Love Under Fire Page 6

  He was joking, but Elvina answered seriously.

  “Please let me bandage your head again now that the ship is steady. It was not easy to do when I had to hold onto the chair with one hand.”

  “Eat your breakfast and then you can do as you like,” Lord Wye said.

  “You will change. Promise me that you will change your clothes.”

  He looked at her with a little twist of his lips.

  “I thought I had got myself a stowaway. But it seems she is a nurse.”

  “All men need one,” Elvina said, smiling at him.

  “Don’t believe it,” Lord Wye replied. “What most men want is to get away from women of all sorts and every sort. That is why they go to sea. It is the one place women cannot drop in on you. Unless, of course, they stow away.”

  “I am sorry if I spoiled your plans for the journey home,” Elvina said. “I have not brought you much luck, have I? Now we shall be delayed.”

  “I am afraid so. It means having a new mast fitted. That may take time. I shall have to pick up an English ship.”

  Elvina stopped eating and put her hands to her heart

  “Does that mean – you would leave me behind?” she asked.

  “Well, if we are off the coast of Portugal, as I suspect, you could always go home.”

  “No! No!”

  It was a cry of sheer terror.

  “I cannot do that. Do you not understand? I cannot.”

  “But you must have lived somewhere before you came aboard my yacht,” Lord Wye said. “You have been very mysterious about it, but someone must have looked after you. Was it the nuns in a Convent?”

  “No, my Lord, I swear to you that I have not run away from a Convent or a school. I cannot go back to where I was living. It would be impossible. They would beat me unmercifully if they knew that I had tried to escape.”

  Lord Wye helped himself to another piece of ham.

  “You know I am beginning to think you exaggerate. It is a prerogative of your sex, of course. But I don’t believe that young women are beaten for no particular reason.”

  “You don’t believe it,” Elvina said rising to her feet and facing him across the table. “Then look for yourself. See just some of the marks on my body.”

  She pulled the fichu from her neck as she spoke and shrugged one shoulder free of her shabby cotton gown.

  Then she turned her back on him.

  Only one shoulder was revealed, but that was criss-crossed with a dozen weals from Juanita’s whip. Crimson, where the blood had broken on some of them, the rest were turning all colours of the rainbow, purple, black, blue and orange.

  They made Elvina’s back look like some distorted pattern made by an artist crazy in the use of his paints.

  “Good God!”

  There was no mistaking the surprise and horror in Lord Wye’s voice.

  Elvina pulled her gown on again and turned to face him, putting the white fichu around her neck.

  “Now do you understand?” she asked.

  “Who has done this to you? Who has dared to treat you like that?” he asked.

  “Just the woman who was looking after me since my mother died.”

  “She must be a fiend,” Lord Wye expostulated.

  “Some people find her attractive,” Elvina remarked with a little smile at the corner of her mouth.

  “I did not believe that such women existed,” Lord Wye answered.

  “You will not leave me – behind?” Elvina said in a very small voice.

  “I don’t know what you are letting me in for,” Lord Wye grunted.

  “Promise me, please promise me,” Elvina said. “If you go home in a British ship, take me with you.”

  “Well, it will be a bit embarrassing to arrive on board with a Portuguese stowaway. What do you imagine people are going to think? You may be a child, but you are a female one.”

  “You cannot leave me behind,” Elvina besought him. “I will do anything, anything you suggest, if only you will take me with you.”

  “I am not sure it will be possible. You must be reasonable about this.”

  “You can make it possible.” Elvina said. “You can do anything. You are rich and important. People listen to you.”

  “We will have to see. That is all I have to say. If the worst comes to the worst, I suppose you could come back with the yacht. It will be repaired some time.”

  Even as he spoke he met Elvina’s eyes across the table and knew what she was thinking.

  “I can trust the Captain,” he said. “He is a decent man with a family of his own.”

  “I want to go with – you.”

  “I can only hope it will be possible,” Lord Wye replied. “It is no use forcing me to promise things that I cannot perform.”

  “Promise me you will try to take me with you,” Elvina said. “Promise that at any rate.”

  He stared at her for a moment in exasperation.

  “Dammit,” he muttered. “Can a man not even have his breakfast without a woman nagging at him?”

  Then suddenly he smiled.

  “All right, you tiresome little imp, I will give you my word. Anything for peace and quiet.”

  Elvina’s eyes shone like stars across the table.

  “Thank you,” she cried. “Thank you. Thank you. I know that you will not go back on your promise.”

  “I will bet a monkey that you will not let me. Now for Heaven’s sake stop talking and let me think what we have to do. It’s not going to be easy to get out of the mess we are in now. It is getting lighter. So let’s go and see what can be done.”

  “But you have not changed,” Elvina cried.

  “I have no time now.”

  He lifted the pewter mug to his lips and then, getting to his feet, went towards the door.

  “Come back quickly,” Elvina said. “I have to bandage your head. You said I could.”

  He did not answer, but she knew that he had heard her for he turned to smile at her before he reached the door.

  As he did so, there came a sudden knock and the door opened inwards.

  “The Captain’s compliments, my Lord. There’s a ship approaching.”

