The Valet Who Loved Me

by Valerie Bowman

  The meal arrived soon after and they ate mostly in silence, then waited for a servant to come clear away the dishes before Marianne asked Beau to turn around so she could change into her night rail.

  By the time he turned back around, she’d already climbed into the bed nearest the window and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

  “I wonder if Albina will go to the camp with Baron Winfield tomorrow night?” Marianne mused as she tried to stare out the window instead of at Beau removing his shirt. The man obviously didn’t care one whit if she saw him and his chest was definitely worth sneaking a look.

  “She won’t if she knows what’s good for her, but we’ll have to wait and see,” Beau replied, shucking his boots before climbing into the other bed. “They seem to enjoy each other’s company.”

  Marianne shook her head. “I can’t imagine what Baron Winfield is thinking, leaving his wife and daughters like this. I get the impression his plan is to stay here with Albina once he gets his payment.”

  “He’s obviously controlled by money,” Beau replied, expelling his breath and shaking his head too. “I’ve seen it before. It’s a hideous affliction.”

  “We shouldn’t take a coach tomorrow night,” Marianne said next.

  “I agree. It will be far too obtrusive. I’ll go out tomorrow and find us a mount. We’ll both ride it.”

  Marianne nodded. Beau blew out the candle that rested on the small table between their beds and darkness descended. Marianne turned on her side to face the window. For some reason, melancholy engulfed her. She swallowed and shut her eyes, willing sleep to come as quickly as possible. She should be pleased they were so close to finally arresting the people responsible for Frederick’s death, but each moment that ticked by was one step closer to her never seeing Beau again.

  At this time tomorrow night, they might be in grave danger or their mission would be over, but one way or another, her time with Beau was coming to an end.

  “What are you wearing?” Beau asked Marianne the next evening, looking her up and down after she’d told him he could turn back around because she was finished changing her clothing.

  “A shirt and breeches, of course,” Marianne replied with a laugh. She was already busily arranging her thick hair into a braid, which she wrapped around her head and covered with a dark cap.

  “I had no idea you had a shirt and breeches in that bag,” Beau breathed, his eyes wide. “Seems you’re full of surprises, Agent M.”

  “I can’t very well go traipsing around a French camp in my skirts.” She pulled the cap down to her brow. “What do you think? Do I look like a convincing boy?”

  “Not at all,” Beau replied. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

  Marianne fought a blush. “Well, I can assure you when I wear this, no one suspects I’m a woman.”

  “Pity,” Beau replied. “What did you do to your—?” He left off, pointing, obviously not wanting to say the word ‘breasts’ out loud.

  Marianne laughed again. “I wrapped them with linen,” she replied with a shrug.

  “That’s the real pity,” Beau said, sighing and shaking his head.

  “Might I remind you we have a very important mission to accomplish tonight?” She crossed her arms over her flattened chest and arched a brow at Beau.

  “Yes, I know. Let’s go. It’s nearly eight o’ clock.” Beau pulled open the door to the room and held it wide for Marianne.

  “Remember, no more treating me like I’m a lady while we’re in public. I’m a boy. My name is John Smith.”

  “Excellent name,” Beau replied, following her out the door. “It must have taken you ages to come up with it.”

  Once outside, they walked the few streets over to stand in front of the stores across the street from Winfield’s hotel.

  They blended into the crowd and took turns walking up and down the street, pretending to be casually strolling.

  When Winfield appeared, Beau caught Marianne’s attention with a simple whistle. She turned to look at the entrance to the hotel across the street. Apparently, Albina didn’t relish the idea of being left alone, because the maid was standing at the baron’s side wearing a gaudy pink gown. Moments later, a coach pulled up and Winfield helped Albina inside before climbing up after her.

  Beau had tied the mount he’d secured earlier to a post across the street from the hotel. As soon as Winfield and Albina’s coach took off, Beau and Marianne quickly made their way to the stallion.

  Beau mounted first and then reached down to pull Marianne up behind him. They followed the coach at a leisurely pace.

  Thankfully, the road out to the Andres Highway was lined with trees, and they were able to pick their way behind the coach at a safe distance without being seen.

  The journey took nearly an hour, and Marianne tried to make herself concentrate on the danger they were no doubt traveling directly into, instead of the feel of Beau’s washboard-like abdomen beneath her fingertips.

  Baron Winfield wasn’t experienced with the French, but Marianne had heard enough stories during her training with General Grimaldi to know that the French rarely kept their promises to the traitors whom they fooled into helping them.

  The fact that the Frenchman at the warehouse had refused to pay Winfield upon delivery was a dangerous sign, indeed. And Winfield, if he wasn’t a complete fool, was probably more than a bit anxious about this meeting tonight.

  Marianne and Beau had spoken about it today. Beau had refreshed her memory on a variety of hand signals they were to use if they were captured, or if one of them was in danger, or saw or sensed something ‘off.’ In fact, after Beau had secured their mount, they’d spent the better part of the afternoon and early evening ensuring that they were prepared for any eventuality.

  Their goal was to secure the letter, if at all possible. Failing that, they needed to find out as much as they were able about Winfield’s dealings with the French, and anything else that might be useful to the Home Office.

