Love Under Fire Read online

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lord Wye, looking surprisingly fresh considering that he had gone to bed at six o’clock in the morning and had less than an hour’s sleep, gave the order to cast off.

  The Officials and members of the Ambassador’s household, who had also risen to bid him ‘farewell’, stood in a little group on the quay and saluted as the sailors dragged up the anchor and started to unfurl and set the sails.

  Lord Wye noted that one of the aides-de-camp was yawning and another was still unsteady on his feet.

  He wondered why they had all stayed so late at what in reality had been a very indifferent ball and then chided himself for being uncharitable.

  A ball was an event in this war-stricken land and he, satiated with the glories of Carlton House and the Season in London, had no right to criticise.

  He looked wistfully towards the hills overshadowing the town and wished that he had been able to defy the Prime Minister’s orders and join Wellington’s army, as he had begged to be allowed to do.

  “No, Wye!” the Prime Minister had said firmly. “I wish you to deliver the letters that I entrust to your care to the Government of Portugal. Since Prince John sailed for Rio de Janeiro six years ago the Regency has changed hands continually and yet somehow the country keeps going and the Portuguese people have been stalwart and strong in the face of the French assaults. Wellington speaks highly of their soldiers, although he cannot trust them to take the initiative, but only to support our own troops.”

  “Do you not think,” Lord Wye had suggested, “that it might be a good idea for me to have a word with the Duke of Wellington? He might wish to entrust me with communications for you that it would be difficult for him to put in his dispatches.”

  “Wellington’s dispatches will be waiting for you at Lisbon,” the Prime Minister said firmly. “I wish you to come straight back. The Prince Regent will miss you sorely and you know how difficult he can be if he has not the right advisers at his side.”

  The Prime Minister sighed and there was no need to say more. The Prince Regent was a continual problem.

  Yet when, as occasionally happened, he took a fancy to someone who was acceptable to his Ministers, then a sigh of relief went up in Westminster that was echoed all over the Capital.

  The question as to how long Lord Wye would last was the only damper on the general jubilation.

  As far as the Prime Minister was concerned, he was not going to risk Lord Wye’s most Diplomatic handling of the Prince Regent by letting him remain abroad a moment longer than was necessary.

  “If there was anyone else I could send, I would not employ your Lordship on this mission,” he said. “As it is, you are to proceed to Lisbon and come back here again with all possible speed. Do you think you are wise to use your own yacht? I would prefer to put a Warship at your disposal.”

  “If you want speed, my yacht will outpace a Warship by a dozen knots,” Lord Wye replied, “besides being easier to take in and out of Harbour. What is more, the Admiralty are being hard pressed to provide enough troop ships. I think you would make me very unpopular, sir, if you insisted on providing a Warship for my use at this particular moment.”

  “Very well then, go in your own yacht,” the Prime Minister conceded. “I understand you are taking Sir Horace Bowhill and his lady with you.”

  “They have done me the honour to be my guests on the voyage,” Lord Wye replied.

  “And being a very pretty woman Lady Bowhill will undoubtedly relieve the monotony of the days at sea, eh?”

  The Prime Minister’s eyes twinkled.

  An unattractive man himself, he always had a sneaking respect for good-looking buccaneers like Lord Wye, who swept every woman they met off their feet and about them there was always some spicy piece of scandal being tittered at in the Clubs and salons.

  Had the Prime Minister but known it, Lady Bowhill had proved a disappointment.

  Now, as his yacht began to move out into the open sea, Lord Wye thought with relief that on the homeward voyage he would be alone.

  ‘Women,’ he said to himself, ‘are all right so long as you can get away from them. They can be a damned nuisance in a confined space.’

  He contemplated with satisfaction the emptiness of the cabin and settling himself on a comfortable high-backed chair, began to read with interest some of the papers that had been given him at Lisbon for conveyance to England.

  They included an angry demand for more cavalry horses and a complaint that the last consignment of sugar had been mixed with sand.

  Engrossed in what he was reading Lord Wye did not hear a knock on the door and looked up to find that the Captain of the yacht had entered the cabin and was standing opposite him waiting for his attention.

  “Anything I can do for you, Captain?” Lord Wye enquired.

  “I only came to warn you, my Lord, that the weather looks unpleasant. It’s likely to be very rough outside the Harbour, the wind appears to be getting up and the sky promises a storm.”

  “Well, it was pretty rough in the Bay coming out,” Lord Wye replied. “I don’t know what has happened to the weather this year. One does not expect tempests at the beginning of July.”

  “I agree with you, my Lord,” the Captain replied. “But remember the equinoctial gales last year. They strewed the Channel with wrecks and I even heard that the Thames rose so high that it flowed into Westminster Hall.”

  “That was in October,” Lord Wye said. “But no matter. Your orders are to push ahead as quickly as you can, Captain, keeping on every inch of sail possible. The Prime Minister expects me back in England in the quickest possible time.”

  “Very good, my Lord. But I warn you, if we run into one of these thunderstorms I have been hearing about in the town, it may be unpleasant. They say that they have had one or two of them lately, which sank several ships along the coast and on one occasion one of our troopships was so battered that they had to shoot a third of the horses.”

