Baker's Woman Page 2

  To his chagrin, Sam felt a stirring in his loins. His arousal, like the involuntary erections of his youth, embarrassed him.

  He flexed his shoulders and leaned forward, resting his right arm on his knee, and with the back of his left hand lifted his beard and then stroked it down. It’s this sordid place, he told himself, the room is steeped in carnality.

  Her skirt again covered her, hanging loosely on her slim form. She stood rigid, her eyes unblinking as the auctioneer called for bids. Although her face was pale with terror, she held her chin high and kept her gaze fixed over the heads of the crowd, as if trying to will herself elsewhere. In that look Sam read both courage and purity, and he knew neither would protect her for long.

  His own voice rang out, sounding in his ears like an echo, and he saw men’s heads turn. He repeated his bid in Arabic. A competing voice called out a higher one. Sam doubled it, and the gavel sounded a single clap. In the ensuing silence, he rose from his chair. Singh, with his mouth slightly agape, stared as Sam brushed past him and snapped:

  “Fetch the carriage.”

  Sam Baker strode down the side of the room now silent but for the quick thud of his boots striking the worn carpet. Near the platform’s edge, a servant, half-concealed by a curtain, sat beside a money box lined with red velvet. There, the girl stood with hands clasped in front of her, and Sam avoided her eyes as he took his wallet from inside his coat, counted out Turkish lire and waited. The man closed the box, carefully wrote words and numbers on a paper, and gave it to Sam.

  Still avoiding the girl’s eyes, Sam took her firmly by the hand as he might a child of his own and led her to the back of the room. They passed two armed guards in the foyer and stepped out into the frosty night. Only then did he notice that her feet were bare, and he lifted her in his arms.

  Chapter 2

  Duleep Singh stood wide-eyed, holding the door of the hired carriage. Sam settled the waif on the forward bench and seated himself across from her, next to Singh. He and shouted to the driver and slammed the door. As he tucked a fur robe around her, the girl remained silent, her steady gaze almost defiant. “We want to help you. Don’t be afraid.”

  Her expression didn’t change, and he spoke again, this time in German. She blinked and bit her lip, and he thought she understood. He reached under the robe and touched her icy foot, intending to rub it between his warm hands, but she jerked it back, her stare still unwavering. Folding his empty hands, he sat back in his seat.

  “Danke, danke shon,” she murmured.

  “Incredible,” Singh said. “Captain, you are astonishing!”

  Sam snorted in mild scorn at that idea and turned toward the window to watch the snow falling from an iron gray sky. As he had expected, the weather was worsening and could trap them in this dismal town. And added to that, he may have committed a diplomatic gaffe that could lead to trouble. A confrontation with officials could be very embarrassing and inconvenient as well. How the Ottomans conducted their traffic in human lives was not really his business.

  It bothered him that he had again been impetuous, had made regrettable choices, not unlike the one that resulted in this journey with this companion.

  He had been a guest of his friend, the Duke of Atholl, at his lodge near Balmoral in the Highlands. Before the last day’s hunt, Sam mentioned to someone that he always carried a knife as well as his rifle, and the fellow pressed him to demonstrate his skill. Sam could not resist the chance to indulge in a fairer combat; to close in with no firearm was always exhilarating.

  The hounds were baying on the banks when he saw the stag standing in the rapids. Sam unsheathed his long knife and leapt into waist deep water. Before the dogs plunged in, Sam grasped the lowered antlers and, with all his strength, plunged the knife in below the shoulder, forcing it toward the heart. The warm blood poured over his hand, and as they fell together, he saw the stag’s wild eye seek the sky. It was a clean kill.

  Later in the lodge, firelight glinting on glasses of Port, the men made too much of it. Sam turned to talk with an Indian prince, who had not joined the hunt.

  “I am grateful to the Duke of Atholl,” the young man said.

  “I have finished at Cambridge and shall return to my people.”

  Sam would have liked to talk about the Punjab, for he had enjoyed his time there, but Atholl interrupted them.

