to say something, then changed his mind, turned
on his heel and left.
‘Now, miss,’
said the servant, standing the bowl on the table beside Maryanne. ‘Let’s have
you out of those torn clothes. I’ll find some of mine for you.’ She looked
Maryanne up and down. ‘Not that they will be up to what you are used to...’
‘Oh, pray do
not consider that,’ Maryanne said. ‘I am very grateful for your help. But I do
hope Mr Saint-Pierre will not be long.’
The girl
laughed. ‘Oh, you mean Cap’n Shoecar. He will be back as soon as maybe.’
Shoecar! How
many more names did the man have? And why were they necessary? The more she
found out about him, the more he seemed to have to hide. ‘Do you know the
captain very well?’ she asked, as she struggled out of her gown and stripped
off the ruined stockings.
‘My husband
served with him. He was devoted to him.’
‘In the British
army?’
Madame Clavier smiled. ‘No, miss.’ She
waited until Maryanne had washed her face and arms, then set the bowl of water
on the floor at her feet and knelt down beside it.
‘You don’t have
to do that,’ Maryanne said. ‘I can manage.’
‘If the cap’n
says to look after you, then that’s what I shall do. Come, put your feet in the
water.’ Maryanne obeyed.
‘Was he in the
French army?’
‘Who?’
‘The Captain.’
‘Yes.’
‘He served
Napoleon?’
‘He was serving
before Boney became Emperor.’ She shrugged. ‘Approve of him or not, you
couldn’t up and say you’d changed your mind about being a soldier after you
were sworn in, could you?’
So Mark had
been right. Did that make her feel any differently? ‘But you’re English.’
‘Michel, my
husband, was French,’ she said. ‘He died of his wounds after the Battle of
Orthez. ‘Twas only a month before the end of the war. If only...’ She busied
herself at Maryanne’s feet. ‘But there, it’s no good sighing for what might
have been. The Captain had promised him he’d look out for me, so he brought me
back to England and found me this place.’ Her voice betrayed the devotion she
had for the man who had helped her. ‘But for him...’
Maryanne
reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I am so sorry. It must have been
dreadful for you.’
‘Yes, but I
tell myself Michel’s at peace now and he wouldn’t have settled in England and
he dared not stay in France, not after...’ She stopped suddenly as if she
realised she was being indiscreet. ‘You were lucky you weren’t trampled to
death, miss.’
‘Yes, I had no
idea how unruly a crowd can become. It was like a great tide, unable to stop.
And for one man. The Duke is greatly loved, is he not?’
‘Yes, miss.’
She sat back on her heels and spread the cloth over her knees, then she lifted
Maryanne’s foot on to it and began very carefully to pat it dry. ‘You’ll need a
salve on your heel, miss. I’ll go fetch some and a gown for you.’
She disappeared
and Maryanne was left sitting on the settle in her underskirt with her bare
feet out in front of her. So, the Frenchman had been a captain in Napoleon’s
army and he was known as Shoecar in military company. Put him with the ton in
an elegant drawing-room and he became Adam Saint-Pierre, the dandy. And, yet
again, dress him in labouring clothes and set him down in the country and he
became Jack Daw. Why, oh, why?
The brandy had
made her drowsy and she was warm and comfortable; it was a pity she had to
dress again and go out. If she stayed, would she learn more about Adam? But
Mark must be searching for her and going mad with anxiety. And she had been compromised
enough. Not that it was her rescuer’s fault; it was she who had been foolish,
just as she had been foolish at the ball. It seemed she was fated to find
herself in the Frenchman’s arms. Mark would never understand that, but suddenly
she found she didn’t care. She lay back and shut her eyes.
When Adam
returned, he found her curled up like a kitten,
on his heel and left.
‘Now, miss,’
said the servant, standing the bowl on the table beside Maryanne. ‘Let’s have
you out of those torn clothes. I’ll find some of mine for you.’ She looked
Maryanne up and down. ‘Not that they will be up to what you are used to...’
‘Oh, pray do
not consider that,’ Maryanne said. ‘I am very grateful for your help. But I do
hope Mr Saint-Pierre will not be long.’
The girl
laughed. ‘Oh, you mean Cap’n Shoecar. He will be back as soon as maybe.’
Shoecar! How
many more names did the man have? And why were they necessary? The more she
found out about him, the more he seemed to have to hide. ‘Do you know the
captain very well?’ she asked, as she struggled out of her gown and stripped
off the ruined stockings.
‘My husband
served with him. He was devoted to him.’
‘In the British
army?’
Madame Clavier smiled. ‘No, miss.’ She
waited until Maryanne had washed her face and arms, then set the bowl of water
on the floor at her feet and knelt down beside it.
‘You don’t have
to do that,’ Maryanne said. ‘I can manage.’
‘If the cap’n
says to look after you, then that’s what I shall do. Come, put your feet in the
water.’ Maryanne obeyed.
‘Was he in the
French army?’
‘Who?’
‘The Captain.’
‘Yes.’
‘He served
Napoleon?’
‘He was serving
before Boney became Emperor.’ She shrugged. ‘Approve of him or not, you
couldn’t up and say you’d changed your mind about being a soldier after you
were sworn in, could you?’
So Mark had
been right. Did that make her feel any differently? ‘But you’re English.’
‘Michel, my
husband, was French,’ she said. ‘He died of his wounds after the Battle of
Orthez. ‘Twas only a month before the end of the war. If only...’ She busied
herself at Maryanne’s feet. ‘But there, it’s no good sighing for what might
have been. The Captain had promised him he’d look out for me, so he brought me
back to England and found me this place.’ Her voice betrayed the devotion she
had for the man who had helped her. ‘But for him...’
Maryanne
reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I am so sorry. It must have been
dreadful for you.’
‘Yes, but I
tell myself Michel’s at peace now and he wouldn’t have settled in England and
he dared not stay in France, not after...’ She stopped suddenly as if she
realised she was being indiscreet. ‘You were lucky you weren’t trampled to
death, miss.’
‘Yes, I had no
idea how unruly a crowd can become. It was like a great tide, unable to stop.
And for one man. The Duke is greatly loved, is he not?’
‘Yes, miss.’
She sat back on her heels and spread the cloth over her knees, then she lifted
Maryanne’s foot on to it and began very carefully to pat it dry. ‘You’ll need a
salve on your heel, miss. I’ll go fetch some and a gown for you.’
She disappeared
and Maryanne was left sitting on the settle in her underskirt with her bare
feet out in front of her. So, the Frenchman had been a captain in Napoleon’s
army and he was known as Shoecar in military company. Put him with the ton in
an elegant drawing-room and he became Adam Saint-Pierre, the dandy. And, yet
again, dress him in labouring clothes and set him down in the country and he
became Jack Daw. Why, oh, why?
The brandy had
made her drowsy and she was warm and comfortable; it was a pity she had to
dress again and go out. If she stayed, would she learn more about Adam? But
Mark must be searching for her and going mad with anxiety. And she had been compromised
enough. Not that it was her rescuer’s fault; it was she who had been foolish,
just as she had been foolish at the ball. It seemed she was fated to find
herself in the Frenchman’s arms. Mark would never understand that, but suddenly
she found she didn’t care. She lay back and shut her eyes.
When Adam
returned, he found her curled up like a kitten,
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