by Peter Watt
Amongst the people waiting on the wharf was Molly Williams, the love of Conan’s life. She was waving with a small handkerchief and looked as if she was almost bursting out of her skin.
‘You have a duty to your Welsh lass, Sergeant Curry,’ Ian grinned.
‘Yes, sah!’ Conan replied, a smile so wide it seemed his whiskered face might split. He saluted smartly and hurried down the gangplank. He held out his arms and the slight, pretty young woman ran into them, embracing Conan tightly.
Ian felt good that the man who had come to be as close as a brother to him had found so much happiness. He knew it was stupid but he gazed around the crowd of civilians milling on the wharf for one particular face. Although he had not encouraged Ella’s attraction to him, he admitted to himself that he would have given anything to see her upon his return. But the beautiful young Jewish woman was nowhere to be seen.
The regiment would soon fall into ranks and march with the band to their barracks, where many would be granted overdue leave. The pubs near the barracks would do well in the next few hours, and Ian arranged to have his kit taken to his club where he intended to have the most expensive meal on offer, followed by a couple of bottles of their best wine.
‘Are we ready to fall in, sir?’ Lieutenant Sinclair asked.
‘Yes, Mr Sinclair, inform Sergeant Curry he is to parade the company and join the regiment.’
‘Very well, sir,’ the young officer replied, saluting and marching towards the gangplank.
Ian sighed. The young officer was so much like his brother, he thought. But Captain Miles Sinclair lay buried on the Crimean Peninsula – as did so many other fine British soldiers and officers.
*
Once he had been granted leave from the regiment and spent a luxurious night at his club, Ian made his way to Soho, to visit Ikey Solomon. He was met warmly by the big, bearded man with a handshake that almost crushed his hand.
Ian had hired the services of the shady but very wealthy Jewish entrepreneur to investigate the mysterious disappearance of his lover, Jane Wilberforce. Ikey had not been successful, but during their dealings Ian had met his beloved daughter, Ella, who had become smitten with him. Sadly their love was both dangerous and forbidden. Ian was a Catholic and she was of the Jewish faith. Such a match was frowned upon by both religions.
However, Ian had not been able to dismiss Ella from his mind and had decided he needed to see her again, despite all the obstacles facing them.
‘So, my friend, you have returned from Persia,’ Ikey said. ‘I think your victory over the unbelievers requires a toast.’
Ikey produced a bottle of gin and poured two tumblers. One he handed to Ian.
‘To the glory of the Queen’s Empire,’ he said, handing a tumbler to Ian. ‘May the sun never set upon her.’
Ian responded, taking a swig then setting down his glass on Ikey’s desk and taking a seat.
‘What can I do for you?’ Ikey asked, wiping his beard with the back of his big hand.
‘I was hoping that you might have had some news on the whereabouts of the lady I sought before leaving for Persia,’ Ian said.
A dark cloud spread across Ikey’s face. ‘I am afraid, my friend, that there has been nothing, and I can assure you that if Miss Wilberforce was in London I would know by now. My thoughts are that she may be dead.’
Ian took another sip of the clear, fiery liquid. ‘I am afraid you might be right,’ Ian said quietly. ‘Now I need to know why – and who is responsible.’
‘That is a matter for the police,’ Ikey said.
‘I doubt they would be interested in investigating the disappearance of a country girl from a Kentish village,’ Ian replied. ‘But I would put my trust in your people to keep an ear out for any rumours on the streets. I am prepared to pay.’
‘There is no reason to pay me any more,’ Ikey said. ‘You were more than generous the first time. If I hear anything I will inform you immediately. You were very kind to my princess and I know that she speaks fondly of you.’
Ian felt a twinge of guilt as he knew Ella’s feelings were more than fondness, and he remembered her passionate kisses when they had stolen time together.
‘How is Ella?’ Ian asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and noticed a touch of anger in Ikey’s expression.
