The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware (23 page)

As, time after time, Roger had to turn his mount aside on to the verge of the road, he noted with pleasure the greatly superior appearance of these troops to the ones he had left on the morning of the previous day. The uniforms of the French were threadbare, many of them had been wearing patched coats, broken boots and battered shakos. Their faces were thin from insufficient food and their eyes lacked lustre; whereas Wellington's men showed ample evidence of his care of them. Their uniforms were of good English cloth, with little sign of wear, their belts
were pipe-clayed and their equipment brightly polished. They were ruddy-faced and in excellent health, owing to ample and regular rations. As they marched, they were singing or bandying jests.

Arrived at last in the city, Roger parted cordially with Mr. Lessor and headed for the Legation. As he approached it he was thinking how pleasant it would be to see little Lady Mary again, and it was only then that it crossed his mind that, during many of his idle moments while at Masséna's headquarters, his thoughts had turned to her.

The Minister, his family and guests had just risen from dinner and were in the big salon. As Roger was announced, Mary was standing just inside the doorway. Her green eyes lighting up, she gave a cry of delight, impulsively ran forward, laid a hand on Roger's arm, went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

Lady Stuart was nearby, talking to General Picton. Raising her eyebrows, she exclaimed not unkindly, ‘Really, Mary! What unmaidenly behaviour.'

Mary's cheeks went scarlet. But Roger covered her confusion by crying gaily, ‘'Tis an occasion for kissing and rejoicing. I am now cleared of that false charge that was to have been brought against me.' Then he stepped up to the Minister's buxom wife and kissed her.

Next moment Sir Charles was shaking him heartily by the hand and saying, ‘Mr. Lessor looked in on me this midday, to inform me that your affair was as good as settled. It must be a great relief and we are all delighted for you. But you were not in time for dinner, so must be hungry.' Looking quickly round, his eye lit on his niece and he said to her:

‘Deborah, my dear, take Mr. Brook into the dining room and see that he is served with anything he fancies; then tell Smithson to have a room prepared for him for the night.'

Mary joined Deborah and Roger as they moved away. In the dining room the table had just been cleared, but the footmen were setting out a cold buffet on the sideboard for later in the evening. With a girl on either side of him, Roger tucked into a game pie and slices of York ham. It was the first good meal he had had since leaving Lisbon, and he happily contrasted it with the meagre fare at Masséna's headquarters.

Between mouthfuls he answered the girls' eager questions. They had no idea that he had been on a secret mission, but supposed he had been lying low outside the lines while Mr. Lessor did his best to prevent a charge of murder from being brought against him. When he told them how it had been settled to the discomfiture of the de Pombals, they both went into gales of laughter.

On returning to the salon they found that Lord Wellington had come to take leave of the Minister, as on the following day he was to take the field against Masséna.

On seeing Roger, he greeted him simply as an acquaintance whom he had not seen for some days. But ten minutes later, without being observed, he managed to wink at him, then turn his head in the direction of a small salon that led off the large one. Roger skilfully brought to an end a conversation he was having with a naval Captain and sauntered into the small room. As on most occasion when there was not a large party at the Legation, it was empty. Wellington joined him there, closed the door and said:

‘Mr. Brook, I cannot thank you enough for the great service you have rendered us. Now I am anxious to have a long talk with you, as there must be much valuable information you can give me about the condition of Masséna's army and other matters you must have become acquainted with while at his headquarters.'

Roger bowed. ‘I had had it in mind, my lord, to write
a full report tonight, and wait upon you with it in the morning.'

The General shook his fine head. ‘Nay, I'd liefer have it from your own lips; for there are many questions I wish to ask you. I shall be leaving shortly. I pray you slip away soon after, and we'll drink a bottle of port in my private quarters.'

