These reports were quite true, which was not always the case. At the end of January, matters had been so desperate that the French marshal Ney decided to strike at Königsberg in the hope of finding supplies and better winter quarters. Bennigsen was delighted. Estoque’s division, about ten thousand Prussians, barred the way, and Bennigsen, with grim joy, marched his whole Russian army of fifty-six thousand out to join him. He hoped to overwhelm Ney’s twelve thousand and destroy them completely.
The weather on February eighth was worse, if possible, than it had been all the previous week. The wind was a ravening monster, eating warmth and hurling icy snow. Sabrina was so cold, even wrapped in shawls and sitting so close to the stove that the wool was singeing, that she could not do her needlework. She sat staring stonily out into the driving snow, nursing her painful hope, telling herself that there really was a good chance Perce was alive. Surely if an English aide-de-camp to Bennigsen were dead or missing, word would have filtered back by now to the British envoy.
There could be many reasons why Perce had not written. He might have hurt his hand; he might be too busy. That supposition was very painful. She could not imagine being too busy under the same circumstances, not too busy for a few words just to assure a woman who loved him that he was alive. She blanked her mind on that, saying aloud, “How dreadful the snow and wind are today.”
“Yes, luv,” Katy answered eagerly. She was painfully eager to make conversation on any subject. She too, thought Lord Kevern was dead, and his man also, or Sergei would have come to tell them, but she dared not mention either name. “And it’s strange weather, too. I keep hearin’ thunder, very faint and far away. But this isna the season for thunder.”
“Thunder?” Sabrina repeated, gladly seizing on something to think about. “That would be odd.”
She listened for a while and heard nothing but the high pitched howl of the wind. Just as she was about to shake her head negatively, however, a wind blast struck the house from a different direction and, quite clearly, there was a very faint, heavy grumble under the higher-pitched sounds.
“There!” Katy exclaimed, her eyes brightening at having distracted Sabrina for even a few minutes. “Isna that strange?”
Rubbing her icy hands, Sabrina stood up and walked to the window to peer out. It was snowing so hard that one could not see through it any more than one can see through a fog. However, the gusts, changing direction every few minutes, often opened a brief window in the veil of flakes. In one of these Sabrina caught sight of the sky.
“I suppose the weather may be different where the thunder is,” she said at last, looking rather puzzled, “but you know, Katy, that isn’t the kind of sky thunder comes from.”
“Now what can ye mean, luv?” Katy asked.
She was not the least interested. Having left the island where fishing, and therefore weather, was a major part of life, she had abandoned, interest in the weather beyond the need to dress Brina appropriately. Now, however she would have professed an interest in higher mathematics or whether pigs had wings if only Brina were willing to talk about either subject.
“I’m not sure, but thunder always seems to come from a billowy sky. That sounds dreadfully silly. I just can’t describe what I mean, only the clouds seem sort of flat and high up, you know, the kind that make a daylong drizzle instead of the kind that make a thunderstorm.”
To encourage Brina, Katy also came to stand by the window and watch for a break in the snow during which she could examine the sky. Since there had been a time when she was ardently interested in the weather Katy did understand what Brina had said when she caught a glimpse of the dull, even cloud cover. Nonetheless, intermittently throughout the day when the wind blew from inland rather than from the ocean, a deep grumble could be barely perceived.
It was something to talk about, and Sabrina mentioned it to William at dinner that evening.
“Thunder!” he exclaimed, “that’s not thunder. There’s a life-and-death battle going on in Eylau. I was going to warn you to pack a small bag of utter necessities for us in case we must try to escape.”
Sabrina turned so pale that her husband told her sharply to drink some wine. Numbly, she obeyed, but it was not fear for herself that had sapped her color.
“I will go back to Lord Hutchinson but I don’t want you to expose yourself to this weather, and anyhow, you’re closer to the stable here. Besides, I don’t think we will need to run. The news we have had from Eylau so far is not all bad, and even if it should grow worse, we will have adequate warning. Just try to forget about it.”
