Britain’s part in all this remained nebulous. Fox had accepted the necessity of pursuing the war, but he was still reluctant. And Windham, having learned nothing from the disastrous expedition to Egypt and the so far inconclusive venture into South America, put no rein on his fatal tendency for numerous small, scrappy actions in peripheral areas. Roger was again advising at the Foreign Office, but his conviction that a strong effort should be made to assist Russia was making little headway. Then Mr. Fox died on September thirteenth and with him all resistance to the active resumption of the war.
One problem was the disputed fate of Hanover. Assistance to Russia meant acting in concert with Prussia. It went sorely against the grain to join hands with the nation that had robbed England of Hanover, their king’s ancestral territory.
This stumbling block at last provided Sabrina with what she had so long desired. Special secret arrangements were made for William to go to Berlin to negotiate with King Frederick William. Perhaps British support for Frederick William’s claims to absorb a number of other German statelets plus a pledge of financial support in the war against France could be traded for the return of Hanover to British jurisdiction. By the last week in September, Sabrina had her wish. She was back on the Continent, but whether it would do any good now was questionable. She wrote to Perce the day she arrived to say she was in Berlin and sent him a second note a few days later, but without much hope. An aide-de-camp to General Bennigsen would be unlikely to be able to obtain a leave of absence in the middle of a major mobilization for war. Also, Perce might be moving from place to place so quickly that her letters would not catch up with him.
Chapter Eight
Sabrina’s suppositions about Perce’s ability to contact her were not exactly correct. Nonetheless, although Perce did receive both her letter and her note more quickly than she had expected, he did not dare ask for leave of absence. His problem was less with mobilization than with the character of the man he now served. General Bennigsen possessed a personality far different from General Bagration’s. German-born, Bennigsen had neither the volatility nor the openheartedness of the Georgian prince. He was rather suspicious of his aides, always thinking that they had some personal motive for their actions. So far those suspicions centered mostly on his Russian aides, whom he suspected of seeking promotion at his expense, and Perce did not want to draw suspicion on himself by asking for leave. Bennigsen was also envious of his equals; he was a very ambitious man.
Since Perce did not intend to make a career in the Russian army, he was worried by only one aspect of Bennigsen’s ambition—he felt that it warped the general’s judgment. Over the past year and a half Perce had learned a remarkable amount about military techniques and maneuvers. Bennigsen, he thought, was far too much inclined to accept reports of doubtful validity—when they fitted with conditions that were likely to make a hero of him. However, he was courageous, and he certainly had the best interests of Russia at heart.
The major problem, as far as the war went, was not with Bennigsen in any case. Despite strong urging from many quarters, it was impossible to convince Alexander to give Kutuzov the command of the army that was forming. Nor would he trust Prince Bagration, who was considered both too much under Kutuzov’s influence and too young. This left the tsar with a choice between Marshal Kamansky and Marshal Prozorovsky. Since the latter was too blind to recognize his own officers at a distance of three feet, the command naturally devolved on Kamansky, with Bennigsen as second-in-command.
Although Perce had long expected this, he had not realized just how decrepit Kamansky was. Bennigsen had said caustically that his senior officer suffered from so many ailments that he was never sure which were troubling him at a one time. Perce had discounted this as a characteristic denigration by an envious man, but it was in fact the horrible truth. Kamansky had taken command because the tsar ordered it, but he did not want it and was in no hurry to get into action. No one seemed to be in any hurry in St. Petersburg.
The advantage of the situation from Perce’s point of view was that the dilatory behavior of the senior officers and the envy and suspicions of Bennigsen drove the younger men together. Bennigsen had no close ties with his aides. Mostly he left the selection of his staff to others, counting on discipline to provide obedience. Moreover, he was not the most pleasant of masters to serve. He was exacting in small matters, careless in large ones, and when anything went wrong he shifted the blame to someone else—usually his staff. When aides tried to obtain more specific orders, they were accused of stupidity and lack of imagination. When they themselves tried to give form to formless orders, they were accused of trying to steal command from their superior officer.
