Hugo gave her a tired smile. “It is always cozier in your company. If Jack had not snatched you away from beneath my nose I would not hesitate to offer you my noble name.”
Her brown curls danced as she shook her head. “Shameless flatterer! But it is good to see you, whatever the reason for your visit.”
As Letty predicted, he hardly managed to complete his meal before exhaustion overtook him. After a fortnight of complete inactivity the journey had beaten him badly, and his appetite turned out to be a great deal smaller than the tray anticipated. Overriding it all, however, was the memory of a pair of dark questioning eyes that asked for a reassurance he could not give and a wild young spirit that was about to be incarcerated within the stronghold of aristocratic pride. The thought stuck in his throat; it lay on his chest restricting every movement; it winded him as a fall from a horse; pounded in his head like a hundred hoof-beats.
Already it was clear that he had made a mistake; his friends’ company did not comfort him as he had hoped. Here, in this room, he felt even worse. Jack and Letty were ideally happy — hardly the example he should have before him, for it emphasized his own solitariness as never before, and when they packed him off to bed he tossed and turned, plagued by the knowledge that Jack was taking his love in his arms in the neighboring room.
At once, desire for Victoria ran him through like a long cavalry sword. It sickened him to discover that it followed the same pattern as that aroused by the bold-eyed wenches with whom he usually took his pleasure, but with what tender strength would he crush her body to him, with what reverent eagerness would his lips light an answering flame in her, with what pride and gratitude would he take the final prize — and afterward, he would not ride away with a careless salute.
Awareness of the direction of his thoughts sent him clambering from the bed to stand at the window in the hope that the sight of passing carriages would take his mind from his disturbing visions. Unhappily he fell to imagining what had occurred when Dawkins delivered his note that morning. His parents would be hurt, unable to understand why someone they had brought up with affection and trust should behave so callously; Charles would feel insulted; his aunt and uncle righteously indignant; Charity Verewood martyred. But what of Victoria? Would she alone guess the reason for his unforgivable behavior? She had known last night that his attitude toward her had changed. Pray God she would believe his disappointment in her was so great he could remain no longer. Better that than she should know his true feelings.
In the morning he descended in a black mood to find Jack eating breakfast alone. Letty’s decision to have a tray in her bedroom was born of tact, not indolence. The men would need to talk and could not do so in her company. It would be nice when Hugo married to provide a companion for such times.
Jack bade his friend a warm good morning and offered him some eggs with slices of ham. “Our cook is a treasure. I am astounded that she stays with us when she could better herself by moving on,” he said. “Old Cummings went behind my back to her after dining with us one night, but she is still here.”
“Happiness is not dependent on money, Jack.”
The lieutenant studied the downbent head with a slight frown. “No, it is not. I, of all people, should know that!”
They ate in silence for a short while, then Hugo laid down his knife and fork. “I must arrange for quarters. I shall ride down to the barracks today.”
Jack was taken aback. “There is no need.”
“Yes. I must get back to routine. I only came here last night because it was too late to arrange accommodation.”
“I see. So you will fix up quarters? Your horses are here. They arrived from Chobham in a very good state. I wonder Monty was not injured. I suppose you were riding him when the accident occurred?”
Hugo nodded. “He reared and threw me, but did not bolt. I have trained him to remain steady under fire. One day he will have to face it.”
“I dare swear you could train any horse to remain steady — even your brother’s Caliban,” Jack said. “The major was at Wychbourne, of course?”
“He remains there.”
Seeing that Hugo did not intend to elaborate, Jack went on, “He was all set to plague everyone in sight to ensure you were back in this country in time for the wedding. It must be a relief to him to know you will be standing up with him on the occasion.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled at Hugo. “Miss Castledon broke more than a dozen hearts when she accepted his offer, I must tell you. I met her on two occasions and was completely charmed. The regiment has taken her to its heart — much too literally, in some instances. Young Harry Edmunds is very seriously cut up about it.”
