by Lynn Bryant
"It wouldn't be suitable for me to be rude to the colonel's lady, ma'am, or I would be. It's a gentleman by the name of Alonso, he's a big wine merchant, lives in a very beautiful house near the cathedral with his two sons. I met him at a reception last week."
"No pretty daughter?" Paul said sceptically.
"No, sir. Not even a wife; he's a widower. What he does have is an impressive stable. We talked of horses and he promised me the tour. I like him."
"Michael, I have misjudged you," Anne said gravely. "You are beginning to sound like an officer and a gentleman. Enjoy your dinner."
"And don't steal any of the horses," Paul said, lifting her up into the saddle. "They're a little harder to hide than a bottle of French brandy."
Chapter Eleven
It was full dark when Michael left the house of Señor Alonso. He had stayed later than expected, finding his host a cultured man with easy manners and a love of horses which matched Michael's own. They had spent several hours touring Alonso's extensive stables, had dined well, with excellent wines, and had parted on very good times. Michael had promised to return on his next free morning to go riding with the two Alonso sons, both in their twenties, and to try out a young Arabian stallion who was Alonso's pride and joy.
The main streets of Madrid were fairly well lit, but the side streets and alleys were pitch black, with only an occasional lantern hanging outside a house. Michael kept his pistol in his pocket and rode with his sword within reach. Only folly or desperation would cause a man to attack one of Wellington's officers, but Michael had seen enough of the heartbreaking poverty behind the city's sophisticated veneer to know that desperation existed.
Despite the late hour he could hear sounds of revelry from some of the taverns. Michael smiled slightly, thinking that Wellington's men would be marching out of Madrid without a penny left in their pockets. The pay chest was months overdue again and the Spanish could not be expected to waive payment indefinitely. Michael's own pockets would have been wholly to let had it not been for a useful windfall at Badajoz, a well stocked purse taken from a drunken British soldier, who had killed its owner. The prize, which ought to have been handed over to Wellington as prize money, had been quietly shared between those officers and men who had chosen to go back into the city to try to protect some of the inhabitants and it meant that Michael was not praying for the arrival of money from England quite as desperately as some of the officers.
Michael was half way back to the palace, when his horse suddenly shied nervously, spooked by something in the shadows. Michael patted his neck soothingly, listening, his senses alert. What he heard made him relax, smiling inwardly. Some local prostitute was clearly using the alley to earn her lodging money for the night. He could hear scuffling and grunting and a groan of release and he passed by, giving the anonymous couple a wide berth. Glancing back he saw the man leaving, a bulky figure in a red coat. The woman remained in the shadows.
Michael was at the end of the street when he suddenly reined in. He had not been consciously thinking about it, but he realised he had heard no further sound from behind him. The buildings on either side were warehouses, dark and silent at this time of night, and the sound of the woman leaving should have been clearly audible but he did not think she had moved.
Michael sat listening for a moment, then swore softly under his breath and turned his horse back into the street and walked back, peering into the darkness. He saw nothing at first, and was beginning to think that he had missed the sound of the woman leaving, when he saw a huddled figure on the ground, still and silent.
Michael dismounted, feeling around. Most buildings had some means of tethering a horse and he found it eventually, an iron ring set into the stonework. He looped the reins, patted Sligo's neck reassuringly and went to kneel beside the immobile form. To his shock, it appeared to be a boy, a slight creature with a tangle of curly hair, wearing a thin ragged shirt and breeches, pulled down around painfully thin thighs. Michael, feeling very sick, rolled the boy over and saw that he had been wrong after all; it was a girl in boy's clothing. He could see nothing of her features in the darkness but he had the impression that she was very young.
Michael searched for a pulse in her neck and found it beating steadily. He lifted her slightly, restoring her clothing. The movement seemed to reach her and she pushed out suddenly, trying to shove his hands away, shouting in Spanish.
"No, get away from me. Leave me alone."
