Birdie and the Beastly Duke by Sofi Laporte
Chapter 16
“Your Grace,” Higgins gasped. “The castle is invaded by children.”
Gabriel dropped the book he’d been reading and stared at Higgins. He must truly hallucinate now.
“Come and see for yourself.”
Indeed, as he hurried down the corridor, he heard the babble of what could only be correctly pinpointed as children’s noises.
What on earth?
The chatter increased. It came from the library, which Birdie had insisted on refurnishing.
Without thinking twice, he burst into the room.
Immediate silence descended as eleven heads turned towards him in various states of astonishment.
There was Birdie, standing in the middle of a circle of approximately ten children who sat cross-legged on the floor, their chalkboards on their laps. They stared at him with open mouths.
Gabriel stood shell-shocked; he expected them to burst into shrieks, tears and hysterics, for the daylight that poured through the windows clearly shone on his face.
The Monster of Dunross in plain daylight.
He braced himself.
“Children, this is the Duke of Dunross. Get up and say, ‘How do you do’ to His Grace,” Birdie instructed.
The children scrambled out of their chairs and chanted in unison, “How do ye do, Yer Grace.”
Gabriel flushed. “Er. Hello.” Turning to Birdie, he asked, “What is the meaning of this?”
Birdie folded her hands. “We have decided to open a village school. The children have received no education at all since the old schoolteacher left. Besides, the school building in the village is about to collapse. Since there is so much space here,”––she waved her hand about––“I thought it would be an excellent idea to set up the school in one of the outer buildings here.”
“We?”
“Some women in the village and myself.”
“I see.”
“And today we have library day. We are choosing books to read for the week, aren’t we, children?”
They nodded eagerly.
“Miss, may I ask a question?” a black-haired boy asked after he stood up.
“Miss?” Gabriel echoed.
“I thought it better to use my maiden name while I teach,” Birdie explained. “To keep identities apart. And yes, Johnny, you may ask a question.”
“If you please. What happened to your face?” Johnny sat down again and looked at Gabriel expectantly.
He felt his cheeks burn. “It is a war injury,” he explained.
“You mean, sir—”
“Your Grace,” Birdie interjected.
“Yes, miss. You mean, Your Grace, sir, that you were fighting in the war? Against the French Beast?”
“Er. Yes.”
“That’s bloody brilliant!”
A chorus of children’s voices chimed in:
“How was it like?”
“Did ye see him yersel?”
“Are ye a hero?”
“Does yer face still hurt?”
“Did ye—”
They jumped up and crowded around Gabriel, who backed up against the door, ready to flee.
“Children, if you sit down and calm down, His Grace will tell you all about his experiences in the war,” Birdie said.
He was going to do what? Gabriel stared at Birdie, aghast.
But Birdie sat down quietly in an armchair, folded her hands in her lap, and looked at him invitingly. He looked around and saw the expectation on the children’s faces. Bright, shiny faces with eager eyes.
“We’re ready, sir, Yer Grace,” piped up a little boy. He had curly auburn hair, a peaky little face and only one arm. He sat down right in front of Gabe with crossed legs and looked at him with anticipation.
“It was Sunday, the 18th of June 1815,” he heard himself say. “Do you know where Waterloo is?”
The children shook their heads.
“It’s on the continent. Near Brussels.” Gabriel looked at Birdie for help.
“We will look it up in the Atlas afterwards, children,” Birdie chimed in. “Continue, Your Grace.”
“Six nations were pitched against France. The coalition consisted of Prussia, the Netherlands, Hanover, Nassau, Brunswick and the United Kingdom. The Prussians were in rear-guard—” He interrupted himself. He battled with himself for one moment before he made up his mind. He gave a curt nod. “I shall have to show you. Come with me.”
He strode out of the room before he changed his mind.
A general scramble and the quick patter of feet followed him.
Higgins had been right when he’d said the castle was invaded by children, he thought, as he opened the door to his tower. They spilled into his room and gathered in awe around his miniature model of the battleground. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined, as he rose from of bed this morning, that he’d be spending his afternoon showing his precious model to a group of village children.
