Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  "They're trying to buy our help," Joseph said when we had left them. "They figure this will make us want to fight for them. I wouldn't trust them, though. I've seen how they treat men who are supposed to be free. No reason why they would treat us any better."

  As we neared Washington we could see clouds of smoke hanging over the town. We met countless groups of people who had piled wagons and carts and horses with everything they could carry in an effort to save some of their possessions from the pillaging, looting British soldiers. Joseph was right: they gave us not the slightest attention as they trudged along. Some of the women were weeping and moaning loudly, but most were silent, their faces set into stern sorrowful expressions of bitterness and defeat. The men roundly condemned the failure of the militia to save the city. They told us that Washington had fallen with hardly any show of resistance, and that the swinish invaders had even burned the President's house.

  When we entered the town, Joseph wrapped me in blankets and protected my face and eyes against the foul air. We passed through the smoke-filled streets, searching for Dr. Barker's house. British redcoats ran to and fro, carrying torches as well as bayonets. Whole areas of the city had been destroyed in the previous day's fires, and now, on the twenty-fifth day of August, the British were finishing their job of destruction. Gangs of soldiers emerged from private homes and offices with their arms filled with loot. Many were drunk and were wantonly smashing windows, mirrors, and glassware, and shredding bedding and pillows so that feathers filled the air in front of some of the houses. Other soldiers were openly carrying on with the only women left in the city, the prostitutes.

  We stopped in one street and Joseph asked a harried-looking citizen if he knew Dr. Barker's house.

  "House?" the man yelped. "The whole street's gone, not just the bloody house. I haven't seen Barker for days. Joined what is laughingly known as the militia, I think. They burned me out, the bloody bastards! Burned me out! That damned fool Madison's not worth a cent."

  Joseph allowed himself a small sigh of despair.

  "Leave me here, Joseph," I said weakly. "I'll be all right."

  "No. We've got to find Barker. We've—"

  "Hey, Black Fella," a crude Cockney voice shouted at Joseph. "What you got there?"

  Joseph's arms tightened around me. "A sick woman, friend. If you know where I can find Dr. Barker—"

  "Doctor, eh?" I felt a hand plucking at the blankets that covered me. "Let's see this sick woman of yours, Blackie."

  "Keep your distance," Joseph warned. "She has smallpox."

  "Smallpox!" The man fell back. After a second he said, "You wouldn't be holding her so close if she had the pox." Joseph tried to ride through the gang of soldiers that had gathered around us. Someone caught the reins and held us in check. One of the soldiers ripped the blanket away from my head. "She ain't got no pox," he bawled. She's a white woman, too. Where you going with this pretty lady, mate? Don't hog the goods, now."

  Rough hands seized us and dragged us off the horse. I moaned as they tore me out of Joseph's arms, and I could hear him shouting loudly for them to free us in the name of the Lord. The soldiers laughed and shouted, and one of them fell on top of me and started to fumble with the blankets that enfolded me. I screamed again, and Joseph plucked my attacker off me and tossed him aside as easily as if he had been a feather bolster. The soldiers ganged up on him then. He tried to fight them off, his huge fists falling on them like a shower of cannonballs. They scattered for a moment and then renewed their attack on him.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran to an English officer who was watching the imbroglio with an expression of disdainful amusement on his face. I fell on my knees in front of him and babbled in French, "In the name of God, mon general, make them stop! Please save him! He is good, kind. Please call off your barbarians!"

  He looked into my eyes. His face was lean and weathered, with a prominent hawk-like nose and a square chin and clear blue eyes. I clutched at his hands to plead for Joseph's life.

  "You are a civilized man, Monsieur, a gentleman. I can see it in your face. Don't let them do this. They are attacking a man of God. I beg you—"

  He strode decisively into the mob and shouted some orders in a sharp, penetrating voice. When the men saw the bars on his shoulders and the rich plumes on his hat, they fell silent and quickly came to attention. Breathing heavily, I stood up. Joseph stumbled towards me and we clung to each other.

