She had not waited to hear her father’s answer.
She had run off to her own room because she could not bear to hear anyone speak in such a way of her beloved Mama and at the same time upsetting her Papa.
‘Why did he ever marry such a woman?’ she had asked herself when she was alone.
It was the same question she repeated over and over again as time passed.
*
Now when she walked into the nursery, it was all so familiar. She only wished that Nanny, who had loved and spoilt her, were there as well.
Nothing had been changed from when she had been a child.
The rocking horse was in front of the window and the screen on which Nanny had stuck their Christmas cards each year was by the fireplace and her doll’s house, sadly dilapidated, was propped up in one corner.
A maid she had never seen before came forward rather disdainfully to ask if she wished to have anything unpacked.
“Only what is in my night case. Leave the trunks until tomorrow, as I may not be staying in this room – ”
The maid gave her a sideways glance and it told her that it would be highly unlikely that she would be able to alter her stepmother’s strict instructions.
The maid opened her case and put her nightgown on the bed that had already been turned down.
Tania took off her coat and hat and then she walked to the window of the nursery.
Leaning over the rocking horse, she looked out into the garden at the back of the house.
She remembered so well how she had played there happily when her mother was alive.
She had gone to a day school in London when she grew too old to be taught by a Governess and then, as soon as her father married again, she had been sent to school in France and had not been allowed home.
When her father began to suffer from ill health, he had been unable to resist the many excuses her stepmother had made to keep her away – without even hearing them Tania knew all too well what had been said.
The main excuse was that she would feel homesick again, as she had been at first, and would beg her father to let her come home and be educated in London.
It was jealousy that had made her stepmother resent the love and every kindness her father gave her.
Tania thought it was because she hoped that the less Lord Amesly saw of his daughter, the less he would leave her in his will and this, of course, would mean there would be so much more for his wife.
Tania realised that her stepmother was extremely grasping and greedy when it came to money.
She decided that, now she was back in London, the first thing she should do was to see exactly what money of her own she had in the bank.
Her father had written to her when he was not at all well to explain,
“I have made provision for you in my will and if, my dearest, anything does happen to me, Mr. Sinworth at Sinworth, Mores and Lambeth will look after you and see that you have everything I want you to have.”
His writing looked distinctly faint on the envelope and had been addressed by Dawson. Tania greatly suspected it had been sent to her without her stepmother’s knowledge.
‘I am sure she will grasp everything she can,’ Tania mused, ‘and if possible leave me penniless.’
When finally she went to bed, she thought that the mattress was not as soft as it had been in her own room.
The austerity of the night nursery was so different from the room her mother had given her next to hers.
If her stepmother had moved her into another room on the first floor, Tania might have understood, but to send her up to the nursery was to make it so obvious that she was no longer welcome in her own home.
‘What shall I do? What on earth shall I do?’ she asked herself desperately.
Then almost as if God was answering the cry from her heart, she recalled that Selina Bracebridge had offered to help her.
‘I am frightened, I am very frightened, Mama,’ she murmured to the darkness before she went to sleep. ‘But I feel wherever you and Papa are, you will look after me and when I pray you will be near me.’
The prayer came from the very depths of her heart. Only when she finished did the tears run down her cheeks onto the pillows.
*
Rupert was welcomed back at the Barracks by his brother Officers and immediately the following morning he was sent for by Brigadier-General Bentick, the commander of the Guards Brigade.
Rupert dressed in his uniform and hurried over to his office in the Barracks Headquarters.
“I am glad to see you back here, More,” said the General, when he had entered and saluted. “I need your advice on this unholy mess we now find ourselves in.”
“Is it a mess, sir?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“Of course it is, you are aware better than most that if we go to war, which now seems inevitable, we are not in as fit a state to fight as we have been in the past.”
“I have always known it, sir, but I understood that nothing we asked for was done and we are obliged to carry on lacking so much indispensable ordnance.”
“Exactly, More, and I have had very bad news from Turkey, and I cannot see how we can make the Army at all effective without time – time in which to put right a great number of failings that we have talked about for years, but, as you know, no one has paid the slightest attention to us.”
Rupert recognised this to be true, as he had heard the same refrain over and over again from his father.
In fact, as his father had eloquently pointed out, the rundown had begun just after the Battle of Waterloo.
Yet in spite of hardships and deficiencies the Army had managed to win a series of campaigns beginning with Ceylon in 1818.
Then there had been many other operations Rupert had often heard his father discuss with Senior Officers of his Regiment.
After Ceylon there had been campaigns in Burma, Northern India, China, Afghanistan and New Zealand.
Yet in 1816 the Army had been reduced to 225,000 men of whom 35,000 had formed the Army of Occupation in France.
The Duke of Wellington had personally asked that five troops of the Wagon train should be kept back to serve them, but there were then, as his father had said frequently, 35,000 men in Ireland and another 35,000 in India.
