Scarlet Shadows

by Elizabeth Darrell

  “They have been trained to obey orders. Is that not the duty of any soldier?” she asked tentatively.

  “Oh yes,” he flung back, lost in his own anger, “but those men were not any soldiers. If an order is ambiguous, no commander should take the word of a staff captain to persuade him to send an entire brigade to destruction unless any good would come from such an act. It was not as if we were being threatened by those cannon.” He banged his fist down on the chaise longue. “Orders or not, if an enemy was sitting quietly several miles off I would take the time to acquaint the commander-in-chief of the position from where I was and request more explicit orders before I would allow such a thing to happen. No one would be more willing to fight to the last man against overwhelming odds if we were defending a strategic position, but there was no sign of an attack being made upon us at that point, was there?”

  Suddenly he came out of his anger and broke into a smile that warmed her after the chill of his words. “My tongue ran away with me. I think you are the only woman to whom I could speak in such a way. Is there no end to your virtues?”

  “Indeed, yes. I can be extremely disagreeable, as you will now witness. Unless you cease plaguing yourself with thoughts that have made you quite agitated, I shall ensure that you remain in bed tomorrow.”

  He sighed. “Mmm…extremely disagreeable! You have ceased to be the angel I imagined you.” His slow smile broke through once more. “You should be drenching my head with cologne and feeding me with broth.”

  She felt a sudden lurch inside her as his words brought a picture of golden-fair braids wound around a face of clear classical beauty. Looking down at her hands, she said, “That duty should more properly belong to another, I believe.”

  “Oh…who?” It was said with a tinge of amusement that increased her disquiet.

  Her head came up. “Has Miss Verewood been informed of your safety?”

  “Miss Verewood?” He looked calm enough. “I should not imagine she knows I was ever reported lost. If my…if Lord Blythe did not know of it, she would…”

  “I wrote to your father, Hugo. The news would have brought him great grief, but he would wish to know. Three days ago I sent the glad tidings of your survival.”

  For several seconds nothing passed between them save a look of painful understanding, but all he said was “Thank you for that.”

  She remained sitting very upright in her rocking chair. “Hugo…why did you do it? Charity Verewood will drag on you like an anchor. You cannot wed her!”

  He looked taken aback. “I have not said that I would.”

  “Have not…but she told me that you were promised — that you had asked her to wait for your return. On the night of the Farewell Ball she said we were to be sisters very shortly. Hugo, there was a letter from her among your…effects.”

  “She wrote to tell me of Mama’s death. It was that letter I kept.” He seemed bewildered. “I cannot understand this. Sister? Why would she say such a thing?”

  “You must have given her some reason to believe it.”

  “Certainly we both knew my parents hoped I would make a decision at the ball, but I did not ask for her hand.”

  “Did you ask her to wait for you?”

  “No…at least, I cannot remember precisely what I said. You passed while I was telling her the difficulties of a man going away to war, and my whole mind was filled with distress at how I was obliged to treat you.” He gave her a look of dismay. “I could not have promised myself to someone without knowing it, could I?”

  Being together and trying to avoid any kind of deep emotion was a strain on them both. The only relief was to indulge in lighthearted teasing, and Victoria now found herself saying, “If she is Miss Verewood anything is possible. Has she not referred to the matter in her letters?”

  “I was not looking for such things in her words. She wrote of my family and Wychbourne, of places and people I knew. The letters meant a lot to me for that reason. Victoria, was she absolutely certain?”

  He looked so comically tragic she burst into laughter. The memory of that angelic face asking her to be a sister increased her merriment. If only she could be there when the girl learned the truth!

  Hugo was still in a masculine daze. “What am I to do?”

  Through her chuckles she said, “There is only one answer. You must remain in exile all your life. That way you will never return to be claimed by her.”

  He scowled. “I cannot see any humor in the situation.”

  He was still scowling when the door opened and Letty walked in. Slowly, the laughter went out of Victoria, and the chair ceased its rocking. Her friend was white and blank eyed, her shawl trailing from her hand. She looked in Victoria’s direction.

  “I was wrong. It is not possible to accept the wisdom of the Almighty.”

  Immediately Victoria went to her, but her hands stopped in mid-air.

  “They took off his leg last night. He had the fever, and the shock was too great. He is dead, Victoria, and I cannot accept it. You know what it is like. For the sake of my sanity, support me now, or I shall be lost.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the middle of January Hugo was sitting in a chair every day. The wound in his chest was gradually healing enough to allow him to move without his breathing becoming too labored, that on his shoulder was clean and comfortable and the pains in his skull came less regularly. All signs of fever and starvation had gone long ago.

  It had become routine for the two ladies to spend the greater part of the day with him, reading the newspapers, playing chess or just conversing. Strangely, it seemed to Victoria that Letty found more strength in Hugo’s company than in hers. She had been beyond comfort for a week but had gradually steadied in the constant company of the two people who had been closest to herself and Jack.

  In order to try to come to terms with the Almighty over the blow he had dealt her Letty found a great need to attend church daily, and Victoria willingly accompanied her. She had things to say to the Lord, too.

