Cursing his fate, Charlot found the pistols and set about blocking the ground-floor windows. His impulse was still to run, but Lady Elvan’s objections made sense to him, and while he was busy he felt better. Still, more and more men straggled down the street, and by the time he had finished securing the windows, about an hour later, many soldiers were on foot, staggering, falling, and picking themselves up to stagger farther. That made Charlot more nervous than ever. That men so exhausted should be desperate enough to struggle on was a very bad sign about what was following them. Charlot again began to think of escape.
Indecisiveness held him for nearly another hour. He had been to the back door several times, but had returned because he knew his job would be forfeit if he left. Still, when the bell pealed, he jumped about a foot in the air and stood panting, undecided whether to run out through the back or answer the door. The bell pealed again, louder and longer. Someone was yanking desperately on the pull.
Clatter of shoes on the stairs and Katy’s voice, low and tense, “Who’s that? Charlot, who’s at the door?”
The bell rang still again. Sabrina, now completely dressed, came halfway down the stairs, a long-nosed pistol in each hand. “Answer the door,” she called softly. Then, angrily but still in a low voice, “Charlot, answer the door.”
He came from the back reluctantly, more because he realized there was no escape, than out of obedience. It had occurred to him that he could run out the back way, but then he would have to come out on the main street anyway. Sabrina gestured toward the door.
“Open it and get out of the way,” she hissed.
Katy was a little farther down the stairs, flattened against the wall so she would not be in the way if Sabrina had to shoot, but able to throw herself between her “baby” and any invader if the guns did not stop them. The lamp Charlot carried picked up a cold glitter by the side of her skirt where the fish-gutting knife was only partially concealed. Charlot shuddered. The bell rang again. This time Sabrina pointed one gun at him.
“I said open the door and step out of the way of my pistol,” she ordered, her voice now loud and angry. “If they break the door down, we’ll be in worse trouble.”
As if in response to hearing Sabrina, a muffled voice called through the door, “Charlot! Katy! Open up.”
With answering shrieks of joy, all three made a concerted rush for the door, Sabrina first uncocking her weapons and laying them on a nearby counter. Joy changed to terror on the instant. Perce and Sergei stood wavering in the doorway both covered with blood. Sabrina’s mouth opened to scream, but Katy’s work-hardened hand closed on her arm like a vise.
“They walked,” she said loudly “They canna be hurt bad.” Katy said “they”, but her eyes were on Sergei.
And before her words died away, Perce said in most formally polite tones, “Can you put us up, Brina?” His voice wavered on the last word, and his eyes slid upward under his lids. “I don’t think—”
It was impossible to tell whether Sergei was supporting Perce or vice versa. Sabrina jumped to catch her lover; Katy grasped Sergei’s arm. Perce tried to rally for a moment.
“There were no more horses,” he said softly. “They were dead, all dead. It—it was a long walk.”
His voice was very odd, his face stiff, flecked with the dead white of frostbite, but Sabrina didn’t care. Katy was right. No one could be badly hurt and walk twenty-three miles. She slid her shoulder under his arm and pulled him toward her, away from Sergei. Simultaneously, Katy pulled Sergei to the side. His knees started to buckle and she made no attempt to hold his great weight upright, only supporting him enough so that he was eased down to the floor rather than falling hard. Meanwhile, Sabrina had given a sharp order to Charlot that jolted him out of his paralysis.
Between them, Sabrina and Charlot half carried Perce up the two flights of stairs. Sabrina had thought of stopping in the sitting room to save a flight of struggle, but there was no place for Perce to lie down, and she had no intention of making him wait until Charlot could find and erect an extra bed. Besides, the bedding would be freezing cold, and Perce didn’t need any more cold. She tugged the bearskin to the floor while Charlot held him, then laid him down right on top of the quilts.
“I’ll manage here,” she said over her shoulder to Charlot. “You go down and help Katy get Sergei into your bed. Then heat water in every pot we’ve got. Get the dining room and sitting room stoves going and heat water on them, too.”
