An Act Of Courage

As they reached the second floor, a door opened and an officer appeared in what looked like levee dress. He glanced at them, at Isabella principally, looked as if he would question them, and then instead bowed and said simply ‘Senora, senores’ before making his way past them and down the stairs. Laming wondered if his face betrayed anything of his thoughts: he had been certain the game was up. He looked at Isabella. She appeared as cool as if she had title to the place. He nodded, and they began the final flight of stairs.

The light on the upper floor was poorer, no window but a high lancet, and few candles, but Laming saw at once the pistols on the table next to the two guards, and the sword-bayonets in the crossbelts hanging over the backs of their chairs. The men, though clearly startled, made no attempt to recover them, relieved, perhaps, that it had not been their serjeant.

Isabella spoke. ‘I am come to question Major Hervey.’

The guards looked at each other.

‘It is authorized,’ said Isabella curtly. ‘Napoleon.’

They looked at each other again. Why should a woman come to question the prisoner? Why had they not been told before?

Laming saw he had but seconds only. His hand began moving to his pocket.

Then one of the guards, grumbling loudly, reached for the key which hung by a nail on the wall above the table. The other looked uncertain still, but the first guard put the key in the lock, hesitated a moment, then turned it and pulled open the door.

‘Wait here, please, senores,’ said Isabella.

If the guards had had a mind to search the party, Isabella confounded them utterly. She was not carrying anything, and they could hardly search her person. And the two men, of whom they might be rightly more suspicious, were not in any case going to enter the prisoner’s quarters. There was nothing they could do but trust they were doing right; here, very evidently, was a lady of rank. Who were they, mere private-men, to question her?

Isabella advanced. The guard held the door open, then closed it after her.

Laming and Wainwright each whipped out a brace of pistols. Wainwright’s were pressed to the turnkey’s neck before the door was locked. The second guard looked so frightened that Laming only had to gesture to get him on his knees.

Hervey flung the door open. It had been many years: unlike Corporal Wainwright, he had not seen Laming at Hounslow, and never had he imagined that circumstances such as these would reunite them. Laming’s eyes were wild, and his jaw set firm – as at Talavera when they had had to hack him out of the fight with the chasseurs. For his part, Laming saw only the uniform of the Sixth, and at that moment wished with all his heart that he wore it still.

There was no time for elaborate greeting: there were two guards to deal with. Hervey held out his hand, Laming indicated that both his were full, and the ice was broken with grim smiles.

Wainwright had brought lint and silk cord. The intention was not to do harm, simply to disable and confine. That way, Laming had calculated, the Spanish were least likely to make diplomatic complaint.

‘I’m glad to see you, Corporal Wainwright,’ said Hervey, nodding in return to the salute. Then, covered by Laming’s pistols, they began stuffing the lint into the guards’ mouths, binding it with cord, tying their hands behind their backs and pushing them into Hervey’s erstwhile cell.

Laming braced as he saw the unexpected figure in the middle of the room.

Isabella shook her head, as if to say there was no cause for concern.

‘Laming, this is Dr Sanchez, without whom you would not be here.’

But Sanchez himself looked anxious – indeed, very anxious.

Hervey sought to reassure him. ‘I had no idea it would be so soon. Shall we bind you, as the guards?’

It was a calculation requiring more time than they had. But Sanchez feared staying more than fleeing. ‘I will come with you.’

Laming shook his head. ‘We do not have a horse.’

Sanchez understood. ‘I have a horse. But it will take me time to fetch and saddle it.’

Laming nodded. ‘It is better that he goes now. The guards will know him. It should be easy.’

Hervey gripped Sanchez’s arm reassuringly. ‘Go, my friend. We will wait here five minutes, and then we must all leave.’

Laming watched him go, and uneasily. This was something he had not foreseen. Would he have let him go if he had been able to consider it thoroughly? But what could he do, for Hervey would not have him bound against his will?

The minutes crept by. At least the guards made no sound. But Laming grew more uneasy. It had ever been the cavalry rule that no gain repaid delay. He had lived by the precept long enough, and Hervey even more. He would not have believed that any cornet – let alone a colonel and a major – would have settled for such a thing. Why, indeed, did he defer to Hervey now? ‘We must go. The guard commander might come at any moment. It’s fatal to delay further.’

‘I said we would wait five minutes, Laming. There are two more. In truth he needs fifteen.’

‘Then let us at least descend the stairs. Better to wait at the door. There was no sentry.’

Hervey frowned, and began putting on the coat which Wainwright had brought. ‘Very well. But let me lead.’

‘I shall lead, Major Hervey,’ said Isabella emphatically.

Laming cursed silently; was this his ‘command’ or not? But Isabella spoke sense: the password and imperious Spanish were needed, not brawn and pistols. ‘Dona Isabella shall lead. I shall follow, then you, Hervey, and Corporal Wainwright.’

Wainwright locked the door behind them as Hervey picked up two pistols from the table, checked they were primed, and seized one of the swordbelts.

Laming shook his head. ‘It is too conspicuous.’

Isabella took it from him, slung it over her shoulder and pulled her cloak about her to conceal it. ‘Come,’ she said.

Laming stifled his protest. ‘Very well.’

They began their exit as quietly as they had come. Laming now realized that the staircase, although square rather than circular, descended (unusually) clockwise, giving the advantage to the man below, pistol or sword in- hand, rather than to the one above. He wished he had gone first.

But then, Isabella knew she would have the advantage of surprise, for who would imagine a woman to have any fighting intent?

The floor below was empty, as before, and they passed quickly along it to the other end.

They descended to the first floor, where the guards had let them pass without challenge on the way up. Laming saw they were not the same. But that was good: they would not count an extra man, if they counted at all.

The guards rose, as the others had, and looked at Isabella, curious.

‘Thank you, we are leaving now,’ she said, assuredly.

The older of the two guards touched his peak. ‘Si, senora. Contrasena?’

‘Napoleon!’

The man touched his peak again and stepped aside. Laming, Hervey and Wainwright each looked him in the eye as they passed, and nodded.

Laming was still anxious. They must have taken ten minutes already to come this far, he reckoned: he wanted to quicken the pace.

Isabella would not be hurried, however. She took each step as if she were descending to a carriage in front of her household.

As they turned the final corner, the door into the courtyard now but a couple of dozen strides away, Laming saw the same officer in his levee dress as on the way in. He reached for his pocket, certain they would be discovered.

Isabella, too, hesitated a moment, then thought better of it, curtsied, lowered then raised her eyes to what she prayed was her best advantage, and continued walking.

The officer, hatless (a bicorn under his left arm), halted and made a low bow. ‘Senora!