Under the circumstances the group drew even closer together. Rivalries were suppressed in the need for self-protection. Any information one gathered—and none was above listening at keyholes—was immediately passed to the others, and since one or more aides-de-camp accompanied the general everywhere, Perce’s fund of information was better on the suspicious Bennigsen’s staff than it had been on the more free-talking Bagration’s. With rumor and real information flying thick and fast and inextricably entangled there was no way Perce would have dared leave his post to meet Sabrina, even if he had not feared Bennigsen would see some dark purpose in any request for leave.
It was not an easy decision for him. Whereas Sabrina was occasionally torn with doubt, Perce was torn by jealousy. First, there was the ever-present jealousy of her husband. Perce did not underrate Elvan’s charm. Sabrina had said she was cured of her infatuation, but that had been while her husband’s attention was fixed elsewhere. When Elvan’s new object was removed and he became aware of her displeasure, he would undoubtedly try to win her back, if only to avoid a scandal. When he thought of this, Perce would examine his face in the shaving glass with near despair. He was not handsome; he was not charming; and he certainly had no particular skill in wooing women.
Even if Sabrina were inoculated against Elvan, as Dr. Jenner’s technique inoculated people against the plague of smallpox, there were others who would try to win her. She was very beautiful and very rich, and a discontented wife was like a honeypot for drawing all kinds of vermin. Unhappy as Sabrina was, would she be able to resist the attentions of the practiced charmers who preyed on such women?
Her letters only increased Perce’s agony of mind. It never occurred to him in his wildest flight of imagination that Sabrina could doubt the quality or intensity of his feelings. He loved her so much that it used to make him physically sick to contemplate the need to marry elsewhere to ensure heirs for the title and estates of Moreton. He did not dream that his desire to protect her, which made him point out the dangers in their future relationship and prevented him from writing as often as he wished, could be misinterpreted as reluctance or lack of passion. Never did it enter his mind that Sabrina’s letters were reserved to provide him with the freedom to withdraw from the relationship.
It was a real struggle not to ask for leave and ride off to Berlin. It was more difficult to endure because Sabrina did not ask him to come. However, there were lines in her letter that riveted him to his duty. Thinking it might tempt him to come to Prussia, Sabrina had described the fury of preparation for war. This worried Perce. “Fury of preparation” were scarcely the words that applied to the Russian effort.
If he had still been with Prince Bagration, Perce would simply have taken the information to him. Bagration had reason to trust him and would have assumed Perce was doing his best for his commanding officer and for Russia. Bennigsen seemed to trust no one in the army. If he simply told the general what he knew, Bennigsen would suspect him of planting information to forward plans of the British, or still worse, to get Bennigsen into trouble. Of course Perce did want to help the British cause, but in this case he felt British interest was identical with Russian. The main purpose was to defeat Bonaparte.
The best Perce could do was spread the news subtly and write immediately to Sabrina that
William should get word to King Frederick William that Russia was not now and would not in the next month or even two be ready to support any action. He found it hard to believe that Prussia and Russia, whose ambassadors had been in earnest consultation since July, should be mistaken about each other’s readiness to move. However, thinking back on some British miracles of disorganization, stupidity, and bad timing in the past gave him reason to fear the worst.
In these fears he was quite correct. Sabrina never received his warning letter. Even at the time he was writing it, it was far too late for anyone to help. The die had been cast at about the time Sabrina and William had arrived Berlin. During the last week in September the Prussian ambassador in Paris had delivered an ultimatum to the French government demanding that all French troops withdraw immediately from German territories east of the Rhine. War was declared on October seventh, and by the fourteenth of the month the Prussian army had been catastrophically defeated in the twin battles of Jena and Auerstedt—almost completely owing to the ignorance, stupidity, and cowardice of its commanding officers.
