Carla Kelly by One Good Turn Read Free Book Online Page B

like that.”
    Oh, this is a sad reflection on my sister, he thought. “My dear, it is nice to be touched, isn’t it? Well, er, perhaps we can find you a governess who does just that.”
    Sophie shook her head. “Liria,” she said, and closed her eyes.
    Well, well, he thought. A commander who is gentle, and disguised as a rather broken-down servant. At least I will not be bored for a few days. He gazed at Sophie, hesitated, then put his hand on her arm. She opened her eyes, smiled, then returned to sleep. He watched her, then looked at Juan, who had moved closer even as he continued to draw in the ledger. The boy has an eye for detail, he thought, admiring the way a few sure strokes turned into trees, and then a road, and then rain. Nez doubted whether he had ever drawn as well as the youngster who sat next to Sophie’s bed, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated.
    The door opened and Liria stood there. She beckoned to her son, who put down the ledger and tiptoed to his mother. She handed him a bundle of sheets. “Take these downstairs,
mijo,
” she whispered. “
La dama de casa
will have more for you.” Juan took the bundle and hurried away.
    “Did you convince my stubborn servant to take my bed?” Nez whispered.
    “Did you doubt I could?”
    “Not at all,
dama,
” he replied, amused. “I think, even though our acquaintance is short, that I would have been more surprised if you had not succeeded.”
    “Pues claro,”
she said finally, and closed the door. He laughed softly, pleased with himself. He returned his attention to Sophie. Her skin was dry and warm under his hand, but not feverish. Gently he turned her hand over so it was lying palm-up on the sheet, and pressed his fingers onto the pulse at her wrist, not for any need to check it, but to feel the calm rhythm of her heart. It soothed him better than tea.
    In another moment he released her wrist and leaned back in the chair. He knew he should be out of sorts and fretful about this delay to his plans, but a moment’s reflection reminded him that he had no plans. What a pleasant toil is leisure, he thought. He followed it with the sure consideration that he would be busy enough this summer. I will see to the health of my land, and find me a wife, he told himself. The former will please me, the latter, my sister; and so it goes.
    He was about to close his eyes, when his attention was caught by the ledger book lying on the floor where Juan had left it, to run his mother’s errand. Talented child, he thought, and picked up the book. Perhaps I can find some scrap paper for you at Knare that is larger than an artilleryman’s notebook. Out of curiosity, he turned to the front of the ledger, and there it was: Richard Carr, Battery Sergeant, 19th Battery, in the precise handwriting he expected. Funny thing about artillerymen, he considered. I never knew one to be slipshod in his records.
    He thumbed the pages, knowing he would find a careful record of the guns Carr served and died for: where they were forged, precise dimensions (each gun was ever so slightly different, he knew), how many grains of powder per charge, trajectories, azimuths, arc, torque, and vectors. It was all there. Brighter than me, sir, he thought, as he turned another page and saw a long list of names, each followed by a date, and the word “letter,” in Carr’s careful script. “And what have we here, Sergeant?” he murmured.
    He knew he was no genius, but only a moment’s perusal of the chronology told the story. This list was Coruña, then a pause, then Torres Vedras, and Ciudad Rodrigo twice, and Badajoz, and Salamanca, and smaller engagements he did not recognize—Campofino, Frontera, El Paso. A shiver ran through him to know that he was looking at Sergeant Carr’s butcher’s bill through the length and breadth of Spain and Portugal. He turned the page. And Toulouse. “So you wrote a letter to each family, did you, Sergeant?” he asked. “I wonder if your battery