  "Thank you, sir," said Joseph to the officer. "We were looking for a doctor who used to live in this street. The lady is ill with a fever—"

  "Please accept my most sincere apologies for this incident," the officer said crisply in English. Then in French he said to me, "What is your name, Mademoiselle? How do you, a Frenchwoman, come to be here in this ruined city?"

  "Please sir," said Joseph, "she is very sick."

  "She will be cared for. Mademoiselle?"

  "My name is Elise Lesconflair," I said thickly through my parched lips. I struggled to hold my head up and I was grateful for Joseph's support. "Evil people made me a slave, and this kind man has saved my life. Please let us go, sir. We mean you no harm."

  He frowned. "Lesconflair? But I know that name."

  "My father was a general in Napoleon's army, Monsieur."

  "Of course! I knew him well. He visited London on a diplomatic mission between the wars. I was attached to Wellington's general staff at the time, so it must have been—1802? My name is Ross, Robert Ross. And you are—Elise. He often spoke of you. You were attending school there, weren't you? And I remember your mother very well. You are like her. Forgive us, Mademoiselle. This was an outrage. You, men, call my carriage! I will take you to my house at once and my personal physician will attend you, Mademoiselle."

  I managed a weak smile before I fainted dead away.

  When I awoke I found myself in a real bed in a beautifully furnished room. Light streamed in through small-paned windows, and everything was clean and soft. I sighed thankfully and slept again.

  Before the British occupation of Washington, General Ross's house had belonged to a Justice of the United States Supreme Court. Ivy Cottage, as it was called, was a small brick dwelling that stood on a wooded area overlooking the Potomac River at the edge of the little village of Georgetown, not far from Washington itself. There General Ross, leader of the British invasion forces, entertained Admiral Cochrane, commander of the British fleet, and other officers and their wives, who had accompanied them on this trip. Ross was forty-eight, a veteran of the American Revolution and campaigns against Napoleon. He was confident that his experienced soldiers could easily defeat the Americans this time, and his confidence was shared by Admiral Cochrane. It struck me that the whole invasion had a holiday air to it.

  Ross was tall and handsome in the way that only well-bred Englishmen can be handsome. His dark hair, which he wore powdered and beribboned on the most formal occasions, was only slightly touched with gray, and he was lean and fit for his years. He was a great favorite among his men, who found him to be a just and compassionate leader. I was delighted to have found someone who could tell me about my father, for my memories of him were cloudy. I ignored the streak of cruelty that I sensed in him, the kind of cruelty that would let a man watch smilingly while a pack of his men boisterously attacked a black man and a sick woman. I told myself that men at war behave differently than they do in peacetime. And he was never cruel to me. He was kind and thoughtful, and although military matters kept him occupied he always managed to spend several hours with me each day.

  Joseph never visited me at Ivy Cottage. Ross insisted that he had given the black man permission to call on me, but I never saw him. I fretted over his disappearance, and I was certain that something horrible had befallen him. I prayed that he was well and safe, but beyond that there was nothing I could do.

  A British army physician dosed me with physic and bled me twice, and prescribed beef tea and laudanum and a long bed rest. I improved in spite of his regimen. In a few
days I was able to receive visitors, and in a week I was able to accompany General Ross on daily walks in the small formal garden behind the house. Ross found dressmakers who were willing to work night and day to supply me with a new wardrobe, and he escorted me to parties and balls on the Admiral's flagship, Royal Oak. He grew more attentive with each passing day, and I blossomed under his attentions. It had been a long time since a man had flattered and pampered and petted me. As my health improved I felt that I could once again be called beautiful, even though I was still too thin and I tired easily.

  "I am delighted to find a truly civilized woman among all these barbarians," the General told me one evening as we circled the garden before dinner. "And a beautiful civilized woman at that!"

  "You are only a guest in this country, dear General, the same as I," I admonished him playfully. "You mustn't be so critical of the natives. But then I, too, am your enemy, am I not?"

  "Enemy?" He laughed. "No, my dear, France and England are at peace, at long last. Bonaparte's government has fallen, you have a new king on the throne, and the little General is resting comfortably on a miserable little island called Elba."