  “I must say, Sam, Duleep attended to his studies with rather more zeal that I ever did. Now he ought take the Grand Tour, put a finish on his education, you know. What’s wanting is a man of the world to show him about.”

  “That sounds 1ike just your sort of thing, George. You could see him off in style, have a splendid time of it, too.”

  “Perhaps so; however, tedious duties in the House prevent me.” Atholl lowered his voice and drew Sam aside. “I hoped you might see your way clear to do me the turn. Singh had a fine time at University, but one can imagine the sort of places undergraduates carouse. Not like your own education in, ah, Salzburg, was it? I’ll wager you never saw the likes of any Cambridge back streets.”

  The Duke’s hand remained on Sam’s shoulder, its pressure a reminder that Atholl was accustomed to getting what he wanted.

  “He must learn to drink like a gentleman,” the Duke confided, “You know people and places on the continent. See that he gets to enjoy a woman between clean sheets.”

  “It’s been many years, my friend,” Sam laughed, “I’ve lost touch with that life. However, you are persuasive, and I shall think on it.”

  Sam didn’t recall owing George a favor, but he remembered his years in a society less narrow than his own. Now at loose ends, with his dear wife in her grave, he couldn’t endure being in the house in Devon. He surmised that his sister would rather he were elsewhere, too, as she learned to mother his daughters.

  In the morning he gave the Duke his answer. He would introduce Singh to a bit of music and art, to friends in Paris, the Alsace. A wild boar hunt in the Black Forest and a hike in the Alps would do them both good, too.

  Within weeks, Sam recalled, he had stood on the quay at Ostende among bulging leather bags and, at his side, the eager young prince. His decision was hasty, the tour long.

  Singh strode through the Louvre ticking off the famous paintings. He detested the outdoors, preferring drawing rooms and boudoirs, and after numerous dalliances, he became enamored of the Countess Adrianna. On Christmas night in Vienna, while Singh drowsed through the opera, Sam decided to end the tour in Bucharest. But on the trip down the Danube, the boat broke up on the ice at the Iron Gates, stranding them here in this place where the weather didn’t permit the boar hunt he had hoped for.

  One morning while Adrianna slept and Singh lingered over coffee, Sam told him the tour was over, and he had ordered a carriage. The prince protested that the weather would improve, but Sam wouldn’t argue, so after sulking a bit, Singh brightened and talked about a slave auction they could attend. Sam didn’t doubt the truth of rumors of seraglios filled with war orphans and children taken as tax payments, and he told Singh it was a vile practice. But then, no more able to quell his curiosity than his outrage, Sam agreed to attend the auction.

  Now here he was, responsible not only for two tiresome adults but for a child, a refugee from God knows where.

  As the carriage halted in front of the hotel, Sam ceased his self-flagellation and directed the driver to take them to the tradesman’s entrance. He rummaged his memory and found enough German to talk to the girl.

  “We will go upstairs now and see that you are warm and comfortable. I will carry you, all right?”

  The girl nodded and allowed him to gather her in his arms.

  With Singh in the lead, Sam hurried inside and up the service stairway. When Singh opened the door to their suite, the Countess didn’t stir from the cushions, but when Sam entered, she dropped her book into the folds of her red silk gown.

  “Why, Sam, did you find a refugee on the doorstep?”

  She turned to Duleep Singh. “
What about the plan to leave? When you weren’t back here at tea time, I quit packing.”

  “A thousand apologies, my lovely.” Duleep took her hand and was about to lead her toward their chamber.

  “Wait, wait, please,” Sam pleaded, stepping toward the Countess with open hands outstretched.

  “Surely you can help. This child speaks German. She is pitifully afraid of me and has no proper clothing.”

  The Countess Adrianna scarcely hesitated before giving Sam the warmest smile he’d ever seen on her haughty face. Then she pressed a hand firmly against his chest and swept past him.

  “Of course! Where are my manners!” she said and took the girl by the hand.

  “Wie heissen sie, Liebchen?”

