by Lynn Bryant
"Give it some time," Johnny said. "I've a very thick skin, I can put up with it."
Paul was not sure that he could. He was accustomed to the various minor quarrels between officers and men and tended to ignore anything which did not interfere with discipline or the running of his brigade, but Carlyon's silent resentment of Colonel Wheeler bordered on open disrespect and Paul was not prepared to ignore it.
He found his wife in their tent with Keren Trenlow. Anne had apparently been sorting through her clothing and a variety of garments were strewn about the tent, draped over every surface. Paul paused in the entrance, watching in some surprise as Anne stood with unusual patience while Keren apparently made adjustments to a gown she was wearing.
"What's all this? I'm glad I didn't bring Lord Wellington back with me to supper, this looks like a Calcutta bazaar, bonny lass."
His wife looked over her shoulder at him regally. "If you walked into the tent unannounced with Lord Wellington, Colonel, he would be likely to get the shock of his life."
"Or a treat, depending on how you look at it," Paul said, admiring the honey gold of Anne's shoulders as the gown slipped down. "Do I recognise that gown?"
"No, because it is new. Keren had the material, Carl bought it for her months ago, but she did not make it up because she didn't think the colour suited her. She has been working on it for weeks in secret for me, she borrowed one of my gowns for the size. And she has done an astonishing job, it fits almost perfectly, just a few adjustments. Look at it, Paul, it's beautiful."
She turned to face him and Paul smiled. The gown was a vivid jonquil yellow muslin, with short sleeves and a neckline that flattered Anne's admirable figure without raising a blush. Bodice, hem and sleeves were decorated with tiny blue flowers, hand embroidered. Paul had seen Keren's talent with a needle on the linen and clothing she had made for their small son the previous year but she must have spent an enormous amount of time on this and the sheer joy on Anne's face made him want to embrace the girl.
"Love, it's beautiful," he said. "Keren..."
"It's a gift, sir," Keren said quickly, looking up from pinning the hem. "I was never going to wear this and I wanted...you've both been so good to me."
Paul could not speak for a moment, his throat unexpectedly tight. Keren Trenlow had been a frightened girl when she arrived in Portugal with her young sweetheart and by the time she met Anne, he was dead of fever and she had taken up with a brutal drunk. Anne had employed her as a maidservant and Keren had quickly become a valued part of their household. Paul had assumed that in time she would find a husband in the regiment and it had been something of a shock to discover that instead, she was sharing the bed of Major Carl Swanson.
Paul had assumed that the affair would be short lived but he had been mistaken. Keren had moved by gradual stages from a casual bedmate to a valued companion and Paul's unconventional wife, far from shunning the girl, had become closer and closer to her maid. Another woman in Anne's position might have been insulted by her former attendant's presumption in making a gift for her, but it was clear that Anne was delighted by the gesture, probably more so than if Paul had paid for an expensive evening gown.
"Lass, thank you," Paul said. "You don't need me to tell you how much it means to her; you can see by the look on her face. Will it be ready for this evening?"
"Easily, sir."
"Why don't we go up to Rueda; you can show it off dancing with General Vandeleur? And I'd like to dance with Miss Trenlow; next to you, she's the prettiest girl in the light division."
Keren blushed but she was laughing. "Unless Major Swanson is on duty..."
"I'll make sure he isn't. We'll eat early and go up together. I'll leave you to finish. Keren, thank you."
***
The light division had made Rueda its own during the two weeks it had been quartered there, and Paul and Anne arrived to find the dance in full swing. The officers of the first and second brigades had spent their time well, collecting as many pretty girls from the district as they could manage to join them in their festivities. There had been a few social mishaps, since some of the better born ladies of the district had retired in high dudgeon when they realised that they were expected to dance alongside the daughters of farmers and artisans, but not all were so particular, and there was an interesting mix of social classes which made Paul's arrival with his wife and her former maidservant seem far less singular than it might have been.
