'I still won't believe it exists.'
Daniel burst into laughter. 'There's no convincing you, is there?' he said. 'Miracles happen every time we fight yet you still refuse to accept that there's a God.'
'The only miracle I want to see is an end to this war. Then we can all go home, put our weapons aside and lead peaceful lives.'
'That will only happen when we finally defeat the French.'
'Then where are they?' demanded Welbeck.
'Villeroi and his men are probably very close.'
'Watching and waiting.'
'There'll be plenty of action before too long,' said Daniel, giving him a playful punch on the arm. 'I feel it in my bones.'
When they crested the hill, the two men pulled their horses to a halt and surveyed the scene below. The camp covered a huge area, a small town of canvas nestling beside the river. Even from that distance, they could pick out the different colours of the uniforms. Charles Catto and Frédéric Seurel had caught up with their prey at last.
'There you are,' said Catto, 'I told you we'd find them.'
'How do we get to him?' asked Seurel.
'Leave that to me.'
'What do I do?'
'You can sharpen your dagger,' said Catto, taking a telescope from his saddlebag. 'It will soon be needed, Frédéric. You can have the honour of cutting off Captain Daniel Rawson's head.'
CHAPTER SIX
Long experience as a soldier had taught the Duke of Marlborough the importance of being a visible commander. The sight of their captain-general not only raised the morale of the men, it let them see that he was a flesh and blood human being and not some phantom who made vital decisions that marked the difference between their lives and deaths. Marlborough was therefore careful to be on show to his troops, riding through the camp on a regular basis so that he could inspect his men and allow them, in turn, to inspect him. A cheering word from their commander could have a big impact on the spirits of his soldiers, and they were touched when he remembered so many of their names.
Accompanied by Adam Cardonnel, he went through the camp that afternoon, noting everything with interest as he did so and dispensing pleasantries along the way. When he reached the area where Daniel Rawson's regiment were camped, he recalled the piece of news in his wife's latest letter. He sought the captain out and found him in his tent, playing backgammon with Richard Hopwood, a young lieutenant in
the regiment. After chatting amiably with the two of them for a few minutes, Marlborough asked to be left alone with Daniel. Having already lost more money than he intended, the lieutenant was glad of an excuse to leave.
'I was just about to win another game,' said Daniel, indicating the board. 'Richard Hopwood is an obliging loser.'
'I'm sorry to interrupt you,' said Marlborough. 'I know how much you enjoy backgammon.'
'It's my most reliable source of income, Your Grace.'
'I'm sure it is. As it happens, I wanted a word about another game at which you excel.'
Daniel rubbed his hands. 'You've work for me behind enemy lines again,' he said, eyes igniting at the prospect. 'I was hoping you'd wish to deploy me.'
'That will come in time, Daniel.'
'I'm not to be sent on another assignment?'
'Not yet.' 'Oh.'
'I'm sorry to disappoint you,' said Marlborough, 'but this concerns another type of game altogether. It's just as dangerous in some ways, though seldom fatal.'
'I don't understand, Your Grace.'
'You will, Daniel. I had some letters from England today. Most of them were from people like the Lord Treasurer who wish to be kept abreast of every development in our campaign. One of them, however, was from my wife.'
'How is Her Grace, the Duchess?'
'Extremely well,' said Marlborough with a pride and affection that banished all of Daniel's fears about marital difficulties between the Duke and his wife. 'The letter was full of interesting detail, one item of which relates to you.'
Daniel was taken aback. 'To me?'
'It concerns a lady of whom we've spoken before.'
'Then it must be Miss Piper.'
'Yes, Daniel. Has she, by any chance, been in touch with you?'
'She has indeed, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'I received a letter from her a couple of weeks after we landed. It was unexpected but no less welcome for that.'
'In that case, you may already know what I have to tell you.'
'And what is that?'
'I was informed of the imminent arrival of Miss Piper.'
Daniel was thunderstruck. 'She is coming here?'
'You've made a conquest, it seems.'
