Ashes of Pride

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “It is military law, Lieutenant,” Hill said coldly. “As you are so well versed in the codes, you know that. Major Hunter, remove his pips, please.”

  Seymour gave a strangled sound, swinging around to face Hunter as he approached.

  Hill leaned forward and plucked the sword from Seymour’s hand. “I’ll hold on to that for now,” he added.

  Seymour trembled as Hunter tore the insignia from his shoulders.

  Hunter tossed the gold leaves with their scraps of red serge in his hand. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  Blanche drew in her breath, as she realized that now, Hunter and Neil both out-ranked Seymour.

  Seymour realized it, too. He moaned.

  Hunter raised his brow. “I gave you a direct order, Seymour.”

  Seymour moved with deep reluctance, straightening himself to attention, then saluting.

  Hunter acknowledged the salute.

  Blanche held her breath as Seymour moved silently around the tight group of armed guards on either side of Neil and over to the door. He was forced to open the door himself, this time.

  The soft thud of the door closing sent a shiver through her.

  Hill rested the bare sword against the front of the table and crossed his arms. “That just leaves you, Major Williams,” he intoned.

  “Yes, sir,” Neil replied.

  “Striking an officer is not an offense I can ignore,” Hill said. “Do you still insist you did the deed, Major? Or do you wish to amend your claim?”

  Neil’s gaze shifted to Blanche. He squared his shoulders. “I’ve been hip-deep in trouble since I returned to Northumberland, sir. A dollop more will hardly be noticed. Someone else…anyone else…I mean, another person might suffer more than I, as I am used to it.”

  “It is a serious charge, Williams. You understand that, do you not?”

  “The claim stands, sir.”

  Hill stroked his silver beard thoughtfully.

  Blanche closed her eyes. She felt ill all over again.

  Hill cleared his throat. “Very well,” he intoned. “For the single charge of striking an officer, I find you guilty, Williams. However, this investigation has determined that extenuating circumstances exist which mitigate the charge, and make a court martial unnecessary. Field Punishment will be administered instead. Fifty lashes, at dawn.”

  Lashes! Blanche clutched at the edge of the table, horror swamping her senses.

  “You are dismissed into the Provost Marshall’s care until tomorrow morning,” Hill added. “This investigation is closed and you are all dismissed.”

  Hunter made a signal with his hand, and the two armed officers pulled Neil out of the room.

  Colonel Hill turned to Blanche. “You may also go, Mrs. Seymour,” he said. “I thank you for your time. Do you have someone to escort you to your current accommodations?”

  She pressed her hand against her head. She couldn’t think. Lashes! It repeated in her mind. “I…no, there is no one,” she whispered. Not now that Neil was in irons. She pressed her hand to her belly. Her corset was too tight.

  Hill glanced across the table. “Captain Long, find a man at arms, and take the lady home, please. Pay for a cab. It is not a day to be walking about freely.”

  “Yes, sir,” the captain said, his tone crisp. He wiped off the pen, stacked the papers and got to his feet and walked to the door. “Mrs. Seymour?” he said, as he held it open.

  Blanche turned to the Colonel. “Tomorrow at sunrise. I want to be there, Colonel.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, already shaking his head.

  “I am one of those people Major Williams referred to, Colonel,” she said swiftly. “One of the weak people who is not used to trouble. I would…I would like to be there tomorrow morning, to witness Major Williams deal with such trouble.”

  Hill shook his head. “It is no place for a lady, Mrs. Seymour.”

  “One could argue that there is no place for a lady within a military investigation, either,” she pointed out. “I must be there, Colonel. Please.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I suspect you do not fully understand what you are asking,” he said, his tone gentle. “Although your reasons for asking are natural. Very well, Mrs. Seymour. I will allow it. You are to stand at the far back.” He raised a finger in warning. “Justice must be seen to be done. No man can strike an officer and get away with it. It would encourage mutiny and rebellion in the ranks, and destroy the chain of command which is the backbone of the army. You will watch, and you will remain silent and make no protest. Do you understand me?”

