Lord Harry's Daughter (6 page)

Chapter
8

It was no more than a few steps down the street and across to headquarters where the two peasants under guard were seated in chairs at one end of the main room far away from any doors and windows. The two men glanced uneasily around them, but their faces lightened when Mark reappeared.

“Separate these men.” Mark spoke to the sergeant standing guard over the two of them. “I shall speak to them individually. I have brought Miss Featherstonaugh here to draw maps of what they tell me about roads and troop movements and supplies. That way I can concentrate on the interrogation.” He turned to explain in Spanish to the two peasants before the sergeant escorted one of them from the room.

Mark pulled up a chair for Sophia. “I have told the men that you will be drawing the maps and that I will have to stop and translate for you every once in a while."

“Very good. I shall make it appear that I am following your instructions then."

“Clever girl."

Sophia was surprised at how much his glance of approval meant to her. She pulled out her sketchbook and pencil.

“Let us get this man something to drink.” Mark sent another soldier out to get refreshments then sat down at a table in front of the peasant. “Now, tell me your name."

“I am Pablo, sir. I am a shepherd tending flocks up near the Maya Pass and I have seen many French troops marching toward that area. Other troops seem to be moving toward St. Jean Pied-de-Port. I have spoken with other shepherds though who say that most of the French are heading toward the pass at Roncesvalles—about forty thousand of them, while twenty thousand are at the Maya."

“And San Sebastian? Are any of the troops making for San Sebastian?"

“Not that I could tell, sir. They all seem to be going inland and moving in the direction of Pamplona."

The soldier brought a bottle of wine and two glasses. Mark poured a glass and handed it to the shepherd, who drank it gratefully. “That is good. Thank you, Pablo. You are a credit to your country and most helpful to mine. We shall make sure we are ready to meet them. If you discover anything further, let me know. I am Major Adair."

The shepherd rose and bobbed his head toward Mark. The angular planes of his face softened into the hint of a smile. “I shall, Senor Adair. Now I must get back to my sheep."

The second man looked very similar to Pablo, with the same weather-beaten face that spoke of a life spent out-of-doors, the same straight dark brows, proud nose, and high cheekbones, but while the expression on Pablo's face had been one of the natural wariness of any native toward a foreigner, a shepherd toward an army officer, this man seemed sullen and suspicious rather than cautious.

“Do sit down and have something to drink.” Mark greeted him with the same courtesy as he had the shepherd before him. “Now what is your name and what do you have of interest to tell me?"

“I am Miguel. I fish from the port at Passages and I sometimes go as far up as where the Bidassoa River enters the sea. There I have seen that the French are massing for an attack across the river. I have seen them gathering in Hendaye and then they will capture Irun and march down the coast to San Sebastian."

“How many are there?"

“Many. But of course I did not get close enough to see and it would have been very dangerous. Those French
diablos,
they would shoot a poor fisherman as soon as look at him. They come into our country, steal our food..."

“I know, I know. Calm yourself, Miguel. We shall do what we can to drive them back. Now about how many men would you say there are?"

“Oh very many regiments, all prepared to attack."

“At Hendaye, you say, and then Irun? Excuse me, I must convey this information to the young lady drawing the map."

Mark turned to Sophia. “Do you have that?"

“Yes. I have everything."

“Are you certain?"

“Quite certain."

“Very well.” Mark turned back to the fisherman. “I thank you for helping your country and mine. We shall make sure our troops are ready for them and if you learn anything more, let me know. I am Major Adair."

“Yes.” The fisherman was glad to leave and hurried out.

Mark strolled over to Sophia, who was putting a few final touches to Miguel's portrait. “So which one of them is giving me the correct information? We do not have enough troops to reinforce both Graham at San Sebastian and the others guarding the passes on our right. I have allowed each peasant to believe that I am going to act on his information even though we can only afford to act on one of their stories, but whose story do I believe?"

“Oh Pablo is the one to believe."

“Then we shall reinforce the passes. But the French do have the material for pontoon bridges to cross the Bidassoa. I have seen that myself."

“Perhaps, but Miguel had no notion of the number of troops."

“True, but Miguel would have had to observe from a less protected position; he is a fisherman and cannot stray too far from the ocean without looking suspicious."

“Miguel is no more a fisherman than I am."

“What? How can you possibly know that?"

“Did you see his hands? They were the hands of a peasant, roughened by work, yes, but they were not the hands of a fisherman, hardened by years of hauling in nets. I have seen the hands of fishermen and sailors and Miguel's were soft in comparison."

“Oh.” Mark could not disguise the chagrin in his voice.

Bending quickly over her sketch, Sophia did her best to hide the superior little smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth before handing it to Mark. “Here, see for yourself what you think."