"Lass, it's all right," Michael said quickly in the same language, capturing the flailing hands. "Stop it, you'll hurt yourself. I'm not going to harm you."
The girl struggled for a moment longer and then went still. Michael peered through the darkness trying to see her face. "Good girl," he said gently. "I'm sorry, I did not understand what I was hearing back there or I'd have blown his bloody head off. I'm going to let you go; please don't run off."
He released her hands. As he had half expected, she scrambled to her feet immediately and stood with her back pressed to the stone wall like a wild animal at bay. Michael could see very little but he had the sickening impression that she was barely beyond childhood. He could sense her terror and he held up his hands and spoke slowly in his careful Spanish.
"My name is Captain O'Reilly of the 112th light company. I am billeted in the Marina Palace. We have a regimental hospital there and my colonel's wife, who helps the doctor, can have a look at you to make sure you're not badly hurt. At the very least we can find you a bed for tonight and some food. Please, let me help you."
The girl remained very still for a long time, watching him. Finally, she said:
"What do you want?"
"Want?"
"What do I have to do for food?"
"Oh Christ, child, nothing. It's common decency. Come on, up with you."
She sat rigid before him on the horse and Michael set him at an easy walk back to the palace. The hospital had been set up in an indoor riding school in the grounds of the palace, but Michael found it oddly deserted as he approached. He located the nearest sentry post, manned by Private Kane of the 110th light company.
"Kane, where is everybody? I've a patient for Mrs van Daan."
"Moved out, sir. It turns out there was a really good infirmary in the military college, a whole block with proper bunks and everything, so Dr Daniels had us pack up and move the patients over there. It's not far, less than a mile down this track and through the trees. But Mrs van Daan isn't there, she's probably in bed by now."
"She probably is, which is going to make me the most popular man in Madrid with our colonel. Ah well."
Michael rode over to the palace. Lights were kept burning and two men were on sentry duty at the front door as Michael lifted the child down from his horse and called for a groom. He could see the men looking curiously at the grubby urchin as he led her inside and made his way through to the big kitchen at the back of the house. It was very warm, the fire banked for the night, the ovens still giving off heat. Michael led the girl to a chair close to the fire.
"Sit. Put this around you, I'll be back in a moment. Don't you dare run off."
He draped his coat about the skinny shoulders and went up into the house and up the stairs. His commanding officer and his wife occupied an elegant suite at the far end and Michael lifted his hand to knock and then stopped at a sound. It was Anne's voice and it left him in no doubt what was going on inside. Michael stood for a moment, breathing deeply, trying not to let images of his commander's wife intrude into his thoughts although it was difficult given what he was hearing. After a moment he banged on the door.
There was silence and then he heard Anne giggle.
"Oh for Christ's sake!" Paul bellowed. "What is wrong with you lot, can't I get an hour's peace? Who the bloody hell is that?"
"It's Captain O'Reilly, sir. Sorry."
"You bloody will be, Michael. What's the problem, Bonaparte sighted on the road?"
"Not you, sir. Medical problem, your wife is needed."
&nbs
p; "My wife is needed in here as well, but I don't suppose there's a chance of that happening. All right, Michael, give me a minute."
The door opened within three minutes and Paul motioned him in. He had pulled on dark trousers and a shirt. "She's getting changed, come and have a drink," he said. "I hate you."
"Sorry, sir," Michael said, sympathetically. "I didn't know what to do with the girl."
"Girl?"
"I picked her up in town; she's hurt. Some bastard had her down in an alleyway and she's just a child. I wouldn't have disturbed you..."
"It's all right." Paul handed him a glass of wine. "I am about to tell Lord Wellington that my wife is officially indisposed for a few days. Tomorrow we are dining in our own mess and going to bed early, and we are not interested, no matter how many strange females my officers bring back from town. Christ, I get more time with her on campaign."
"You're in a better mood on campaign, sir," Michael said with a grin and Paul laughed aloud.
