'The same goes for me, Your Grace,' said Daniel.
'Then you will not mind going behind enemy lines again.'
'I'd be grateful for the opportunity.'
'It may well come in time,' said Marlborough. 'We have very few people as fluent in French and German as Daniel Rawson. You could pass for a native in both countries.'
'That's why I studied the languages so carefully.'
'With a helping hand from certain young ladies, I daresay.'
'There's nowhere better to learn the nuances of a foreign tongue than in the company of a beautiful woman, Your Grace.'
'You've been an apt pupil,' said Marlborough with a smile. 'Not that you've neglected your English lessons, of course. A letter I received from the Lord Treasurer told me that, when you attended a dinner at his house, you made a definite impression on Sir Nicholas Piper's younger daughter.'
'Abigail is a delightful creature.'
'Her sister is just as beguiling. The two of them are testimony to the fact that Nature can sometimes be defied. Sir
Nicholas is positively ugly and his wife is extremely plain yet they somehow produced two of the most gorgeous daughters any man could wish to meet. If I did not know the parents so well,' he went on, 'I'd suspect witchcraft.'
'Miss Piper can certainly weave a spell,' said Daniel gallantly.
'To which sister are you referring?'
'I was thinking of Abigail.'
'She obviously caught your eye.'
'I found Dorothy just as captivating. Since it's so difficult to choose between them, I shall give them equal attention.'
Marlborough chuckled. 'You are incorrigible,' he said. 'Perhaps it's just as well that I'm taking you off to war again or Sir Nicholas would be unable to sleep soundly in bed, wondering which of his nubile daughters you would be pursuing.'
'Why did you send him on his way like that?' said Abigail Piper.
'I did nothing of the kind,' responded Dorothy. 'I merely told him that you would not stir from your room for hours and that there was no point in his waiting for you.'
'There was every point, Dorothy. I just needed to be alone to compose myself. As soon as I'd done that - and it took no more than twenty minutes - I intended to come back to resume my conversation with Captain Rawson.'
'It had already been terminated by you.'
'That's not true at all.'
'Put yourself in Captain Rawson's position,' suggested Dorothy. 'When a young lady flees from his company in floods of tears, he's entitled to conclude that she no longer wishes to speak to him.'
'But he wished to speak to me,' said Abigail. 'According to you, he tried to follow me as I ran out. You barred his way.'
'I could hardly let him chase you upstairs.'
'He wanted to console me. I was touched to hear that.'
'You acted too rashly in charging off.'
'I was deeply upset - what else was I to do?'
Dorothy put a sympathetic arm around her sister's shoulders. Abigail was still young and inexperienced but it was not the moment to school her in the subtleties of dealing with male admirers. In any case, now that she had seen Daniel Rawson, Dorothy was certainly not going to help Abigail to ensnare the captain. She felt that Daniel deserved a more seasoned woman, one who was well-versed in the elaborate rituals of courtship. In spite of the circumstances in which they had met, Dorothy wanted him for herself.
They were in the parlour of the Westminster house, side by side on a large sofa. Abigail was still fretting over the departure to Holland that day of the man whom she idolised. Her fear was that he had been estranged by her conduct and would dismiss her from his mind and heart. That was something Abigail could never do with him. Daniel Rawson occupied her every waking hour. She could not stop thinking about him, cherishing him, desiring him and constructing imaginary dialogue for the two of them to speak. In running away from him, she was afraid that she had made a fatal mistake.
'Do you think I should write to him?' she asked.
'I'd not advise it, Abigail.'
'But I could apologise for the way I behaved.'
'A young lady should never apologise,' said Dorothy loftily, 'least of all in writing. It could be construed as a sign of weakness. Besides, if anyone should issue an apology, it is Captain Rawson. He led you to believe that he would be in London for some time.'
'He admitted that and was very contrite.'
'I'm still opposed to the notion of a letter.'
'Why is that, Dorothy?'
'To begin with,' said the other, removing her arm from her sister's shoulder, 'there's no guarantee that the letter would reach him. When an army is on the move, correspondence with any member of it is bound to be difficult.'