“Poor Harry” was the brusque comment. “This coffee is excellent. I will have another cup, if you please.”
“Help yourself, old fellow.” Jack was shaken. Despite a night’s sleep Hugo still looked drawn. Whatever had sent him posthaste to Brighton had affected him deeply, for he was nothing like his usual self.
“Do you care to come with me, Jack?”
“What? Grace the barracks with my presence when duty does not call? It is enough that I am Officer of the Day for New Year’s Eve, confined to quarters there when I could be with Letty.”
Hugo looked up at that. “Her loss is my gain. We shall see in eighteen fifty-three in excellent style, old man. The coming year deserves a riotous start. God knows, the rest of it will be black enough.”
***
“Help yourself, Hugo,” the assistant adjutant said. “Sanderson has transferred into the Tenth, so his rooms are vacant, and there is the corner suite. It doesn’t matter to me which one you occupy, and if it should matter to the adjutant when he returns — or to our esteemed colonel — you will already be in residence, and they will hardly put you out.”
“Will they not?” Hugo replied unconvinced but made himself comfortable in the corner rooms with every outward sign of permanent occupation, more as a means of keeping himself busy than in the belief he would be allowed to remain in rooms normally given to field officers. He dared not remain idle.
Time, instead of dulling his anger, only served to increase it, Hugo found. As he banged about his new quarters he cursed himself for a weakling. Oaths flew in every direction as he vented resentment over a physical desire he could not conquer; the only way to blot out his overriding sense of guilt was by uncorking a few bottles. Stokes put him to bed that first night with much shaking of his head. He had a shrewd idea of what was behind this mood. He feared there was worse to come.
December 31 was bright and fresh, and the few officers remaining in barracks turned out to a man, with the exception of Jack Markham, who was tied to a small duty room, and made for the Downs on the fastest horses they possessed, galloping with scant care across green undulating country that bewitched horses and riders alike. On one, the devil had a relentless hold.
Hugo gave his horse its head, racing on even when his companions drew rein and called to him. It was good to feel Monty between his knees again and, for a while, the exhilaration of pursuing his favorite pastime dulled the sense of disaster which had hung over the past few days. A great surge of thankfulness drove away guilt and longing. There had been times when he doubted he would ever be able to use muscles, strength, skill and judgment, and his eyes, in perfect combination, ever again. He took the brown stallion straight and true over the spongy turf of the South Downs, racing head down and supremely in control as he cleared low bushes, small streams or sudden marshy basins, then, the confidence, the release, vanished when a farm wall loomed up over a rise and it was too late to veer.
In that split second, years of experience failed him. Monty cleared the barrier with difficulty and landed awkwardly in a barren field whose frozen ruts nearly brought him down. Hugo sat catching his breath, shaken by his own performance, then turned and slowly rode back to the group of officers, who told him he had received his deserts. They did not labor the point when Esterly, usually the easiest of companions, snapped t
heir heads off, wearing a look as black as any they had seen.
After a mainly liquid luncheon, Hugo rode out to a small country dairy owned by a young widow of his acquaintance but, although she rushed into his arms after six months’ absence and invited him into the parlor that had witnessed many hours of mutual pleasure, he could not bring himself to accept her comely consolation and left after giving her the present he had brought from Vienna.
Stokes, muttering under his breath about gentlemen who did not know when they had had enough, was pressed into opening another bottle on Hugo’s return. If his sense of propriety was offended then, it would have been outraged a few hours later, for the few members of the mess who dined there that night were set on seeing in the New Year flat on their backs.
As Officer of the Day, Jack Markham had to restrict his intake, but he was a reckless young man with great joy in living and could not see that it would matter if he did last rounds of the guard in the happy state of seeing twice as many as usual. He, therefore, had little influence on what happened.
After an excellent dinner the officers got down to the serious business of the evening. With no field officers present and only one captain, barely senior to Hugo, the fun waged fast and furious.
