Soldier of Fortune

CHAPTER FOUR

Something was amiss. As he watched them from the ship, Daniel Rawson was both puzzled and a trifle worried. Down at the quayside, the Duke of Marlborough was taking leave of his wife before sailing off to war. Daniel had witnessed such partings between them on previous occasions and been touched by the tenderness shown on both sides. There was little tenderness now. The Duchess was as striking as ever, wearing a cloak, hat and gloves to keep out the persistent breeze that came in off the sea. It was her manner that surprised Daniel. She seemed cold and distant. Though she permitted a farewell kiss, it was more of a token than a sign of affection. At the very moment that her husband was about to walk away, she took a letter from beneath her cloak and slipped it into his hand.

Daniel was perplexed. Whenever he had seen her before, Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, had always been an imperious figure, a woman of grace, poise and real substance. Even in middle age, she had an extraordinary vitality. She was too loyal to let her husband down by not seeing him off but

Daniel sensed that she was only there for the sake of appearance. He was reminded of his visit to Holywell when he had found Marlborough and Godolphin dining alone. Daniel knew for a fact that the Duchess was in the house. Why had she not joined the two men at dinner? Was there some kind of breach between husband and wife?

It was unsettling. Daniel had lost count of the number of times he had been alone with Marlborough and listened to him talking fondly of his wife. Having the firm foundation of a happy marriage meant so much to the Duke. It deprived him of any anxieties about his family while he was campaigning in Europe. That was important. The last thing that the Grand Alliance needed was a captain-general whose mind was distracted by marital problems. Daniel had fought alongside officers who were haunted by difficulties back home and unable to concentrate fully. A soldier with preoccupations could be a severe handicap to his comrades.

Marlborough was escorted on to the Peregrine by his private secretary, Adam Cardonnel. The captain was ready to welcome them aboard. When greetings had been exchanged, Marlborough stood at the bulwark so that he could wave to his wife as the vessel set sail. Daniel was close enough to get a good view of him. Whatever tensions there might be between Duke and Duchess, they did not register on Marlborough's face. He looked as calm and confident as he usually did. Now in his early fifties — an age when many commanders had retired — he carried his years well and had the sprightliness of a veteran soldier eager to return to the battlefield.

To Daniel's perceptive eye, the Duchess's performance was less convincing. She stood bravely on the quay, raising a hand when the ship pulled away and waving gently to her husband.

Other wives who had come to watch their soldier-husbands leave were already dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs or blowing kisses at the departing vessel. The Duchess was apparently unmoved, fulfilling a duty rather than parting from a loved one who was off to a war that was fraught with danger. Marlborough waved with far more purpose. Significantly, it was his wife who turned away before he did.

When he finally stepped away from the bulwark, he caught sight of Daniel and beckoned him over. 'It's too breezy to stay on deck,' he said. 'I'll go below. Give me ten minutes to settle in then join me in my cabin, if you will.'

'Yes, Your Grace,' said Daniel.

'It feels so good to be back in harness again.'

'I agree.'

'We'll give King Louis a real shock this time.'

Marlborough patted him on the shoulder then went off along the deck. The crew were still unfurling the sails, each new spread of canvas catching the wind and increasing their speed. The Peregrine was a tidy vessel. Her mast was tall for a ship with a relatively shallow draught. She had a lengthy jib- boom, formed of two spars fished together and able to be hinged up when not in use. The rig was fore-and-aft with a square topsail and a topgallant fitted to the mainmast.

Glad that they were under way at last, Daniel was nevertheless leaving with some regret. Before he could reflect upon the competing loveliness of Abigail and Dorothy Piper, however, someone came across to him. It was Adam Cardonnel, the man who worked closer to Marlborough than anybody. Daniel had always liked him, not least because he was the son of a Huguenot refugee, who had fled from France in 1685 when the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes subjected Huguenots to vicious persecution. Many had gone to Amsterdam and Daniel had grown up with their children. Horrific tales of repeated French atrocities against religious minorities had strengthened his determination to fight against the rampant Roman Catholicism of Louis XIV's France. Adam Cardonnel was a living reminder of the horrors visited upon blameless Huguenots. In addition, he was a fine soldier and an engaging companion.