'I thought of that,' said Abigail, 'and I believe I have the answer. I can ask Father to help me. Lord Godolphin will be in constant touch with the army, wherever it may be. Father will know how letters are sent and can prevail upon the Lord Treasurer's messenger to carry mine with him.'
Dorothy was impressed. 'That's a clever idea,' she said, 'though I still feel it would be unwise of you to write.'
'I have this urge to do so, Dorothy.'
'Then you must control it. On the strength of a week's acquaintance, you would appear very forward if you tried to begin a correspondence with Captain Rawson.'
'He might appreciate it.'
'Were that the case, he will write to you in the hope of eliciting a reply. Why not wait to see if he does that, Abigail?'
'I feel the need to make him aware of my feelings now.'
'Do not even consider it,' warned Dorothy. 'You must hide your true feelings until the proper time. In your present state of mind, you would commit things to paper that would make you look naive and unguarded. You have to show maturity.'
'What should I say to him?'
'Say nothing at all, Abigail. It is up to Captain Rawson to make the first move and you must be patient. The campaign last year was long and exhausting. There's no reason to think that it will be any different this year. In other words, Captain Rawson will be very busy. If he can find a moment to write to you, then perhaps he will. When he does, you have an excuse to write to him.'
'But I may have to wait months,' wailed Abigail, getting up and moving restlessly about the room. 'What am to do until then? How can I live until I know Daniel's true opinion of me? He's paid me many pretty compliments since we met but will he requite my love?' She came to a decision. 'I must write,' she announced. 'I'll do it instantly.'
'No,' said Dorothy, standing up to prevent her from leaving. 'I forbid you to do that, Abigail. Never show an admirer how vulnerable you are. If it will relieve your torment,' she continued, 'then put your thoughts in a letter - but do not send it.'
Abigail was crestfallen. 'You really think it unwise?'
'It's foolhardy in the extreme.'
'How can I let him know that I love him?'
'You must show forbearance. Captain Rawson will return one day - God willing - and he will be moved to learn that you have been steadfastly carrying a torch for him while he was away. That will impress him far more than a mawkish letter written on impulse.'
'Do you really believe that, Dorothy?'
'Yes, I do - bide your time, sister.'
'Is that what you would do in my place?'
'It's exactly what I'd do.'
After thinking it over, Abigail elected to take her advice. She gave Dorothy a kiss of gratitude on the cheek then went out of the room so that she could be alone with her thoughts. Dorothy was glad that she had dissuaded her from hasty action with regard to man on whom she doted. It left the field clear for her. Five minutes later, it was the elder sister who was penning a missive to Daniel Rawson.
They reached Harwich hours after the Peregrine had set sail and they had to wait the best part of a week before they could board a ship that would take them to Holland. As they made their way along the quayside, Frédéric Seurel was pessimistic.
'We'll neve
r catch up with him, Charles.'
'Of course, we will,' said Catto, taking a more philosophical attitude to the delay. 'Armies do not march fast. We'll soon overhaul Captain Rawson.'
'How can we get to him when he is surrounded by thousands of soldiers?' asked Seurel. 'It's impossible.'
'We'll lure him out somehow.'
'We do not even know where he'll be.'
'He'll be attached to his regiment and my guess is that it will never be far away from the Duke of Marlborough. There are Austrians, Dutch, Germans, Belgians, Danes, Irish, Swiss and even some renegade Frenchmen at his command but the Duke will always favour British soldiers.'
'They stand no chance against Marshal Tallard.'
'Do not underestimate him, Frédéric,' said Catto. 'The Duke is an astute general. He has not lost a major battle and he recaptured all the Barrier Fortresses from us. He began last year's campaign by seizing Bonn only two weeks after the first trenches had been dug. While the garrison was preparing itself for a lengthy siege, they were overwhelmed by a sudden attack. That was bold.'
'We'll soon capture Bonn back again.'
'I doubt that.'
'France has a bigger and better army,' asserted Seurel. 'We also have the support of the Elector of Bavaria. We must win.'