He told them the story of Waterloo. It was the first time he had ever talked about it.
It felt oddly liberating.
As he spoke, he noticed the little one-armed boy hung on to his every word, looking at him with serious, big eyes.
“… and after the Prussians broke through the French right flank—over here—and the coalition vanquished the French Imperial Guard, it was clear the battle was won.”
“What is this?” Tommy, the one-armed boy, asked.
“This is a farm called La Haye Sainte.”
“And this here?” the boy pointed to another building.
He felt himself grimace. “This is Chateau Hougoumont.” Even though he hadn’t intended to elaborate on it, he heard himself say, “This is where we were stationed. The light company of the second battalion. Coldstream Guards.”
“Coldstream Guards!” The boys’ mouths dropped open with awe. Hero worship gleamed in their eyes. Gabriel shifted uncomfortably.
“How pretty the houses are,” a little girl with brown locks said and touched a model roof.
“Careful, the colour’s not yet dry,” Gabriel said involuntarily as she pressed down a finger on the model.
“Does it really look like that? If we were to go there now, it would look exactly like this, yes? Yer Grace, sir?”
Gabriel felt a rushing go through his ears and the din of guns in the distance. From a distance, his voice said, “Hougoumont was entirely destroyed.”
He felt Birdie’s eyes on him. “I think we have taken up enough of his Grace’s time,” she said to the little ones. “Come now, children.”
“But miss. The model’s not finished. Yer Grace, sir, do ye need help? We can help paint the little trees,” said Johnny and looked at Gabriel expectantly.
Gabriel felt helpless. How could anyone deny those pleading eyes?
The girl had picked up a pot of paint and a brush and coloured the meadow without much ado. Before he could blink, the other children joined in and busied themselves by painting or modelling figures from the clay lump he’d left on the side.
Birdie threw him an apologetic look.
Only one boy stood in the shadow by the door, hanging his head. Tommy.
“Come here, Tommy. You can help me paint the soldiers of the 95th Rifles,” Gabriel said. The boy came over slowly. Gabriel picked up a brush and green paint and showed him how to paint the figure. “The 95th rifles had green uniforms, not red ones. So, you need to colour them with particular care.”
“Aye sir, they were real special, right?” Gabriel held the figure while Tommy painted it.
When he looked over Tommy’s head, his eyes met Birdie’s.
They were huge, and warm, and luminous. The smile she gave on him was so bright it lit up the entire room.
As unorthodox as it all was, he was doing the right thing.
He felt his heart lighten.
It had been an amazing afternoon.Birdie could hardly believe what had happened. Gabriel had arrived and had talked to the children, even invited them to his abode to show them the model! Then he’d let them paint the remaining figures and landscapes. Even Birdie thought that they’d gone too far, that maybe they’d exhausted his patience. But no. He’d taken little Tommy under his wing and patiently helped him paint a figure. Her heart had melted seeing his dark head bent over the little boy’s bright curly one. The child clearly hero-worshipped him. He’d clung to Gabriel the entire afternoon, painting not one, but three soldiers, which Gabriel allowed him to set in the middle of the scene.
“I want them to guard the gate,” Tommy directed. “They are the bravest soldiers in the entire army. No one will get past them.”
“They will ward off the entire French army single handedly,” Gabriel had replied, and Tommy had beamed at him, and slipped his little hand into his big one.
He would make a wonderful father one day, Birdie thought.
The children, satisfied after such an eventful afternoon, thanked him one by one and left.
After they had gone, Gabriel remained standing by the window. There was a strain about his eyes, and he looked pale.
Birdie hesitated by the door. “I just wanted to say—what you did was wonderful. Thank you. Truly. The children will remember this for a long time.”
He nodded curtly. He wasn’t upset with her, was he?