  “It sounds as if our signals got through,” Lord Wye commented.

  “It’s from the starboard side, my Lord.”

  “The devil it is!”

  Lord Wye went from the cabin and Elvina sprang to her feet and ran after him.

  Sure enough from the starboard side of the ship, coming through the hazy grey mist, was the faint silhouette of a large ship manned by some twenty oars.

  Everyone had crowded up on deck, even the men with their broken arms in slings. They all stood waiting, and Elvina, watching from the doorway of the cabin, felt that every man held his breath.

  And then an order came ringing across the space between the ships. An order given by a man they could vaguely discern, standing in the bow.

  And with a sudden feeling of horror that was almost like a stab in her heart Elvina realised that he spoke in French!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The very second after Lord Wye heard the French words coming through the grey mist, he turned and ran as quickly as he could into the cabin, brushing past Elvina at the door.

  She stared at him in amazement

  For one incredible moment she thought that he was running away and then she realised that he was snatching up the dispatches that had lain on the table, but had been thrown by the storm into every corner of the cabin.

  There were some things he threw down again, having glanced at them, others he held tightly in his hand, looking round desperately as if he debated where to put them.

  “Let me take them.”

  Elvina spoke without thinking. She only knew that because she understood his perplexity, she must help.

  Without argument Lord Wye passed her two closely folded dispatches.

  She thrust them down the front of her shabby gown and then felt his hand on her shoulder.

  His touch m
eant comfort, encouragement and thanks and then, still without words, he brushed past her and was out again on the deck.

  It had all taken such an incredibly short time that the ship approaching them seemed little nearer than if had when they first realised what it contained.

  The other occupants of the yacht stood staring into the mist.

  Only the Captain was vocal about the danger that threatened them.

  “’Tis the blood-stained Frenchies, blast them!” he cried “Can we hold them off, my Lord?”

  It was a despairing question and an effort at defiance that would have been doomed from the very outset.

  For now, as the boat drew nearer, they could see that the man in the bow had been joined by half a dozen others all with their muskets levelled at the yacht.

  “We can do nothing,” Lord Wye replied. “It is death to all of us if we make a move. Keep calm and leave this to me.”

  A voice, speaking in French, seemed almost unnaturally loud.

  “Who are you?” it asked.

  “We are the yacht Fontaine, a private vessel that has suffered by the storm,” Lord Wye answered, also speaking French, but with a pronounced English accent. “Our mast is broken and we are stuck on a sandbank.”

  “In the name of the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte we are about to board you,” was the reply.

  Elvina saw the despair on the faces of the seamen standing around.

  She knew that Lord Wye was right. To try to oppose this boat full of armed men was to commit suicide. As it was, they were left with only half their original crew. The rest were injured and below deck.

  She heard the Captain cursing beneath his breath and wondered how Lord Wye could appear so calm.

  With his bandaged head, his crumpled damp garments and his sailor’s oilskin, he certainly did not look a dandy.

  Yet she felt that anyone, even a Frenchman, could not help but recognise that he was of noble birth.

  They could hear it in his unhurried speech, see it in his air of authority as he waited calmly and without any expression of fear or agitation until the Officer commanding the ship stepped aboard.

  Then with courtesy he stepped forward to meet him.

  “You are the owner of this yacht?”

  The question was sharp and the voice aggressive.

  “Allow me to present myself,” Lord Wye replied. “I am Lord Wye of the Royal Household of His Majesty King George the Third of England.”

  “You must consider yourself my prisoner, my Lord,” the Frenchman replied.

  Short, stout and very conscious of his own importance, he was obviously impressed by Lord Wye’s status for his tone was now less arrogant and offensive.

  “I am afraid there is nothing else I can do,” Lord Wye answered, “except to hope that you will be able to salvage my yacht. It is extremely valuable and it would be a pity if she should go to the bottom.”

  “Valuable? What are you carrying?” the Frenchman enquired suspiciously.

  “Quite a number of things that might be of interest to you,” Lord Wye replied. “Will you come to the cabin and perhaps we can discuss it over a glass of wine.”

  Elvina, listening, stared in amazement.

  The last thing she had expected was that Lord Wye would speak so politely or indeed so graciously to the enemy.

  She was used to hearing soldiers’ tales of the brutal manner in which the French treated their prisoners, especially the Portuguese and Spaniards, and she had no idea that there was anything one could do as regards Frenchmen except try to kill them.

  But here was Lord Wye, whom she knew to be a patriot, speaking in a most genial manner as if he was inviting an old friend to drink with him.

  It was utterly bewildering and even more so when, having given orders to his men to board and search the yacht, the French Officer followed Lord Wye into the cabin where two seamen were instructed to tidy things up and bring both food and wine.

  Elvina herself shrank back into the shadows cast by the lanterns, but the very instant he entered the Frenchman saw her.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  There was just a moment’s hesitation before Lord Wye replied fluently, but with his execrable accent,

  “Ma fille! Elvina, let me present the Commodore of the boarding party. I am afraid, monsieur, I did not hear your name.”