'I'm sure that we will - in time. But forget about the war,' Catto went on. 'That will take care of itself. Our only concern is the private battle we have with Captain Rawson.'
'Let it wait.'
'What do you mean?'
'My worry at this moment is that,' said the Frenchmen, pointing at the ship towards which they were strolling with their luggage. 'I'm scared, Charles. Sailing across the Channel was bad enough. The North Sea will be far worse.'
'We'll make a sailor of you yet, Frédéric.'
'The very thought of a voyage makes my stomach heave.'
'This is the last one you'll have to make and it's certainly the last one that Captain Rawson will have made. He'll pay dearly for his hour between the thighs of Madame Salignac.'
Seurel grinned. 'He may think it was worth it.'
'No woman is worth losing your life over.'
'I don't agree. I'd much rather be shot in bed with another man's wife than stabbed to death on the battlefield by a bayonet. At least I'd die with a smile of my face.'
They joined the end of the queue to board the ship. Proximity to other passengers made them keep their voices down. Seurel eyed the vessel warily then let his gaze travel up to the sky. It was overcast. A squall was in the offing. His stomach heaved more violently. He had heard many stories about how perilous the North Sea could be. People moved slowly forward, their passports examined before they were allowed aboard. Until now, the two men had spoken in French. As they edged towards the gangplank, Catto took the precaution of resorting to his native tongue.
'Have you been to Holland before?'
'No,' replied Seurel.
'It will be a novelty for you.'
'All I want is dry land.'
'Then you are going to the right place,' said Catto. 'The Dutch are very clever. They've reclaimed land from the sea by building dykes. When we disembark, we will, in effect, be walking on water.'
'I just hope to get there safely.'
'We will, Frédéric. We have an appointment with a great lover.'
Seurel was mystified. 'A great lover?'
'Yes,' said Catto, whispering in his ear. 'He's a man who lost his head over a woman.' They shared a grim laugh.
Dorothy Piper was pleased by the change in her sister. Ten days after Captain Daniel Rawson had left the country, Abigail seemed to have found some peace of mind at last. She no longer stayed in her room, pining for her missing admirer and scolding herself for what had happened when they had last met. Nor did she disdain food and drink any more. Abigail had somehow regained her appetite. She looked better, dressed more smartly and took a more positive attitude to life. Having locked herself away for so long, she now resumed her daily walk with her maid, Emily, a plump young woman who was very fond of her mistress and who responded to her every whim. Dorothy believed that the maid had been partially responsible for the marked improvement in Abigail and she thanked her.
Two more days elapsed and her younger sister's spirits seemed to lift even more. Dorothy could not understand it. No letter had arrived from Daniel Rawson and she was certain that Abigail had not written one to him. She decided to confront her sister next morning and find out exactly what had cheered her up so much. But when she came down for breakfast, there was no sign of Abigail. Thinking that she had gone for an early walk, Dorothy waited for a couple of hours before searching for her sister again. It was all in vain.
Unknown to her sister, Abigail Piper and her maid were sailing down the Thames estuary on a ship that was bound for The Hague.
CHAPTER FIVE
Daniel Rawson had every reason to dislike Henry Welbeck. In almost every way, they were direct opposites. While Daniel revelled in military life, Welbeck loathed it and never stopped complaining about its many shortcomings. Captain Rawson was a cheerful optimist but Sergeant Welbeck was a sour pessimist. The one took his pleasures where he found them while the other was a confirmed bachelor with a deep suspicion of women. Religion provided the other profound difference between them. Daniel was so committed to the Protestant cause that he was prepared to fight to the death for it. Henry Welbeck was an unashamed atheist.
Yet the two men had, improbably, become close friends. Welbeck was older, stouter and decidedly uglier than Daniel and he had a fiery temper that cowed the men under him. Fearless on the battlefield, he was a veteran soldier who had saved the lives of many of his own troops by prompt action. Most of his battle scars were hidden by his uniform but the long, livid gash down one cheek was a visible memento of the dangers of fighting the French.
