Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy

by Diane Gaston

  As if reading her mind, Gabriel reached for it. “Shall I put it in my coat pocket? It will stay safe there.”

  She released it to him and watched him place it carefully in an inside pocket, directly against his heart.

  At the fourth change of horses, the woman with the sausage departed and an eager, fresh-faced youth bounded in. After about ten minutes on the road, the boy seemed unable to contain his chatter. He talked non-stop, asking questions, disclosing the private matters of his family and friends, remarking upon everything he saw out the window. “I see sheep.” “Those are mulberry bushes.” “The road sign pointed to Bath.” After nine hours of travel his fellow travellers were less than appreciative of his commentary, but the lad was too enthusiastic about everything to notice.

  He reminded Emmaline of Claude at the cusp of adolescence, in the fresh tone of his complexion and the constant fidgeting of hands and feet. Claude, though, would have been silent and unsmiling, keeping his thoughts to himself.

  Emmaline’s throat tightened with grief for the life her son had been forced to lead. Not wanting the others to notice, she clamped her eyes shut. Soon the boy’s voice lulled her and she finally fell asleep.

  When Emmaline woke her cheek was pressed against Gabriel’s chest and his arm was around her shoulders.

  “Come. We have arrived,” he whispered.

  For one brief moment she thought she was back in Brussels, back in Gabriel’s arms. She blinked the illusion away and allowed him to assist her from the carriage. He and Jack collected the baggage and they all entered the inn.

  “I’ve stayed at the White Lion before,” Ariana said to her while Gabriel and Jack spoke to the innkeeper. “It is not a bad place.”

  Jack walked over to them. “We’ve procured a set of rooms with a private sitting room. Gabe is having dinner sent up.”

  A maid came to show them to their rooms and a manservant followed with the baggage. Emmaline’s bedchamber was a little room with just a bed and a chest of drawers holding a mirror, bowl and pitcher. A towel hung on a peg on the wall.

  At the meal Gabriel shared his plan. In the morning he and Jack would walk to the house off Wells Road and call upon Edwin Tranville. Ariana and Emmaline would remain at the inn.

  Ariana protested, “We will not stay cooped up in the White Lion. I shall take Emmaline on a tour of Bath and we will wait for you in the Pump Room.”

  A pump room seemed a very odd place for a rendezvous. Why would anyone wish to meet in a place where water was pumped? Emmaline merely nodded, however, too exhausted to question anything.

  “Emmaline—” Gabriel’s voice turned deep “—you must go to bed.”

  Her heart raced at his words.

  “Yes,” Ariana agreed. “You look as if you will collapse in a heap at any moment.” She stood and put her arm around Emmaline, as if she would need help rising from the chair. “Come. I will help you undress.”

  Emmaline glanced back to see Gabriel’s eyes upon her, his expression unfathomable.

  Emmaline woke to a knock on the door. A maid entered, a girl of no more than sixteen with a riot of blonde curls that refused to be tamed beneath a cap.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” the girl said cheerfully. “I’ve brought you fresh water and am here to help you dress.”

  “How kind,” Emmaline mumbled.

  The maid laughed. “Kind, it wasn’t. The officer paid me well for it.”

  “The officer?” But she knew who the girl meant.

  “The one in your party.” With that matter-of-fact statement, she emptied the dirty water from the bowl into the chamberpot and placed the jug of fresh water on the chest. “You can wash while I take this out.” She lifted the chamberpot. “I’ll be right back.”

  A few minutes later, Emmaline was dressed and the maid, still talkative, was pinning up her hair. “You are French, aren’t you, ma’am? I can always tell, because you talk in that French way.”

  “En réalité, I live in Brussels.” Emmaline preferred not to think of herself as French anymore.

  “En réalité,” the girl repeated. “That sounds like French talk.”

  “Many people speak French in Belgium.”

  The girl paused. “I never knew that.”

  Emmaline glanced away. “Did—did you ever hear of a young man speaking in the French way who came to Bath recently?”

  “We get lots of them now the war is over,” the girl replied.

  “He would be just a little older than you and very enamoured of horses.”

  The girl stuck in another hairpin. “I’ll ask my brother. He works in the stables. He might remember if a fellow talked of horses.”

  She decided to add, “The Frenchman, he might be asking for Edwin Tranville.”

  “The baron’s son?” The girl put in more pins. “Nobody likes him, I’ve heard, but I don’t know why. It was big news when General Tranville became a baron, I remember that from when I was little. People used to talk about that family a lot.” She patted Emmaline’s hair, signifying she was finished. “There you are. I’m to brush your travelling clothes as well, but is there anything else for me to do? The officer told me to ask.”

  “Non,” Emmaline responded. “Thank you.”

  The girl smiled and curtsied and opened the door.

  “Do not forget to ask your brother,” Emmaline added.

  “I’ll do it, ma’am.”

