“I don’t intend to worry about it,” he told her as he settled back in absolute comfort and gathered her close to him. He looked at her then traced the contour of her face with his finger. “I love you, Elinore.”
“Even if it’s not the wisest thing you ever did?” She said it softly, her eyes closed.
He put his hand on her head and gave it a little shake. “Elinore, I fear that in seeing our differences, you have overlooked a way in which we are uncannily similar.” When she did not answer, but sighed instead, he continued, “You and I have been given someone’s permission to do the world’s dirty work. I chose it by going to medical school. You didn’t have any choice.” It was his turn to sigh as his wife put her bare leg over him. “My choice made me cynical and somewhat irreligious. As far as I can tell, it made you kindly and earnest.”
“Earnest?” she repeated with a laugh. “Loverlike words, my boy!”
He smiled. “Earnest, I insist! You worked so hard to please Major Sheffield in the hospital tent from the time you were ten. And kindly because I believe you have always thought we were better than we are.”
“But you are,” she insisted, her voice muffled now in that space between his shoulder and his chest where she fit amazingly well.
He gave her head another gentle shake. “There you go again. When you were a child, I thought you were charming, if somewhat ill-directed, to think that. When I came back to the regiment five years later and took another look at you, I decided that I wanted to become the man you thought I was. It’s as simple as that.”
She raised up on her elbow to look at him. “But what will your mother think when you bring home a somewhat shabby daughter of the regiment who—let us face facts, sir—hasn’t much education, and no social attainments?”
If she was going to lean over him like that, he was going to have to do something about her loveliness. He kissed her breast, enjoying a little unholy glee at how ragged her breathing became. His lips just brushed her nipple. He was going to chuckle at the way she shivered, except that he was shivering now. “Where was I?” he asked. “Oh, yes. Mother will tell my father how grateful she is that my brains haven’t dribbled out, then rush over to St. James the Apostle and burn five or six candles at both ends. Oh, Elinore.”
There wasn’t anything else to say.
Chapter Sixteen
“You don’t think anyone will notice what we have been up to?”
Don’t laugh, he told himself, as he walked down the hall with her toward the refectory. You know how earnest she is. “We are married, Elinore,” he pointed out, “and married couples frequently do the…well, they do.”
She stopped and whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry I was so noisy this morning.”
I’m not, he thought. “It’s all right, my love. The walls are thick. Tell you what, though: if you don’t want anyone to suspect that we’ve been doing the deed, you’d better try not to walk so bow-legged.”
To his utter delight, she gasped, then collected herself, and beat him over the head with her medical satchel. “You are a scoundrel!” she said, and started to laugh. Impulsively he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her with a smack loud enough to start Harper laughing at the other end of the hall, where he was replacing another window blown out by artillery during the previous summer’s campaign.
“As you were, Private,” Jesse ordered.
“You, too, sir, if I may be so bold,” the private replied.
“You may not!” Jesse came closer, determined to keep the smile off his face. “I might remind you, Private Harper, that any other commander would throw you in the stockade after such an insubordinate comment.”
Harper nodded and then carefully applied the glass to the frame. “Sir, begging your pardon again, but you are not any other commander.” His face became serious again. “Chief, that Frog is still alive.” He looked out the window he was repairing. “And the sun’s out.”
“Time for Number Eight to sally forth, Harper?”
“Yes, sir. Wilkie is watching from the bell tower, just in case anyone moves out on the road from Salamanca.” He looked at Jesse again, a question in his eyes. “Suppose no one comes from Salamanca? No telling where Clausel, Soult, and Souham will meet, is there, sir? It would be good for us if no one comes this way, but not so good for our little hospital here. I mean, the Frog is better, but he still needs a surgeon, don’t he? And what about the others?”
I wish you could hear yourself, Harper, Jesse thought. I doubt your real commander would even recognize you as that drunk infantryman found headfirst in the latrine. “I have been thinking that very thing, Harper. I want to talk with you and Wilkie, but first I want to see our…uh, Frog.”