  I stared. "You're joking! Napoleon, gone? What about the Empress? And the King of Rome? I—I can't believe it."

  "It's true, my dear. Marie Louise and her son are in Vienna, I believe, and the rest of the Bonapartes have scattered to the four winds, probably to dream of a restoration that will never come to pass. Where have you been all this time?"

  I flushed and turned my face away. "I've been rather out of touch."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, Elise. I have no manners, none. The doctor told me you had been—ah, branded. It's shocking, really shocking! These people are beasts, animals! They must be!"

  I smiled bitterly. "But the people responsible for my enslavement were educated and well-born. It seems to me that acts of savagery transcend lines of birth and wealth, General Ross. History is full of stories of the atrocities committed by nobility against the poor and against each other. The Roman Emperors, the Borgias, your Richard III. Why, even twenty years ago French aristocrats could easily procure lettres de cachet against their enemies, who would then be tossed into the Bastille and left there to rot. I have been unfortunate, yes, but at least I have survived."

  I led the conversation to other topics, but we talked again about my life as a slave two weeks later as we walked in the garden at twilight.

  Robert Ross said, "Surely you can't be so Christian as to forgive them for what they did to you!"

  "No, dear General, I am no saint. If I saw either of them again I would kill them, I am sure I would. But I have no wish to make a career of murder." I swallowed. "I have already killed. It was a frightening experience."

  Ross took my hands in his and guided me to a stone bench. "Elise, you must come away with me. As soon as we win this wretched war we'll go to England together."

  I said, "You are very kind, General Ross—"

  "If you don't stop addressing me as General I shall go mad," he exclaimed with mock rage. "Why can't you call me Robert? And I'm not kind, not really. I took you in not only because I knew your father, but because—because I knew when I saw you for the first time, dirty and sick and ragged as you were, that you were someone special, someone a man could worship."

  I drew my hands away. "Dear Robert, I have been very troublesome to every man I have ever known. And the ones that worshipped me have fared worse than any. You would be happier if you had let your soldiers have me."

  "You mustn't say that!"

  "It's true. I want to go back to France, Robert. I want to go home. Nearly four years have passed since I left, and I want to see my family again."

  He gazed warmly into my eyes. "I understand, Elise. If you come with me on the Royal Oak back to England, I promise I shall take you to France as soon as possible. I'll have some leave coming to me after this campaign. Please, say you'll come back with me. I can't bear the thought of leaving you in this awful place."

  "I'll consider it, Robert," I said softly. "That's all I can tell you right now."

  "All right, my dear. But don't wait too long to decide. We'll be leaving Washington soon and I'll need to make arrangements."

  Ross's batman came out of the house. "Admiral Cochrane to see you, sir."

  Ross made a face. "Will you come in to greet my Lord Admiral, Elise?"

  "No, thank you, Robert. I'd rather stay out a little longer. I don't think your Admiral approves of me, you know. He thinks I am distracting you from your duties."

  Ross smiled and pressed my hand to his lips. "You are, Elise. Your beauty is becoming increasingly distracting—and attracting—every day. Don't stay out too late, will you? I don't want you to take cold."

  "I'll be careful," I promised.

  "I just hope he doesn't feel he has to accept an invitation to dinner," the General grumbled. He squeezed my hand and then walked briskly up the gravel path towards the house.

  I followed him with my eyes. When he had gone inside I sighed deeply. Here it was, then, my passage to France. On an English warship with an English general who had known my father many years ago. And now the wars between France and England were over for good. Napoleon was no more. Life was funny, bizarre. But I could go home. Home.

  I strolled to the edge of the garden. The evening was warm and a soft breeze was blowing from the river. Crickets and cicadas rattled and chirped in the trees beyond the Justice's carefully manicured garden. I closed my eyes and remembered the Chateau on a summer evening. Dinner with Uncle Theo and his guests in the great dining room, with the long windows open to catch the breeze. The smell of ripening grain and sun-baked fields. Light muslin dresses, as thin as air, and satin slippers with ribbons. Trips to the seaside. Games on the lawns and cool drinks. And laughter. The kind of warm, honest laughter that one can only share with the members of one's own family.