  Blanche nodded, suddenly afraid of what she would see on the morrow. As she moved passed Hill, he touched her elbow, halting her. “Don’t let Williams see you, hmm?” he breathed softly. “You must witness it, yes, but there is no need to let him know you’ve seen him at such a moment.”

  Her fear turned to terror.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was another long night of little sleep.

  Blanche rose well before dawn and dressed in her darkest dress. If she’d had a mourning dress, she would have worn that. No cabs were operating at that time of the day. Blanche walked through the cold, pre-dawn air, shivering despite her shawl.

  The sergeant at the barracks gate was sleepy and barely looked at her before letting her through. No one else was up and about in the hushed barracks, until she reached the parade ground.

  Braziers had been lit and flared at the four corners of an area in front of the regimental headquarters. There, she could see men moving about, working on something at the far side of the area.

  As she grew closer, a man stepped up alongside her. It was Hunter. He was wearing the dark gray Undress uniform once more, which made him a silent shadow. “You should not be here,” he murmured.

  “Would you stay away, if you had the choice, Major?” she asked.

  He grimaced in answer.

  “Colonel Hill says I must stand at the back and not say anything,” Blanche added. “Where is the back, precisely?”

  “I will stand with you,” Hunter said. “This way.”

  He led her to the other side of the square outlined by the four braziers and turned to face where the other men were working. Now she was this close, Blanche could see they were bolting together a tripod of iron rods, which stood three feet higher than the tallest man.

  Her belly cramped. She wasn’t entirely sure what the tripod was for, although the sight of it made her uneasy.

  The sky beyond the parade ground was an artist’s delight, a wash of blues and deep purples, reds and oranges, as the sun threatened to appear at any second. The activity at the tripod ceased. Those who had been working on the structure moved into the middle of the square and turned to face it.

  Few lights showed in the buildings surrounding the parade ground. A single lamp glowed in the windows on the second floor of the regimental headquarters building. In front of the lamplight, making a black silhouette, was Colonel Hill. He observed from his office.

  Blanche shivered again, as she recalled yet one more time the warning he had given her about silence and seeing justice done.

  A murmur, a wave of whispers and soft exclamations washed over the men standing in the square. Heads turned toward the edge of the parade ground, where the street led to the front gates.

  A tall man with dark, curly hair moved in fast, long strides toward the area marked by the braziers. He wore a dark civilian suit, yet was not accompanied by a military escort, as most civilians would be.

  “Jasper!” Blanche breathed, as she recognized him. What was Jasper doing here?

  “Major Jasper Thomsett?” Hunter said, sounding pleased and surprised.

  “My cousin,” Blanche confirmed.

  “You have a distinguished family, don’t you?” Hunter strode around the clumps of men lingering in the square. He reached Jasper as Jasper made the edges of the square, and thrust out his hand. Jasper took it. The two of them stood together for a moment, talking in quiet voi
ces.

  Then Hunter drew Jasper around the back of the milling men. Jasper didn’t seem surprised to see Blanche. He didn’t smile as he embraced her.

  “How is it you are here?” Blanche asked him.

  “Neil had a wire sent to me, telling me to come,” Jasper told her. “He knew you wouldn’t stay away.”

  Blanche closed her eyes.

  “It isn’t too late,” Jasper said. “Reveille has not been called. There is still time to change your mind, Blanche. Let me take you away, so you will not have to see this.”

  She shook her head. “It is my fault this is happening to Neil,” she said. “I will stand and watch every second of it, no matter how I feel about it. I want to know what Neil…” She glanced at Hunter. The sun was rising—she had no time for delicate conversation. “He’s taking this punishment to shield me, Jasper. I must watch it, so I know exactly what he has taken on for my sake.”

  “You will regret it, cousin,” Jasper said, his tone full of warning.

  “She would regret more not being here, Major,” Hunter said, startling her.

  Jasper sighed. “Well, I tried.”