'I hate the army,' said Welbeck disconsolately.
'Then why did you join it?' asked Daniel.
'I thought it would make a man of me. When the recruiting officer came to our village, I was a scrawny lad who'd never been more than ten miles from the cottage I was born in. I was stupid enough to like what I heard, Dan. The officer made it sound wonderful.'
'It is wonderful when you get used to it, Henry.'
'We were tricked,' moaned Welbeck. 'They fed us on arrant lies and as much ale as we could drink. By the time we were sober again, we found that we'd signed our lives away - and for what?'
Daniel grinned. 'The chance to meet me, of course.'
'I'd rather forego that pleasure and stay out of uniform.'
'What about the other delights of army life?'
'I didn't know there were any, Dan.'
'There's the satisfaction of serving your country.'
'Where's the satisfaction in being shot at, stabbed at, kicked at, sworn at and spat at by a load of greasy Frenchies and their allies? All I do is to give the enemy target practice.' He pointed to the scar on his cheek. 'How satisfied do you think I felt when I got this?'
'Very satisfied,' said Daniel. 'You killed your attacker.'
'He haunts me every time I look in a mirror to shave.'
May had brought warm sunshine and the army had assembled as regiments left their winter quarters to join the column of march. By the middle of the month, they had crossed the River Meuse near Ruremond on pontoon bridges. It was at this point that Marlborough joined up with his men. It was also an occasion for Daniel Rawson to meet his discontented friend again. As evening shadows dappled the field, they were standing outside a tent in the encampment. Their regiment was part of a formidable army, comprising 14 battalions of infantry and 39 squadrons of cavalry, supported by 1700 supply wagons pulled by 5000 draught horses.
'We'll give the French a drubbing this year,' Daniel prophesied.
Welbeck grimaced. 'It will be another wild goose chase.'
'I've caught a lot of wild geese in my time, Henry.'
'Well, they didn't speak French, I know that. We can never get these
bastards to stand still and fight. And what the hell are we doing here, anyway?' he complained. 'Why did we get dragged into a war of the Spanish Succession in the first place? I don't give a damn who puts his arse on the Spanish throne.'
'You should do,' said Daniel.
'Why? It makes no difference to me.'
'Yes, it does. Spain itself may be weak but it still has its colonies and dependencies. Think of Mexico, Cuba, the Canary Islands, Sicily, Sardinia, Naples, Milan, bits of the Americas - not to mention the Spanish Netherlands. Do you want France to control that empire? They'd go on to rule the world.'
'Let them - as long as they leave England alone.'
'But they wouldn't, Henry. If they conquer Europe, they'll look to overrun us next. Would you like to see French soldiers in London?'
'Yes - if they were hanging from a gallows.'
Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. 'We agree on something at last,' he said.
'I just want this war to be over,' said Welbeck sadly. 'I seem to have spent a lifetime running after French uniforms.'
'If we destroy their army - as we will one day - you'll be able to run after French women instead.'
Welbeck snorted. 'Women are more trouble than they're worth, Dan. That's why I keep well away from them. I've seen the damage they can create. One of the best things Corporal John ever did was to forbid whores to ply their trade among the army. The men didn't like it at all,' he recalled, 'but it made them better soldiers.'
'Our commander cares for his men,' said Daniel. 'That's how he got the nickname of Corporal John. He doesn't hold himself aloof. He knows how hard life in the ranks really is and he's done his best to improve the lot of the average soldier. Thanks to him, we always have plenty of surgeons travelling with us. Thanks to him, we always have provisions awaiting us when we camp.'
'I'd still rather be home in England.'
'Then why have you stayed in the army so long?'
Welbeck gave a rare smile. 'It needs me, Dan.'
Most officers did not consort freely with the ranks but Daniel was an exception to the rule. He was happy to spend time with people like Henry Welbeck and to learn what the men he commanded were thinking and feeling. Critics warned him that making himself so approachable would lead to a loss of discipline. It had not happened in Daniel's case. If anything, his men respected him even more.
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