“I—would like to invite you. For supper. Tonight,” she blurted out. “To celebrate a special day. I can tell cook to prepare Soupe a la Reine, pheasant pie, and an apricot tart. Or would you prefer curried rabbit? Or something more traditionally Scottish?” She was definitely talking too much. And he was being altogether too quiet.
He raised his hands to his temples and rubbed them. “Curried pheasant is fine,” he muttered.
Curried pheasant? He hadn’t been listening at all, had he? She supposed Cook would have to improvise, then.
“I will see you later at supper? In the dining room, this time,” she added, to make sure he went to the correct room. “Higgins has found the chairs, and the village carpenter has repaired them. They’re as good as new!”
Gabriel nodded.
“Well then. I will see you in several hours.”
He nodded again.
Birdie left to take a bath and to change into her prettiest dress. It was a sea green evening gown that Eilidh had magically refashioned. It fit her to perfection. Ally combed her hair up and managed to produce something akin to curls. For the first time in her life, Birdie felt pretty.
Cook had disapproved of the menu.
“It’ll be haggis, neeps and tatties tonight or nuthin’ at all,” she said.
“But Mrs Gowan. We’ve had this so often already. Tonight is to be special.”
The cook grumbled. “Tattie soup and mutton pie, then. And for dessert the leftover syllabub from th’other day.”
“That sounds divine, Mrs Gowan,” Birdie said.
When the candles were lit and the table was set, she waited for him eagerly. It was funny how her heart hammered in that manner. Was this what happiness felt like? A sizzling feeling of excitement that coursed through her veins?
If Cecily Burns had known about Gabriel––that he was not only a duke, but a kind, caring one, with fundamental decency and integrity—would she have still insisted on her madcap scheme? The thought of Cecily immediately quenched her feeling of happiness.
Deep guilt burned inside her at her own deception. She needed to come clean with Gabriel, who still thought she was Miss Burns.
Someone knocked on the door, and she jumped.
It was Higgins.
“Beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “Can I serve the soup already?” He was carrying the soup tureen.
“Do wait, Higgins. His Grace hasn’t arrived yet.”
Higgins set the tureen on the table. “Aye, he’s gone to bed,” he muttered.
“I don’t think so.” Birdie bit her lips. Higgins had misunderstood her, hadn’t he? He said he was coming.
Higgins looked at her with watery eyes. “Will you be waiting, Your Grace?”
“Of course.” She smoothed her skirt down with skittish hands. Why wasn’t he coming? He probably needed more time to get ready.
After half an hour had passed, she sent Higgins to check on him. But he was sitting in the chair by the door, snoring.
An hour later, with the soup entirely cold, Birdie felt a sinking stone of disappointment in her stomach.
He wasn’t coming.
He either had forgotten, which was unlikely. Or he’d simply changed his mind. If so, he could’ve sent her a message. Or even better, he could’ve told her so himself.
She felt something well up inside her, which she blinked away quickly.
“Well then, I shall simply have to eat the good food on my own,” she decided, sat down, and went to work. “Before it goes to waste.”
It didn’t taste half as good eating it alone. Perhaps she could send up a tray with some leftovers, but then she wasn’t certain he deserved it after letting her sit in the cold like that.
What a difficult man he was.
She stared into the fire, suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of defeat and sadness.
Why was she sitting here all on her own, feeling sorry for herself? Birdie got up and marched by the sleeping Higgins.
If he wasn’t coming to her, then she would go to him.
Simple, really.
Birdie knocked timidlyon the door of the tower room. It was hard to believe that only several hours ago, the place was swarming with children who’d cheerfully hopped in and out of the room.
Now the closed, heavy oaken door stared at her as if it concealed Blackbeard’s den.
Birdie shifted the lamp to the other hand and pushed down the handle. It wasn’t locked.
The room inside was entirely dark. Not even the fireplace was lit.
“Gabriel?”
No answer.
She lifted her lamp. His bed was empty. She swung the light to the other side. No one there.
Was he on the way down to the dining room? Had they passed each other without noticing?
