Chapter Sixteen

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, but you are not any other commander."

His face became serious again. "Chief, that Frog is still alive." Harper 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, paison," 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 Italian 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 corridor, 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 officers' 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. "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 now," 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 delirious 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.

"What is the matter?" Jesse asked, his lips next to her ear.

"You would never believe me," she told him.

"Oh, I would," he whispered. "You know, you could turn around and raise your skirt, and we could try this standing up, but I do believe we'd scare the horses."

He put his hand over her mouth when she started to laugh, and held it there until Harper gave a low whistle and stepped away from the boulder. "A close one, sir," he said.

"I'll say," Jesse replied. He winked at Elinore.

"She hysterical, sir?" Harper asked, his concern undeniable.

"No, no. Something more mundane than that. Well! Harper, I suggest we get off the road. Find us a place, will you?"

He did, a ruined stone outbuilding whose only virtue appeared to be a slate roof that looked old enough and strong enough to have kept out Noah's rain of forty days and forty nights. The other virtue was that it was large enough for the horses, too. Harper grained the animals, then showed Jesse the empty bag.

"I think we're about to reach the Douro, Private," he said.

Harper moved closer. "D'ye think there's a bridge left, sir?"

"Certainly." Jesse looked at her. "Very well, Elinore," he said, his embarrassment obvious. "You are right to glare at me, so I'll say it out loud: I would be surprised if Clausel or Soult were not already in possession of it"

"That's plain enough," Harper said, and busied himself with the horses.

She woke early in her husband's arms. They had burrowed close together in the night, seeking warmth, and he had pushed his face deep into her hair. She thought of her parents then, and their strange hand-to-mouth life following the drum from India, to Canada, to Spain. Mama had told her once how proud she was of Captain Mason in his regimentals when the army marched in review. I will miss the life a little, she thought, but not enough to yearn for it. I have seen enough marching. Jesse says that the French cannot remain long in the Peninsula, and someday the war will end. She sighed, wondering if she could manage even another five minutes of it.

Jesse stirred when she sighed. "What are you thinking of?" he whispered.

"My father. I suppose he is near Lisbon by now, and the lines." She raised up on her elbow. "I am not so certain I will know what to say to him, when I see him."

"Can you be generous with him?"

It was a good question, one for which she had no answer. Jesse seemed to require none. He smiled at her, and she was content to lie beside him and wait for the sun to rise. Her eyes were closing again when she took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it out. There was no mistaking it: campfires.

She glanced at her husband, who was deep in sleep again. Holding her breath, she rose to her feet, moving slowly so as not to startle the horses. She sidled up to the window and peered out, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the early dawn. Oh, God, she thought, her hand over her mouth.

Daylight revealed that they had camped at the edge of an abandoned village, hardly more than a collection of houses. She was no judge of distances, but French soldiers had camped at the other end of the desolate street, dose enough for her to smell the fragrance of their breakfast campfire. She sniffed again. They were cooking sausages.

As she watched, horrified, one of the soldiers rose from his place by the fire and walked toward their ruined cottage. Her tongue seemed too large for her mouth, and she wondered if she could even warn her companions. She pulled herself away from the window, and watched out of the merest corner of it as he stopped, unbuttoned his trousers, and urinated. Unable to look away, she watched as he finished his chore, shook himself, buttoned his trousers, and ambled back to the fire.

On her hands and knees, she crawled to Jesse, put her hand just over his mouth, and touched his shoulder. He woke immediately. "The French," she whispered. "They camped for the night just beyond us."

Wilkie must have been awake, because he prodded Harper. In a second, the two of them crouched next to her. Jesse lay still where he was. "I smelled a campfire," she whispered.

"How many?" Wilkie asked.

"Ten?" she replied, uncertain.

"A patrol," Harper said. Moving quietly for a big man, he went to the window and raised up slowly. "Chasseurs," he said as he returned to their little group. "I don't see their horses."

No one said anything. Elinore looked from one man to the other, and back to Jesse, who appeared no more than thoughtful. "Do something!" she wanted to shriek, until reason righted itself. If they can be calm, I can be calm, she told herself, even as she started to shake. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Silently, Jesse took her by the arm and walked her behind the horses. The other two followed as he sat her down in the farthest comer from the door and the window, and wrapped her cloak around her. As the men she had come to know so well sat in front of her, fear was replaced with comfort. They are ready to defend me with their lives, she thought in wonder.

Jesse spoke first. "Private Wilkie, I have observed that you are somewhat resourceful," he said. "You have also informed us—and we have seen your handiwork—that you specialize in diversion."

"Aye, sir," Wilkie said promptly. He glanced at Harper. "It's not a new calling."

"I didn't think so. Have you and Harper been partners for long?"

"Aye, sir." Wilkie leaned closer, after looking around, perhaps to make sure the French weren't listening. "We worked the Strand, Captain: I did the diverting, and 'arry did the plucking."

Elinore could see that in spite of their desperate situation, Jesse was hard put not to smile. "Dare I hope that patriotism led you to abandon the criminal life for the army?"

Harper grinned. "Not a bit of it, Chief! I got caught by a Runner, and the magistrate gave us the choice: Botany Bay or the king's shilling."