He took the two sketches and studied them carefully. “Yes.” He let out a slow sigh. “You are right. There is really no doubt about it. Not only is Miguel imprecise, he is lying. I can see that now. One has only to look at the eyes and the hands. They tell it all, do they not?"

“Usually.” Sophia put her pencil in her satchel and rose to leave.

“How could I have missed it?” He shook his head in disgust as he handed her back her sketchbook and escorted her to the door.

“You were listening to what the men were saying. You had to concentrate on the information they were giving you and evaluate it in terms of what you yourself have discovered. You could not pay attention to their facial expressions and their hands as well."

“You are being kind. Thank you, though. You do see a great deal in people that the rest of the world does not. What do you see in me, I wonder?” Mark opened the door for her and accompanied her down the steps and into the street.

“I see a man—a proud man, a man who knows he can rely on his strength and his resourcefulness to take care of himself in any situation. But I also see a troubled man."

“Troubled? What would there be to trouble me, pray tell, other than the usual killing and death that is part of war?"

“I do not know yet. But it is more than the usual dangers and discomforts that are every soldier's lot. It is a deeper sadness, I think.” She was treading on dangerous ground. She could see it in the tension around his mouth and the whiteness of his knuckles as his hands clenched at his sides. “But I am an artist and in addition to depicting landscapes and faces faithfully, I try to invest them with drama and passion. You have said so yourself, I believe, or at least you have implied it. Perhaps I sometimes see drama where there is none."

“So I have,” he responded lightly, relieved that she had let it go at that. Sophia Featherstonaugh saw a great deal and understood even more. Sometimes it was too much for him to deal with, and certainly more than he wished her to see. “But now I must take you home so that I can get word to your stepfather as to where he should send his reserves."

“And will you join your regiment if there is to be a major battle?"

“I sincerely hope so. What you heard today was a little more on the order of major skirmishing, but as you can see, the French have still not committed the bulk of their forces. If we are to drive them back into France we must seize the opportunity to strike at the major body of their troops and force them back across the Pyrenees before the weather becomes too cold. Even now I have heard that it can snow in some of the higher passes. If we do not push them beyond the Pyrenees then we shall have to spend another winter in Spain."

“Yes, that is what Sir Thornton says. Well, Mama and I are always ready to move at a moment's notice, though I have enjoyed it here. Everyone complains about the fleas, but it is pretty here and the people are interesting, strong, and self-reliant. It is a place full of possibilities for an artist."

“But a rather rough one for a young lady. Do you not long for more society, the balls and soirees, the dancing and flirting that are the main preoccupations of every well brought-up young woman I have ever known?"

They had crossed the street and walked down it until they were standing under the wooden balcony over the door of Sophia's quarters.

“But I am not a well brought-up young lady. Major. I have spent my life in the rough and tumble of army camps. I do not have much use for balls and parties."

“Surely you must wish for something more than traipsing after one army officer or another, setting up a household in one place only to tear it down and move on?"

“I do."

“So you admit it. You do long for a life more suited to a young lady, one that is filled with the comforts of ballrooms, drawing rooms, parks, and gardens,"

“I did not say that. I merely said that I wished for something more than
traipsing after one army officer or another,
as you put it. But I do not necessarily wish for the life of elegance and ease you are so quick to imagine."

“Then what
do
you wish for?” He had moved quite close to her now so she could almost feel his breath on her face and the warmth from his body.

“I wish ... I wish to make a contribution, to be useful in the way that you are useful, to
do
something."

“And so you have. You did something very useful today. No, it was more than useful, it was crucial. And now, in order not to diminish the usefulness of what you have done, I must go and get word to Wellington and the others. In fact I have tarried too long already. But I do not forget what you did for me and our country. Thank you.” With that he was gone, striding back to headquarters, eager to climb in the saddle, to be off, joining in the action.

Sophia remained standing in front of her door, watching him go, thinking about the look in his eyes as he said,
You did something very useful today. No, it was more than useful, it was crucial.
He had understood her. And that look of understanding had been as intimate and as meaningful to her as a kiss.

A blast of wind, brisk and cold from the mountains, swept down the street, whirling clouds of dust as it passed. She pulled her shawl tightly around her and opened the door.

Lady Curtis was precisely where her daughter had left her, calmly doing her needlework, waiting for whatever news there was to hear of her husband. “And were you able to assist the major?"

“I hope that I...” Sophia paused and smiled as she recalled his words of thanks. “Yes, I was."

“I am glad.” Her mother snipped a thread and turned to her workbasket to select another color; as though she had not observed the flush in her daughter's cheeks or the special sparkle in her eyes, but she had. It would be most interesting to see what developed. Lady Curtis felt certain that they would be seeing more, much more, of Major Lord Mark Adair.

Chapter
9

But it was some time before the major reappeared in their lives. Sir Thornton arrived home that evening exhausted and ravenous, but in between bites of a roasted chicken he was able to thank his stepdaughter for her part in the day's proceedings. “I understand that it was your decision that I send reinforcements to help Cole, Stewart, and Hill defend the passes to our right instead of concentrating them on San Sebastian."