'There was no mention of this in her letter.'
'She clearly intends to surprise you.'
'I am not so much surprised as astounded,' said Daniel, trying to take in the disturbing news. 'I only met Dorothy Piper once and we hardly exchanged more than a few words. When she wrote to me, I must confess that I was flattered but I never imagined that she would actually leave home to follow me.'
'Dorothy has not done so.'
'You just said that she had, Your Grace.'
'No,' corrected Marlborough. 'I told you that Miss Piper had sailed after you - without permission of her parents, I may add. The young lady in question is not Dorothy, however, it is Abigail Piper.'
'Travelling alone?' asked Daniel, immediately concerned for her welfare. 'What ever possessed her to do that?'
Marlborough gave him a shrewd look. 'We both know the answer to that, I think,' he said. 'Her maid is with her and I'm sure they will have the sense to find travelling companions on long, lonely roads where highwaymen might lurk.' He was amused. 'Well, this is a precedent,' he continued. 'I've never seen Daniel Rawson thrown into confusion by a woman before. If nothing else, Abigail Piper has achieved a singular response from you.'
Daniel was nonplussed. He was deeply moved to hear of the bold action taken by Abigail on his behalf but he was anxious for her well-being. With no knowledge of the country or its language, she and her maid were at a distinct disadvantage in the Netherlands. Even if they did arrive safely in Germany, there was the thorny problem of what to do with her next. Flirting with two sisters in London was a harmless enough exercise in his opinion. Being trailed by one of them during a campaign was a very different matter. For once in his life, Daniel was uncertain what to do in relation to a beautiful woman.
'I admire her courage,' said Marlborough, coming to his rescue, 'but I utterly deplore her lack of forethought. Does she not realise what happens on a battlefield? It's quite impossible for her to stay.'
'We can't force her to leave, Your Grace.'
'I agree. But, then, I don't believe that compulsion of any kind will be needed. Abigail is a delicate creature. When she realises that we rise before dawn and march at five, she may soon decide that army routine is not for her. At all events,' he continued, 'I'd like her out of the way for her own safety. Even without the danger of attack from the French, there's difficult terrain ahead - rivers to cross, forests to go through, mountains to climb. My own wife wanted very much to join us but I had to discourage her from doing so.'
Daniel was pleased to hear it. The fact that the Duchess had offered to travel with the army was confirmation that she and her husband had settled their differences. Marlborough could concentrate fully on the campaign. Daniel, on the other hand, could not. Eager for hostilities to start, he felt a responsibility towards Abigail Piper and could not dedicate himself to his duties as long as she was there. Somehow he had to make her feel that her journey was worthwhile yet ensure that she did not wish to stay long with the army. Marlborough put it more succinctly.
'Tell her what she wants to hear then wave her off.'
'Yes, Your Grace.'
'If she manages to catch up with us, that is,' said Marlborough with a frown. 'It will not be an easy business. Abigail Piper and her maid are likely to meet all manner of hazards on the way.'
Until the horrors of the voyage, Abi
gail Piper had always considered herself to be blessed by good fortune. She was born into a wealthy family, had a social position and the relative freedom to develop her interests. As the younger daughter, she was inevitably at a slight disadvantage with her sister but she had learnt ways to circumvent Dorothy and to escape her vigilance. Throughout her life, there had been so many instances of sheer luck falling into her lap that she began to rely on it. The latest example was the crowning one. Fate had delivered the perfect man with whom she could fall in love. In her fevered mind, Daniel Rawson was the embodiment of good luck.
During her pursuit of him, chance favoured her at every turn. She and Emily Greene not only found amenable travelling companions whenever they needed them, the cavalcade invariably contained carts and wagons. The two women were often invited to tether their horses to the back of a cart so that they could travel with a measure of comfort. To someone like Emily, this was a godsend as her thighs and buttocks were already tender from the little riding she had done. Abigail, too, availed herself of the opportunity to get out of the saddle for a while. Progress was not fast but it was steady.