"Wilkie, too?"

"He didn't catch me!" Wilkie said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. He shrugged. "But what's a good diversion without a cutpurse to follow through?"

"What, indeed?" Jesse asked. "My dear Wilkie, do you think you could find the chasseurs' horses and liberate them without causing suspicion?"

The private thought a moment. "Piece o'cake, sir."

"Make it look like the Frogs just tied a poor knot? We can't have them even suspecting we are about."

"I can do it. A little rain would help, though."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when rain began to fall. With an expression that Elinore could only call beatific, Wilkie looked upward in surprise.

"Don't even say it," Jesse warned. "I am no expert, but I do not believe the Almighty humors miscreants when He has nothing better to do."

Wilkie smiled, obviously unconvinced. "I was saved once in a Methodist street meeting. Maybe it took, Captain. C'mon, 'arry."

The two of them crept back to the window. Wilkie positioned himself by the door, and Harper raised up just enough to see out. Both men were perfectly still, almost to the limit of Elinore's patience, then Harper gave a little grunt, and Wilkie vanished. Elinore blinked. "Jesse, I'm amazed," she said.

Her husband nodded. "London must be a safer place, with these two in Spain. A wealthier one, certainly."

He moved closer to her. Harper remained by the window, watching, then moved back to them. "We'd better saddle these horses now, really quiet-like," he said. "No telling how long Wilkie will take, but once the Frenchies leave their camp, we'd better be ready to ride."

"You seem pretty confident about Wilkie," Elinore said.

Harper sat up a little straighter. "Gor, Mrs. Randall, Wilkie's an expert."

Saddling gave them something to do. Elinore stood by one of the horses, patting his long nose to keep him quiet while Jesse and Harper tightened the cinch, then moved on to the next animal. She knew the horses were hungry, and prayed they would not catch the scent of other horses, and try to strike up an equine conversation.

Time passed; she grew drowsy again. She was just nodding off, leaning against Jesse's shoulder, when he tensed. She opened her eyes to see Harper waving at them. "They've left the clearing, Captain."

Alert now, Elinore watched the door, but Wilkie appeared almost before she was aware. Not even breathing hard, he went to Jesse. "You call us poor troopers, Captain, but the chasseurs didn't even have a guard on the horses." He looked at Harper. "'ow do they plan to conquer the world? I'm sure I don't know."

In a matter of minutes, they led the horses from the cottage, mounted, and struck out across country to avoid even the cow path they had followed. They rode in earnest now, everyone silent, intent, watchful. Wilkie led, scouting the path. When they stopped a few hours later, he rode ahead to the closest promontory. He was even more serious than usual when he returned as the others prepared to mount.

"What did you see?" Jesse asked.

"The whole army, sir." He scratched his head, not happy to be the bearer of evil tidings. "They're between us and the river. What's more, there is a little dust to the south and east." He grimaced. "Not much dust. We've had too much rain for that. I think that Clausel and Soult haven't joined yet."

Jesse nodded. "So we have nine thousand troops in front of us, instead of twenty thousand. That relieves my mind, Private." He looked around. "I propose that we move north and west upstream. Perhaps there is a ford."

The rain stopped. They traveled into a raw afternoon, crossing one small bridge over a nameless tributary of the Douro, only to retrace their movement and tug their horses underneath the bank. Silent, shivering in knee-deep water, they listened as a regiment of infantry passed overhead, all moving toward the Douro, seeking Clausel's army. Darkness had never seemed so welcome, the rain such a blessing.

Their search for a ford or another bridge took them far from the Salamanca Road. Every slow plop of the horses' hooves taunted Elinore that they were foolish to dream that their army of four could ever reach the comparative safety of Ciudad Rodrigo's battered walls. She wanted to rein in her horse and sit there and cry, except that she refused to be the first to give up.

The sun was setting as they rode toward the Douro again, far upstream from the Roman bridge where armies had crossed for centuries. A path took them single file down the slippery approach where the river had cut deep into the bank. As they moved so slowly along the trail now, she could only gulp and look away from the river, swollen by the heavy rains of autumn, the water gathering speed as it raced toward the rocky gorge above the Roman bridge.

"God bless us, will you look at that, Captain?"

" 'pon my word, Harper, is that a ferry?"

It was. What's more, the large raft bobbing on the current was conveniently tied to a dock. Elinore let out her breath in a sigh of relief and started to edge her horse forward. To her dismay, Jesse grabbed the reins from her hands. "Let Wilkie go first, my love," he said. "This is entirely too easy." He put the reins into her hands again. "I suppose that matrimonial cares have made me a changed man. Next thing you know, I'll... oh, what is this?"

She peered closer at the open door where Wilkie stood now, motioning them closer. Another man stood silhouetted there as well, a form so familiar that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm dreaming, she thought, until Jesse slapped her horse and set her in motion.

"Go on, Elinore," he told her. "Isn't it fun to be proved wrong now and then?"

She didn't need any further urging. When her tired horse slowed his pace, she lifted her leg out of the saddle and jumped down. With a cry of delight she ran between the dock and the ferryman's house and threw herself into her father's arms.

"Nellie, surely you didn't think I would abandon you?" Bertie Mason said as he held her close.