‘We are, we are.’
‘Then why did you let them do it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why did you let them burn us alive?’
‘This was nothing to do with me,’ said Daniel, mystified. ‘I swear it. I came here in good faith to thank you. We brought your horse and some provisions for you. Why should you blame me?’ He indicated the house. ‘This was the work of French soldiers, surely.’
‘No,’ said the farmer, eyelids fluttering and voice dying to a hoarse whisper. ‘They were British. They wore red.’
CHAPTER TWO
January, 1708
Amsterdam was carpeted by a heavy frost that obliged its citizens to wrap up in warm clothing and walk along its streets with careful feet. Traffic adjusted its normal hectic pace. Coaches and carriages no longer hurtled along so wildly and few horsemen moved at anything above a trot on the slippery surface. It was a cold and dangerous start to a new year. Gazing out of the window, Beatrix Udderzook was glad that she was in a warm house on such a cold day. She was a plump woman in her thirties with a podgy face and a nervous manner. When she saw a man slip on the icy pavement and fall to the ground, she let out a gasp of horror and brought both hands up to her mouth. The next moment, her anxious face was lit by a broad grin as she spotted someone crossing the road towards the house. Beatrix ran out of the room as fast as her chubby legs would allow her.
‘Miss Amalia! Miss Amalia!’ she called up the stairs. ‘You have a visitor, Miss Amalia.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Amalia Janssen, appearing on the landing.
‘Captain Rawson.’
‘That’s wonderful! I’ll come at once.’
‘I’ll let him in,’ said Beatrix, determined not to be robbed of the pleasure. ‘I saw him first.’
While Amalia descended the stairs, the servant rushed to fling open the door at the very moment when Daniel was about to ring the bell. Beatrix beamed at him and ignored the cold blast of air coming in from the street. After exchanging a few pleasantries with her, Daniel stepped into the house and doffed his hat. While the door was being closed behind him, he gave Amalia a welcoming kiss then stood back to appraise her. Beatrix, meanwhile, was goggling at him.
‘That will be all, Beatrix,’ said Amalia, tolerantly. ‘I’m sure that you have plenty to do.’
‘Yes, yes,’ agreed the servant, taking Daniel’s hat from him and reluctantly backing away. ‘But it’s so good to see the captain again. I must tell your father.’
‘Don’t disturb him just yet.’
‘But he’ll want to know.’
‘Father can wait ten minutes.’
Amalia wanted some time alone with Daniel first. He wiped his feet on the doormat so that his boots would leave no marks on the spotless tiles of the voorhuis then he followed her into the parlour. It was a large, low room with exquisite tapestries woven by Emanuel Janssen on three walls. A fire blazed in the grate. Away from the watchful eyes of the servant, they were able to embrace each other properly before sitting down side by side.
‘I was beginning to forget what you looked like,’ teased Amalia.
‘That’s a problem I’ve never had,’ he said, feasting his gaze on her. ‘I can always remember exactly what you look like. I’m just sorry that we’ve been apart so long this time.’
‘Your last letter said that you’d been to France.’
‘Yes, I was back in Paris once more.’
‘I’m not sure that I’d ever want to go there again,’ she said with feeling. ‘I don’t have happy memories of our time there.’
‘But that’s where you met me,’ he pointed out, feigning dismay. ‘I’d hoped that that might qualify as a happy memory.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘It does, Daniel. You know that. I’m just sad that we met in such unfortunate circumstances.’
It was well over two years since Daniel had been sent to Paris to find out what had happened to Emanuel Janssen. Braving the accusations of betrayal, the tapestry maker had accepted an invitation to work for Louis XIV at Versailles in order to gather intelligence for the Allies while in such a unique position. Daniel had arrived in the French capital to learn that Janssen was imprisoned in the Bastille and that, even if he managed to rescue him, he would then have to spirit him, his daughter, his assistant and Beatrix out of the closely guarded city and back to the safety of their own country. Though the seemingly impossible feat was finally accomplished, it had been beset by recurring perils.
In the course of their adventures, he and Amalia had been drawn together into something more meaningful than a friendship. Since he was constantly on the move, he could maintain only a fitful correspondence with her. Whenever he was able to visit Amsterdam, however, he always made straight for her house. Seeing her again was a joy. Amalia was short, slight and fair with a delicate beauty that had captivated him. Having been a soldier all his adult life, Daniel was used to taking his pleasures where he found them before moving on. In Amalia Janssen, he’d at last found a woman who was much more than a passing conquest.
‘Tell me where you’ve been since we last met,’ she pressed.
‘It would take far too long.’
‘I want to know everything, Daniel.’
‘You’d only be bored,’ he said. ‘Let me just tell you about my time in France and about my brush with death on the way back.’
‘With death?’ she cried in alarm.
‘Don’t look so worried, Amalia. As you see, I survived.’
He reassured her with a smile then gave a brief account of his weeks in Paris, describing how he’d contrived to acquire secret information, though revealing none of its actual content. It was when he talked about his encounter with the French patrol that he went into more detail. She was horrified to hear about the grisly fate of the farmer and his family.
‘British soldiers killed them?’ she said in disbelief.