  A trumpet rang out, loud and startling. It blasted through short, sharp notes. Reveille was being called. As the trumpet sounded, the sun lifted over the horizon, dazzlingly bright.

  From the big building where Hunter had served her iced tea, a group of men came. Four of them were armed and moving in unison, a neat box around Neil, who walked between them. He wore no jacket, and the growth on his chin was darker than before.

  Blanche’s heart ached. Oh, how she longed to wrap her arms around him, and hold him, and shield him from what was to come. Why, oh why had she not found a way to change this? How could she let him do this?

  She wrapped her shawl around her head and shoulders, shivering beneath it, and made herself watch as they loosened the manacles about Neil’s wrists, and removed his shirt. Then she saw what the tripod was for. His arms were stretched above his head and fastened to the top, baring his back.

  Then she saw the lash. It was wielded by a man wearing rolled-up shirt sleeves, his powerful arms flexing, as he considered Neil’s back. The lash had long tails of raw rope, and each tail had a knot on the end.

  Blanche moaned. Could she watch? She must, though. It was her fault this was happening. She must watch no matter how terrible it was.

  Hunter bent to speak close to her ear. “Whatever happens, remember this might be a firing squad he faces, if things had gone as Seymour wanted.”

  Blanche nodded. She couldn’t take her gaze away from Neil.

  The man with the lash looked up at the window where Colonel Hill stood. Blanche saw Hill lift his hand.

  The lash whistled and snapped against Neil’s back. He arched, hissing.

  Jasper caught her elbow. “Close your eyes,” he begged her.

  “No,” she whispered, not shifting her gaze.

  The lash whipped out again. This time, the knots at the end of the nine tails scored red slash marks across Neil’s back.

  No one spoke. It was as if everyone witnessing this was as choked with horror as she.

  On the fifth stroke, Neil’s back split open. Blood ran.

  Blanche moaned again. She wanted to hide her face against Jasper’s shoulder. She wanted to cover it with her shawl. Instead, she remained motionless, numbness building in her.

  This was far worse than she had imagined, even with Hill’s warnings to brace her. Only five lashes and Neil was bleeding. There were forty-five to go!

  Blanche made herself watch every single lash. She flinched with every blow, yet she kept her eyes open and witnessed them all. That was her punishment.

  “Is it over?” she whispered through lips which had lost all feeling, as she stared steadily at Neil’s still, bloody body strung up against the tripod.

  “Yes, it is over, Blanche,” Jasper murmured.

  Only then did she close her eyes.

  JOLTING STIRRED HER. SO DID the rocking motion. Blanche heard the thud of horses’ hooves and the steady murmur of carriage wheels. She opened her eyes.

  She laid upon a wide carriage bench. Broad daylight showed beyond the windows.

  Jasper sat upon the other seat. “I’m taking you to Northallerton.”

  Blanche found the strength to sit up. “Neil…”

  “When he is released from the infirmary, he will return to active duty, until his release orders are received from London,” Jasper said. His voice was a monotone.

  “Are you…angry with me?” she whispered.

  Jasper’s face shifted. “No. Good lord, no!” He moved to the bench beside her and picked up her hand. “I am in awe of you, little Blanche.”

  “You should not be. I have been a weak fool, Jasper. And now Neil has paid for my mistakes.” The pain and the horror rose, gripping her throat and stealing her breath. “He paid! Oh, God, Jasper!”

  He pulled her against him, and soothed her as Blanche wept out her shame and her guilt.

  “THE COLONEL WILL SEE YOU now, Major Hunter,” Captain Long said, from behind the big table, from where he managed Hill’s regiment with fussy precision.

  Hunter got up from the striped chair, where he had been perched for nearly an hour, and tugged his tunic back into place. He moved into the Colonel’s office.

  Hill looked up from the stack of paper in front of him and removed the pince-nez from his nose. “You look gray around the gills, Hunter. Long says you’ve been waiting all morning.”

  “I have, sir,” Hunter said.

  Hill sat back. “Your first flogging, Major?” His tone was kindly.

