"No," she interrupted him, pushing herself out of his arms, "I don't want to go. I can't leave you. I can't."

"Don't fight me, Merry," Robert said tiredly. "Whatever you fear in England can't happen. The worst-"

"I was never afraid to go to England," she cried. "I only wanted to stay with you. It was all an excuse, only an excuse so you wouldn't send me away."

His face lighted. "Oh, my darling, my sweet, sweet Merry. How glad I am. But it doesn't change anything. You must go." He saw her expression and shook his head, then, made perceptive by his own feeling for her, said the only thing that could have silenced her. "You are a danger to me, my love. I can't concentrate on what is going on around me because all I can think about is you and whether you are falling by the wayside, about to become one of those pitiful bodies..."

She stared at him, realizing that it was useless to tell him that she would be protected, that the Guards would have carried her if necessary. He knew it as well as she. Fear for a loved one cannot be cured by reason.

"But what about Molly and the baby?" she whispered. "And Carlos."

"They can go with you. And don't tell me that Carlos will not go without Luisa-I know it. Luisa and Boa Viagem can follow the carriage. The only one who must remain is M'Guire, and, frankly, I can use him."

Tears welled into her eyes and then ran over, streaking her hollow cheeks. "Let me wait at Corunna for you," she pleaded brokenly. "Oh, please. I will be in no danger there. I will be warm and safe. Let me wait at Corunna."

Robert could not resist this plea, and he agreed without argument that she should wait. On thinking it over after he had seen the carriage off, he did not regret it. Merry would be safe, and there was another, more practical reason for allowing her to wait until he arrived. He intended to pull rank and influence once more to be sure that she went on the best and safest ship and that the captain of the vessel was properly impressed with his father's connections in the Royal Navy.

Robert realized that he, personally, might not make it to Corunna, but that would make no difference to the pressure exerted on Merry's behalf. Colborne would see to it, or any of Sir John's other ADCs, or even Sir John himself. Robert's mouth hardened. He was not quite so fond of Sir John as he had been. There were aspects of this retreat that he was unable to understand or even excuse. There had been no need for such haste. The French could have been held for days at Astorga while the army left, one detachment at a time, properly supplied with the stores that had been burnt. But it was useless to think about that now.

Robert knew that he would be exposed to a second dose of resistance when he arranged Merry's pa.s.sage at Corunna, but he was armored against that now. The French were closing in.

Sir John allowed the army to wait at Lugo for three days, drawn up to resist an attack, and during that time the men, although still sullen, were better behaved. But Soult did not move. Sir John's general officers urged him to initiate the action, saying that a good drubbing of the French would ensure that the remainder of the retreat would be carried out in better order. It would make Soult less eager to pursue closely and put heart into the Spanish, who felt they were being abandoned. Most important of all, it would restore the pride of the men.

But Moore would neither attack nor, as a suggested alternative, await Soult's attack, which everyone agreed must come very soon, as the French were worse supplied than the English and would soon starve if they were not doing so already. Instead, at midnight on January 89, leaving the bivouac fires burning to fool the enemy, the army resumed its retreat.

This notion might have been a good one on a clear night in an open area. Near a town in a mountainous countryside where there were walls and fences and many small byroads to farms and in a pouring rain, it was a disaster. The troops, even more surly and mutinous, feeling their commanding officers were fools and cowards, became little more than a disorderly mob. Coming along with the rear guard, Robert was disgusted by the scenes of pillage, worse now than ever before.

On January 11 the army, such as it was, reached Corunna. M'Guire came in the next day, leading Mars, who had lost a shoe and was already limping. Had they not been so close to their destination, he would have had to be destroyed, like Apollo, whom Robert had been forced to shoot outside Villa Franca. Quite innocently, M'Guire gave Esmeralda a terrible shock when he came to her room in the hotel to deliver a note from Robert. The note said little-that he was well but held by duty at El Burgo and did not wish to stress his one remaining horse by riding back and forth for short visits. Esmeralda smiled, thinking how those words would have hurt her before Robert's confession of love and how easily she could accept them now.