'Are you a good sailor, Daniel?' asked Cardonnel.

'I'm a far better soldier, sir.'

'We've seen considerable evidence of that.'

'Sea battles are a matter of broadsides,' said Daniel. 'I like to get close enough to an enemy to see his face, not fire at him from a distance with a row of cannon.'

'Artillery has a crucial place in land battles as well,' Cardonnel argued, 'but I take your point. You prefer close contact.' He smiled. 'From what I hear, you achieved that in Paris recently.'

'What I did was strictly in the line of duty, sir.'

Cardonnel laughed. 'I'm sure that it was.'

Daniel saw his chance to probe for detail. If anyone knew what Marlborough's real intentions were, it would be his secretary. The Duke reposed full confidence in Cardonnel. Along with William Cadogan, the Quartermaster-General, he had been charged with removing some of the age-old abuses in the army. The two men had been so efficient that, as a result of their administrative and structural improvements, the army was better clothed, better fed, better paid and better led than Daniel could ever remember. Cardonnel deserved great credit for initiating much-needed reforms and implementing them.

'I cannot wait to be in action again,' said Daniel.

'The French will be happy to oblige you, I'm sure.'

'His Grace tells me that we'll head for the Moselle.'

'Then that is what we will do,' said Cardonnel impassively.

'I had the feeling that it was only part of the overall plan.'

'Did you?'

'It's not ambitious enough for our captain-general.'

'His Grace has never been allowed to give full vent to his ambition,' said Cardonnel carefully, 'or we'd have made greater progress against the French by now. Our allies are too cautious, especially the Dutch. It must be in their nature.'

'It's not in my nature,' Daniel told him, 'and my mother was Dutch. I've always favoured direct attack that stops just short of recklessness. I suppose I get that from my father.'

'Then he must have been a very brave man.'

'He was, sir.'

Daniel could see that he would learn nothing more about the plan of campaign. Cardonnel was far too discreet. On another subject, Daniel hoped, he might be forthcoming. He fished anew.

'I was pleased to see Her Grace, the Duchess, here today.'

'Force of habit,' said Cardonnel easily. 'It's happened so many times now. Each year they endure the same leave- taking.'

'Not quite the same,' noted Daniel. 'I fancy I saw reluctance for the first time, as if the Duchess were unhappy to be here.'

'Parting with one's husband for several months is never an occasion for happiness. Courage and understanding are required. The Duchess has borne her husband's long absences with equanimity.'

'Yet she seemed almost frosty today.'

'It's a cold wind, Daniel.' 'I was referring to her manner.'

'What you mistook for indifference,' said Cardonnel solemnly, 'was nothing of the kind. They are still suffering the effects of a family tragedy. A little over a year ago, you may recall, their son, John, died of smallpox. It was a bitter blow. John was their only boy to survive infancy and his parents had the highest hopes of him when he went off to Cambridge. At sixteen, he was dead.'

'I remember how shaken His Grace was by the event.'

'He was more than shaken, Daniel. To add to his grief, he had to leave for Flanders only twelve days after his son's death. He was unable to stay with his wife to share their terrible loss. That wounded him deeply. In some ways,' he went on, 'the Duchess has never recovered from the tragedy. She is still in mourning.'

'That would not explain her behaviour today, sir.'

'Then how do you account for it?'

'I wondered if there were some rift between husband and wife,' said Daniel. 'Not that it's any of my business,' he added quickly, 'but I was bound to speculate.'

'Then take your speculations elsewhere,' said Cardonnel with a note of rebuke. 'I do not trade in idle tittle-tattle and I feel insulted that you should imagine I did.'

Daniel was repentant. 'I apologise unreservedly, sir.'

'It's not your place to pry into the Duke's private affairs.'

'I accept that.'

