Lord Harry's Daughter (5 page)

Chapter
6

Sophia did not have to wait long for the opportunity to speak to Andrew Leith Hay, for when she arrived later that afternoon at their modest house just down the street from headquarters, it was to discover her mother bustling about with more than her usual energy as she directed two girls from the village. “Ah, Sophia, I am glad that you are returned. Sir Thornton has invited several officers for dinner and, as luck would have it, Andrew Leith Hay has just arrived. Now if you will see to it that Teresa and Maria finish with the cleaning, I shall go to speak to Jorge about dinner."

Removing the apron she had been wearing during the vigorous dusting. Lady Curtis went off to the kitchen, where the sound of banging pans and voices shouting in Spanish suggested that once again Jorge was finding the local kitchen help to be greatly inferior to what he had been accustomed to in Lisbon.

“Senhora, it is impossible..."

Lady Curtis held up her hand to stem the flow of objections. “I know, I know. Preparing a dinner worthy of your reputation is impossible in these trying circumstances, Jorge, but consider that the gentlemen who will be dining with us tonight are already familiar with the superb cuisine you are capable of preparing and will make every allowance for the crudeness of our quarters."

The beleaguered cook sighed dramatically. “Very well, senhora, but I make no promises."

“Thank you, Jorge. I know you will produce something exquisite as always. Remember that these gentlemen have been constantly on the move and living on very poor rations, so that even a warm meal will be a luxury to them, and fresh fish from Passages with a shrimp sauce and roast tongue will be beyond all their expectations."

A gloomy shake of the head was Jorge's only reply as he returned to chopping onions after frowning ferociously at the girl washing pans.

In point of fact, she need not have worried, for Andrew Leith Hay, Lieutenant Colonel Colin Campbell, General Pakenham, and Captain Fitzroy Somerset were so delighted to spend an evening in the congenial society of Sir Thornton, his wife, and his stepdaughter that they paid very little attention to the food that was set before them.

A good deal of the conversation centered around Andrew Leith Hay's sojourn with the French Army. “At first, I was treated very well indeed and was invited to dine with General Maransin at the archbishop's palace in Toledo. He discussed most frankly and openly with me the sufferings of the Grand Army in Russia, even their difficulties in the Peninsula. But then I was turned over to General Soult, a man of most inferior appearance and not to be compared with his brother the marshal. Hoping to be able to effect my escape, I refused to give my parole. They were a good deal more watchful after that, and ultimately, after a very unpleasant interrogation by General Leval I was sent to the dungeons of the Retero in Madrid. Naturally, I protested and eventually I was moved to another prison which was gloomy enough, but a considerable improvement over the dungeons. When we moved to Breviesca, I was summoned before General La Martiniere, who informed me that his superior. General Gazan, desired that I be exchanged for a captain of the French artillery captured at Badajoz. Knowing I was going to be offered in exchange for another French officer, I gave my parole and was treated most cordially. When we reached Vitoria I was handed over to Captain Owen of the Eighteenth Hussars. He took me to Sir Lowry Cole, and the rest you know as well as I."

“Were you not worried that they would kill you?"

The captain smiled at his hostess. “Not greatly, for as a British officer I was far more useful alive than dead. Other exploring officers, however, have not been so lucky. Anyone caught in disguise is treated as a spy and disposed of as quickly as possible. Indeed, Major Adair of the Fourth Dragoons had a very close call last year before Salamanca. He was traveling behind enemy lines dressed as a monk when he was captured by two dragoons on patrol. They had no idea that he was a British soldier and were simply responding to a report that a local priest was passing on information about French troop movements. They bound him and threw him on a horse to take him to headquarters, but believing him to be a man of the cloth, they were not so careful as they might have been. As they traveled, he struggled to get his hands free and waited until they stopped at an inn for dinner. They dismounted and were about to dismount him when, much to their chagrin, he dug his heels into his own horse, grabbed the reins of both of theirs, and rode off."

“Yes, Adair is one of the best,” Colin Campbell agreed. “He speaks Spanish like a native and can adopt whatever accent he pleases, the plodding Asturian peasant, a fierce Andalusian guerrilla, or he can discuss the works of Calderon in the purest Castilian. Not only that, but he can speak French and German with only the faintest of accents so that the man from Paris thinks he is a Gascon, the Gascon thinks he is a Breton. He is an absolute master of disguise. The stage lost a fine actor in Adair."

