Read Soldier of Fortune Online
Authors: Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune (8 page)
'That
would only have frightened you away,' he argued, 'and I could not bear the
thought of that. It's happened before, you see. When young ladies hear that I'm
in the army, they shy away from me because they know I must spend a long time
abroad each year.'
'I
was bound to find out sooner or later.'
'Granted
- but by then, I trusted, we'd have established a firm friendship, something
strong enough to withstand the fact that we had to be apart for a little
while.'
'I
may not see you again until the autumn - if then,' she said despondently.
'That's far more than a little while. It's also more than I can tolerate. You
do me wrong to raise my expectations then dash them to pieces like this.'
'We
still have one whole day together,' he told her.
'What
use is that?'
'Whatever
use we choose to put it to,' he said, trying to soothe her with a smile. 'If
I've hurt you in any way, Abigail, I'm deeply sorry. Tell me how I can atone
for my treatment of you.'
He
opened his arms in a gesture of apology that was at the same time a welcome
invitation. Abigail was in turmoil, tempted to yield to his embrace yet held
back by the anguish of losing him to a distant war. The conflicting emotions
were too much for her. Unable to contain her distress, she let out a loud wail
then fled from the room. Daniel instinctively tried to follow her but he found
his way blocked by Dorothy Piper. Anger showed in her eyes at first but it soon
vanished when she was able to study him properly.
'Good
day to you, Captain Rawson,' she said, impressed by what she saw. 'I am
Abigail's elder sister, Dorothy.'
'Delighted
to make your acquaintance,' he replied. 'Abigail did not mention that she had a
sister.'
She
smiled. 'I begin to see why now.'
'Should
I go after her and try to comfort her?'
'That
would be pointless. She will already have locked herself in her room and will
not come out for hours. I'll speak to her later.'
'Please
assure her that I didn't mean to upset her.'
'I
most certainly will, Captain Rawson.'
'Do
you think she would permit me to call again - when I return from my duties,
that is?'
'Whatever
Abigail says, you have
my
permission to call.'
Her
gaze was supremely confident. Daniel felt as if he were meeting an older
version of Abigail Piper, equally beautiful and alluring but more experienced,
more mature, more knowing. One sister had fled but another had taken her place.
In the space of a minute, he felt that he had made more progress with Dorothy
than he had done in a week with Abigail. The younger sister might be enamoured
of him but it was the elder who held the greater promise. Daniel was content.
When he was next in London, he resolved to call at the house again. He would
have two excellent reasons to do so.
It
was work that Charles Catto chose to do on his own. He had to visit places
where Frédéric Seurel's nationality would provoke hostility. His friend
therefore stayed behind in their lodging while Catto began his search, aware
that Seurel would come into his own later when their quarry had been run to
earth. Catto not only knew the London inns frequented by soldiers, he was able
to pass himself off convincingly as a former member of the British army.
At
the first two places he visited, he had no luck. The name of Daniel Rawson
meant nothing to any of the discharged soldiers, carousing noisily and boasting
about their military triumphs. All that they wished to do was to drink, smoke
their pipes, play cards, sing out of tune and flirt with the resident
prostitutes at the Drum, a lively tavern in Southwark, he had better fortune.
The atmosphere was so boisterous that Catto had to shout in order be heard
above the din but someone did eventually recognise the name that he mentioned.
'Captain
Rawson?' said the man. 'Yes, I know him.'
'So
he's a captain, is he?'
'That's
right, sir.'
'What
can you tell me about him?'
'I
can't tell you nothin' with my throat so dry.'
'Let
me buy you some more ale,' offered Catto, ready to pay for information. 'Take
that seat in the corner and I'll join you.'
The
man followed his suggestion. Though still in his twenties, he seemed much older
and had good reason to curse his army career. In one skirmish against the
French, he had lost an arm, an eye and all of his good looks. He was in
constant pain yet his injuries had not dimmed his respect for Daniel Rawson.
'He
was the best officer I ever served under,' he said when Catto brought two
tankards across and sat beside him. 'The best and the bravest. See this?' he
went on, pointing to his empty eye socket. 'And this?' He patted the empty
sleeve of his coat. 'I got these when I joined Captain Rawson in a Forlorn
Hope. Only six of us lived to tell the tale. Mind you, we killed a dozen
Frenchies that day and broke through their defences. Captain Rawson fought like
a demon. It was 'im who dragged me to safety when I got my arm blew off.'
'Do
you know where he is now?'
'I
might do.'
'There's
money in it for you,' said Catto.
The
man was suspicious. 'Why are you after the captain?'
'I
have some good news to pass on to him.'
'What
sort of good news?'
'That's
private. Now, can you help me?'
'I
could 'elp. I still have lots of friends in the regiment.'
'Which
regiment is that?'
'The
Duke of Marlborough's - so I get to 'ear all the gossip.'
'And
what have you heard about Captain Rawson?'
The
man took a long swig of ale before licking his lips. Catto slapped some coins
down on the table and they were swept up quickly by the man's remaining hand.
'Well?'
prompted Catto
'This
is only a rumour but it's a strong one. The word is that Captain Rawson's
sailin' from 'Arwich tomorrow with the Duke.' He took another swig of ale. 'Is
that any use to you, my friend?'
He
was talking to thin air. Catto had already left the tavern and was trotting
back in the direction of his lodging, leaving behind him an untouched tankard
of ale. Money and free drink - the man was delighted with his bounty. It never
crossed his mind that he might just have signed Daniel Rawson's death warrant.