Sister Maria Josefina rose from Barzun’s bedside when he came into the refectory, nodded to him, and left quietly. Elinore hesitated, then went down the row to sit by the soldier with the burned arm. He sat down beside Barzun, took his hand, and pressed his fingers against the man’s wrist. The pulse, steady and rhythmic now, made him smile. For good measure, he put the back of his hand against Barzun’s forehead. “Buon dia, paisan,” he said. “You are cool, your pulse is steady. I suppose this means you are determined to live.” He lifted the blanket, relieved to see no swelling now beyond what he deemed as normal, considering the insult to Barzun’s system. “The army has not paid me in six months. Too bad I cannot charge you a whopping fee, Captain Barzun. Oh, please don’t do that.” He took a cloth and wiped the French surgeon’s eyes. “Let us just call this a professional courtesy, eh? I know you would have done the same for me.”
He gave the surgeon a moment to collect himself. “You have put me in a delicate position, though. I won’t call you free from danger yet, but I know I should leave before your army in Salamanca decides to move in this direction.” He took a deep breath. “I also know that our maestro would consider me a poor graduate, indeed, if I abandoned you or your patients.” He scratched his head and looked at Elinore. “Truth to tell, I am not certain that I could live with myself if I did leave. You see my dilemma.”
“I do. If you’ll permit me an observation, my friend, I think I slept more last night than you did.” After a lengthy pause in which his face grew red, Barzun smiled at him. “How nice to know that the British army possesses at least one officer who still blushes!”
“Philippe, that’s not the issue here,” he protested.
“In a way, it is. You have a deeply personal obligation to your lovely wife, a professional one to your mangy soldiers, and…and a political one to Armand Leger that runs counter to your stewardship of me and my patients.”
Jesse stared at him in surprise. “You know who Leger is?”
“I’ll wager there is not a person in France who does not. I can only imagine how badly Napoleon would like to see him safe and sound in la belle France.” He shrugged. “I can also imagine that you British would find him as an embarrassment for Napoleon and everything we French stand for.” He laid his hand on Jesse’s arm. “I think you had better make a decision quickly, my friend.”
How right you are, Jesse thought. He went into the hall, ordering Harper to find Wilkie. “Bring Leger, too, and smartly now,” he ordered. “Elinore, would you summon Sister Maria Josefina?” he asked when he came back into the refectory.
Everyone assembled quickly, which gave him a moment of private satisfaction to know that he actually could convey the urgency of the situation in a military fashion, instead of in his usual more diffident style. I only wish you would not look at me as though you expect a miracle, he thought as the members of the marching hospital pulled up stools to sit close to Barzun’s cot.
“First of all, this will be a bit awkward,” he began. “I will speak to you in English, of course, and then translate to Italian for Barzun’s benefit, and Sister Maria’s. She must know what I am planning, because it affects Santa Isabella.” He looked at the two privates, who were as serious as he had ever seen them. “Consider this an offic
ers’ call, but bear in mind that this retreat has made us all equal. I want your opinion. And yours, Elinore.” He wished she sat closer, yearning for her as close as she was last night.
He outlined the dilemma in English and then in Italian. No one spoke. “As matters stand, I see few choices. Please listen carefully to what I am suggesting.” And please understand me, my dearest, he thought. “I cannot leave these men unattended. No, Harper, hear me out! I have a commitment that goes beyond this army. It’s not something I can ignore. Let me finish, Wilkie. Privates, I am going to remain behind.” He knew better than to look at Elinore just then, and hurried on. “I expect you two to get my wife, Armand Leger, and that French dispatch to Ciudad Rodrigo.” In the awful silence, he repeated himself in Italian.
Barzun listened in disbelief, which gradually changed to understanding. “I understand this, Captain Randall, but think: If you could get a letter to Salamanca, or send someone, there would be a French surgeon here soon enough.”
Jesse translated for the benefit of the others. “The Frog’s right, Chief,” Harper said, making no effort to mask the relief in his voice. “Send someone with a letter.”
