Major Lord David (24 page)

There was a long silence in their tiny room. Then Kit said
distantly, “Well, that’s clear enough” He looked then so pale
and thin, leaning on his crutches, that Billie almost apologized. But Ephie saved her from spoiling her own victory.

“Shall we go on down to dinner? Everyone seems a bit
peckish.”

Ephie aided a hobbling Kit as they made their way to a
table in the dining room. There were no private parlors; they
had all been lent out as rooms. At the side of the table Hayden
introduced Barton, a large, open-featured man of perhaps
forty, who had been invited to join their dinner group.

Billie reached to shake Barton’s hand. “I must thank you for
all you have done, for Lieutenant Athington and my brother.”

“That’s all right, miss.”

“Is Major Trent’s horse doing well?”

“Oh, nothing troubles Incendio, miss. He’ll be all to rights
once the major’s back.”

Would it were so, Billie thought, taking her seat. She did not
recall when she had last eaten, but she had no appetite now.

The others did not appear to share her listlessness. Neither
was the table silent. Lord Knowles kept up his usual discourse, with sustaining additions from Ephie and Kit. Hayden
refrained from speaking much, though the occasional hotel
guest, seeing him, would stop by at their exposed table to
greet him. Barton did not speak at all, until at one point Kit
addressed her as “Billie”

” Ah you’re `Billie,’ then!” Barton exclaimed. He said nothing more but stole glances at her as he ate. When she caught
him at it, he smiled.

As the meal ended, Hayden surveyed the table.

“We have no place to which to retire. So regrettably we
must share our news here. Mr. Barton has been kind enough to join us” Hayden inclined his head to Barton at the opposite
end of the table. “So I will ask him to relay to the rest of you
what he told me before dinner.”

That the Marquis of Hayden should have requested his
brother’s batman, a servant, to speak so, was a measure of his
concern. But Barton certainly did not appear overwhelmed by
the unusual invitation. He thanked Hayden, then spoke of the
last time he had seen the major, how he had later come upon
Incendio and Kit, and his efforts to quiz survivors of the battle
regarding the major’s whereabouts.

“So you see, genelmen an’ ladies, as near as I can tell, he
never made it back down to the farm, where he was to meet
me. And the last person rememberin’ speakin’ to ‘im was an
officer of the Hanovrins. So, if he did not move on with the
advance-and I cannot think as he would’ve, havin’ mentioned
the farm-he must have stayed somewheres on the slope behind it. The duke-that’s Lord Wellington-demanded lists
last week before he went on to Paris-of all the wounded an’
those in hospital. And the officers was asked to list deserters.
A stickler the duke was about it too! And the major weren’t on
any of those lists.”

“He is dead, then,” Billie said flatly. Even as she said it, she
did not feel it. But she spoke to convince herself.

Hayden regarded her steadily. “It is what we dread, Miss
Billie. And thus, in this unfortunate circumstance, it appears
the more likely. But we must rely on facts, not our fears, for
the truth of it. Barton assures me that he covered the ground,
looking among the dead…

“They did have to bury many where they lay, my lord,” Barton inserted, at which Billie felt as though she had again
crossed the Channel.

Hayden glanced swiftly at her, then asserted, “Those cases
were quite different, though, weren’t they, Barton? Now-”
He looked to the others. “We have a horse, a coat, a watch, but
no Major Trent. Barton last spoke with him just prior to the confrontation with the French Imperial Guard. However mad
David might appear in the usual course, he is a most disciplined officer. He is unlikely to have joined the allied advance
rashly and without a weapon, though we cannot discount that
he might have salvaged one. His last known action was to aid
Mr. Caswell, who remembers nothing.”

“Except the Frenchman yelling,” Kit put in petulantly.

“But the French cannot have been upon you yet, else David
would never have spared the time for such elaborate careeven for you, Mr. Caswell. You must have imagined the Frenchman”

“I know a Frenchie when I hear one!”

As Billie winced at the term, Hayden granted Kit one singularly intent look, then smoothly opened a palm to Knowles.
“Knowles, my friend, would you do me the honor and kindly
educate our young guest?”

“What? Oh! Delighted.” And Knowles, who looked so indisputably English, launched upon such a stream of perfect
French that Kit’s jaw dropped.

Barton laughed. “The major was always quick with the
parleyvous’ as well, my lord,” he said.

At that, Billie’s memory of David was so intense as to be
painful. Had he been quick with the `parleyvous,’ as Barton
said? She supposed so. He had ever been quick. And he spoke
French with his lovely grandmere….

She drew a sharp, comprehending breath as she leaned toward Hayden.

“My lord,” she said urgently. “Your grandmere told me he
will speak what he hears, habitually, without thought. We have
been looking in the wrong army.” And by the light in his gaze,
she knew that Hayden understood her.

They found new inspiration and energy. The next morning,
while Hayden, Knowles, and Barton fanned out across the countryside in search of a “French” David, Billie visited the hospital
for the wounded French prisoners in Brussels. The good ladies
of the city were engaged in ministering to all the luckless
survivors of Waterloo, an endeavor that seemed, at least to
Billie, to require not only great fortitude but great quantities
of bandages for dressing wounds. The production of lint required most of their time.

Volunteering to dispense refreshments to the patients, Billie viewed every man there but failed to find the one man she
sought. And on her rounds she found it easier not to focus on
the maladies of any particular soldier, to concentrate solely on
her task, for some of the individual cases were heartbreaking.

Hayden returned late that night with the news that, in the
confused withdrawal toward Paris, the few prisoners the French
had taken, most of them Prussian, had managed to escape. The
French were said to have been in such disarray that they’d had
difficulties looking even to themselves.

