‘Well?’ he asked with an amused smile. ‘Do I get to hear the contents or must I read it myself?’
Amalia giggled. ‘I’m sorry, Father.’ Glancing at the opening sentence, she let out a cry of joy. ‘It’s an invitation. Since your tapestry of Ramillies is to hang in Blenheim Palace, the duchess has invited you to England to see it being built.’
‘What a wonderful treat!’
‘She warns you that the palace is far from complete but thinks you’ll find it interesting.’
‘Then I must accept the invitation,’ he decided, ‘as long as it’s extended to you as well.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Amalia, reading on. ‘I’m mentioned by name.’
‘Let me see.’
Taking it from her for the second time, Janssen perused it with care. Amalia, meanwhile, was many days ahead of him, boarding a ship, sailing across the North Sea, setting foot in England and being driven to Oxfordshire to view the magnificent edifice awarded to the Duke of Marlborough in commemoration of his victory at the battle of Blenheim. She was enraptured. Doubts then began to creep in.
‘What will I wear?’ she asked with sudden anxiety. ‘I’ve nothing suitable in my wardrobe. And how do I behave in front of a duchess? I’ll make all sorts of terrible mistakes and say all the wrong things. I’m so afraid that I’ll let you down, Father.’
‘You could never do that, Amalia.’
‘I’m trembling with nerves already.’
‘That will soon pass. We’ve been invited to see the progress made on the palace, not summoned there so that the duchess can criticise your apparel and click her tongue at your manners. Besides,’ he went on, ‘you’ve met her husband a number of times and the duke has always been very gracious to you.’
‘His wife may be much more censorious,’ she said with concern. ‘Daniel has told me a little about her. She’s a determined lady with a mind of her own and she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.’
He chuckled. ‘Since when have you been a fool?’
‘The duchess is so close to Her Majesty, the Queen, that they are virtually sisters. Do you see what I mean, Father? It’s so daunting. When we get to England, our hostess will be a person who rubs shoulders with royalty.’
‘There’s nothing remarkable in that,’ he riposted with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I, too, have consorted with royalty. I lost count of the number of times I saw the king when I was at Versailles. He often spared me a few words – until he learnt that I was not simply there to weave a tapestry for him. We have that consolation,’ he added with a laugh. ‘Whatever happens, the duchess will not have us thrown into prison.’ He put a comforting arm around her. ‘Put away all fear, Amalia. You have nothing to be worried about. The duchess will find you as charming and lovely as everyone else does.’
She was uncertain. ‘Do you think so, Father?’
He gave a shrug. ‘If it causes you such distress, I can see that I’ll have to go to England myself.’
‘No, no,’ she cried, ‘I won’t be left behind. Give me the letter so that I can read it again.’ She snatched it from him. ‘It’s marvellous news. I can’t wait to tell Daniel about it when I next write to him.’
Though he was now attached to Marlborough’s staff, Daniel always made time whenever he could to visit his own regiment and see his friends. Chief among them was Sergeant Henry Welbeck, a man who’d known him since the time when Daniel himself had served in the ranks. Lacking the money to purchase a commission, Daniel owed his promotion to repeated acts of heroism in the face of enemy fire. His advancement had thus been strictly on merit. Nothing would induce Welbeck to join the officer class. In his view, they were an odious breed. He retained a barely concealed contempt for those above him, having seen too many of his men killed because of foolish decisions taken in battle by people with no business to be in command. Daniel was the only officer who’d earned his respect and affection.
They met outside Welbeck’s tent.
‘What news, Dan?’ asked Welbeck, puffing on his pipe.
‘We are to lay siege to Lille.’
‘Even I’d worked that out.’
‘What you don’t yet know,’ said Daniel, ‘is that Prince Eugene will be in command with fifty battalions and ninety squadrons, mostly of Dutch and imperial troops.’
‘Go on.’
‘They are to be supported by a brigade of five British regiments, one of which will be our own dear 24th.’
Welbeck’s nose wrinkled with displeasure. ‘So we’ll be taking orders from a foreigner, will we?’
‘Prince Eugene is a gallant soldier.’