Sabrina had heard Katy shutting and bolting the door while they went upstairs, so there was no need to worry about that. Perce’s eyes were already closed. Sabrina shook him hard. He moaned but did not open his eyes. She shook him hard again.
“One question, Perce, only one. Open your eyes. Only one question.”
The lids parted slightly. “Wha’?”
“Are the French coming? How long do we have?”
“Dead,” he mumbled, his eyes closing again. “All dead…all dead… French… Russians…all dead. Never saw…never saw so many dead…dead…”
Chapter Twelve
Sabrina stood still for a moment, frowning. She wondered how much reliance could be placed on what Perce had told her, but then she shrugged and began to tug at his boots. Perce could go no farther in any case, nor could Sergei, and there was no way she, Katy, and Charlot could carry them. To send a message with what Perce had told her to William would surely be carrying coals to Newcastle. William must know the situation better than she. If there had been any immediate danger and a need to escape from Königsberg, he would have sent her word to get the carriage ready.
The boots had come off, although Perce’s feet were so swollen it had taken all Sabrina’s strength to remove them. His socks were black and stiff with blood, and she carefully cut them off, with a distasteful shudder. Then she rolled him to the side and pulled on the sleeve of his greatcoat. Perce protested querulously, but she paid no attention. Even if they had to leave soon, he would be better off if she could get him warmed and into dry garments. Between the sweat of exertion and the snow and sleet that had melted on him, he was soaked through.
By the time Charlot came laboring up the stairs with a pail of hot water and a pot of cold that could be set on the flat top of the stove that warmed the bedchamber, Sabrina had removed all Perce’s clothes, tucked him into the bed, and stirred up the fire. All the valet’s cool superiority had been reestablished. He gave a shocked glance at the heap of filthy, discarded clothing as he set the pot on the stove and the pail beside the bed.
“You will be glad to hear, my lady, that we seem to be in no danger from the French. From what we can make out, the withdrawal was planned. The lack of horses was owing to the ferocity of the battle, I understand. Do you wish me to attend to Lord Kevern now?”
Sabrina flashed him a single glance, but there was as much amusement in it as contempt. Just now, everything amused her because she was certain Perce had no serious injury. There was a nasty saber cut on his forearm that had been roughly bandaged and needed to be sewed and dressed, a smaller slash above the knee, and what looked like a bullet graze in the flesh between the neck and shoulder. Sabrina had almost fainted when she saw that. Not that the wound in itself was at all dangerous, but two inches to the left and Perce would have been dead.
“No,” she replied dryly. “There is no longer any part of Lord Kevern with which I am unacquainted. Please find some old linen suitable for tearing into bandages and make strips about two or three inches wide. I will also need a sponge, a bowl, some rice powder, lint, and sticking plaster. When you have brought those, you had better find the extra beds and bedding. You can put one in Lord Elvan’s chamber and, I suppose, one in the sitting room.”
“Then Lord Kevern and his—er—man will be staying.”
“I would imagine so. If the whole army has fallen back on Königsberg every inn and hotel will be full. It will be better to shelter Lord Kevern than to have God-knows-who quartered on us.”
“Yes, indeed, my lady.”
Although Charlot’s expression was properly wooden, Sabrina was sure that what she had said would reconcile him somewhat to Sergei’s presence. She was growing a little impatient with Charlot’s airs and graces but this was certainly not the time to reprimand him. That would only turn him sullen and even more disagreeable. And, after all, he was William’s servant. Sabrina looked at Perce’s sleeping face. If only she could think of a way of freeing herself from William, she would not need to put up with his servant, either. But for now Charlot was necessary.
When he returned with what she had asked for, Sabrina sent him out for a surgeon, but he was soon back with the news that there was not a doctor to be had. Fortunately, William returned soon after nine o’clock to tell Sabrina that all was safe and to get some rest. He sent Charlot out again with a message to Lord Hutchinson, who contrived to lay his hands upon a harried Prussian doctor. He sewed Perce up in short order, extracted a bullet from the fleshy part of Sergei’s arm, and left the house, having said hardly a word.