He nodded grimly. ‘That’s what I find hard to accept. It’s so untypical. There were no foraging parties out. His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, always makes sure our army is fully provisioned so that it never has to be a burden on any farms nearby. More to the point,’ he went on, earnestly, ‘he’d never condone rape and pillage. I was shocked that anyone in a British uniform could behave like that.’
‘Could you find out who those soldiers were?’
‘I’ll make it my business to do so,’ he said. ‘I’ve made some enquiries already but nobody knows of any patrol that might have been in that area. I won’t stop looking,’ he vowed. ‘That farmer saved my life by putting his own in danger. However long it may take, what happened to him and his family needs to be avenged.’
‘It must have been a gruesome sight.’
‘It was, Amalia. I’ve been forced to see some hideous things in battle over the years and accepted them as the fortunes of war. This was very different – kind, innocent, defenceless people, left dead in the smoking ruins of their home. It’s preyed on my mind ever since.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said, touching his arm in sympathy.
‘However,’ he went on, brightening, ‘I didn’t come here to dwell on the miseries of warfare. You’ve seen enough of those for yourself at first hand. I came because I missed you so much.’
‘How long will you be in Amsterdam?’
‘Only for a couple of days, I fear.’
Her face clouded. ‘Is that all?’
‘I have to sail for England.’
‘Can’t you stay here for a week at least?’
‘My passage is already booked,’ he explained, ‘and His Grace is expecting me.’
‘Tell him you had to spend more time with Father, advising him about his tapestry of the battle of Ramillies. After all, it was commissioned by the Duke himself and he ordered you to help.’
‘I’ve spoken to your father at great length about the battle and he must already be well advanced on the tapestry.’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Her Grace, the Duches
s of Marlborough, wrote to say that there was no immediate hurry. It may be years before it can be hung in Blenheim Palace. Building work is very slow, apparently. Father is engaged on other commissions at the moment. You’d have to jog his memory about Ramillies.’
Daniel sighed. ‘I’ll have to jog my own memory,’ he confessed. ‘It seems such a long time ago now. When we routed the French that glorious day, I thought it would be a turning point in the war and that King Louis would agree to peace on our terms.’
‘Father says that he’ll never concede defeat.’
‘Failing that, I hoped that we could build on the success of Ramillies in last year’s campaigns and strike into France itself but, somehow, it just didn’t happen. We had endless disappointments.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I know all about disappointments.’
‘Cheer up, Amalia,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Make the most of me while I am here. I only have one other call to make and then I’m entirely at your disposal.’
‘I think I can guess what that other call is.’
‘I have to pay my respects to another very special woman.’
‘You want to visit your mother’s grave.’
‘She was born and brought up in the city. Though she enjoyed living in England with my father, she felt that it was only right that she should be buried here.’
‘An English father and a Dutch mother,’ she observed.
‘It’s a case of divided loyalties.’
‘Which has the stronger pull on you?’
‘Each of them.’
‘That doesn’t make sense, Daniel.’
‘It does to me,’ he said. ‘When I’m fighting in a British regiment, I feel English blood coursing through my veins and a sense of true patriotism. When I’m here in Amsterdam, however,’ he continued, pulling her close and looking deep into her eyes, ‘I feel as Dutch as a field of tulips and want to stay here for ever.’
‘Why have you never remarried?’ asked the Duke of Marlborough.
‘Oh, I’m much too senile for such things, John.’
‘Nonsense, man – you’re only five years older than me.’
‘I’ll not see sixty again,’ admitted Godolphin with a shrug. ‘Besides, there’s an insuperable barrier to my ever entering into holy matrimony again.’
‘You can’t mourn Margaret for ever.’
‘It isn’t just out of respect to my late wife. Margaret was a godsend and I could never find anyone else like her. No, there’s a much simpler reason, John – I’ve never been wholly at ease in the company of women. The truth of it is that I feel far more comfortable with racehorses.’
Marlborough laughed. ‘Does that mean you’d prefer to propose to a bay mare?’
‘It means that I’m a contented widower and relieved that I won’t ever have to go through the frightening process of selecting a wife.’
‘Choosing Margaret was not frightening, was it?’
‘That was different – she was an angel.’
The two men were enjoying a glass of brandy after an excellent dinner at Holywell House, the favourite home of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. He and Sidney, Earl of Godolphin, were more than friends and political allies. After a marriage of barely a year, Margaret Godolphin had died in childbirth. Francis, the baby son who’d lived, had grown up to marry Marlborough’s daughter, Henrietta, thus uniting the two families. Long commitments abroad meant that Marlborough didn’t see as much as he would have liked of the man who, as Lord Treasurer, provided the substantial funds needed for the continuance of the war. In order to do that, Godolphin had to become an adroit manipulator of Parliament.
‘What news of Blenheim?’ asked Godolphin, stroking the dark periwig that reached down to his chest.
‘Are you referring to the battle or the palace?’
‘The one led to the other.’
‘Indeed,’ said Marlborough, ‘and we are eternally grateful to Her Majesty for her kindness in bestowing the palace on us. Unhappily, it’s proceeding at a snail’s pace. There’s been definite progress in the grounds but the building itself has yet to take on any real shape. Sarah is there at the moment, cracking the whip over them.’