"I am. I can do this for a short time, but so much civility is killing me. Especially to bloody Don Julian Sanchez."
"He not got the point yet?"
"I think it's actually starting to get on Nan's nerves, and that's saying something. I'm trying to make a joke of it, but if I see him touch her one more time I swear to God I'm going to punch him."
"Serve him right. He's married, isn't he?"
"Yes, but his wife isn't here and mine is. I'm generally fairly tolerant of other men flirting with her, but he goes beyond the line. Who's this lass, Michael? Was it one of our lads?"
"He had a red coat on but that's all I can tell you, sir, he was gone before I realised she was there."
The inner door opened and Anne emerged wearing one of the simple dark dresses she wore to work in the hospital. Her hair was still loose and she was slightly flushed, with the rumpled air of a girl newly come from her lover's arms. She smiled at Paul and he returned it and Michael felt a piercing stab of envy for their open happiness in each other.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said.
"Can't be helped, Michael. What's happened?"
Michael explained as he escorted Anne down to the kitchen. He was relieved to find the child still there, curled up under his coat. Anne had brought a candle and began lighting lamps and candles, keeping up an easy flow of reassuring conversation in Spanish. The child sat watching her with wide eyes as Anne brought a warm blanket which she wrapped around the girl's thin shoulders, passing Michael's red coat back to him.
"Go to bed, Captain O'Reilly. I'll take care of her now."
Michael studied the girl. There was a cut above her eye which was bleeding steadily and one of her eyes looked swollen and dark, which made Michael wonder if this was the first beating she had received recently. Her hair was short, a tangled mass of dirty curls and her eyes were a startling green gold. She was looking at Michael with something like a plea in her eyes and Michael said:
"I can stay with you, ma'am."
"No you can't," Anne said firmly. "I need to examine her properly, you can't be here. Go to bed."
***
Paul was asleep when Anne returned, some time after midnight, slipping into bed beside him. Paul drew her close to warm her. "Everything all right, bonny lass?" he asked sleepily.
"For now. I've made up a bed in the corner of the kitchen for her tonight, it's warm. Tomorrow we'll find something better."
"What happened to her?" Paul asked. "Was she raped?"
"I think she went with him because she was starving, but he just took what he wanted and gave her nothing apart from a beating when she resisted. She comes from a village about ten miles north of here; lost her family about two years ago. Her father fought with the partisans, the French caught his band in the village during the winter and slaughtered the entire village. Ariana managed to hide but I think she watched them die. Horrible. She was alone and starving so she made her way here to Madrid and has lived on the streets. Begging, stealing, getting work when she could. And selling herself to the army when she could do nothing else. French or English, I'm not sure it makes much difference to her."
"Oh no," Paul said softly. "Michael says she's just a child."
"She's fifteen, but she's a young fifteen. God knows what she's been through, she's black and blue."
Anne broke off and Paul put his arms about her. It was unusual for his strong-minded wife to be so visibly upset by any of the horrors she encountered.
"Have you told her she can stay here?"
"I've told her that we'll find her work. George has recruited a few local women to work in the kitchen or cleaning the rooms. There's always something to do; I don't want her to run off before she's healed. She's very wary, but I'm hoping she'll settle."
Paul lay holding her feeling beside him. Two weeks without the need to march or fight had allowed his wounds to heal finally and he knew that the interlude in Madrid had been a blessing. He drifted into sleep easily and deeply but came awake in the darkness hours later to a terrified cry, a familiar sound which brought him into full wakefulness in a second. He sat up and reached out for Anne who was sitting bolt upright beside him, her whole body shaking.
"Nan, it's all right. It's all right. You were dreaming - it's me."
Anne resisted him for a moment, then awoke properly. "Paul," she whispered, and turned towards him, burying her face into his chest. Paul smoothed her tousled dark hair, whispering her name, waiting until her shivering eased as he knew it would. They had been through this routine many times since her return from captivity five months ago, but it had been four weeks since her last nightmare and Paul had hoped she would have no more.