The party this evening, was being held in an enormous hay barn and the officers of the light division had provided handsomely in terms of wine and food for their guests. Music was the province of the bandsmen of the 52nd and Paul led his wife onto the dance floor. He saw her smile across the set and realised too late that he had been inveigled into a social situation he would have preferred to avoid.
Paul had always liked Captain Harry Smith of the rifles, a talented young officer in his mid-twenties but since his precipitate marriage to the very young Spanish girl who had sought his protection from the horrors of the sacking of Badajoz, his previously good relationship with Paul had vanished. Paul had been horrified when he had become aware that far from helping the girl to find safety with relatives or older friends, Smith had moved her into his tent. He had asked very quickly for permission to marry her, and Wellington had granted it with grim resignation. Smith was one of his favourite young officers along with Manson and one or two others and if the boy was set on the marriage, Wellington wanted to ease his path and had arranged and attended the wedding for very much the same reasons as he had attended Paul's two years ago. Paul had not attended. Anne had been twenty when he married her, newly widowed and considerably more experienced than the bright-eyed fourteen year old that Smith had taken on and Paul was appalled at the idea of a child of her age being married at all, let alone following the army. He had spoken furiously to Smith and Harry had taken the reproof in thin-lipped silence since he was not in a position to be equally rude to a senior officer.
Juana Smith was opposite Paul in the set and he wondered if his wife had engineered the situation. He was irritated; he was not yet ready to forgive Smith's behaviour but it was hardly the child's fault so he summoned a pleasant smile for her. Juana looked back at him with huge dark eyes and managed a nervous response.
She was dancing with Lieutenant Kincaid, a friend of Smith's, who was evidently on excellent terms with her. Paul watched his wife as they danced and decided that the situation had been engineered by the rifleman rather than Anne. It made him feel slightly less annoyed. As the dance progressed, Paul felt himself relax. It suddenly struck him as exquisitely funny that he, of all people, should be feeling so censorious about a young officer's behaviour towards women when his own past had been such a rich source of army gossip over the years. It made him feel unexpectedly old and staid and he wanted to laugh aloud. Catching Anne's eye, he saw a spark of amusement there and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
The music ended with a slightly off-key flourish which brought a barrage of cheerful abuse from the dancers. Kincaid bowed to his partner, taking her hand and Paul put his arm about Anne.
"Am I being an arsehole about Harry Smith?" he enquired, and she laughed and shook her head.
"No, Paul. I do understand, she is ridiculously young. But she doesn't seem it, somehow, and she is very sweet. More to the point, they're married now, and you can't accuse him of not being good to her, he clearly adores her."
Paul eyed her thoughtfully. "I still can't decide if you have just set this up, girl of my heart. But we're here now. Go and find Captain Manson, he's standing over there trying to catch your eye for a dance."
He kissed her hand and turned to find that Captain Smith had reclaimed his wife. Paul put a hand on his shoulder and steered him firmly to one side.
"Go away," he said. "It is high time I made the acquaintance of Lord Wellington's latest flirt. Mrs Smith, will you honour me?"
Juana blushed. She was a very pretty child, Paul thought, no
t with Anne's classic beauty, but with a winsome charm that appealed to him. There was also a good deal of character in the big brown eyes; she was regarding him somewhat nervously but she put her hand into his without hesitation and made a very graceful curtsey. "It is I who am honoured, Colonel," she said gravely.
Paul led her into the dance, conscious of a number of surprised looks. He had not attempted to hide his disapproval of Smith's behaviour, but his wife was right, the marriage was a fact and he realised that he disliked the fact that Juana might be made to feel uncomfortable. She had already had to deal with a frosty reception from one or two ladies who had visited headquarters, not because of her youth but because of the undeniable fact that she had been sharing Smith's tent before their hasty marriage had taken place. Paul's concern had been for the girl and he was still angry that Smith had seduced her, but it was probably time to move on.
"You are a very good dancer, Mrs Smith."