'Never speak to me on such a matter again.'

Giving him no chance to reply, Cardonnel moved smartly away and left Daniel to chide himself for his folly in raising the subject. At the same time, he was not persuaded by the other man's explanation. He still believed that the Duchess had been showing her displeasure. That belief was reinforced when, minutes later, he found his way to Marlborough's cabin. After tapping on the door, he was invited in and entered the little wood-panelled room in time to see Marlborough hurriedly stuffing a letter into his pocket. There was no mistake about the anxiety and pain in the man's face even though it was swiftly replaced by a bland smile.

'Sit down, Daniel,' said Marlborough, indicating a chair. 'I've had more comfortable quarters in my time but these will suffice.' They both took a seat. 'I'm ready to put up with any privations in order to stop the French holding sway over the whole of Europe.'

'The same goes for me, Your Grace,' said Daniel.

'Then you will not mind going behind enemy lines again.'

'I'd be grateful for the opportunity.'

'It may well come in time,' said Marlborough. 'We have very few people as fluent in French and German as Daniel Rawson. You could pass for a native in both countries.'

'That's why I studied the languages so carefully.'

'With a helping hand from certain young ladies, I daresay.'

'There's nowhere better to learn the nuances of a foreign tongue than in the company of a beautiful woman, Your Grace.'

'You've been an apt pupil,' said Marlborough with a smile. 'Not that you've neglected your English lessons, of course. A letter I received from the Lord Treasurer told me that, when you attended a dinner at his house, you made a definite impression on Sir Nicholas Piper's younger daughter.'

'Abigail is a delightful creature.'

'Her sister is just as beguiling. The two of them are testimony to the fact that Nature can sometimes be defied. Sir

Nicholas is positively ugly and his wife is extremely plain yet they somehow produced two of the most gorgeous daughters any man could wish to meet. If I did not know the parents so well,' he went on, 'I'd suspect witchcraft.'

'Miss Piper can certainly weave a spell,' said Daniel gallantly.

'To which sister are you referring?'

'I was thinking of Abigail.'

'She obviously caught your eye.'

'I found Dorothy just as captivating. Since it's so difficult to choose between them, I shall give them equal attention.'

Marlborough chuckled. 'You are incorrigible,' he said. 'Perhaps it's just as well that I'm taking you off to war again or Sir Nicholas would be unable to sleep soundly in bed, wondering which of his nubile daughters you would be pursuing.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

'Why did you send him on his way like that?' said Abigail Piper.

'I did nothing of the kind,' responded Dorothy. 'I merely told him that you would not stir from your room for hours and that there was no point in his waiting for you.'

'There was every point, Dorothy. I just needed to be alone to compose myself. As soon as I'd done that — and it took no more than twenty minutes — I intended to come back to resume my conversation with Captain Rawson.'

'It had already been terminated by you.'

'That's not true at all.'

'Put yourself in Captain Rawson's position,' suggested Dorothy. 'When a young lady flees from his company in floods of tears, he's entitled to conclude that she no longer wishes to speak to him.'

'But he wished to speak to me,' said Abigail. 'According to you, he tried to follow me as I ran out. You barred his way.'

'I could hardly let him chase you upstairs.'

'He wanted to console me. I was touched to hear that.'

'You acted too rashly in charging off.'

'I was deeply upset — what else was I to do?'

Dorothy put a sympathetic arm around her sister's shoulders. Abigail was still young and inexperienced but it was not the moment to school her in the subtleties of dealing with male admirers. In any case, now that she had seen Daniel Rawson, Dorothy was certainly not going to help Abigail to ensnare the captain. She felt that Daniel deserved a more seasoned woman, one who was well-versed in the elaborate rituals of courtship. In spite of the circumstances in which they had met, Dorothy wanted him for herself.

