Читать книгу His Cavalry Lady - Joanna Maitland - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Alex stood on the dockside in Boulogne and gazed at the sea for the first time in her life. She had tried so hard to imagine what it would be like. She had thought about bigger versions of the many lakes she had seen. She had even tried picturing the steppes covered with water instead of earth. But she had not foreseen the movement. Yes, that seawater was definitely moving. The ships in the harbour were going up and down.

Her stomach lurched in sympathy and she felt a sudden foreboding. She had been overjoyed when she was bidden to join Tsar Alexander on his trip to England. But she sensed she was not going to enjoy this part of the journey one little bit.

In order to divert her mind from the horrors of the heaving sea, Alex at last allowed herself to remember that extraordinary encounter in the blazing stable. Until now she had not dared to think about the man. He had saved her life and she should be grateful to him. She was grateful to him. But when he had addressed her as mademoiselle, she had had no choice but to flee. Without even a word of thanks. He knew her secret and, all unwittingly, he would have betrayed it. She had had no choice.

She could still remember the feel of his half-naked body, lying on top of hers, and rolling them both around to stop the flames from taking hold. He had felt immensely strong. She was small, but she was no lightweight. Yet he had flung her across his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. If only she had dared to ask the landlord for his name. She could perhaps have sent him a note—an anonymous note—of thanks. Perhaps even now, she could—

No! She could not! To risk everything just to thank a smoke-blackened French servant? She did not even have the first idea what he really looked like. To seek him out, she would have to betray herself. It would be utter madness. She must force herself to forget the man, the stable and everything that had happened there.

She tried to focus on her mission instead, sternly reminding herself she must speak only French. She was under instructions from the Emperor himself not to disclose that her Scottish mother and her Scottish nurse had given her a perfect command of English. Her task was to listen, and report what she heard, no matter how unimportant it might seem. In other words, she was to spy for the Emperor. To serve Mother Russia.

A Royal Navy barge was coming in to dock. At first, it seemed tiny, and flimsy, against the vastness of the water, but eventually it moored alongside the jetty. Even tied up with ropes, it was still moving up and down. Alex felt ill just looking at it. In a desperate attempt to master her mutinous body and prevent the image of her rescuer from returning to haunt her again, she turned her back on the harbour and began talking to a group of French fishermen about their trade and their catch.

With luck, by the time she had to go on board, she would be back in control.

* * *

Dominic was leaning idly on the rail as the barge made its way into Boulogne harbour and prepared to tie up. He had satisfied himself that everything was in readiness for the Emperor on board the Impregnable. Once he set foot on French soil again, his duty would begin in earnest. He would not have a moment to himself. There would be weeks of banquets, and balls, and speeches and all the endless ceremonial deemed essential for visiting royalty.

It would be exhausting, but he would have to remain vigilant throughout it all, just in case there was some little snippet of intelligence to be gleaned from a drunken officer or an overheard conversation. He would so much rather have been still at Aikenhead Park, even though his mother had been urging him to remarry, as she invariably did when he first arrived home. Though her eyes were always full of love for her firstborn son, she never managed to conceal a faint hint of exasperation with him. To be fair, she had cause. One failed marriage, one long-dead wife and no heir. Not a very good track record for a duke, especially a duke who had a habit of risking his neck on secret Government assignments. Yet in spite of his mother’s hints, the Park always provided Dominic with a peaceful refuge, where he could refresh both mind and body.

That was what he needed in a wife. He could see that now. He had made such a wretched business of it, the first time, allowing himself to be seduced by the façade of Eugenia’s beauty, wit and vivacity. As a companion, she had been aloof and chilly. As a bedmate, she had had the ability to freeze a man’s ardour at ten paces. He would not make that mistake again. His new wife must be a woman of calm and serenity, who would make his home both welcoming and relaxing. A woman whose soft, mellifluous voice would stroke away the cares of the outside world. A woman—

A sudden shiver ran down his spine. From somewhere on the harbour side, he could hear a woman’s voice, speaking educated French in just the low, musical tone that he had been imagining. Just like the voice of that girl in the stable. Was she really there? Or was his mind playing tricks?