“My decision? I merely drew a portrait of two men to enable Major Adair decide which one was telling the truth."

“Well you drew wisely. When Wellington returned this evening from San Sebastian there was a message from Cole telling him that they had been attacked at Roncesvalles. Of course I could not order the troops to march to Cole's rescue without the duke's authorization, but I was able to prepare them to head in that direction and to show them the maps your Major Adair had drawn."

“He is not
my
Major Adair."

“From what I hear, you are his
eyes,
as he called it, and he credits you with the accuracy of his prediction that the bulk of the French forces will attack on our right instead of our left."

“That is very kind of him, but I only drew pictures; he made the decision.” Though she might demur in front of her stepfather, Sophia went to bed that night feeling immensely gratified. Not only had she actually been able to do something, but she had been given credit for it. How many other men in a similar situation would have even respected a woman's judgment enough to ask her advice—very few, if any. And she could not imagine a one that having asked a woman's advice would have taken it and then given her credit for it.

The next day the general rode off to Ostiz to direct the reserve troops marching to reinforce Cole's and Picton's men at Sorauren and was gone all night, prevented from returning home by a fierce thunderstorm. The ladies waited up anxiously, but finally, comforting themselves with the thought that the ferocity of the storm would make it impossible for anyone to fight, they went to bed.

When Sir Thornton at last returned he was exhausted, but jubilant. “Soult is back on French soil. With the exception of the garrisons at Pamplona and San Sebastian, we have driven the French out of Spain!” He turned to Sophia and raised the restorative glass of Madeira his wife had pressed into his hand. “And your drawings helped us do it. If we had believed the other peasant we should have sent our reinforcements to San Sebastian, our forces would have been pushed towards the sea, and it would have taken many more weeks and many more lives to regain our position."

“Thank you, sir.” Sophia smiled gratefully at him. The general understood, better than her mother, how much she longed to contribute and how much she chafed at the inactivity. “I was thinking, sir..."

“Yes?"

She hesitated. When the idea had come to her in the middle of the night it had seemed so logical, but now that she was about to articulate it she was not so sure that it did not sound rather farfetched. “I can ride, observe, and draw as well as any man. I could do many of the things the exploring officers do. I could survey French positions and movements, count troops, and no one would suspect me of doing anything more than sketching. If I were to do that, it would free one of the exploring officers to fight with their regiments."

“Hmmm.” The general rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is an idea, but I do not think it would work. You are a woman."

“But I can ride, and even shoot as well, if not better, than most men."

“Steady, lass. I am not doubting your abilities or your courage in the least. In fact I would rather have you under my command than some of my officers. All I mean is that ladies are in short supply in this part of the world. The French would remember seeing you more readily than they would some man and it would not take long for them to put it all together. Men, on the other hand, are everywhere and it is difficult to be certain that the man one sees at one particular moment is the man one saw at another particular moment."

Sophia nodded slowly. “Yes I see what you mean, sir."

But she did not give up on the idea and several days later she posed the question to one of the exploring officers himself. She was sitting sketching the sixteenth century church of St. Martin when Mark crossed the churchyard on his way to headquarters.

“Good afternoon, Miss Featherstonaugh."

“Good afternoon. Major.” With a few deft strokes Sophia sketched in the lines of the church's slender bell tower.

“I am glad to see that you have found a more appropriate subject for your artistic talents than spies and informers."

“In the middle of a war I find spies and informers more appropriate subjects than churches and landscapes."

“Then undoubtedly you must look forward to a time when landscapes and churches are appropriate, when the majors you meet ask you to dance rather than identify traitors."

“I have already told you how I feel about balls and parties. I enjoy meeting majors who are doing something besides thinking up meaningless phrases to flatter their dance partners, spending their days with their tailors, or losing their fortunes at play.

“But a good deal safer."

“Oh, safe.” Sophia snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Besides, I told you I wish to do something useful with my life rather than waste it dressing for balls or rides in the park. In fact, I was thinking of becoming an exploring officer myself."

“You what?” The major's expression of horror was as unflattering as it as ludicrous.

“I do not see anything so very surprising about that. I think it is a good idea. I daresay that I am just as familiar with the situation as you are. I have probably been in the Peninsula as long, if not longer than you have. As an artist I have trained myself to observe closely. You yourself admitted that I see more than you do. I can certainly draw as well as any exploring officer, and I am a woman. No one would suspect a woman of spy ... er ...
observing.
With my sketchbook I have a perfect excuse for being anywhere, and anyone who comes upon me will see that I am working on a landscape. No one will realize that I am also observing troop movements. I will re-create all these observations when I have returned home.” Her haughty tone and flashing eyes dared him to find fault with her scheme.