Happy herself, she asked M'Guire how he liked his son, and he beamed proudly and told her that if they all lived long enough, the captain had promised to be Kevin's sponsor.

"He couldn't have a better," M'Guire said. "A divil th' capt'in is in action."

"Action? What action?" Esmeralda gasped.

"Ach, the Frenchies needed a lissin t' keep thim frum gettin' too boold."

But then, equally unwitting, M'Guire withdrew the sting of fear, for when Esmeralda asked fearfully if there was now fighting, he laughed.

"No, nor wull be. They've blowed the bridges."

On January 13, Robert himself came. The French had discovered a pa.s.sage of the river, and Sir John had ordered his rear guard back into the heights in front of Corunna. When Robert rode in to report, he was recalled to ordinary staff duty, the rear guard now being close enough for Moore to oversee it himself. Sir John was busy writing a long report of the present situation to Castlereagh, and Robert asked Colborne who was going to carry it.

"Sir Charles Stewart. And Moreton-"

"Castlereagh's brother," Robert interrupted. "Good. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Colborne said and then, shocked at the expression on Robert's usually good-humored face, added hastily, "but he'll be here soon. Take it easy, Robert. What the devil is the matter with you?"

"If you don't already know, you won't want to hear," Robert snapped. "I'm sending Merry home, out of this mess. I want Stewart to escort her, and I've got to speak to him. My family won't be in London at this time of the year. Stewart will have to-"

"Robert, calm down. I'm sure Sir Charles will do everything necessary to a.s.sist Mrs. Moreton, but not much may be necessary. There are letters for you. I've sent them out three times, and they've missed you. What have you been doing?"

"Trying to herd together the disaster that once was an army," Robert snarled.

Colborne made no reply to that, and Robert took the letters-an enormously fat one in his mother's delicate hand, a relatively plump one from his father and a single, thin sheet from Perce. He opened the third one. It contained three sentences: "You d.a.m.ned lunatic! Send your wife home at once. Sabrina and I are coming in from Cornwall and will wait at Stour House in London until she arrives."

A little of the tension eased out of Robert's face. He stuffed the two unopened letters into his coat pocket. He was not in the mood to read raptures or bewailings from his mother and carefully phrased suggestions from his father. But Perce's letter had solved most of his problems. Although he had been determined to do it, it did seem the outside of enough to saddle Sir Charles with finding Merry a decent hotel, guaranteeing the bill seeing that she had money, and arranging all the other details entailed in protecting a young woman who had no friends. Now all Sir Charles had to do was drop her at Stour House in London, and he was going to London anyway.

All Robert had to do in addition to ensure Esmeralda's comfort was write a draft on his banker, which Perce would have cashed, so that Merry could buy what she wanted without the embarra.s.sment of asking for money. He sighed with relief, then frowned again. Merry was going to get stubborn as a mule if she had to leave Molly and Carlos behind. Robert's mind checked and backed up to the word "mule". He groaned audibly.

Colborne looked up from what he was writing. "Now what's the matter?"

"Is the ship that will take Stewart in the harbor now?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I have to speak to the commander. Is he bribable, do you think?

"What?" Colborne asked, unbelievingly.

Robert smiled wryly. "I want to see if I can get him to take a horse and a mule as well as my wife, her maid, her maid's infant, and her boy servant."

Colborne just stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar. "A horse and a mule on a courier ship?" he got out at last.

"Well, I think Merry will trust me to bring Boa Viagem if there isn't room for both," Robert said thoughtfully, "but Carlos will not go without Luisa. If we force him, he'll probably jump overboard and try to swim back. And I'm going to have enough trouble with Merry without suggesting that she leave Carlos, so the mule must go."

Colborne closed his eyes and shuddered. Then, faintly, he gave the name of the vessel and the name of the naval officer commanding her. Robert smiled grimly and set out for the docks. There he was fortunate enough to encounter not only the naval officer but Sir Charles also. It was not exactly easy to arrange matters, and Stewart's guffaws of laughter did not help much, however, when he stopped laughing, Sir Charles gallantly added his own request to Robert's, and the thing was done. No poor naval commander was going to oppose the Earl of Moreton's son and Lord Castlereagh's brother.