He scanned the quayside impatiently. He needed to see where she was, to see her face properly at last. The moment the ropes had been secured, he strode down the gangplank. He had to find the owner of that rich and wonderful voice. It was her. It must be.

‘Je vous félicite,’ said the voice. ‘Et je vous remercie, aussi.’

The voice seemed to be coming from among a large group of French fishermen, standing just a few yards from the barge. A Russian officer in uniform was with them, his back towards Dominic. Was the elusive girl there, too, hidden by the Frenchmen’s burly backs?

The officer turned away from the group of fishermen. ‘Au revoir,’ he said, raising his hand in farewell and starting across the quay towards the barge.

Dominic’s stomach clenched in horror. Before he could stop himself, he uttered a savage curse. He was losing his wits! He had been weaving his missish dreams around a voice that belonged to a man!

A tall, dark man in civilian clothes had stepped off the military barge. He looked rather pale, as if he, too, did not enjoy the sea. But he also looked important. He certainly had an air.

Alex saluted him. ‘Captain Alexei Ivanovich Alexandrov, at your service, sir,’ she said smartly, in French.

For a second, the older man looked shocked, but then he returned Alex’s salute with a tiny bow. ‘Calder, appointed as liaison between his Majesty’s Government and your Emperor,’ he replied, in impeccable French. ‘My task is to ensure that his Imperial Majesty’s stay in England is as pleasant and enjoyable as possible. And if anyone in the Emperor’s suite should need assistance, please ensure he asks me. It is precisely why I am here.’

Goodness. He seemed a rather exalted personage to be performing such a relatively menial role. For the moment, however, Alex merely thanked him, as courtesy demanded.

‘Will you please to come out to the Impregnable, Captain?’ Calder indicated a warship at anchor in the bay. ‘You will wish to see where your Emperor is to be housed during the voyage.’ With that, he made his way back on to the barge.

Alex hesitated. Her companion looked remarkably at ease on that flimsy plank of wood, even though it had dipped a little with every step he took. Courage! she told herself. Forward! She stepped on to the plank and marched along it, resolutely ignoring the swaying under her feet. She was an officer of proven courage. What was a little water to her?

Safely on the deck of Impregnable at last, Alex allowed Calder to lead the way down a steep ladder and into a large, light cabin at the stern of the ship. It had been laid out with sumptuous furnishings: gilded furniture, paintings, plate, delicate glassware, and every other comfort that a high-ranking traveller might desire.

The ship moved suddenly, just as Alex turned to close the cabin door behind her. She reached for the latch, missed, and stumbled into a small table alongside.

‘You’ll get your sea legs soon enough, Captain,’ Calder said. ‘But, until you do, it will be wise to hang on, if you are moving around the ship. Especially going up and down the companionways.’

‘Companionways?’

‘The stairs between decks,’ he explained. ‘The Navy has its own language.’

‘You will forgive me if I say so, sir, but I am extremely surprised to meet an Englishman who not only speaks perfect French, but understands naval slang as well.’

‘My mother is French,’ he replied quickly.

‘That would explain it. Though I would be astonished to learn that she had served in the Navy.’

Calder almost smiled. ‘Touché, Captain. No, of course she did not. But I, myself, have often ventured to sea. We are a maritime nation, we British. It’s in our blood. Whereas for you, I imagine, the vast tracts of steppe play the same role.’

He was right. He was a man of insight, this Mr Calder. Unless…? ‘Have you visited Russia, Mr Calder?’

He looked slightly startled for a moment, but he replied easily enough, ‘No, Captain, I have not. You will understand, being a military man, that travel has been…ah…a little difficult for civilians, these last fifteen years or so. However, now that Bonaparte is safely settled as Emperor of Elba—’ he made a sound in his throat that could have been a snort of derision ‘—now that he is Emperor of Elba,’ he repeated, ‘the English are again indulging their love of travelling. Especially to Paris, of course. Perhaps even as far as Russia? It repays the effort, I am sure.’

‘Oh, indeed, sir. For Russia is such a vast country that we have everything.’

‘Except…’ said Calder softly, pausing on the word, ‘except the sea.’

At that moment, the ship lurched again. Alex felt as though her stomach had remained fixed in the air while the rest of her body sank by a foot.