The inns at which they spent the night were serviceable if noticeably short of any refinements. Emily was amazed how quickly her mistress adapted to the meaner conditions. Having lived in comparative luxury all her life, Abigail had never had to sleep on a lumpy mattress before or wash in public or eat unappetising food. One night, they were even forced to sleep under the stars but there was no complaint from Abigail. Each day took her closer to the man she loved and that was all that mattered to her.
When they reached Bedburg, they parted company with one group of travellers and immediately found another, heading south towards Bonn. There were fifteen of them in all, making the journey in three carts or on horseback. The men were armed and there were enough of them to ward off a potential attack. Abigail and Emily hitched their horses to one of the carts and climbed aboard. The driver was a friendly man in his late thirties with a solid frame and a pleasant face fringed with a fair beard. His name was Otto and he knew enough English to have a conversation with his two guests. While Abigail sat beside him, Emily was in the back of the cart, perched on something that was covered by a tarpaulin.
'Why are you going to Bonn?' asked Abigail.
'I keep the promise,' replied Otto.
'Promise?'
'To my wife, I swear it.'
'Oh, I see.'
'Marthe, she was born there.'
'Are you going home to her?'
'No,' he said with a forgiving smile. 'I take Marthe there.'
Abigail looked around. 'But she's not with us now.'
'Yes, she is.'
'Where - is she one of the women in the other carts?'
He shook his head. 'I promise that Marthe, she will be in Bonn buried beside her mother.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'In the back, the coffin is.'
'Goodness!' cried Emily, jumping up as she realised that she was actually sitting on the dead body of Otto's wife. She moved further back to sit down. 'I'm so sorry, sir. You should have told us.'
'Marthe, she will not mind,' he said. 'A good woman, she was.'
It took time for the Abigail and Emily to get used to the idea that they were sharing the cart with a corpse. Otto was a talkative man. He turned out to have borne arms in a German regiment that had fought against the French the previous year, an injury to his foot ending his reluctant career as a soldier. Abigail pressed him for detail.
'Did you ever meet the Duke of Marlborough?' she inquired. 'Father says that he's the most brilliant commander in Europe. He has outstanding people under him. I don't suppose that you ever came across a Captain Daniel Rawson?'
'No, no,' said Otto.
'Captain Rawson is with the Duke of Marlborough's Foot.'
The German looked at her. 'But he has two feet, no?'
Abigail giggled. 'That's Captain Rawson's infantry regiment,' she explained, taking pleasure from saying Daniel's name for the third time. 'He's a very brave soldier. The Duke admires him greatly.'
'I did not like it, being the soldier.'
'Why not?
'From my wife, it take me away.'
'Did you kill any Frenchmen?' wondered Emily.
'The musket, I fire many times. Maybe, someone I kill.'
'How long do you think the war will last?' asked Abigail.
'For ever,' said Otto with resignation. 'France, she never stops wanting the more. Always fighting, her army is, always will.'
'The French could be defeated by British heroes like Captain Rawson.' Otto looked sceptical. 'They could,' she added stoutly. 'The Duke of Marlborough is resolved to win a famous battle against the French. I heard that from Captain Rawson himself.'
Otto was not convinced. He had the world-weary air of a man who had seen too many armies marching to and fro across his native land. Lapsing into silence, he drove on. They continued on their way, following the course of the River Rhine as it snaked southwards. It was late afternoon when the weather broke. After rolling along in the sunshine, they suddenly found themselves at the mercy of driving rain and a swirling wind. Since they had little protection from the downpour, they had to find the nearest shelter they could. When they came around a bend and spied an inn ahead of them, therefore, they were unworried by the fact that it looked weather-beaten and almost ramshackle. It was a refuge.