  Over an hour later, Winfield’s coach finally rattled to a stop at the intersection of Coulogne Road and the Andres Highway. Marianne and Beau waited in a copse of trees hundreds of yards away until the baron and the maid alighted and took off toward the northeast quadrant of the intersection.

  Marianne and Beau waited for the two to disappear into the forest before tying their horse to a nearby tree and quietly but quickly following along behind Winfield and Albina. The coach the two had come in was waiting at the intersection, so Marianne and Beau were forced to stay inside the treeline, out of sight of the driver, as they followed Winfield and Albina toward the French camp.

  The night was silent and clear, thank heavens, and the apprehension pumping through Marianne’s body kept her from being cold, though a mid-October wind rustled the autumn leaves in the trees as they picked their way through the underbrush.

  Finally, they approached a break in the trees, and Beau, who was in the lead, motioned for Marianne to stay back. He crouched down and she did too.

  Several yards in front of them, Winfield and Albina were hidden in the trees on the edge of the clearing. They were obviously trying to decide how best to approach the camp.

  “I want ta go wit ye, me dear,” Albina said in a voice that was high-pitched enough for Marianne to hear.

  “That fool will bring the entire camp on our heads,” Beau whispered through clenched teeth.

  Marianne merely nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the couple.

  Apparently, Winfield convinced his mistress to lower her voice and follow him, because soon, the two of them emerged from the treeline and crept toward the French camp.

  The camp itself wasn’t as large as Marianne had expected. There were perhaps a dozen large tents set up in three rows of three. Several horses and a carriage were tied to trees to the right of the tents, near the forest’s edge. Smoke billowing from the far side of the camp indicated that the soldiers had a fire going over there, and singing and boisterousness told her some of them must be in t
heir cups already.

  Marianne and Beau watched until Winfield and Albina disappeared into the first row of tents on the edge of the camp.

  “Should we follow them?” Marianne asked, her eyes darting back and forth.

  “No, let’s hang back and see what happens. If I don’t mistake my guess, the good baron is about to either be shot or taken prisoner.”

  They waited in complete silence for what had to have been at least a quarter hour before a woman’s scream startled them from their rigid positions crouching in the trees.

  “Albina?’ Marianne whispered.

  Beau cursed under his breath. “I’d stake my fortune on it. Let’s go.”

  They took off along the treeline, but instead of going left as Winfield and Albina had, Beau went right. They stayed inside the treeline, not venturing from that cover, until they made it to the spot closest to the horses. Then Beau sprinted out to hide behind a coach, his back to the conveyance.

  Marianne soon followed, mimicking his actions, and they made their way closer to the tents, crouching behind the horses until they came to the farthest tent on the right.

  Motioning for Marianne to remain silent, Beau leaned his ear against the side of the tent curtain to listen.

  After apparently discerning that the tent was empty, he pushed the curtain aside and Marianne held her breath until they saw that the space was indeed clear.

  They did the same thing for the next two tents, Marianne’s brow sweating a bit more each time.

  When they came to the fourth tent one row up, Beau gave her a hand signal with one finger up to indicate that at least one person appeared to be inside. Next, he gave her the hand signal to go back. She retreated to the last empty tent and watched with bated breath while Beau listened at the curtain before parting it just barely enough to see inside without being seen himself.

  He quickly let the curtain drop again and retreated to meet Marianne behind the empty tent.

  “Who is it?” Marianne asked, searching Beau’s face.

  Beau’s face was grim. “Appears to be two prisoners. They’re wearing British uniforms.”

  Marianne sucked in her breath. “I must go see. It could be David.”

  “Very well. Go look, but then come back here and stay. I’m going to go a bit farther up to see if I can find out what happened to Winfield and Albina.”

  Marianne and Beau exchanged a glance.

  “Be careful, Beau.”

  “You too.”

  He was off in a flash before Marianne took another deep breath and steeled her nerves to go look into the prisoners’ tent. She knew the odds were low that one of the prisoners was David, but there was always a chance.

  She quietly made her way over to the tent and pressed her lips together before pushing the curtain back little more than an inch. The smell inside the tent made her press her wrist to her nose. The soldiers sat on the ground in the middle of the tent, their backs to her, their hands tied behind them. She nearly whimpered when she realized how filthy and torn their uniforms were.

  Letting the curtain drop again, she made her way around to the side of the tent where she would be able to see their faces. No use alerting them to her presence until she had to.

  Holding her breath with anticipation, she nudged the curtain aside just a bit to see the dirty, bloody, gagged faces of the two soldiers. Her breath expelled in a rush. Neither was David. Her chin dropped to her chest. She hadn’t realized until that moment that her entire body was shaking.

  She forced herself to take another deep breath. Her first reaction had been relief, but now she realized how much she had hoped one of the men was David. Regardless, she wasn’t about to wait around for Beau to return. Instead, she slipped inside the tent, putting a finger to her lips to indicate to the two men to remain silent, while she made haste pulling the gags from one soldier’s mouth.

  “Who are you?” he asked as soon as he was free.

  “Suffice it to say I’m British,” she replied. “What is your name?”