  These days with Hugo were the sweetest she had ever known, and her love, although it could hardly grow deeper, broadened into a new landscape of emotions that increased her capacity for understanding, sympathy and passion. Although he had not so much as touched her hand since his first day with her, she knew as she sat watching him that he was a man completely unlike Charles. Her eyes lingered on his hands while her skin burned for the touch of them. She studied his mouth as he spoke, knowing that if it should seek hers it would start her trembling. When he was not aware of her scrutiny her eyes drank in every detail of the fine muscular body and recognized the ache in her thighs for what it was — that which she had found degrading and painful with Charles could be heady surrender in Hugo’s arms. As she sat playing chess or talking in quiet friendship, her body cried out for him. Nights became torment as time passed. Stronger than her will, the erotic pain of imagining him beside her in the bed made her toss and turn feverishly.

  Gradually, she found him doing the same. Looking up quickly, she would catch his eyes watching her. There were times when he would grow quiet, others when he hardly stopped talking long enough for anyone else to speak. He began to look hollow-eyed through lack of sleep. Both were afraid of being left alone without Letty, and both knew the reason.

  Things came to a head at last. For five days there had been a traveling circus pitched within sight of Hugo’s window, providing them all with a means of entertainment as they watched and commented on the procession of people passing on their way to the large marquee. They were doing the same one late January afternoon when Victoria suddenly found herself quarreling fiercely with Hugo. It was over nothing that mattered, yet she defended her statements as if her life depended on them. Hugo was equally aggressive. She felt her cheeks growing flushed, and his eyes were glittering as their voices rose.

  “Hugo, I have seen the man in the ticket box every day this week,” she cried. “Allow me to know that he is wearing a different jacket today.”r />
  “May I remind you that this is my room, Victoria, and therefore I have had a greater opportunity of watching what goes on outside its windows.”

  “May I remind you, sir, that your sight cannot be relied upon since you blew yourself up in a military exercise,” she retorted, her bosom starting to rise and fall quickly. “And you are in this room only because of my generosity.”

  She was sorry the minute it had been said, and Hugo fell silent.

  Letty got to her feet. “When Jack and I began to argue he always took me on his knee to kiss and make up.” She walked to the door. “You two need to do the same. No, do not rush out after me, Victoria. You are neither of you in need of a chaperone every minute of the day.”

  The door closed behind her friend, and Victoria felt every nerve tighten. Suddenly, the room seemed too small and Hugo too near. With dismay she heard her heartbeat banging a drum that resounded between these walls, and the unbearable ache of desire flowed through her. Meeting his eyes, she saw her own thoughts reflected there. Weak and melting, she was thrilled but frightened to know she would this moment surrender body and soul to him if he should ask. Her lips would part beneath his mouth in an ecstasy of invitation, her bare limbs would burn with pulsating fulfillment as they twined around his. Her body would take his as greedily as his would take hers. The fusion of their passions would be a glorious expression of life and immortality that would make all else dim by comparison.

  Unable to draw her gaze away from his white face and the blaze of possession in his eyes, she whispered, “I did not mean what I said to you.”

  “I know… I know,” he said savagely. “We were not fighting over the color of a man’s jacket. If that were all we had between us do you think I would sit here day after day devouring you with my eyes against the time when you are no longer here? Do you think I would count the wide-eyed night hours away until you return? Do you think I would pound my conscience so mercilessly, tighten my control with such desperation?” He thumped his fist on his knee. “By God, do you think I would lose my brother, my family and my past, yet have no regrets each time I look at you?” He angled his gaze away and looked through the window. “I have some idea what you suffer at his hands, but have you any notion what it does to me each time I think of it? No woman will ever understand the fierce pride of a man when he takes possession of a woman he loves; when another has the privilege it is almost beyond endurance.”

  She sat still, held in thrall by the moment. He was disarmed and laying his devotion at her feet.

  “You know why I left Wychbourne so hastily — all to no avail. You also know why I was so insufferable at the Farewell Ball. After what happened that night I told myself I could forget you, that it was just a matter of time.” He turned back to her. “I shall never imagine such a thing again. You are part of my life forever…but you are my brother’s wife.” His eyes closed in pain. “To see you beside him is almost more than I can stand. To watch his arrogant possessiveness builds great fires inside me. To know you are lying in his arms at night drives me from my bed in a fever.” His eyes were clouded when he reopened them. “He accused me of coveting you. Dear God in heaven, if there was any way we could be together I would take you from him…but the only way I can love you is with honor, Victoria. All the time Charles stands between us it must remain the way it has been.”

  There was only the ticking of the clock, the crackle of logs in the grate when he stopped speaking. Even her very breathing seemed suspended. Their love had been consummated by his honesty. With his words he had given her his immortal soul. Through his denial of her he had possessed her more completely than Charles had ever done on his wildest night.

  With her body afire and trembling with the response he had aroused in it, she sank down beside his chair. “You are the most honorable man I know,” she told him softly, “but women are less exacting in their codes of behavior, my dearest love.”