All this took so long that, when Robert at last went to Merry, he had to tell her that she and all her dependents must be ready within the hour. In one way he regretted it. There was time for nothing but one hungry kiss. In every other way, he was devoutly glad. The suddenness of her departure was such a shock that her emotions were numbed. He did not have to see the fear and grief in her eyes. He knew she would worry about him-he was worried about her traveling the wintry seas-but it was less painful to know something if one did not see the stark evidence of it.

But Esmeralda would not have argued in any case. To weep and plead could only make Robert miserable. His expression told her it would not change his mind. Knowing that, it was best to make everything easy for him, as she had always done-and his grat.i.tude was thanks enough. She did not even ask what she was to do when she came to London. She knew his parents had a residence there, and she intended to send a note to Moreton House with the name of the hotel at which she would stay. That way Robert would know where to find her. They were actually all on board ship before Robert said that she was to go not to Moreton House but to Stour House, where his brother and sister-in-law, Sabrina, would be expecting her.

"Oh, no," Esmeralda cried. "I could not-"

"Perce is the best of good fellows," Robert a.s.sured her, and thrust into her hands Perce's letter and the draft on his banker, "and you will like Sabrina. She looks like a candy doll, all silver tinsel, but she's just as tough as you are, my love, and has most excellent good sense. And if you're safe with Perce and Sabrina, I'll not worry about you."

So she agreed to that, too, thinking in the back of her mind that she would convince Sir Charles to leave her in a hotel. She could tell him that she wished to wash off the soil of her journey and change her dress-not that she had a dress to change into, since all had been abandoned to lighten Luisa's load-and that she would go to Stour House when she was presentable. She did not begin to cry until after the boat had taken Robert back to the docks, not until they set sail and she could no longer see him, a tiny blue and white speck, watching the ship recede.

For the remainder of that day, Robert felt very strange. There was a large hole in his life. It was not only that he missed Merry in a physical sense. These past weeks he had actually seen very little of her, but until this day he had always been conscious that she was there, a certain number of miles away, that he could get to her if it was really necessary. Now she was no longer there, and he did not like the feeling at all.

The next day, January 14, was busy. The transports had finally arrived and embarkation of the sick, wounded, and dependents began. In addition, the French were now heavily ma.s.sed. Colonel MacKenzie of the Fifth reported that another division and a mult.i.tude of stragglers had swelled the force with which Soult had been advancing cautiously. Moore seemed to throw off his depression at this news and went out to examine the ground himself.

There were three ridges of hills, the first two more formidable than the third and far more extensive. Moore had no more than fifteen thousand men. He resolved to set his defense on the third ridge, called the Monte Moro, and for the first time since they had left Sahagun, Robert recognized the commander under whom he had begun his career. By the morning of January 15 the British were in position, braced for an attack by a force considerably larger than their own, but in surprisingly good spirits.

The first part of the day was a grave disappointment. The French could be seen moving on the higher ridges, but nothing happened. As the day advanced to noon, Sir John became convinced that Soult would not attack after all and ordered General Edward Paget to march his troops down to the harbor, since they were to be the first to embark. About a quarter to two in the afternoon, however, there was a crash of artillery fire from the top of the westernmost crest.

Sir John at once galloped up behind General Baird's division and saw columns of French pouring down into the valley and cavalry regiments pushing out from behind the Penasquedo Heights. The first smile Robert had seen since the retreat had begun lightened Moore's face. Although the excitement that Robert always felt at the prospect of action stirred in him, one part of his mind remained very cold.

He knew Sir John welcomed this battle because a victory that would permit him to embark his troops under the very noses of the French would do much to soften the bitter criticisms that would be launched at him. But Robert could not forget that if Moore had permitted the army to stand its ground at Astorga and had managed the retreat in a less hysterical fashion, there would be fewer frozen bodies along the road. Thus, the satisfaction Robert felt at seeing his old mentor enthusiastically discussing the coming action with Baird had a tinge of bitterness in it.