“I have never heard of anything so preposterous. A female exploring officer!” Mark snorted.

“And why not, may I ask?” If Sophia's voice had been haughty before, it was absolutely frigid now. “What is it that makes it so impossible to conceive? What can you do that I cannot?"

“What can I do? I can ride, for one thing, and I can defend myself."

“So can I."

Her calm assurance infuriated him. “Even at twenty paces I never miss my mark,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Nor do I. And with a rifle it is at least a hundred yards."

“With a what?"

Sophia smiled grimly at his astonishment. “With a rifle. You forget, my lord, that I have been with the army
all
my life while you have been in it only since you left university."

It was more than Mark could stand. “Very well, then. We shall just have to prove it."

“Whenever and wherever you like, I shall be happy to meet you."

“Let us say tomorrow at ten by the shrine where I saw you sketching. We can use my pistol, but I shall have to procure a rifle."

“I shall bring my own, thank you,” Sophia assured him tranquilly, then bent her head to hide a smile as he stomped off in disgust. Let him laugh at her aspirations, she would show him how badly he had underestimated her.

But the more she considered it, the less she was amused by his obvious incredulity. She had thought, after their last conversation, that he would understand that she was motivated by the same things that motivated him and everyone else who was fighting against the French—a belief in her country, the desire to stop Napoleon from conquering all of Europe, the wish to free the Spanish from French tyranny. She had thought, after their last conversation, that he considered her as capable of helping in this struggle as anyone else stationed in the Peninsula, but she had been wrong.

Though Major Adair had been grateful for her assistance, had even admired her perspicacity and her talent for portraiture, it was obvious that he still thought of her as a woman who, given half a chance, would choose a ballroom over a bivouac, an assembly over an army camp, and a life of frivolous amusement over a life of contribution and service. Too discouraged to do anything further on the picture she had begun, Sophia gathered up her pencils and returned her sketchbook to its case.

As she trudged home through the narrow cobbled streets, she took herself to task for allowing herself to be so affected by one man's opinion. All her life she had lived in such unconventional surroundings that she had become accustomed to thinking and acting for herself. And growing up in an atmosphere where actions were honored more than words, she usually worried very little about what anyone thought of her, if she considered it at all. But now one man's opinion had suddenly become very important to her, important enough to make her feel alive with happiness when he understood and appreciated her and annoyed and self-doubting when he did not. Why was that, and how had it happened?

Sophia lifted the latch on the door and glanced quickly around before entering their house. In her present unsettled mood she did not wish to encounter anyone. Hearing Jorge's and her mother's voices in the kitchen and Maria and Theresa chattering over the laundry in the small yard in the back, she heaved a sigh of relief and stole upstairs to her tiny bedchamber, laid her satchel on the little table she used as a desk, poured some water into a basin, and scrubbed her face vigorously.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, and resolving to push all thoughts of the major out of her mind until their meeting the next morning, she returned downstairs to help her mother.

While Sophia was able to restore her equanimity by plunging into household chores. Mark was having less success at putting the entire discussion out of his mind. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he disliked his role in their entire dialogue.

From the very beginning of their acquaintance he had been impressed by Sophia's talent, her obvious intelligence, and her wide-ranging interests—characteristics that set her apart from most of the women he had ever known, who were more than satisfied to be decorative objects in some man's life, and to spend his money improving their decorativeness. It was Sophia's difference from these other women that attracted him so strongly to her. He had never thought that a woman could be a friend to him in the same way that a man could until he had met Sophia. With her he found it as easy to relax and enjoy a conversation about shared interests as he would have with any brother officer, and the novelty of such a relationship made it even more intriguing.

But now that she was being different enough from other women to challenge him in his own areas of expertise he did not find it quite so intriguing, and he was not reacting to her as he would to a brother officer. If another officer had made the same claims about his marksmanship that Sophia had. Mark would probably have accepted it as a matter of course instead of patently disbelieving it.

After growing up with a rigidly disapproving father who worshipped the tradition that had kept the Dukes of Cranleigh as lords of the land since the Tudors, and a brother who was equally as devoted to the proprieties, Mark had sworn never to judge people by their ranks or their outward appearances alone, but solely on their own individual merits and accomplishments. Until this moment he had been able to live by that principle and it had won him the respect and love of the troops that had served under him. But now he was acting as conventional and as blindly judgmental as his father and his brother. He knew it. He had seen it in the angry sparkle of Sophia's eyes and the furious compression of her lips. He was not proud of this, but he was powerless to help himself. For some reason, the idea of her engaging in dangerous activities was extremely upsetting to him. He told himself it was because she was an artist and an artist's mission was to create, to inspire, not to destroy or to participate in the ugliness of war, but deep in his heart, he knew it was because she was a woman, a woman who had come very quickly to mean a great deal to him.