by Tracy Grant
"Of course," the other man said. Then, with a smile, "It's awkward to serve two masters."
Adam grinned. Nominally he was an aide to Sir Charles Stuart, who had been England's minister in Lisbon for the past three years, but in fact he had spent most of those years in Spain, gathering intelligence for the British army. "I lay it at your door," Adam said.
This was not wholly an exaggeration. If it had not been for Somerset, Adam would not have gone to England to investigate the matter of faulty artillery. Five years ago he had left India and come back to England with little in his pocket save an introduction to Sir Charles, who had some connection to the Foreign Office. Stuart was about to leave on a special mission to Spain to meet with the junta which were trying to organize a defense against the incursions of the French. The two men hit it off and Stuart hired Adam as his aide. A month later Adam found himself in Portugal, carrying dispatches from Stuart to the commander of the British forces there. Exactly who was commander at that time was somewhat in doubt, the Government being unable to make up their collective mind, but there was no doubt that the British victories over the French at Rolica and Vimeiro were due to the efforts of Sir Arthur Wellesley, who had later become the Marquess of Wellington;
Wellesley had been in a bitter mood that summer of 1808, having been forced into signing an unfavorable treaty with the French. It was Somerset, one of Wellesley's aides-de-camp, who sought Adam out and told him, in quiet, understated terms, that Wellesley's victories were won despite the cannon that misfired or exploded in their gunners' faces. The matter, he said, should be investigated. He took Adam to see Wellesley, and Wellesley, who had had favorable reports of young Durward from his brother Richard, who had been Governor-General of India, had agreed that Durward was the man to send to London. Wellesley had promised to square Adam's absence with Stuart.
Which, Adam reflected, was how he went to London, learned of Jared Rawley's guilt, bedded Jared's wife, and sowed the seeds of mistrust between Caroline and himself that would bear bitter fruit for the rest of their lives.
Adam glanced at the young man riding beside him, five years his junior and already a lieutenant-colonel. He could hardly blame Somerset for the way things had turned out. A man might cut the cards to his advantage, but in the end he played the hand he was dealt. Adam knew he was responsible for his own mistakes.
Forcing his mind from the past, Adam looked over the flat country through which they were riding. Walls of loose stone divided the uncultivated fields. Hay was grown here, Somerset said, and Adam could in fact see occasional green shoots battling the rocky ground, but he was left with an impression of abandonment and desolation. As they neared the River Coa the ground grew rocky and the country wilder. They crossed the Coa on a crude bridge of stones made slippery by the water's spray, climbed a rocky path on the other side of the river, and descended to the plain in which lay Villa de Tomo.
The review was over. They met Wellington and his party on their way back to Freneda. There were a dozen or more officers with him, both English and Spanish. Wellington called a halt and rode alone toward Somerset and Adam. "Durward," he said, his voice loud and friendly, "I'm glad to see you back. What news of Lieutenant Rawley?"
"Dead, sir, before I arrived."
Wellington shook his head. He was harsh and often unfair to his troops in the mass, but he cared deeply for each individual soldier under his command. "And Mrs. Rawley?"
"In Freneda. The child as well."
"Good God." Wellington frowned. "I didn't know there was a child."
"Nearly four years old, and not badly harmed by her experience."
"Recover quickly, don't they." It was not a question. Many women followed their husbands to war, and the presence of infants and young children on the march was not uncommon. "What did you see of the French?"
"A foraging party in Acquera—that's where Rawley died. And we went to Salamanca."
Wellington's blue eyes darkened. "Good God, Durward, what were you doing taking an Englishwoman to enemy quarters?"
"It was necessary, sir. I had a dispatch from guerrilleros we met north of Palencia. The child was taken hostage and we had to go to Salamanca to get her back."
Wellington exchanged a look with Somerset that said clearly that Durward was an impetuous fool, but a good man all the same. "Do you have the dispatch?"
"In a manner of speaking—" Adam began, but he no longer had the general's attention. There was a sharp yipping of dogs and Adam turned around to catch a glimpse of a reddish-brown bush with a half-dozen greyhounds in hot pursuit. Three officers, not of their group, were galloping after them, but before the officers passed Adam, Wellington gave an ecstatic "View halloo!" and was off in the lead.