  As I stood watching the lengthening shadows I heard a crackle of twigs behind me. As I turned I was seized roughly and dragged into the bushes. A huge hand clamped down over my mouth so that I couldn't cry out. I squirmed helplessly in my assailant's arms.

  "If you scream I'll break your neck," a voice hissed in my ear. "Do you understand?"

  I jerked my head in assent. The hand slid off my mouth and I twisted around to face him. I felt the blood drain away from my face.

  It was Garth McClelland.

  As I opened my mouth to speak he pressed his fingers over my lips. "I mean it, Elise," he said grimly. "I'll kill you if you scream. If you want to get back to your dear General Ross tonight you won't attract any unwelcome attention."

  He took his hand away. I wiped my hand over my mouth and glared at him. "Still the gallant cavalier, I see," I said caustically.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. "Still complaining about my manners, I see. You do turn up in the oddest places, my dear. So did your poor husband. Did you really have to kill him? I know he was an abominable lover, but no man deserves death just because—"

  "He wasn't any kind of lover at all," I said hotly. "And I didn't kill him. Let me explain—"

  "That's not important now," he said brusquely. "The point is you're here and I might as well make use of you."

  "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

  "I would ask what you're doing here, but it's rather obvious. You are in the employ of the British. I am here in the service of my country."

  "As a filthy spy," I jeered. "Still doing what you do best, I see."

  He grinned slyly. "And so are you. You know, I feel sorry for poor Fournier. Little did he guess when he married you that he was signing his own death certificate. But then you were always a little too eager to show off your skill with firearms. You're as weak and willful as ever, Elise. When you find yourself in a situation you don't like, you run away. When you find yourself married to a man who doesn't satisfy your needs, you murder him. Like a spider that devours her own mate—"

  Rage blurred my vision. Claws bared, I leaped at his f
ace. I could have killed him for talking to me that way. He caught my hands and wrestled me to the ground. I struggled futilely, cursing him freely. He pinned me down and covered my mouth with his hand again.

  "Listen, bitch," he growled. "I've got no time for one of your tantrums now. I'm not interested in the men you've killed and I'm not interested in your whoring, only in how you can best use it to my advantage."

  My eyes blazed at him. I tossed my head, as if to say, "Go to Hell."

  "Your good friend Joseph is my prisoner, Elise," he said. "If you don't do as I say we'll kill him. Now settle down and listen to me."

  He jerked me into a sitting position and squatted next to me. I gazed at him with horror.

  "You're a monster," I breathed, "a madman. Joseph is your friend, too."

  "This is war," he said. "In wartime morals are suspended and nice little institutions like love and friendship have to go hang. Don't think I wouldn't kill Joseph if I had to. You know me well enough by now, Elise. I don't make idle threats. Your lover Ross has a dispatch case. He wears the key on his watch chain. I want the information in that case, and I want it tomorrow. You're going to get it for me tonight, copy it, replace the documents in the case, and deliver your notes to me in the morning. He has a field drill and maneuver at eleven o'clock and he'll be away from the house then. Under no circumstances must he suspect that the case has been tampered with. He and Cochrane might change their plans and all our efforts will have been for nothing."

  I was transfixed with anger. Finally I gave a short harsh laugh and said, "You seem to have thought it all out so brilliantly. Why don't you just finish the job?"

  "Because as his mistress you're in a better position to get the information without raising his suspicions."

  "But I'm not his—"

  "Don't bother to explain, Elise. You can't help yourself. It was inevitable that a woman like you would end up being a camp follower. It's the only way you can get enough to satisfy you."

  The cold hatred in his voice left me speechless. Clearly Joseph hadn't told him what had been happening to me. He didn't know anything about Georgette's plot, the Mississippi River Rats, or Edward Hennessy. He didn't know I had been kidnapped, enslaved, branded. And I was glad he didn't know. I was grateful to Joseph for keeping my secret. Now, when this distasteful spying business was done, I would return to France with Robert Ross. And at last I would be truly free of Garth McClelland.