Kit (48 page)

‘Yes,’ she said, beginning to see a way out.

‘And what did you do with such information?’

‘I escaped, placing myself in great danger, and conveyed the information to Ormonde, as I was instructed.’

The Elector turned to Ormonde. ‘My lord?’

Kit also turned to the duke, one eyebrow raised. Now what would he say?

‘She arrived at my house dressed as a coachman. But it is my opinion that the French let her go, knowing she would come to me with whatever they had schooled her to say.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘She told me that the French were retreating to the Po valley, under the Duc de Vendôme.’

‘Lies!’ she shouted. ‘I told you the French were to attack Turin, and you refused to warn Marlborough, so I did it myself.’

Ormonde shook his head, sad and sorry. ‘Poor lost child – she lies like the devil. It is no use, Kit.’ He addressed her directly for the first time. ‘We know the unhappy sequel to these events.’

‘What did happen next?’ asked the Elector.

‘She escaped from my house again, and was next seen by Panton at the gates of Turin. The city was virtually undefended, watched only by a single regiment of dragoons. She exhorted those men to open the gates, so that the French could walk right in.’

‘How would she do that?

‘She is acquainted with one of the captains. His name is Ross.’

‘How would she know this gentleman?’

Ormonde looked directly at Kit with his hooded eyes, of indeterminate colour, his expression eminently readable. ‘She danced with him at Prince Eugene’s name day.’

The Elector glanced at his clerk. ‘Call the captain to appear tomorrow.’

He shuffled his papers together efficiently. ‘We will conclude our business for today and take the prisoner back to custody until tomorrow, when we will hear the testimony of Captain Ross.

‘My Lord of Ormonde, I see no need for us to trespass on your time tomorrow. You are excused, with the thanks of this court. Have you anything further to say?’

Ormonde turned to the judge and spread his hands, his eyes wide, his expression guileless. ‘Only this, my lord: that I sheltered this poor slut, and made her into a lady. I gave her a priceless Rockingham mantua which I have never seen again. The fan, also of great price, she defaced, as you have witnessed, and,’ he looked directly at her with eyes like awls, ‘a coffer of diamonds disappeared on the same night as she.’

Kit froze.

The Elector nodded to her guards. ‘Has anyone searched the prisoner?’

‘Not yet, Honoured Judge,’ answered one.

‘Then do it.’

She stood, helpless, while the rough hands tore at her bodice. She had wondered, in her cell, why she had not been searched; now she knew why. Ormonde was orchestrating this – he had waited for this moment – the audience all seated and the torches lit, ready to
oooh
and
aah
from their benches and boxes at the climax of the impresario’s drama. The guard’s meaty fist emerged from her lacings, dripping with diamonds, and the audience gasped, just as she’d known they would.

Oh me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride …

‘Arthur McBride’ (trad.)

Alone in her cell, the diamonds she’d rightfully earned returned to Ormonde’s pocket, Kit thought of the following day.

Whatever came to pass she would see Ross again, even if it was to be for the last time.

She asked for some water and some tallow soap and some oil of olives – and the guard complied with a readiness that made her afraid. She took the wig from her head, put the sorry thing on the floor and shook out her own hair, caked in powder, grey as a crone’s about her shoulders. She washed her face of every trace of powder and paint and patches; she would greet Ross clean and fresh faced, as he had seen her every day on the campaign – the ‘pretty dragoon’ who could not yet coax a beard. After an hour the guard took the candle away and even its small warmth was denied her. She let her hair dry unbound – her scalp chilling in the dank winter dungeon, the hair turning into whispering snakes as it froze. As she shivered, curled up in a ball under her travel gown and cloak, she clamped together chattering teeth and thought of Maura’s stories – the princess in the dungeon, with hair of ice.

Anxious to get to court in the morning, she had been waiting since the grey dawn crept like a spectre through her barred window. She wanted nothing else but to get warm. She had tucked her shining hair into the dreadful wig, to keep her only card in her sleeve, for now; and she was grateful for the horsehair, as good as a hat. All through the night, when her cheek froze to the cold stone floor, only her heart had burned within her, holding in the deepest core of its fires the thought of Ross and the last piece she had to play, a last gambit on the chessboard.