"He's only had one fox all winter," Somerset said, as though that excused the general's leaving Adam in mid-sentence. Adam was not surprised. The general was mad for hunting, as were half the officers under his command, many of whom had brought their dogs with them from England.
Adam abhorred the sport. He hated the killing of a defenseless creature, and he hated more the killing by a mob. He remembered still the sight of his mother lying on her back in a dusty street, her eyes open to the sun blazing down from overhead. The fixed horror on her face had told him she was dead, and he had knelt down and smeared his face with the blood that gushed from her breast, howling like an animal with a pain he could not endure.
"Do you hunt?" Somerset asked.
"I've never cared to," Adam said trying to hide the revulsion in his voice.
Somerset looked at him in surprise. "Ah, well, some people don't." He was being tactful, but he seemed suddenly uncomfortable in Adam's presence. A tiny rift had been made in their friendship. Gentlemen hunted, that was what he meant. You're not one of us.
The general's party stayed apart, talking and laughing among themselves. Adam was silent, listening to the river spilling over rocks and the receding sounds of hoofbeats and the yapping of dogs. A cold wind came up. Somerset's horse grew restless and he pulled him closer to Adam's chestnut. "About Salamanca," he said.
Adam saw nothing but friendly interest in Somerset's eyes and decided he had made too much of that slight withdrawal over the matter of hunting. He might not belong to Somerset's world, but then he didn't care to. At least they respected each other and that counted for a great deal. So he told Somerset how Emily had been abducted and how they had gone to Salamanca and got her back. He stressed Lescaut's helpfulness. In war it helps to know which of one's enemy one can trust.
Some twenty minutes later the general rode back, his horse frothy with sweat. "Lost him," Wellington said cheerfully. "He went to earth in the rocks near the river. Splendid ride." His face red with exertion, the general leaned down and patted his horse. "I don't want to let him stand about. Ride back with me." He signaled to his officers to follow and made his way to the slippery bridge over the Coa.
When they had reached the flat land on the other side, Wellington waited for Adam and Somerset to catch up. "About that dispatch," he said.
"I'm afraid I had to give it up," Adam said. "The price of the child's return."
Somerset's eyes glinted with amusement. "It was well watered, sir. Quite indecipherable. Durward had taken a tumble in a river."
Wellington frowned and looked at Adam. "You'd read it first?"
"Of course." Adam proceeded to reel off the substance of the dispatch, which concerned General Clausel's movements in the north, the state of his army, the number of their mounts and their artillery, and the problems with their supplies.
Wellington grunted, a sign of his approval. "Useful. Confirms much of what we've heard by other means. What will you do with Mrs. Rawley?"
"I'm taking her to Lisbon and putting her on a ship for England. And I should meet with Sir Charles."
Wellington dismissed Sir Charles with a wave of his hand. "Talk to Colonel Rawley. He'll be going back to Oporto soon. Closer to England than Lisbon. Perhaps he'll agree to take Mrs. Rawley and the
child there and find them passage home. Rawley is a good man," Wellington continued when Adam did not answer. "I'm surrounded, often as not, by fools." He smiled suddenly and it warmed his bony face. "Somerset excepted, of course. But Rawley is a man I can trust."
They were entering Freneda by now and Adam was saved from the need of a reply. In a few minutes Wellington pulled up at the house that served as his headquarters. "Durward." The hint of a smile elongated his well-shaped mouth. "We'll be marching in two months or less. Come back when you can."
Adam dismounted, leaving Somerset to follow the general, and made his way to the Cauliflower on foot. Rawley, good as his word, had obtained the use of a parlor for Caroline. He found her there with Emily and Hawkins as well. Emily ran to him and flung her arms round his knees. He stooped and lifted her up, but she had no welcoming smile. "We saw the bad man," she said, her face grave with the message she had to impart. Startled, Adam glanced at the others and saw the child's worried look reflected in their eyes.
"We have a bit of a problem," Hawkins said.