They were in the parlour of the Westminster house, side by side on a large sofa. Abigail was still fretting over the departure to Holland that day of the man whom she idolised. Her fear was that he had been estranged by her conduct and would dismiss her from his mind and heart. That was something Abigail could never do with him. Daniel Rawson occupied her every waking hour. She could not stop thinking about him, cherishing him, desiring him and constructing imaginary dialogue for the two of them to speak. In running away from him, she was afraid that she had made a fatal mistake.

'Do you think I should write to him?' she asked.

'I'd not advise it, Abigail.'

'But I could apologise for the way I behaved.'

'A young lady should never apologise,' said Dorothy loftily, 'least of all in writing. It could be construed as a sign of weakness. Besides, if anyone should issue an apology, it is Captain Rawson. He led you to believe that he would be in London for some time.'

'He admitted that and was very contrite.'

'I'm still opposed to the notion of a letter.'

'Why is that, Dorothy?'

'To begin with,' said the other, removing her arm from her sister's shoulder, 'there's no guarantee that the letter would reach him. When an army is on the move, correspondence with any member of it is bound to be difficult.'

'I thought of that,' said Abigail, 'and I believe I have the answer. I can ask Father to help me. Lord Godolphin will be in constant touch with the army, wherever it may be. Father will know how letters are sent and can prevail upon the Lord Treasurer's messenger to carry mine with him.'

Dorothy was impressed. 'That's a clever idea,' she said, 'though I still feel it would be unwise of you to write.'

'I have this urge to do so, Dorothy.'

'Then you must control it. On the strength of a week's acquaintance, you would appear very forward if you tried to begin a correspondence with Captain Rawson.'

'He might appreciate it.'

'Were that the case, he will write to you in the hope of eliciting a reply. Why not wait to see if he does that, Abigail?'

'I feel the need to make him aware of my feelings now.'

'Do not even consider it,' warned Dorothy. 'You must hide your true feelings until the proper time. In your present state of mind, you would commit things to paper that would make you look naive and unguarded. You have to show maturity.'

'What should I say to him?'

'Say nothing at all, Abigail. It is up to Captain Rawson to make the first move and you must be patient. The campaign last year was long and exhausting. There's no reason to think that it will be any different this year. In other words, Captain Rawson will be very busy. If he can find a moment to write to you, then perhaps he will. When he does, you have an excuse to write to him.'

'But I may have to wait months,' wailed Abigail, getting up and moving restlessly about the room. 'What am to do until then? How can I live until I know Daniel's true opinion of me? He's paid me many pretty compliments since we met but will he requite my love?' She came to a decision. 'I must write,' she announced. 'I'll do it instantly.'

'No,' said Dorothy, standing up to prevent her from leaving. 'I forbid you to do that, Abigail. Never show an admirer how vulnerable you are. If it will relieve your torment,' she continued, 'then put your thoughts in a letter — but do not send it.'

Abigail was crestfallen. 'You really think it unwise?'

'It's foolhardy in the extreme.'

'How can I let him know that I love him?'

'You must show forbearance. Captain Rawson will return one day — God willing — and he will be moved to learn that you have been steadfastly carrying a torch for him while he was away. That will impress him far more than a mawkish letter written on impulse.'

'Do you really believe that, Dorothy?'

'Yes, I do — bide your time, sister.'

'Is that what you would do in my place?'

'It's exactly what I'd do.'

After thinking it over, Abigail elected to take her advice. She gave Dorothy a kiss of gratitude on the cheek then went out of the room so that she could be alone with her thoughts. Dorothy was glad that she had dissuaded her from hasty action with regard to man on whom she doted. It left the field clear for her. Five minutes later, it was the elder sister who was penning a missive to Daniel Rawson.

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

They reached Harwich hours after the Peregrine had set sail and they had to wait the best part of a week before they could board a ship that would take them to Holland. As they made their way along the quayside, Frederic Seurel was pessimistic.

'We'll never catch up with him, Charles.'

'Of course, we will,' said Catto, taking a more philosophical attitude to the delay. 'Armies do not march fast. We'll soon overhaul Captain Rawson.'

'How can we get to him when he is surrounded by thousands of soldiers?' asked Seurel. 'It's impossible.'

