Amalia giggled. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ asked Beatrix. ‘I’m sure that he’d oblige.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘He’s bought you gifts before.’
‘Father might not approve.’
‘That’s not true at all, Miss Amalia. Your father dotes on him almost as much as you do — and with good cause. But for Captain Rawson, all three of us would be lying somewhere in a French grave. And the same goes for Kees.’
‘I know all that,’ said Amalia. ‘What I meant was that Father wouldn’t approve of my choice. He adores colour in his tapestries yet prefers sober hues in everything I wear. I still have dresses in my wardrobe that belonged to my mother.’
‘Your mother was always very smart,’ said Beatrix with a nostalgic smile. ‘You are very much like her in that respect.’
Amalia was about to point out that she was developing rather different tastes but she broke off instead. Talking about her mother always brought back unhappy memories of her untimely death. If the conversation had continued, Amalia knew that she and Beatrix would eventually end up in tears. Turning away from the shop, she put aside any thoughts of a new dress and set off for home. Beatrix, a servant, friend and chaperone, fell in beside her.
‘How much longer will this war drag on?’ she asked, wearily.
‘I wish I knew, Beatrix.’
‘What does Captain Rawson say?’
‘He has no more idea than the rest of us.’
‘Yet he’s very close to the Duke of Marlborough. He must know what’s going on.’
‘The fighting will continue until one side gives in,’ said Amalia with a helpless shrug, ‘and that’s an unlikely prospect at the moment. There was talk of peace after the battle of Ramillies but, as usual, it came to nothing.’
Beatrix was morose. ‘I think it could go on for ever.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, Beatrix. We must never give up hope.’
‘It’s the same thing every year — more killing, more misery. I’d hate to be the mother of sons in the army. You’d never know if they’d come back alive. To be married to a soldier would be even worse. You’d spend all your time worrying and…’ Her voice tailed off as she realised what she was saying. She became apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Amalia. I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t talking about Captain Rawson.’
‘Let’s just change the subject, shall we?’ said Amalia, firmly.
‘He rides beside the Duke of Marlborough so he’s in no danger at all. Captain Rawson is safe. That must be a comfort to you.’
But Amalia was no longer listening. She had drifted off into a private world where there was no comfort at all. As long as the war continued, no British soldier was completely safe, especially one who took on the hazardous assignments that fell to Daniel Rawson. At any moment, his luck might finally run out. Filled with apprehension, she kept asking herself the same question.
‘Where are you now, Daniel?’
Because Daniel had changed out of his uniform, the farmer didn’t recognise him at first. When it dawned on him who his visitor was, however, he became hostile and ordered Daniel to leave at once. After what had happened at the neighbouring farm, he wanted nothing to do with British soldiers. It took Daniel a long time to calm him down and an even longer one to persuade him to bring the boy down from his room. Only when the farmer was convinced of Daniel’s sincerity did he agree that his visitor could talk to Jules, the young lad who’d witnessed the atrocities at his farm.
The boy came downstairs reluctantly. Since the outrage, he’d been weeping into his pillow, convulsed by a grief that was shot through with a burning desire for revenge. Daniel saw something of himself in Jules and was reminded of a time when his own world had been turned upside down by the arrival of soldiers. Daniel had at least been able to defend his mother. Jules had been utterly powerless and was plagued by guilt as a consequence. In the boy’s face, Daniel saw the same anger, hatred and confusion that he’d felt in the wake of the battle of Sedgemoor. The one consolation was that Jules had not actually seen his family being murdered. Daniel, by contrast, had watched his father being hanged.
When the farmer explained that their visitor was a British soldier, Jules lost his temper and hurled himself at Daniel, managing to land a few punches. He had to be restrained for a while. Daniel took his time, letting the boy’s rage die down a little.
‘I come as a friend, Jules,’ he said at length. ‘I want to catch the soldiers who attacked your farm. They were not acting on orders. I’m as anxious as you to make sure that they’ll pay for what they did to your family.’
‘Go away!’ said the boy.
‘Listen to him, Jules,’ coaxed the farmer. ‘I believe what he says. He wants to stop these men from killing anyone else.’
‘He’s lying. I don’t trust him.’
‘Hear him out.’
‘No…he’s just as bad as the others.’
Daniel was grateful that the farmer was present. Though he had a good grasp of their Flemish dialect, Daniel found it easier to talk through the farmer than directly to Jules. It spared the boy from the feeling that he was being interrogated by an enemy. Daniel whispered the first question into the farmer’s ear.
‘Tell him what you saw, Jules,’ urged the farmer.
‘I don’t want to speak to him,’ retorted the boy.
‘Do you want those soldiers to get away with what they did?’
‘No…I want to kill them myself!’
‘I can understand why you feel like that,’ said Daniel. ‘But you need us to hunt these fiends down.’
‘Tell him everything,’ said the farmer.
Jules scowled. ‘He already knows what his soldiers did.’
‘He doesn’t. Captain Rawson says that they were not part of a British patrol. He thinks they were renegades.’
‘They wore red uniforms,’ asserted the boy, sullenly.
‘That doesn’t mean they were British,’ said the farmer then he paused to take a prompt from Daniel. ‘Did you hear them speak? Did you recognise their language?’
‘I’m saying nothing.’
‘You must help the captain.’
‘He’s like all the rest of them.’
‘Just tell us, please. This is important, Jules. You want these men hunted down, don’t you?’
‘I want them burnt alive!’ shrieked the boy.
‘Captain Rawson tells me that, if they’re British soldiers, they’ll face execution. Now, what language did they use?’
Jules glowered at Daniel then spat out his reply.
‘English,’ he said. ‘They spoke in English.’
Daniel’s heart sank. He fed another question to the farmer.
‘Did you get a good look at them?’ said the man.
‘No, there was smoke everywhere.’
‘Yet you were able to see their uniforms.’
‘Yes, I was.’
The farmer turned to hear another whisper in his ear.
‘Did you hear any names being called out?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Think carefully, Jules. This could be helpful. Someone must have been shouting orders to the others. Did he mention any names when he did so?’
‘All he did was to laugh,’ said Jules with a shudder.
‘Who did?’ pressed Daniel.
‘Their leader.’
‘How do you know he was their leader?’
‘He shouted at the others to ride off.’
‘Then you must have been able to see him properly.’
‘Is that right, Jules?’ added the farmer. ‘You saw their leader?’
‘What did he look like?’ asked Daniel.
‘Describe him for us.’
The boy recalled the mad eyes and the blood-curdling laugh.
‘He was a big, ugly man with a red beard,’ he said, gritting his teeth, ‘and I’m going to tear out his heart one day.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Duke of Marlborough was finally starting to look his age. Now in his late fifties, he had always defied the passage of time and retained his boundless energy and resilience. Years of campaigning, when he sometimes spent twelve hours a day in the saddle, had not weakened him to any degree. His zest for battle remained intact. Now, however, it was different. Looking at Marlborough as he sat hunched over his desk, Adam Cardonnel was worried about him. Their commander was clearly unwell. He’d been afflicted by a series of pounding headaches that were difficult to shake off. He had a fever of some sort and was unable to sleep. Fatigue had painted deep lines on his face. What disturbed his secretary even more was the fact that Marlborough had become so uncharacteristically downhearted. It was almost as if desolation had eaten into his soul.