‘He’s far too gallant, in my opinion,’ said Welbeck. ‘He likes to lead his men into battle and expose himself to unnecessary danger. I’d rather serve under a man like the duke who’s sensible enough to conduct affairs from a position of relative safety.’
‘His Grace doesn’t always hold back,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘I was there when he led a charge at Ramillies.’
‘It’s just as well you were there, Dan. My spies tell me that our beloved captain-general was thrown from his horse. If you hadn’t been on hand to rescue him, the Grand Alliance would now be under the control of some stupid, half-blind, weak-willed Dutch general with no idea of military strategy.’ He bared his teeth in a hostile grin. ‘The only thing the Dutch ever do with enthusiasm is to turn tail.’
Smiling tolerantly, Daniel refused to rise to the bait. Welbeck was a stocky man of middle height, with an ugly face given a sinister aspect by the long scar down one cheek. The sergeant’s body, as his friend knew, bore even more livid reminders of a soldier’s life. In the course of various skirmishes and battles, Welbeck had been shot, stabbed by a bayonet and slashed in several places by a sabre. He bore his injuries without complaint.
‘So,’ he said, eyeing Daniel up and down, ‘while I’m undertaking the siege of Lille with the rest of the regiment, what will Captain Rawson be doing?’
‘I’m awaiting orders from on high.’
Welbeck looked up at the sky. ‘I didn’t realise that you were in touch with the Almighty. You’ll be telling me next that you hear voices – just like Joan of Arc.’
‘The only difference is that she heard them in French,’ said Daniel with a laugh. ‘No, Henry, my orders come from closer to the earth. His Grace always dreams up something interesting for me.’
‘When is he going to dream up a peace treaty?’
‘When – and only when – we’ve finally won this war.’
Before he could reply, Welbeck noticed someone coming towards them. Daniel recognised the newcomer at once. It was Rachel Rees, riding a horse and pulling her donkey behind her on a lead rein. She wore the same rough clothing as before but now sported a wide-brimmed hat with feathers stuck in it. When she waved familiarly at them, Welbeck was unwelcoming.
‘What, in the sacred name of Satan, have we got here?’
‘She’s a lady I met on my travels,’ said Daniel.
‘Then you must travel to some strange places, Dan. Look at her, will you? She didn’t get that fat on army food, and what is the woman wearing? I’ve seen better dressed beggars.’
‘Her name is Rachel Rees and she’s Welsh.’
‘That’s even worse!’ snorted Welbeck, pulling his pipe from his mouth and tapping it on the sole of his boot to dislodge the tobacco. ‘I know we’re desperate for recruits, but we’re surely not taking on roly-poly ragamuffins like her.’
‘Keep your voice down, Henry, and show her some respect.’
‘Respect? How can anyone respect a vagabond?’
‘Rachel is no vagabond, as you’ll find out.’
When she finally reached them, she hopped off the horse and exchanged greetings with Daniel before smiling at Welbeck.
‘This is Sergeant Welbeck,’ introduced Daniel, ‘and I’d better warn you that he’s a confirmed misogynist.’
She was baffled. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘I don’t like women,’ said Welbeck, bluntly.
‘That’s only because you haven’t met the right one yet,’ said Rachel, cheerfully. ‘Will Baggott was the same. He was my first husband and a more defiant woman-hater you couldn’t wish to meet. Then I came into his life and his eyes were suddenly opened.’ She gave a throaty cackle. ‘He made up for lost time. Will was a corporal in the Grenadiers until he was killed in action.’
‘Did you manage to sell the horses?’ asked Daniel.
‘Yes, Captain Rawson, and I got a fair price for both of them.’
Welbeck frowned. ‘What’s this about selling horses?’
‘I should explain,’ said Daniel. ‘Rachel and I met when she was having an argument with a Hessian cavalry officer who’d promised to buy a horse from her. He decided to steal it instead.’
‘He tried to steal more than the horse,’ she recalled with a grimace. ‘If the captain hadn’t arrived in time, I’d have been violated. Instead of that, I finished up owning the fellow’s horse as well.’