Highly erotic tales concerning the habits of Austrian cavalrymen and even more inflammatory ones about Russian Cossacks had Hugo’s audience wild with laughter and bravado. As the level in the bottles lowered, glasses were dashed to pieces in the fireplace after extravagant toasts in the way Hugo had seen it done abroad. A boy cornet swore he could do a Cossack dance and was lifted onto the long polished table for a demonstration. When his inebriated efforts no longer pleased his audience he was dragged off, his spurs leaving long scratches across the wood, and hung by his golden sash from a hat peg, where he dangled and pleaded until they chose to release him.
A mock battle ensued during which half the number quickly lost their senses, the other half their decorum. Jack Markham, who had come out of it more disheveled than most, was dressing himself to the accompaniment of loud complaints that the Officer of the Day should be immune in the expectation of being called out when the twenty-year-old Lord Dovedale proposed that each one still on his feet should take part in a contest to prove his superiority. The winner would be the one who outdid the feats of the rest and would be presented with a bottle of wine from each man.
Clinging to the vestiges of his duties, Jack expressed grave doubts over the idea. He was immediately set upon, stripped of his uniform and his wiry person deposited in the coal bucket, where he decided to stay until the room stopped swaying around him.
The whole thing was quite pleasantly riotous, at first. An aspiring contortionist failed to walk on his hands along the back of a huge leather sofa; another’s attempt to balance bottles on his forehead ended in a pile of smashed glass; a third could not lift a bronze bust of the Duke of Wellington with one hand behind his back; and Lord Dovedale himself brought scorn from the others with his rendering of a tenor aria which ended in top D.
Cornet Balesworth, who snuffed out a cigar with a bullet from his pistol, leaving the rest of the cigar intact, appeared likely to win the honor when the game took a serious turn. Hugo was ordered to make his bid, amid friendly mockery.
“He is too large for balancing acts,” laughed one. “He could try lifting the ‘Duke’ instead.”
“No, that has already been attempted. It cannot be done again,” ruled Lord Dovedale. “Somersaults are hardly for him either.”
“He is a fair shot, but Balesworth claims that,” put in a fat lieutenant. “The only thing at which he shines is horsemanship.”
“I would hardly say he shines any longer,” drawled Harry Edmunds from the corner. “That jump this morning would have put even a young girl to shame.” He giggled drunkenly.
The atmosphere became suddenly tense. That same remark made of a mediocre rider when all were good-naturedly sober would have brought no more than an oath from its victim, but Hugo was jealous of his prowess in the saddle and still smarting over his performance at the farm wall earlier that day. He was also hot-blooded and very drunk.
Laughter died as he stood up and demanded an apology. All heads turned toward Harry Edmunds, who was taken aback at the way Hugo had taken a foolish taunt, not meant in any way as a slur on his ability. There was nothing for it but to brazen it out. He rose unsteadily and said, “Certainly. I shall go further. On my knees I will claim you are the best rider in England…when you have proved my remark does not describe the way you jump.”
Hugo felt the pulse in his temples pounding. These men would disparage him forever if he did not take up the challenge.
“I will jump anything you name,” he said thickly. “Anything.”
Taken off guard, Harry Edmunds said the first thing that came into his muddled head. “I should like to see the man who can clear the mess table.”
There was an outburst of protests, not because the table was too high or wide but because there was not room on each side for such an attempt. Above them all Hugo said, “Done,” and called a steward to send word to have Monty saddled and brought around to the mess entrance immediately.
“Hugo, do not be a fool,” begged Jack, coming up to him as he pulled on his shirt. “It cannot be done.”
“Can it not?” There was bitterness in his voice. “A man can do anything if he puts his mind to it. I shall clear that table or never ride again.”
“That is true enough,” cried Jack. “You will be dead of a broken back and your horse with you. You cannot bring an animal into the mess.”
Hugo turned on him. “Show me where it is written. It will not stop me from doing so, but I shall believe you.”
