And still the Enemy advanced. It was now possible to see the distinctive Brass Eagle topping a tall staff, and the French Colors flapping in the breeze. Their Full Force would crest the hill in Mere Seconds, hopefully stop to assay the land below. Could they See beyond the wall? Would the sunlit blaze of the captain’s Distinctive Blond Mane catch the sunlight and give away his Position?
With one breath, one silent collective thought, the troops prayed: Run! Run now, before it’s Disaster for all of us!
And run he did. Gathering the youngest against his chest even as he Threw the protesting woman over his shoulder, he motioned for the other children to Run on Ahead as he Raced across the field, out from behind the Fragile Safety of the Broken stone wall, and toward the trees, Throwing Himself and His Precious Burdens into concealment mere seconds before the first horse and rider could be seen Cresting the Hilltop.
The English General dismounted and began walking the Line. “Now that’s how to disobey orders, hmm? Bloody well done, Townsend. Today, gentlemen, we have witnessed the birth of a Hero. Now, what say we rid the World of a few of these hopping frogs, hmm? They’ll send Infantry first. Ah, and here they come a-marching, all smug and unsuspecting. Steady, men. Hold...hold...hold. First rank, Forward if you please. Kneel. Raise your weapons. Hold. Hold. Fire!”
Just as it was Coming on to Dusk, our Hero strode into the camp, bloodied but not bowed, the rescued Innocents, orphans all, skipping merrily behind him, a sweet, towheaded cherub no more than three perched on his Strong Shoulders, waving his small cap in Victory, but with the heavily veiled Lady Curiously Absent.
Huzzah! the assembled soldiers cried out, raising their rifles in Salute after Salute, for they had lost many Brave Men that day and the sight of the Children once again firmed their resolve to Fight On. Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!
The women of the camp Raced forward, gathering the Children against their skirts and hustling them off to the cook tents to be fed, and our brave Captain was swiftly surrounded by his soldiers in arms, All of Them wishing to pat his back, shake his hand.
Huzzah! Huzzah! May the whole world Rejoice in such Modest Bravery!
...and thus, Dear Readers, is how the Baron Cooper McGinley Townsend, Hero, came to be.
There is just a bit More before we term this story Told, although it will not, alas, Satisfy the Curious among Us.
A bold Question from one of his acquaintance about the Scratches on his cheek, followed by the Assumption as to how they’d gotten there, elicited a Warning Green Flash from Townsend’s narrowed eyes before he smiled and Explained that a Holy Nun had been taking the Children to her convent for Safekeeping, but had gladly turned them over since food at the convent was limited.
A search of the area days after Bonaparte’s final defeat elicited No Nunnery in the area. There was, however, Dear Readers, a lovely Country Cottage, clearly quite hastily Abandoned, and a single remaining caretaker who Confirmed that a young woman, always Heavily Veiled, had been in Residence for some Weeks before rushing off, leaving behind nothing more than a Curious Signet Ring as payment, a ring now in the Possession of one whose Discretion can always be Trusted.
But not to fret, Loyal Readers, for our hero’s Daring Adventures do not end with this Single tale of bravery. Upon his return to our faire isle, now Baron Cooper McGinley Townsend, at the Behest of the Crown, has continued his Deeds of Bravery and Rescue, personally preserving the Honor of several damsels in Mortal Danger of their Virtue even while the Mystery persists—who is the Veiled Lady?
Dany let out a breath, not realizing she’d been holding it, and closed the chapbook. “A veiled lady? What a hum,” she said, for her interest lay more in the feat of derring-do than in anything so obviously fictitious as a veiled lady. And a signet ring, no less, also thrown into the mix, a perfect clue for someone with the interest to pursue its origin. But she supposed every story must have a lady in it somewhere, preferably veiled or beautiful or both, or else the gentlemen wouldn’t bother racking their brains and running their fingers beneath line after line to keep their place in order to not miss a word. Men were such children. And women, sadly, were possibly even worse, seeing themselves in the role of the rescued.
“Curricle, Miss Dany.”
With one last quick look at the cover of the chapbook—had she considered his wonderfully high, strong cheekbones in her initial inventory?—Dany quickly slipped it down behind the cushions of the overstuffed couch and ran her hands over her hair, bodice and skirts, just to be sure everything was still where it had been when she’d first arranged herself so carefully in anticipation of her guests.
She pressed a hand to her bosom once more, clearing her throat as daintily as possible, hoping the action might help regulate the rather rapid beating of her heart, and then lifted her chin, directing her gaze toward the doorway.
But no! She couldn’t look as if she’d been just sitting here, waiting on the man. Certainly a hero was already full enough of himself without thinking she’d been counting the minutes until his arrival. She shot to her feet as she heard Timmerly greet the visitors and direct them toward the stairs, looking about frantically for something she could be doing when the butler announced him.
Propping herself against the mantel was ludicrous, and reserved for gentlemen at any rate, not to mention the fact that she’d practically have to raise her bent arm above her head in order to rest her elbow on the thing. She spied her sister’s knitting basket and dismissed it in the same heartbeat. She’d rather be boiled in oil than found knitting, for goodness’ sake.
What to do, what to—wait, the flowers! There must be five huge bouquets scattered about the room, each more lovely the other. How impressed the gentleman would be when he saw her handiwork. She raced to a round table holding a perfectly arranged bouquet and yanked four of the blooms from the porcelain vase. In an instant, three of them were on the tabletop, dripping water onto her skirt, and one was in her hand as she posed in the motion of sliding it in with its fellow blooms.
“Ah, gentlemen,” she cooed, turning her head ever so slightly as Timmerly announced them, inwardly cursing the viscount for keeping good his promise to lend his help. She’d really rather he’d taken himself off somewhere, to amuse himself at somebody else’s expense. “How good of you to come. Timmerly, refreshments if you please.”
“Yes, Miss Dany,” the butler scolded, bowing. “But if you were to leave off playing with the posies, the countess would be that pleased. It took her ladyship and Mrs. Timmerly a good hour to arrange them this morning.”
The viscount’s bark of laughter accompanied the high-nosed butler’s exit from the drawing room, leaving Dany with nothing to do but pick up the other blooms and jam them back into the vase. Butlers could be such prunes.
“I suppose I’m caught out,” she recovered swiftly, wiping her damp hands against each other as she returned to the couch. “I was hoping to look accomplished, but the truth is, I have very few skills welcomed in polite company. Please, gentlemen, be seated.”
And the maddening viscount was at it again: “Such as picking pockets?”
She turned to the baron, who was looking, or so she hoped, at least slightly amused. Therefore, she would be amused. “Yes, my lords, although I’d rather call it retrieving what’s mine. I’ve now read it cover to cover, of course. How much is truth, sir, and how much could be termed a bag of moonshine? As for the signet ring, the tantalizing clue that just happened to be left behind to be found by your anonymous biographer? I would think both it and the veiled lady were only mentioned to encourage purchase of Volume Two. Do you by chance have a copy in your possession, or know where I might purchase one?”
The handsome, famous Cooper McGinley Townsend, who had been silent until now, his elbow propped on one arm of the chair, his chin in his hand, ignored the question to ask, “Where is the countess? I would have thought she’d had you bound and gagged and locked up in the nursery by now.”
“Oh, ouch,” the viscount