Love Under Fire Read online

  Not far away from them a rough voice came out of the fog, but it spoke the English tongue.

  “Who be there?”

  “An Englishman from the enemy’s lines,” Lord Wye answered.

  “Come forward and let’s ’ave a look at you,” the voice commanded.

  Elvina heard someone else say,

  “Be careful, Jack, maybe ’tis a trap.”

  “It’s no trap,” Lord Wye shouted. “I am English.”

  He let go of Elvina’s hand for a moment and she could feel him make a sudden movement.

  She knew then that he was throwing off his coat.

  “You will be cold,” she said warningly.

  “First impressions are often the most important,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

  She knew that his eyes would be twinkling and she loved him more because he could still be amused in such a situation as this.

  “I am coming towards you,” Lord Wye shouted. “I have a child with me.”

  “If it’s one of your damned tricks, you’ll pay for it,” a voice replied. “We dinna trust no Frenchies.”

  “I am not a Frenchy,” Lord Wye replied.

  He had taken Elvina’s hand in his again and now they were going forward step by step. They must have reached the top of the mountain for it was terribly cold and now suddenly out of the gloom they could see two soldiers and both had muskets pointed at them.

  “It is no trap,” Lord Wye said quietly. “We are alone, as you see. I am Lord Wye, a member of the Royal Household. I wish to be taken immediately to your Commanding Officer.”

  “You speak as if you were one of us,” one of the soldiers said.

  “I am one, can you not tell that?” Lord Wye enquired.

  “’Ere, let’s get ’im into the light,” the other sentry suggested.

  He put his hand somewhat roughly on Lord Wye’s shoulder, but the other said to Elvina,

  “Hold on to me, little ’un. ’Tis rough goin’ and you dinna want to be lost in this accursed fog.”

  They walked for some way and then suddenly there were camp fires, lights, soldiers in red tunics and Highlanders in their tartan kilts, all staring at them, it seemed to Elvina, as the two sentries marched Lord Wye into the light from the leaping flames of a fire.

  “He be a Frenchy!” someone exclaimed. “Look at his breeches.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Lord Wye said and his voice was the firm calm voice of authority. “I told you I had come from the French lines. Take me to your Commanding Officer. It is urgent.”

  A Sergeant took charge.

  “Back to your posts men,” he said to the sentries.

  “You were right to bring him in.”

  He looked at Elvina and then at Lord Wye.

  “Any explanation as to why we should believe you?”

  “The explanation I have will keep for your Commanding Officer,” Lord Wye replied. “Now, do as you are told. There is no time to be lost.”

  The Sergeant was obviously impressed by his bearing for all that he looked wild and strange enough, Elvina thought, with his dirty shirt, bandaged head, torn breeches, Army boots and flapping gaiters.

  She did not think of her own appearance until they were in Sir Rowland Hill’s tent, drinking a glass of wine, which he had hastily poured for them.

  “I can hardly believe it!” Sir Rowland was saying. “It’s an incredible story. You have been in the French lines all these days and no one had any suspicion that you were English?”

  “That was entirely thanks to Elvina,” Lord Wye replied with a smile.”

  “This child?” Sir Rowland asked.

  He looked at Elvina as if he had seen her for the first time.

  It was then that she was suddenly conscious of how she must appear, with her dirty torn gown, her bare feet, a piece of rag tied over her hair and her skin dark not only from the walnut juice but also from the hot sun, the bitter winds and the soaking rain.

  She had experienced them all in the last few days and each had left their mark.

  “Wellington is not far away,” Sir Rowland told Lord Wye, “You know, of course, that we are making an attack on San Sebastián?”

  “No, I did not know it,” Lord Wye said. “Will it fall, do you think?”

  Sir Rowland Hill shrugged his shoulders,

  “They have a strong force there. We can but hope.”

  “I must get to Wellington at once,” Lord Wye said. “I have some idea of the strength of Marshal Soult’s Army and I know that he intends to concentrate his attack on Roncesvalles.”

  “You will find him, I think, at Lesaca,” Sir Rowland said. “It will be impossible for you to go tonight, my Lord, in this fog. But it should lift by the morning.”

  “I will leave at dawn,”

  “And your companion?” Sir Rowland enquired.

  Before Lord Wye could speak Elvina said quickly.

  “I will go with you. You cannot leave me behind.”

  “She will come with me,” Lord Wye said quietly. “Can you spare two horses?”

  “Certainly, my Lord.”

  “Then we had best get a little sleep,” Lord Wye said with a smile.

  “I am afraid we have nothing very comfortable to offer you,” Sir Rowland apologised.

  “We are not used to comfort,” Lord Wye answered. “But as it is cold, I should appreciate the loan of a coat.”

  “I have already given orders for a complete change of clothes. I am afraid that they will not be what your Lordship is accustomed to, but the best we can provide at a moment’s notice.”

  *

  It was indeed strange, Elvina thought at dawn, to see Lord Wye in the uniform of an Officer of the Light Dragoons. The gold epaulets, the coloured sash and the high peaked cap with its aigrette were extremely becoming.

  “It’s not a bad fit,” he admitted with a smile.