  “Bouvais,” the Frenchman replied. “Pierre Bouvais.”

  Elvina dropped him a curtsey, only a small one. It went against the grain that she must bend her knee to the enemy.

  But she sensed that Lord Wye was playing some subtle game and she knew that she must do her part. What was more, he obviously expected it of her.

  “Your daughter?” Monsieur Bouvais queried.

  Elvina realised with a little inward smile that it must seem strange that a fair tall Englishman should produce a black-haired, dark-skinned child and claim her as his own.

  “My wife is Portuguese,” Lord Wye explained airily. “I was visiting her in Lisbon. I am afraid the War you are waging, monsieur, has not until now concerned me very closely. I am so occupied in obeying His Majesty’s commands that I have no time for fighting.”

  “And yet you have been to Lisbon,” the Commodore replied, his eyes narrowing. “There are many troops landing at Lisbon I hear.”

  “I was on a more amicable mission,” Lord Wye replied. “It was to visit my wife. As you see, she has sent back with me my eldest child so that the journey to England should not seem too long or too tedious. Will you not be seated, monsieur?”

  The Frenchman glanced at Elvina again as if he did not believe what he had heard.

  By now the Stewards had cleared the floor and Elvina noticed with relief that, in taking away the broken pieces of glass, china and other things that had fallen from the drawers, they had also taken the rest of the dispatches that Lord Wye had not considered of such import that they necessitated concealment.

  She could hear the ones he had given her crackling a little as she moved and the edge of the paper was sharp against her skin.

  “Come and sit down, Elvina,” Lord Wye suggested. “We must tell Monsieur Bouvais about the storm last night. We must convince him of how bad it was or I am afraid he will think our navigation was at fault that we should find ourselves in such a predicament. By the way, monsieur, where are we?”

  “You are just outside the harbour of St. Jean de Luz,” the Commodore replied. “We saw your signals and wondered what they could be. But I suppose you realise that you must have missed the cliffs by a very narrow margin. The sandbanks only start at the entrance to the Harbour.”

  “I suppose that we should be grateful that we were not battered to death,” Lord Wye said. “I am wondering, however, if a French prison would be preferable.”

  “We will, of course, do our best to make your Lordship comfortable,” the Frenchman said with a sarcastic twist of his lips.

  Elvina clenched her fists together under the table. She hated the Frenchman and yet she realised that to be antagonistic and rude might only make things worse.

  A prisoner of the French! She had never dreamed of such a fate, not even when Napoleon’s Armies had defeated the expeditionary force under Sir John Moore.

  Always at Lisbon they had seemed safe. And now to escape from Juanita for this! She felt her lips go dry at the thought of what lay ahead.

  Yet still Lord Wye was going out of his way to be charming.

  “Ah, here is the wine,” he said as the Steward approached with a miraculously unbroken decanter and two glasses. “I did not believe that there was anything on board that had not been smashed to bits. Surely you are fortunate.”

  The Frenchman took a drink. A French seaman entered and without apology marched up to him and, leaning over, spoke in his ear.

  Elvina could not hear what he said, but it was obviously satisfactory for Monsieur Bouvais smiled.

  “Bon!” he said. “Très bon!”

  The seaman saluted and left and Monsieur Bouvais s
miled his mocking sarcastic smile at Lord Wye.

  “I see you have not misinformed me. The yacht is indeed a privately owned vessel and very comfortably fitted out. You have good stores on board. What would you say was the value of this vessel?”

  Lord Wye shrugged his shoulders.

  “It cost me five thousand pounds to build,” he replied. “I have spent another two or three thousand pounds on her since.”

  He waited a moment to let his words sink in and then added,

  “You have captured a prize, monsieur. I hope you will get your share of what it is worth.”

  The Frenchman’s eyes narrowed.

  “It may not be possible to tow her in.”

  “I should think it quite possible with your particular ship,” Lord Wye contradicted him. “Of course my men would be prepared to help you. In England salvage money is always divided between those who do the work. It would be a pity on this occasion if your share was diminished unnecessarily.”

  The Frenchman drummed with his fingers on the table.

  “It will be a long job,” he said reflectively. “The tide has only just gone out. The sandbank will not be covered again until late this afternoon.”

  “What is the hurry?” Lord Wye asked. “I assure you, my dear monsieur, that I have no anxiety to see the inside of my quarters in St. Jean de Luz.”

  “Your men would help us?” the Frenchman asked.

  “Those of them who have not suffered from the storm,” Lord Wye answered. “For the others I would ask your clemency.”

  “I am not certain that it is possible,” the Frenchman said quickly. “If we were to signal to the shore they would send out other ships.”

  “The salvage money would then be sadly depleted,” Lord Wye pointed out. “And apart from the value of the yacht itself, there is not a great deal on board. Some wine, if it is not broken and the furnishings of the cabins. That is all. It is the yacht herself that is valuable.”

  “Yes, yes, I see,” Monsieur Bouvais nodded. “I was just wondering if we could do it.”

  “Supposing you have a talk with my Captain, when, of course, you have finished your meal,” Lord Wye suggested. “You will permit me to have a word with him myself?”