She was taken to her seat in the hallowed courtroom, her fingers and toes thawing painfully. Almost at once she saw Ormonde seated in the crowd – so he had come to court a second time; no doubt to see her safely condemned. Then Captain Ross was called and walked into the great chamber in answer to his name; and she forgot Ormonde.

He sat opposite her – and looked about him with the confidence that had been bred into his bone. Not for him the fallen glances of Ormonde. He looked at her directly with the hostile blank stare of a raptor, as if he did not know her.
Dear God
, thought Kit,
what have they told him of me?

In all other respects he was absolutely correct – his uniform neat, his dark hair dressed and tied, his cheek clean shaven. With a strange sense of pride, she thought as she had before that he was any man’s equal; and even the Elector seemed to detect his quality, asking for his name and his oath with something akin to deference. Kit could hear the familiar cadences of her captain’s voice, but his words were indistinct to her – he might have been speaking another language for at his side – she took a breath – hung her father’s sword. The blade gave her courage.

‘Captain Ross,’ the Elector began. ‘Do you know this lady?’

Let him not be another St Peter. ‘Yes.’ Kit felt an irrational relief.

‘Where did you first see her?’

At the lighthouse in Genova
, thought Kit.
He pushed me into the ocean because I stank like a civet after a fortnight at sea.

‘I met her at the Palazzo Reale in Turin, at the name day of Prince Eugene of Savoy.’

‘And how much time did you spend in each other’s company?’

‘Perhaps an hour? No more.’

‘And how did you spend this hour?’

‘As most guests at a ball spend their time. We had a conversation of no consequence and we danced.’

‘How did she introduce herself?’

‘As a French countess. I know now, of course, that that was not true.’ His blue gaze went through her like a sword.

‘You said your conversation was of no consequence.’

‘Light acquaintances in company talk of small things.’

‘Did you?’

The captain shifted in his chair. ‘No.’

‘So you spoke of weighty matters?’

‘Yes. She told me she had lost her husband.’

‘So she elicited your sympathy.’

‘I suppose she did, yes.’

‘Did she ask you, at any point, about military strategy?’

‘No.’

‘And if she did not ask, what did you tell?’

A silence.

‘Captain. Did you say anything to the accused about the strategy of the Grand Alliance?’

‘No.’

‘Did you talk of military matters at all?’

‘Yes.’

Kit sat a little straighter, a chill travelling down her spine. The Elector’s questions had taken a dangerous turn, but not only for her; she now feared for Ross. She prayed, now, that he would lie – but she knew he would not – it was not in his nature, any more than you could ask a bird to swim or a fish to fly.

‘I expressed my discontent with certain elements of the Alliance command.’

‘Which particulars?’

Captain Ross cleared his throat, and looked about him at the gathered uniforms. ‘I expressed my … disquiet that we were being asked to make repeated sorties to besieged cities, incurring vast Alliance losses, only to lose the land gained the very next day. I also strongly deprecated the vast expense of the prince’s ball, when that very week I had been told that we could not purchase new flints for our muskets, as the army was out of funds. I lost a good man because of it.’ A murmur of agreement ebbed and flowed around the court from the redcoats. ‘We also spoke of a man of mine who had disappeared before Mantova, leaving me his sword.’

‘Deserted?’

‘I suppose you could call it that.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘No.’

Kit’s heart warmed at this single syllable of denial. He thought that there was still some honour, then, in Kit Walsh.

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. We spoke of love.’

‘
Did
you.’

‘Not the love of a man and a woman – that is, we spoke of such things a little; but mostly we treated on the love between soldiers, of men of honour. The love that means you will defend a fellow of your regiment to your last breath, and put yourself in harm’s way every day for one of your colour.’

Kit watched the faces about him, sober, serious, entranced, and patently on his side. She saw then that Ross had the qualities of Marlborough – men would follow him anywhere, just as she had.