The horses were stabled but the carts had to stand out in the rain. Though she was distressed to see that Otto left his wife's coffin under the tarpaulin, Abigail did not feel that it was her place to protest in any way. The man had been kind and avuncular to them. As the natural leader of the travellers, it was he who discussed the sleeping arrangements with the landlord and haggled over the cost. He seemed to be arguing with the man on behalf of Abigail and Emily, pointing to them and raising his voice in a demand. A sly, shifty little man with straggly grey hair and a beak of a nose, the landlord tapped his walking stick angrily on the floor.
When Otto came over to them, he was very apologetic. Because the accommodation was so limited, the travellers would have to share beds. What he had managed to do was to secure a private room for Abigail and a place in the attic for Emily. Neither of them liked the idea of being split up but they soon found that Abigail's room was more like a large broom cupboard than a bedchamber. Emily saw that she would have to sleep in the attic but, before she left her mistress's room, she took the trouble to sweep away some of the cobwebs and check that the bed was habitable.
Over a hot meal and plenty of ale, the travellers had a jolly time and the Germans soon burst into song. Abigail thanked them for the way she and her maid had been welcomed the group and she had a special word of gratitude for Otto. As the ale flowed more freely and the songs grew more raucous, the Englishwomen made their excuses and retired early to bed. Emily was soon asleep in her dingy attic room but Abigail stayed awake to write in her diary by the light of a candle. The jollity was still continuing down below when she finally blew out the flame and lay back to think about Daniel Rawson.
An hour later, Abigail drifted quietly off. It was as well that she was a light sleeper because it was not long before the latch was lifted on her door and a heavy footstep made a floorboard creak. Coming awake with a start, she sat bolt upright and peered into the gloom.
'Who's there?' she asked. 'Is that you, Emily?'
Before she could say another word, a hand was clasped over her mouth and she was pushed back down on to the bed. A man's body pressed down on top of her and she could smell the ale on his breath. Struggle as she did, Abigail could not move him.
'Like her, you are,' said Otto, laughing softly in the dark. 'Just like my Marthe. To me, be good. Tonight, you are my Marthe.'
Abigail was distraught. He was too heavy to be moved and too strong to fight off. Worst of all, his free hand was starting do take the most alarming liberties, stroking her hair, squeezing her breast then trying to pull up her nightgown. A refined young lady who longed to surren
der herself to Daniel Rawson was about to have her virginity snatched cruelly away by a drunken German widower. Abigail Piper's run of luck had come to a grinding halt.
When he moved his hand from her mouth, she dared to hope that he had relented but all he wanted to do was to take a long, hard, bruising kiss from her. The taste was disgusting. Her stomach lurched, her blood ran cold and she began to tremble all over. As his tongue became more invasive and his hands more predatory, Abigail thought that she was about to be sick. Desperation made her do the only thing she could think of. Twisting her head slightly to the left, she bit deep into his lower lip and felt his blood spurt across her face.
Otto bellowed in pain and rolled off her, hitting the ground with a thud. The noise brought two people running to see what had happened. First through the door was the landlord, his candle lending a dull glow to the sordid scene. Realising what had happened, he began to wave a walking stick at Otto and abuse him in high-pitched German. The second person to arrive was Emily Greene and she did not waste any words. When she saw her mistress, hunched up in bed, shielding herself with a pillow, she grabbed the stick from the landlord and used it to belabour the midnight lover, hitting him with such force that he begged for mercy and crawled out of the room on his hands and knees. The landlord went after Otto to remonstrate with him. Annoyed that she had not been there to protect her mistress from the assault, Emily shut the door and put her back against it.
'Fetch our things,' said Abigail, still shaking. 'We're leaving.'
Emily was practical. 'It's the middle of the night, Miss Abigail.'
'Do as I tell you - please.'
Daniel Rawson finally got a taste of the action he wanted. When they reached Coblenz, a sizeable force was sent off in the direction of the Moselle valley but only as a means of distracting Marshal Villeroi and his men. Daniel remained with the main army as it moved south and crossed the Rhine where their ranks were swelled by the addition of 5000 Hanoverians and Prussians. To the French observers who were tracking them, it looked as if they were heading for
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