Page 56 of The Storybook Hero
“Oh, even when deep in his cups, Mister Alex has extricated himself from situations way worse than this one,” said Squid loyally, though the crease of worry between his brows belied the jaunty confidence of his words. The dark smudges under his eyes also indicated he was far from unconcerned about his employer’s situation. “Is there aught else you can think of for me to do?”
“You’ve done all you can for now,” answered the marquess. He resumed his pacing up and down the narrow sitting room. “Get some rest. Perhaps Lord Chittenden will have some more recent news for us when he returns from the Embassy.”
Squid gave a reluctant nod and slipped from the room.
With a sigh, Thomas picked up a copy of the latest dispatches from the front while William continued to wear a path across the faded Oriental carpet. Suddenly he stopped, and a faint chuckle escaped his lips.
Thomas’s head snapped up.
“Witch’s tit, indeed,” repeated the marquess with a dash of amusement. “I have to admit, dressing for the evening would prove quite entertaining with a fellow like that knotting one’s cravat. Poor Syms seems rather tame in comparison.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps Alex is not, as Squid would put it, as addled in the nodcock as I thought.”
Thomas regarded his older brother thoughtfully for a moment. “Why, William, you actually still have a sense of humor.” he murmured. “Thank God.”
The marquess released a sigh. “I know you—all of you—think me a stiff-rumped bore, but Imustbe serious. It is a great responsibility to be head of the family. And one that I had not ever expected to shoulder. Father made it quite clear on Jack’s death that I must not fail in my duty to uphold the standards of the Leighs.” He hesitated a fraction, then went on in barely more than a whisper. “I worry constantly about making a mistake trying not to make a mistake.”
“No one is perfect, William. Not Jack. Not me. Not any of us. And especially not Father. I, for one, have come to see he was wrong about many things. His own rigid expectations caused more harm than good. Because Jack was the heir, Father refused to admit he could have any faults. Believe me, Jack suffered the burden of such unrealistic demands, but it was Alex who truly bore the brunt of it.”
Thomas shook his head. “Hell’s teeth, don’t try to imitate Father’s ways. I daresay the Leigh honor is not quite so fragileas he would have had us believe. Surely we may be mere mortals rather than gods, without any censure from the heavens.
The marquess’s hands clasped behind his back and turned to stare into the fire. After a lengthy silence, his mouth tugged into a rueful grimace. “To think I used to box your ears when we were pups, and now it is you who are teaching me a well-deserved lesson. I shall try not to be such a … pompous ass in the future.”
His words caused his brother to grin. “Well, let us not expect miracles.”
“Jackanape.” But William was grinning as well. After a long moment, he moved alongside the leather armchair, and on gazing down at the papers in Thomas’s lap, he took out his spectacles. “Any news that may be of use?”
His brother handed him a number of the pages. “You may have a look at these, but as of yet, the news is nothing but grim. The Russians were defeated in a bloody battle at Borodino, and Boney’s troops marched into Moscow soon after.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “The city is in flames, Kutusov’s army is in full retreat, and to top it off, the snows have begun early, even for this land of ice and wind. Somewhere in the middle of such madness is Alex. That is, if he is still alive.”
The marquess took the dispatches and sat down. “Perhaps Uncle Ivor will have some news when he returns from the embassy.” At the look of doubt that flashed in Thomas’s eyes, he cleared his throat. “No, I suppose there is no use pretending that Alex will get help from any quarter.” He pinched at the bridge of his nose. “God help him—he is going to need it.”
“Keep your head down,”growled Alex as he pressed a hand to Octavia’s shoulders, forcing her deeper into the underbrush of their hiding place atop the ridge..
“You needn’t manhandle me. I am quite aware that we do not wish them to see us,” she retorted, though her voice remained a whisper. She brushed away some flakes of snow from her cheek and raised her chin just a fraction, so she could once again regard the column of soldiers marching down the narrow road.
“French,” he muttered, running his eyes over the sky blue coats and frogged braid of the uniforms. “Damnation. I hadn’t imagined they—” He broke off his words as a rattle of musket fire exploded from the far side of the road. This time he pushed Octavia down with even more force as the troop of soldiers below them scattered for cover.
“Who—” she began.
Another oath slipped from his lips. He quickly slithered off the crest of the ridge, Octavia in tow, not pausing until they had gained shelter behind an outcropping of granite fringed by a number of stunted hemlocks.
“Of all the devilish luck,” he swore. “First thieves, then murderers, and now we have stumbled into a whole damn war.” His lips compressed. “I fear we will find precious little chance of shelter this way.”
Octavia didn’t answer right away, but took the small brass compass from her coat pocket. “Why do you imagine they are headed west?” she asked after a bit.
“West?” He turned from keeping watch on the way they had just come . “Hmm. It may be due merely to the vagaries of the road, or?—”
Another volley of shots rang out.
“Or they may be in retreat,” finished Octavia.
Alex nodded grimly. “Kutusov may finally have rallied his men to make a stand. Wait here. I am going to take another look.”
Before Octavia could protest, he disappeared behind the low screen of trees. Giving vent to her own silent curses, she turned her gaze upward. It had begun snowing several hours ago, and the thick grey clouds gave no hint of any change in the weather. Night was fast approaching as well, bringing with it an even greater drop in temperature.
Alex had reason to look so worried, she thought. She looked back to the dark outline of forest where Emma and Nicholas lay hidden, along with the horses. The children couldn’t endure too much more of the cold, and their supply of food was nearly gone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Alex’s return. “It’s not the Russian army, but partisans,” he said, dropping down beside her. “The French managed to drive them off, but not before losing a few of their own.” A musket and a tattered knapsack were in his hands.
Octavia gave a sharp intake of breath.