“No. Tell me, please. You must tell me whatever you’ve heard.”
Her eyes were staring wide, the white showing all around the lovely dark ring that edged her iris. William began to utter some soothing remarks, but realized these were only increasing Sabrina’s distress. He did not want her hysterical, confusing the servants and causing delays if they did need to escape.
“Now, Sabrina there’s no need for a fit of the vapors,” William went on sharply. “I don’t know what’s come over you recently. You’ve turned into a watering pot, sniveling all the time. You should be accustomed to diplomatic cold shoulders by now and not take such slights to heart.”
“The battle,” Sabrina stammered, “The battle… Who? Who is in it?”
“Both complete armies, the Russians and Prussians joined against the French, so far as we can tell. Now I’m sorry to have frightened you,” he added hastily, seeing that even her lips were turning white and she was clinging to the table for support. “Actually, I doubt very strongly that there will be any need for us to leave Königsberg.”
“I don’t care about leaving Königsberg,” Sabrina said. “I’ll be ready. I want to hear about the battle.”
William raised his brows, but he was not really surprised. Some women were dreadfully bloodthirsty; possibly it was excitement that was making Sabrina so pale. “I will tell you what I can, which naturally is not very much. Last night the Russians were surprised by Murat’s French cavalry and some of Soult’s French mounted forces and driven out of Eylau. However, the Russians counterattacked strongly, took back the town, and set up their artillery and most of the infantry on a ridge. This was an enormous advantage. I understand whole regiments of Saint Hilare’s corps were mowed down by grapeshot, and the Twenty-fourth Regiment, thirty-six hundred men, was utterly wiped out.”
More bodies, more bodies that women had borne and loved and kissed, to lie rotting under the earth. Sabrina lowered tear-filled eyes. She was quite sure it was not the French alone who had taken such losses. Nonetheless she understood that she had made a mistake. No one could have any information about individuals, and even if such information existed, it would be worthless since the battle had been going on for hours after any news William could have received had come in.
William accepted Sabrina’s seemingly restored calm with relief. He left hurriedly before the light failed, not wanting to struggle through dark as well as snow. As soon as he left the room, Sabrina pushed away her untouched food. She went to the sitting room and just sat. Her mind could not have been more blank or her emotions more dead if she had been unconscious. She did not hear the doorbell ring several hours later, nor did she hear the door of the sitting room open. Katy had to shake her before she blinked her staring eyes and turned her head to ask dully what was wanted.
“It’s a note from Himself,” Katy said. “Ye’ve got to read it Brina. Charlot told me we may be in bad trouble.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot.” She had not packed the bags or told Katy to do so, but it did not seem very important. Not looking at what she was doing she opened the folded paper. Anenclosure dropped out, but she did not see it. Katy shook her again, and she focused her eyes.
“A packet of papers was sent over from Prussian headquarters,” William wrote. “The enclosed letter was with them. Since I know you have been anxious about Lord Kevern, I thought you should have it immediately. In haste.
William.”
Sabrina gaped at the note, literally gaped, her mouth opening in surprise.
“Brina,” Katy pleaded, “wake up, baby. What’s to do?”
“Enclosed,” Sabrina breathed, turning the note over and over in her hands, “but there was nothing enclosed.”
“Yes, luv, here it is.” Katy picked up the fallen paper and put it in Sabrina’s hand. It was open, without a seal, and had no doubt been read.
“Perce!” Sabrina shrieked as soon as she saw the handwriting. “Oh, my God! Perce!”
For a moment she was so blinded by tears that she could not read, but she rubbed her eyes fiercely. “Seventh of February, Preussisch Eylau,” she made out. “My dear Sabrina. Since you did not answer my note of the thirtieth of January with a refusal, I must assume you are expecting to see me on the tenth of this month. I deeply regret that it may not be possible for me to pay the promised visit. All leaves have been canceled. I do not know the reason, but I beg you will not be concerned. Very likely it is no great matter. Remember me to all with deepest love. Your humble servant, etc., Perce.”