‘May I suggest you sit, Captain? Then you will not have to put so much effort into trying to keep your balance.’

He sounds almost paternal, Alex thought, wonderingly. Why should a rather stern-faced Englishman take the least trouble over a Russian soldier who looked barely half his own age? But she sat, nonetheless.

‘I can imagine how you feel. I do not suffer from seasickness myself, but I have a much younger brother who goes green at the very sight of a ship.’

‘I see,’ Alex said automatically, feeling increasingly queasy.

‘But it does mean that I am well acquainted with all the best remedies. If you should start to feel ill on the voyage, I will have the galley prepare you a special tisane which will relieve the symptoms, I promise.’

‘You are more than kind, sir.’ With the swell now worsening, she felt real gratitude to this strange Englishman. He might yet turn out to be her saviour.

‘However, to business.’ In clipped tones, Calder described the practical arrangements that had been made for the Emperor’s comfort. There was nothing that Alex could cavil at. Calder, and his naval colleagues, seemed to have thought of just about everything. ‘Emperor Alexander’s host on this voyage to England will be his Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence, the Prince Regent’s brother. He is a naval man himself. I should perhaps warn you that he has… um…a tendency to be a little bluff. I hope that the Emperor will not take offence. Naval language can be a little ripe, on occasion.’

Alex smiled. In her years as a common trooper, she had probably encountered a great deal more ripe language than any prince of the blood royal would use in front of the Tsar. ‘His Imperial Majesty,’ she replied carefully, ‘is a man of impeccable taste and manners. He will certainly not do anything to put his host out of countenance.’

‘Excellent, thank you.’

‘At what hour is the Emperor’s party expected to come on board?’

‘About an hour or two before the tide, I expect,’ Calder said. ‘The captain of the Impregnable will give us exact information shortly. Tell me, Captain Alexandrov, does his Imperial Majesty travel with a large suite?’

‘No, not on this occasion,’ Alex said. ‘He did not wish to impose on his host.’ She went on to list all the people who were travelling in the Emperor’s immediate entourage.

Calder remained inscrutable throughout her recital. He could clearly be a difficult man to read, when he chose.

‘The Prince Regent has had a splendid set of rooms prepared for the Emperor at St James’s Palace. I am sure his Imperial Majesty will be most comfortable there. His suite also.’

‘Oh dear.’ The words were out before Alex had time to think.

Calder’s eyebrows rose. ‘There is a difficulty?’

‘His Imperial Majesty—’ She stopped, trying to collect her thoughts. ‘You will be aware, I’m sure, Mr Calder, that his Imperial Majesty’s sister, the Grand Duchess, Catherine of Oldenburg, is already in London, on a private visit.’

Calder nodded.

‘His Imperial Majesty has no desire to inconvenience his royal host, but he is extremely fond of his sister, and he has decided that he will reside with her, at the Pulteney Hotel. I assume that will be in order?’ She tried to say it in the airy voice of real assurance, knowing that the Tsar’s mind was absolutely made up on the issue. By failing to forewarn the Prince Regent of his plans, he had also ensured that nothing could be done to thwart them.

‘The Regent, like his Imperial Majesty, is a man of impeccable manners. I can assure you, Captain Alexandrov, that everything shall be done exactly as the Emperor wishes. Provided, of course, that the Pulteney Hotel is able to offer the necessary accommodation for such a guest.’ He quirked an eyebrow.

Alex had a feeling she was blushing. She knew perfectly well that the arrangements had already been made, by the Grand Duchess. ‘I am sure that his Majesty will be more than happy to accept the Prince Regent’s hospitality if the Pulteney fails to come up to scratch. But since it is his Majesty’s own choice, I do sincerely hope that the Pulteney can provide adequate facilities.’

‘No doubt it will,’ Calder said laconically. ‘No doubt it will.’

‘I have explained the arrangements to the Emperor’s junior aide-de-camp,’ Dominic said to the captain of the Impregnable a little later. ‘You may have a spot of bother with him on the voyage. He turns green at the slightest lift of the deck.’

‘Poor lad. He has my sympathy.’ Captain Wood smiled. ‘He doesn’t seem old enough to be an aide-de-camp.’

