undress, but then tactfully turned aside as Anna removed her shift and washed as best she could.
Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, with her curls tamed into a neat coil at the back of her head, Anna felt better, though she knew she would not draw a peaceful breath until they were free again.
Promptly at the dinner hour Colonel Robuchon came for her. He knocked sharply at the door but stepped in before she or Juana could open it.
“You look magnificent, Madame Arrington,” he said in French. As far as Anna knew, he had no English.
“Merci,” she said coolly. She would act brave and in control, no matter how great her terror.
“Your maid may go to the kitchen and dine with the servants.”
Anna translated this into Spanish. Juana nodded and picked up the baby, but waited until Anna and Colonel Robuchon had stepped into the corridor before leaving the room and shutting the door behind them.
“You are clever with languages, madame.” The colonel tucked her hand more securely into the crook of his elbow. He was a tall, robust man, and he loomed above her.
Normally Anna took pride in her linguistic skills. Her governesses had always made much of her facility for French and Italian, and she knew few in the army who had picked up as much Spanish and Portuguese as she had. But she wanted no praise from Colonel Robuchon.
“You are so silent, madame. Do your quarters displease you? I made sure that you would have a quiet, restful room, far from the bustle of servants or the noise of our officers.”
So he had deliberately chosen to lodge her in the most isolated part of the house. Fear and anger threatened to overwhelm her, and she pushed down the fear and embraced her anger. “The quarters are more than adequate,” she said. “But you cannot expect me to be pleased to be held prisoner.”
“Of course not, madame. But it cannot be helped, so why not accept it? I think you will find our hospitality and our table are all that can be wished for.”
“I fear that is not my way.” She pulled a little further from him.
“Then that is your loss, madame.”
In the dining room, Colonel Robuchon dictated the seating arrangements. He sat at the head of the table and placed her at his right hand, with a callow young lieutenant to his left. Commandant Pelletier sat at the foot, with the surgeons Timperley and Grant at his side.
Neatly separated from her countrymen, Anna said as little as possible. As promised, the food was excellent. Anna recognized it as local staples supplemented with luxuries brought from France. The colonel must keep a fine cook, for she had not tasted anything so elegant as the opening course of leek soup in longer than she could remember. But her appetite had deserted her, and the best she could manage was an occasional desultory sip.
Stone-faced Spanish servants carried in a roast of lamb and set it before the colonel. As he carved her a choice cut, he pressed his leg against hers under the cover of the table. She drew away and shot him a withering look, but he only smiled and stretched his foot to toy with hers. She tucked her feet around the legs of her chair and made determined conversation with her neighbor on her right, a dull but inoffensive captain.
The dinner took hours. Anna continued to pick at her food, torn between gratitude for any delay and a sense that if her doom was inevitable, it would be better to meet it and be done. The summer sun set, night fell, and by the time they had finished with sweets and cheese, the sky was black.
As they stood, Commandant Pelletier bowed to Anna. “Madame Arrington, will you do me the honor of accepting my escort back to your quarters? I have friends in England, and I should like to determine if we share common acquaintances.”
She smiled. “I’d be delighted—”
The colonel cut her off. “Thank you, Pelletier, but that can wait. Tonight I’ll see to the lady.”
The commandant shrugged helplessly and Mr. Timperley frowned. “If you
Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, with her curls tamed into a neat coil at the back of her head, Anna felt better, though she knew she would not draw a peaceful breath until they were free again.
Promptly at the dinner hour Colonel Robuchon came for her. He knocked sharply at the door but stepped in before she or Juana could open it.
“You look magnificent, Madame Arrington,” he said in French. As far as Anna knew, he had no English.
“Merci,” she said coolly. She would act brave and in control, no matter how great her terror.
“Your maid may go to the kitchen and dine with the servants.”
Anna translated this into Spanish. Juana nodded and picked up the baby, but waited until Anna and Colonel Robuchon had stepped into the corridor before leaving the room and shutting the door behind them.
“You are clever with languages, madame.” The colonel tucked her hand more securely into the crook of his elbow. He was a tall, robust man, and he loomed above her.
Normally Anna took pride in her linguistic skills. Her governesses had always made much of her facility for French and Italian, and she knew few in the army who had picked up as much Spanish and Portuguese as she had. But she wanted no praise from Colonel Robuchon.
“You are so silent, madame. Do your quarters displease you? I made sure that you would have a quiet, restful room, far from the bustle of servants or the noise of our officers.”
So he had deliberately chosen to lodge her in the most isolated part of the house. Fear and anger threatened to overwhelm her, and she pushed down the fear and embraced her anger. “The quarters are more than adequate,” she said. “But you cannot expect me to be pleased to be held prisoner.”
“Of course not, madame. But it cannot be helped, so why not accept it? I think you will find our hospitality and our table are all that can be wished for.”
“I fear that is not my way.” She pulled a little further from him.
“Then that is your loss, madame.”
In the dining room, Colonel Robuchon dictated the seating arrangements. He sat at the head of the table and placed her at his right hand, with a callow young lieutenant to his left. Commandant Pelletier sat at the foot, with the surgeons Timperley and Grant at his side.
Neatly separated from her countrymen, Anna said as little as possible. As promised, the food was excellent. Anna recognized it as local staples supplemented with luxuries brought from France. The colonel must keep a fine cook, for she had not tasted anything so elegant as the opening course of leek soup in longer than she could remember. But her appetite had deserted her, and the best she could manage was an occasional desultory sip.
Stone-faced Spanish servants carried in a roast of lamb and set it before the colonel. As he carved her a choice cut, he pressed his leg against hers under the cover of the table. She drew away and shot him a withering look, but he only smiled and stretched his foot to toy with hers. She tucked her feet around the legs of her chair and made determined conversation with her neighbor on her right, a dull but inoffensive captain.
The dinner took hours. Anna continued to pick at her food, torn between gratitude for any delay and a sense that if her doom was inevitable, it would be better to meet it and be done. The summer sun set, night fell, and by the time they had finished with sweets and cheese, the sky was black.
As they stood, Commandant Pelletier bowed to Anna. “Madame Arrington, will you do me the honor of accepting my escort back to your quarters? I have friends in England, and I should like to determine if we share common acquaintances.”
She smiled. “I’d be delighted—”
The colonel cut her off. “Thank you, Pelletier, but that can wait. Tonight I’ll see to the lady.”
The commandant shrugged helplessly and Mr. Timperley frowned. “If you
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