‘The foolish girl has gone to America to study medicine. She has aspirations to become a surgeon – which is impossible, of course. Medicine is a man’s profession. Unfortunately, she fell under the spell of Dr Elizabeth Blackwell. This Blackwell woman was able to receive her medical practitioner’s certification after attending the Geneva Medical College in New York, and Ella has gone to America to attempt to enrol in that same college. I have foolishly provided financial support to her endeavour, but suspect she will return when they reject her admission.’
Ian remembered how Ella had said she wished to be a doctor, but even Dr Peter Campbell, more liberal-minded than most, had scoffed at her dreams to become a surgeon. Ian was disappointed to learn that Ella was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. But for now, while he had leave from the regiment, he had a mission. He would return to the Forbes manor in Kent and begin his own investigation into Jane’s disappearance.
Eight
Samuel stood before the entrance door to the elegant tenement house in a salubrious part of London. He was trembling and he felt racked with guilt. He had told James he was going shopping for a new hat. When James had said that he would join him, Samuel had replied that he would prefer to go alone, leaving James hurt and disappointed.
The front door opened and a severe-looking middle-aged woman fronted Samuel.
‘I am here to visit Master Jonathan,’ Samuel said, passing her his calling card. ‘I am sure he will accept me.’
Without a word the woman closed the door and Samuel continued to wait nervously. Within a couple of minutes the woman returned, ushering Samuel inside. She led him through a hallway adorned with paintings to a bedroom where an emaciated man lay back against heaped pillows.
Samuel was shocked when he looked upon his first love. Jonathan lay pale, gaunt and sweating in the bed. Samuel smiled weakly at the face he had not seen since it belonged to a healthy young officer of the London barracks many years earlier.
‘Ah, dear boy,’ Jonathan said faintly and fell into a coughing spasm, spitting up blood into a handkerchief. ‘You should not have come all the way across the ocean to see me in my present state.’
Samuel recognised the dreaded signs of consumption and knew that Jonathan was in the final stages of the insidious disease. ‘When you wrote about your condition you did not say how bad it was,’ Samuel said, moving across the room to the big double bed and standing over Jonathan. ‘I would have come earlier if I had known.’
Jonathan reached out a hand and Samuel gently took it in his own. ‘I am glad that I have the opportunity to see you one last time. I find comfort remembering when you and I were boys and discovered our love beneath the branches of the willow trees on your family estate. It was so beautiful by that stream watching the waters flow gently past,’ Jonathan sighed.
‘I often remember those times,’ Samuel said softly, forcing back the tears.
‘You have written of your friendship with an American,’ Jonathan said. ‘I do not blame you, dear boy. I know that your service for the Queen in the far-off colonies forced us apart. Possibly I could have followed you, but I selfishly chose to study at Cambridge. I confess that I too found a new lover. So do not grieve for what was lost between you and I. Time moves on and life must keep pace with it.’
‘Is there someone in your life now?’ Samuel asked.
‘There was, but he is now with the Church and a rising force. He chose religion over me,’ Jonathan said, a slight note of bitterness in his tone. ‘But you are here in my last days on this earth,’ he said, squeezing Samuel’s hand. ‘It is good to see
you, though we both know that your being in London is putting your venture with Captain Steele in dire jeopardy.’
‘I had to see you again,’ Samuel said, tears now trickling down his cheeks. ‘Nothing on earth was going to stop me.’
‘You should return to New York immediately,’ Jonathan gasped, a coughing spasm once again racking his frail body. When it was over he removed his hand from Samuel’s and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. Jonathan smiled. ‘If only time and circumstances had been our friends . . . but you have always been an impulsive soul.’ His voice tapered away.
The stern woman came back into the room. ‘I think Master Jonathan should rest now,’ she said, assessing her patient’s condition. ‘I am sure that you understand, Mr Steele.’
Samuel glanced down at the illness-ravaged face of his first love and realised that the nurse was correct. Jonathan was on the verge of drifting off after the emotional exertion their meeting had caused them both.