The disaster was so complete that out of an army of one hundred and fifty thousand, barely fifteen thousand remained as a cohesive force. Within ten days of the battle Bonaparte arrived at Potsdam, and there was nothing, not a squad of men nor a single gun, to block his path to Berlin. There was no need for him to hurry, since the principal prizes were already gone. King Frederick William, his queen, his high officials, and the diplomatic personnel of any nation at war with France had fled eastward toward Russia and had taken refuge in the fortress city of Königsberg.
The fortress-palace itself was large, but so was the king’s party. Some high-level diplomatic personnel were accommodated, but after seeing their situation Sabrina could only be grateful they weren’t housed in the palace. Either she and William were not important enough or the delicate nature of William’s mission made the king wish to keep them “unofficial”. They were not forgotten, however. Even in his distress King Frederick William remembered to have those of his subjects who lived reasonably close to the palace expelled from their homes to make room for those of his court or those diplomats who could not be housed in the castle itself.
Rather shocked by such high-handed ruthlessness, William sweetened the order for the evicted tradesman with golden guineas so that he found lodgings elsewhere for his family. Sabrina sweetened the situation still further by begging William to allow the cobbler to continue his business on the ground floor of the house. There was no way they could make use of the shop premises, she pointed out, so there was no reason to deprive the man of his livelihood. His tools and lasts were all in the shop and would be difficult to move, and his customers would not know where to find him. Moreover, he would be very little nuisance since a cobbler’s work was neither nasty nor very noisy.
Later, upstairs, she enlarged on other reasons for her generosity. “There is bound to be resentment, even more against us as foreigners. If Herr Braunscheid is cobbling shoes below just as usual, few passersby will know we occupy the rest of the building.”
“Very clever,” William approved. “I hadn’t thought of that. The noise won’t bother us during the day—you, really, for I’ll be out most of the time—and he won’t work at night.”
William eyed his wife speculatively. The house had two rooms, parlor and dining room on the first floor, with two bedrooms above. On the ground floor was the shop, with a storage room and a cubbyhole for a servant behind it. The kitchen shed was built out behind the house. Neither Sabrina nor William had looked at the cellar, and neither intended to do so. It was almost certainly dirt floored, without windows, and not a fit area in which to live.
Sabrina caught her husband’s glance. “Katy and I will share the children’s bedroom,” she said with determination. You can have the big bed, and Charlot can sleep in the servant’s room.”
“You are being ridiculous, Sabrina,” William angrily.
“There are whores in this town as well as in any other,” she replied icily.
“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped. “This isn’t London. I will be noticed in such company, and besides, I do not choose to buy the wares such a town as this is likely to display.”
“Then try celibacy,” Sabrina recommended, rather amused. “You cannot use me like a drab, whenever the urge comes to you. I assure you celibacy is very pleasant and peaceful, once one becomes accustomed.”
The last remark was a lie. Sabrina found celibacy preferable to William’s attentions, but she had been dreaming of Perce recently and waking up achingly ready, reaching out for him in the empty bed. That did not show in her face, however. In fact, Sabrina did look more peaceful than she had since they arrived in Prussia. Despite the mauve rings around her eyes, lines of weariness that made her look seemingly years older, and being rumpled and filthy from the dreadful conditions under which they had traveled, Sabrina’s expression was almost eager and happy. William could not know this was simply because they were farther east, nearer—at least in Sabrina’s mind—to Perce.
William regarded his wife warily. It had come to him this past week, while they had struggled northeast from Berlin to Königsberg, that he did not know Sabrina. Not only that, she was the antithesis of everything he thought a woman should be—except beautiful, of course. She was self-willed, indifferent to his opinions or direction and far cleverer than he liked.
