4 Under Siege

by Edward Marston

  Lady Rievers smiled. ‘That’s going too far, my dear.’

  Amalia had taken to her hostess at once. Lady Rievers was a stately woman with a ravished beauty. Arthritis had crippled her joints and something was eating her slowly away. There was an almost deathly pallor on her cheeks. She bore her afflictions with remarkable dignity and without even a trace of self-pity. What struck Amalia was the way in which her husband treated her. Sir John was patient and attentive, helping her to her feet when they adjourned to the dining room and lowering her gently into her chair. It was noticeable that she could only use one hand. Throughout the meal, therefore, he sat beside her so that he could cut up some of the food on her plate. All the time, he kept the conversation flowing.

  ‘What is your next commission?’ he asked Janssen. ‘You’ll be weaving a tapestry of the battle of Oudenarde, I daresay.’

  ‘His Grace has not approached me yet,’ said Janssen. ‘Nor will he do so until he’s seen the Ramillies tapestry. What happens next depends on how pleased he is with my work.’

  ‘He’ll be thrilled, Mr Janssen.’

  ‘I endorse that,’ said Lady Rievers, sweetly. ‘I’ve seen one of your tapestries and thought it superb.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Rievers.’

  ‘Listen to my wife,’ advised Sir John. ‘Barbara has excellent taste. It’s the reason she chose to marry me.’

  His guests joined in the laughter. Amalia could see how little Lady Rievers ate of the meal but she herself was unable to match the appetite shown by the two men. The quantity and quality of the food was way beyond what she customarily had. The first course comprised a leg of mutton with cauliflower, a steak pie, a shoulder of lamb and a dish of peas. This was followed by a sweetbread pie, a capon, a gooseberry tart and a mixture of seasonal fruit. Wine was served at regular intervals but Amalia was abstemious.

  ‘How do you go about it, Mr Janssen?’ said Lady Rievers. ‘With a tapestry like your latest one, for instance, where did you start?’

  ‘You can’t expect him to give away the tricks of the trade, my love,’ joked Sir John. ‘He’s too afraid that we might pick his brains and set up as weavers ourselves.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Janssen. ‘I’ll be happy to explain. In the case of a battle, it’s important to combine drama with verisimilitude. If it’s to hang in Blenheim Palace, it will be seen over the years by a large number of people, some of whom might well have fought at Ramillies.’

  ‘Captain Rawson will be one of them,’ said Amalia, involuntarily.

  ‘The first thing I was shown was the order of battle.’

  ‘Let me explain,’ said Sir John to his wife. ‘That’s the order of battle drawn up by the quartermaster-generals so that everyone knows his exact position in the field.’

  ‘At Ramillies,’ resumed Janssen, ‘the dragoons were on the wings, the cavalry were on the flanks and the infantry were in the centre. His Grace was on a hill overlooking the battlefield, so I was able to show it from his perspective. He will thus be on horseback in the foreground with the fighting taking place below him.’

  ‘And what of this fellow who offered expert advice?’

  ‘Captain Rawson was of immense help to me.’

  ‘What’s his regiment?’

  ‘It’s the 24th Regiment of Foot, Sir John.’

  ‘I was a major in the dragoons.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ said Lady Rievers, raising a skeletal hand to her brow. ‘I worried so much when you were in the army. Appalling things can happen in warfare. I wanted my husband here with me where he was safe and sound.’

  He gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. ‘That’s where I’m content to be, my love – at home in the bosom of my family. Not that we see anything of the twins these days. They’ve both flown the coop. But tell us more about this Captain Rawson,’ he went on. ‘He sounds like an interesting character.’

  ‘Oh, he is,’ said Amalia, face radiant.

  ‘My daughter is the best person to talk about him,’ said Janssen with a smile. ‘Captain Rawson rescued her from perilous situations on two separate occasions. I doubt if anyone is as well qualified to speak about him as Amalia.’

  ‘How ever did he get into the camp in the first place?’

  ‘That’s what I want to know,’ said Daniel, angrily. ‘I’ve asked Lieutenant Ainley to look into it while I’m away. What were the piquets doing letting unauthorised civilians walk around at will?’