Three-quarters of an hour later, they were closeted in a small, map-lined study adjacent to Wellington's bedroom, a decanter of port between them. For half an hour Roger passed on all he had seen and heard whilst at Santarém, and another half-hour went by answering the questions the keen-eyed General shot at him. At length, refilling their glasses for the third time, Wellington said:

‘The parlous condition to which Masséna's troops are reduced makes it tempting to launch an all-out attack in the hope of overwhelming them. But his regiments must still contain many hard-bitten veterans of Bonaparte's past campaigns. Even in adversity they can be counted on to put up a stiff resistance. Moreover, you tell me that Masséna has Ney and Junot with him. The first is one of the most able Marshals and the other at least a courageous leader. So, in this case, discretion may prove the better part of valour. Britain has only one army in the Peninsula, whereas the French have six. Should I be defeated and driven into the sea, we'd be back again where we were in 1807, and Bonaparte the master of the whole continent. By following Masséna up closely, we should be able to inflict heavy losses on him, with little loss to ourselves. That, I think, would be sounder than to risk facing him in a pitched battle.'

Roger smiled. ‘I am no General, my lord; but in you and your army are Britain's one hope; so, had I your responsibility, that is certainly the course I would pursue.'

Nodding, Wellington said, ‘And now, Mr. Brook, regarding
yourself. You have been charged by Masséna to carry a despatch to Soult.'

‘Oh, come, milord,' Roger laughed. ‘Surely you do not expect me to deliver it? 'Tis an appeal for help and, if responded to, could seriously jeopardise your own plans.'

‘True. But you tell me that Masséna and Soult are bitterly jealous of each other, so it is unlikely that the latter will come to his colleague's aid. In any case, if it is not delivered for a week, it would be too late for him to intervene effectively.'

‘What, then, is to be gained by delivering it at all?'

‘It would provide a reason for your arriving at his headquarters.'

‘My lord,' Roger said with a frown. ‘When we first talked of my former activities, I made it plain that I was most averse to risking my life again carrying out secret missions; so I pray you to excuse me.'

Wellington leaned forward, his bright eyes held Roger's and his voice was earnest. ‘Mr. Brook, you have already rendered me a great service. You have it in your power to do me another, and no-one else enjoys the unique dual personality that enables you to talk on intimate terms with French Army Commanders. By going to Soult you could, I am certain, find out his intentions. If he means to remain in Seville, well and good. But should he march north, even belatedly, although he would be too late to aid Masséna, he could cut my communications with Lisbon. Warned in time I could still pursue Masséna, but not with my whole force. I'd detach a division under Hill or Picton to guard my rear and hold off Soult until I had been able to retire to the safety of my base here. I ask this not only for myself, but for our country.'

Roger sighed, then gave a pale smile. ‘How can I refuse, my lord? So be it, then. But last time I had a very adequate reason for leaving Lisbon. What excuse can I
give to Sir Charles and others for again disappearing beyond the lines?'

After a moment's thought, Wellington replied, ‘Since you speak French, Portuguese and Spanish fluently, you could become a useful member of my staff. I will appoint you one of my civilian secretaries, have you given some work which will keep you employed for a week, and orders that, when it is completed, you should join me in the field. But instead, of course, you will proceed to Seville.'

So once more the die was cast and, none too happily, Roger made his way back to the Legation.

In the morning he told the Stuarts of his appointment. Mary was torn between pride that her cavalier should have elected to take an active part in the war, and disappointment that he would not be able to accompany her and Deborah again on their afternoon drives. But she was greatly cheered when Sir Charles insisted that Roger should continue to occupy a room at the Legation, which would enable her to see quite a lot of him.

Roger then reported at Wellington's headquarters. The General had already left, but before leaving he had briefed his chief secretary, who gave Roger a pile of Portuguese documents to translate. He found the work laborious and dull, but as the secretary was unaware of the secret reason for Roger's appointment, there was no avoiding it; and he was somewhat consoled by being able to enjoy Mary's vivacious company in the evenings.

On Sunday the Stuarts made up a party with several friends to drive out and picnic at Cintra. Deborah was not well, so was unable to accompany them, with the result that, after the meal, Roger for once had Mary on her own for well over an hour. Together they strolled through the wood of cork trees that covered the big hill dominating the plain. Having come upon a mossy
bank, they sat down on it. Presently she said in a low voice:

‘Mr. Brook, since you lost your wife, have you ever thought of marrying again?'