‘And how did the “countess” react to your opinions about the army?’

‘She was sympathetic to my views.’

‘Do you think she may have felt, from the opinions that you expressed, that she had found an ally? That you might be induced to change sides?’

‘I would refute any such suggestion with my dying breath,’ said Ross, with some heat.

‘But you accept that expressing such views about your superiors is insubordination.’

Ross sat a little straighter. ‘I have followed every order given me to the letter, whatever my private feelings.’ And Kit remembered, when he had visited her the night before her flogging.
I have never wanted to disobey an order until this one.
‘I can only account for such a slip by saying that I had drunk overmuch of the prince’s wine; the wine that was bought in place of a score of matchlocks for the dragoon’s muskets. And I’ll wager that I am not the first man to have his tongue loosened by a beautiful woman.’ Kit hugged the word ‘beautiful’ to her, to keep her warm.

‘Indeed,’ said the Elector drily. ‘And tell me, Captain, how did you take your leave of the countess?’

‘I expressed my resolution to stay alive, and she promised to do likewise.’

‘Did that strike you as odd?’

Ross drew his dark brows together. ‘In what sense?’

‘Well, you are a serving soldier; you live your life on the battlefield. She is a countess, her life is lived in salons and theatres. Did her saying so not give you the notion that perhaps she had a more dangerous task at hand than to take tea and attend the play?’

Captain Ross shook his head. ‘It never crossed my mind.’

‘Did you form the impression, from that leave-taking, that you would meet each other again?’

‘I must say that I did.’

‘Hoped?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you did see her again, did you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Captain Ross, would you please tell the court about the second time you met the accused.’

Ross shifted in his chair. ‘It was in very different circumstances. It was at the Palatine gate at the city of Turin, at the commencement of the French siege. The dragoons were defending the gates alone, and had repelled the outriders, incurring some loss of life. Before the greater part of the French forces could fall upon us, my Lord of Marlborough descended from the hills and took their rearguard, drawing the French fire and attack. The forces turned upon him, and we were able to withdraw through the gates and secure the city, along with the Hessian forces who had entered the city from the rear.’

‘But you were on the battlefield when the accused met you?’

‘I was.’

‘Why were you there, at great danger to your person? Your place, surely, was within the walls of the city with what remained of your men. I put it to you, Captain, that you were waiting at the gate for the countess – you knew she would be there because you had arranged a rendezvous.’

‘No!’ Kit and Ross exclaimed the word together, caught each other’s eye, and uncomfortably looked away. ‘No,’ Ross went on, moderating his tone with a visible effort. ‘I had gone out again to turn the bodies and look for survivors.’

‘You did not wish to leave such an office to the seekers, who are paid to carry out this grim task?’

‘No. They are my men, until their last breath.’

The Elector stroked his long nose. ‘A manifestation, no doubt, of that brotherly love of which you spoke.’

‘Yes.’

Again, a murmur of approval rippled about the court.
They love him
, she thought.
They hate me, but they love him. They will not let him be taken in irons.

‘And then you met the accused.’

‘Yes.’

‘Was she riding or on foot?’

‘She was on foot. I saw no horse.’

‘So it might be reasonable to assume that she had arrived with the French cohorts?’

‘I always find assumptions to be dangerous.’

‘Answer the question.’

‘She might, I suppose.’

‘And how did she greet you?’

For the first time, he dropped his blue gaze. ‘She embraced me.’

There was a sensation about the court.

‘How exactly?’

‘She …’ He shifted again, sighed. ‘She kissed me on the lips.’

The men cheered, with as much approval as they had disapproved of Ormonde.

The Elector quelled his court with a look. ‘A very familiar greeting, surely, for someone whom you had met but once before? Or were you better acquainted than you own?’

Ross’s face went suddenly still. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘
I
ask the questions, Captain Ross,’ said the Elector, all courtesy gone. ‘What happened after she greeted you in this way?’

‘I told her a battlefield was no place for a woman, and led her to safety.’