"Emily saw the thin man, the one who got away in Salamanca." Caroline's manner was composed but Adam heard the tremor in her voice. "He's gone now, and Hawkins learned that he's on his way back to Spain. So there's nothing to worry about, is there, querida?" she added, speaking to Emily. "Though he gave us quite a scare."
"He won't come back." Emily's voice was uncertain. She looked into Adam's face for confirmation, but before he could assure her that the man would not—God in heaven, how could he promise her anything?—Emily was distracted by the sound of girls' voices. Wriggling out of Adam's arms, she ran to the window. "Look, Adam. They're dancing."
The three adults followed her to the window. A half-dozen little girls—the oldest not more than ten—were dancing a bolero, their only accompaniment the clicking of their castanets and a small, parchment-covered box which another girl beat with her palms. The men standing in the inn-yard clapped their hands in rhythm and one or two burst into song. Emily turned round, her eyes shining. "I want to dance, too."
"I'll take you." Hawkins swung the child to his shoulders and made for the door. As he opened it he gave Adam a look that said as clearly as words that he had yet to hear the whole story.
In a few minutes they saw Hawkins come into the inn-yard and let Emily down to the ground. She ran quickly to the girls who smiled and made room for her in their dance. "He's so good to Emily," Caroline said. "He's comfortable with her. I'm afraid Jared never was."
"Caro." Her name came out more harshly than Adam intended. But then, he had never before felt a twinge of jealousy because a child preferred Hawkins to himself. "Caro," he said more gently, "what happened?"
Caroline waved to Emily, then turned to him, her eyes wide and direct. "It was the thin man with the long face. I saw him clearly, Adam. There was no mistaking him." She turned back to the window and pointed across the yard. "He was there, talking to a soldier. I'd seen the soldier before. His name is Bob Colborne, and he's Talbot Rawley's batman."
"Rawley?" Adam looked at her in astonishment. Jared's cousin and the Spaniard they last saw in a dark alley in Salamanca? "Do you think he's involved in this? Or is Colborne playing some game on his own?"
Caroline drew him away from the window, as though afraid someone outside would overhear. "That's what I thought at first, that Colborne was augmenting his pay by spying for the French. But there's no reason for an English soldier to pay a Spaniard to steal a dispatch that was already on its way to the British army." Caroline sat down suddenly at the small table that occupied the center of the room. "I told Hawkins about it, and he tried to follow them, but the Spaniard was already gone. Then Hawkins asked people in the yard about him and found a boy in the stable who'd overheard him talking to Coborne. 'The colonel isn't going to like this,' the boy heard Colborne say. Talbot's involved."
"My God." Adam sat down across from her and seized her hands. "Headquarters will have to know. I'll talk to Somerset."
"No!" Caroline snatched her hands away. "Who'll believe me? Who'll take my word for what I saw? Or Emily's? An exhausted woman who's made a dangerous journey and starts at shadows? A child who still has nightmares from her abduction? Who will believe what Hawkins overheard? A former soldier who wasn't even an officer. Talbot's a colonel, Adam."
Adam felt a moment of intense frustration. He could confront Rawley, but Rawley had only to deny everything. And Rawley stood high with Wellington. For the same reason it would do little good to deal with Colborne. He was too well protected. "The thin man," Adam said. "He may still be in Freneda."
"He isn't. Hawkins spent the afternoon combing the streets and the taverns for word of him. The thin man was seen in one of the taverns on the outskirts of the village. He was going home, he said, he was half drunk, and he was flashing a lot of money. I suppose Colborne paid him off."
Adam watched her closely, knowing there was more. "It has nothing to do with the dispatch, does it?"
Caroline shook her head. "No. The men who shot at us on the bank of the Carrión. They could have been shooting at me. They didn't follow because they hoped I'd be drowned. And when I wasn't, they were afraid to come after us directly. There were only two of them. For all they knew, you and Hawkins were armed."
It made a kind of twisted sense. As much as that the two Spaniards had somehow learned of the dispatch. Rage was building in Adam's head. "The tavern in Norilla. I thought I was the target. But if they'd grown tired of trying to get you directly, they'd try to separate you from your protectors. Or at least from one of them."