For some time past he had sensed that she was falling in love with him, and instinct told him now that she had asked the question to give him an opening. Anxious to spare her feelings, he smiled at her, shook his head and lied:

‘No, my dear, I am too restless a type to settle down to a domestic life. Were I a much younger man, and not set in my ways, I'd propose to you; for you will make a sweet wife for some lucky fellow. But I am old enough to be your father and, after a few months, you would find me impossible to live with. So that is entirely out of the question.'

‘Perhaps you're right,' she murmured a little sadly. ‘But I believe I could make you happy.'

He took her hand and pressed it. ‘You could indeed, were I able to shed ten or fifteen years. But, since I cannot, we must just remain good friends.'

For a moment she was silent. Suddenly she laughed, turned her face up to him and said, ‘Then that's reason enough for you to kiss me.'

Laughing in reply, he took her in his arms and put his lips to hers; but it was a very gentle kiss, quite unlike those he normally gave to women.

Her arms went round his neck and she pressed herself against him. He could feel her heart pounding and her lips began to move under his. Greatly tempted as he was to respond, he quickly controlled himself. Taking his mouth from hers, he kissed her on the ear, the hair and the nose. Then he held her away from him, shook his head and said:

‘You are a wicked little baggage. Had I been a younger man, you might have led me to seduce you. Then there
would have been tears and a sad ending to our friendship. Come now, put your pretty bonnet straight, and we'll rejoin the others.'

For a moment she looked chastened, then she pouted and said, ‘I think it horrid in you to have formed such an opinion of me.'

Laughing, he pulled her to her feet, dusted off some fallen leaves that were clinging to her dress and took her by the arm. Within a few minutes she was smiling again and chattering away as merrily as ever.

On the morning of March 11th, Roger said good-bye to her and the Stuarts and set off for Seville. For several days past, after the long months of stagnation, Lisbon had been in a fever of excitement as news from the front came in. The two armies were in close contact and Masséna was retreating; but his retreat showed no sign of becoming a rout. Under their veteran leaders, his divisions were taking advantage of every favourable piece of ground to fight rearguard actions. But they were severely hampered by having lost so many horses, and those that survived were too weak to charge; so the British cavalry were having a field day, cutting down small bodies of French, or taking them prisoner wherever they came upon them.

As Roger crossed the few miles between Lisbon and the now abandoned lines of Torres Vedras, he encountered several small batches of these tattered, woebegone captives, who had hardly the strength left to continue marching, being brought in. While in the opposite direction, a constant stream of reinforcements and supply wagons was moving up toward the front. Beyond the lines the stream flowed on north-eastward, but he turned away to the south-east and, not long afterwards, was riding through deserted country.

By road Seville was a good two hundred and fifty miles away and the greater part of the journey lay through
mountainous regions. As he could not hope to secure remounts, he expected it to take him the best part of a week, and the possibility of his being able to buy meals was dubious, so he had with him a good supply of food.

During the whole of the first day he was still in the great area of middle Portugal, where the earth had been scorched, so he saw only a few peasants in the distance. That night he slept in a deserted farmhouse. It was not until the evening of the second day that he entered a village which was still inhabited. There, to account for the foreign accent with which he spoke Portuguese, he said that he was a Spaniard from the Basque country in the far north. The man to whom he spoke accepted his statement without question and, in one of the few stone houses, he ate a meal of stew, then slept the night there.

For some weeks past the weather had been mainly good, with many days of spring sunshine. But when he woke next morning, he found that it had broken. Rain was teeming down, and he spent a miserable day alternately trotting and walking his horse up and down steep gradients, where the indifferent roads had become muddy rivers. Still worse, when twilight fell he was up in the mountains and, although he rode doggedly on until it was almost dark, he failed to come upon a village. Soaked to the skin, he spent a miserable night huddled in a cave.