  ‘Someone should be punished for this,’ said Welbeck, grimly. ‘Supposing you hadn’t been alone when you went into your quarters?’

  ‘That thought crossed my mind, Henry. If His Grace had stepped into that tent ahead of me, he might have been killed and we’d be looking for a new captain-general.’

  ‘Who was the man?’

  ‘His name is Lieutenant Erich Schlager. He’s the Hessian cavalry officer I told you about, the one who assaulted Rachel.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Welbeck under his breath, ‘well, I don’t blame him for that. The woman can be very provocative. What surprises me,’ he went on raising his voice, ‘is that he knew when and where to find you.’

  ‘Apparently, he hired a man to keep watch for me. Jonathan Ainley caught the wretch. He was an ugly little creature who’d been asking all sorts of people about me.’

  ‘Didn’t that arouse the lieutenant’s suspicion?’

  ‘It did eventually.’

  ‘Herr Schlager came for revenge, did he?’

  ‘It was not only me he was after, Henry. He wanted to hunt Rachel down as well. Both of us were meant to die. Luckily,’ said Daniel, ‘he got more than he bargained for. He not only lost a hand; he’ll lose far more when he faces a court martial.’

  ‘What about his accomplice?’

  ‘He’ll be charged with being party to a conspiracy to murder.’

  ‘You should have wrung his neck there and then.’

  ‘I was too busy trying to stop Schlager from bleeding to death.’

  It was late evening and the two of them were riding towards Lille in the gathering gloom. Both were wearing French uniforms salvaged from the battlefield at Oudenarde because their owners no longer had any use for them. They were posing as couriers and carried forged despatches, ostensibly for Marshal Boufflers. Against his better judgement, Welbeck had agreed to join Daniel in his quest to release Rachel from gaol. A mediocre horseman, he was already complaining about being saddle-sore. At the same time he felt a surge of excitement running through his body. Taking part in a dangerous enterprise was more exhilarating than drilling new recruits. Since he was far from fluent in French, he decided to leave all the talking to Daniel.

  ‘What if they don’t let us in, Dan?’

  ‘They have to let us in. We carry important despatches.’

  ‘Why are we travelling at night?’

  ‘We don’t want to be too visible. The guards will only see our faces by their torches and not in broad daylight.’

  ‘How will we get Rachel Rees out of gaol?’

  ‘To be honest, I really don’t know.’

  ‘Then why are we going to all this trouble?’

  ‘There’ll be a way, Henry,’ soothed Daniel. ‘All we have to do is to work out what it is.’

  Guards had been posted at the outer defences of the town but the visitors had no problem getting past them. When they reached the main gates, however, they were asked to dismount before being questioned closely. Daniel was so plausible that all Welbeck was required to do was to nod from time to time. They were given directions to Marshal Boufflers’ quarters, then let in through the gates. Conscious that they were being watched by the guards, Daniel followed their directions. As soon as he was out of sight, however, he veered off towards the Coq d’Or. He and Welbeck were soon stabling their horses at the tavern. When they entered the building, they found Bette Lizier in the kitchen. Seeing the uniforms, she stiffened at once.

  ‘Don’t you recognise me, Madame?’ teased Daniel.

  ‘Is that
you, Alain?’ she said, holding his face in her hands. ‘What’s happened to your beard?’

  ‘I had to shave it off. I needed a different disguise.’

  ‘I like your moustache.’

  Daniel introduced Welbeck and she shook his hand warmly.

  ‘There’s no need to tell me why you’re here,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve come to rescue my wife,’ said Daniel, ignoring the sardonic glance from Welbeck. ‘Rachel was arrested at the gates.’

  ‘I know. Guillaume told me about it when I visited him today. He said that she was bellowing like mad when they locked her up.’

  Daniel grinned. ‘That sounds like Rachel.’

  Bette Lizier offered her help without being asked. She would provide accommodation even though it consisted of two small rooms. Since they’d ridden some way, she decided that they needed some refreshments. Welbeck warmed to her as she set out a repast on the table. Though he preferred beer, he found the wine very drinkable. They were still eating their impromptu meal when Estelle walked in. At the sight of the uniforms, she came to a dead halt.