  “I am afraid we could not raise you beyond a Major’s rank,” Sir Rowland laughed. “You are too broad-shouldered for me and the trousers actually belong to some poor fellow who was sent to the base two days ago with a bullet through his shoulder.

  “I will see that the clothes are returned with interest as soon as I reach England,” Lord Wye said.

  “It is a pleasure to be able to accommodate you,” Sir Rowland answered.

  Elvina had been provided with a Highlander’s plaid to wear round her shoulders, but as she and Lord Wye rode away down the mountainside, the sun came out and it was warm enough in the valley for her to discard it.

  They had an escort of three men with them and they were anxious to move with all haste away from the danger zone.

  They rode hard and Elvina began to think that horse riding was even more exhausting than marching when one of their escort pointed ahead and hold them that the few roofs just coming into sight was the town of Lesaca.

  “Thank the Lord we have not had to walk all this way,” Lord Wye said to Elvina.

  She gave him a doubtful little smile and he drew in his reins and asked,

  “Are we going too fast for you? How damnably selfish I am. I had forgotten that you might not be as used to riding as I am.”

  “I have ridden,” Elvina replied, “but not for some years. When her mother was alive, she had a pony, but Juanita had sold it a few weeks after she became my stepmother.”

  “I am sorry,” Lord Wye said, suddenly contrite. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “I am not tired,” Elvina replied, “only a little stiff.”

  “If I had thought of it, I could easily have taken you in the front of my saddle. Can you manage this last mile or so?”

  “Of course I can. We have been through worse, haven’t we?”

  It was an appeal, if he had but known it.

  An appeal for him to remember what they had been through together. An appeal for him to go on remembering and not to abandon her, indeed not to draw away from her now that they were reaching security.

  “Much worse,” he smiled.<
br />
  They rode into Lesaca to find that the Duke of Wellington had set up his Headquarters in the Town Hall. They hurried there and Elvina knew by the eagerness with which Lord Wye dismounted that he was longing to see the Commander-in-Chief.

  The sentry, smart in his movements although his dress was soiled and faded as if he had been in many battles, led them down a corridor to what, before the event of war, had been the Mayor’s parlour.

  An aide-de-camp, hearing who they were, left them for a few minutes.

  Lord Wye looked at Elvina.

  “You are now going to see a man who, in my opinion, is one of the greatest Generals that the British Army has ever known,” he said.

  “Can he really beat Marshal Soult?” she asked. “Think how many men he had. Think of all those guns – and they are fighting in their own country.”

  “Marshal Soult is already beaten,” Lord Wye told her quietly.

  Elvina turned her back suddenly and drew from her breast the dispatches that had lain there since Lord Wye first entrusted them to her.

  She looked at them with dismay. Crumpled and creased, the rain had reduced them to little more than pulp and the writing that was left was undecipherable.

  She held them out to Lord Wye without a word.

  He took them from her with a tender smile on his lips and would have spoken only the door opened and he turned his head eagerly.

  “The Commander-in-Chief will see you now, my Lord,” an aide-de-camp said.

  They walked past him and into the room beyond, the Duke of Wellington was standing in what had been the Council Chamber. A slight, upright wiry-looking man with keen grey eyes and a large aquiline nose.

  After Marshal Soult and other Generals whom Elvina had seen he was extraordinarily unostentatious. He wore a blue frock coat, dirty and stained with mud, a small crested cocked hat without feathers, a short cape and strapped grey trousers.

  He stepped forward with outstretched hand.

  “This is a great surprise. Lord Wye,” he said. “I believed you to be on your way home carrying my dispatches to the Prime Minister.”

  “I should have been there by now,” Lord Wye replied, “except for the most unfortunate contretemps. I should like to tell your Lordship about it, but may I first present the lady to whom I owe my presence here at this moment. And incidentally my life?”

  Elvina dropped a deep curtsey. The Duke bowed and she saw the astonishment in his eyes as he looked at her torn dirty gown beneath a Highlander’s plaid.

  “You have undoubtedly had some very strange adventures, my Lord,” he said to Lord Wye. “Will you tell me about them?”

  “More important than my adventures,” Lord Wye replied, “is the information I think I can give you about Marshal Soult’s Army.”

  “That should be interesting,” the Duke said.

  He sat down at a table, chairs were brought by an aide-de-camp for Lord Wye and Elvina, a map was put between them and Lord Wye began to relate what had happened after they had escaped from the French Commodore at St. Jean de Luz and joined the French Army.

  The Duke ofWellington said very little. He followed their route on the map and made a few noises of approval in his throat when Lord Wye described the attack of the day before and how Sir Rowland Hill’s men had repulsed it.

  He had just begun to ask questions when a messenger, dusty and with beads of sweat on his forehead, came hurrying into the room.

  “From Roncesvalles, my Lord,” he said, holding out a dispatch.

  Lord Wellington took it quickly.

  “Two Battalions of the seventh Division commanded by Brigadier Barnes report some success against the French in the Bastion,” he said and there was a sudden gleam in his eyes although the tone of his voice held little emotion.

  “Oh, I am glad!” Elvina exclaimed. “But the French have so many guns!”