  Lord Wye was not interested, he had returned to the papers he was reading.

  “With all possible speed, Captain,” he said vaguely, his attention held by the letter he was reading.

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  There was nothing for the Captain to do but leave the cabin.

  As he closed the door behind him, Lord Wye looked up, a faint smile on his lips.

  The Captain was getting old, he thought. He was over-cautious and afraid to take risks of any sort.

  As far as he was concerned, he rather welcomed the storm. He was sick of soft living, of hanging around Carlton House and dancing attention on women. His eyes hardened as he thought of them.

  There was Lady Bowhill, ready to throw herself into his arms and, although he had admired her beauty, he had imagined that she was virtuous and faithful to Sir Horace for whom he had a genuine regard.

  Ah, well, women were the same everywhere. There had been that dark-eyed woman, rather pretty in a haggard way, who had flirted outrageously with him last night at the ball. Juanita something, he had forgotten her name.

  But she was not the type that amused him and if he had not had a lot to drink he would not have cast her a second glance for all her manoeuvring and coquetry.

  He threw down the papers and stretched his arms above his head. A storm might be quite a thrill.

  And then his face darkened.

  “Damn the Prime Minister for not letting me join the Armies,” he swore aloud

  Angrily he picked up a dispatch from the table. The Duke of Wellington had sent him a special note asking him to read the dispatches he had entrusted in his care and telling him privately of some of the difficulties that they were encountering.

  “My men are in good health,” he wrote, “but, although things have improved since I came out here, there are always difficulties in feeding an Army and those at home have no idea what it is to march for perhaps four days with nothing to eat. They talk about living off the country. Let them try it after six years of war and on the bar
ren mountains, where even a goat cannot find enough to sustain it.”

  Lord Wye rose to his feet.

  Moving a little carefully, because he was too tall for the cabin and, on innumerable occasions, had knocked his head on the oak beams, he went to the porthole.

  They had left the Harbour and were moving into the open sea. Lord Wye looked back and stared wistfully at the long line of barren mountains. If he had had wings, he would have flown towards them.

  He wanted to see for himself what was happening beyond them. He wanted to smell gunpowder in his nostrils and the rough comradeship of men who were facing death or glory.

  “Damn the Prime Minister!” he said again.

  At that moment the cabin door opened.

  “May I speak with you, my Lord?”

  It was one of the junior Officers who spoke, a young man whom Lord Wye had chosen himself and he had a liking for him.

  “Yes, Sanders, what is it?”

  “It’s a stowaway, my Lord. I thought you might like to know about it.”

  “A stowaway!”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Lord Wye glanced out of the porthole to Lisbon, getting farther and farther away from them.

  “Well, it’s too late to send him back,” he said. “Put him to work.”

  “That’s just the difficulty, my Lord. And it’s not a man, but a woman.”

  “A woman!”

  Lord Wye was startled into expostulating the words quite loudly.

  “Well, actually that is a slight exaggeration, my Lord. It is a child, a girl to be exact.”

  “Why on earth would a child want to stow away?” Lord Wye asked.

  “I don’t know, my Lord, I’m sure. But she is here and I thought that you would say what we are to do about her.”

  “What can we do?” Lord Wye enquired. “Bring her here to me. Can we understand anything she says?”

  “I think so, my Lord.”

  “Bring her here,” Lord Wye commanded.

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  Sanders turned smartly about as Lord Wye settled himself once more in his high-backed chair.

  The door opened a few moments later and a small figure was propelled somewhat forcibly into the cabin. The child, for at a glance it was obvious that she was nothing more, was cleanly but poorly dressed and, in Lord Wye’s opinion, was quite obviously a Portuguese.

  Her short dark hair fell lankly on either side of her small pointed face and her skin was very brown.

  Only her eyes seemed unnaturally light and he noticed with some surprise that they were hazel-green, heavily fringed with dark lashes.

  “Who are you?” he asked quietly. “Can you understand me?”

  “Yes, indeed, my Lord. I speak English.”

  Her voice was low and, to his astonishment, cultured, although she had a faint accent.

  “That is good. Now, suppose you tell me why you are here.”

  “I will tell you alone,” the child said with some dignity. “I do not wish to speak in front of this man.” She cast a disdainful glance at the blushing Sanders. “He has hurt my arm dragging me along the deck.”

  “She refused to come, my Lord,” the young Officer piped up.

  “That will be all, Sanders. I will talk to this young woman myself,” Lord Wye said.

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  Sanders went from the cabin, closing the door behind him. His attitude was that he obviously relinquished an unpleasant task with relief.

  “Now you can tell your story,” Lord Wye suggested. “Incidentally I should like the truth.”

  “Why should I tell you anything else?” the child asked.

  She came a little nearer and now there was between them only the table where the dispatches lay. Lord Wye looked her up and down.

  The girl was painfully thin and obviously undernourished.

  He felt a sudden pity for all the inhabitants of the gallant little country that was fighting beside the English while all the rest of Europe was ground under the heel of Napoleon.

