An echo in the bone - Gabaldon Diana (читать книги TXT) 📗

“Gloating?” I ended dryly. “I might—but I don’t. I know what will happen.”

He blinked at that, very much taken aback.

“What will happen? To whom?”

The sort of prophecy I possessed was seldom a welcome gift; in these circumstances, though, I took a rather grim pleasure in telling him.

“To you. The British army, I mean, not you personally. They’ll lose the war, in three years’ time. What price gilded peacocks then, eh?”

His face twitched, and he hid a smile.

“Indeed.”

“Yes, indeed,” I replied amiably. “Fuirich agus chi thu.”

“What?” He stared at me.

“Gaelic,” I said, with a small, deep twinge. “It means ‘Wait and see.’”

“Oh, I shall,” he assured me. “In the meantime, allow me to make known Lieutenant-Colonel Banastre Tarleton, of the British Legion.” He bowed to a short, wiry young gentleman who had approached us, an officer of dragoons in a bottle-green uniform. “Colonel Tarleton, my wife.”

“Lady John.” The young man bowed low over my hand, brushing it with very red, very sensual lips. I wanted to wipe my hand on my skirt, but didn’t. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“I’m looking forward to the fireworks.” He had foxy, clever eyes that missed nothing, and his ripe red mouth twisted at this, but he smiled and left it, turning to Lord John. “My cousin Richard bids me give you his best regards, sir.”

John’s air of pleasant cordiality warmed into genuine pleasure at that.

“Richard Tarleton was my ensign at Crefeld,” he explained to me before switching his attention back to the green dragoon. “How does he do these days, sir?”

They lapsed at once into a detailed conversation of commissions, promotions, campaigns, troop movements, and parliamentary politics, and I moved away. Not out of boredom, but rather out of tact. I had not promised John that I would refrain from passing on useful information; he hadn’t asked it. But delicacy and a certain sense of obligation required that I at least not acquire such information through him, or directly under his nose.

I drifted slowly through the crowd in the ballroom, admiring the ladies’ dresses, many of them imported from Europe, most of the rest modeled on such imports with such materials as could be obtained locally. The brilliant silks and sparkling embroidery were such a contrast to the homespuns and muslins I was accustomed to see that it seemed surreal—as though I’d found myself in a sudden dream. This impression was heightened by the presence among the crowd of a number of knights, dressed in surcoats and tabards, some with helms tucked under their arms—the afternoon’s entertainment had included a mock jousting tournament—and a number of people in fantastic masks and extravagant costume, whom I assumed would later be part of some theatrical presentation.

My attention drifted back over the table where the gaudier viands were displayed: the peacock, tail feathers spread in a huge fan, occupied pride of place in the center of the table, but it was flanked by an entire roast boar on a bed of cabbage—this emitting a smell that made my stomach growl—and three enormous game pies, decorated with stuffed songbirds. Those reminded me suddenly of the King of France’s dinner with the stuffed nightingales, and my appetite vanished at once in a puff of nausea and grief recalled.

I shifted my gaze hastily back to the peacock, swallowing. I wondered idly how difficult it might be to abstract those diamond eyes and whether someone was keeping an eye on them. Almost certainly so, and I looked to see if I could spot him. Yes, there he was, a uniformed soldier standing in a nook between the table and the huge mantelpiece, eyes alert.

I didn’t need to steal diamonds, though, I thought, and my stomach curled a little. I had them. John had given me a pair of diamond earrings. When the time came for me to leave …

“Mother Claire!”

I had been feeling pleasantly invisible and, startled out of this delusion, now glanced across the room to see Willie, his disheveled head sticking out from the red-crossed tabard of a Knight Templar, waving enthusiastically.

“I do wish you could think of something else to call me,” I said, reaching his side. “I feel as though I ought to be swishing round in a habit with a rosary at my waist.”

He laughed at that, introduced the young lady making goo-goo eyes at him as Miss Chew, and offered to get us both an ice. The temperature in the ballroom was rising eighty, at least, and sweat darkened not a few of the bright silks.

“What an elegant gown,” Miss Chew said politely. “Is it from England?”

“Oh,” I said, rather taken aback. “I don’t know. But thank you,” I added, looking down at myself for the first time. I hadn’t really noticed the gown, beyond the mechanical necessities of getting into it; dressing was no more than a daily nuisance, and so long as nothing was too tight or chafed, I didn’t care what I wore.

John had presented me with the gown this morning, as well as summoning a hairdresser to deal with me from the neck up. I’d shut my eyes, rather shocked at how enjoyable the man’s fingers felt in my hair—but still more shocked when he handed me a looking glass and I saw a towering confection of curls and powder, with a tiny ship perched in it. Full-rigged.

I’d waited ’til he left, then hurriedly brushed it all out and pinned it up as simply as I could. John had given me a look, but said nothing. Concerned with my head, though, I hadn’t taken any time to look at myself below the neck, and was vaguely pleased now to see how well the cocoa-colored silk fit me. Dark enough that it might not show sweat stains, I thought.

Miss Chew was watching William like a cat eyeing up a fat, handsome mouse, frowning a little as he stopped to flirt with two other young ladies.

“Will Lord Ellesmere be remaining long in Philadelphia?” she asked, eyes still on him. “I believe someone told me that he is not to go with General Howe. I do hope that is the case!”

“That’s right,” I said. “He surrendered with General Burgoyne; those troops are all on parole and are meant to go back to England, but there’s some administrative reason why they can’t embark just yet.” I knew William was hoping to be exchanged, so that he could fight again, but didn’t mention it.

“Really,” she said, brightening. “What splendid news! Perhaps he will be here for my ball next month. Naturally, it will not be quite so good as this one”—she arched her neck a little, tilting her head toward the musicians who had begun to play at the far end of the room—“but Major Andre says he will lend his skill to paint the backdrops so we may have tableaux, so it will be—”

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, “did you say Major Andre? Major … John Andre?”

She glanced at me in surprise, half-annoyed at my interruption. “Of course. He designed the costumes for the joust today and has written the play they will do later. Look, there he is, speaking with Lady Clinton.”

I looked where she pointed with her fan, feeling a sudden chill wash through me, despite the heat in the room.

Major Andre was the center of a group, men and women both, laughing and gesturing, plainly the focus of everyone’s attention. He was a handsome young man in his late twenties, his uniform tailored to perfection and his face vivid, flushed with heat and pleasure.

“He seems … very charming,” I murmured, wanting to look away from him, but unable to do so.

“Oh, yes!” Miss Chew was enthusiastic. “He and I and Peggy Shippen did almost all of the work for the mischianza together—he’s a marvel, always with such good ideas, and he plays the flute just delightful. So sad that Peggy’s father would not let her come tonight—quite unfair!” I thought there was an underlying tone of satisfaction to her voice, though; she was quite pleased not to have to share the limelight with her friend.

“Do let me present him to you,” she said suddenly, and folding her fan, slipped her arm through mine. I was taken entirely by surprise and couldn’t think of a way to extricate myself before I found myself towed into the group around Andre, with Miss Chew chattering brightly to him, laughing up at him, her hand familiarly on his arm. He smiled at her, then switched his gaze to me, his eyes warm and lively.