Soldier of Fortune

'I hope so, sir,' replied the man. 'I was shoeing a horse when they went past me. They were only yards away.'

'What did you see?'

'I saw a British soldier and a beautiful young lady. I wondered why they were so close to the Dutch camp. The last time I saw them, they went towards a large tent.'

'Did you see them go into it?' pressed Daniel.

'No, sir,' said the man. 'When you are hammering a horseshoe into place, you have to keep your eyes on what you are doing. But I fancy that they might have gone into the tent.'

'Could you take us there now?'

The Dutchman nodded. 'Yes, Captain.'

Welbeck was exasperated. 'What the hell is the fellow saying?'

'I'll tell you on the way,' said Daniel.

Understanding the urgency of the situation, the Dutchman set a good pace. Daniel and Welbeck walked beside him. After a few minutes, they came to the large tent being used as a store.

'My men have already looked in there,' said Welbeck. 'It's full of stuff we captured at the Schellenburg. There's nobody in there.'

'Let's take a second look,' said Daniel.

Opening the flap, he peeped into the tent but it was too dark for him to see anything properly. He borrowed Welbeck's lantern so that he could conduct a proper search. The sergeant, meanwhile, turned back the flaps of the tent. At first, Daniel found nothing of interest but he did not give up. Holding up the lantern, he looked behind boxes, baggage and piles of equipment. When he shed some light on a large wooden box, he saw something on the ground behind it. He reached down swiftly to retrieve a lady's handkerchief. As he sniffed it, he caught a faint whiff of the perfume that Abigail had worn on the occasions when they had met in London.

'This belonged to her,' he said. 'She was here.'

'Are you sure?' asked Welbeck.

'She must have left the handkerchief deliberately. At least, we know where she was brought when she left her quarters.'

'But where is she now, Dan?'

'Abigail must somehow have left the camp,' concluded Daniel, masking his anxiety. 'We must speak to the pickets. Someone must have seen them leave. Once we know the direction in which they went, we can continue the search on horseback. Hurry,' he added as he rushed out of the tent. 'Every minute may be crucial.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

There had been no time for introductions. Frederic Seurel was waiting for them with the horses but he was only able to give Abigail Piper a brief glance before they set off. Charles Catto rode on one horse with Abigail sitting astride behind him. They cantered through the woods until they came out into the open. Light was slowly being squeezed out of the sky but they could still pick out the silhouette of a cottage that stood beside a fork in the road. Leading the way, Seurel veered off along the track to the left and rode on for miles before they came to a small village.

Candles gave off a faint glow in the windows but the street was in dark shadow. Reaching the inn on the far side of the village, they rode into the courtyard at the rear. Seurel had already reserved rooms for them. A servant came out to stable the horses while they entered the inn. Charles Catto took Abigail by the arm.

'Remember what I told you,' he said, as he guided her through the door. 'Behave yourself or you'll regret it.'

'Where is this place?' she asked.

'It's a long way from the good Captain Rawson.'

They came into the main room where a couple of local men were quaffing their ale at a table. Catto exchanged a greeting with the landlord before taking Abigail upstairs. Seurel followed and indicated their rooms. They went into the first of them, a small, untidy, low-ceilinged chamber with a musty smell and noticeable gaps between its oak floorboards. When Catto had lit some candles, Abigail saw that it was a dingy room filled with ugly furniture. Taken there against her will by two strangers, she looked at the little bed with trepidation. It took on the air of an instrument of torture.

Seurel was studying her for the first time, running lecherous eyes all over here and grinning as he did so. He spoke in French.

'She's very pretty, Charles,' he said, leering at her. 'We can take it in turns.'

'Keep your hands off her,' warned Catto. 'She's a hostage and nothing more. I didn't bring her here for your entertainment.'

'We can't waste a chance like this.'

'You'll do as I tell you.'

'I need a woman to warm my bed at night.'

'Then find yourself another one. Miss Piper is not for you.'

Seurel was resentful. An argument soon flared up and both men raised their voices. Conscious that they were talking about her, Abigail became increasingly frightened. She knew very little French and they were talking so rapidly that it was impossible to decipher more than a word or two. Nevertheless, she sensed what the dispute was about and she shuddered as she glanced across at the bed. At length and with ill grace, Seurel accepted that Catto's decision was final and withdrew into a sullen silence.

'Frederic apologises for his display of bad temper,' said Catto.

'Why did you bring me here?' she asked.

'We needed somewhere to rest. You must get what sleep you can because we'll be leaving before dawn.'

'Where are we going?'

'We have to find another hiding place, Miss Piper. You will be missed and a search will take place. By the time the soldiers reach this inn, we must be miles away from here.'

'My maid will have realised by now that something must have happened to me,' she said, 'and she will have raised the alarm. Captain Rawson will have hundreds of soldiers at his command. There's no way that you can escape.'

'He won't find us in the dark, though I daresay he'll try.'

'Those sentries saw us leaving the camp.'

'I know,' said Catto. 'They were consumed with jealousy. It's not everyone who has the chance to take a stroll with a lovely young lady. You were born to attract envy, Miss Piper. Look at Frederic, for example. He's bubbling with envy at the way I'm talking to you now.'

Abigail turned to Seurel who was gazing at her with an intensity that worried her. Though she hated being the prisoner of anyone, she preferred to have Catto as her captor than his glowering companion. She felt it safer to keep one of them talking.

'You're in the French army, aren't you?' she said.

'We were,' replied Catto.

'Why does an Englishman fight for the French?'

'You'll have to ask the Duke of Marlborough that. He learnt his trade under a French flag and so did I' He took off his hat and began to undo his coat. 'I can stop pretending that I'm a British soldier now.'

'Captain Rawson will catch you, whatever disguise you wear.'

'I look forward to meeting him.'

'He's probably leading a search party at this very moment.'

'I'm sure that he is, Miss Piper,' said Catto easily, 'but he'll not come here. Do you remember that cottage we passed near the fork in the road? Frederic had the forethought to bribe the old man who lives there. If he gets that far this evening, Captain Rawson will be sent off in the wrong direction.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Daniel Rawson took a dozen riders with him, experienced men who were armed with muskets. It had taken him some time to find sentries who had seen a British soldier and a young lady strolling along the edge of the camp. They described Abigail so accurately that it simply had to be her. Since she had monopolised their attention, the details they were able to give about her companion were decidedly sketchy. Daniel had heard enough to lead off his search party. Some of his men carried torches but they could only create small circles of light in the darkness that now enveloped the countryside.

At the fork in the road, they paused to knock on the door of the cottage. The old man was not pleased to see British soldiers. Daniel spoke to him in German and asked if he had seen anyone riding past that evening. Given the chance to mislead them, the old man nodded.