  “The first time I’ve watched a friend go through it.” Hunter paused and took a breath. “That decided me, you see. I’ve not spoken until now. After this morning, I must speak.”

  Hill considered him. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s about Seymour, sir…”

  SEYMOUR WALKED THROUGH THE EMPTY house, listening to his footsteps echo. He sank onto the wing chair, staring at the cold ashes of the fire he had lit there, five days ago.

  Only five days, to reach utter ruin. He had recognized reaching that bleak end point when staring into Hill’s eyes as the man made his pronouncement, an hour ago.

  “You are a sodomite and unfit for duty in this army,” Hill thundered, while Hunter stood behind him, his eyes cold as he watched Hill destroy Seymour’s life. “You will resign your commission today.”

  “I can refuse to do it,” Seymour said weakly, for he did know military law rather better than anyone had ever suspected.

  “The new reforms dictate there will be an investigation, then formal charges, culminating in a court martial,” Hill intoned. “I will not have the regiment embarrassed by your deviancy!”

  Seymour glanced at Hunter. The Provost Marshall had used Hill’s old-fashioned values to bring him to this ruin. Hill would do anything to avoid making this public.

  “You will resign!” Hill shouted. “Captain Long has a letter ready for you to sign. You will sign it as you leave this office. Don’t bother returning to Fenham, Lieutenant. Your possessions will be sent to you.”

  Seymour tried one last time to salvage victory from the disaster. “You would take another man’s word over mine? You would condemn me without trial? You were happy enough to investigate Williams and find his acts worthy of only a flogging.”

  Hill’s eyes narrowed. “It takes a poor sport to bring up Williams,” he growled. “I wasn’t willing to believe you had manipulated laws and codes to punish a man to whom you took a personal disliking, yet I can ignore it no longer. We flogged the man, damn it! It is an offense I will never forget. You have demonstrated you lie whenever it profits you, Seymour. I would no more take your word as good than I would a scurvy whore’s.”

  Seymour held his head as the pain began. “I demand a trial.”

  “Refused,” Hill replied. “I am the commander of this regiment. I am the last word. You have no other appeal. Sign the letter on your w
ay out. Hunter will escort you to the gates. If you have any pride left in you, which I seriously doubt, then you will do the right thing to restore honor to the regiment.”

  “I have served the Fifth my entire life,” Seymour whispered. “It is all I have.”

  “The Fifth is yours no longer,” Hill said coldly. “Hunter, get him out of here. It makes me ill to look upon him.”

  Hunter hauled Seymour out of the room. He pushed him over to the table where Captain Long turned a sheet of paper around and held a pen out toward Seymour.

  Hunter’s hand gripped the back of Seymour’s neck. His fingers tightened. “Sign it.”

  Seymour couldn’t move under his iron grip. “You lied to the Colonel about me. This is all lies!”

  “I polished the truth,” Hunter said coldly. “Just as you did. Sign!” He bent Seymour’s head toward the page. “Or shall I place my pistol against your temple as encouragement?”

  Seymour glanced at Long. Would he just sit there and let an officer threaten another in this way?

  Long’s expression was blank and without emotion.

  Hunter shook Seymour, his fingers digging into his neck. “Take the pen.”

  There was no way out. This disaster would happen. No one would help him, now. No rule existed which might save him, either.

  Seymour burst into noisy tears, and sobbed as the tears dripped from his nose and chin.

  Long made a disgusted sound. Hunter gripped Seymour’s wrist and shoved the pen into it, then gripped his neck once more and bent him toward the page. “Sign it,” he growled.

  Seymour could only see a pale white sheet. He didn’t know where to put the pen. His vision was distorted by the tears and the pressure behind his eyes. He hiccupped and shuddered, his chin quivering.

  A pistol cocked. A cold iron circle rested against his temple. “I will count to three,” Hunter said. “One.”

  Terror shook him. “I’ll sign! I’ll sign!” Seymour dashed his sleeve across his eyes, to clear his vision.

  “Two.”

  Hurriedly, he bent and scratched his name in the space where Long’s finger pointed.