Even that was better than when three years later the Army had been reduced by a further half.
“It would help considerably, sir, if the soldiers we do have were adequately fed and equipped.”
“I would agree with you, More, accommodation has always been overcrowded and in consequence unhealthy, but it is too late to do much about that now.”
“Might I venture to disagree, sir?” replied Rupert. “Food is important and every Officer in this Regiment will agree with me that even here, where we are supposed to be far better off than a great many Regiments, the food is poor and monotonous.”
The General stiffened.
“Are you suggesting that our men are underfed?”
“The official ration, sir, is, as you know, one pound of bread and three quarters of a pound of beef a day, but in general the soldiers are served with a beef broth of stringy meat and potatoes.”
There was silence and, as the General did not speak, Rupert continued,
“This somewhat inadequate food is served at 7.30 am and again at 12.30 pm. There is no provision for any food between 12.30 pm and the following day. Many of the soldiers acquire extra food, particularly vegetables. In my opinion the organisation of Army catering is disgraceful.”
This was certainly plain speaking and for a moment Rupert thought the General was going to tell him off.
Instead of which he muttered,
“I can see that I have been very remiss in not doing something about this situation.
“It is too late now if we go to war, but I would also like to point out, although again it is too late, that since the soldiers are wretchedly paid, most of what they do receive goes on drink.
“As you have already said, i
t is too late now for us to make the sort of changes required, but we must consider what we can do if, as I suspect, we are ordered abroad at any moment.”
“Do you really think it is imminent, sir?”
“I am afraid so, and if we are going to be frank with each other, I should tell you that the British Army will be commanded by men who are far too old for active service.”
The General was being extraordinarily frank with him, which Rupert had not expected, so he enquired quietly,
“Have you been told who is to be in command?”
“The Light Division, I gather, will be commanded by Sir George Brown.”
Rupert was aware that Sir George had fought with considerable distinction in the Peninsular War, but that had been forty years ago.
“Sir George de Lacy Evans will be in command of the Second Division with Sir George Cathcart, and both of them fought in the Napoleonic Wars.”
“Who will command us, sir? I imagine we will be with the First Division?”
“The Duke of Cambridge and myself of course. The First Division will I am told, if we go to war, consist of one Cavalry and five Infantry Divisions.”
The General spoke harshly and then, as if he could not prevent himself from saying it, he added,
“All of these Divisions are under strength and lack essential transport and administrative services.”
There was silence again and then Rupert remarked,
“We do have the Minié rifle, sir.”
It was a new Infantry rifle and although a muzzleloader like the ‘Brown Bess’ it supplanted, it was a more effective weapon than had been used before.
“You are right, the Minié is an improvement, but unfortunately it is not limited to the British Army.”
Rupert raised his eyebrows.
“It is not, sir?”
“No. The French have it as well, but regrettably so have the Russians.”
Rupert realised this diminished the few advantages the Army had, but there was no point in saying so.
He could now only hope that the General was being unreasonably depressed and things were not quite as bad as they sounded.
There was always a reasonable chance that the Czar would abandon his ambitions and accept diplomatic defeat over Turkey – yet, as he remembered only too clearly, his father had said only a month or so ago,
“If Russia is ever to be an effective world power, it has to have the freedom not only of the Black Sea, but the Bosporus and the Dardanelles as well.”
Aloud Rupert suggested,
“We can only hope and pray, sir, that it will not end in war. Surely in the meantime we should try to improve the efficiency of our Army as quickly as possible and increase its numbers.”
“That is what I hoped you would say. Therefore I want you to do everything you can to recruit more men. I also hope we can improve their living conditions.”
“That is exceedingly encouraging of you, sir, and I know it will be appreciated. At the same time, as you well know, training a recruit in even the most basic elements of warfare takes time and much patience.”
The General nodded as Rupert continued,
“I think you will be wise, if I may say so, to speak to the men yourself and to tell them how important it is that we should increase our numbers. They must do all they can to encourage others to join the Army.”
At first the General did not reply and then he said,
“Of course I will bring to the notice of the Higher Command the points you have just mentioned. One thing that should make us a little more cheerful about the whole matter is that I am told confidentially that the condition of the Russian Army is exceptionally bad.”
“I have also heard that, but with the exception, sir, of the Cossacks, who provide their own horses and arms. They therefore enjoy independence and a better standard of living than the rest of the Russian Army.”
“I am sure you are right,” the General agreed. “At the same time it does not make things any better where we are concerned.”
“No, of course not, sir, but I can only say that, if we do go to war, all the men under my command will do their utmost because they believe we are unbeatable. They must on no account become disillusioned.”
The General smiled.
“That is exactly what I expect from you, More, and I too hope that I will never be disillusioned.”
