on, ‘yet neither is it uncommon. Could it not be that there is more than one Captain Rawson in the British ranks?’

‘No, Father,’ said Amalia. ‘That’s too big a coincidence.’

‘I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to come back empty-handed, so to speak,’ said Sir John. ‘I would love to have been the bearer of the news that we all desire – namely, that Captain Rawson is alive and is continuing to infuriate the enemy in his inimitable way. Given what I’ve heard about him, I find it hard to accept that such a remarkable soldier has fallen in action.’

‘I
don’t
accept it, Sir John,’ she attested.

‘Your attitude is wholly laudable, Miss Janssen.’

‘I have complete faith in Daniel.’

‘And it’s obviously justified,’ said Sir John, smiling benignly at her. ‘I, too, am coming to share it. I remain sanguine.’

‘So do we,’ said Janssen, ‘but this waiting is taking its toll on our nerves. Is there no way that the information can be verified?’

‘Not in London,’ answered Sir John, concealing the fact that he’d actually returned from Harwich rather than from the capital. ‘That leaves us with only one avenue to explore.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Someone must be sent to Lille to unearth the truth.’

Amalia was impulsive. ‘I’ll go,’ she said.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ said her father.

‘It’s neither wise nor necessary,’ explained Sir John. ‘I know how much this affects your prospects of happiness, Miss Janssen, and I can’t stand by and watch you in torment. To that end, I’ve instructed someone to sail to the Continent, then make his way with all haste to the place where the 24
^th
Regiment of Foot is encamped. The fellow is to enquire after Captain Rawson and return with his findings as fast as is humanly possible.’

‘Oh,’ said Amalia, profoundly touched. ‘Have you really done all this on our behalf?’

‘To restore your happiness, Miss Janssen,’ he said with apparent sincerity, ‘I’d do much, much more.’

‘Thank you, Sir John – I am ever in your debt.’

‘No debt has been incurred. It’s a pleasure to help you.’

‘Coming back to this person you instructed,’ said Janssen. ‘Is he a man who can be entrusted with such a mission?’

‘He is, Mr Janssen,’ said Sir John, confidently. ‘Andrew Syme has never let me down. You may rest easy on that score. Of one thing I can assure you – he will obey his orders to the letter.’

Syme was not a man to pass the day in idleness. The ship on which he’d embarked from Harwich was also carrying reinforcements for the Allies. As a former soldier, he found it easy to fall in with them and soon befriended a young lieutenant eager to join him in swordplay. When the two men had a practice bout, a crowd of soldiers gathered to watch them and to urge the lieutenant on. Their encouragement was wasted because their man was hopelessly outclassed. With a sword in his hand, Syme looked to be almost invincible. Indeed, so great was his superiority that he brought the practice to an end by forcing his opponent back against the bulwark, then disarming him with a sudden jab that produced a trickle of blood from the other’s hand. As the lieutenant’s sword clattered to the deck, he was jeered at by his fellows. Syme turned to confront them with a smile.

‘Can anyone else do better?’ he challenged.