Violet v-5

by Jane Feather

  When Julian returned with a pair of bronze kid slippers, Tamsyn greeted him with a sunny smile and amiably extended her foot to try the shoe, commenting how pretty they were.

  Julian looked at her suspiciously, meeting only that airy smile. She walked around the shop, pronounced them a perfectly comfortable fit, and asked the senhora to pack up her discarded clothes and boots.

  “Keep the boots,” the colonel said. “But you won't need the other things.”

  “Not in your company, perhaps, milord colonel,” she said sweetly. “Nevertheless, I prefer to keep them.”

  He shrugged and pulled out a billfold from his britches pocket.

  “Do keep a careful accounting, milord colonel,” Tamsyn said as sweetly as before. “I should hate to be beholden to you.”

  “Oh, don't worry, buttercup, I'll make sure you aren't.”

  “Don't call me that,” Tamsyn said, her amiable facade cracking.

  “Then don't call me 'milord colonel,'“ he returned smartly, counting out bills into the senhora's eager palm.

  She seemed to have drawn a worthy opponent, Tamsyn reflected, going to the door. The evening sun cast long shadows down the narrow street, and there was a slight coolness in the air, brushing her bare arms. The thin gown fluttered against her skin, and she felt almost naked. It was most disconcerting.

  “Here, you'll need this.” Julian draped a silk mantilla over her shoulders. “The senhora was anxious you shouldn't catch cold.”

  “I've never caught cold in my life.”

  “No, but then you've never been so impractically clothed before.”

  “Oh, so you agree,” she cried indignantly. “It's the most impractical, ludicrous, skimpy costume imaginable.”

  He chuckled, and she realized that he'd tricked her into expressing her true feelings. Crossly, she kicked the flounce of the skirt ahead of her as she strode down the street, moving with as much vigor as if she were still clad in her britches.

  Julian, following a little behind, winced as the hem of the skirt caught on a loose stone and she jerked it free roughly, kicking at the stone with the dainty kid slipper.

  “Tamsyn!” He caught her arm, slowing her progress.

  “That is not the way to walk. You must hold up the skirts of your dress and petticoat in one hand, drawing them aside… look, like this.” He demonstrated, pinching the material of his britches at the knee between finger and thumb, taking a step. “Do you see?”

  “I don't think I've quite grasped it,” Tamsyn said solemnly. “Perhaps you could show me again.”

  “It's perfectly simple,” he said impatiently. “You just draw the material aside… Diablillo!” he exploded as Tamsyn went into a peal of laughter, doubled over, convulsed with merriment. He gave her an ungentlemanly swat, annoyance warring with reluctant amusement at the absurd image he'd presented.

  She straightened hastily, turning her laughing countenance toward him. Picking up her skirt in exaggerated imitation, she took a mincing step, her nose loftily tilted, eyes on the sky. “Like this, milord colonel?”

  “If you don't look where you're going, buttercup, you're going to end up on your backside in the gutter,” he declared.

  Tamsyn grimaced and dropped the pose. She must remember not to call him that.

  “Now, take my arm,” he instructed, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “And with your other hand, take up your skirts so they don't trail in the dirt. And watch where you put your feet.”

  They progressed in this fashion into the broader main street, and Tamsyn glanced around, hoping she wouldn't see any familiar faces. Since she looked ridiculous in her own eyes, she couldn't imagine anyone seeing a different picture.

  “God's grace, isn't that Gabriel?” Julian said suddenly. The unmistakable giant figure astride his massive charger rounded the corner at the end of the street. He was leading two laden pack mules, and bringing up the rear of the procession was another mule with a female rider swathed in shawls and mantillas.

  With a cry of joy Tamsyn dropped the colonel's arm and, forgetting her embarrassment, ran down the street, holding up her skirts with both hands so she didn't trip. “Gabriel, how quickly you got here!”

  “What did you expect, little girl?” Gabriel said comfortably, dismounting. “Och, bairn, what are you wearing?”

  “Oh, it's all part of my plan,” she said, finally emerging from his embrace. “It makes me look silly, I know, but the colonel's insisting on it; but I'll explain later.”

