Blanche kept her chin level and moved into the narrow street running behind the gates.
Everywhere inside the barracks, men moved about their business as if this was not in any way a significant day. The parade ground was busy with lines of marching men. Red-faced sergeant majors screamed directions, while boys at the end of the lines beat drums to keep every boot tramping in unison.
Blanche moved between them, aiming for the regimental headquarters building, with its two flags, which now lifted and flapped in the small breeze. As she stepped into the airy, high-ceilinged front foyer of the building, with the wide stairs running up to the next floor, a sergeant moved toward her. “Mrs. Seymour, if you would come with me?”
She followed him up the stairs. The sergeant didn’t speak to her at all. He merely led her along the wide corridor at the top of the stairs, to the big door at the end. The door stood open and she could hear murmurs coming from inside.
The sergeant stepped aside at the doorway and indicated she should enter.
Inside were two large tables. A lieutenant sat behind one, a captain behind the other. The captain jumped to his feet and came around the table. He was wearing the red dress uniform, rather than the gray Undress uniform. “Mrs. Seymour, ma’am, if you would take a seat? Colonel Hill is not ready to speak to everyone yet. Will this chair be comfortable enough for you?” He motioned to an upholstered chair, with a striped satin seat. Beside it was a small table. “Would you like a cup of tea, ma’am?”
Blanche had not eaten or drunk since late yesterday. She would be sick if she did. “Thank you, but no,” she said, sitting on the upright chair.
The captain hovered, his gaze flicking to her eye and away. “I’m sure the Colonel will not be long.”
“Thank you, Captain. I don’t mind sitting and waiting.”
“Very well, ma’am.” He returned to his seat on the other side of the table, which was covered in piles of paper, most of it holding dense writing.
A carriage clock sat on the mantle shelf over the fireplace, behind the lieutenant. At least half an hour remained before the appointed hour of ten o’clock. Blanche tried to sit calmly, while the long hand on the clock moved sluggishly.
Eventually, the long hand drew closer to the hour. Shortly before it was completely upright, Major Hunter strode into the room. He was also in regulation dress uniform, his sword slapping his thigh. His eyes widened when he spotted Blanche sitting upon the pretty chair.
“This won’t do,” he told the captain.
“Sir?” the captain said, jumping to his feet.
Hunter shook his head. “It isn’t your fault, Long. The lady cannot be here when Lieutenant Colonel Seymour arrives. I will take her through to the Colonel’s office.” Hunter turned to Blanche. “Will you come with me, Mrs. Seymour?”
Blanche rose to her feet, uneasiness spreading through her. “Seymour is coming here?” Her voice was high and weak.
“Not to worry,” Hunter told her. “You’re perfectly safe in the Colonel’s office. Let’s go in.”
He rapped on the door at the other end of the office, behind the lieutenant’s table, and waited.
“Come!” came a loud, muffled bark.
Hunter opened the door for Blanche and stood aside. She stepped into the room, curious to learn what the office of a regimental commander looked like. Colonel Hill’s office was rather plain, with little furniture. Windows looking out upon the parade ground stood open, catching the morning breeze. Another large table stood at the end of the room, right in front of the fire place. Unlike the captain’s table, outside, this one had few pages lying on it. What there was, was stacked squarely upon the blotter.
Colonel Hill was a silver-haired man with a magnificent full beard, and warm brown eyes and a straight nose. He wore the formal uniform, too. He came around the table when he saw her, but did not smile. “Thank you for coming today, Mrs. Seymour. I hope you do not find the proceedings too taxing.”
“Proceedings?” Blanche asked, her voice still high and pathetic.
Hill’s gaze settled on her bruised eye. Unlike everyone else who had noticed it, though, he did not look away. Instead, he put his finger beneath her chin and turned her head so the strong light from the window fell upon her eye. He examined it carefully.
Then he released her chin and gave her a small, stiff smile.
“Lieutenant Colonel Seymour is on his way,” Hunter said.