“Who, Harper, who?” he asked. “The nuns? I wouldn’t dare send them into a city occupied by the French. Lorenzo the slow boy? You and I know he would be conscripted and put to hard labor. We’ve all seen it before. You or Wilkie? Never.”
“Aye, we are such valuable soldiers,” Harper said sarcastically.
“That is it precisely, Private,” Jesse said, his voice crisp now. “I am relying on you to get my wife to Ciudad Rodrigo. I know that you can and will, no matter what happens to me.” He glanced at Elinore, and wished he had not. She was in tears. “I either stay here or I deliver that message. Either way, I know I will be treated well enough, but I also know I will be conscripted. It always happens to surgeons. I see no other way out of this.” He took a deep breath. “Do you, Elinore?”
In a moment of absolute clarity, he knew what she would say. After last night, he knew her body, but he had known her mind and character for many years. What a woman I have married, he thought as she shook her head.
“I hate it, Jesse,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“But you understand.”
“I do.” The words sounded like they were ripped right out of her throat.
Armand Leger started to chuckle. Everyone looked at him. “I have a better idea, Captain Randall. In fact, it is a much better idea. I will go. I will deliver your message about the men here, and Clausel will send a surgeon. What could be simpler?”
“But…”
“No, Captain.” Leger held up his hand. “I know they will apprehend me and whisk me back to France, probably amid great rejoicing.” He permitted himself another laugh. “The marshals have done so poorly here against your damned Wellington that I daresay my retrieval will be the high point of their shortening careers!”
Elinore was at Leger’s side now, clinging to his arm. “You have told me—told us all—how much you despise Napoleon and what he has come to. Why this?”
He touched her face. Jesse swallowed, moved to his heart by the tenderness he saw there. “Cherie, perhaps I am doing this for Eugenie and Charlotte. Perhaps they will rest a little easier, knowing that their papa has not entirely turned his back on his foolish countrymen, and by extension, them.” He glanced at the others, and settled his gaze on Philippe Barzun. “Bonaparte will not last forever in power. I hear he is in Russia now. Imagine the foolishness! When he is gone—and he will be—maybe France will need an old revolutionary who is now amazingly wise.” He turned to Jesse. “You have other things to do, Captain, and they do not involve remaining here. Write me a letter. I will take it immediately. I can guarantee you a surgeon at Santa Isabella by nightfall.”
I should argue with him, Jesse thought, but there was no denying the lift to his heart. A glance at Elinore told him her answer as clearly as if she had shouldered her way to his side and grabbed him by his uniform front. “I’ll write you a letter, monsieur.”
He wrote the letter, describing each injury as he found it, and outlining both Barzun’s treatments and his own. He signed the document with a flourish, allowing himself to hope that since Armand Leger was the messenger, perhaps the French would leave Number Eight alone, now that they had the old revolutionary in their grasp.
After Elinore sanded and sealed the letter, Jesse gave it to Leger. “Here you are, monsieur. We will leave immediately. Sister Maria told me of a less traveled road from Salamanca to Ciudad Rodrigo.” He tapped the letter. “Buy time for us today if you can, monsieur, but there must be another surgeon here soon.”
“I will do that, Captain,” Leger said. He pocketed the letter and swirled his cloak around his shoulders. “Be honest. You are not sorry to see me go.”
“No, I am not,” he said frankly, “but it does not follow that I wish you ill. Go with God, monsieur.” He took his hand. “I hope you find what you are after.” Just words, Jesse thought as he watched Leger fold Elinore into a tight embrace. No, I don’t dislike you, but I am tired of you and this endless war. Well, every revolution has its victims.
Saying good-bye to Philippe Barzun proved more difficult. He took one last stroll through the refectory, checking a bandage here, listening to another’s respirations there, until he came to the surgeon, who had been watching him with no little amusement.
“These are my patients, Captain Randall,” Barzun reminded him, and touched his hand. “When I am home in Grenoble—pray it will be this winter—I will write our maestro in Milan and tell him that although you are proprietary, like most Englishmen, you are a worthy graduate.”