  “Well, well,” Julian drawled. “So Gabriel's not a party to this pretty little scheme of yours. I'm astonished.”

  Gabriel regarded the colonel steadily. “I see you've looked after the bairn.”

  “Of course. Not that she's made it easy for me,” he added caustically.

  Gabriel nodded. “Didn't expect she would, not her way.” He turned back to his pack mules, where Tamsyn was talking animatedly in Spanish to the woman still sitting on the mule. Gabriel lifted the woman down, holding her easily in his arms, although from what Julian could see beneath the mountain of shawls, the woman was no light burden.

  Set on her feet on the cobbles, she shook down her shawls, revealing herself to be a short lady of substantial girth. Throwing off her mantilla, she exhibited a round face with benign features and little dark eyes like currants. She promptly flung her arms around Tamsyn, launching into a voluble cascade of loving greeting. Gabriel watched the proceedings with another satisfied nod.

  “Och, woman, cease your wittering and let the little girl be,” he said when he judged the greeting had gone on long enough. “I want to see these things stowed… don't like them out here on the open street, it's not safe.”

  “Oh, it's safe enough,” Tamsyn said, finally turning back to him. “We are, after all, in the headquarters of Wellington's army of the Peninsular. Protected by the word of an English gentleman. Isn't that so, Lord St. Simon?”

  “Most certainly,” he said smoothly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I suggest you stable the animals with Cesar and see if Senhora Braganza will accommodate additional lodgers.”

  “That do, little girl?” Gabriel asked, not prepared to accept the word of the colonel without corroboration.

  “Yes,” Tamsyn said. “We can unload the pack mules and store the stuff in my room at the senhora's. It'll be quite safe there.”

  “Then lead on.” Gabriel gathered up the reins with a careless nod. “Lead your mule, woman.”

  Tamsyn skipped ahead, Julian moving quickly beside her. “Who's the lady?”

  ''Josefa… Gabriel's woman,” Tamsyn informed him.

  “His wife?”

  Tamsyn pursed her lips, considering. “Depends how you define the position, I suppose. She's been his bedmate ever since I can remember. She was my nurse. She's going to come with us to England as my attendant or duenna… whatever you want to call it. A hidalgo maiden would certainly have one. I thought it all out.”

  “I commend your foresight,” Julian murmured. “So Gabriel accompanies us too?”

  “Of course. He wouldn't let me go without him,” she said as if it were self-evident.

  “He doesn't yet know this, I gather.”

  “Not yet,” Tamsyn said cheerfully. “I'll explain it to them tonight. At the moment he's too worried about the treasure to listen to anything else. He won't relax until he's seen it safely stowed.”

  “Treasure?”

  “Yes, my inheritance. It'll fund this scheme of mine, Colonel. I told you I wouldn't be a charge upon you.”

  Julian stared. “What does it consist of… this treasure?”

  “The fruits of a lifetime's brigandage, sir,” she said dryly. “What else? Gold, silver, jewels. Doubloons, ducats, francs. Quite a fortune.”

  “Good God!” he muttered faintly. “Didn't that band of deserters…”

  Her face tightened. “They were after it, of course. They'd heard of El Baron's fabulous wealth. But they didn't find it. The baron was no fool. Only he an
d Gabriel knew where it was. He knew, you see, that he could be sure only of himself and Gabriel if it came to torture.”

  “I see.” There seemed no other response.

  “Are you intending we should travel in an army convoy through Portugal?”

  “I hadn't thought about it as yet. But with that little lot, I think the more protection we have the better.” He grimaced, thinking of the responsibility of shepherding such a charge through the mountains to Lisbon. Portugal was a friendly nation, grateful to the English army for its liberation from Napoleon, but there were still brigands in the passes.

  “Oh, Gabriel will pick his own men,” Tamsyn said. “And they won't be soldiers. I asked about the convoy because I don't think it would be a good idea. Gabriel doesn't like soldiers… any more than I do… and he can sometimes be…” She paused. “Well, he can sometimes be a little unpredictable, particularly if he's been drinking.”

  “What do you mean, unpredictable?” Julian abruptly remembered the feel of the giant's sword on his naked back, the urgent look in Tamsyn's eyes as she'd spoken to Gabriel, desperate to convince him that she'd been a willing partner in that lusty tangle by the river.

