Journey to Victory, page 20
“If he has been unconscious since this afternoon, it might be serious.”
“Yes, sir.”
The officer took the limp wrist to check for a heartbeat. “His pulse is very slow. And his skin is cool, very cool.”
“He’s only a prisoner, sir.”
“I know, but he’s just a boy. Look his cheek is as smooth as a girl’s.”Some mother is waiting up for this cub. “Private, go to the rear parlor. Dr. Justin is playing chess there. Bring him here. Tell him it’s urgent.”
The major stood, waiting in the darkness. He hoped the lad was not hurt badly. It would be pleasant to think that someone would be able to go home tonight. The minutes ticked by. He stomped his cold feet in the chill room. Another soft moan answered him. The nearby church bell rang ten times plus three-quarters. A few horses shuffled and neighed. Then the quiet closed in around him again and he longed to be back in his room, sleeping or reading by the fire. At last he heard the stable door opening and the footsteps he had waited for.
“Major, you called me away from a warm fire and a hot chess game for this cold barn.” The doctor’s brusque voice exploded in the confined area.
“Duty calls us all,” the major answered wryly.
“Which means if the conscientious major must freeze, so must I?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, what is it?” The doctor motioned for the lantern to come closer.
“You tell me.” The officer moved the lantern over the silent form atop the straw.
The doctor knelt by his patient. “How long has he been unconscious?”
“Possibly since this afternoon.”
“Don’t you know for certain?”
“No,” the major said, suddenly shivering.
“Wonderful.” The doctor tried the pulse. “Weak. Very weak.”
“He seems extremely cool to the touch.”
“Thinking of taking up medicine?” the doctor asked idly, then more seriously, “It isn’t good. Unconscious for this long in an unheated room. I don’t know whether it’s the initial impact or the cold that is the culprit.”
“What should we do?”
“We need to raise his body temperature. If the cold is the culprit, he should regain consciousness.” The doctor rubbed his own hands together.
“If not?” the major asked.
“If not, then it’s the serious blow to the head. Either way if we leave him out here all night, he might die or, at least, suffer severe frostbite.”
“Then let’s take him inside. What would be the quickest way to raise his body heat?”
“I suggest he be wrapped in blankets and set by the fire.”
The major frowned, trying to think of where to take the lad, where his kindness would cause the least notice. “Let’s get him up to my room.” Having said this, he stooped and scooped up the boy’s limp form and slung him on his broad shoulder. “Private, give the good doctor the lantern. We won’t need you anymore tonight. Return to your quarters.”
The private saluted happily and was gone.
“All I can say is this boy is lucky to have drawn you. I can’t see another officer inviting a colonial lad to their room,” the doctor said, hurrying along.
The major gave no answer. They used the kitchen entrance and went up the back stairs and met no one till they entered the major’s large room on the second landing. The major’s man was waiting by the fire. “Alfred, we need to get this young lad warmed up. He’s been unconscious too long.”
“I see, my lord,” was all the seasoned valet said.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” the doctor urged. “My chess partner may have made his move and be waiting.”
“Not your partner. I saw whom you were playing. It takes him an hour for each move.”
The major deftly pulled off the lad’s foxtail cap, releasing two long braids. A few hairpins pinged on the hardwood floor.
The valet, standing beside them, gave a muted gasp. Several minutes of silence passed while the men absorbed the shock. The unknown woman gave another small moan and visibly shivered.
“Let’s get her wrapped in those blankets and beside the fire right away,” the doctor directed in a low voice. The two men carefully lifted her and carried her to the fire, the only light in the room. Gently they lowered her beside the warmth.
“Well, we’ll see now if it was the cold that kept her from coming to.” The doctor continued to speak quietly.
As if to answer him, the woman moved slightly and moaned repeatedly. Then her eyelids began to flutter. Her eyes stared at them unfocused, and then they seemed to light on the major’s face. The stranger moaned again, seemingly unable to talk.
“Is she regaining consciousness?” the major asked.
“The warmth is helping. It’s good you acted so quickly. She might have died out there if left till morning. Wonder what she’s doing dressed like a boy?”
The men did not speak again as they chafed her hands and then her feet, bringing the blood back to them. Alfred waited a few steps from them. One hand resting against a solid maple post, the doctor stood at the foot of the bed, draped with thick bed curtains. The major was opposite him, holding the red fox cap, its tail touching the floor. Against the wall of the fire-lit room, their long shadows flickered. For a long while no one spoke.
At last the doctor broke the mesmerized silence. “Well, this is interesting, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” the major replied succinctly.
“Who do you think she is? More importantly why was she masquerading as a young boy?”
“I have no idea.” The major set the hat on back of a nearby upholstered armchair. The firelight illumined the gold thread in the fabric.
“What do you intend to do?”
“Wait until morning and question her,” the major said.
“That should be interesting.” The doctor sounded amused.
“Perhaps.” The major leaned against the carved mantel.
“Well, I’ll be getting back to my chess game. This story should liven it up.”