“His note of the thirtieth!” Sabrina exclaimed. “I never got it. He must have written before that, too.”
“I told ye not to worrit,” Katy cried, her voice almost vicious with relief “A bad penny is bound to turn up again, I said. And all that worritin! Ye druv me near crazy.”
In fact, Katy had not told Sabrina not to worry, but Sabrina made no denial. She was rereading the precious paper that told her Perce was still alive. Its formal tone did not bother her. She guessed that the request for Perce to visit her had been phrased just as formally. Then if her husband had read it, she could simply be “at home” and receive him as a visitor, whereas if she had received the note herself and was sure no one else had seen its contents, she could have devised a way for them to be alone. A dreadful pang of regret passed through Sabrina. She hated the French, who had interfered with her meeting Perce. Could they not have waited ten days before renewing the fighting?
No sooner was the thought formed than Sabrina broke into hysterical laughter. How ridiculous to be angry because a war between great nations did not wait upon the meeting of two individuals. How ridiculous to be angry at all when she had just been assured that the man she loved was alive rather than dead and rotting. Joy filled her, lifted her so that she felt as if she were floating, flying—and in the instant, terror seized her and crushed her down.
All she really knew was that Perce had been alive yesterday, before the battle began.
Katy could read her Brina and saw the succession of emotions. “Dinna ye start again,” she snapped. “It’s been enough this month past. Have some sense, girl. He came through the last bloodbath. He’s a bad penny, I tell ye. He’ll turn up fine. Dinna think other! Ye’ll bring it on!”
Sabrina blinked. It was an old superstition of the isles—to think of evil drew evil. She swallowed and tried to smile. The attempt did not quite succeed, but Katy was heartened that Sabrina had tried. She was less troubled by the grief and pain that showed on Brina’s face than by the deadness that had been growing worse and worse over the past month. Grief and pain came into every life; she would have saved Brina from them if she could. But if she could not, Brina must fight and live through them.
Katy had been frightened by the way Brina had retreated into herself as if, having been hurt differently each time, she would close out the possibility of love. Katy had loved the husband she had lost, but she had not deliberately rejected the idea of marrying again. There simply had not been another man who attracted her. That Sergei now, if he came alive out of this… No, Katy told herself. It wouldn’t do. A decent woman couldn’t accept a man who wanted to be a slave.
“You know that’s only superstition,” Sabrina said.
“Maybe so,” Katy rejoined briskly, “but it doesna hurt to be on the safe side.”
That drew a wan smile. It wasn’t really true. It did hurt to hope. Sabrina had realized that she really had not hoped all the long month past. Now the tearing alternation of terror and joy were racking her. But resist as she might, Katy’s superstition had a hold on her, too. She felt she must believe Perce was alive; she must not see him as hurt or dead. Still, the images would recur, no matter how firmly she thrust them out of her mind. Abruptly she stood up.
“I think I’ll go up to bed,” she said to Katy. “I’ve been cold all day. There isn’t any sense in sitting here when my hands are so cold I can’t work.”
“Do that, luv,” Katy agreed. “I’ll bring ye a tray for supper. Himself won’t be back, and it’s easier when all’s said than settin’ up the dinin’ room.”
They parted in the corridor, Sabrina climbing up and Katy going down the stairs. Katy knew that there was no sense in trying to keep Sabrina company. Besides, she had her own worries to bury, and the best way to do that was to give the kitchen a good scouring and maybe polish all the furniture. If she had to sit and watch Sabrina, she would soon be just as bad. They would make each other worse.
If Sabrina had known Katy’s intentions, she might have helped to polish the furniture. She had seized on a different way to direct her thoughts along positive lines. She hurried up the stairs as fast as she could go and tugged at the bearskin in the closet. After a few minutes she discarded her shawl and went back to work. She had had no conception of how heavy and awkward the rug was. It took a long time and furious effort before she hauled it out, dragged it across the floor, and lifted, shoved, pulled, and twisted it until it lay on her bed.