  As the maid left, Ariana appeared in the doorway. “I’ve been waiting for you. Jack and Gabe left a half-hour ago. Come. We shall breakfast on Lunn’s buns and you will see something of Bath.”

  “What is Lunn’s bun?” Emmaline asked.

  “You shall see!” Ariana said cheerfully.

  A few minutes later they were on the street and Emmaline had her first glimpse of Bath.

  “Oh, my,” she exclaimed.

  The buildings were all made of honey-hued stones. They passed one after the other until coming upon a huge church that towered over everything and looked as if it belonged in France. The church was built of the same golden stone as the other buildings. The pavement was paved with flagstone so their shoes and their hems stayed clean. People were already up and about. Young men laughing and ogling young ladies as they passed. Old men in white wigs leaning on canes. Grey-haired dames swathed in shawls and carried about in sedan chairs.

  Emmaline kept her eyes peeled for a blond-haired man with a scar on his face. Or for Claude.

  They entered a building with a cheerful bow window and sat at a small table. Ariana ordered them both Lunn’s buns and coffee.

  The buns were round-shaped bread, each filling a small plate. They were still warm from the oven.

  “It is a brioche!” Emmaline exclaimed.

  Ariana frowned at her. “A Lunn’s bun is only made in Bath.”

  Emmaline added clotted cream and jam and took a bite. “It is a very good brioche.”

  Ariana smiled again. “We shall take a walk after this.”

  “But when will Gabriel and Jack return? Perhaps we should go directly to this pump room.”

  “We have time,” Ariana said as she nibbled on her bun. “Time enough to talk of you and Gabe.”

  Emmaline did not know how to talk of her and Gabriel, even if she wished to do so. “I do not comprehend.”

  Ariana tilted her head pensively. “There must be an attachment, surely.”

  “Attachement?” Gabriel certainly did not seem to wish for one, although he had accepted her bargain of marriage.

  “Emmaline, he looks upon you like a lover might, but there is such a distance between the two of you. What happened?”

  Emmaline took another bite of her bun. How long had it been since she’d had a friend with whom to share confidences? Growing up, she’d learned never to share private matters; one never knew what might be construed as treason. She could never share her views about France with her zealous family and her husband had never been interes
ted in what she thought or felt.

  Only with Gabriel had she been able to bare her soul.

  “I cannot speak of Gabriel.” She met Ariana’s gaze. “It is for him to tell you, not for me. He must decide.”

  Ariana shook her head in frustration. “Men will speak of nothing, do you not realise that? They will hold things in until they are destroyed from the inside. I have seen it in Jack, although he manages to release his emotions in paint. He will not even tell me exactly what Edwin did to you and your son, not really.”

  “I will tell you that much.” Emmaline’s voice rose. “Edwin laughed when his compatriots stabbed my husband to death in front of my son. He tried to violate me and when my son tried to defend me, Edwin tried to kill him, too. That is the scene your Jack came upon in Badajoz.”

  Ariana reached across the table and took Emmaline’s hand. “No wonder your Claude feels as he does. Jack and Gabe will warn Edwin, for Claude’s sake. And for yours.” She smiled in kindness. “Let us finish our Lunn’s buns and then I will show you the beauty of Bath.”

  Emmaline’s appetite failed her, but she forced herself to eat most of the meal.

  Afterward, true to her word, Ariana refrained from asking more about Gabriel or Edwin Tranville. She led Emmaline through the hilly streets of Bath, promising to show her a grand sight. Emmaline pretended to enjoy the walk, even though her shoes pinched her feet and she worried the whole time that they would not reach the pumps in time to meet Gabriel.

  “What is it you wish to show me?” Emmaline asked again, although Ariana had already told her she must wait and be surprised.

  Finally they came upon a row of buildings that formed a huge circle, all built with the honey-coloured stone. They walked to the centre of the paved courtyard that the buildings surrounded. Emmaline twirled all the way around to see them.

  “This is the circus,” Ariana said. “But come.”

  “There is more?” Truly, she just wanted to go to the room where the pumps were, even if they arrived early.

  They crossed the courtyard and came on to a more ordinary street, but, as they continued, another marvellous sight appeared before them.

  “Oh!” Emmaline exclaimed. The view was majestic.

  “The Royal Crescent!” cried Ariana. “Bath is famous for it. I wonder you have never heard of it.”

  “We never heard much of England,” Emmaline explained.

  This time the golden buildings were curved in a crescent and faced a fine park. The sight of them was like nothing Emmaline had seen before, both unexpected and interesting. Even so, she could admire them only so long before she felt impatient to be off.

  Finally her guide said, “Let us go to the Pump Room.”

  Emmaline expected them to proceed to the river where a pump would likely be placed, but instead they entered a building near the big church and walked into a very elegant room with several people standing about.

  “Do you see them?” Ariana craned her neck and surveyed the room.