I can keep it light, too, Jesse told himself. “Proprietary, eh? May I ask which of our commanders has thought to go to Russia, if we can believe the rumors? I doubt Tsar Alexander invited him.”
They smiled at each other with perfect understanding. Jesse leaned forward suddenly and kissed Barzun’s forehead. “I will write you a letter in Grenoble, my friend,” he said. “I will tell you how Elinore and I are doing in Dundee.” If we make the border. Why do men and women keep making plans, even during war? He couldn’t say any more, so he turned on his heel and left the room.
The others were already mounted in the courtyard. “My little army,” he said, and Harper and Wilkie grinned at him. Elinore smiled at him in a way that made him feel warm, and blew him a kiss. Sister Maria Josefina handed him a bag with bread and cheese after he swung into the saddle. “Oh, Sister, I am certain your need is equal to ours,” he said in protest, but knew better than to argue when she narrowed her eyes and glared at him. He turned to the others. “My dears, I believe it is time to shake the dust of Spain off our boots.”
Harper regarded Wilkie. “Gor, Private, when was you anyone’s dear?” he teased.
“I disremember,” the other private mumbled. He turned cheerful eyes to Jesse. “Lead on, Cap! We follow.”
Elinore had ample time to reflect on Wilkie’s words. The road that paralleled the Salamanca highway was more of a cow trail. They moved single file through a bleak landscape. Never much of a rider, she was forced to concentrate on the trail ahead. Harper rode first, followed by her husband, who cut no real dash on horseback, either. Wilkie followed her, and he sang as he rode.
During their noon stop, just as the rain started again, she asked him where he learned his songs. “I listen to the sergeants’ wives, miss,” he told her, then blushed and was silent.
Her father had told her once that the army was family to rough men like Wilkie and Harper. It has been family to me, too, she thought as she looked around her at the others. She knew her husband came from a different world. She huddled close to him as he shared his cloak with her and the rain beat down. For the tiniest moment she allowed herself to think of Dundee. Imagine the novelty of raising children in a house, she thought. She nudged Jesse. “Do you have servants in Dundee?”
“There’s just a housekeeper and her husband no
w,” he said. “He keeps the place trim, and she cooks.” He tightened his arm around her. “We can have a maid or two, once I set up my private practice. Would you like that?”
“It would be heaven, I think,” she said. “I could probably lounge in bed until seven in the morning, couldn’t I?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked at him, then wondered why he appeared so solemn. “Oh, dear. Perhaps only until six and a half, then,” she suggested. “But I would like roast goose at Christmas, if we could.”
“Done, madam,” he replied. His voice still sounded strange, but he hugged her even tighter, and she did not think he was angry with her for asking.
They encountered outriders from Clausel’s army as night fell, a small patrol moving along and talking to each other, unmindful of anyone else, their approach muffled by the rain. An urgent word from Harper, and they turned off the path and into the trees to dismount and wait behind some boulders. Before she was aware of what he was doing, Jesse had moved her tight against the boulder and put his cloak around them both again. When she realized that he was covering her body with his to protect her from gunfire, she wanted to remind him that of the two of them, he was more valuable to Wellington’s army.
He must think I am a trivial woman, she told herself as she relaxed into the safety of his arms and body. “Jesse, it doesn’t really matter about a Christmas goose,” she whispered. “That’s not important now, is it?”
“You’re the goose,” he whispered back. “Wait until I get you to Dundee.”
She closed her eyes, pressed her hands against the rock, and rested her face against her hands. He moved closer, until they were breathing together. He was so close that she began to think about last night and how perfectly logical and right their lovemaking had seemed. As she enjoyed the gentle pressure of his body against hers, she couldn’t help think that the workings of fate were strange, indeed. Three weeks ago, it was just going to be another dreary retreat from Spain, like so many others. Her mother’s death had begun all manner of consequences, right down to the delicious experience of practically turning herself inside out half the night for this quiet man who was ready to protect her from armies. She found herself trying to smother her laughter now, quite undone by the reality that life was so bizarre at times.
Carla Kelly Page 23