After the doctor left, William courteously stepped in to ask how Perce was, and found Sabrina carrying out an empty bottle of his best brandy. Having remembered the tale of how Pierre Restoir had washed Megaera’s wounded head with brandy and of how it had healed perfectly clean, without suppuration, Sabrina had used William’s choicest supply on her patients. William did not, like Sabrina and Philip, think that the Breton pirate was an oracle on any out-of-the-way subject. Actually, he did not even know of Pierre’s existence. He took exception to Sabrina’s “idiocy”. Good French brandy, he protested, was hard to obtain in enemy territory.
Ignoring such pettiness, Sabrina followed him into his bedchamber. “I won’t keep you long,” she said when William informed her coldly that he had sat up all night and would like to get some sleep. “I know you must be tired, but can you tell me what happened? All Perce kept saying was ‘dead, dead.’ They walked. Sergei told Katy that Perce’s horses were all killed, and he gave the screws they were riding to some medical officer for carts for the wounded.”
“I don’t know the whole, of course,” William replied somewhat more civilly, “but it seems it was a bloodbath on both sides, and totally inconclusive. Bennigsen withdrew his army—what remains of it—so I suppose Bonaparte will claim a victory, but the truth is, he must be much more hurt than the Russians.”
“Inconclusive means there will be another battle?” Sabrina asked, horror in her voice.
“I shouldn’t think so. At least, not immediately. Probably not until spring. In that sense, it is unfortunate that the Russians were so badly mauled. If they could have attacked again, it is likely the French would have suffered a defeat. However, it will be far more difficult for Bonaparte to replace the men than for Alexander to do so, and the French army is far from home without shelter and supplies.”
Sabrina stared blankly for a moment. She could feel tears prickling behind her eyes. Replace the men, he said, but one couldn’t replace the men. They were dead, and their mothers, sisters, wives, and sweethearts would suffer. How could one “replace” a man? Could Perce be “replaced” for her if he had died?
“There’s nothing to be frightened of now, Sabrina,” William said, misreading her expression. “Although Bonaparte took Preussisch Eylau, observers report that the condition of his army makes it impossible that he should even consider advancing on Königsberg. The expectation is that he will pull back, and if he does, it will have to be west of the Vistula, since the Russians have made a desert of the land between here and the river.”
“But everyone will starve,” Sabrina cried.
William snorted. “There probably isn’t anyone left to starve. I imagine those who aren’t dead ran away long ago. In any case, it’s nothing for you to worry about. We are going back to England as soon as a ship can sail. It’s impossible now to negotiate, unless the government will give us something with which to negotiate. Lord Hutchison desires me to try to convince Windham to commit a force of at least twenty-five thousand.”
“Going back to England?” Sabrina nearly glanced over her shoulder at the room across the corridor in which Perce lay sleeping, but she controlled the gesture in time.
“Yes,” William said, “and you will remain there. I do not like the temper of the people or the court. And we must have a reckoning also, my dear. I have been too busy and too worried to attend to personal matters, but—”
“Yes, we must,” Sabrina agreed, with a tinge of amusement. “Whenever you are at leisure, just let me know. But I’m sure you are too tired now.”
“Yes, I am, but I wish to thank you, Sabrina, for being so considerate as not to put Lord Kevern in my bed.”
“I never thought of it,” Sabrina blurted out, and then had sense enough to add, “I thought he might need nursing, and it would be more convenient if there were two beds in the room.”
William smiled at her without replying. She had been an idiot about the brandy, but it was clear to him that she had deliberately sacrificed her comfort to his. The way he looked at her annoyed Sabrina so much she was shaken by the impulse to tell him the truth. She mastered it, knowing a confession would only increase her difficulties, and there could hardly be a less appropriate moment for it. Somewhat flushed with anger, which simply convinced William that his notion was correct, she left the room without another word.