Sabrina found herself drenched in sweat but grinning with triumph. She pulled off all her clothing, got into the bed, and wrapped herself completely in the pelt. She did not care if Katy thought she was mad, lying naked in a bearskin. The feel of the coarse fur against her body and the warmth it was generating around her would bring memories of Perce pulsating with life. That was how she needed to hold him in her mind, kissing her or scolding her, but all the time, whatever he was doing, alive and loving her.
The device worked very well. Sabrina did not realize how sure she had been that only death could keep Perce from writing to her or visiting her when he was only twenty-three miles away. Now, although terrified of losing him again, she could believe he was alive. A month of broken nights, of lying awake while silent tears rolled, of struggling with grief—topped by the physical effort of getting the bearskin on the bed—brought first exhaustion and very soon oblivion.
When Katy silently looked in an hour and a half later, Sabrina was deeply asleep. She slept right through suppertime, and Katy wisely did not disturb her, although periodically she thought she would burst with curiosity. Surely there were easier and cleaner ways of warming oneself than dragging a heavy bearskin, which had been used as a rug, onto one’s bed. Eventually Katy was exhausted also. Never had the living and sitting room furniture gleamed so brightly; never had the kitchen been so spotlessly clean. Katy, too, slept peacefully.
Charlot did not much care who lived or died, except himself. Nonetheless he found it very difficult to sleep. Residence in Prussia had been growing increasingly uncomfortable, not only because of the demeaning work in a house he considered shameful but also the increasing animosity of the natives.
And if the French took Königsberg, would it be possible, Charlot wondered, to claim to be French? Or would he be accused of being a traitor for serving an English lord? He lay awake, turning over in his mind the various expedients. He was not disloyal to Lord Elvan, who had been a reasonably good master. Among other matters, he even considered whether his French background might be helpful to the family he served.
Suddenly, he stiffened. A horse had trotted down the street. Charlot had not identified the sound at once because the noise of the hooves was muffled by the snow. It was too late to see who the horseman had been. Restlessly, Charlot turned, but his ears were attuned now, and it seemed to him he heard more horses. Hurriedly, he rose from his bed, wrapped himself warmly, a
nd went into the darkened shop to watch the activity on the street.
Charlot had just about decided his fevered imagination had created the sounds, when two more mounted men went by, the horses plodding wearily with hanging heads. Then, after a shorter interval, two more, and then a group. The weather had finally cleared, and the moon, reflected off the snow, gave sufficient light to see that the uniforms were those of Russian officers and that most of them were streaked and spattered with dark stains that Charlot knew without closer examination were blood. He rushed back to his room and threw on his clothes, then up the stairs to pound on Lady Elvan’s door, crying of the need to escape.
Startled awake, Katy and Sabrina shouted questions, but Charlot had not remained to answer them. He had run down again to pull on his coat. He intended to run out to question anyone who went by, but he suddenly realized he did not dare ask questions in French. Even though nearly all of the Russian nobility spoke French, their reaction to that language at this moment might not be friendly. By this time Katy had pulled on her shoes and stockings and a heavy dressing gown and was calling questions down the stairwell. Charlot ran up again, halfway, to describe what he had seen. Meanwhile, Sabrina had also found a dressing gown and slippers and came out onto the landing.
“Stop shouting at each other,” she ordered. “What the devil do you mean we must escape?”
Stumbling over his words, all condescending dignity gone, Charlot described the Russian troops heading northeast through the town. “They are retreating,” he cried. “The French will follow. We must escape!”
“To where?” Sabrina snapped. “Don’t be a fool! Lord Hutchinson’s house is more likely to be attacked than ours, and we might not even be safe in the streets getting there. If Lord Elvan has not taken his pistols, bring them to me. After that, see if you can secure the windows in the shop. Katy, you get my muff guns. We will defend the house if we must.”
The Kent Heiress Page 21