Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 ..

by Taylor, Winchcombe

  Ram's conscience twinged, though the roads had been so snow-choked he and Joseph had had hard going to get through at all.

  "Come up later and tell me about yourself," he said, waving at a curtsying woman and three awed children who were watching him from the gatehouse door. "I see you've been busy since I left." He led up the driveway. The chestnuts were full grown now, their snowy boughs lacing overhead. Soon sight of a half-built house on a rise to the left made him rein in.

  "Follow me." He and Bland rode toward it, the horses stumbling through belly-deep drifts. Though the building lacked a roof, it was clearly designed as a residence, with wings and outbuildings.

  They regained the avenue and soon he was dismounting and telling Joseph to find a stable-lad and to go himself around to the kitchen. Feeling oddly young, he ran up the steps and entered.

  " 'Tis I, Ram!" He threw off his snow-crusted cloak and hat.

  A plump, white-haired woman came from the dining hall and stopped short to stare at him. He was about to cr}', "Gammer!" when he realized she was Aunt Joan, whom he had always remembered as young and blonde.

  "Ram, thou've coom at last!" She kissed him soundly. "Eigh, nephew, tha must be froze. Coom in, lad, and warm thasen."

  "Where's Gammer?" he hesitated, following her into the dining hall, at the end of which a great log fire was blazing.

  "Oop in bed, but frettin' ti see thee. But she's failed bad o' late, she has an' all. 'Tis reet rare she cooms down any more."

  "I'm able to climb stairs," he laughed, relieved.

  "Nay, bide a wee," she begged. "She'll not want thee till I tell her. Reet crochety she'd be." She rang a bell and a maid tripped in. "T'maister's coom." She handed her a key. "He'll need a stoup o' Nantes. And, Bett, send for Maister Rob from t'bams." She smiled at Ram apologetically. "Eigh, now ye've coom, I shouldn't be giving orders," She went out and he heard her steps on the stairway.

  "T'maister." Eged, so he was! He kicked a blazing log, turned, parted his coat-tails and warmed his backside.

  Another girl entered with a steaming glass. Dropping a curtsy, she proffered it. "Welcome home, cousin."

  "Sue!" He kissed her, whereupon her eyes filled and she turned away. Crybaby Sue—she hadn't changed. Yet watching as she dabbed her eyes, he knew many men would deem her lovely, with her blonde hair, rosy cheeks and creamy skin. "Sue, 'pon honor, I didn't recognize you!" He let some of the hot brandy warm his stomach. "You've grown a raving beauty. Are you married?"

  "Nay, I'm to be an owd maid and help Mother wi' the house. Eigh, 'tis grand ye're back! Only—only we thought ye'd bring a heathen princess wi' ye as wife. Have ye?"

  "No," he laughed, but there was a stab. Oh, God, Chanda here— and expected! "No, I'm not married either," he said, and was puzzled when her eyes again filled with tears. Curse the lass, would she never grow up? And what was wrong with the local swains?

  "Ram!" A man hurried in, hand out. "Lad, the waiting's been overlong. We've expected ye this whole month. And how's London? Eged, 'tis cursedly dull here, so far from its glory." He sighed. "What times I had there, when I could 'scape the toils of the Versity!"

  This then was Rob. He looked so much like Uncle Will, as Ram remembered him, it was startling. And not unlike Father. Yes, if his belly weren't so round and he wore a red coat, he'd be quite like Father. Strange that. I must favor my Dutch mother.

  "I can't tell you much of the town, save it was cursedly cold," he said. "Well, Master Parson, what of John? And where's Uncle Will?"

  "Nay, I'm no parson—wasn't cut out for it," Rob denied. "I'm farmhand to Father now, or rather, to you—with a bit of horse-coping on the side. John's tailor in York City and married, but not liking it there overmuch. Father's up in the fells, seeking strays. It's a hard winter, but most of the stock's pulling through."

  Joan returned. "She ready ti see thee now. Ram. But ye won't stay long? She tires easy."

  He took the stairs two at a time. His heart thudded as he entered the half-forgotten room.

  "Gammer!"

  She was propped up in the great tester bed, a white cap covering her hair and her wrinkled face seeming no larger than a doll's. He slid his arms around her, and felt her own close around his neck.

  "Ma own lad—home at last! Stand off and let's look at ye! Eigh, th'art a gert fine man!" Here came tears also, but her little blue eyes were bright. "Now I'm at peace." Then, with her old asperity. "Ye big lummox, why didn't ye send ti say when ye'd be here? Waitin', waitin' and nowt a word!"