  The Duke did not appear to have heard her. It was obvious that his mind was preoccupied with his Armies.

  Lord Wye rose to his feet.

  “Is there some way of getting me to the coast, my Lord?” he asked.

  The Duke turned to his aide-de-camp.

  “See that Lord Wye is conveyed to Santander,” he said.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Lord Wye answered.

  They shook hands and Elvina curtseyed and, even as they left the room, they heard the Duke ordering his horse to be saddled immediately.

  Food and drink was provided for them and fresh horses and then they set forth over the Cantabrian Mountains towards Santander.

  It was strange to find this rather barren part of the coast thick with British troops marching up towards the front line, bivouacking on the way, playing games when they were not required to be on the move and altogether making themselves at home in what was normally a very desolate part of the country.

  The Duke of Wellington had, however, improved the roads and after a good night’s rest in a small village, Elvina did not find the ride so hard as she had the journey the day before.

  What was more Lord Wye was considerate and insisted on taking a rest every now and then, while members of their escort went ahead and arranged their accommodation for the night, so that when they arrived at a stopping place they found everything prepared for them.

  Elvina managed to clean herself up and even in one place to buy from the proprietor’s daughter of the inn where they slept a clean square of muslin to cover her head.

  It was not until they arrived in Santander that Lord Wye remembered that, while he had been fitted out anew, she was literally in rags.

  “Is there anywhere in the town where we can buy clothes, ladies’ clothes?” he asked the young Lieutenant who was in charge of their escort.

  “I should think so, my Lord,” the Lieutenant replied. “When I arrived here from England, I thought the girls looked rather attractive, but I did not stay long enough to find out.”

  He must have impressed the innkeeper with Lord Wye’s importance because shopkeepers arrived only too willing to sell bales of material, shawls and ribbons.

  “Buy what you want,” Lord Wye told her.

  Elvina looked at him enquiringly.

  “Do you really mean that?” she asked. “Perhaps it would be best if you could tell me how much you would wish to spend. I should not wish to be extravagant.”

  “I think the gold that I carry with me and which you have never allowed me to spend will be enough to fit you out,” he smiled. “If not, I assure you that my credit is good enough to enable me to borrow all I require from the Army Paymaster who, I am sure, can be found somewhere in the town.”

  Still Elvina hesitated.

  It was hard to believe that she was really, for the first time for six years, to have new clothes. And then caution told her that these things might look very shabby in England.

  What was the fashion in some obscure town in Spain was not likely to seem the latest mode in Bond Street.

  Accordingly she bought two lengths of muslin, a soft warm shawl, some ribbons and a little chip straw bonnet that she felt was more necessary than ornamental.

  She noticed that morning when she dressed herself that the dye that she had darkened her hair with was either wearing off or had been washed off by the rains.

  The gold was showing through and she knew that unless she could procure some more dye there was every likelihood that before she reached England she would be fair.

  Lord Wye paid for the clothes she had chosen, throwing a couple of guineas to the shopkeepers who received them with delight, bowing and scraping their way from the room.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” Elvina enthused.

  He stood looking down at her and then, suddenly, his hand went out to cup her chin and tip her face up to his.

  “You are such a child,” he said quietly, “to be so pleased with a few scraps of muslin and a ribbon or two when you have done so much for me. How can I ever reward you, little Elvina, can you tell me that?”

  “I want – no reward,” sh
e answered.

  And then, although she tried to prevent herself saying it, it came from between her lips.

  “All I want is to stay with you – not to leave you.”

  The words were passionate, spoken from the very depths of her heart.

  He smiled down at her, the affectionate smile of a brother.

  “I shall look after you, I swear to you. But I cannot promise that we can always be together.”

  “But that is what I want,” Elvina said. “To be with you, as we have been these past days.”

  “You will think differently when you reach England.”

  He released her and walked across to the window. Outside there was a view of the Harbour, which was filled with naval vessels of all sorts, all flying the British flag.

  “We shall soon be in England,” he said jubilantly.

  His words struck Elvina like a blow because she knew, as clearly as if she had heard him say it, that when they reached England she would lose him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Elvina stared at herself in the looking glass and felt her spirits drop.

  She had been so excited about her new gowns and she had watched the seamstress carefully sew the material that Lord Wye had bought her.

  She had chosen the ribbons and the lining and had been willing to be fitted not once but a dozen times.

  She could not remember when she had last had a new dress. The only clothes she had ever had to wear were old things of Juanita’s that she was bored with.

  To have something of her own and to be given the choice of materials was something so exciting that she could hardly believe it was true until she slipped the gown over her head, let the seamstress fasten it and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

  It was then that she realised how very little difference it made to her appearance.

  Owing to the hard marching, sleeping out of doors and the very scanty rations that she and Lord Wye had existed on, she was thinner than ever.

  What was more, the darkness of her skin, with sunburn superimposed on the walnut juice, gave her an almost unpleasant swarthiness, which was somehow unnatural and without the moist bloom that existed on a naturally dark skin.

  Her hazel eyes, too big for her face, stared back at her and filled with tears. She had believed that she would look so different.