‘He doesn’t seem old enough to be in uniform at all. But he must be. Firstly, he’s a captain, though I suppose that could be a temporary promotion. But also—did you notice?—he wears the Cross of St George. That’s one of Russia’s highest honours for gallantry. He must have seen action, in spite of his youth.’

Dominic was still finding it difficult to account for his own initial reaction to the young Russian. Alexandrov looked nothing at all like Dominic’s admittedly hazy memory of the amazing young woman at the stable fire, though that was the image that the sound of Alexandrov’s voice had conjured up in Dominic’s mind. Apart from the short hair, there could be no similarity. Dominic’s smoke-fuddled brain must be playing tricks on him. Alexandrov was a small, thin young man with closely cropped hair and unremarkable features, but he seemed a nice enough lad, and one whose quick wits would make him good company. Dominic would just have to learn to ignore the melodious richness of his voice and to banish the memories of that girl for good. That should not be too difficult, surely? After all, he had no chance of ever finding her again. The only practical course was to forget about her.

‘Tell me, Duke, is it true that the Emperor has brought dozens of Russian hangers-on?’

‘Yes. But console yourself. Your fellow captain on the Jason will have not only the Prussian King, but also two of his sons, at least one of his brothers, and various uncles and nephews to boot.’

‘Well, the Royal Navy is big enough to deal with whatever they send. They have armies, but we have the Navy, and that’s what matters. And it will be even stronger once we have the Dutch alliance, from Princess Charlotte’s marriage.’

Dominic nodded. ‘How soon do you expect to sail, Captain?’

‘In about two hours. With the wind in its present quarter, we should make Dover in very good time.’

‘Dare I hope that the voyage will be quick enough to save that young lad from too much distress?’

‘You are generous, Duke, to concern yourself with him.’

‘Perhaps.’ Dominic tried again to banish the embarrassing memory of that quayside encounter. ‘But, as the British liaison officer, I’d rather not have an invalid on my hands. Not when I have to house them all. And, incidentally, to explain to the Regent that the Emperor has spurned his very expensive hospitality.’

‘Truly?’

‘So it appears. Young Alexandrov tells me—that is to say, it rather slipped out—that the Emperor is determined to stay at the Pulteney Hotel along with his sister, the Grand Duchess. So the Regent’s plans to house him in the utmost state in St James’s Palace have come to naught. The first round goes to the Emperor.’

Alex groaned yet again. How could she possibly be so sick when everything inside her was one vast, aching emptiness? At least, the Emperor had excused her from attendance on him. If only she could just—

‘Ah, Alexandrov.’ The cabin door had opened to admit Calder, followed by a swarthy seaman carrying a steaming mug. ‘Give that to me now, man,’ Calder said in English, gesturing towards the mug. ‘I’ll take charge of our guest.’

‘Aye aye, your Grace.’ The sailor passed the mug to Calder. ‘Prefers rum meself,’ he said, casting a look of profound distrust at the strange brew. ‘Sovereign, rum is, for most any ailment.’

‘You may return to your duties,’ Calder said sharply, slipping a coin into the seaman’s hand. The man knuckled his forehead and left, with the slap of bare feet on wood.

Alex had tried to ignore the English. But one thing she had understood quite clearly. The seaman had addressed Calder as ‘your Grace’. Surely that title was given only to dukes? Was Calder a duke? If so, his role as a liaison officer was even stranger than she had thought. The ship lurched and she groaned again.

Calder—the Duke?—put an arm under Alex’s shoulders and raised her enough to bring the mug to her lips. ‘Drink a little,’ he said in French. ‘This will help to settle your stomach.’

The smell was slightly perfumed, and spicy. It was— The nausea overcame her again, and she tried to push the mug away.

‘Believe me, it will be worth the effort. Come now.’ He brought the mug back to her mouth.

Trying to ignore the smell, she sipped. It did taste of spice. Ginger, was it? She swallowed. The nausea did not immediately return.

‘Good. Now a little more.’

She sipped again. Soon she had drunk about a quarter of the tisane. It warmed her aching stomach.

‘I will leave it here by your bunk. It is best drunk hot, but, even cold, it will help. Now, you should sleep, if you can, or, better still, come up on deck.’