  “I’m Martin Bigsley-Brown,” the soldier replied.

  “And what is your rank and unit?” she asked next.

  “I’m a corporal with the ninth infantry.”

  “The ninth infantry? Were you stationed in Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  “My brother is a captain in the ninth infantry. Captain David Ellsworth. Do you know him?”

  The soldier’s eyes widened. “I do indeed. He was captured with us.”

  Marianne was dizzy. Her chest felt tight as if it had been clamped in a vise. “Do you know if he’s here then?”

  “I don’t know. I only know…” The man’s gaze immediately dropped.

  “What? You must tell me.” She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

  “They were killing officers when we first arrived,” he choked out.

  She clenched her jaw and nodded. “If he was still alive, would he be in one of the other tents?”

  The soldier shrugged. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

  Marianne quickly moved behind the first soldier and began loosening the rope that tied his wrists together. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “I’m loosening this, but I won’t remove it. If we can, we’ll come back for you. If not, I want you to at least have a chance to fight. But stay here and don’t get in the way unless you decide to run for the treeline about twenty-five yards to the right of this tent.”

  The soldier nodded and Marianne moved to the other soldier’s back. She loosened his wrists too before standing and dusting off her hands. “Stay quiet,” she warned before moving to the curtains and peering out to ensure the way was clear before she slipped through and left the tent.

  Now that she knew her brother might be here, she fully intended to look for him before meeting back up with Beau.

  She made her way to the next tent in the row and listened with her ear against the curtain for at least a minute before peering carefully inside. Empty.

  The tent after that was even closer to where the boisterous music and laughing was coming from. After the scream earlier, the music and laughing had soon resumed and had continued since. Marianne could only hope that all of the tents’ occupants were busy drinking and singing near the bonfire.

  The third tent was also silent, but this time when she pressed open the curtain an inch, she saw another British soldier. Just one this time. He sat in the center of the dirt floor, his hands tied behind him, a gag in his throat. He was facing her, but his head was bent in sleep, and his shaggy dark hair fell over his face.

  He was wearing an officer’s uniform. Marianne’s heart began to thump in her chest.

  Something familiar about him made her catch her breath. Was she only fearful and desperate, or could this man really be David?

  Pushing open the curtain with sweating palms, she forced herself to silently approach him. She crouched in front of him and nudged him awake as gently as possible, not wanting to startle him and cause him to make any noise.

  The soldier’s head flipped up nearly immediately, and a mixture of anger and surprise flashed in his eyes before she realized…it was David. It was her brother!

  “It’s all right,” she quickly told him, pressing a finger to her lips. “It’s me, Marianne.”

  The anger in his eyes quickly turned to shock, and then something that resembled pain before Marianne moved behind him to release his gag and his wrists.

  As soon as he was free, he rubbed his wrists and turned to hug her.

  “Mari,” he said, his voice so hoarse it was nearly incoherent.

  “You need water, don’t you?” She struggled to keep the tears that had sprung to her eyes from falling. The last thing David needed from her right now was tears.

  He continued to hug her and nodded, and she pulled out of his arms to go to a small table on the far end of the tent. She didn’t bother with a glass. She pulled the entire pitcher to her chest and quickly made her way back to her brother, who was struggling to s
tand.

  She gave him the support of her arm and he stood and grabbed the pitcher from her hands. He lifted it to his mouth, drinking in large gulps, before wiping his coat sleeve across his lips and breathing heavily.

  “Thank you,” he gasped before adding. “Mari, what are you doing here?”

  “We don’t have much time. I’m here with an agent from the Home Office. We followed the Bidassoa traitor here, and think he may have just been captured by the French also. I want you to go hide in the trees while I go look for my partner.”

  “The devil will I go hide in the trees,” David said, a mixture of anger and resolve flashing in his bright blue eyes. “I’m coming with you.”

  Marianne shook her head, but there was no sense arguing with David when he had his mind made up—and he obviously had his mind made up now. Quarreling about it would only waste precious time.

  “Very well,” she replied. “We’re looking for a tall blond man dressed like me.”

  David nodded. “If he’s not dressed like a French soldier, he’ll be easy to spot.”

  David insisted on leaving the tent first. Marianne rolled her eyes and allowed him to think he was doing the brave, noble thing, but once they’d exited the tent, she pointed toward the music and laughter. “My guess is that the traitor and his friend are over there. Follow me,” she said, pushing ahead of her brother and giving him no other choice but to follow her.

  They made their way to the tent on the far-right edge of the row near the trees and then ran across a small open space to hide behind several thick, low branches. Marianne could only hope that, in the darkness, no one had seen them.

  Once they’d entered the safety of the trees, Marianne crouched down and indicated for her brother to do the same. They followed the treeline along the camp past the tents until they were able to push down some branches and view the raucous French party in progress.

  Marianne’s gaze scanned the crowd. It was full of French soldiers. She saw no sign of Beau. She breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that that meant he, too, was hiding in the treeline, watching the party.

  A small group of the French soldiers had formed a circle around the bonfire, and they were marching around it in lock step, singing a French song that Marianne could not make out.