Not to be outdone, Fitzroy Somerset took up the narrative. “I remember the time when two of the men in Adair's regiment were captured. Without even telling his colonel, he took it upon himself to discover the inn where they were being held, scaled a tree and dropped onto the roof of the house next door, leapt onto the roof of the inn, and scrambled across the tiles. Tying a rope around the chimney, he hung down over the edge and climbed into the room where they were being held, freed the men, and then using the rope, got them down and over the wall without anyone being the wiser. He is a good man in a tight spot, is Adair, a quick thinker and fearless as a lion. I do not think the man has a nerve in his body. He is as cool on the battlefield as he would be in your mother's drawing room."

“I believe I must have met this Major Adair of yours once not long ago when he was returning from San Sebastian. He is certainly an excellent horseman, if nothing else.” Sophia could not say quite why she was so reluctant to admit to the other two encounters with him. Actually, she had not intended to admit to meeting him at all, but she did want to hear more about him, and the conversation had appeared to be drawing to a close.

“Aha!” Fitzroy Somerset shot a teasing smile in her direction. “Now that I think of it, he did mention encountering a demented young lady who was out painting in a field without the least regard for roving French soldiers or fierce Spanish guerrillas."

Sophia felt the heat rising in her cheeks and hoped desperately that the candlelight was too dim for anyone to see her blush, though why she should be doing so she had no idea.

“Have care, Sophia.” Colin Campbell wagged an admonitory finger at her. “He is the very devil with the fair sex and has broken hearts from here to Lisbon. He charms the ladies by concentrating all his admiring attentions on them one day, and then on the next he will ride off without so much as a by-your-leave. And it is well known that he treasures his bachelor status."

“Sophia is far too levelheaded to waste a second thought on a fellow like that.” Andrew Leith Hay came to her defense. “Besides she has lived among such fellows all her life. Why should she be in any more danger from Mark Adair than she is from all the rest of us?” He winked broadly at her.

Why indeed? Sophia had asked herself that very question more than once in the past few days. Why had she even spared a passing thought for Major Adair?

“Sophia knows all you military men too well to have her head turned by any one of you. She does not want a man who will forget her very existence the moment he gets a whiff of grapeshot.” General Curtis turned to smile at his stepdaughter. “And I promise her that the moment the war is over we shall return to London where she can meet a steady young man instead of you harum-scarum lads. Now tell me, Andrew, did the French look to be well supplied?"

Glad to have the conversation turn to more general topics, Sophia heaved a sigh of relief and directed a grateful glance at the general. One of the things she loved most about him was his kindness. For a man who had spent the better part of his life in the rough and tumble existence of military camps, he was very sensitive to the feelings of others, especially those who were close to him.

“Well, sir, before Vitoria, I would have said yes they are. Before the battle on the outskirts of the city I saw in the army's reserve parks more pieces of field artillery lined up than I have ever seen before—rows and rows of them beautifully arranged. But after the battle, those same fields were littered with overturned gun carriages and abandoned cannon. It appeared as though in their flight the French had left everything behind. One hardly knows what they now have left to defend themselves."

“We need not congratulate ourselves on that score,” Fitzroy Somerset concluded grimly. “Adair reported enough artillery at San Sebastian and Pamplona to cause a great deal of damage."

“But what is the terrain like? If our troops are crossing the beach to reach the fortress at San Sebastian we may be able to come in under their guns. If I were not under this infernal parole I could make a sketch of the place and then we should have an accurate idea of what we are up against."

“Relax, Andrew.” Colin Campbell laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sophia, here, has already drawn us an admirable picture of the place."

“Sophia?"

Despite her best efforts, Sophia could not help sounding just the slightest bit self-conscious as she replied. “Yes. Major Adair asked me to draw him a picture while the details of it were fresh in his mind."

“Ah.” Andrew said nothing more, but his expression betrayed his thoughts. How had Sophia, who ordinarily did not share her pictures with most of her friends, come to show them to a perfect stranger? It was obvious from the look on her face that Sophia was not about to answer these questions, and Andrew was certainly not going to ask.

Chapter
7

The next few days Sophia and her mother saw very little of the general or anyone else as all of Wellington's staff were occupied with the plans to storm San Sebastian. Sir Thornton spent his entire day at headquarters or riding to inspect the troops and their supplies at Irun, Vera, and Echelar, returning home only to sleep.

Sophia continued to go out on sketching expeditions, but she remained within the limits of the village, satisfying herself with pictures of the sturdy Basque peasants at work in their daily tasks or vistas of the distant mountains as seen from the windows at the back of their house. On the one day she had planned to get out early to take advantage of the softened tints of early morning light, she awoke to the sound of shutters banging in the wind and the distant sound of thunder. Peering out the window, she could see the storm clouds approaching from the coast, but it took a few minutes more to realize that the ominous rumbling came from cannon fire and not from thunder.