‘It was his own fault, Rachel. The long walk back to his regiment would have taught him to behave more honourably in future.’
‘He’s probably still nursing his wounds.’ She turned to Welbeck. ‘The captain beat him soundly, then knocked him senseless. He had to stop me from kicking the scoundrel’s head in. Anyway,’ she continued, putting a hand under the folds of her dress, ‘I came to show you my appreciation by bringing you a gift.’ She pulled out a dagger. ‘This is for you, Captain Rawson.’
The two men were astounded. The dagger had an ornate handle and there were tiny jewels set into the leather sheath. When she drew out the long, razor-sharp blade, it glinted in the sun. Welbeck struck an accusatory note.
‘Where did you steal that from?’ he demanded.
‘I took it from the French major who tried to stab me with it,’ she told him. ‘It was after the battle of Ramillies. He was lying on the ground near to death and decided to take me with him. I’d already lost my second husband that day so I was throbbing with anger. I took the dagger from his hand and used it to finish him off.’ She smiled grimly. ‘That Frenchie had no use for the weapon so I kept it.’
‘That’s not stealing,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s serendipity.’
‘It sounds like thieving to me,’ asserted Welbeck.
‘And how many things have you picked up on a battlefield?’ she challenged. ‘If you’d seen a dagger like this, would you have left it lying there for someone else to claim? No, Sergeant Welbeck, you wouldn’t. In the wake of a battle, all of you grab whatever souvenirs you can. That’s what Ned Granger did – he was my second husband – and he built up quite a collection. Ned was a sergeant as well. He served in the 16th Regiment of Foot.’ Sheathing the dagger, she offered it to Daniel. ‘Please accept this small token of my undying gratitude.’
‘Thank you, Rachel,’ said Daniel, taking the weapon and examining it. ‘It’s a fine piece of work and I’ll treasure it.’
‘I’d rather you used it to kill more Frenchies. And don’t forget what I said,’ she added, wagging a finger. ‘Whenever you need any help, call on Rachel Rees.’ Her eyes flitted to Welbeck. ‘The same goes for you, Sergeant. It’s clear to me that you’re more in need of help than the captain.’
Welbeck bristled. ‘Why should I need help?’
‘Someone has to change your warped view of women.’
‘I don’t like them, that’s all.’
‘Does that mean you despised your mother?’
‘Well, no – of course not. She was different.’
‘What about your grandmother?’
‘What about her?’ asked Welbeck.
‘I can’t believe you hated her as well.’
‘She was family – it doesn’t count.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Rachel, ‘you like all the women who belonged to your family and loathe the rest of us. What about religion? If you’re a Christian, it must mean you love the Virgin Mary, not to mention all those other good ladies in the Bible. The tally is mounting all the time, isn’t it? You don’t hate all women. There are quite a few you like.’
‘It’s a fair point, Henry,’ said Daniel, enjoying the exchange.
‘Do you know what I think?’ said Rachel.
‘No,’ retorted Welbeck, ‘and I don’t care.’
‘You’re hiding behind this so-called hatred. The only reason you pretend to detest women is that you’re afraid of us.’
Welbeck exploded. ‘I detest them because they always get in the way – just as you’re doing right now. Women are a distraction in the army. They turn men’s heads and make them lose concentration. They lie, they cosset, they badger, they deceive, they demand and they talk a man’s ear off. Afraid of women?’ said Welbeck with disgust. ‘The only thing that scares me is that their tongues never stop wagging.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ asked Rachel, shaking with mirth.
‘Keep away from me,’ he warned.
‘You talk just like Will Baggott, though his language was much coarser. It took me a long time to win him over but I managed it in the end.’ She moved in closer to scrutinise his face. ‘You even look a bit like old Will with that same nasty, unfriendly expression. You only ever see it on the faces of poor, cold-hearted men who’ve never been properly warmed through by a woman.’
Welbeck was pulsing with fury. ‘Can you see now why I hate them so much, Dan?’ he said, rancorously. ‘They’re harridans – all of them. I’ll speak to you later when we’re able to get a word in.’ Turning on his heel, he plunged into his tent. ‘Goodbye.’
