Chapter 32 #2
They ate slowly, and conversation was necessarily desultory all the while.
But it was very obvious that Lord Pallant had decided to devote himself exclusively to Cecilia, and Sebastian to Bianca.
This in itself spoke of deliberate collusion – was it really likely that two brothers should meet two sisters and become so suddenly, completely and conveniently enamoured of them?
No, they’d had at least one conversation on the subject, and Cecilia didn’t like to imagine the nature of it.
Their very slickness, on which she was sure they congratulated themselves, gave them away.
Bea turned the topic to local history, which must be unexceptionable as a subject of conversation. Oliver was soon persuaded – not that it took much entreaty from anybody – to describe the events of the so-called Dutch invasion of 1667.
‘At this point,’ he said, smiling confidingly at Cecilia, even though she wasn’t the one who’d asked and really didn’t care all that much, ‘as I’m sure you know, the Dutch had control of the Thames Estuary but found themselves unable to break through to London, and decided to try to take the port of Harwich instead.
They made a full-scale assault on Landguard Fort, which is not so very far south of here, but were driven off by the combined efforts of the English garrison and the determined crew of a small naval vessel, which fired on them from offshore and did great damage. ’
He looked about him to ensure that they were all paying sufficient attention, and Cecilia stifled a yawn.
‘What is less well known is that a couple of small Dutch ships of the same type – they’re called galliots, and they have both sails and oars – somehow became separated from the fleet and found themselves here, in the bay, stranded on a sandbank by the retreating tide.
’ He gestured out at the peaceful seascape with one elegant hand.
‘It was the middle of the night, and instead of waiting for the rising waters to take them off so they could rejoin their defeated companions, which would have occurred before morning, some lunatic in a position of authority decided to take a party of men across the sands and try a small-scale invasion. His lust for personal glory must have blinded him to the risk. What’s even more extraordinary is that it almost succeeded. ’
‘How is that possible?’ Bianca asked.
‘Oh, they could never have prevailed in the long run. There were so few of them. But several of the men on the Dutch ships were English turncoats – Cromwell’s men who could not stomach the restoration of our monarchy – and when they marched through the village early in the morning, twenty or thirty of them, the Englishmen took charge and said to everyone they met that they were the King’s troops, sent from Harwich to keep the area safe.
The honest villagers should go inside, barricade their doors, and wait for further instructions.
Of course, they hurriedly did that, or most of them did, and the Dutchmen set out on the road to Debenbridge unchallenged, determined to take it and hold it – a precious foothold on the coast. But not all of them went.
Some seasoned soldiers were stationed right here, on this very spot, to signal to the fleet out at sea.
Their part was vital. If their message had been received, if the fleet had found a way to land men in numbers, it might have been a different story.
But the ships had already scurried off after the defeat at Landguard, back south to the Medway, and their signals went unanswered. ’
‘What happened then?’ Bianca was, Cecilia could see, fascinated despite herself, and she could not help a wry inward smile as she saw the sour look the entirely excluded Sebastian shot at his brother. This hadn’t been part of the plan, clearly, as far as the younger man was concerned.
‘If the tale we hear is true, Miss Bianca, one of the farmers who encountered the Dutch was suspicious, and he made his way by devious means to the town, arriving before them – presumably, he had a fast horse, and galloped it pell-mell across the fields. So when they got there, instead of easy pickings, they found a barricade of carts awaiting them, manned by stout yokels with blunderbusses and pitchforks. They had lost the crucial element of surprise, they had no cover, and a few well-placed shots, one of which took out their leader, sent them scurrying back towards the coast again. A detachment of the Duke of Suffolk’s militia was sent for and soon overtook them, and they were taken prisoner on the road without a further shot fired.