  “Florence,” the girl replied as she was being led away. “Good lord, I never thought to ask her her name!”

  Sam drew a deep breath and stared at the carpet for several minutes before going to pour a whiskey and to ring for dinner to be served in the suite. Taking his glass to a window, he stared out at snowflakes whirling down onto a deserted street.

  * * *

  Florence felt at ease immediately with this beautiful woman whom she assumed was the young man’s wife. In her bed chamber the Countess Adrianna spoke to her in German, then French, when Florence explained that her parents often spoke French with their guests, and she had been tutored in it.

  “But we were, I am—Hungarian.”

  Adrianna then spoke to her then in Magyar, and the sounds, familiar to her since her early childhood, brought Florence close to tears.

  “I lived with Rina for a while, after Mother died.”

  Adrianna pulled garments from her closet, gowns and suits for Florence to try on, talking all the while. Florence asked about the sad and dignified English man who spoke German. She wondered but dared not ask what had brought these three people together and why they were here, so far from the fine homes she knew they must have. The Countess said to call her Adrianna and explained how to address the Captain and the Count.

  “We call him ‘Captain’ only when he doesn’t want his name known. He is Samuel Baker, a gentleman. He won’t mind if you call him Sam. Duleep Singh is not a count but a prince.”

  “I thought he would be a Count. My father was a Baron and Mother a Baroness. I thought.”

  “Quite logical, my dear, but that is not how we are. Now do take a good look at yourself before we go out.”

  Florence could hardly believe what she saw in the mirror. Then Adrianna flung open the door and, pressing her hand at the center of Florence’s back, steered her into the sitting room.

  “Gentlemen, I present our guest, Florence, who has agreed to dine with us!”

  The men looked at her, stared at her. She didn’t know what to say. Maybe they didn’t either. She wondered why they would have any interest in her.

  “Florence is Hungarian,” Adrianna announced.

  “She also understands some French, as well as German.”

  * * *

  Sam now saw before him not a waif, but a lovely woman. The burgundy gown lent color to her cheeks, and when she smiled, her green eyes shone. Pleasing as she appeared, the change was unsettling. He was disquieted, too, by the way the Countess watched him, gauging his reactions. Until now he’d believed her blissfully unaware of anyone but herself. He had underestimated her and saw no graceful way to apologize.

  Sam bowed to them and then busied himself moving the chairs into a circle so they could talk comfortably with their guest. For several minutes they sat in silence; then Sam and Adrianna spoke simultaneously, which caused a ripple of tension-breaking laughter. After that they each in turn fell to a questioning that Sam felt must make the girl feel as if she were facing some kind of official examination. Such a barrage of questions from strangers could surely distress a child, yet she seemed not to mind, but responded thoughtfully. She spoke slowly, sometimes looking to Adrianna for a translation.

  They learned that her father had to leave them because a war was going to happen. After that there were shouts and guns being loud in the street.

  Her mother and the maid packed, and they left Debrecen in their coach to go to the mountains. But in the dark the coach tipped over and her mother was killed.

  Some time later she was sent to a farm in Wallachia and lived in a farmer’s house, helping his mother take care of his children.

  “How many children?” Sam asked.

  “Marie was four years, and Peter and the baby.”

  Adrianna asked her age. Florence said she was nine or ten when she went to the farm and added that she liked the farm.

  But then it burned down. Only she and Marie got out.

  “Nobody else – and so we ran and hid for a while. But then some soldiers found us. And this morning I left Marie behind.”

  This last was said in a whisper, and her eyes filled with tears. Adrianna stood up and took her hand and led Florence to the window and put an arm around her.

  * * *

  Florence felt she might cry forever, if she let herself start, and was glad for the quiet comfort the Countess seemed to be offering. This was the first time she had talked about the fire and those long ago matters, and in the telling, as in her dreams, it all came back—the shouts and gunfire, the shattering glass and flaming curtains . She wanted to tell more about Marie so they’d know why she must find her. Marie had cried every day at first and now just in her sleep. But now she was too tired to talk and didn’t want to cry.