  Suddenly he was a small boy again, going to her for comfort. He sat on the bed and took the thin, veined hand, a lump in his throat and his own eyes misty. "Gammer!" Eged, he was home at last indeed. But how frail she was—and old! He'd never thought of that before. She must be nearly a hundred—well, seventy-five at least.

  "Tell about thasel', lad. What like was Industan? How did ye live among them heathen savages? Did ye get good English food? What like was them foreign Ostend rogues?" Her queries came like bullets.

  He gave the answers, delighted at how her eyes sparkled when he said she would soon have jewels, shawls, brasswork, silks, rugs and the like. "And did you get the silk and China tea I sent before?" he asked, thinking of the diamond.

  "Aye." She pointed to a silk dress upon a chair. "And all t'great ladies around came ti tak' a dish o' tay wi' me. We're grand folk now. Ram, and we'll be grander since tha've coom home. I've worked me bones hard for ye, lad, but Dalesview prospers."

  Then Will came in, his stocky frame somewhat bowed and his cropped hair white. But his voice was hearty enough. "A month

  more, and I'll be workin' on t'other home again," he said. "Three months, and we'll move in and leave ye here in peace."

  "So that's the house! But why should ye want to move out of here?"

  Will glanced at his mother uncomfortably.

  "Ye'll be bringing a bride ere long and she'll not want Will and his brood nor me neither," she said briskly. "I've given Will me dower rights in t'estate. He'll have his own house and two hundred good acres, and grazin' rights up in t'fells. Ye think it just, don't ye, lad?"

  "Of course, Gammer. But this is your house and Uncle Will's too."

  Her jaw set and he knew better than to argue—yet. Besides she was lying back tiredly on her pillows. So he kissed her again and went down with Will to the dining hall, where a meal was ready.

  Will pointed to the tall-backed chair at the table's end. "That's tha place, nevew," he indicated. "T'were Grandfer Joe's, it were."

  Ram blushed, remembering the tale of how Father had lopped off one leg on the night they'd come home. Twenty odd years ago, eged!

  Next morning, he sent Joseph back to meet the wagon and hurry it on, and on the third day it arrived. Then the excitement of opening bales, boxes and packages. Hannah seemed delighted with the exquisite gold-fringed shawl Ram draped over her shoulders, but soon she was wearing her old woolen one again.

  "Can't beat Yorkshire stoof," she declared. "Silk's fine, but when t'wind blows down t'fells, it's wool keeps old bones warm." When he wanted to slip gold bangles on her arms, she chuckled maliciously. "Such gewgaws on scrawny me! But theer's many a lass hereabouts would gi' her soul's salvation ti wear stoof what's made for black heathens ti wear."

  "She wasn't black!" he flared incautiously, and received a mocking grin.

  "Eigh, then why didn't tha bring her back here?"

  "She—she died." He looked at her imploringly. "Don't twit me, please, Gammer. She was lovely beyond compare. I—you're the only one I'd want to wear what was hers."

  Slowly she slid on the bangles. "I'll wear 'em. But when I'm gone, they're for our Sue. She'll think much of what I've worn—and what

  ye brought from afar." She closed her eyes. "No^', get ye down. Half t'Riding's coming ti welcome back t'master o' Dalesview."

  Soon he was playing host to men who had been in his "company" from Bowes School, now married and bringing their broods with them; Robinsons, Ellthoipes;
men who had officered Anstruther's Dragoons and their dames; Lawyer Railstone, now parchmentlike and bent; and many whom he didn't remember. They hung on his lips; the ladies marveled over his gold and silver ornaments, his porcelains, silks and jades. The men fingered the gold-hilted tulwar Baja had given him and clicked the twin, jewel-encrusted pistols. And they pressed enough invitations on him to keep him busy for months.

  That night it was long before he could sleep. He ached for Chanda and wondered, since he'd confessed so much about her, if he hadn't better tell Gammer all. Curse the old dame! he thought fondly. She'd suspected all the while. She'd have loved the lass.

  He was awakened by being shaken. Sue, tearful, was leaning over him. "Up! Oh, Ram, 'tis Gammer!'' She began to sob.

  He hurried down the passage and into the room where Will stood in his nightshirt. Hannah Anstruther looked doll-like in her bed. Her eyes were no longer bright, but a smile lingered, and her fingers seemed to be caressing the golden bangles on her arm.