Not more than fifteen minutes later, another dose of gall was added. The artillery barrage grew more intense. Even Hermes, hardened old trooper that he was, danced and curveted, and Robert reined him hard and backed him, suddenly aware that one stirrup seemed loose. He bent to check and then jerked the horse farther aside as a m.u.f.fled scream sounded ahead of him and an angry whoosh seemed to go right by his left leg. When he came erect he saw a crowd surrounding General Baird, lifting him from his horse and working over him.

"What-" he said to Colborne.

"Ball shattered his left arm. It missed you by a hair."

Robert gritted his teeth. He liked General Baird.

"Moreton," Sir John called. "The Fiftieth is coming up from Elvina. See that it re-forms on the Forty-second. They are to make ready to charge down when the French come up the slope."

The Fiftieth was retiring under heavy fire. Robert knew that Sir John had intended him to wait with the Forty-second, but his anger and frustration needed an outlet. He pa.s.sed Sir John's order to Lieutenant Colonel Stirling, left Hermes with the reserve mounts of Stirling's ADCs, and ran down toward the action. It was just as well that he had decided to go down, for Major Charles Napier was trying to rally his men already, and Robert's instructions eased his conscience about not holding the village.

The regiment had fallen back in good order, however, and were quite ready to come down on the French again. With the support of the Forty-second, they drove in the tirailleurs with a crushing fire, but the supporting columns held out against them, and they took shelter behind a line of stone walls. Not far from the major, Robert took aim with a musket s.n.a.t.c.hed from a wounded soldier. He swore in disgust as his target remained standing. But a man to that soldier's right cried out and fell, and Robert wondered whether it was his bullet that had struck him. He cursed the inaccuracy of the weapon in his hands and threw it down, drawing his pistol.

Before Robert could fire, he saw Sir John coming down the slope, calling out that they must advance. He expected next to hear his name and a scathing remark on his self-indulgence, but either the general did not see him or he was too busy to concern himself with the erratic behavior of one of his usually reliable aides. The regiments, encouraged by their officers, climbed or leapt the walls and pressed forward, Robert with them.

The head of the French formation melted before their volleys, and the battle rolled downhill toward Elvina again. At the closer range of a pursuit, Robert's pistol took its toll, and he blessed it and its maker because it did not jam. Just above the village, the Forty-second halted, but Major Napier was determined to take back what he had lost and led his men in among the houses. The French were not making a determined stand, but even so, clearing them out of the place was dangerous work.

One of the tirailleurs who had survived the initial charge suddenly stepped around the comer of a house and fired at Robert from about ten feet. Obviously he had been confused for just a moment by Robert's blue coat and had not lifted his gun until he saw Robert raise his own, which gave him no time to aim. His bullet took off Robert's c.o.c.ked hat, but Robert's shattered the man's head. Robert leapt for the shelter of the wall while he drew his saber, for his pistol was empty. He suspected that where there was one Frenchman, there might be others. Shouts made him turn to look, relieved to see red coats only a few yards behind, and the world exploded... And then there was nothing.

Chapter Thirty-One.

There are many things that can be said about a winter sea voyage, most of them bad, particularly on a very small ship not intended for pa.s.sengers. However, if the wind is right, it is usually strong, and the one good thing about Esmeralda's trip to England was that it was quickly over. Moreover, the sour, silent moods of the commander of the vessel, whose quarters Esmeralda and Molly occupied, and of Sir Charles Stewart, who carried less than exhilarating news for his brother and in addition was having serious trouble with his eyes, suited Esmeralda very well. All of them hardly exchanged a hundred words, although they saw each other every day.

Even Esmeralda's attempt to avoid being pushed on Robert's family was settled in very few words. She asked to be settled in a hotel, and Sir Charles said, very simply, "No." When she gave her reasons, he shrugged. Then he uttered a full sentence. He allowed that she could walk out of Stour House one minute after he brought her into it, but that was where he said he would take her, and he would do it.

Esmeralda did not really fight very hard. Naturally she had read Perce's note, and there was something very warm and comforting in it. When she considered that aspect of it, she felt a thrill of hope that she might, after so many years of isolation, again find the tender concern of fond relatives, which she had lost when her mother died.