Godolphin smiled fondly. ‘I can imagine her doing that.’
‘My dear wife likes to have things her way.’
‘How is she getting on with the architect?’
‘Not too well,’ conceded Marlborough. ‘It was never going to be a marriage of true minds, alas. Vanbrugh came up with some splendid drawings and was very enthusiastic at the start of the project. Then Sarah decided that she wanted some changes.’
‘Oh, dear – have there been arguments?’
‘Let’s call them extremely warm discussions.’
‘Well, I, for one, can’t wait for Blenheim Palace to be finished,’ said Godolphin, firmly. ‘It’s not just a fitting home for you. It will be a visible reminder to everyone – including Her Majesty – of just how much you did for us as captain general of the Allied armies. Blenheim was a remarkable triumph.’
‘So it seemed at the time,’ said Marlborough. ‘Unfortunately, this damnable War of the Spanish Succession obliges me to produce a Blenheim year after year and that’s just not possible.’
He reached for the decanter and poured more brandy into both the glasses. There was a tap on the door and a liveried servant came into the dining room. He spoke with profound respect.
‘Captain Rawson presents his compliments, Your Grace, and asks if this is a convenient moment to see you.’
‘By all means,’ said Marlborough. ‘Bring the fellow in.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
The man bowed and withdrew silently.
‘Captain Rawson,’ said Godolphin. ‘That’s a name I know.’
‘You met him once in this very house, Sidney. Daniel Rawson was the boy with the sword.’
‘I remember now. It was after the battle of Sedgemoor. He was only ten but, when one of your soldiers tried to molest his mother, the lad killed the man with his own sword.’
‘In recognition of his courage, I presented the weapon to him even though his father had fought against us in the rebel army. Daniel has put that sword to good use over the years. He’s a fine soldier.’
‘Coming from you, that’s a real compliment.’
‘I promoted him to my personal staff.’
‘That’s a signal honour.’
‘It was well deserved.’
The servant escorted Daniel into the room then bowed and went out again. Marlborough gave the visitor a warm welcome. Daniel was pleased to find him in such a convivial mood. The last time he’d seen his commander, Marlborough had been weary and downhearted after a series of setbacks in the field.
‘Do join us, Daniel,’ said Marlborough, pointing to a chair. ‘We’ve not drunk all of the brandy yet.’
Daniel sat down beside him. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘We’ve met before, Captain Rawson,’ said Godolphin. ‘I hear nothing but good things of you.’
‘That’s very gratifying, my lord,’ said Daniel.
Marlborough rang a small bell and a servant appeared at once. He found a glass for the visitor and poured him some brandy before quitting the room. It was not the first time Marlborough had invited Daniel to join him at a table. Unlike some commanders, he didn’t distance himself from his officers in order to preserve his authority. He willingly sought their company.
‘Your good health!’ said Daniel, raising his glass to them then taking a first sip. ‘That’s very welcome after a long ride.’
‘Have you come from London?’ asked Godolphin.
‘Yes, my lord. My ship docked this morning.’
‘What sort of crossing did you have?’
‘A cold and cheerless one – we were caught in a squall.’
‘It’s not the ideal time of year to put to sea.’
‘I managed to get here in one piece,’ said Daniel before turning to Marlborough. ‘I have seve
ral letters and dispatches for you in my saddlebag, Your Grace.’
‘Then I must decline them,’ said Marlborough, holding up a palm. ‘They no longer hold any relevance for me.’
‘But I’ve brought reports of troop movements by the French.’
‘They’ve come to the wrong address.’
‘Your orders were to deliver everything to you in person.’
‘Things were different when I issued those orders.’
Daniel was bewildered. ‘In what way, Your Grace?’
‘During your absence, there have been some changes.’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Godolphin, ‘some very radical changes at that. It’s the reason you find us at leisure for once. We are no longer burdened by the affairs of state.’
‘I’m not sure that I understand, my lord,’ said Daniel.
‘Let me explain,’ volunteered Marlborough. ‘The Lord Treasurer no longer holds the office and I have ceased to be the captain general. A situation arose that made it necessary for us both to offer our resignations. In short, Daniel, you are answerable to me no more.’
Daniel was astounded. ‘This is dreadful news!’
‘That was our view initially. Now, however, having had the time to savour retirement, Sidney and I are coming to see its attractions.’
‘There’s no attraction whatsoever in it for the Allied forces,’ said Daniel, stoutly. ‘If I may be candid, it smacks of disaster. You are the one person in Europe capable of leading a coalition army against the French. Without you, we’ll be in a sorry state.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘Who created this situation of which you speak? It must be someone well versed in the black art of politics.’ Godolphin chuckled. ‘I apologise, my lord. I meant no offence to politicians.’
‘None was taken, Captain Rawson,’ said Godolphin. ‘Black art is an appropriate description. Parliament has rather more than its share of would-be sorcerers. They are always mixing potions designed to bring about one man’s rise and another’s downfall. His Grace and I have been victims of such sorcery. We are both ousted.’
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