Hastily pulling on a plain cambric morning dress and sturdy half boots, she hurried down the steep stairs to the parlor just in time to witness-the general kissing her mother good-bye.

“Ah, Sophia, you heard the cannon. Graham has attacked San Sebastian. At the moment the duke is prepared to leave the attack to him, but I must be in readiness to send forth fresh troops and supplies.” He glanced at the worried faces of the two women. “Both of you should be safe enough here. You are close to headquarters and a good distance from any possibility of fighting."

“We are not thinking of ourselves, my dear.” Sophia's mother spoke for both of them. “Do take care."

“You need have no fear on that head. I am but a quartermaster, a provisioner, not a fighter."

Lady Curtis smiled and shook her head. “A provisioner who is so zealous in his duties that he rides to the front in order to assure himself that all he has ordered forward has arrived according to his instructions. I know you too well, sir."

“That you do. Lady Curtis, that you do. Now I must go.” And with a jaunty wave he strode out to join Speen, who was holding his restive horse.

“Well, Sophia, there is nothing to do but occupy ourselves as usefully as we can until we hear further news.” Lady Curtis sat down in a chair near the window, pulled out her workbasket, and calmly took up her needlework.

“I know. Mama, but it is so tedious just waiting. I wish I could do something.” Sophia paced restlessly for a few minutes, then went to the window to watch officers assembling down in front of headquarters. “I am hopeless at needlework and I shall not be able to concentrate on anything I read."

“There is always your sketchbook, my love."

“I know, but I detest still lifes and there is nothing else to do for I cannot go outside; I shall merely be in the way. I wish I were a man, then I would be able to do something to help win this wretched war."

“There will be wounded to tend to soon enough, and we do a great deal to help win this
wretched war
by insuring that there is a comfortable house and a good meal to return to after the exertions of the day."

“I know. Mama, I know.” Sophia had heard it all many times before, but she was sick and tired of waiting patiently for men to return home after they had been out doing exciting things. She had spent her entire life waiting, it seemed. Her mother was kind and patient and well suited to the task. No matter how late her husband returned or how worried she had been, she was always ready with a warm smile of welcome and a hot meal.
It is no small accomplishment to provide a home for a man when one is following the drum,
she had told her daughter over and over again. And Sophia agreed. She was well acquainted with the effort that went into running a household smoothly in a foreign land where supplies were uncertain and where one never knew where one would be laying one's head next. But she was not her mother. She was not content to sit quietly by while someone else was out doing things, accomplishing things.

The rest of the morning Sophia and her mother occupied themselves around the house as best they could, straining their ears to determine if the booming was coming from San Sebastian or somewhere else, and how the British troops were faring in the attack, but it was impossible to tell. Nor could they get any clues from the activity in the village itself. Officers were coming and going in all directions. Finally, just before noon. Lady Curtis looked up from her needlework. Head tilted to one side, she listened intently for a moment.

“What is it, Mama?"

“Hush, listen."

“I hear nothing."

“That is just it. The cannonading has ceased."

“Then they have succeeded."

But Lady Curtis shook her head. “No, did you not hear Thornton say how massive the walls of San Sebastian are and how impregnable the city is? This is far too short a time..."

Her words were cut off by another muffled boom sounding in the distance.

“There, Mama, they have started again."

“No. That is in another direction."

“So it is.” Sophia crossed over to the window and looked out, but the scene remained unchanged. Then came another low rumbling. “It is coming from our right. I wonder..."

But further speculation was cut off by a banging close by. Both ladies jumped and looked anxiously at one another. It was a full minute before either one of them realized that the banging was at their own front door.

“If you please, senora.” One of the maids ran in.

“I am coming, Maria.” Lady Curtis rose to follow her but was forestalled by the appearance of a tall officer, his uniform covered with dust.

“What can I do for you, Major..."

“Adair, Major Adair, ma'am. And if you please, I have come to see if I might borrow your daughter."

“Borrow my daughter?” Lady Curtis stole a quick glance at Sophia. Major Adair—so this was the officer whose name had come up at dinner the night Andrew Leith Hay had joined them. This was the officer whose name had made her ordinarily self-possessed daughter flush self-consciously. He was certainly an impressive-looking man even in his travel-stained uniform. But Sophia had been surrounded by such men all her life. What was it that was so unusual about this particular man?

“Well, not your daughter precisely, but her talent."