  "Cursed luck ye delayed returning," Harr}' Tapley regretted as they went down the steps. "There's hardly a person of fashion left in town."

  Ram acknowledged the bow of "Peg-Leg'' Parker, his doorman and once of Howe's Foot, grinned up at ex-Dragoon Williams and nodded at Young Joe, who held open the coach door.

  "Tell where we're to go," he invited. And the baronet called: "To Lady Martham's, in Leicester Fields."

  Young Joe sprang up behind, Williams cracked his whip, and the handsome equipage turned north out of the square into Jermyn Street and thence eastward.

  "My lady's only in town by chance," Harri- obsen^ed. "Some tedious litigation over her late lord's affairs. She's cousin to Harry Pelham and it's said she's more influence with him in War Office affairs than even his own wife."

  "Useful to know," Ram laughed. "But, if she's so old a friend of yours, why doesn't she persuade her cousin to get ye promoted?"

  Sir Henry's eyes slid over him. "I've never asked her to. I'm not burning with ambition, A rise in rank would likely be out of the Guards and into some cursed marching regiment; in Ireland likely, or even the plantations. Bring an ensign in town's far more amusing."

  They were admitted to Lady Martham's house by the major-domo, who took their tricoms and canes and opened a door. "Sir Henry and a gentleman, your ladyship."

  Ram found himself bending over tapering fingers and heard their owner protest prettily: "Harry, ye didn't say he was so devastating. Captain, you're most welcome. Be seated, gentlemen."

  "I brought him for a dish of tea," the baronet told her languidly. "But I warn ye, he knows much of the leaf. He's just showed me a chest of rare Souchong from faraway Pekin."

  Ram's glance caught with Isabella Martham's and she smiled at him. She was well developed, with strong, determined features—too strong, he made a mental note. Her eyes were bright and snapping and her chestnut hair fell in ringlets over her right shoulder.

  "Then my poor green Imperial will be most inferior, though I paid thirty shillings the pound for it." She laughed lightly and rang a bell which brought a maid with a tray. As Isabella poured, Harry told of Ram's hope to re-enter the army and raise a dragoon regiment.

  "Backstairs!" she frowned. Then, seeing Ram's blank look: "Indeed, sir, Harry's done well bringing ye. Believe me, a woman's wiles is the only way. Henry's in the country, but 'tis rare he fails to do me a service. Yet, I warn ye, 'tis most difficult now, for Parliament has cut the army again."

  "A trip into the country won't discommode ye?" Harry asked. "You can leave your business with the men of law that long?"

  "For a few days," she shrugged. She turned back to Ram. "Forgive me. Captain, but to further your wishes certain palms may need donations. You're prepared for such contingencies?"

  "Having lived in the Orient, your ladyship, I'm well versed in them. Permit me to draw a draft on my bankers for five hundred guineas, so you may further my interests wherever you deem necessary."

  "Most generous!" she cried. "With that, every clerk in the War

  OflSce will work in your favor. Some trifles for the underlings, an entertainment for the more important, and you'll be accommodated."

  They were interrupted by the arrival of a Captain Courtnaye and a Mr. Roger Sparrow, a fledgling squire just up from Somersetshire and eager to taste the town's delights. Basil Courtnaye, it seemed, was on half pay. Dark, with deep-set black eyes, he was around forty, with a strange stillness about him. Lady Martham greeted him as an old friend and extended a welcome to his bucolic companion.

  "La, the town's deadly dull in summer," she deplored. "But for you gentlemen wasting your time a-visiting a poor widow, I'd die of the vapors."

  "Would it amuse ye to call for cards, m'lady?" Courtnaye hazarded. "Squire's most deadly at basset. Cost me thirty guineas last night."

  "Lud, then 'twould be amusing to pit against him. I dote on play. Gentlemen, to the card room."

  Ram said he knew nothing of cards, but young Sparrow guffawed that he'd soon learn. " 'Strordinarily easy. Never held a card in hand till last week—the Old Gentleman, my father, wouldn't permit it, damme—but now I play with the best, damme, yass."

  Her ladyship began as banker. Ram made many blunders and paid for them. Tapley lost small amounts. Courtnaye won consistently. Sparrow, who was teaching Ram the niceties of the game, plunged heavily and lost. Her ladyship won, even when the bank passed on.

  The game filled Ram's time pleasantly and he felt it worth the fifty-odd guineas he had lost to learn it.