“Mm…” Hill replied. He looked around the room, then moved over to where another striped chair was sitting squarely in the corner. He picked it up and carried it back to the table and placed it to one side, between the table and the windows. He grasped the back of it. “Please, have a seat, Mrs. Seymour. Here, you will be well out of the way.”
She settled on the edge of the chair, her heart hurrying hard. Beyond the closed door, she heard a raised voice. She couldn’t distinguish the words. She knew the voice though, and shrank back.
Hill’s hand touched her shoulder. “You are perfectly safe here,” he murmured.
A tap sounded on the door, and the captain opened it enough to announce, “Lieutenant Colonel Seymour, sir.”
“Yes,” Hill said. He moved around to the front of the table. Hunter stood toward the back of the room, by the windows, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his sword. He watched the door with sharp interest.
Seymour stepped into the room.
Blanche swallowed.
He wore the same formal red uniform as the others. His eyes were bleary and his chin slovenly shaved, the line uneven. When he saw Blanche, he scowled. His jaw worked.
He said nothing, though. He pulled himself into an upright posture and saluted Hill. “Lieutenant Colonel Seymour reporting, sir.”
Hill returned the salute. He did not tell Seymour to relax, yet Seymour slumped, as if remaining properly upright was too much effort. “You asked to see me, sir?” he added. A whining note marred his voice which Blanche had not heard before.
“I did,” Hill replied. He leaned to look around Seymour. “Hunter?”
“On the hour, sir,” Hunter assured him.
From inside his formal jacket, Hill removed a pocket watch and glanced at it. “Two minutes,” he murmured.
“Sir, what is this—?” Seymour began.
Hill held up his hand. “Wait.” It was a curt command.
Barely a minute later, more voices sounded outside the room. The captain tapped again and cracked open the door. “Sir?”
Hill nodded.
The lieutenant opened the door fully and stepped aside.
Neil came into the room. He was unshaved and still wore the Undress uniform. The two armed soldiers behind him wore the red dress jackets and rifles over their shoulders.
Neil’s hands were bound together by iron.
His gaze swept the room and came to Blanche. He didn’t smile, although the expression in his eyes changed to the heated one she knew from the few hours they had shared together.
Her heart fluttered weakly.
Seymour scowled. “Is there any need to have this man here?” he demanded of Hill.
“Oh, I think so, Lieutenant Colonel,” Hill said, his tone mild.
Everyone in the room stood, except for Blanche. She was tucked away around the table, just as Hill had assured her she would be.
“Captain!” Hill called.
The captain hurried in. He carried blank sheets, an ink pot and three pens, and put them all on the corner of the big table, opposite Blanche. Then he slid Colonel Hill’s chair to the corner and settled on it, dipped a pen in the ink and nodded at Hill.
Hill crossed his arms. “This is not a formal court martial, for I am still not satisfied a court hearing is justified. To further the findings and determine the necessities, I have called you together. This is an informal investigation, although you are expected to answer truthfully, as a gentleman and officer would. Understood?”
Everyone nodded. Seymour looked happy.
“Ca
ptain, please record everyone present. Myself, Lieutenant Colonel Seymour. The Provost Marshall, Major Hunter. Major Williams. Corporals Bennet and Hammersmith. And Mrs. Joshua Seymour.”
“I have it, sir,” the captain murmured.
“Lieutenant Colonel Seymour, it is your contention that Major Williams struck you, two days ago?” Hill continued.
Seymour nodded eagerly. “It is.”
Hill looked at Neil. “And you also insist this is what happened in Lieutenant Colonel Seymour’s house, Major Williams?”
Neil nodded.
“Aloud, please, Major,” Hill prompted him.
“Yes. That is what happened.”
Blanche drew in a hot, sharp breath, unhappiness spearing her. She knew Colonel Hill would next ask her if that was what she had seen happen. Why had she not anticipated this? How could she possibly agree that Neil had hit Seymour? It would condemn him.
She simply could not confirm it. She would not. She would confess and tell Hill she had done it, and let the chips fall as they may.