  “Hot-tempered,” Tamsyn said, privately reflecting that that was a considerable understatement, but the unvarnished truth might alarm the colonel.

  “Dear God,” Julian muttered. A journey escorting a baggage train of untold wealth in the infuriating and tantalizing company of La Violette was to be exacerbated by a man given to violent drinking bouts.

  “It doesn't happen very often,” Tamsyn reassured.

  “And Josefa's quite good at calming him… if she can catch him in time,” she added as they reached Senhora Braganza's cottage.

  Julian refrained from comment. “I'll leave you here. When I've made the necessary arrangements, you'll be informed.”

  “Oh?” Tamsyn frowned. “And when will that be?”

  “You'll be informed. I suggest you occupy yourself with your wardrobe. You'll need a riding habit and a side-saddle. I assume you'll be able to control Cesar ridding side-saddle? If not, you must procure another riding horse.”

  He turned aside abruptly. “Gabriel, a word with you… are you intending to hire a guard for that?” He gestured toward the pack mules. “On the journey to Lisbon.”

  “Lisbon? That where we're headed?” Gabriel shrugged phlegmatically. “Then I reckon we'll need a couple of useful men. I'll find 'em hereabouts.”

  “We could travel in an army convoy. They're leaving all the time, conveying the wounded to Lisbon.”

  Gabriel shook his head and spat in the dust. “Don't hold with soldiers, Colonel. Present company excepted, of course.”

  “Oh, of course,” Julian concurred aridly. “Well, I'll leave it to you. You have a couple of days, maybe less.”

  He glanced toward the cottage where Tamsyn and Josefa were involved in a lively exchange with the senhora, involving much hand waving and shrugging.

  Gabriel followed his gaze. “Women'll be settling everything right and tight, I shouldn't wonder,” he stated. “Well, I'd best be getting this stuff unloaded. Don't like it standing here in the street. Be seein' you, Colonel.” He turned to unload the first pack mule, hefting an ironbound chest onto one massive shoulder.

  Julian contemplated offering his assistance, then decided against it. His orders, unconventional though they were, didn't include sweating like a farm hand. He strode off to headquarters.

  Tamsyn watched him go, frowning. He was very anxious to get away from her. She didn't care to be so lightly dismissed.

  Leaving Josefa and the senhora examining the limited accommodations in the cottage, she walked back to the gate, dodging to one side as Gabriel plodded up the path with another chest.

  “Hey, lad!” she hailed a small boy who was kicking a stone down the street. “Do you see that colonel?” She indicated Julian's broad retreating back. The lad nodded. “Follow him and let me know where he spends the evening. He may go back to the camp, or he may stay at headquarters. Come back and tell me, and there'll be a cruzado for you.”

  The lad grinned and ran off, stationing himself outside headquarters when his quarry disappeared inside.

  Unaware of his young follower, Julian entered Wellington’s apartment. The commander in chief was with his staff and greeted the colonel crisply.

  “St. Simon, you'll join us for dinner. We're putting our heads together over what exactly you should ask Westminster for. Should we ask for the maximum and bargain down? Or make reasonable demands that won't alarm the ministry?”

  Julian put thoughts of Tamsyn, treasure, and the unpredictable Gabriel aside and took a chair. Little though he relished this diplomatic mission, he understood its importance.

  The lad waited until dark. The colonel didn't reappear, but a procession of servants entered the building from the kitchen in the next-door cottage, bearing trays and salvers of food, and the chink of china and glass drifted through the open window with the rich aromas of dinner and the voices of the diners.

  The lad ran back to the widow's cottage, knocking on the kitchen door that stood ajar, letting in. the soft spring air. He stuck his head into the candlelit kitchen where Tamsyn sat with Gabriel, Josefa, and Senhora Braganza eating a dinner much less elegant than that served to the duke and his staff: Not that such a comparison would have troubled any of the participants at this board.

  “Ah, good lad.” Tamsyn pushed back her chair.

  “Where is the colonel?”

  “Eating at headquarters, senhorita. He went there and hasn't come out since. Didn't take my eyes off the door for a minute.”