  There was a knock on the door, and she and Adrianna turned away from the window. Florence saw men in white coats wheel in carts. They opened out the table and covered it with white cloth. They laid out silver and plates from the carts, and then platters and bowls of steaming food and bottles of wine. She hadn’t seen so much food since the Holy Days on Mateos’ farm.

  And then Sam Baker came to her side and smiled as he took her arm to lead her to a chair. When they sat around the table, the aroma of the roast beef on its platter of golden juice made her stomach hurt. Singh poured the wine and Sam spoke to him softly, and the three lifted their glasses and looked at her.

  Adrianna smiled and explained that they were honoring her, it was the custom. Florence thanked them and saw that she, too, had a glass that sparkled as if on fire.

  The wine slipped down her throat and warmed her stomach. Candle flames shown on glass and silver and cast soft light on the faces around the table. Beyond this circle, the world was cold and dark. Tears blurred her vision as she looked across the table at Sam and saw her father’s deep-set eyes and curly beard. He smiled at her.

  She cut a sliver of beef, but her throat constricted, and her dress prickled her hot moist skin.

  A sip of wine washed down the piece of beef. After that she took very small portions of vegetables and could swallow them. They tasted good.

  After the waiters had again come and gone and Adrianna and Singh retired, Sam pulled his chair to face hers. Looking into her eyes, he began to talk.

  “I wish to explain things in my terrible German. I did not come there to take part in the auction. I came to observe what I knew to be a barbaric custom. When I saw you, I knew I must rescue you, make you safe. I could not let the Turks take you.”

  “I didn’t think you would harm me. But I didn’t know why – do not know why you took me. I am grateful to you, that you bought me.”

  “Not bought, ransomed. You belong to yourself, and your soul to God.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hesitating, and then she blurted out what she must say: “I worry about Marie. I promised her we’d be together. She cried out to me. I couldn’t get back to her.”

  Now her tears would not be held back, and she took the handkerchief Sam was pressing into her hand and tried to stifle her sobs.

  “I am her only family. Please, help me find her.”

  “We’ll try. We’ll see to it in the morning. Now you must sleep.”

  He busied himself with bedding a chambermaid had delivered, a
rranging it on a divan in an alcove off the sitting room. Then he made the room private for her by closing the heavy curtains.

  “May you sleep well, Florence,” he said with a slight bow.

  In the dark she took off the beautiful dress and laid it on a chair. The couch was soft, and she soon had to give up trying to think and fell into a deep sleep. She awoke once thinking she saw Marie’s face and heard her voice, and she resolved not to leave Widdin without her. She slept again until the morning light crept across the walls. When she awoke she felt confident that Sam would keep his word.

  They would find Marie. But then what? Would he take them both along wherever it was they meant to go?

  Sounds from the sitting room signaled time to wash and put on the travel clothing Adrianna had given her. She slipped into a silk shift and warm skirts, rolling over the waistband to lift the hems above her shoe tops. As she fumbled with twenty-some buttons on the jacket, Adrianna parted the portieres.

  “I hope you slept well. I have a shawl here, to go with the suit. And these stockings, two pair will make those boots fit better.”

  “I cannot thank you enough, Adrianna.”

  “You already have, Florence, I have more than I need. Now my bags will hold new gowns. Hurry now to your breakfast.”

  In the sitting room, a mound of luggage waited at the door, and Singh was adding to it. A sleepy-eyed waiter brought their breakfast, and Adrianna was at the table filling the large cups. While the fragrance of coffee and hot bread permeated the room, Adrianna lifted the pot in one hand, a milk pitcher in the other and poured from both so that the two streams joined in a steamy rope before reaching the cup.

  “I’ve never seen anyone pour coffee so!”

  Adrianna laughed but Singh looked cross, and Florence guessed that this early departure did not please him. Adrianna frowned at him and nodded her head toward Florence, and he then mumbled a brief good-morning in Florence’s direction before taking his coffee cup to a chair near the fire.