Caroline shivered. "And Emily—Emily was a mistake. They expected to find me in that room. The meeting in the alley was an ambush. Lescaut thought the bearded man was there only to threaten me. But the stableboy heard the thin man tell Colborne, 'We almost had her in Salamanca.'" Caroline looked at him as if she could scarcely believe it herself. "They didn't want the dispatch. They never meant to give me Emily. They wanted my life."
"Caro." Adam covered her hands with his own to still their trembling. "Why would Talbot Rawley want you dead?"
"I don't know, Adam." Caroline's face was pale with shock. "At first I was convinced there must be some mistake. I've never been very fond of Talbot, but I couldn't believe—but then I remembered something Jared said. He was desperately ill when I reached him in Acquera. We didn't talk much, and when we did he didn't often make sense. Most of the time he was out of his head with fever. He talked about Vimeiro, over and over. It preyed on him, what he had done. And then, toward the last, he said, 'I should never have listened to Talbot.' I thought he was talking about his gambling and drinking. Now I'm not so sure. What if Talbot knew about the fraud?"
"Talbot was assigned to the Ordnance Office at the time of Vimeiro," Adam said, holding her hands more tightly as he realized the danger she had been in. "He must have known the war would grow. He must have known how much demand there would be for ordnance as the war progressed. But Talbot had nothing to do with the foundry. We went into it carefully at the time. And Jared denied that Talbot was involved."
Caroline leaned toward him. "Talbot could have used his position to steer contracts Jared's way."
Adam smiled. "It's not unlikely. That's the way these things are done."
"But suppose Talbot knew about the faulty cannon. Suppose he helped arrange the bribe. Talbot would know the artillery inspectors better than Jared. If that's true, he might have been afraid Jared would talk."
"And if Jared told you, you'd be a threat as well."
Caroline's face was drained of color. "Adam, what are we saying?"
Adam pushed himself away from the table and stood looking down at her. "That your husband's cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Talbot Rawley of the Royal Horse Artillery, is afraid of something you might know that is so dangerous to him he'd risk murder to keep it from coming to light. It must be more than simply helping arrange the bribe. If his family covered up Jared's guilt, they could cover Talbot's as well. There must
be more to it. Something that could ruin Talbot."
Caroline's eyes darkened with realization. "Talbot asked me if Jared said anything about him before he died. I lied and Talbot knew it. Now he must be convinced I know something."
Adam grasped her by the shoulders. "I want you nowhere near your cousin, Caro. We'll leave for Lisbon at first light— no word to him, you understand?—and then I'm taking you to England."
"England? But—"
"It's safer. You mustn't go alone." He paused, then added, "Wellington told me that Rawley is bound for Oporto. He sugested that Rawley escort you there and put you on a ship for England."
Caroline drew a sharp breath. "No."
"Of course, no." Adam turned and walked toward the widow. The girls were still dancing in the inn-yard. He stood there a moment watching them, feeling the thrill of the hunt. Not a defenseless fox, a man who lived on the suffering of others. Caroline had given him a trail to follow. A trail he should have been clever enough to find five years ago. But his guilt about what he was doing to Jared had not been enough to make him clever. The truth was, he had hated Jared. The truth was, he had been furious with Caroline for using his passion for her to save her husband. The truth was, he had failed.
He was falling into a pit of self-loathing. Adam forced himself back from the brink. "Caro," he said, "I'm sorry Jared had to take all the blame."
Caroline's eyes widened in surprise and something that might have been sympathy. "It wasn't your fault," she said. "Jared was weak and foolish, I know that. He would have followed anyone who promised him an easy way to money. We never had enough. But that doesn't make him any less guilty."
It was absolution of a sort and it was sweet. Adam felt his spirits lift. "He paid a hard price," he said.
"He could have paid worse. Adam, don't blame yourself. What's done is done." Caroline leaned across the table and spoke with sudden vehemence. "But if Talbot drove him to it, he has to pay a price too. If he was responsible for what happened to Emily—"