Then at other times she found herself enraged at the notion that Perce should call Robert a d.a.m.ned lunatic. She was not personally offended. Somehow she was sure that the words did not have to do with Robert's sudden marriage but with the fact that he had allowed his wife to follow the army. She resolved firmly to defend her husband's decision even if that defense did not please Robert's brother, and she further intended to make clear that in the future she would go right on following her husband and she would not thank anyone for trying to interfere.

But then the question of her baby would arise. Now that they were on the ship, Molly confessed that she had been surprised Esmeralda had not lost the child, owing to the hardships she had endured. Esmeralda had exclaimed in horror. It had never occurred to her that she would miscarry. Molly had had the same experiences or worse. But Molly soothed her by a.s.suring her she had only mentioned the matter because it was the best of good signs. The baby was sure to be strong and healthy.

New hopes flickered in Esmeralda's heart. If Perce and Sabrina accepted her and if she could convince them that it was her desire to follow the army, could she induce them to believe it was not wrong? Then would they act as surrogate parents for a few months at a time so that she could be with Robert? This hope was so enticing that it did more harm than good because it made Esmeralda nervous about the impression she would make on her new relatives.

Fortunately, this idea did not occur to her until she was so exhausted by being shaken and banged about in the post chaise racing toward London that she soon fell asleep. Just as her eyes closed, Esmeralda gave a dizzy thought to Molly and Carlos, traveling with Luisa by slow stages. She would have much preferred to go with them, but Sir Charles would not hear of it. He had promised his escort, and his escort she would have, even if it meant she must travel at courier speed.

In the end, she had no time for nervousness before arrival because she was not aware of having arrived until Sir Charles shook her gently and said, "Here we are, Mrs. Moreton."

He lifted her out of the carriage and supported her up the steps. Esmeralda's lips trembled. Among the many reasons she had been relieved at going to Stour House rather than Moreton House was that she thought a Mr. St. Eyre's home would be less grand than an earl's residence, but the building into which she was being shepherded seemed more magnificent than the governor's house in Bombay. She was shaking so hard that Sir Charles kept his arm around her as he sounded the knocker. Esmeralda shuddered. There was something strange about the house, a blank, empty look that was forbidding.

"I don't think there's anyone here," she said faintly, crushed by disappointment despite her initial reluctance to come.

However, the door opened just as Sir Charles began to answer, and he turned to the footman instead, saying, "This is Mrs. Moreton. I believe Lord and Lady Kevern are expecting her."

The footman's eyes first widened in shock and then narrowed in disbelief. His glance flickered over Sir Charles's arm, which still supported Esmeralda, then over her stained, ragged riding dress and Sir Charles's uniform, which was in even worse condition, torn and blackened with powder stains, mud, and dried blood.

"If you will give me your card," he said coldly, "I will present it to-"

Upon which Sir Charles put a hand on the footman's chest and shoved him back into the house with considerable force, following him in and dragging Esmeralda with him.

"You b.l.o.o.d.y nodc.o.c.k!" he roared. "D'you think I carry visiting cards on the battlefield?"

Almost simultaneous with Sir Charles's outraged bellow came the sounds of footsteps-several heavy pairs from the back of the house and the brief click of high-heeled slippers as a woman crossed a piece of polished flooring between two carpet runners. But Esmeralda did not notice that. In fact, she had hardly taken in Sir Charles's enraged roar because what she saw on entering had confirmed her original fear. There was no one to meet her. The house was empty. All the furniture was dust sheeted.

"Sir Charles-" she began in a shaking voice, intending to urge him to leave and take her to a hotel. She got no further, being interrupted by a firm feminine voice.

"Whatever is the-" Sabrina began, and then she, too, took in the condition of her visitors' clothing. However, she was much less impressed with the external marks of status than her footman, and she came immediately to the correct conclusion. Of course, she also recognized Sir Charles Stewart, which was helpful, so she finished with an exclamation. "Sir Charles! Oh, have you brought my brother's wife home? Oh, thank you."

"Yes," he said as Sabrina came down the stairs, "this is Mrs. Moreton."