  ‘Have you forgotten me so soon?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Alain?’ she gasped, running to grasp his hands. ‘Is it you?’

  ‘It is – and this is my friend, Henri.’

  Staring at his face, she didn’t even notice Welbeck. Estelle was amazed at how handsome Daniel was now that he’d shaved off his beard and put on a smart uniform. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  ‘Is anyone left in the bar, Estelle?’ asked Bette.

  ‘Only a few stragglers – Raymond can serve them.’

  ‘Then you must sit down and join us.’ Estelle pulled up a chair beside Daniel. ‘Now, Alain, what can we do for you?’

  ‘There’s one obvious thing,’ he explained. ‘You’ve visited your husband many times in the gaol. We need you to draw a rough plan of the building. Will you be going there again tomorrow?’ She nodded. ‘Could you find out exactly where Rachel is being held?’

  ‘Guillaume has already told me – and yes, I can draw a sketch of the gaol for you. ’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Welbeck, unused to seeing women involved in a dangerous scheme and impressed by her readiness to help. ‘And so is this food, Madame. We must thank you.’

  ‘It’s the least we can do, Henri. By the way, Estelle,’ she went on, turning to her sister, ‘our friends will be staying the night here in the two attic rooms.’

  Estelle stood up. ‘I’ll make the beds at once.’

  ‘Don’t make any effort for us,’ said Daniel. ‘We’re soldiers.’

  ‘We’re used to sleeping on the bare earth,’ added Welbeck.

  ‘We can do better than that, Monsieur,’ said Estelle. ‘Excuse me. I won’t be long.’

  She rushed out and left them to finish their meal. Bette could still not get used to the sight of Daniel without his beard and rough attire. In their short time together, she’d grown fond of him. Instinct told her that it would be more difficult to become fond of his friend.

  ‘Wait until Raymond sees you,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t stopped talking about the wonderful Alain Borrel since you left. He was so proud to have helped you last night.’

  ‘There may be more work for your son,’ Daniel warned. ‘He’s a brave young man and we may well have to call on him.’

  ‘Please do so – Raymond won’t let you down. It’s not just my husband who is at your service, Alain. Everyone at the Coq d’Or is only too pleased to assist you. Just tell us what to do.’

  ‘There is one thing, Madame.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When you visit tomorrow, can you find out why Rachel is being held there? We need to know what charges are being levelled at her. Oh,’ he continued, ‘and if you can get a message to her, let her know that we’re thinking about her.’

  * * *

  In the course of an eventful life, Rachel Rees had slept in all kinds of uncomfortable places. Necessity had made her spend the night in a barn, a cart, a stable, a field, a haystack, a garden, a doorway, a cellar, a barge, on a canal bank or even up a tree. But she’d never suffered as many aches and pains as she did on the plank of bare wood that was chained to the wall of her cell. It was too hard, too uneven, too narrow and, with its abiding stink, too redolent of its previous occupants. Whichever way she twisted, she found herself in pain. The worst of it was that she still had no firm idea of why she was being held. Without explanation, she’d been placed under arrest. Her horse and donkey had been taken along with the contents of their saddlebags. She had nothing.

  The contrast could not have been more dramatic. The stay in Lille had been unexpectedly pleasurable and she’d made herself well liked at the tavern. The whole experience had been like a holiday that was taken in the company of a good-looking man who pretended to be her husband. She’d felt no sense of threat. Indeed, as they rode towards the main gate, she was reflecting on how much enjoyment she’d had in Lille. Snatched from her, that enjoyment had been turned into a physical and mental torment. The cell was dirty, the food was inedible and the water brackish. To answer the call of nature, she had a wooden bucket. Most infuriating of all was that nobody would talk to her. When she demanded to know why she was there, she was warned of severe punishment if she continued to harangue the gaolers. Being a woman would not excuse her.