Juana cocked her head to look up at him. "So are you, Colonel. Me, I have watched you dancing with your lady many times. It is good to watch. So many of the officers dance like bears, but not you."
Paul was surprised into a splutter of laughter. "Bears?"
"Si. You know, like this." She pantomimed a sudden loss of grace, heavy footed and clumsy, and then returned to her usual light-footedness in the next turn without missing a step. Paul took her hand again and swung her across, still laughing.
"Was that an impersonation of your husband, lass? I thought I recognised the style."
The girl laughed with him. "He is getting better," she said. "I have told him, if I must learn to ride a horse, he must learn to dance without treading on my feet. Thus far, my riding is better than his dancing."
"I know, I've been watching you improve. When is he going to let you ride a decent horse?"
"Soon. He is afraid that I will fall and break my neck, but I think no. Perhaps you should tell him this, Colonel? He will listen to you."
"I have a very good scheme, ma'am. Why don't you come up to camp and go riding with my wife one morning; she has a spare horse that will carry you very well and she's the best horsewoman in the army. If she is sure that you are ready, we will simply inform Captain Smith that your days on that dopey animal are over."
Juana gave a broad smile, her nerves all gone. "Really? May I? Will she mind?"
"No, she'll be delighted. She's been wanting to get to know you better."
"But you have not," Juana said, surprising him again.
"No," he admitted. "But that had nothing to do with you, lass. I thought your husband should have waited until you were older, and I've been worrying about you. But I don't think I need to, do I?"
The girl's smile was dazzling and Paul suddenly began to understand how Harry Smith had managed to forget himself so thoroughly with this engaging child. "No," she said warmly. "But it is very kind that you should care. Enrique has been very sad that you are so angry with him; he says you are one of the best commanders in the army and a very good fellow."
Paul managed not to laugh too obviously at Juana's naive sharing of her husband's remarks. The music came to a slightly more tuneful end and he bowed.
"Thank you, ma'am. Let me escort you back to your husband."
Juana put her hand on his arm and Paul led her across the room to where Smith was waiting, his expression a comical mixture of apprehension and defensive belligerence. Paul took Juana's hand and kissed it before giving it to Smith.
"I thought you might want your wife back, Harry."
"Thank you, sir."
"We've been discussing your irrational refusal to let her ride a proper horse. That groom of yours, what's his name, I can't remember?"
"West, sir?"
"That's him. Get him to bring her up tomorrow, she can try out Pierrot, my wife's spare horse. If Nan is satisfied that she's comfortable on him, she'll do well enough on that pretty Spanish mare you've bought for her."
Paul saw Smith's eyes widen. "Sir, she'd be happy to."
Captain O'Reilly of the 112th appeared beside them, bowing to Juana. As he led her away to dance, Smith said:
"Thank you, sir. That's very good of you. Especially given that I know how much you disapprove of her."
"Don't be an arse, Smith, I don't disapprove of her at all, I don't know the girl, but actually I rather like what I've seen of her. She's very intrepid, and as you are probably aware, I like that in a woman. You are never going to convince me that marrying a fourteen year old is a good idea but you've done it now. How old are you?"
"I'm twenty five, sir."
"Only two years more between you than between Nan and I." Paul studied him. "You should have bloody waited," he said quietly. "But she isn't your typical fourteen-year-old, I'll give you that. And given that you'd taken her to bed about twenty-four hours after you set eyes on her I'll accept you didn't have much choice other than to marry her."
"Sir, I swear to you..."
"Don't swear to me, Harry, I'm not a bloody idiot. I've heard you rewriting this touching romance to half the army and I'm impressed at how well it's going, but you forget that I spend my time with my enlisted men, I know bloody well what happened, your lads gossiped. And I also know that you did not have to hold her down, which is why the ladies in winter quarters are going to look down their nose at her in the same way as they look down their noses at my wife. The notion of a female with red blood in her veins horrifies them. But I've been watching you both for the past month and it's very clear to me that you might have got yourself into this because your dick was in charge of your brain, but you're in it for something else now. You're in love with her aren't you?"