Sabrina stepped back into her own bedroom, but Perce had not even stirred in his sleep. The quilts were as smooth as when she had tucked them around him. Indeed, even the pain of being stitched up had hardly kept his eyes open. She thought briefly of sitting by his bed or even lying down beside it on the bearskin, which was on the floor, then laughed at herself for being a romantic fool. There was nothing really wrong with Perce. When he had slept off his exhaustion, he would be ravenous. In fact, Sabrina realized, she was ravenous herself.
No regular breakfast had been prepared and Sabrina ran down to the kitchen to snatch some bread and cheese, but Katy said she would bring tea and sandwiches to the sitting room in a few minutes. She stirred up the stove and stoked it, and when Katy came up with the promised provisions, Sabrina fell on them with enthusiasm. She had eaten nothing the previous night and had not eaten terribly well for a long time. Since the house was all at sixes and sevens, Katy broke her usual rule not to seem to be other than a trusted servant except when privacy was assured, and sat down to eat with Sabrina.
“How’s Sergei?” Sabrina asked through her chewing.
“Ye canna hurt an ox like that wi’ a bullet or two,” Katy replied dryly. “He’s asleep again, after nearly cleanin’ out the larder. Will Himself be home for dinner? And how about Lord Kevern? Will he be wantin’ an invalid diet?”
“I think he’ll be wanting a roasted ox—whole,” Sabrina said. “I can’t see that there’s much wrong with him either. The worst is his feet. Riding boots aren’t the best footwear for long walks in deep snow. He’ll be lame for a while. Oh damn! I should have asked William for slippers, but he’ll probably wake before Perce does. I don’t know whether he’ll be in for dinner. Don’t bother with a real meal. Can you make a stew that can be hotted up a few times?”
“Surely. And I’ll do a roast, too. Them that eats when it’s ready will have it hot. Later it can be served cold.”
“Whatever you like, so long as you aren’t too tired. Can I help?”
“Ye can stay out of my kitchen. That’ll be my best help,” Katy warned, laughing.
“It’s just as well,” Sabrina agreed. “I’ll begin packing. William just told me that we’ll go back to England on the first ship that sails.”
Katy flashed a swift glance at Sabrina, but there was little to be read from her expression; it was simply thoughtful. She doesna know yet, Katy thought, she doesna know whether Kevern will be going back to England, too. But whatever he does, she must go. It isna safe here.
Oddly enough those were the first words Perce said whe
n he opened his eyes. They fell on Sabrina, kneeling beside a trunk into which she was packing her ball gowns.
“Thank God you’re going home,” he said, levering himself up on an elbow. “It isn’t safe here.”
Sabrina jumped to her feet. “You aren’t supposed to say that,” she protested, smiling at him. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Where am I?’ Or groan dramatically to draw the nurse’s attention.”
For answer, Perce held out the arm that was not supporting him and drew her close when she placed herself within it. “I know where I am,” he sighed after their lips parted. “I’m in heaven, being greeted by an angel.”
Sabrina drew back a little to look at him suspiciously. In the throes of passion Perce might murmur sweet nothings, but such an exaggeration—heaven, angel—was most likely teasing. However there was no laughter in his face. His eyes were dark with remembered horror, and he was trembling a little. She clutched him tight momentarily then pulled away gently and said, as prosaically as she could, “You must be very hungry. Do you think you could walk if I fetched you a pair of slippers, or would you rather have a tray in bed?” As she spoke reached under the bed and drew out the chamber pot, which she handed to him, turning her back politely while he used it.
He groaned as he shoved it back under the bed, after which he asked, “What day is this, and what time?”
“It’s the ninth, about four o’clock.”
“I have to let General Bennigsen know where I am,” he said.
“I can send Charlot with a note,” Sabrina offered. “Or perhaps it would be better to send the note to William. He’s gone back to Lord Hutchinson. They could send a German servant from there. Charlot is afraid to wander around the city because of being French.”
“I don’t care who takes it, but it will have to go to Prussian headquarters. I don’t know where Bennigsen is. I can only hope they’ll know there. Bennigsen didn’t decide to withdraw until it was dark. He thought…right up to the end, he thought we would take back Eylau.”
The Kent Heiress Page 22