This news left the possibility that David might have been
wounded and collected by a local resident, either someone
who had not had the means to transport him into the city or,
perhaps, a sympathizer with Bonaparte-a partisan who intended to see French soldiers returned to France. David had
written of such sympathies among the country folk. But if he had been unable to leave within a week, whatever injuries he
had sustained must be severe indeed.

On the second day, Hayden borrowed Mr. Athington’s team.
Hayden, Knowles, Billie, and Ephie drove out along the road
toward Nivelles, in the southwest, where Wellington had
moved his army the day after Waterloo. Barton took Incendio
out separately, to circle toward Enghien, where David had
been billeted before the battle.

“‘Tis possible someone picked ‘im up and could not easily
bring him on into town,” Hayden said, managing to coax
Athington’s team temporarily to a trot. They skirted the battlefield, which Billie had no wish to see-the stories she had
heard over the past two days had been sufficiently harrowing.
The image of a muddy plain, thick with the dead, had taken
root in her mind; she wondered whether a battleground took
as long as its combatants to heal. As their party passed, they
found that the stench of gunpowder, fire, and smolder lingered. Even the farms to the west of the site showed evidence
of upheaval-the flattened fields of rye, crushed hedges and
gardens, and abandoned, broken vehicles all spoke of the recent chaos.

They had been traveling more than two hours out of town,
the ladies with their parasols spread wide against the hot sun,
and the open carriage-little more than a wagon-grew increasingly dusty, for the road was only partially cobbled and
the remainder dry earth and ruts. Billie conceded that Hayden
was certainly a fine driver, not only to elicit so much from
such a team, but to make the ride tolerable. To spare the horses,
they stopped frequently at farmhouses nearest the road, to
show grandmere’s locket miniature of David and make inquiries. Knowles, whose facility with the language was so extraordinary, was tasked with asking after any guests in the
vicinity. Billie suspected that Hayden’s French was almost as
good, but for some reason he preferred not to speak it.

In this plodding and discouraging manner, they moved perhaps two miles beyond the battlefield, following the sun,
which had slipped into a hot afternoon blaze. They resorted to
their canteens more than once.

“Rather a shocking business for these farmers,” Knowles
remarked. “Imagine the ill fortune to have just this spot chosen for such a contest-and their year’s crops just starting to
thrive.”

“And then to have their emperor bested,” Hayden added
dryly.

“Not all, Hayden. Not all! Why, some have told me they always supported the allies.”

“Oh, I am sure they do-now.”

“Not everything is politics, Lord Hayden,” Ephie said with
spirit. “No doubt the state of their stomachs will convince
them of much”

“You have the way of it, Miss Caswell,” Knowles affirmed.
“Once they have a few good years of harvests, these farmers
will forget any indignities.”

“One does not easily surrender a generation of glory,” Hayden said. “Why do you think Bonaparte received the welcome
he did in March?”

“Well, as to that-” But Knowles abruptly ceased talking,
because as they crested a slight rise in the road, they looked
down upon a trampled farmstead. And standing at its rickety
gate, with his left arm in a sling and the other holding a package from which a crust of bread protruded, Lord David was
apparently taking leave of a local farming couple.

Hayden halted the team. As the Belgian pair scurried back
into their home, David looked the few hundred feet up the
road toward their wagon. To their astonishment, he turned his
back upon them and calmly started to walk in the opposite
direction.

Billie wanted to scream. How dare he-after all of this! Her
fists clenched, but when she glanced toward Hayden, his face
was impassive. Billie thought he briefly shook his head.

“Goodness!” Ephie exclaimed. “Isn’t that Lord David there
ahead of us? Why do you not-”

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” Hayden interrupted. “I should prefer
to see what he is about” And as they drove on past the farmhouse and yard, his gaze surveyed both most minutely.

Billie could not take her attention from David, walking
along ahead of them. He was booted but without a coat or hat.
His dark hair looked longer and shone in the sun. He was
much thinner, even rangy, which somehow made his shoulders appear even broader. His shirt and breeches were stained
and torn. The rude sling tied in a knot at his nape, and the
arm-what was wrong with his arm? Billie thought he did not
walk briskly. But he was walking. He was whole. He was safe.

Her relief was physical. Gratitude made her tremble. As
their carriage came closer, she willed David to stop. When he
did, and turned to face the road, Billie felt his gaze as a caress.

The carriage pulled up beside him, and David smiled-a
wide and beautiful smile that erased what must have been lines
of pain from his pale face. For a moment he looked up at Billie, and from her height on the wagon seat, she looked down
upon him. She thought the warmth in his eyes something wonderful. Then his glance sought out the other occupants of the
carriage. He raised his package-laden right arm to point down
the road before them, as though giving them direction.

“If you would, Myles,” he said, and his voice delighted her,
“just drive on up over this next rise, so that I might avoid being shot as a spy.” Again his gaze returned to her, his face
alight with his smile-so much so that, despite the shock of his
words, she could not heed him with any seriousness. Quickly
she slipped from her seat and down into the dusty roadway, to
block his body with her own.

“Do stop playing, David,” Hayden said, “and climb up here
with us. You see Miss Billie dares to protect you.”

“I see that,” David said softly. He was looking not at Hayden but at her. “She is very brave.”

“‘Tis foolish,” she breathed. His gaze mesmerized her. “As
you’ve told me before”

“Perhaps both, Billie dear, as I am fairly certain a musket is
pointed at your back. My former benefactor has questionable
aim and a rusty weapon, but I should hate to have him accidentally shoot Lord Knowles.”

“I say, David! That’s awfully good of you… “And Knowles
was still elaborating as David quickly tossed him the package
before swinging Billie up into the wagon with his still-strong
right arm. He was following up behind her as Hayden sprang
the team. The ancient animals actually thundered ahead for
fifty yards.