  “This is the Pump Room?” It looked more like a very elegant assembly room.

  Ariana still searched the room. “Yes. You can take the waters if you like.” She pointed to a counter where capped maids handed small glasses to the people flocked around it.

  “Take the waters?” This was making no sense.

  “From the springs,” Ariana explained in an incredulous voice. “Do not tell me you have not heard of the therapeutic waters of Bath?”

  “Ah.” She finally understood. They pumped therapeutic waters into this room. “It is like Les Eaux-Chaudes in France.” The waters of Les Eaux-Chaudes were supposed to be healthy to bathe in and to drink.

  Ariana was no longer listening. “I see someone.”

  “Edwin?” Emmaline’s heart beat faster.

  “No, but someone who might know him.” Ariana pushed through the crowd and, before Emmaline could follow, disappeared.

  Emmaline’s knees shook. Suppose she encountered Edwin Tranville all alone? If only Gabriel were with her, she would not be afraid. She stood on tiptoe and scanned the throngs of people in the room, looking for him. Gabriel would be taller than most of them, more easily seen.

  Some people shifted and she saw Ariana, not far away, speaking to an older gentleman. Relieved, she turned towards the door so she might see Gabriel when he walked in.

  She caught a glimpse of red. Gabriel’s coat. He stood near the doorway, sweeping his gaze around the room. He searched for her, she knew. Her heart raced again, but not in fear. It was the excitement of merely seeing him.

  She hurried to him through the crowd. “Gabriel!”

  Gabe turned at the sound of her voice.

  She advanced towards him, hands extended. “Did you find him?”

  The hopeful expression on her face touched at his guilt. His failure.

  He stepped back and averted his gaze, not wanting to witness her disappointment. “Edwin has left Bath. We have not yet learned where he went.”

  She lowered her head and he resisted the urge to touch and comfort her. “I am sorry.”

  Ariana walked up to them. “What news?” she asked him. “Where is Jack?”

  Gabe turned to her. “Edwin has left Bath. Jack is asking among old acquaintances for news of his whereabouts.”

  Ariana made an exasperated sound. “I will wager Jack discovers Edwin has been gone a week. I’ve spoken with Lord Ullman. I knew he was acquainted with Edwin.” She touched Emmaline’s arm. “Lord Ullman is the older gentleman with whom I was speaking just now. He saw Edwin a week ago, but not since. Edwin was in the company of other men. One of them was named Nicholas Frye, the other, a Mr Stewel. Lord Ullman has not seen any of them for a week and believes they left Bath together.”

  The two beautiful women were drawing curious glances from people standing near them. Gabe did not like it. “Let us return to the inn. Jack will meet us there. With any luck he will know where Edwin has gone this time.”

  Once outside, Ariana halted. “Let me visit the theatre. I still know people there and perhaps they have heard something.” She shooed them forth. “You go on. I’ll come to the inn afterwards.”

  Emmaline did not take Gabe’s arm as they walked back to the inn. She avoided touching him or speaking to him. Gabe suspected she was bitterly disappointed that he had again failed to find Edwin.

  When she had reached for him in the Pump Room, he’d again felt that bond between them, the one created from endless conversations and passionate lovemaking. The moment passed as swiftly as it had come and must have been illusion. Gabe gritted his teeth. He must remember that his importance to Emmaline was connected to the successful rescue of her son. Nothing more.

  But could he find Edwin fast enough to warn him before Claude made good his vow of vengeance? With each step the task became more difficult, more impossible.

  Gabe could not blame Emmaline for losing faith in him. He felt it in the increased tension in her muscles, the worried set of her mouth, the despairing expression in her eyes.

  He glanced away from her, hating his acute awareness of her every breath, of every twinge of her anxiety. He knew she was thinking of Claude, fearful that he had reached Edwin, fearful that he’d already murdered him.

  Gabe thrust aside his own concerns and tried to reassure her. “Just because we have not found Edwin does not mean Claude has found him.”

  She merely glanced at him, her eyes wide and in pain.

  He tried again. “It should be easier for us to find Edwin than for Claude to do so. Claude has no contacts, no friends here in England.”

  She gazed up at him. “But he has been looking for much longer.”

  They reached the inn and climbed the stairs to their set of rooms. In the hallway, the maid with the unruly blonde hair broke into a grin when she saw them approach.

  “Good day to you, sir,” she said brightly. “And to you, ma’am.”

  He and Emmaline murmured a greetin
g and passed her.

  “Oh,” she called to them, “I talked to my brother.”

  Emmaline seized his arm so he would stop. She turned. “What did your brother say?”

  Even a clod could not miss her intense interest.

  The maid glanced first at him, then smiled at her. “You were very right. There was a Frenchman asking about Edwin Tranville in the stables. My brother remembered him because he knew a great deal about horses.”

  Emmaline tightened her grip on Gabe’s arm. “What else?”