Something had changed and it disturbed Amalia so much that she lay awake that night, trying to solve the puzzle. Why had Sophie been so anxious to see the entire camp? What had made such a difference? Why had a woman who’d sworn that she’d never trust a soldier again been so ready to talk with Lieutenant Ainley? Why did she now seem at ease? What exactly was behind Sophie’s ambiguous smile? As the questions multiplied in Amalia’s mind, they combined eventually into one — who was she?
Amalia was confused. Part of her felt guilty that she should even question the character of a woman who’d endured such maltreatment in the French camp. At the same time, another part of her began to entertain nagging doubts. Jonathan Ainley had trusted Sophie implicitly and, in the course of their tour of the camp, had shown polite interest in her. Amalia was tempted to accept the lieutenant’s judgement and to dismiss her feelings of unease about the woman. Yet they still persisted. Indeed, by morning they were beginning to plague her. She resolved to speak to someone.
Since Daniel was not there, Amalia had to find someone else who’d offer a sympathetic ear. Ainley was an interested party so she ruled him out at once and she didn’t want to bother Marlborough with what might well turn out to be a mistaken assessment on her part. The person to whom she turned, therefore, was Cardonnel, a man of surpassing discretion and one on whom she could rely to be wholly dispassionate. After she’d eaten breakfast in her tent, she went in search of the secretary.
Amalia intercepted him on his way to Marlborough’s quarters. When they’d exchanged greetings, she asked him for a few moments of his time. Cardonnel could not have been more agreeable.
‘Take as much time as you wish,’ he invited, ‘though if you’re hoping for news of Captain Rawson, you’ll be disappointed. We’ve heard nothing from him.’
‘I just wanted to mention something to you,’ she said. ‘I could be speaking out of turn here and, if that’s the case, I apologise in advance. But I felt I must raise the matter with somebody.’
‘And what matter might that be, Miss Janssen?’
‘It concerns Sophie Prunier.’
‘I understand that she’s remaining with us for a few days.’
‘That’s one of the things that worries me,’ admitted Amalia. ‘She says that she’d rather stay here until her parents return from Paris. Yet, when we were held in the French camp, she was adamant that she’d never tell her parents a word of what had happened to her because it was too shameful. If that’s the case, surely Sophie would be eager to return home before her mother and father do. She’d want to give the impression that she’d been there all the time.’
‘That’s a reasonable point,’ said Cardonnel.
‘It only popped into my mind yesterday.’
Amalia told him about the way that Lieutenant Ainley had conducted them around the camp and how Sophie — who’d expressed a hatred of the army when in custody — had suddenly developed a curiosity. Cardonnel was a good listener, giving her full rein then gently pressing for more detail.
‘I mean no criticism of the lieutenant,’ said Amalia. ‘It was very kind of him to act as our guide. He found nothing untoward in Sophie’s manner, but then, he didn’t know her before she came here. This could all be nothing but silliness on my part,’ she added with a diffident smile, ‘and I’d be grateful if you’d tell me so. Then I could stop it from buzzing around in my head.’
‘I’m very glad that it did buzz around, Miss Janssen.’
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘I do,’ said Cardonnel. ‘This is something that should be taken seriously and I’m grateful to you.’
‘What would you advise?’
‘Are you expecting to see Mademoiselle Prunier today?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then I’d urge you to carry on as if nothing had happened. You must give her no indication at all that you’ve been harbouring any suspicions. Meanwhile,’ said Cardonnel, ‘I’ll make His Grace aware of what you’ve told me. He might well want us to contrive a casual meeting with the lady so that we can sound her out a little.’
‘It’s strange,’ said Amalia, gripped by remorse. ‘I feel as if I’m betraying a friend.’
Before he could reassure her, Cardonnel saw someone walking rapidly towards him. After giving him a salute, the soldier handed him a message. Cardonnel read it then dismissed the man with a nod.
‘Your fears were far from groundless, Miss Janssen,’ he told her. ‘It seems that Sophie Prunier is no longer in the camp. Somehow, she left during the night.’
Bound hand and foot, Daniel had found it impossible to sleep. All that he could do was to lie on the bare ground while two armed guards occupied the tent with him. It had been a time for recrimination. He rebuked himself for letting his search for the sword blind him to the hazards of such a quest. In thinking that the weapon would still be in the wagon, he’d been misled. In imagining that Alphonse and his father were friends of his, he’d not even considered that one of them might report him. In bringing Henry Welbeck — then getting himself caught — he’d stranded his friend in enemy territory. The momentary relief of actually seeing his sword had been completely erased by the confrontation with Major Crevel. He was in dire straits. Daniel had been captured, identified and exposed for what he was. He could look for no quarter from the enemy.
‘So this is the infamous Captain Rawson, is it?’ said Burgundy, regarding him with distaste. ‘His audacity has finally got the better of him, it seems.’
‘Too true, my lord,’ said Vendome, delighted to be able to show off his captive. ‘He felt that he could walk in and out of the French camp with impunity. His calculations went awry this time.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘I daresay that you’re also pleased that you spurned my wager.’
‘That’s immaterial, my lord Duke.’
‘Your purse would have been seriously lightened.’
With his hands tied behind his back, Daniel stood in Vendome’s quarters while the two commanders looked at him as if he was an animal in a cage. He was taunted, laughed at and humiliated. What made his suffering more intense was the fact that his sword was on a table over a yard away. The weapon with which he’d killed so many Frenchmen in battle was now in the possession of the enemy.
‘What do you intend to do with him?’ asked Burgundy.
Vendome grinned. ‘I know what I’d like to do,’ he said, ‘and that’s to flay him alive for all the trouble he’s given us.’
‘That would be ignoble and improper.’
‘It would also be wasteful. The captain is a worthy prize. I’m sending him to Versailles where he can be sternly interrogated and where His Majesty can appraise him.’
‘My grandfather will be intrigued to meet him.’
‘I’m sure that he’ll devise a suitable punishment. It may even be,’ he went on with a vindictive laugh, ‘that he sends Captain Rawson to the Bastille.’ He turned to Daniel. ‘You’ll not find it so easy to escape from there when you’re kept in chains.’
Retaining his composure, Daniel was determined to show no fear. While the two commanders were gloating over him, he was taking their measure, noting the sharp contrast in their age and appearance, and the occasional moments of friction between them. Burgundy was nominally in command, but since the prisoner was in Vendome’s hands it was he who’d assumed control and was effectively boasting about it. As he looked into Vendome’s unforgiving eyes, Daniel could see why Amalia had been so frightened of him.
After goading the prisoner for a few minutes, Vendome signalled to the guards to take him out. Burgundy blocked their exit.
‘Wait there,’ he said, a regal hand bringing the guards to a halt. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, my lord Duke?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Vendome.
‘What about his sword?’
‘I thought to keep that as a souvenir.’
‘There are much finer trophies with which to remember this war. I feel that the sword should travel to Versailles with its owner. After all, it was his pursuit of the weapon that brought about his downfall. My grandfather may be amused to hear the tale.’