The thought of walking up the steps, and standing on that swaying deck, made Alex’s head reel. Would she ever stand upright again?

He must have seen the reaction in her face, for he said, ‘I know it sounds like the least attractive prospect in the world but, believe me, the fresh air in your face will make you feel much better. So, which shall it be? Sleep? Or fresh air?’

‘I shall follow your advice, sir.’

Calder smiled suddenly. It transformed his rather harsh features. ‘You are feeling better. I am glad of it. We shall soon be able to see the white cliffs of Dover. And that, my fine young friend, will be where your ordeal will end.’

Alex groaned. Just at the moment, she was sure it never would.

‘I do understand,’ he said. ‘You feel as if you are about to die and nothing can save you. But, after five minutes on dry land and with some food inside you—’

She clapped a hand over her mouth at the very thought.

‘With some food inside you,’ he repeated, ignoring her distress, ‘you will feel quite yourself again. And we shall be able to join the Emperor’s suite on its way to London. You would not wish to be left behind, would you?’

‘Oh, no! I am here to serve his Majesty. Where he goes, I must follow, no matter what the circumstances.’

‘You’re a brave lad,’ Calder said, patting her shoulder. ‘Come now, let’s have you up on deck.’

She sat up slowly, trying to control the dizziness. Then she swung her legs to the floor. Surprisingly, she felt rather better. That tisane was working miracles. He offered an arm, but she ignored it. ‘I can manage,’ she said, putting her weight on her legs.

He caught her just as she started to fall. ‘You are stubborn, Alexei Ivanovich.’

She was surprised to hear him use the Russian form of address. Something else to ponder over when her brain was fit to think once more.

‘Curb your Russian pride for a moment, my fiery young steed, and allow me to help you up on deck. I promise I will not do more than is absolutely necessary. Your standing as a brave soldier will not be undermined in any way.’

‘You are more than kind, sir,’ she said, allowing him to take her weight.

Within five minutes, they had negotiated the steep stairs and Alex was managing to support herself at last, leaning against the rail. The fresh air was indeed making her feel much better. And, in the distance, she could see land. ‘That is England, I suppose?’

‘Yes. The white cliffs of Dover, a beacon for returning British sailors, for centuries. It means they are home, and safe.’

‘I imagine it was very difficult when the rest of Europe was closed to you?’

‘Well…’ He smiled again. She fancied it was a rather enigmatic smile this time. ‘Mainland Europe was never really closed to the Royal Navy. We had bases all round the Mediterranean. We were not short of places to land or to resupply.’

‘And no doubt you could penetrate inland, too, if you wished?’

‘I imagine so. Not being a Navy man, I cannot be expected to have knowledge of such things.’ On a sudden, he sounded rather wary.

‘But you have sailed, sir. You told me that you had.’

‘It is true. I have. A little. Enough to know that I prefer my feet on dry land. As I fancy you do, too.’

At that moment they were joined by the ship’s captain. ‘I am delighted to see that you are on your feet, Captain Alexandrov,’ he said, in rather hesitant French. ‘The Duke has certainly looked after you very well.’

Oh, dear. It was true. ‘The Duke?’ she said, in her best imitation of total surprise. ‘But monsieur her best introduced himself as plain “Calder”.’

‘It is his way, Captain Alexandrov. He is Dominic Aikenhead, fourth Duke of Calder. I fear he has played a trick on you.’

The Duke straightened, as if very much on his dignity, but there was a decided twinkle in his eye when he said, ‘I beg your pardon, Alexei Ivanovich. I supposed that we were going to have to work together during your Emperor’s visit. I thought too many “your Graces” might get in the way.’

‘Indeed, your Grace,’ Alex said, trying to prevent herself from smiling. ‘I will try not to allow too many “your Graces” to get in the way of our working relationship, your Grace. Will that suit your Grace?’

The Duke burst out laughing. ‘Confound the boy. He gives me back my own again.’

‘You deserve it, too,’ said Captain Wood.

‘Aye. Probably.’ He turned back to Alex. ‘We can agree, I hope, that I shall be plain “Calder” to you? And that you shall be “Alexandrov” or “Alexei Ivanovich” to me. Agreed?’

Alex felt the beginnings of warmth around her heart. ‘Agreed,’ she said.