Jonathan’s family was as wealthy as Samuel’s, but his parents had distanced themselves from him when it had been revealed that his attraction was to those of his own sex. They had exiled him to this London property with a generous allowance, and even when he contracted consumption they did not visit him for the shame he had brought upon their family name. Instead they had appointed a full-time nurse as a way of compensating for the alienation.
Samuel leaned over his dear friend and former lover to brush aside the long, lank hair falling over Jonathan’s eyes. He bent down and kissed Jonathan on the forehead and turned to walk away. Samuel could not bring himself to say goodbye; the word had a terrible finality to it.
He stumbled out onto the street and hailed a hansom cab. As the horses clattered through the streets of London Samuel reflected on the emotions that had coursed through him upon seeing Jonathan after such a long time. He felt guilt that his passion of the past had not come rushing back to him, but at the same time he knew there were still remnants of his first love deep within his being.
Once back at the club, James immediately sensed that Samuel was extremely upset but wisely did not ask why.
Samuel turned to James with tears streaking his face. ‘I love you, James. I always will.’
James felt the conviction in Samuel’s words and was satisfied with that. Maybe now, he thought, they could get out of London and return to New York.
*
Ian took a carriage to the Forbes manor in Kent, and when he arrived he strode up to the grand entrance of the impressive stone building. He was met by the head servant, a man who had been informed that Master Samuel Forbes was barred from the house.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the man said, standing in the doorway, ‘but I must ask Sir Archibald for permission for you to enter.’
‘Do that,’ Ian said and the man disappeared, closing the door behind him. After a while he returned and said that Sir Archibald would see him. Ian followed the servant inside and was met by the man who was supposed to be his father, although both men knew that he was not. The real Samuel Forbes had been fathered by Sir Archibald’s brother, George, now living in the British colony of New South Wales as a successful farmer raising sheep for the lucrative wool trade.
‘What are you doing here?’ Sir Archibald asked in an angry voice. He was attired in a dressing gown and slippers. Ian thought that he had aged since the last time he had spoken with him. His hair was grey and thinning and he had lost weight. ‘You know that I issued an order for you to be barred from my home.’
‘I thought you might welcome home the man who is bringing glory to the Forbes name,’ Ian said sarcastically. He knew this meant little to the English aristocrat; Sir Archibald was more interested in the profits the colonial wars brought to the Forbes fortune, supplying provisions to the army and navy.
‘You still have not answered my question, Samuel,’ Sir Archibald reiterated.
‘I have leave from the regiment and thought that I might receive temporary accommodation in our house. After all, after ten years of service with my grandfather’s regiment I will be entitled to a share. I promise I will not overstay my welcome.’
‘I expect Charles to arrive tomorrow, and your presence here will not be welcomed by him.’
‘I am sure that we can stay out of each other’s way,’ Ian said smoothly.
For a moment Sir Archibald appeared to consider the request.
‘You may stay, but only in the guest cottage,’ he relented. ‘I will have the stableboy assist you with any luggage.’ Sir Archibald issued an order for this to be done, then turned and walked away.
The stableboy arrived at the front entrance. ‘Is there anything I can carry for you, Captain Forbes?’ he asked, clearly in awe of the man whose reputation preceded him. He was a gangling youth in his late teens and awkward around this heroic figure.
‘Just help me get my luggage inside the guest cottage,’ Ian said. ‘You must be Harold,’ he added, and the boy puffed up with pleasure that Captain Forbes would remember his name.
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. ‘Most people just call me Harry.’
‘Well, Harry, it is good to see that you are still in employment here.’
Ian was guided to the cottage, which was built of stone and comfortable enough. Harry placed the luggage inside the room and began to help unpack. His eyes widened when he saw two revolvers inside one of the captain’s bags.
‘Did you use those against the Persians, sir?’ he asked.