Rupert talked with the other Officers in the Mess at luncheon time, but they left him even more depressed than he had been when with the General.
It seemed to him impossible that those in command and the politicians did not realise how utterly unprepared the Army was to engage in full-scale war, especially in a part of the world they were totally unfamiliar with.
However, when it was time to dress for dinner, he was not worrying about the war any more.
He was thinking of Tania again.
*
Tania meanwhile had spent an extremely unhappy and difficult day.
She had breakfast brought up to her in the nursery and the footman who carried it up had said to her,
“Mr. Dawson thought you’d be more comfortable here, miss, than downstairs in the dining room.”
Thinking that Dawson must know best, Tania had not argued but had enjoyed her breakfast.
Then she walked slowly downstairs.
She had found Dawson, as she had expected, busy in the dining room.
He was laying and decorating the large table, round which stood twenty chairs.
“Good morning, Miss Tania,” he said, as she came in. “I hope you didn’t mind me sending up your breakfast, but as you can see her Ladyship’s ordered that there’ll be twenty for luncheon and I’ve only just time to get it all ready at such short notice.”
“Twenty for luncheon! But why?”
Dawson shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t think that there be any special reason, miss, but if her Ladyship’s had a good evening at one of them fancy soirées she goes to, she then invites a large number of people back the following day for luncheon or dinner.”
“Well, I will be out for dinner, Dawson, I have been asked by some old friends of my mother’s – Mr. and Mrs. Bracebridge.”
“I remembers them, miss. Very kind they were to your father when he was ill. They popped in often to see him. And glad he was that they’d come.”
“I am dining with them tonight, so please don’t lay a place for me – ”
Dawson looked uncomfortable and she asked him,
“What is wrong, Dawson?”
“Her Ladyship put on the note she writes me, that you, miss, would not be dining downstairs.”
Tania drew in her breath.
She knew that this meant her stepmother intended to exclude her from all the parties she gave.
It would make things exceedingly uncomfortable if this was going to be the rule all the time she was at home.
“Am I not expected at luncheon either, Dawson?”
“I’m not certain about that, miss, you must ask Mr. Martin. He, I understands, be writing out the names of the guests to place on the table.”
Tania went to the office her father’s secretary had always occupied.
Mr. Martin was a man of about fifty years of age. When she entered the office, he looked up, smiled and sprang to his feet.
“Miss Tania! It’s so nice to see you again.”
“It is good to see you, Mr. Martin, and I have some questions to ask you.”
Tania sat down in the chair by the writing desk and he sat down too.
“What do you need to know?” he enquired.
“First whether I am expected at luncheon today.”
Mr. Martin looked down at the list in front of him.
“No! Her Ladyship has written at the end, ‘Miss Tania will have luncheon in the nursery’.”
“And I am to be excluded from dinner too, although it happens that I am dining with friends tonight.”
Mr. Martin looked embarrassed.
&n
bsp; “I am afraid you will find things very different now you have come home, Miss Tania.”
“I realise that already, but I am going first to visit Papa’s Solicitors, Sinworth, Mores and Lambeth, as I want to find out how much money I have of my own.”
Mr. Martin smiled.
“I think you will find they are only too eager to tell you that, Miss Tania, and it is what her Ladyship has been trying to find out ever since his Lordship died.”
“And has she succeeded?”
Mr. Martin shook his head.
“No, and angry and disagreeable it makes her.”
He spoke to her in a low voice and glanced over his shoulder as if he was afraid of being overheard.
“Anything we say to each other, Mr. Martin, is, of course, private and will be repeated to no one. I must have one friend here in my own home!”
“You know I’ll always be your friend, but you will understand, Miss Tania, if I offend her Ladyship, she will undoubtedly dispense with my services. As I am getting on in life, it would be hard for me to find another place where I could be as happy as I have been here.”
“I understand, but I must find out if Papa has taken care of me as I am sure he has. And I cannot stay here shut away in the nursery as if I was still a child.”
“I was afraid that it would upset you, but her Ladyship tried everything she could to keep you at school in France.”
“I know she did, but I was too old and the Mother Superior had the chance of sending me back with a nun who had to return to England for family reasons. I had no choice in the matter but to come with her.”
“I do understand, Miss Tania, but when your letter came and one from the Mother Superior, her Ladyship was extremely angry.”
“Then you must tell me what I should do. You do understand that I cannot at my age be treated as if I was a child and there are friends of Mama’s who will, I am sure, look after me if things become desperate. But I don’t want to ask them unless I absolutely have to.”
“You are quite right, Miss Tania, and I respect your feelings,” Mr. Martin replied. “But her Ladyship is jealous in case you diminish her Social standing.”
“I have no wish to do so, but I can hardly stay here day after day in the nursery. First, however, I have to find out if I have money to go anywhere else.”
The Healing Hand Page 6