'We'll lure him out somehow.'

'We do not even know where he'll be.'

'He'll be attached to his regiment and my guess is that it will never be far away from the Duke of Marlborough. There are Austrians, Dutch, Germans, Belgians, Danes, Irish, Swiss and even some renegade Frenchmen at his command but the Duke will always favour British soldiers.'

'They stand no chance against Marshal Tallard.'

'Do not underestimate him, Frederic,' said Catto. 'The Duke is an astute general. He has not lost a major battle and he recaptured all the Barrier Fortresses from us. He began last year's campaign by seizing Bonn only two weeks after the first trenches had been dug. While the garrison was preparing itself for a lengthy siege, they were overwhelmed by a sudden attack. That was bold.'

'We'll soon capture Bonn back again.'

'I doubt that.'

'France has a bigger and better army,' asserted Seurel. 'We also have the support of the Elector of Bavaria. We must win.'

'I'm sure that we will — in time. But forget about the war,' Catto went on. 'That will take care of itself. Our only concern is the private battle we have with Captain Rawson.'

'Let it wait.'

'What do you mean?'

'My worry at this moment is that,' said the Frenchmen, pointing at the ship towards which they were strolling with their luggage. 'I'm scared, Charles. Sailing across the Channel was bad enough. The North Sea will be far worse.'

'We'll make a sailor of you yet, Frederic.'

'The very thought of a voyage makes my stomach heave.'

'This is the last one you'll have to make and it's certainly the last one that Captain Rawson will have made. He'll pay dearly for his hour between the thighs of Madame Salignac.'

Seurel grinned. 'He may think it was worth it.'

'No woman is worth losing your life over.'

'I don't agree. I'd much rather be shot in bed with another man's wife than stabbed to death on the battlefield by a bayonet. At least I'd die with a smile of my face.'

They joined the end of the queue to board the ship. Proximity to other passengers made them keep their voices down. Seurel eyed the vessel warily then let his gaze travel up to the sky. It was overcast. A squall was in the offing. His stomach heaved more violently. He had heard many stories about how perilous the North Sea could be. People moved slowly forward, their passports examined before they were allowed aboard. Until now, the two men had spoken in French. As they edged towards the gangplank, Catto took the precaution of resorting to his native tongue.

'Have you been to Holland before?'

'No,' replied Seurel.

'It will be a novelty for you.'

'All I want is dry land.'

'Then you are going to the right place,' said Catto. 'The Dutch are very clever. They've reclaimed land from the sea by building dykes. When we disembark, we will, in effect, be walking on water.'

'I just hope to get there safely.'

'We will, Frederic. We have an appointment with a great lover.'

Seurel was mystified. 'A great lover?'

'Yes,' said Catto, whispering in his ear. 'He's a man who lost his head over a woman.' They shared a grim laugh.

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Dorothy Piper was pleased by the change in her sister. Ten days after Captain Daniel Rawson had left the country, Abigail seemed to have found some peace of mind at last. She no longer stayed in her room, pining for her missing admirer and scolding herself for what had happened when they had last met. Nor did she disdain food and drink any more. Abigail had somehow regained her appetite. She looked better, dressed more smartly and took a more positive attitude to life. Having locked herself away for so long, she now resumed her daily walk with her maid, Emily, a plump young woman who was very fond of her mistress and who responded to her every whim. Dorothy believed that the maid had been partially responsible for the marked improvement in Abigail and she thanked her.

Two more days elapsed and her younger sister's spirits seemed to lift even more. Dorothy could not understand it. No letter had arrived from Daniel Rawson and she was certain that Abigail had not written one to him. She decided to confront her sister next morning and find out exactly what had cheered her up so much. But when she came down for breakfast, there was no sign of Abigail. Thinking that she had gone for an early walk, Dorothy waited for a couple of hours before searching for her sister again. It was all in vain.

Unknown to her sister, Abigail Piper and her maid were sailing down the Thames estuary on a ship that was bound for The Hague.