Eventually she began to relax in his arms. Paul kissed the top of her head and Anne moved and turned her face up to kiss him properly. "I'm sorry," she said.
"What have I told you about that?"
The dark eyes shone wet through the darkness, but she was also smiling. "I'm sorry I said I was sorry. I'm disappointed; I thought it was over."
"It is over, Nan. Just the odd dream. I'm not surprised you had a nightmare after tending to that child; I should have realised it would bring the whole thing back. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"
Anne gave a little choke of laughter through her tears. "Yes," she said. "I'd really like some warm milk. I feel like such a baby."
"You're not a baby," Paul said, sliding out of bed. "Get back under the covers, it's cold."
"Oh, don't wake Jenson."
"I'm not going to, I'm quite capable of heating a pan of milk and I'm guessing the fire will still be hot enough. Stay there."
Paul had forgotten the child in the kitchen, soundly asleep in a nest of blankets close to the fire. Paul built the fire up and brought milk from the cold pantry, pouring it into an iron pan which he set into a bracket in the wall. The small domestic duty was oddly soothing and reminded him of their time near Freineda when William was tiny and he had often done this for Anne during the night when she was feeding their son. The memory made him smile.
He had married Anne in a hurried ceremony in Viseu, returning to duty immediately. Since then, it often seemed to him that they had spent all their time on the move, the routines of their life dictated by war. There had been no time, as he had had with Rowena, to watch their child grow together, no lengthy spells in barracks to develop a habit of domesticity. He was enormously grateful for Anne's adaptability which enabled her to appear equally at home in a tent as she did in this palace, but he would have loved to have some time just to be with her, raising his children and creating the small, insignificant memories that were the building blocks of a life together. Their short time the previous year in the pretty surroundings of the Quinta de Santo Antonio, a few miles from Wellington's headquarters in Freineda, where Anne had given birth to William, had been a very precious interlude.
There was a rustle of blankets and Paul turned to see the girl sitting up, a shawl wrapped around her, her eyes huge in the thin face. Paul smiled reassuringly but
said nothing. He brought two cups from a shelf and divided the warm milk between them, turning back to the child.
"My wife was thirsty," he said. "I'm guessing you are too. Here."
She took the cup, with an odd little nod of thanks, wrapping her cold hands around it. Paul put two more logs onto the fire, then returned to Anne. She drank the milk, wrapping her hands around the cup in exactly the same way as the Spanish child and Paul looked at her thoughtfully. He was beginning to wonder.
"Nan?"
"Yes, love?"
"Is there any chance you might be with child again?"
His wife's expression told him that the thought was not new. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I know you're not that regular, and I never keep track, but I suspect it's been a couple of months since you bled. But it's more than that. You've slept in the afternoon three times this week, and even in this heat, that's not like you. And wanting warm milk in the middle of the night feels very familiar to me."
Anne set the cup down. "Thank you, Paul, you're very good to me. I wasn't trying to be mysterious, it's just that I'm not sure. It's not like last time - both times, actually. I've not felt sick at all and my appetite is as good as ever. But this tiredness feels very familiar, and I've been feeling so emotional. All that weeping over you being wounded is not like me. Only I've been so scared to hope, since the miscarriage."
Paul studied his wife's fine boned face, pale in the darkness, and felt an odd combination of fear and happiness. He had shared Anne's anxiety that the brutal beating at the hands of Colonel Dupres which had brought about her miscarriage earlier in the year, might have done some internal damage which would make further pregnancies impossible, despite Dr Norris's reassurances that it was unlikely. The prospect of another child was both a joy and a worry; he had lost Rowena to childbirth.
Paul leaned forward and kissed her very gently. "Let's wait and see," he said. "I won't mention anything to anybody else yet. I love you, Anne van Daan. Settle down and get some sleep."