‘We did not get much of a chance to do any real fighting,’ Ian replied, placing the pistols on a table for future cleaning. ‘But they came in handy in the Crimea.’
Harry would have given anything to handle the big six-shot cap and ball pistols but he dared not ask.
‘Have you ever held a pistol?’ Ian asked, noticing the fascination on the boy’s face.
‘No, sir,’ he answered.
Ian passed an unloaded pistol to him and Harry almost fell over in surprise. He took it gingerly in his hand.
‘It’s heavy,’ he said, then blurted, ‘I want to join up and go away to fight the Queen’s enemies.’
Ian smiled, taking back the pistol. ‘Soldiering is not an easy life, and there is always the chance you could be killed – or maimed,’ he said gently. ‘Life on the manor is much safer, and you don’t have to sleep in the rain or march under the desert sun. I would think twice about joining the army if I were you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the boy replied, disappointed that Ian had not encouraged his aspirations to become a soldier. ‘But you get to go to places I have heard are strange and exotic.’
‘That you do,’ Ian said. ‘But for now you have the estate’s horses to tend to, and if you did ever enlist you might find the cavalry to your liking. They have fine uniforms and don’t have to trudge the paths we do in the infantry.’
Harry departed to go to his duties, his head suddenly full of ideas of enlisting. Maybe he would consider the cavalry, but his real ambition was to be a member of Captain Forbes’ company.
Ian organised for a horse to be saddled, and in the clear crisp spring air he rode to the village and secured his mount outside the pub. His arrival drew curious glances from a few of the locals hunched over tankards of ale and smoking pipes. Ian walked to the bar where a surly innkeeper wiped the suds of spilt ale from the counter.
Ian withdrew five gold coins from his jacket and placed them on the bar. The publican’s eyes widened at the sight of the small fortune.
‘Tell all your customers and anyone else in the village that whoever brings me information on the whereabouts of a former resident, Miss Jane Wilberforce, will have claim to this money.’
‘The witch,’ Ian heard one of the customers mutter.
Ian scooped up the coins and left, leaving a loud murmur of voices behind him. He had hardly stepped onto the street when he noticed young Harry standing by a small cart an
d horse. Ian recalled that Harry had mentioned he was to go into the village to pick up supplies. The boy was surrounded by three lumpish-looking lads and Ian could see that they were menacing him.
Ian strode over. ‘Lads, you are preventing Harry from going about his duties for me,’ he said, and the three older boys turned to face him.
‘Who are you, mister?’ the eldest asked with a sneer.
‘Captain Samuel Forbes,’ Ian replied. ‘And killing is my profession.’
The latter statement was delivered with an icy edge that caused uncertainty to cross the faces of the three youths. They shuffled away with their hands in their pockets, unsure if the tough-looking but well-dressed gentleman was bluffing.
‘What was that about?’ Ian asked Harry when the three young thugs had disappeared.
‘Ron Berwick says I have been too nice to his girlfriend, Emilia,’ Harry said. ‘He and his pals were going to teach me a lesson, but you stopped them. Thank you, sir.’
‘I have no doubt that you could have taught Ron a lesson had he been alone. Have you been too nice to this Miss Emilia?’
‘I like Emilia a lot, but I am poor, and she will step out with someone who has money, not me,’ Harry sighed. ‘If I had money, she might think about going for a walk with me to the river on Sunday when Sir Archibald allows us to attend church.’
‘It sounds like Miss Emilia is another good reason for not joining the army,’ Ian said. ‘I don’t think those three ruffians will bother you again today.’
He walked back to his horse, mounted it and rode out of the village past the ancient tree-topped hill where the small circle of Druid stones was located. It had become almost a shrine for Ian to the memory of Jane.
When he returned to the cottage a meal and bottle of wine was brought to him by one of the servants, and Ian was thankful for both. He had laid the bait and hoped the idea of owning the gold coins might prompt a response. Someone had to know something about Jane’s disappearance.