As Hill turned to look at her, Blanche felt Neil staring at her. She knew he was silently encouraging her to support the lie. Her throat closed up, fear gripping it tightly. She didn’t know what would happen to her after this. She only knew she would not let Neil take her punishment.
“Mrs. Seymour, would you mind very much standing beside me for a moment?” Hill said.
Blanche looked at him, startled.
He gave her a small ‘come here’ gesture.
Blanche got to her feet and moved around the table to stand beside Hill as directed. He pointed to her eye. “The tissue surrounding your eyes is deeply bruised, Mrs. Seymour. The sclera is damaged, and the veins prominent. How did you damage your eye, Mrs. Seymour?”
Blanche swallowed. Seymour scowled, his happiness fled.
Neil looked merely puzzled. He turned his head to look to Hunter, by the window. Hunter’s face was blank.
“Mrs. Seymour?” Hill prompted her.
“Seymour hit me,” she said. Her voice wobbled.
Seymour hissed. “She lies!”
“When did he hit you?” Hill asked.
Blanche counted back. “Four days ago.”
“Did you consult with a physician, afterwards?” Hill asked.
She shook her head, then remembered the lieutenant on the corner of the table. “No,” she added.
“Why not?”
Blanche pressed her lips together. “I…well, at first, I could not get out of bed.”
“Your husband didn’t help?”
“He…did not come home,” Blanche admitted.
“You went to a doctor after you were able to rise from your bed?”
Blanche shook her head.
“You did not, Mrs. Seymour? Why not?”
Neil closed his eyes.
Blanche swallowed. “Because…I was afraid that if I said anything…” She took another breath. “Seymour was angry because I made Major William’s uniform. No tailor in town could do it for Major Williams, while Seymour docked his wages by two shillings a day. Seymour didn’t like me helping my cousin. It is why he hit me. I thought, if I said anything, or if I let Neil—Major Williams—do anything, then Seymour would find a way to punish Neil. Major Williams.” She sighed. “It didn’t stop him,” she added softly.
Hunter turned his head to peer through the window. His hand on the sword hilt showed white knuckles.
“This is ridiculous,” Seymour said, his tone outraged. “What happens between me and my wife has nothing to do with a military investigation. Why is this even being discussed?”
“Because an informal investigation can consider all elements of a case, not just the facts,” Hill told him. “Major Williams, you can concur with Mrs. Seymour’s statement?”
Neil hesitated. Then, on an outward breath, he said swiftly, “Yes, I can, but—”
“Thank you, Major Williams,” Hill said. “Hunter, the corporals, please.”
Hunter went to the office door and opened it. He beckoned.
Boots tramped outside and three corporals came into the room. They looked afraid. They wore the same formal uniforms as everyone else in the room except Neil and they shuffled together to stand just behind Seymour. Then they saluted.
Hill acknowledged the salutes. “Corporals Jones, Digby and Wiseman,” he intoned. “You were in the antechamber of Major Williams’ office the morning Lieutenant Colonel Seymour was there?”
The three nodded.
“Record that as a yes, Captain,” Hill said over his shoulder. “Now, one at a time, tell me what happened.”
Blanche listened, amazed, as the three told slightly different versions of the same story, that Seymour had dragged Hunter to Neil’s office and demanded Neil be court martialed for plundering, and why.
Hill nodded. “Thank you, gentlemen. Remain in the room, please. There will be more questions for each of you.” He looked at Seymour. “You have been determined to charge Williams with anything and everything, Lieutenant Colonel. Some would call that harassment.”
“It is plunder!” Seymour cried. “He admitted as much.”
Hill leaned over the table and picked up a short, wide sheet of paper. “I received a wire from General Aitchison of the 72nd Regiment just this morning. It says, ‘Williams best Major a man could have. Earned gifts from aboriginals in display of fortitude and determination. Give him my best’.” Hill looked at Seymour. “The General saw fit to waste four words of an expensive telegram on a personal note—a mark of his esteem. The rest of the wire is clear, Seymour.” Hill’s voice grew harsher. “You were wrong. It remains to be seen what else you have been wrong about.”
