Major Lord David (18 page)

“What did Dumont want?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Billie said calmly, glancing at Esther. Sometimes
Morty showed no tact. “You must let me try the next shot, Miss
Urquhart, as I fear there is a problem with the bow.”

Esther gratefully yielded, apparently taking great delight as
Billie sent the next arrow flying to the very center of the target,
instantly improving the duo’s standing.

“Do take the next three as well, Miss Caswell,” she urged,
“as it’s best three of five. And no one said we must split them”

“‘Tis just a game, Miss Urquhart. Everyone who wishes
must have a turn.”

“Oh, but I should rather win it,” Esther conceded. And Billie
realized with some surprise that there were possibilities in the
demure Miss Urquhart, possibilities of which her staid brother
was most probably unaware.

Billie’s subsequent two bull’s-eyes, though one was rather
unsatisfactorily just within bounds, put them in the lead. Perhaps, then, the flush of victory made her bold-or the frustration of knowing that she could not touch the man temporarily
robbed her of reason-because Billie pivoted and leveled her
remaining arrow at Ronald Dumont, who had been observing
the competition from the side of the lawn. She heard Morty’s
hissed “Billie!” and the gasp from those behind her in the
crowd. But the satisfaction of holding Dumont captive, even
for a moment, was too great to resist.

“I have you in my sights, Mr. Dumont,” she challenged.

“I assure you, I am all aquiver, Miss Caswell.” Despite the
pun and his apparent sangfroid, Billie thought Dumont’s gaze
watchful.

She was debating which part of the man might prove more
vulnerable-his wizened heart or his evil, calculating headwhen a cool hand closed firmly over her tensed fingers, effectively eliminating any risk to either piece of Dumont.

“This is not the way,” Hayden said calmly above her head.
“Not with one like Dumont”

Across the lawn, Ronald Dumont was laughing, an infuriating sound that made Billie itch to realign her arrow.

“Are you also your brother’s keeper, then, Hayden,” he called,
“that you must be tasked with controlling the ill-tempered cat? I
vow you shall find your days numbered”

“Oh, undoubtedly!” Hayden returned easily. “But I must
happily bear them, as the lady has graciously consented to become my wife-and my marchioness.”

David supposed that the evening’s duty was better than
that of the day before. Rather than standing about a hot roadside in reserve and under fire, they had been tasked with fortifying the defenses of a farmland chateau and its surroundings.
The interiors were dry, the men need not anticipate sleeping
on the ground, and, given a fortunate dispersion, they would
have a roof over their heads for the night. As the rain had
fallen unrelentingly since the afternoon’s thunderstorm, the
roof would be a luxury.

David had seen the place several times during the past three
months while traveling outside his billet in Enghien. The
chateau Hougoumont-“Gum Hill”-was very near two major roads south from Brussels, en route to the towns of Nivelles and Charleroi on the French border. As the countryside
had been on alert for weeks for signs of incursions by Bonaparte and his troops, the area was much reviewed. He, in fact,
had been one of many to review it.

Yet Bonaparte’s initial thrust had still surprised them.
Wellington had even been heard to claim that the French emperor had “humbugged” him. Wellington and his staff had been
caught off guard; indeed, word was that many had been pulled
abruptly, at an early hour of the morning, from the Duchess of
Richmond’s ball in Brussels. David, thankfully, had not attended the ball-he’d had no interest in attending, despite a plea
from Miss Athington.

The allied forces had been set into motion by moonlightto gather south of Brussels near the crossroads at Quatre Bras,
in an effort to counter the French. David and the Household
Guards, including some of his own regiment of infantry, the
Coldstream, had marched nearly twenty-five miles-to stand
there in the hot sun amid tall fields of rye and corn-and coolly
hope that artillery fire overshooting the battle south of them
did not strike their ranks. Even when the order had come that
the men might lie down, and David had dismounted, there had
still been casualties, though there had been no enemy at which
to fire. The troops he had accompanied had not been called to
the front line, though Captain Bowles’ company had. They
had heard much from the clash ahead of them, but the thriving grain had obscured almost all. The only evidence of battle
had been the noise and the casualties passing to the rear along
the road. That had been enough to make the newer recruits
pale.

David himself did not fear the fighting; he simply wished it
over. Yet it was not to be over soon.

Though Wellington had not “lost” at Quatre Bras, the result
of the previous day’s engagement had to be considered inconclusive. The allies had been victorious along the roadway;
by late afternoon Bowles’ Coldstream unit had even moved in
front of the contested farmhouse south of the crossroads. But
their allies, the Prussians under Field Marshal von Blucher,
had been defeated farther east, at Ligny. The Prussians had
lost at least 14,000 infantry and cavalry. Panicked survivorsor perhaps they were deserters-had raced back to Brussels
with the news that Bonaparte had “won”-that the allies were
doomed. Seasoned veteran of the Peninsular war that he was,
David knew that more was to come.

Wellington’s forces had pulled back another eight miles toward Brussels and the north, attempting to present a seamless,
united front with the damaged Prussians, who had retreated to
the east-to the town of Wavre. Along a ridge of land stretching east and west of the village of Mont St. Jean, Wellington dispersed the allied army to shield Brussels: British regiments
mostly to the west, guarding supply lines toward the Channel;
and Belgians, Dutch, and Germans to the east, in hopes that
they would eventually be supplemented by Blucher’s returning
army.

The Hougoumont farm, forward and to the west of Wellington’s center, could not be let to fall to the French, or Bonaparte
would flank the allied army and cut off its supplies. So the allies
had laid claim first, and they intended to hold.

