Beguiled by Her Betrayer

‘You cunning devil. You lucky, cunning devil,’ Cleo muttered. But why, why did an English lord, for goodness’ sake, put himself to the danger and discomfort and sheer inconvenience of travelling the length of the country to entrap a scholar and his unimportant daughter?

You are not going to like the answer when you find it, Cleo Woodward. You have no clue and you cannot arm yourself against an invisible threat. I wish I had left you there where you fell outside my tent, Lord Quintus. If I knew then what I know now I would have dug a grave and rolled you in when you died and then stamped the sand down over you. In a thousand years some scholar would have dug up your bones and brittle skin and tried to understand what had led you to this fate. Perhaps I should have buried a plaque with you. Liar, betrayer, oath-breaker. Heartbreaker.

Chapter Eleven

‘Mrs Valsac, mam?’

The young woman standing in the doorway was English, Cleo only had to look at the pale skin freckled from the sun.

‘Yes, I am Madame Valsac. Did Ensign Lloyd send you?’ She made an effort and smiled and the other woman grinned back.

‘Aye, he did that. Lord, but that boy does blush!’ She looked round the room and then back at Cleo and her few possessions spread across the bed. ‘He said you didn’t have a maid with you, mam?’

‘No.’ She had never had a maid, had no idea, to be honest, what one did, although this cheerful young woman was a far cry from what she imagined a lady’s maid might be like. ‘I’m afraid I do not have any money to pay you.’

‘That’s all right, Sir James is paying, so Mr Lloyd said.’

‘Come in. What is your name?’

‘Maggie Tomkins, mam. Is it true you were married to a Frenchie?’

It occurred to Cleo that a British soldier’s wife might not take too kindly to being asked to serve the wife of an enemy officer. ‘Yes. Do you mind? Perhaps your husband wouldn’t like it.’

‘No skin off my nose who you were wed to. Besides, my man died three months back on the transport ship, bless him.’

‘Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs Tomkins. Had you been married long?’

‘Call me Maggie, mam, everyone does. Couple of months we was wed. He was my third.’

She seemed alarmingly matter of fact about it. Obviously married life amongst the rank and file was not always a matter of passionate affection. ‘Thank you, I would welcome your help. Can you tell me, who is Sir James?’

Maggie shrugged. ‘He’s not military, so he must be diplomatic. No uniform, but they all jump when he wants something. The men reckon he’s here to do the talking when the Frenchies surrender. Wish the buggers would get on with it, too much sitting around in the dust for my liking.’

‘Have you got any children?’ Cleo asked, feeling a strong sense of sympathy for another woman who was being dragged around at the whims of men, having to make the best of things in a dusty campsite.

‘Got a boy by my first husband.’ Maggie’s face grew soft. ‘He’s home in Chatham with his pa’s parents, learning to be a shoemaker like his grandpa. That’ll keep him out of the army, praise be.’ She got up. ‘I’ll bring you some hot water and some dinner from the officers’ mess in a while when it’s dinner time.’

Cleo smiled her thanks and sank back on the bed when Maggie went out. There was nothing to do, nothing to look at beyond a patch of bare sand, stamped flat by drilling soldiers, the back edge of the tent line and a fringe of palm trees. Faintly, in the distance, she could hear gunshots. Closer to hand there were shouted orders, the clash of pans from the kitchens, the grit of coarse sand under her guard’s boots.

That left her with composing exactly what she was going to say to Lord Quintus Whatever-his-name-was when he had the nerve to show himself. Cleo fingered the little knife in its hidden scabbard. Private Minton was only doing his duty, keeping her here, he certainly didn’t deserve a knife in the back. But she could imagine sticking it between Quin’s broad shoulders.

* * *

But Quin didn’t come. Maggie had brought hot water, towels and soap after about half an hour, just in time to stop Cleo getting up and pacing back and forth outside the hut in sheer boredom.

Now, an hour later, she sat outside with a dinner tray on the table Private Drury, Minton’s relief, carried out for her. She lifted the cover and the tantalising scents rising from the food made her realise she was starving hungry. Half a small chicken, golden and roasted, nestled on a bed of rice, vegetables swam in a thick, spice-fragrant sauce and another dish held a custard studded with sliced fruits.

Bliss. This was better food than she had seen in years and she hadn’t had to prepare it, or cook it and she wouldn’t have to clear up afterwards. Cleo ate until her hunger disappeared and then kept eating until her stomach ached and every grain of rice and scrape of custard was gone.