by Sheila Walsh
From her perch high above the splendid team of bays she could see the Duke instructing his groom, who looked a surly fellow, for all that he had a sure touch with the restive horses ‒ the condition of their coats bore testament to his care of them.
A moment later, the curricle dipped and swayed as the Duke sprang lightly up beside her, took up the ribbons and called, ‘Right, Grimble ‒ let ’em go!’
In those first moments with the Duke fully occupied, she gave herself up to each heady sensation as it presented itself‒ the sun on her back and the faint scent of blossom drifting on the air; the sumptuous ease of travelling in first style ‒ the almost detached pleasure she derived from watching the skill with which the Duke handled his team. For the first time since she had come to London, Pandora’s spirits began to soar.
‘You are very quiet, Miss Carlyon?’ said the Duke at last.
‘Um,’ she sighed, his voice barely impinging upon her consciousness. A moment later she heard a distinct chuckle and, realizing how impolite she must appear, sat up hastily.
‘Clearly you do not find the experience of riding with me entirely distasteful?’
Oh, her dratted tongue. But it was all Octavia’s fault, she concluded sweepingly. If she had not gossiped so about Heron, her prejudice would have been less easily fuelled.
‘As to what I said, my lord Duke,’ she began, but was not allowed to continue.
‘Pray do not feel that you must apologize yet again, Miss Carlyon,’ he said with sudden weariness. ‘I confess that I find your reading of my character on such short acquaintance disconcertingly acute, but it hardly constitutes embarrassment. You are not alone in deploring my morals, I promise you.’
‘Oh, but I don’t!’ She leaned forward, eager to make her point. ‘Deplore them, I mean. In fact, I know very little about you and should not have said what I did on mere hearsay. And even if it were true, I am well aware that gentlemen regard such matters in quite a different light, and it is certainly not for me to … to …’
She dried up as he shot her a look of the most piercing inquiry, before returning once more to his preoccupation with the traffic.
‘Pray do not stop there, ma’am,’ he said softly. ‘You behold me in a fever of anticipation!’
‘No.’ Her voice was rueful. ‘You find me presumptuous, and you are right. My approval or disapproval can be of no possible interest to you. In fact, my lord Duke,’ she hazarded with great daring, ‘I suspect you don’t give a fig for anyone’s opinion!’
She watched the austere profile for an anxious moment. Then, to her relief, he laughed, albeit a trifle reluctantly.
‘True enough, child. I have long since become inured to criticism. But clearly I must have care. I’m not sure that I care to be dissected with such disturbing ease by a mere slip of a girl.’
‘I do not mean to do so, sir. I suppose that growing up within the regiment makes one observant of others and what motivates them to behave as they do.’ She grinned self-consciously. ‘Now you will think me pretentious as well as presumptuous!’
He laughed again, with more genuine amusement this time. ‘Not in the least. I shall simply turn the tables by insisting that you tell me about yourself.’
‘Well, I can’t think you would derive much satisfaction from that,’ she confessed, ‘because I feel bound to warn you that with very little coaxing I shall be deep in tedious reminiscence!’
And so it proved, except that he did not find it in the least tedious. A lively enthusiasm animated her voice, her face, making one quite forget her lack of looks. So vivid was her narrative that it evoked in Heron a surprisingly comprehensive picture of the life she had led until late with all its attendant joys and terrors. It was implicit in everything that she told him (and even more so in what she omitted to say) of the incredible hardships; of forced marches over impossible terrains in diabolical extremes of weather, often bivouacking in squalid conditions; the philosophically accepted horrors of battles and their aftermath …
‘But it wasn’t all marching and fighting battles,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘There was gaiety and laughter, too. Young as I was, I can remember our house in Lisbon being filled with officers … and there were such parties! Even on campaigns.’ Pandora warmed to her theme. ‘There were times when the snow was so thick on the high sierras that we would be confined to winter quarters in some Spanish village or town. I think those were the best times of all. Plenty of hunting by day, and at night the local señoras and señoritas would teach the officers how to click their castanets and dance the fandango, and the officers of the Light Division would find a barn or somesuch and give fine dramatic entertainments.’ She stopped at last with an embarrassed laugh. ‘There! I said I would bore you!’