But Sabrina did not acknowledge the introduction. All her attention was focused on Sir Charles. She remembered with horror similar stains on a uniform her husband had worn. "Are you hurt, Sir Charles?" she asked breathlessly, and then when he shook his head, "Is there anything I can do for you? I see you have come directly from the field. Would you like to bathe? A change of clothes?"

"I thank you, no," he replied. "I am going directly to my brother's house and will be accommodated there." Then his voice softened. "Mrs. Moreton has had rather a bad time," he said.

"Oh my G.o.d!" Sabrina cried, "Robert? Has-"

"No, no," Sir Charles said hastily. "Captain Moreton was perfectly well when we left him. I only meant... Well, Mrs. Moreton will explain, I am sure. My business with my brother is very urgent, so if you will pardon me, I will take my leave at once."

Esmeralda stood quite frozen through this exchange. She heard it, of course, but it made little impression on her mind. All she knew was that Sabrina's eyes had flicked over her once, and from that moment all of her attention had been given to Sir Charles. It seemed Robert was wrong. She was not welcome to Lady Kevern. She heard Sabrina say something about sending the footman out with Sir Charles for the baggage.

"I have no baggage," Esmeralda said.

Sabrina had started to accompany Sir Charles to the door, but something in Esmeralda's voice stopped her. She turned, and her eyes met Esmeralda's. "My dear," she cried, "I didn't mean to overlook you. I thought he was hurt. Perce was with the Russian army at Eylau... Oh, that can't mean anything to you, but when I saw the blood on his coat... But Mrs. Moreton-Esmeralda-you are welcome. I cannot tell you how welcome you are."

"Robert calls me Merry," Esmeralda said, her voice shaking.

"My darling Merry," Sabrina murmured, putting her arms around her. "My darling Merry, you have come home."

Those words were the last thing Esmeralda remembered. When she opened her eyes, she was totally bewildered. She was in the middle of a huge bed hung with the most elaborate curtains she had ever seen. She lay for a while looking at them, but no amount of staring brought the slightest familiarity. Nor was there anything else, when she began to examine the remainder of her surroundings, that was in the least familiar. Never in her life had she slept on silk sheets, nor been covered by so intricately embroidered a feather quilt, nor worn a nightgown of sinfully expensive lace, tucked and pleated to display the body beneath it so provocatively.

Eventually she remembered arriving at Stour House, and the amenities explained themselves. She remembered, too, the oddly erratic greeting, so seemingly cold in the beginning and then so warm. Vaguely it seemed to her that she had been given a reason, but she could not remember what. In any case, she thought, she had better get up at once. She realized she must have fainted. It would never do to confirm the impression that she was weak and sickly. Someone might tell Robert. She reached for the bedcurtains.

They were instantly pulled back, and a pleasant-looking woman smiled at her warmly and said, "Dinna ye move a bit. Brina'll be here in a minnit, and yer breakfast on her heels. Ach, ye'll be wonderin' who'm I. I'm Katy."

The manner indicated a very privileged old servant, probably Lady Kevern's nurse, although she did not call herself "Nanny", as most of them did. Esmeralda smiled in response, feeling more confident. If Lady Kevern had sent her own nurse rather than just any maid to watch by her, it must mean that those arms around her had not been an impulse that soon pa.s.sed.

"There isn't anything wrong with me," Esmeralda said. "I'm so sorry to have made such a dramatic entrance. It was the post chaise. We only stopped to change horses, and that was done so quickly there was no time to get out-"

"Of course there isn't anything wrong with you," Sabrina's voice interrupted, "but why didn't you tell Sir Charles you couldn't travel at such a pace?"

"I couldn't do that," Esmeralda protested, her eyes large. "He was a courier on army business. It was only that I am not accustomed to riding in a carriage-" She stopped abruptly, realizing she had made a faux pas from the astonishment on Sabrina's face. Ladies always traveled in carriages. But, Esmeralda thought, not army wives who followed the drum, and she pushed herself upright and went on defiantly, "I have always ridden Boa Viagem and accompanied the army on its marches." Then her mare's name reminded her of the carriage following. "My servants," she said, "are also suitable to the wife of a military man. Molly is a soldier's wife, not refined, perhaps, but strong and willing, and Carlos, though young, is clever."