“Oh.” This explanation did nothing to clarify the situation for Lady Curtis.

By this time Sophia had come forward to join her mother. “How may I help you, Major?"

“I have two peasants over at headquarters. They were both waiting for me when I returned from San Sebastian. Each one carries a tale of massive French troop movements; however, one tells me that a large French force is marching toward the Maya pass on our right and that there are rumors another force of equal size is on its way to the pass at Roncesvalles. The other, who claims to be with the Mina, insists that they are massing to cross the Bidassoa and preparing to strike for San Sebastian. Now I have met Mina himself and I could probably test the truth of this man's story by asking him to take me to the guerrillas’ stronghold, but I do not have time. General Curtis"—Mark nodded at Sophia's mother—"has the Seventh and the Light divisions held in reserve and needs to know whether to send them to help Graham at San Sebastian, Stewart at Maya, or Cole at Roncesvalles. I need to know immediately which man to believe. I recall hearing that Miss Featherstonaugh, with her skill at reading character, was once able to tell that Ponsonby's batman was innocent of a crime everyone else thought him guilty of. I need someone like that now, someone who can tell me which man to trust."

Mark moved over to smile down at Sophia. “From what I have seen of your portraits you are able to see through to a man's very soul. Can you do that now for me?"

“I do not know. I do not think...” Sophia looked up into the dark eyes. There was a warmth in them that almost seemed like admiration, a special expression meant only for her, an expression that only she could understand. He needed her. He needed her skill, a skill that no one else possessed. She drew a deep breath. “Very well, I shall try, but..."

“Thank you. I
know
you can do it.” It was almost a whisper, soft and intimate, as though no one else were in the room.

She stood for a moment, transfixed by the look in his eyes and the current of understanding that seemed to run between them, a current so strong it was almost visible. A warm tide of happiness swept over her. She was needed after all. There was something she could do at last after all these years of waiting helplessly among men who marched and suffered and died for their country. Now she could do something for her country, too. This man had seen it. He had appreciated it. He had given her a chance. “Just let me get my shawl and my things. I shall not be a minute.” Sophia hurried out of the room.

“May I get you some refreshment. Major?” “What? Oh, ah, no thank you. I am fine, thank you.” Lady Curtis smiled. She had spoken more out of a desire to discover the major's state of mind than to offer him her hospitality. It had seemed to her, watching her daughter and the major out of the corner of her eyes, that this soldier affected Sophia strongly. She had never seen her daughter respond to anyone quite this way before and she was curious to see whether or not the encounter had the same effect on the gentleman as it had on the lady. Where she was breathless, he seemed abstracted. Where she flushed and smiled self-consciously, he seemed to retreat into his own world, and after their discussion, he had been surprised to discover that Lady Curtis was still in the same room with him. But no matter how dissimilar their reactions might be, they led this particular observer to the same conclusion—there was some special bond that drew these two together, some secret understanding that only the two of them shared.

Mark recovered quickly. “I beg your pardon, Lady Curtis. It is these two men. I cannot for the life of me decide which one to believe.” He flashed an apologetic smile that did not fool Sophia's mother in the least. He had no more been thinking of the men than he had been of flying. She had seen the look in his eyes as they had followed her daughter out of the room.

“I understand, Major. I am sure Sophia can help. Ever since she was a little girl she has had an extraordinary ability to see beneath the surfaces people adopt to cover their true feelings. It is a rare talent, but it can be most disconcerting at times."

That caught his attention. “Yes, I expect it can.” For the first time since his arrival he really looked at Sophia's mother. She was still a lovely woman, with the same lively intelligence in her eyes—blue eyes rather than Sophia's smoky hazel ones—and they were observing him closely now with a knowing expression and a sparkle of humor. She had seen Sophia's effect on him and she was not fooled in the least by his excuse.

Mark raised a rueful eyebrow and sat in the chair she pointed to. This was a woman who had listened to Lord Harry's excuses for years; she was not going to be deceived by Mark Adair. “One has only to glance at her portraits to realize that she sees a great deal more than the rest of us and..."

“Here I am at last. I do apologize for taking so long, but I have everything I need now. Shall we go. Major?” Sophia hurried back into the room clutching her satchel and pulling on her shawl.

Mark rose and held out a hand to take the bag containing her sketchbook and pencils, then bowed to Lady Curtis. “I appreciate your letting your daughter help me. I promise I shall take good care of her."

“I am sure you will."

But they were already halfway out the door and too intent on their mission to hear Lady Curtis's reply, much less detect the wealth of meaning in her voice.