‘Do I appear bored?’ He noticed that she had said nothing of the tragedy that ended her grand adventure ‒ and he did not press her. ‘Now, suppose you tell me about these notions Lady Margerson cherishes for your advancement?’
‘Heavens! I have talked more than enough about myself. You can’t possibly wish to hear more!’ Pandora caught sight of his expression and said hastily, ‘Oh, very well! But I cannot imagine why you should. The thing is, I had rather hoped her ladyship would abandon her efforts because it does make life very difficult. And yet I know how unhappy she is about my wishing to earn my living and would much prefer that I permit her to introduce me into society so that I may make a respectable marriage.’
The Duke glanced down at her. ‘Is the idea so repugnant to you? I had supposed it to be the all-engrossing ambition of most young ladies ‒ urged on by their mothers!’ He spoke with feeling, not remembering her own lack of parental guidance until the words were out, but she seemed too wrapt in consideration to have heeded his momentary insensitivity.
‘Repugnance is perhaps too strong a word,’ she mused, ‘but I confess that I have an acute abhorrence of people who parade under false colours and that is how I should regard my own behaviour were I to encourage Lady Margerson’s aspirations, well meant though they undoubtedly are.’ Pandora paused before adding wryly: ‘Does that make me sound a shocking humbugger?’
‘No, just idiotish,’ said the Duke. ‘But go on.’
‘You are unfair, sir,’ she said, striving for lightness. ‘Not long since you were pleased to call me a realist and that is exactly what I am attempting to be. I have no genteel background to commend me ‒ rather the reverse, for one can hardly account a life spent following the drum an advantage. And I have no money. I daresay it is indelicate to speak of money, but I don’t have much moral sensibility either ‒’ She heard again that faint chuckle which encouraged her to continue. ‘So, since I am neither witty nor beautiful, nor even particularly mannered, and have the added encumbrance of two brothers, one of whom will certainly need my support and protection for some years to come, perhaps you will be good enough to explain to me just what I do have to offer that might commend me to any prospective suitor who is neither short-sighted nor a congenital idiot?’
Heron brought the curricle to a halt and turned to face her. ‘Do you really hold yourself in such contempt, Miss Carlyon?’
‘By no means! I have no quarrel with my situation ‒ I am simply facing facts. Society would laugh at my pretensions, and they would be right!’
‘Humbug!’ he retorted. ‘What you have just treated me to is a grossly biased inventory of what you consider to be your shortcomings, none of which, of themselves, need preclude your taking the kind of steps proposed by Lady Margerson.’ He fixed her with an uncomfortably discerning eye. ‘What you have omitted from your reckoning is any mention of those qualities which would count in your favour should a suitable applicant for your hand come along.’
Pandora looked at him in astonishment. ‘Do I have any such qualities?’
He sat back, the reins loosely clasped in his strong slender hands, smiling faintly at her reaction. ‘One might begin with a certain modesty that you should think the matter in any doubt,’ he drawled.
‘Added to that I would hazard that you are generous by nature, over-impulsive ‒ as I know from experience! And probably compassionate. You are also incurably truthful ‒’ His smile deepened. ‘Though whether that can be accounted a virtue, I am not sure! Finally, you would appear to possess a particular brand of courage …’
‘Oh!’ She could feel her cheeks turning bright red.
‘Qualities on the whole that many a gentleman might consider of more real worth than those by which you set such store ‒ William notwithstanding!’
He had flustered her ‒ and found it an agreeable experience. While she was still collecting herself, he added reflectively, ‘In fact, Miss Carlyon, it is not so much a question of whether society might find you wanting, but rather, I suspect, that you would find us a frippery lot! One day I shall take you to Hyde Park during the Grand Strut so that you may observe at close quarters how the rich and the fashionable take the air,’ he concluded, setting the horses in motion once more.