  Basset, Pharaoh, whist; he learned them all during the next weeks, always as a loser. When Lady Martham went into the country to speak for him to Henry Pelham and the latter's brother, the Duke of Newcastle, he began giving card parties, usually with Tapley, Courtnaye and Sparrow as steady guests. Word spread that "Nabob" Anstruther entertained lavishly at his house in St. James's Square, where stakes were high and the wine more than good. Many officers came, and between play they talked soldiering and how Walpole had ruined the army. One, a Scot named Edward Braddock of the Coldstream Foot Guards, was particularly scathing.

  "The white-livered rogue!" he stormed, gulping his brandy, "The French scoff at our weakness, the Spaniards take our ships, and even

  in my native Perthshire, lo}al Hanoverians go in terror that the Highlanders will again come svi'eeping down to put Jamie on the throne."

  "Why so bitter, Edward?" a friend smiled. "Aren't you in the world's most civilized city, with incomparable wenches to bed and good fellows to dine and dice with?"

  Braddock's face suffused. "I was ensign back in 1710, and in nineteen years I've had but one promotion. I'd sell my commission tomorrow but, damn Walpole's eyes, he's made His Majesty forbid us poor fellows even to sell out for what we paid originally! Robbery!" He turned to Ram. "You, sir, you think to buy a regiment, hey? You've led thousands in Industan, they say, and fought under Eugene. Bob Walpole will sell ye a commission, aye, by the backstairs, but no higher than ensign. The army's done, sir, and God help Britain if we go to war again."

  Whatever influence Isabella had with her cousin. Ram now knew it was limited. This was the fifth time he had obeyed an order to attend the Secretary's office, and thus far had got no nearer than the anteroom. Mr. Pelham was in the House of Commons during an important debate, was waiting upon His Majesty or was conferring with generals. Her ladyship, having presumably now dropped over 700 guineas in palms, he did get a "Good day to ye, Cap'n," from the door porter. But the elegant youth who guarded the Secretary's sanctum had thus far regretted he must ask the captain to wait-together with half a score others.

  By this time Ram knew most of these enough to exchange a bow. Thev were almost identical: middle-aged, genteelly shabby, the nap of their elbows worn, their faces weatherbeaten and etched with worry. Some walked with a limp and one lacked an arm.

  A newcomer entered. A little less down-at-heel than most, his buckles were of plain steel and his shoes themselves not overclean. His coat showed wear and his
leather scabbard was scuffed.

  "Tell young Harr)' I'm here," he told the coxcomb huskily. He took a chair and contemplated his shoes. There was a subdued whispering among the rest; eyes slued toward him and shoulders straightened. But the elegant youth merely yawned.

  "God pox ye, tell Pelham I'm here!" It was like a bomb exploding.

  The youth blinked, regarded the roarer, then recovered equanim-

  ity. "Old gentleman, be pleased to wait your turn. Mr. Pelham has not yet returned from the House. If time permits he'll doubtless honor all of you with a brief audience, though I fear—"

  "Old gentleman! Why, you son of a whore! Pelham left me at the House an hour ago, to come hither and await me. I'm Wade, damme, and no quill-pushing secretary or his lackey keeps me wait-ing."

  "Gen—General Wade?" The name's significance now dawned upon the fop and his face turned a pale green. By superhuman effort he tottered to the sanctum, knocked and went within.

  The general glanced around the room. "Major Copeland, servant, sir. Ain't seen ye since Spain in '09. Captain Heath, I trust your lady flourishes? 'Tis monstrous how gentlemen of our cloth are treated! Here I come post up from Scotland, where I've been building roads and bridges and bringing the wild Highlanders into peaceful ways, and that pimp to the War Secretary calls me 'old gentleman!" His prominent eyes swept over Ram. "Sir, though your dress doesn't show it, I trust ye've known a red coat?"

  Ram's bow was in the very latest mode. "Ramillies Anstruther, sir, late captain of Anstruther's Dragoons."

  "Kin of Dick Anstruther? Damme, we burned our first powder together at Kinsale siege, back in '90!"

  "His son, sir." Pride galloped. Father wasn't forgotten!

  The inner door opened and the clerk shot out so fast he seemed hardly to touch the floor until he collapsed in his chair, while on the threshold stood a man in his early thirties.

  "General! My humble apologies for such fantastic stupidity," he bowed nervously. "Forgive me, I beg."