But the men up here,’ he said in thrilling tones, glancing at Cecilia to make certain she was paying him sufficient attention, ‘were made of sterner stuff, and declined to surrender when they saw their fellows do so. I will show you later, Miss Cecilia, the spot where the capture on the road occurred; it can easily be seen from here. Imagine their feelings as they watched the disaster unfold. But despite their desperate situation, they arranged themselves around the ruins with their weapons and dared the English to come for them. It is a highly defensible spot, of course, or our revered ancestors would not have built a castle here in the first place.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Sebastian broke in impatiently, ignoring his brother’s affronted glare, ‘they had not checked to see if there was water to be had. There must have been, once, but the well was choked with debris and could not be reached. The English knew well enough that they were here – their friends must have sung like caged birds – and they simply waited, picking them off one by one when they tried to make their way down the hill in search of a spring or brook. After a few days, those that remained were in very poor shape, and surrendered like the rest. By then the crew left on the galliots had long since sailed smartly away on the tide, abandoning them all to their fate. It’s not only you who can tell the story, Oliver,’ he added bathetically, as his brother, still smiling fixedly, shot poison darts at him with his eyes.
‘I am sure I have heard it a hundred times, and can recount it as well as you can. Anyone would think that you were there and took part, the way you talk – as if you own it!’
‘There’s no doubt you tell the story with great skill, sir,’ Cecilia broke in pacifically, addressing His Lordship in wide-eyed fashion.
‘Did you never think of a military career yourself? If you fought as well as you speak about such matters, I am positive you would have made a great success of it.’
The Baron’s glance at her now was decidedly unfriendly, even suspicious, but she met it without blinking, keeping her face innocent of any sardonic intent, trying and, she thought, succeeding to convey an impression of extreme if amiable stupidity.
Bianca choked a little on her orgeat, and added helpfully, ‘Like Major Bartrum. I am sure his career must have been most distinguished, until it was so prematurely cut short. Miss Pallant was telling us about his most unfortunate involvement at Saint-Dizier, and advised us to apply to you for more information on the topic. I am convinced he is far too modest to speak about it himself.’
Cecilia had to bite the inside of her lip to prevent herself from laughing.
Bianca was entirely ignorant of her entanglement with the Major, or so she hoped, but she was wickedly clever; she knew that a man of Lord Pallant’s consequence would now be torn between brushing aside the admiring reference to someone else’s military exploits, and the pleasure of explaining something to a group of mere women.
This was also likely to be a tale his bumptious younger brother didn’t know as well, and therefore couldn’t interrupt.
The love of the sound of his own voice had always been bound to win, as it so often did with gentlemen.
‘Too modest, or too disagreeable, Miss Bianca. He is – or was – part of the 13th Light Dragoons. A regiment with a mixed history, one might say, but let us in charity to the Major not dwell on that. He somehow found himself at Saint-Dizier in north-west France, temporarily attached to Marshal Tettenborn’s Cossacks.
It was an ill-managed business on the Russian part, as far as I can tell, perhaps because the nature of the country made it almost impossible for them to deploy their cavalry properly.
But justice compels me to admit that the Cossacks fought bravely, and broke the French line, though they were in the end obliged to retreat under pressure of greater numbers.
And the Major, being unlucky to be there at all, was luckier still to survive it, even in such a sad state as he now finds himself.
I do not know many of the details, I confess.
It was ultimately a French victory, of course, so nobody on the Allied side found themselves covered in glory as a result. ’
Cecilia fought with and suppressed a sudden and surprisingly powerful impulse to leap indignantly to the Major’s defence.
How dare this man, who had never so much as come within fifty miles of a battle, try so slyly to minimise the achievements of one who must have fought in many, and was cut down in this one when he needn’t even have taken part at all, but could easily have ridden away to safety?
But her sister made this heated intervention quite unnecessary, which was perhaps just as well.
‘Yes, a French victory, but their last one,’ Bianca said, eating strawberries in a guileless fashion.
‘And even then, it could be argued that it did greater good for the Allies than many a win. Bonaparte was distracted, believing mistakenly that the great bulk of Allies took the field against him, and as a result, he did not take Paris at that point, when he might have done so with ease.’