David found the place eminently defensible. The residence
and a small private chapel stood at the heart of a pair of inner
courtyards, protected on the west by stables and a huge barn,
on the south by offices and garden buildings, and on the north
by several cowsheds. Most of the buildings were of weathered
gray stone. To the east lay an elaborate formal garden, bounded
by sturdy brick walls, and beyond that an extensive orchard,
surrounded on all sides by a thick, high hedge. A sunken farm
lane bounded the north side of the farm.

David thought his cousin Chas, who designed landscapes,
would certainly have recognized the terrain as a strong point.
And Chas would have found much charming in the site,
though the buildings, serving the practical interests of the
farm, were too closely positioned to allow for grand vistas.
Chas might also have found the formal garden too strictly
confined-David could well imagine him speaking of “opening it up.”

Indeed, the garden was likely to be opened up, but not in a
good way.

David suspected that it was indirectly due to Chas’ influence that he was here at all. The few phrases of German his
cousin had managed to teach him years ago gave him more of
the language than most-enough to give some direction and
nod an occasional approving
“ausgezeichnet”-“excellent!”- to the German troops, who were from Nassau and Hanover. Should any of them decide to cut and run, David hoped the
desertion would not be at his instigation, from some misunderstanding.

He rather grimly set about helping to direct the light company and a battalion of Nassauers in making improvements
to the farm’s defenses-for one, making loopholes in the gray
stone walls of the buildings, a tedious task for men with little
more than a few pickaxes and spare farm implements. Outside, where the south-side garden brick wall topped David’s
better than six-foot height, a firing platform had to be constructed so that men might aim muskets over the wall as well
as through loopholes carved out with bayonets. Luckily, a
mature wood south of the farm screened Hougoumont from
artillery fire on that side. But lacking much in the way of
undergrowth, the wood offered little protection for the men
who would initially be assigned to defend it. Still, they must
start with positions in the wood and outside the farm, only
falling back upon their defenses if necessary. There was no
point in surrendering ground before it might be wrenched
away.

All of these tasks would have been much easier without the
unremitting downpour. But recalling that rain had preceded
almost all Wellington’s victories on the Peninsula, David indulged in some reassuring superstition. From inside the building, the sound of rain upon the tiled roof was even pleasant.

As he circulated, he heard the men speaking of matters of
little import: a renowned boxing mill at home, a well-trained
dog, beloved qualities of the best ales. He knew they kept a lid
upon their feelings and directed their thoughts from the upcoming struggle.

“What is this place, Major?” one of them asked as they
worked. “Who lives here?”

“I cannot say. I’ve spotted smoke from the chimneys whenever I’ve passed, but I’ve only ever seen farmworkers about.
‘Tis a nice place for the area, though somewhat less than a castle. As the owners appear to have departed, leaving the
house without a stick of furniture, we will consider it oursand hold it as such.”

That brought smiles to their faces. Possession was more
than half the battle. And they were likely to be seriously outnumbered. But there were British cannons on the ridge behind
them, where the allied forces held their main position. The guns
would help protect their flanks.

Since Bonaparte had not, unexpectedly, pursued them that
day, Wellington had had time to settle his army along the
ridge, masking men and artillery on the reverse slope-a tactic that had served him well in the Peninsula. And the element
of surprise, having been exercised the day before by the French,
was no longer with their adversary.

Despite the rain, despite the fact that it was almost midsummer, David found himself thinking of the New Year at
Braughton, of the ball and of Billie Caswell. He suspected that
his letter to her must have read as incoherent. He certainly felt
incoherent; in fact, he feared the girl made him silly. At the
moment he could ill afford to feel silly, but he recalled the
New Year nonetheless. And he wondered, for the hundredth
time, why he had not heard from her. He had not believed her
so particular in her manners. At that ball, he had declared
himself. He sensed he did not misread her. But perhaps concerns for her family had intruded once more….

“What is that you hum, Major?” Corporal Crosby, who had
known him for years in Spain and Portugal, looked amused.

“Was I humming, Corporal?”

“You were, sir. A carol. A Christmas carol.”

“I’ve a notion, Crosby, that we shall soon be eager enough
to recall winter-when events here are engaging us warmly.”
And, pleased with the eased expressions of the men and with
his impromptu excuse, David fled the crew at the south gate,
to go inspect the garden wall.

His cap and greatcoat kept him reasonably dry. Occasion ally he passed under the shelter of a tree. From the top of the
firing platforms one could see just over the wall, across an
open grassy stretch about eighty feet wide, to the woods.
Those firing from the platforms would have to keep their
heads down whenever possible. But anyone attacking against
the wall would be at a distinct disadvantage.

David did not know if he was to stay here with Hougoumont’s
defenders. He had, he considered now, rather mindlessly passed
on promotion in order to stay with his regiment of foot. Yet
here he was employed just as though promoted, floating-as
coordinator, translator-instead of aide-de-camp, his previous role. Wellington did not stand on ceremony. If it served
him, he might treat a captain like a general; he had no second
in command. David would wait to see what was required of
him in the morning.

British artillery on the ridge behind the farm sent word that
two French corps had drawn up south of the wood, indicating
that the French had perceived the importance of the chateau
to their opponents’ defenses. In response, the Nassauers were
sent into that wood, to meet the earliest onslaughts of French
infantry, anticipated with daylight. Additional skirmishers,
consisting of a light company of Coldstreamers, Third Foot
Guardsmen, and more Nassauers, were tasked with defending
a small, hedged kitchen garden outside the western perimeter
of the barn. As the night advanced, David spent much of it
walking along the lane dividing the barn from that garden
and the fields and occasionally passing into the courtyards
where other Nassauers were dispersed. By standing sentry, he
decided he was minimally more comfortable than the Coldstream skirmishers, most of whom had bivouacked, grumbling,
in the mud.