‘I think you frightened him off,’ said Daniel. ‘There are not many people who can make Henry take a backward step.’
‘I didn’t mean to do that, Captain Rawson. It’s just that he did remind me so of my first husband. The only difference is that the sergeant is much better looking than Will Baggott.’
Daniel gasped. ‘Henry is better looking?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Put a smile on him and he’d look almost handsome in an ugly sort of way. My instincts about men are never wrong. Yes,’ she went on, gazing pensively at the tent, ‘I might have offered my help to you, but Sergeant Welbeck is the one who really deserves it. He needs the magic of a woman’s touch in his life.’
CHAPTER THREE
Marshal James FitzJames, Duke of Berwick, arrived in the camp with his entourage and went straight to the quarters of its commander. He was dismayed to find the Duke of Vendôme reclining indolently on a couch with a glass of wine in his hand while attended by a handsome officer whose uniform was unbuttoned. Vendôme, who was as usual scruffily dressed, did not even rise to his feet to greet his visitor. His one concession to the newcomer was to dismiss his companion with a lordly wave of his hand. Buttoning up his uniform and putting down his glass, the man mumbled his apologies to Berwick and left swiftly. Berwick looked after him.
‘He’s rather young to be a captain,’ he observed.
‘Raoul Valeran is worthy of his promotion,’ said Vendôme, sitting up. ‘He’s proved himself on the battlefield and is a man on whom I can rely completely. But do sit down, Your Grace,’ he went on, indicating a chair. ‘May I offer you wine?’
Berwick was brusque. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Would you care for some other refreshment?’
‘I merely came to discuss military matters,’ said the other, lowering himself into a chair. ‘I expected to find you finalising your strategy, not entertaining a guest.’
‘Captain Valeran is a valued friend.’
Berwick understood what that meant. Now in his fifties, Vendôme was notorious for his sexual appetite and would often travel with his latest mistress in tow. When no woman was available, he would take equal pleasure in the company of a man. Evidently, Captain Valeran was his current favourite. Berwick wondered how the smart young officer could bear to get so close to a man whose filthy clothing, spattered with food and wine stains, gave off a noisome smell. Vendôme might be a veteran soldier but his personal habits were offensive
to someone as neat and fastidious as Berwick.
‘Well,’ said Vendôme, lazily, ‘I can see that you’re upset about something. Speak your mind, I pray.’
‘Since I came to Flanders,’ declared Berwick, ‘I’ve been appalled at what I found. I first went post-haste to Tournai and gathered up thousands of stragglers from the battle. What they told me was difficult to believe.’
‘Do not lay it at my door,’ warned Vendôme. ‘Had I been in command at Oudenarde, it would not have ended in a rout. In a moment of misguided affection for his grandson, His Majesty saw fit to saddle me with the Duke of Burgundy, a man whose high opinion of himself is not matched by deeds of valour in the field.’
‘I served under him and thought him a competent general.’
‘One needs more than competence to defeat Marlborough.’
‘Yet we outnumbered his army and had choice of ground.’
‘Oh, the ground was well chosen, I’ll give the duke that. The problem was that he refused to leave it. While some of us fought hand-to-hand with the enemy, the king’s grandson observed it all from a distance as if watching from a box at the opera.’ Vendôme fiddled with his cravat. ‘It is both wrong and dangerous to appoint someone in command simply because he has royal blood in his veins. Oh,’ he said with a gesture of apology, ‘that was not meant as a jibe at you.’
Berwick nevertheless took it as such. He was very conscious of being the illegitimate son of the Duke of York, later to become King James II of England. His mother had been Arabella Churchill, sister to the very man against whom he was now fighting. He knew that he could expect no avuncular indulgence from the Duke of Marlborough on the battlefield nor would he, in turn, show a nephew’s respect for his esteemed relative. Educated in France, he was content to serve in its army and, though still in his early thirties, had risen to the coveted rank of marshal. He was annoyed to be reminded that he was born on the wrong side of the blanket.
‘Your achievements in Spain have added to an already sparkling reputation,’ said Vendôme, trying to mollify him.
4 Under Siege Page 3