  Cowed into silence during the day, she had another fear at night. His name was Pons and he was a big, slovenly man in his thirties, with a repulsive face made even more unlovely by its expression of barely controlled carnal lust. He constantly visited her cell, peering through the bars with eyes ablaze, roving her body with such intensity that she could feel the heat of his stare. His lopsided grin was unsettling and she was revolted by the spittle that dribbled out of the side of his mouth. Whenever he came to look at her, Rachel turned her back on him so that she wouldn’t have to read the message in those eyes anymore. Pons eventually withdrew to the outer room but he hadn’t done with her. He left the door slightly ajar so that he could sit at the table and watch her through the crack.

  Rachel had spent the night before sleeping in the same room as a decent, well-mannered British officer. She was now at the mercy of an oafish gaoler who’d come to work after drinking heavily at a nearby tavern. Nobody was there to protect her. Daniel couldn’t come to her rescue this time.

  The attic room was small, cluttered with rough-hewn rafters, but Daniel found it serviceable. He stayed awake for a long time, laying there with his hands behind his head as he tried to work out a plan for the morrow. To begin with, he and Welbeck would change into the civilian clothing they’d brought with them in their saddlebags. Asking his friend to sustain the guise of a French officer for any length of time would be inviting trouble. Welbeck would soon be exposed. Both of them needed to be able to merge with the general population. The first place they’d visit was the gaol in order to assess their chances of a rescue. They had to get Rachel Rees out of the town somehow. When he finally drifted off, he forgot all about the prisoner.

  It was Amalia Janssen who filled his mind now, walking familiarly into his dream and telling him how much she’d missed him. At first, they were in Amsterdam, strolling along the canal. The scene then shifted seamlessly to England where he was acting as her guide, pointing out the landmarks of his youth and taking her to the churchyard where his father, Nathan Rawson, was buried. Just as swiftly, Daniel was transported back to a tavern in Lille and found himself climbing into bed in an attic room with roughhewn rafters above his head. No sooner had he snuffed out the candle than he felt Amalia slip in under the blanket to caress him with uncharacteristic boldness, her soft, supple, naked body pressed warmly against his, her urgent lips giving him the sort of kiss that meant she was ready to surrender to him completely.

  The sheer impossibility of the dream brought him instantly awake. It took him a moment to realise what was happening. He was indeed being kissed and caressed but it was not by Amalia Janssen. The frantic woman beside
him was Estelle and she tried to kiss him again. He drew quickly away from her.

  ‘Don’t be angry with me, Alain,’ she begged. ‘All I ask for is this one night. I know you can’t be mine for more than that.’

  ‘Estelle,’ he said, restraining her, ‘you can’t stay here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have done this if you’d really been married but I could see that you weren’t. That was only pretence. I watched Rachel in the bar, talking to the customers. No married woman would behave like that. You didn’t even sleep in the same bed with her.’

  Daniel sat up. ‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘Go back to your room and we’ll talk about this in the morning.’

  ‘I want you.’

  ‘Estelle…’

  ‘Every night you stayed here, I peeped in and saw you asleep on the floor. I longed to take you off to my own bed.’

  ‘That can never happen.’

  She was hurt. ‘Do you find me so ugly?’

  ‘No, no – you’re an attractive woman.’

  ‘Is my body so revolting to you?’

  ‘That’s irrelevant,’ he said, easing her away. ‘Now, please, put your nightdress on again and go back to your room.’

  She began to sob. ‘You’re annoyed at me, aren’t you?’

  ‘No – I’m very…surprised, that’s all.’

  ‘You never noticed me when you were here but I noticed you. That’s why I did it, Alain. I had to see you again. It was the only way to make you come back. Don’t blame me. I want you so much.’

  She flung herself at him and held him with a desperation that was unnerving. Gently, but firmly, he disentangled himself from her. Unaware of the passion she’d been nursing for him, Daniel had been shocked by her arrival in his bed. It did, however, answer a question that had been buzzing incessantly inside his head.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘Because you wanted to see me again, you made sure that Rachel was kept here.’

  ‘Rachel didn’t need you – I did.’

  He shook her hard. ‘What did you do, Estelle?’