This calm assumption that he meant to pursue an acquaintance, however slight, comprehensively deprived Pandora of speech. He really was an extraordinary man! In the course of reflecting upon their earlier conversation, however, she recalled something which had puzzled her.
‘About William, sir?’ she ventured. ‘I am not quite clear … you spoke of mud? Had he then been involved in some kind of accident?’
Heron did not answer at once. When he did, there was a curious inflection in his voice. ‘Not an accident, precisely.’
Pandora’s heart sank. ‘Had he … had he been fighting?’
‘I really don’t think you should expect me to answer that, Miss Carlyon. It is for William to explain to you himself.’
‘He had been fighting,’ she said flatly. ‘What is more, I know why ‒ and I know with whom!’
‘Then, being a sensible girl, you will not need me to advise you to make as little of it as possible.’ His voice had that calm, matter-of-fact tone which he had used previously when speaking of their troubles. ‘Pride and the defence of honour come high in William’s scale of values, I think. And a boy of that age is absurdly sensitive. It would be so easy to belittle what he did!’
‘As if I would!’ she exclaimed. And then, feeling that she had appeared ungracious, ‘But thank you for realizing it. You seem to know a great deal about little boys?’
He glanced down at her, amused. ‘I was a boy myself once, Miss Carlyon ‒ though farther back than I care to remember!’ She responded with a gurgle of laughter and he nodded his approval. ‘That’s much better. Tell me, has that lawyer of yours found a tutor yet?’
‘No. But then, he has scarcely had time to do so.’ She sighed. ‘I confess I shall be easier in my mind when William is settled.’
‘Certainly. A boy of his age and natural ability needs to be kept occupied. Let us hope Mr Lewis will discover someone of equally lively intellect to direct him.’
‘Yes indeed.’
Her attention was taken by a man hobbling towards them supported on a crudely fashioned crutch. His coat had a military look about it though it was faded beyond recognition. One empty breeches leg fastened up bore mute witness to the price he had paid fighting for his country.
She must have uttered some sound for Heron’s glance followed hers.
‘Poor devil,’ he said. ‘The first of many. I expect the streets will be full of them before long ‒ fit for little beyond begging, their deeds forgotten before the smoke has had time to clear from the battlefield.’
His words, so casually uttered, smote Pandora as she recalled how many such she had watched throwing themselves into the thick of the fight ‒ cheerful, unquestioning, simple men who understood little beyond the instinctive obedience to command. Poor devils indeed!
But as this one drew close, there was something about him …
‘Oh please, my lord Duke, may we stop ‒ just for a moment?’
Heron obliged her with a kind of amused resignation, curious to know what she would be about next. What she did in fact was to lean from the curricle with a perilous disregard for safety, waving frantically.
‘Josiah Blakewell, it is you! I was very nearly sure!’
‘Miss Pandora? Well, blister me!’ The man halted his painful progress to look up at her, his weathered face losing a little of its worn dispirited aspect. His weary eyes took in the smart equipage and her elegant companion, and some of the initial pleasure faded from his voice. ‘Well, miss ‒ you’re looking fit and prosperous and no mistake.’
Pandora turned swiftly to the Duke, unsure quite how to correct the misconstruction that Josiah had attached to finding her in his company.
‘Sergeant Blakewell is one of ours,’ she explained.
‘Was, Miss Pandora,’ the man corrected her bleakly. ‘You should know ‒ no place in the troop for a one-legged cripple.’
‘Oh, Josiah! I am sad to see you so reduced. How did it happen?’
‘Same engagement the Colonel got his, only maybe he was the lucky one, God rest him. The doc did what he could to patch me up but it was clear I wouldn’t be good for much, so they shipped me home on the first available transport. Home!’ He choked on the word. ‘I reckon my Alice’d be better off without me. I am nothing but a drag on her and the kids.’