Jack saw something in his friend’s eyes that told him nothing would prevent him using this challenge as a means to rid his soul of whatever gripped it and decided the only answer was to take away the horse. As Officer of the Day he could order the grooms to keep all horses in stables. Unfortunately, he could not go until correctly dressed and by that time Monty was at the door.
Drama had sobered the officers quicker than cold water or black coffee, and more than one was desperately trying to think of a way out of the situation that would satisfy Hugo. Even the lieutenant who had flung the challenge so unthinkingly had sobered enough to know the man was dangerously drunk.
The mess steward entered to say the captain’s horse was outside, little dreaming he would see his owner lead the beast inside the building a few seconds later.
With the room cleared of all furniture but the table, Hugo mounted his horse and walked Monty round the obstacle he would have to jump from a near standing position. The silence was complete. Stewards clustered in the doorway, their tough faces registering all levels of apprehension: the gentlemen gathered at the far end of the room, lounging by the wall, watching with shrewd eyes narrowed against the glare of gasoliers as Hugo familiarized his horse with the ground.
It was a sight none of them would forget. A powerful man on a big strong brown charger going slowly around a polished table in a carpeted room. The walls bore regimental standards, battle honors, famous swords, paintings of illustrious former officers of their distinguished regiment and a long shelf containing silver trophies, many of them bearing the name of the man who now defended his right to claim them.
The room was impressively proportioned. Now, with this magnificent animal walking within its walls, it seemed cramped, and the man astride the stallion, tall and broad-shouldered in the blue uniform smothered with gold and scarlet, towered above them as he passed for the third time in a soft jingle of harness.
Jack Markham held his breath and resorted to prayer. He had done his best, but he knew only too well a man must find his own panacea. He looked at the face of his friend. It was a broad face with vivid eyes that normally wore an eager good-natured expression. Now, it was flushed with wine and desperation. What had happened to Hugo in Vienna that had wrought such a change in him? he wondered.
The walking stopped. Monty was backed against one long side wall, and every man present felt his muscles freeze. The soft purr of gas mantles was clearly audible as man and horse steadied themselves for the jump. Then, a quick pressure of the rider’s knees, a slight pull on the reins, a cry of “Now, boy,” and Monty gathered himself back on his haunches before stretching his great legs out in a magnificent leap that rippled the shining brown coat covering his muscles.
The successful feat had every throat hoarse with cheers, and every man started forward toward the stallion that was rearing up in an attempt to avoid hitting the far wall. The sudden noise after quiet concentration upset the beast, but Hugo had him well under control until the excited soldiers in the kitchen backed into a pile of clean plates and sent them crashing to the ground. Monty had had enough. With a shrill neigh he plunged and reared in fright, his hooves striking part of the oak paneling at the eastern end of the room and splintering it badly before coming down on the window sill to shatter a pair of glass goblets presented by a former colonel. A dozen pairs of hands grabbed at the reins to bring the horse under control, and Hugo slid from the saddle to buckle at the knees and fall against Jack, whose throat was dry as dust.
*
At 11:00 A.M. the following morning, Stokes decided to brave the captain’s wrath and entered with a tray of black coffee. His master was half sitting in the bed, looking greatly dejected.
“Lor’, sir, I doubt I’ve seen you looking more like O’Reilly’s ghost than you do right now!” he exclaimed.
Hugo scowled. “If you have nothing civil to offer by way of conversation, Stokes, get out.”
“Yessir,” he replied calmly. “Them dogs is anxious to come in. I don’t rightly know what to do.” Stokes cleared his throat. “Taking a look around, it strikes me that they might go to town on your things, Captain. You wouldn’t let me do nothing about clearing up when you got back in the early hours, and they’re devils with anything lying about.”
Hugo cast his glance over the room. His clothes lay scattered all over the floor, boots were flung in different corners and his sword belt dangled from a gas bracket instead of the hook provided. Silver-backed brushes lay in the armchair beside the washstand which was flooded with water, spilled when he doused his head to clear it. Several bottles and glasses stood where he had left them as he dressed for dinner, and the room reeked of spirits.
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