  Placing her hands against his upper arms, she leaned forward to touch her lips against his, meaning only to ease the longing with a butterfly caress. The physical contact was so sweet, so ecstatic after the months of denial, that what began as a mere brushing of his lips took complete control of her. Rising like flood waters came the surrender, total and absolute, that Charles had never commanded, and her mouth began to tease and entice with submissive insistence — an invitation, a plea, to take what it offered.

  Hugo began to tremble. His hands came up to pull hers away from his shoulders, but when she angled her head so that he must bend over her to continue the kiss, he followed the soft temptation with growing demand. Swept by the heady need to drive away the remainder of his restraint, she slid her arms around his neck so that he could not escape her by lifting his head — but it was not necessary.

  There was hunger, despair, anger in the way he lifted her against him with arms grown suddenly strong. Her head spun as he drew out of her the almost wanton excitement and replaced it with a joy that swirled through her senses at the complete reversal taking place. Hugo’s hands held her prisoner, and she was now the captive in the chair while his mouth teased and enticed in a way she had not dreamed was possible.

  Then, suddenly, he was thrusting her away from him, putting back his head as if in torment He was trembling still, and Victoria watched him, bemused by the glory of that kiss. Neither spoke for a moment or two, then his hands dropped, releasing her arms.

  “Why did you do it, Victoria? It was madness,” he said wildly.

  “My whole life is touched with madness at the moment,” she cried with passion. “Am I to die when you die, then live again when you are reborn…and have no more of you than that?”

  “There can be nothing between us. By God, did you not understand what I said just now?”

  “Yes,” she said bitterly, “I understand very well, but it is there whether we acknowledge it or not.” She got slowly to her feet. “You also said you would never try to pretend I was not part of your life.”

  His eyes were still blazing. “If I could only move from this damned chair!”

  Shaken by the storm that had invaded her at his touch, she matched his anger with her own. “You do not care to be at a disadvantage? No, you are a man, strong and sensible to what the world expects of you, but I am one of those weak creatures who must comfort the strong and weep over them. We are always at a disadvantage. We must wait, we must pray, and we must always depend upon the whims of those who control our lives. It is not always easy to be a woman.”

  She turned and hurried toward the door, but he stopped her when she reached it.

  “Victoria…where are you going?” It was said with weary regret.

  Looking back at him, she saw how pinched and ill he appeared once more, and her passion turned to pity. It was not always easy to be strong she now realized, and she understood the pain of his rigid code of values. Calmer in that instant, she smiled across the length of the room.

  “All we did was kiss and make up, Hugo. Do not blame yourself because I am weaker than you.” The door closed softly behind her.

  She walked slowly back to the room she shared with Letty. Her friend was not there, but a note lay on the table and, after Victoria read it, she went to stand by the window to gaze out at a now blurred circus tent. Letty was downstairs talking to Byron Porchester, who had brought the Sirocco into Scutari that morning.

  *

  The Sirocco was due to head back to Balaclava on February 5, and the week that passed before that date was full of heights and depths for Victoria. She knew she must go as she had promised. The time she spent with Hugo was lit by the love he had confessed, yet shadowed by the coming parting. She found herself selecting every word with care so that it would not be wasted. She listened to his voice so that she would not forget its richness when she was gone, watched him as though through a telescope so that everything about him leaped at her from a distance and imprinted itself on her mind forever.

  Captain Porchester impressed upon the two ladies that
Balaclava was a place of ice, fever and starvation when he left it, although supplies of warm clothing, food and wooden huts were reputedly only a day’s voyage away. After Jack’s death Letty had avowed her intention of going back as Victoria’s companion, hoping to find, as she had, some comfort in helping another man back to health in the hospital tents there. Both ladies went shopping for provisions, rugs and warm coats. They bought as many as they could manage to take, knowing the officers would be grateful for the chance to purchase them. Socks joined the coats and even waistcoats, quite exotically embroidered but warm and strong.

  On the third morning of that week Victoria awoke to find it light. Letty was still sleeping, and there was no sound of rattling cups from the tiny room Zarina occupied. She waited fifteen minutes, then slipped from her bed to discover why the girl was not preparing the tea. The room was empty. The tray stood ready, but no kettle heated on the tiny stove. Victoria shivered in the chill. Zarina Stokes had not slept in the trundle bed; the few trinkets and possessions normally laid out on the box beside it were gone.

  Sinking down on the rickety bed, Victoria touched the coarse blankets in sadness. Zarina had been more than a maid. The girl had worked unstintingly for her, both in domestic duties and with the wounded. She had been growing quieter every day, Victoria now realized, ever since the doctor had shown them the doomed women in the cellars beneath the Barrack Hospital. Since they had found Hugo so dramatically, the girl’s hopes had been disappointed day by day, week by week, for she had haunted the beach throughout the bitter weather. She must eventually have accepted the truth.

  Heavy at heart, Victoria got up and went back to her room. Where had the girl gone? What would become of her? Why had she chosen this place in which to vanish? The answer lay on her dressing table when she went to brush her hair. Zarina was illiterate, but her message could not have been plainer. The treasured poster she had carried everywhere with her lay on the polished wood as a gift of apology and explanation. Quickly Victoria went to the window. The circus tent and its accompanying wagons had gone — moved on during the night.