The major held up one hand. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“This may be very complicated and delicate. No one else should know about it till my interrogation is complete and I’ve reported to Colonel Mensing.”
“Mensing? Intelligence, you mean? A woman spy? That’s unheard of.”
“Not unheard of. Merely unusual.” The major took another step closer to the young woman lying by the fire.
“Oh, well, I’ll still get to embellish the story tomorrow afternoon as one of the three eyewitnesses. Good night.”
Alfred escorted the doctor to the door and closed it behind him. For a few moments the major and his man stood, surveying the situation.
“My lord, will you be wanting your night shirt?” Alfred inquired deferentially.
“No,” his lord answered, still distracted.
“Extra blankets?”
“Yes,” he answered a bit gruffly. “Then go to bed. It’s late.”
“Yes, my lord.” Alfred disappeared through a door to the dressing room, returned with blankets, and then left with a quiet good night.
The major stood many more minutes, just staring down at the sleeping woman. The church bell chimed twelve o’clock. Suddenly his fatigue was crushing. He quickly undressed by the fire. He laid his uniform on the bed. Frost glistened on the windows in the firelight. He tossed a few logs from the wood box onto the low flames. Alfred must have been upset not to have attended to it before leaving for the night.
Again he stood at the hearth, gazing at the woman wrapped in quilts. In the darkened room, he couldn’t see her features. But she was young and her hair long and thick. He knew why the doctor had thought the situation—a woman in his room—humorous. He was well aware that the other officers thought him strange because he was not sampling every available strumpet in Philadelphia and its surrounding counties as they were. He had his reasons for behaving differently and they were his own business.
But still he knew if he left his quarters just because this woman was in his bed, he would be a laughingstock. And he was not willing to put himself in that extreme position. He glanced over at the solitary armchair by the hearth, fine for reading, but not for sleeping. However, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in his bed with a stranger, a woman no less, in his room on the floor by the fire. Disgruntled, he wrapped himself in the extra blankets and settled himself in the chair. Just as he began to relax, he was disturbed by a new thought. Scrambling up and over the icy floor, he locked the door from the inside.
Back by the fire, he put the key in his pocket. There. She would not be leaving without giving him a thorough explanation. He took the chair again, scowling as he fell asleep.
***
The light of the morning filtered through Christiane’s closed eyes. Sighing deeply in her half sleep, she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes sleepily. Above her was a high white coved ceiling, an unfamiliar one. Where am I?
Memories of the road block popped into her mind. Her eyes flew wide. In one quick motion Christiane stood up. Just as suddenly the top of her skull throbbed with a surge. Like an ocean wave the pain flooded her, making her nauseated and weak. Moaning, she staggered back and clutched a bed post.
“Your head hurts?” a quiet male voice asked.
Christiane looked up slightly, but the agony above her brow made her mute.
“Lay back down,” the voice instructed her.
“Where?” she gasped.
A stranger came over, lifted her effortlessly onto the high feather bed, swept up a quilt from the floor, and covered her. “Now lie still. Maybe the pain will subside,” he continued matter-of-factly.
With closed eyes, she lay still, feeling the pain ever so slightly begin to ebb. She heard logs tumbling onto the fire; then the curtain rings scraped as they were opened wide to the side of the bed that was nearest the hearth.
“Is your pain easing any?” he asked.
“Yes,” Christiane managed to whisper. Through tiny slits between her eyelashes, she saw him, standing across from her by the bed, wearing a British officer’s uniform. The sight jolted her head and the increased pain nauseated her. “Who are you?” And even as she whispered it, she knew who he was—the young English captain at the little fort on the Ottawa River, Captain Eastham. She closed her eyes again, unable to believe what they told her.
“The question is, ma’am, who are you?”
“Where am I?”
He looked at her intently. “On my bed,” he said wryly.
“Where?” Her nausea was becoming worse and she was having trouble drawing up enough energy even to speak.
“Philadelphia. And this particular part of Philadelphia is one of the senior officers’ quarters,” the major spoke as a teacher to a rather slow pupil. “Yesterday afternoon you were apprehended at a roadblock as a suspicious person. You were brought here for questioning. I am the officer in charge of that questioning. From now on I will ask the questions and you will answer them.”
Christiane barely nodded, hardly able to see, the morning light stabbing her eyes. Her headache was overpowering her, but she was certain of what she’d seen. This was the captain. His brown hair was pulled back into a tight club, as she remembered, but now it was touched with gray at the temples. But his piercing blue eyes were the same.
He doesn’t remember me.
This truth cut her like razors. He had played such a big part in her life. For the past three years, he had appeared in her dreams. How could he not remember her? She pressed her fist against her heart, to stop the ache there. Unable to stop herself, she moaned.
“Are you feeling sick to your stomach?” he asked, sounding concerned.
She shook her head slightly. She hadn’t known this kind of heart-pain since Jakob had turned away from her that day she found him in New York City. She squeezed her eyelids tight and forced down the tears that were a hair’s breadth away.