The news of the defeat at Jena and Auerstedt had hit Berlin like a thunderclap, and within the following two days it became clear that the entire Prussian army had either disintegrated or had been taken prisoner. Berlin could not be defended and would have to be abandoned. When the decision was made, William decided that Sabrina had better return to England, since Bonaparte hated the English and was known to look the other way when people of that nationality were insulted or even mistreated by his troops. Sabrina simply refused.
Moreover William discovered that she had prepared for the coming disaster far more efficiently than he had. Weaned on the tale of Roger and Leonie’s adventures in the chaotic France of the Terror, Sabrina had been drawing large sums of money in gold and silver for several weeks. Belts and secret pockets had been sewn so that the coins could be carried on her body and Katy’s. She had also purchased two two-shot muff guns and a fine pair of pistols. Ignoring Katy’s pleas and protests, Sabrina had taught her how to load each of the guns. William wondered how Sabrina had overcome Katy’s objections to staying in Prussia altogether. It was simple enough; Sabrina had only said, Perce is coming with the army from Russia, but William was told that it was only the guns Katy feared. She had no objection to the general idea of protecting herself and her beloved nursling. On her hip, beneath her drab and respectable gown, Katy had armed herself with a long, thin, ugly knife, designed for gutting fish. She was not in the least afraid to use that.
At first William had laughed at these preparations believing the guns to be some romantic expression of bravado. That was while he still believed he could convince or force Sabrina to go home, but everything had happened too fast. The magnitude of the military disaster had exploded rather than growing slowly in the normal way. Terrible stories had come from the port cities about overcrowded and unseaworthy vessels, and Sabrina declared that she was not yet ready to join the rest of her family who had drowned in a shipwreck. William, never having been involved in a panic-retreat, agreed then that Sabrina would be safer traveling north with the court unless a British naval vessel could come to pick up fleeing citizens.
There was no question of William leaving. The military catastrophe at Jena and Auerstedt made it more likely that an agreement to yield Hanover in exchange for British assistance might be extracted from Prussia’s King Frederick William. When the court left for Königsberg, William and Sabrina, with Katy and Charlot, followed. It was on the journey that William’s eyes were finally opened. Guns were no romantic bravado to Sabrina. She could and would use them, and her silly little muff guns, aimed and fired by her
delicate white hands, killed one man and wounded another, thus saving them from being robbed and, perhaps, murdered on the road.
In spite of the disaster that had overtaken the Prussian Army, William was not at all ready to concede total victory to Bonaparte, nor did it matter to him that the Prussians had been defeated. If he could obtain an agreement on Hanover, Britain would insist Prussia stand by it whenever Bonaparte was put in his place. Moreover, Sabrina’s intrepid behavior and cheerfulness under the miserable circumstances of the retreat had endeared her to Queen Louise, a woman known for her pluck and beauty. So, although he was infuriated by her continued resistance to him, William was not ready to quarrel openly with Sabrina.
Political reasons aside, William was not really convinced that Sabrina was indifferent to him. She showed absolutely no interest in any other man, and no matter how he twisted and turned the facts, he could perceive no reason for her to insist on remaining in Prussia if not to be with him. William was beginning to think Sabrina was simply frigid. Perhaps she had pretended to enjoy the sexual side of marriage in the beginning, found that her pretense could not keep her husband chained to her, and as a result had abandoned the pretense. William didn’t mind that, but he felt that when no other woman was available, he had a right to his wife’s body. He was thoroughly annoyed by her remark about celibacy, but he turned away with no more than an angry lift of lip and eyebrow. This was not the time or place to try to enforce his will.
Although the Russian high command was not ready to move, General Bennigsen had obtained permission to march sixty thousand men forward into Poland. They set out before word of the Prussian disaster reached St. Petersburg. When and how the news came to Bennigsen remained a mystery even to his aides-de-camp. The general tended to keep as much information to himself as he could. In this case it was justifiable. There was no point in damaging the morale of the officers and men by informing them that their only militarily active ally, Prussia, no longer had an effective army.
The Kent Heiress Page 14