Seymour’s face was red. The white lines had appeared on either side of his mouth. He gripped his sword convulsively, his fingers squeezing and releasing. “I’m not wrong about Williams,” he growled. “Lack of a uniform, slovenly ways…he pointed a weapon at me!”
“The empty musket he was checking for alignment when you were silly enough to step in the way?” Hill asked. “The musket you insisted he clean, yes?”
Blanche shrank back. Was she the only person in the room who recognized that Seymour was not embarrassed or frustrated? He was furious.
Hill looked past Seymour. “Who was in the armory the night Major Williams is accused of brandishing a weapon?”
The corporal called Digby cleared his throat. “I was, sir.”
“Did Major Williams brandish the weapon in a threatening manner, Digby?” Hill asked.
“That is completely beside the point!” Seymour cried.
“It is irrelevant as a point of precise definition,” Hill told him. “It is a different matter when one takes in a man’s intentions. Williams, were you intending to fire the weapon?”
“It wasn’t loaded, sir.”
“That would be no, then,” Hill replied. He looked at Blanche. “Thank you, Mrs. Seymour. You may return to your seat.”
Blanche moved back to the chair. She felt numb and utterly uncertain. Yet a tiny flame of hope stirred in her breast.
Seymour, correspondingly, looked incensed. He looked as though he was thrumming with fury, as he had been when he lashed out at her. Only, he could not possibly strike the Colonel. It would be the end of him. Surely, Seymour’s sense of self-preservation was great enough to control himself in front of the Colonel.
Perhaps it would be good if he lost control where the Colonel saw it. The uncharitable thought whispered in Blanche’s mind.
Hill, though, had finished his questions. He considered Seymour with close attention, his gaze moving over Seymour from head to tail. “You are a pathetically poor example of an officer, Seymour,” he said at last. “You have used the laws of discipline which have shaped this army for generations for purposes beyond their intention. You have twisted them and wielded them for personal satisfaction. The pity of it is that not a single thing you have done breaks any military laws. Worse, I believe you know that, and have calculated pre
cisely how far you can stretch the laws.”
“I have done nothing wrong,” Seymour said, his tone sulky. “Williams was out of uniform. His hair was too long. He did point a gun at me.”
Hill tilted his head. “I notice you did not add that he struck you to that list.”
Seymour’s mouth opened. He shut it again.
Hill considered him for a long moment. “Display your sword, Lieutenant Colonel.”
Seymour blinked at him. “What the devil…?”
“Withdraw your sword. That is a direct order, Seymour.” Hill’s voice was sharp.
Blanche looked from Hill to Seymour, then to Hunter, to see if he understood what was happening. Then to Neil. He shook his head minutely when she met his gaze. He did not know what Hill was doing, either.
Seymour pulled his sword from the scabbard. It didn’t make the ringing sound a sword normally made when it was withdrawn. He laid the blade across his left palm and held it out.
Hill stepped forward. Hunter also moved closer to the pair, his expression wary.
The Colonel bent his head and examined the blade minutely. Then he lifted it and looked Seymour in the eye. “Your blade is dirty and rusty, Seymour.”
Seymour looked down at the blade, his mouth opening. He ran his gaze from tip to hilt. “You mean…that little spot?”
“You are a disgrace to the uniform, Lieutenant Colonel,” Hill continued. “It is against the code of senior officers to appear slovenly and unkempt, and it is your responsibility to maintain your weapons in fighting condition at all times. Do you dispute either of those responsibilities are yours?”
Seymour’s jaw worked.
“Do you?” Hill barked.
“No.” Seymour’s voice was almost inaudible.
“To help you see the error of your ways, you are hereby demoted to Lieutenant. A note will be added to your record that any future promotions must be earned, not purchased. You are dismissed.”
Seymour let the sword point drop. It dug into the carpet beneath his feet, as he gripped the hilt until his knuckles turned white. The gray lines were showing around his mouth once more. “You cannot do that! For a single spot on the blade! It is outrageous!”
Ashes of Pride Page 17