Smith met his eyes steadily. "Yes, sir."
"And she follows you around like a devoted puppy. I still think you were an arse, but for what it's worth, you've got my support. Not that you really need it with Wellington on your side, but..."
"I value it, sir. More than you'd know."
Paul regarded him thoughtfully. "I'm told married life suits you. Your commanding officer informs me you're not neglecting your duty."
"She wouldn't let me if I wanted to, sir. And it's even more important now, I've a wife to support and my way to make."
"You'll do well. In fact, if I thought I could persuade you..."
Smith laughed aloud. "I'm a rifleman, sir. I don't look good in red."
"I know. And in this war it's unlikely you'll need to change regiments for promotion any more than my lads do. But if you do ever get stuck, come to me, would you? I'd take you like a shot."
"Thank you, sir. And for allowing your wife take care of Juana, she'll be good for her."
"Harry, you have known me for a number of years, you must know that it is never a matter of me allowing Nan to do anything; she pleases herself. Have you...?"
Paul broke off at the sound of an altercation across the room. He turned to look and was exasperated to see that it appeared to involve Lieutenant Carlyon and two officers of the rifles. As Paul watched, their voices grew louder and he was furious to see Carlyon give one of the riflemen a provocative shove.
"I am going to send that young bastard for court martial before then end of this campaign," he said, moving forward. "There's always something, with him."
"It's not entirely his fault, sir," Smith said quietly, and Paul paused, looking back at him. Across the room, he saw that Captain Manson had forestalled him and was leading Carlyon towards the door with one hand firmly on his shoulder so he turned to Smith.
"Not his fault?" he enquired frostily. "Do you have a view on my junior officers' attitude to their seniors, Captain Smith?"
"No, sir, that's not my business. But he is coming in for a lot of raillery from some of the others and it's not kind."
Paul frowned. "What kind of raillery?" he asked.
"On the subject of his brother, sir. I've heard more than one officer saying that a man with his background shouldn't be allowed to hold an officer's commission, and they're not saying it that
quietly."
"Is that what you think, Harry?"
"Of course it isn't," Smith said, sounding irritated. "What a stupid idea, if you look back far enough most of us will have a dirty dish or two in the family tree and if you and Mrs van Daan don't care about it, I can't see that it's anybody else's business and I've said so very clearly if they open their mouths around me. It's this bloody place; too much wine and free time and not enough action; they should save it for the French. But it can't be easy for him."
"No. And the easiest person to blame is going to be Colonel Wheeler," Paul said slowly. "Poor bastard. Harry, thank you, I should have realised. The advantage of a mouth like yours is that you'll tell me things that nobody else has the nerve to, I appreciate it, although I'd like to know why none of my officers have raised it."
"They probably don't realise how bad it's getting, sir, most of it is coming from outside the brigade."
"Most?"
"There are one or two. Why don't you talk to Witham, sir, he's very well aware, he spends most of his life at the moment smoothing the waters."
"He spends a fair bit of it whisking Simon Carlyon out of the way whenever Colonel Wheeler comes past, I've seen him doing it. I wonder if he'd try to do the same in the middle of battle?"
Paul broke off at the sound of a bugle. It was eerily clear through the night air and tailed off into haunting silence, only to be picked up by a second and then a third. Paul looked at Smith.
"Looks like your party is over, Harry, general alert."
"Yes, sir. Might be nothing, we've had a couple of them that have come to naught, but I'd best call West and get Juana out of here..."
"Don't worry, I'll see to it, she can come up with Nan and the others. If it's a false alarm you can collect her on the way back to bed, if it's real, she can stay with them until it's over."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome. Get moving, Captain." Paul turned and surveyed the room, watching his officers drifting towards the door. Paul raised his voice to a bellow.
"Officers of the third brigade, it's an alert, not the dinner gong, say goodnight to the ladies and move. Your men will have stood to arms and be tapping their feet by now."