The incident at the roadblock popped into her mind. Why hadn’t she stayed safely at the Richardsons’? She was in real peril here. The British officers’ quarters, dear heaven. The torment of her head threatened to overcome her. Yet she must gather her wits. This time the captain was her enemy, not her ally. She would have to fight this feeling of drowning in the pain and disappointment and try to think of a plausible story to explain her masquerade. If not, she might very well spend the duration of the war imprisoned. Seconds passed, but she found she could not think of a single false, but believable explanation.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Have you come up with a good story yet?”
“No,” she said helplessly.
Unexpectedly he laughed and the sound struck her head like a blow. “Then, ma’am, tell me the truth.”
“I’ll have to,” she said softly, still looking away. She wanted to cry out, “It is I, Captain! Don’t you remember me? You helped choose my first husband. I have never forgotten you. Why have you forgotten me?” She sucked in a deep breath to choke back the weeping that was in her throat.
“Very well. Begin please.”
Since she was in too much pain to lie effectively, she decided to tell the truth, but as little as she could. “What do you want to know?”
“Your name?”
“Mrs. Christiane Belmond.” Thinking about Canada had prompted her to use her former name. She almost corrected herself, but stopped. It might be better to use her former name. Christiane Belmond had no connections to the Washingtons. But would her married name jog his memory?
“Where is your husband?”
“I am a widow.” Carefully she relaxed her body and her voice to give no evidence of her fear. Nonetheless, her head felt ready to split into two.
“Mrs. Belmond, why were you traveling disguised as a boy?”
“It is safer.”
He paused to think. “I see. A woman would cause a stir traveling alone. But the question remains: Why were you alone?”
“I had no one to travel with.” Miserable, she eased back further into the feather pillows and pulled the quilt higher.
“Then why not stay where you were?”
She thought a moment. “I could tell you why, but it is quite personal and I would prefer not to. It has nothing to do with politics,” she said.
He thought about this some more. “Personal, you say?”
“Yes, very.”
“Where were you going?’
“To visit friends,” she answered faintly. Where was her own clothing? She would need it to flee this house as soon as she could dress—and stand.
“Where is your home?”
“I don’t have a permanent residence right now,” Christiane admitted.
“You’re a vagrant then?”
“Not really.” She knew that vagrancy was against the law. “I have worked as a lady’s companion. I am merely between positions.”
“A lady’s companion?” The major sounded doubtful.
Christiane said, “Yes,” as firmly as she could.
“Somehow I don’t see you as a lady’s companion—a gentleman’s companion, yes. A lady’s, no.”
Only the fear of more pain stopped her from sitting upright. “You are too personal, sir,” Christiane said as hotly as she was able.
Chapter Twelve
Many replies to this flitted through Major John Eastham’s mind, such as how personal could a man be to a woman who was in his bed, but he resisted them manfully. “My apologies, madam. Well, everything you have told me is plausible, but it could be a tissue of lies,” he said, still matter-of-fact.
“I have told the truth.”
“That remains to be seen.” He went on before she could reply, “How is your head?”
“It aches, but if I lie still, it is better.” What was it about her that niggled at his memory?
“Then lie still. Pardon me while I dress. Alfred!” he called and pulled the curtains shut.
“My lord, pardon me?” she called gingerly from her nest of blankets and pillows.
“Yes, madam?”
“When you are finished dressing, may I have my saddle bags? I would like to dress, too. I don’t enjoy dressing as a boy.”
“Pardon me, madam, but you came to me sans saddlebags.”
“What?” She gasped.
He heard the silence that followed. Most likely with her exclamation the agony of her head had returned full force.
“Where are my things then?” she asked, sounding fretful and in pain.
“Please remain calm, Mrs. Belmond. What items were with you when you were apprehended?”
“My saddlebags and my horse, an old dapple mare named Nancy.”
“I will institute a search for them.”
“Until then what am I to wear?” Her tone was plaintive .
He didn’t blame her but what did she expect? “You may not believe this, but I do not usually keep female accoutrements in my quarters. I suggest that you stay in bed until something can be found or procured. Anything else, madam?”
“Yes.” The woman paused. “What am I doing here?”
“I thought we had already discussed that.”
“Shock prevented me from asking this earlier, but is it normal, sir, for an officer to question a prisoner in bed?”
“No, it isn’t, but I thought you would prefer it to freezing to death in an unheated room in the stables overnight.” He opened the curtains and looked down at her.
She folded back the top of the comforter an inch or two and peered out. “I don’t understand.”
The major, now neatly dressed, felt more himself. “It is simple. You were being held in the stables. The normal jail is full of patriots and general miscreants, so you were left there for me. When I discovered you, you were unconscious and beginning to suffer from exposure. Dr. Justin, whom I summoned to examine you, suggested a warm fire would revive you. So we brought you up here and we put you by the fire.”
“Thank you, major.” She sounded subdued, not grateful.
“You are welcome, madam. I must leave you for a time. Even in winter quarters there are some duties to be done. If you require anything, just call on Alfred.” He turned to his man. “Take care of her.” The valet bowed slightly and escorted the major to the door.