  The ship lurched and she staggered.

  Lord Wye then indicated a chair adjacent to his own.

  “Will you not sit down?” he suggested.

  “Thank you.”

  She had a strange dignity as well as grace, he thought. There must be some breeding somewhere.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Elvina,” she replied.

  “That is your Christian name. Have you another?”

  “It is of no consequence,” she answered.

  Lord Wye raised his eyebrows, but, as he made no comment, she continued almost as if she was repeating a well-learned lesson.

  “My parents are dead. My sister is married to an Englishman and so I wish to reach England to be with her.”

  “An Englishman?” Lord Wye questioned. “What is his name?”

  There was a little hesitation and then Elvina replied,

  “ – Thompson. Captain Thompson.”

  “He is in the Army then?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he fought in Portugal? If he has gone home, I presume he was wounded?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your sister returned with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will be easy to trace him once we are in England,” Lord Wye said.

  “Then you will – take me?”

  The question was quick and impulsive and there was a sudden light in those hazel-green eyes.

  Lord Wye frowned.

  “The whole thing is very unorthodox. You had no right to stow away on my yacht. Incidentally, how did you manage it? The guards must have been very lax.”

  Elvina smiled.

  “I am very small,” she replied. “They did not notice me.”

  Without thinking Lord Wye found himself smiling in return and then severely checked himself.

  “It was extremely reprehensible,” he said firmly. “In fact I am seriously annoyed at your trespass. Will there not be trouble at home? Will you not be missed? Will people not be searching for you?”

  “Nobody cares – what happens to me,” Elvina replied.

  There was a little throb in her voice that told him this was the truth.

  “If I did my duty,” Lord Wye continued, “I would turn my yacht back or hail a passing ship bound for Lisbon and put you on it.”

  Elvina clasped her hands together.

  “Please, my Lord, please take me to England. I am alone and terribly unhappy. In England it will be different. Please take me with you.”

  “And supposing we cannot find your sister?”

  “We shall! I am sure we shall. Anyway – once I am there you need not worry about me. I can look after myself.”

  “I rather doubt that,” Lord Wye replied. “You are only a child. You don’t understand what it can be like to be alone and penniless in a strange country. Incidentally how old are you?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before Elvina answered.

  “ – Thirteen, nearly fourteen.”

  Lord Wye nodded.

  “That is what I thought. You are too young to have any idea of what you are doing. It is best that I send you back.”

  “No, no, please – don’t! I beg of you! I pray – of you.”

  Elvina sprang to her feet and, coming round the side of the table, threw herself on her knees beside Lord Wye.

  “Please, please, don’t.”

  Her little face was turned up to his and there were tears in her eyes. He looked down at her for a moment.

  “Very well,” he then said. “But not out of consideration for your pleadings. Let me make that quite clear. Simply because it does not suit me at the moment to put back into Harbour or to waste time transferring you to another ship. I am in a hurry to return to England.”

  “I will be no trouble – I promise you.”

  “Women aboard are always a trouble,” Lord Wye answered. “Have you brought any luggage with you?”

&nbs
p; “Only a small bundle,” Elvina answered.

  “Well, that will have to suffice you for the voyage. And it is going to be rough. I hope you are a good sailor.”

  “I am never sick,” Elvina replied. “I have been out in the fishing boats when they could scarcely bring them into Harbour and the seas have been so dangerous that even some of the older men have been seasick – but I have never even felt ill.”

  “Well, that is fortunate at any rate,” Lord Wye said drily.

  He walked across to the cabin door and opened it. As he expected, a sailor was in attendance outside.

  “Prepare the next door cabin,” Lord Wye ordered.

  He turned round to look at the stowaway. She was seated again in the chair that she had vacated to fall at his knees. She was leaning back, relaxed, her hand resting elegantly on the arm.

  Lord Wye noticed that she had long thin fingers. He saw too because her head was turned away from him that in profile her features were distinctly aristocratic.

  He had a sudden qualm that he might be carrying away one of the Portuguese Nobility. A nice fool he would look if there was a hue and cry and it was discovered that the child belonged to some Nobleman who would accuse him of having kidnapped her.

  “What is your surname?” he said, his voice almost harsh.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  “My mother is dead,” she answered, “and so – so is – my father. I have no surname. I am not wanted. I belong to – nobody.”

  “That is not what I asked you,” Lord Wye said. “Everyone has a name. Your sister must have had a name before she married Captain Thompson. What was it?”

  “What does it matter?” Elvina enquired. “It will mean nothing to you. I promise you I am of no consequence. I see what you are thinking – you are wondering if there will be trouble if people will accuse you of taking me away with you. I swear to you there is nothing like that. I am nobody. Look at my clothes. Do I look rich – or grand? They are my own, I give you my oath on it.”

  “Why can you not answer my question in a straightforward manner?” Lord Wye asked.

  “That is my business,” Elvina said with a little toss of her head. “It’s a lady’s privilege to be unpredictable.”

  Lord Wye threw back his head and laughed.