Confused, Birdie dropped the lamp. Then she saw the shadow on the floor.
In front of the extinct fireplace, a figure huddled, crouched together into a tight ball. His arms covered his head, and he shivered.
“Gabriel! What happened!” Birdie set down the lamp on the table and rushed to him.
Gabriel muttered something unintelligible and shook his head.
She reached out and gently touched his shoulder. He didn’t react. She grabbed him harder and shook his shoulder. “Gabriel. Are you ill?” His hands and forehead seemed hot. But was it fever?
“Gabriel.” She shook his arm. Was he sleeping?
“To the left, not to the right,” he muttered. He looked up, and his face was wet with tears.
“What is to the left? Gabriel?”
“My men. It should’ve been the left.”
“I don’t understand.” Birdie shook her head.
“I told them to hold the right while the others defended the gate. They trusted me. They followed me without question. They shouldn’t have. They held the right, like I told them to. And then…” His body shook with sobs.
“And then?”
“And then the French shelled the house with the entire battery of howitzers they had available. One moment they were there. Then next they were gone. Every single one of them. My entire company. Fifty men. Blown to smithereens. And then a burning beam crashed on me and knocked me out. But I wasn’t granted the mercy of death. Do you understand?” He sat up and there was a wild light in his eye. “I am the only one who survived the massacre after I sent my men to their deaths. And then they gave me this.” He held out his hand, which was clenched around a round piece of metal.
Birdie took it. The Waterloo medal.
Birdie grabbed his hand and pressed it tight. Tears ran down her face. “You told them to do what you believed was right. I’ve never been in a war, but I can imagine one must make decisions on the spot, based on the surrounding facts. You assessed the situation and decided the men were better off defending the right. That doesn’t make you responsible for what happened. You couldn’t have known they’d blow Napoleon’s entire battery right at you.”
“I should’ve known.” Gabriel’s lips were cracked and dry. “It was my job to know.” He leaned his head against her shoulder.
“But you also had superiors? Was it your choice to be there, to begin with?”
“No. We were ordered to hold the farm at all costs.”
“So, you were following orders.”
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Yes, I was following orders.”
“Whose orders were you following?”
“General Sir James McDonell. He was holding the gate.”
“And while he was holding the gate, he said you and your men were to defend the right wall.”
“Hold the flank at the right. Don’t let the French break through. Whoever wins the farm, wins the war.”
“And that is what you did. Because you followed orders. That’s what you do in a war. You were an excellent captain. You held the farm. You won the war. Whoever wins the farm, wins the war, you said. Well, you won the war.”
“Carnage does not adequately describe what happened there.” Gabriel looked blindly at the ceiling, as if reliving the scene.
He buried his head in her lap, and Birdie held him as he wept. She felt such sorrow for the man who felt responsible for the deaths of so many. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
It was getting cold. The candle tapered out. Birdie’s legs cramped, and she shifted around uncomfortably on the hard floorboards.
Gabriel got up, took a blanket from the bed, wrapped her in it, and lifted her onto the bed. Then he re-lit the fire in the fireplace.
Shadows flitted over the wall, and the wind howled over the tower. Despite the eeriness of the place, Birdie felt safe with him.
He knelt by the bed and dug his face into her lap. “Stay with me tonight.” His words were muffled in the blanket.
She lifted his face in her hands and looked straight into his troubled dark eye. Without thinking, she reached out and touched the side of his face.
She pulled his face toward her.
She felt the hard bumps and ridges of the scars under her fingers. Her fingers moved to his patch. He did nothing to prevent her from lifting it.
His eyelid was closed. The lashes melted into the skin. Nothing terrible at all. An eye that was forevermore sleeping. That was all.
Without thinking, she pressed her lips to it.
Goodness, it shot through her. How she loved this man. She’d realised it when she saw him with Tommy on his lap. A warm tenderness had flooded through her, combined with a feeling of pride and a fierce joy like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She knew that, despite his demons, he was a man worthy of loving. If only he would let her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I will stay with you tonight.”