  “Good.” Tamsyn nodded. “Gabriel, do you have a cruzado?”

  Gabriel reached into his pocket and tossed the silver coin to the boy at the door. “Now what are you up to, little girl?”

  Tamsyn smiled and popped an olive into her mouth.

  “Just a notion I had. In about half an hour will you go to headquarters and tell the colonel I need to speak with him on a matter of the utmost urgency?”

  Gabriel tore a drumstick off the chicken in front of him. “If that's what you want.” He bit into the meat.

  Tamsyn nodded, removed the olive pit from her mouth, and tossed it into the garden. “I have some preparations to make. In half an hour, mind. They should be circulating the port by then.”

  She disappeared upstairs, leaving the others to finish their meal. No one seemed to find anything in the least strange in her instructions or her disappearance, and the three of them continued eating with stolid application.

  Half an hour later at headquarters, Gabriel ascended the stairs to the landing and greeted the brigade-major with a curt nod. “Colonel St. Simon in there?” He gestured to the door behind the lieutenant.

  “Yes, but he's at dinner,” Sanderson said haughtily, staring at the massive, ruffianly figure of his visitor, clad in leather britches and jerkin, with a rough homespun shirt, a none-too-clean bandanna at his neck, gray hair caught in a queue at its nape. “And just who might you be?”

  “None of your business, laddie,” Gabriel said amiably. “I'll fetch out the colonel.”

  “No!” Sanderson leaped to his feet as the visitor moved to the door. “You can't go in there.”

  “Oh, yes, I can, laddie.” Gabriel caught the unfortunate lieutenant by the collar and lifted him onto his toes. “Let's not argue about it, now. Do you want to run along in there and announce me, or shall I announce myself?”

  Sanderson opened his mouth on a bellow for reinforcements, and Gabriel dropped him back into his chair, saying pleasantly, “I'll announce myself, then.”

  By the time two infantrymen appeared, breathless, on the stairs, Gabriel was inside the commander in chief s sanctum.

  The men around the table looked up in astonishment. Julian closed his eyes briefly with a resigned sigh. Sanderson and reinforcements stumbled into the room on the giant's heels.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. I couldn't stop him.�
� Wellington raised his eyeglass and examined the newcomer, saying caustically, “No, I can see that might be difficult. And just whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

  Gabriel offered no introduction, merely saying, “Sorry to disturb your dinner, gentlemen. But I've come for Colonel St. Simon. The bairn wants him urgently.”

  “He's referring to La Violette,” Julian drawled, leaning back in his chair, toying idly with his port glass. “What does she want now, Gabriel?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Couldn't say, Colonel. Just told me to fetch you.”

  Julian drained his glass and pushed back his chair.

  “You'll excuse me, gentlemen. Mustn't keep a lady waiting.” His tone was sarcastic, and Gabriel frowned.

  “You wouldn't be insulting the bairn, now, would you, Colonel?”

  “That creature you persist upon calling 'little girl,' Gabriel, is a devious little devil,” Julian declared roundly. “And if you want to pick a fight with me over that description, then I suggest we go outside.”

  There was a tense moment of silence; then Gabriel's laugh boomed through the room, setting the china shivering. “Och, I don't think I'll be quarrelling with you, man. Shall we be off now?”

  Julian nodded, sketched a bow to his dinner companions, and followed Gabriel out of the room, Sanderson and his cohorts falling in behind them.

  “So has she explained this mad scheme to you as yet?” Julian asked as they strode through the lamplit streets of Elvas.

  “Not yet,” Gabriel replied placidly. “She'll tell me in her own sweet time.”

  “And you're not curious?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “I go where she goes.” They reached the cottage, and Julian hesitated in the tiny hall, hearing the chatter of the older women from the kitchen. “So where is she?”

  “Upstairs, I believe,” Gabriel replied. “I'm off to smoke my pipe in the garden.” He disappeared through the kitchen door, closing it firmly behind him.

  Julian swore softly. Tamsyn was up to her tricks again, he was sure of it. He looked up the narrow wooden staircase, then, with an impatient shake of his head, strode up, knocking sharply on the door at the top. A low voice bade him enter, and he pushed the door open.