Pandora was unprepared for the sudden impotent rage that welled up in her. She had long since learned to accept with a kind of sympathetic fatalism the more distressing consequences of war, but she had never given a thought to what happened to the maimed and used-up dross of battles once they were sent home. Now, here in London, with the sun shining and everyone in their spring finery already rejoicing and making preparations to celebrate a glorious victory, she was face to face with cold reality ‒ and found it totally unacceptable.
Blindly, because she could think of nothing else to do, she fumbled in her reticule for what little money was there. The Duke’s hand closed over hers, staying it. There was a faint rattle of coins and the glint of gold shimmered in her palm, and she looked up in swift gratitude, seeing his face as a blur.
It seemed at first that Josiah would refuse the money. His surly embarrassment was indicative of a man not yet accustomed to accepting charity as his lot.
‘Oh, please, Josiah ‒ take it! For your family if not for yourself ‒ just to tide you over, you know.’ And as he still hunched on his crutch looking stubborn: ‘You wouldn’t have refused it from Pa!’ she accused.
He drew himself up and put the money in his pocket, his eyes sweeping them both with a kind of angry pride. ‘You’re a good lass, Miss Pandora, so I’ll take your kindness in the spirit it’s meant ‒ and because of the feeling I had for the Colonel. And God bless you!’
She begged for his address, which he gave most reluctantly before stomping away.
Heron regarded the tense young girl beside him, her profile taut with the effort of containing her emotions. Without a word he picked up the ribbons and gave his horses the office to start. They were already in Brook Street when she said with suppressed violence: ‘Sergeant Blakewell was one of our best gunners! Dependable as a rock, Pa was used to say. He doesn’t deserve to end like that! Better he had been killed … there is at least a certain dignity in dying for your country!’
‘I suspect the sergeant would agree with you there, child. But Fate, in her capricious way, does not always deal with us as we would choose.’
The cool objectivity of his reasoning, far from offering comfort, only fuelled her anger the more.
‘Oh, how easy it is for you to sit there uttering platitudes,’ she cried, ‘when you haven’t the remotest idea what it’s all about! When have you ever lacked for anything, let alone suffered the privation and miseries of men like Josiah with nothing at the end of it but ingratitude and hopelessness? If I had your resources, I would … I would …’ she searched recklessly for words. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I might do, but I wouldn’t be so smug!’
The horses jibbed and Heron realized that he was gripping the ri
bbons much too tightly. He adjusted his hands, angry with her for making him careless of his skill more than for any injustice in her accusations. He sensed rather than saw her slump back against the squabs, and even before she spoke he knew that she was silently weeping.
‘I am so very sorry.’ The words came out in a choked whisper. ‘It was an unforgivable thing to say … and after your great generosity, too!’
‘A few coins, Miss Carlyon,’ he said in precise tones, flicked on the raw by this unwitting reminder of how little the gesture had meant to him, ‘hardly constitute an excess of generosity.’
A tiny gasp was the only acknowledgement of his censorious put-down. He hardened his heart and drove on. Presently he heard her blow her nose and was aware of the faint creak and movement of the leathers as she sat upright once more. But she made no further attempt at apology or speech of any kind.
Pandora had in effect acknowledged the utter futility of attempting to find words to explain the confusion of emotions the sight of Josiah had unleashed. She did not understand herself how the injustice of Josiah’s fate and her grief over the death of her father had become inextricably linked with a sudden overwhelming homesickness for the life that had gone for ever. And even could she have put it into words, there was little expectation of his caring or wishing to understand. Why, after all, should he?
The more she considered the matter, the more she convinced herself that he would probably be quite glad to be presented with some valid excuse for not pursuing her acquaintance further, which was a pity because in spite of their differences, she realized too late that she had rather enjoyed her exchanges with him. A sigh escaped her. They were almost home.
Heron heard the sigh. It was so full of weary resignation that he could take it no longer. But before he could speak, she was sitting forward, her mood completely altered, as her attention was caught by two young men about to ascend the steps of the Hamiltons’ house.
