Gallant Waif by Anne Gracíe Page B

the wad of pleated skirt over and methodically began to unpleat it. Her voice was flat, bleak. “Then Papa was hit. In the stomach. I. . .I managed to get him and Jemmy away to a deserted building. It was half destroyed, but at least it was shelter… Jemmy died the first night. . .Papa lasted two more days… I had a little laudanum and at least I. . .I was able to ease his passing…”
    Lady Cahill leaned forward. “You poor child—”
    “I didn’t remember anything after that. . .until more than a month later.” She straightened her skirt with shaking hands, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I awoke one morning and found myself in a French camp. An officer, Henri Du Croix, was interrogating several recently captured prisoners—English prisoners. I had no idea how I got there.”
    She shivered and continued, “It was the most terrifying feeling… Later, I learned that the officer, Henri, had found me wandering after Salamanca. I had been wounded—on the head.” Her hand crept unconsciously to the scar almost hidden by her hairline. “Apparently I was unable to remember my name or anything, although he knew, of course, that I was English. I became his prisoner. . .and his mistress.”
    Kate flushed at the small sound from Lady Cahill. She could not look at the old lady. Her hands began their intricate pleating again.
    “I discovered that for the last month I had lived with him, slept with him in his tent…” Kate swallowed in embarrassment, and forced the words out “. . .living as man and wife.” She flushed a darker rose colour and added, “I know it was true—I remember it. You must not think he was a totally wicked man—in his own way, I think he was fond of me…but I swear to you I did not realise what had happened until a month after Salamanca…when it was too late.”
    She took a deep shaky breath and continued, determined to get it all out in the open. “In Lisbon afterwards they called me the Frenchman’s whore. . . and a traitress.”
    Lady Cahill made a shocked sound.
    “Traitress, because I’d tended the wounds of French soldiers. I have some small skill with injuries, you see. And though they were the enemy I see no wrong in what I did. They were only men, like our men—tired, hungry, in pain, and longing to be with their loved ones, not fighting this dreadful war. That part, I do not regret…”
    She shrugged, her eyes downcast. “So, now you know.”
    The material of her skirt was crushed and twisted. Her voice rose again in distress. “But I did not consent to be Henri’s mistress—he told me he was my husband and I believed him. I found a ring on my finger, though I did not know how it got there. I could not even remember my own name at the time, and so I believed him! He was very convincing. He said I was his English wife. I never knowingly—”
    “Hush now, child! Do not distress yourself. I don’t doubt your word,” interrupted Lady Cahill
    Huge, swimming grey-green eyes regarded her doubtfully.
    “Oh, tush, child,” the old lady said gruffly, patting Kate’s knee. “As if I did not know you are the soul of honour.”
    Kate inhaled, a long, tremulous breath. Tears trembled on her lashes. “Then you are very singular, ma’am, for few others believed me. They thought me a wanton, a liar, a traitress.”
    “Lud, child. Anyone with a grain of sense could see you are none of those. As far as I am concerned, you did nothing wrong. And I respect you for tending their wounded. Tell me, how did you return to English territory?”
    “Well, as I said, my memory came back to me when Henri was interrogating English prisoners—perhaps it was the sound of English being spoken that caused it to return. It took me a day or two to find out what happened and make my plans to escape. Then I stole a horse and rode into Allied territory. It was not difficult to pass from behind the French fines—a woman is not so suspect as a man.” She flushed. “But you see why I cannot possibly