Something
was amiss. As he watched them from the ship, Daniel Rawson was both puzzled and
a trifle worried. Down at the quayside, the Duke of Marlborough was taking
leave of his wife before sailing off to war. Daniel had witnessed such partings
between them on previous occasions and been touched by the tenderness shown on
both sides. There was little tenderness now. The Duchess was as striking as
ever, wearing a cloak, hat and gloves to keep out the persistent breeze that
came in off the sea. It was her manner that surprised Daniel. She seemed cold
and distant. Though she permitted a farewell kiss, it was more of a token than
a sign of affection. At the very moment that her husband was about to walk
away, she took a letter from beneath her cloak and slipped it into his hand.
Daniel
was perplexed. Whenever he had seen her before, Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough,
had always been an imperious figure, a woman of grace, poise and real
substance. Even in middle age, she had an extraordinary vitality. She was too
loyal to let her husband down by not seeing him off but
Daniel
sensed that she was only there for the sake of appearance. He was reminded of
his visit to Holywell when he had found Marlborough and Godolphin dining alone.
Daniel knew for a fact that the Duchess was in the house. Why had she not
joined the two men at dinner? Was there some kind of breach between husband and
wife?
It
was unsettling. Daniel had lost count of the number of times he had been alone
with Marlborough and listened to him talking fondly of his wife. Having the
firm foundation of a happy marriage meant so much to the Duke. It deprived him
of any anxieties about his family while he was campaigning in Europe. That was
important. The last thing that the Grand Alliance needed was a captain-general
whose mind was distracted by marital problems. Daniel had fought alongside
officers who were haunted by difficulties back home and unable to concentrate
fully. A soldier with preoccupations could be a severe handicap to his
comrades.
Marlborough
was escorted on to the
Peregrine
by his private secretary, Adam
Cardonnel. The captain was ready to welcome them aboard. When greetings had
been exchanged, Marlborough stood at the bulwark so that he could wave to his
wife as the vessel set sail. Daniel was close enough to get a good view of him.
Whatever tensions there might be between Duke and Duchess, they did not
register on Marlborough's face. He looked as calm and confident as he usually
did. Now in his early fifties - an age when many commanders had retired - he
carried his years well and had the sprightliness of a veteran soldier eager to
return to the battlefield.
To
Daniel's perceptive eye, the Duchess's performance was less convincing. She
stood bravely on the quay, raising a hand when the ship pulled away and waving
gently to her husband.
Other
wives who had come to watch their soldier-husbands leave were already dabbing
at their eyes with handkerchiefs or blowing kisses at the departing vessel. The
Duchess was apparently unmoved, fulfilling a duty rather than parting from a
loved one who was off to a war that was fraught with danger. Marlborough waved
with far more purpose. Significantly, it was his wife who turned away before he
did.
When
he finally stepped away from the bulwark, he caught sight of Daniel and
beckoned him over. 'It's too breezy to stay on deck,' he said. 'I'll go below.
Give me ten minutes to settle in then join me in my cabin, if you will.'
'Yes,
Your Grace,' said Daniel.
'It
feels so good to be back in harness again.'
'I
agree.'
'We'll
give King Louis a real shock this time.'
Marlborough
patted him on the shoulder then went off along the deck. The crew were still
unfurling the sails, each new spread of canvas catching the wind and increasing
their speed. The
Peregrine
was a tidy vessel. Her mast was
tall for a ship with a relatively shallow draught. She had a lengthy jib- boom,
formed of two spars fished together and able to be hinged up when not in use.
The rig was fore-and-aft with a square topsail and a topgallant fitted to the
mainmast.
Glad
that they were under way at last, Daniel was nevertheless leaving with some
regret. Before he could reflect upon the competing loveliness of Abigail and
Dorothy Piper, however, someone came across to him. It was Adam Cardonnel, the
man who worked closer to Marlborough than anybody. Daniel had always liked him,
not least because he was the son of a Huguenot refugee, who had fled from
France in 1685 when the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes subjected Huguenots
to vicious persecution. Many had gone to Amsterdam and Daniel had grown up with
their children. Horrific tales of repeated French atrocities against religious
minorities had strengthened his determination to fight against the rampant
Roman Catholicism of Louis XIV's France. Adam Cardonnel was a living reminder
of the horrors visited upon blameless Huguenots. In addition, he was a fine
soldier and an engaging companion.
'Are
you a good sailor, Daniel?' asked Cardonnel.
'I'm
a far better soldier, sir.'
'We've
seen considerable evidence of that.'
'Sea
battles are a matter of broadsides,' said Daniel. 'I like to get close enough
to an enemy to see his face, not fire at him from a distance with a row of
cannon.'
'Artillery
has a crucial place in land battles as well,' Cardonnel argued, 'but I take
your point. You prefer close contact.' He smiled. 'From what I hear, you
achieved that in Paris recently.'
'What
I did was strictly in the line of duty, sir.'
Cardonnel
laughed. 'I'm sure that it was.'
Daniel
saw his chance to probe for detail. If anyone knew what Marlborough's real
intentions were, it would be his secretary. The Duke reposed full confidence in
Cardonnel. Along with William Cadogan, the Quartermaster-General, he had been
charged with removing some of the age-old abuses in the army. The two men had
been so efficient that, as a result of their administrative and structural
improvements, the army was better clothed, better fed, better paid and better
led than Daniel could ever remember. Cardonnel deserved great credit for
initiating much-needed reforms and implementing them.
'I
cannot wait to be in action again,' said Daniel.
'The
French will be happy to oblige you, I'm sure.'
'His
Grace tells me that we'll head for the Moselle.'
'Then
that is what we will do,' said Cardonnel impassively.