The other four captains had joined MacAndrews by this time. They all knew that he was senior in the regiment, and therefore it was natural and proper that he took charge. The army operated under the assumption that men would die and be replaced. Hawker had gone in bizarre circumstances, but the routines applied.
‘Mr Fletcher. We will give the men an hour’s drill as a wing. After that, break up into companies for another hour and a half. Drive them hard.’ The captains nodded. It was better not to give anyone time to brood. ‘Mr Hughes, assemble a party and take Major Hawker back to his lodgings for the moment. Perhaps, Tom, you will be so kind as to see the vicar and make the necessary arrangements.’ Tom Mosley acknowledged the order. He was a good, sensible man, with sufficient tact to deal with the matter with the minimum of fuss. MacAndrews took out his watch, feeling the old dent in its case.
‘Mr Brotherton and myself will return to the village. The first thing is to write to Lieutenant Colonel Moss. It’s now nine thirty. If the captains and Mr Fletcher will join me at the inn at eleven, the companies can march back and stand down at noon. We will have a short officers’ conference at half past. Thank you.’
MacAndrews, Brotherton and Mosley rode back to the village. Major Hawker’s body went more slowly, wrapped in blankets and carried on a stretcher. Private Scammell accompanied the party, marching with surprising reverence and stiff backed in spite of his wounds. Behind them, the Right Wing of the 106th drilled.
6
MacBooby was in charge. Even Redman of the grenadiers used the nickname when he gossiped with the subalterns from other companies, especially his crony Hatch. The Scotsman was an ancient relic who had fought in America before they had been born, and that had been in a war Britain lost. It did not seem much of a recommendation. ‘Ought to be off taking the cure in Bath,’ said Redman to anyone he thought would find it amusing. ‘Twenty years of gathering dust in garrisons in the middle of nowhere. How can a man like that know anything of modern warfare? At least old Hawker didn’t bother us with all this drill.’
‘You grenadiers always did a lot,’ said Hatch, finally deciding to interrupt the monologue.
‘And only now do you understand what we went through.’ MacAndrews had given orders filling every day of the week with duty. There would be drill and more drill, and long marches, and especially musketry training. Worse still, they were to leave their billets in a couple of days and sleep under canvas as they marched away from the village.
‘I know,’ suggested Hatch. ‘Why don’t you pay his coach fare to Bath and take charge yourself ? Each company could get drunk and chase dollies according to a strict rota.’ There was laughter from the small group of discontented subalterns, and as so often Redman wondered whether his friend was laughing with him or at him.
MacAndrews would not have been surprised at such talk, or have cared in the slightest. It was not his principal task to be liked. There was also far too much to do to concern himself with such things, and that was why later in the day he sent all four gentlemen of the Grenadier Company to meet his family. Redman did not dare to express his disdain for the acting commander as he waited with Pringle, Hanley and Williams outside the Red Lion.
‘With the benefit of my university education, I am able to inform you that the coach is late,’ announced Pringle.
‘It usually is,’ commented Williams. Then he sighed as he noticed that Hanley had leaned against the courtyard wall and come away with his back covered in powder from the drying whitewash. By the time they had brushed him down, his sash had unwound itself and somehow got caught in the buckles of his sword belt. Pringle began to wonder just how long their new officer’s clumsiness would be amusing rather than irritating.
‘In future try to remain immobile. It is probably safest,’ he suggested to Hanley.
‘Perhaps you could get turned into a pillar of salt, like Noah’s wife,’ said Redman, his smile broad until Williams corrected him.
‘I believe you mean Lot’s wife.’ Privately the ensign seethed at being corrected by a jumped-up nobody without the connections or money to become an officer. In truth Redman’s family had barely managed to arrange for his own commission, as his father somehow kept the debtors at bay and yet maintained his household in a style appropriate for aleman. Education had largely passed him by, and he fell into silence when Hanley spoke of Medusa, and that took them on to all things Hellenic. Hanley was pleasantly surprised at Williams’ knowledge, still more by his and Pringle’s enthusiasm for such a serious subject. He was almost disappointed when the coach finally pulled into the inn’s yard.
The driver called to the servants from the Red Lion to take down the two large trunks and the three valises. He then climbed down, lowering the steps and opening the door. The four gentlemen of the Grenadier Company stiffened into respectful poses which stopped just short of being at attention. The three officers had doffed their cocked hats, and Williams held his shako in his left hand. Hanley was almost tidy.
An exceptionally tall lady appeared in the doorway. She wore a dark green travelling habit with matching jacket. On her head was a broad-brimmed hat of light straw, tied beneath her chin by a green silk sash. A few raven-black curls peeped in an ordered way from beneath it. Her eyes were vividly blue, her skin lightly touched by the sun, and a few wrinkles suggested that she was at least of middle age. Even so the young officers were struck by her looks, and even more by her commanding manner.
She looked at them with a wry smile.
‘Do not tell me. My husband sends his apologies, but duty prevents his attending on his wife and only child?’
For once even Pringle was momentarily lost for words at such directness. He coughed nervously. Mrs MacAndrews brushed aside the hand of the driver and skipped down the carriage steps, her skirt lightly lifted in one hand. She was wearing somewhat old-fashioned and rather worn boots with heels a little higher than was now the taste. On the ground she was only a few inches shorter than Pringle and Hanley.
‘I suspect the captain’s orders did grant you the liberty of addressing me.’ Her accent was unusual. Pringle had grown up in Liverpool and recognised it as from one of America’s Southern states.
He coughed again. ‘My profound apologies, Mrs MacAndrews.’ The other three chorused similar regrets. ‘It is just that I did not expect someone so young.’ Again there was an echoing chorus.
Esther MacAndrews looked offended at such forwardness. Immediately the young gentlemen fell silent. Williams and Redman were blushing, and even Pringle and Hanley were worried. She had known many subalterns over the years and understood just how to work them. For a few seconds she let them squirm, then unleashed a smile, showing her still very white teeth.
‘Flattery, however insincere, is always welcome. It is good to know that my husband has under his command such fluent and generous liars.’ This provoked the expected confusion, the half-smiles as they tried to work out whether they were being complimented or insulted. Redman’s mouth was hanging open until Pringle noticed and gave him a nudge with his boot.
The lieutenant finally rallied, at least to a level of coherence if not his usual ease in the company of women. ‘May I present Ensigns Hanley and Redman, and Mr Williams. I am Lieutenant Pringle, ma’am, and we are all at your service.’ He bowed, and the gesture was quickly followed by a general bobbing of heads.
‘That is delightful, I am sure that I do not know how I have managed without it,’ drawled Esther MacAndrews. She stepped to one side and looked back over her shoulder. ‘Now may I in turn present my daughter.’
In the last minutes it had been hard for the grenadiers to notice anything other than eir captain’s lady. Williams gasped aloud as they all looked up at the doorway of the carriage. A young woman stood there. She was dazzling.
Miss Jane MacAndrews looked nothing like her mother. She was small, little more than five foot high, and slightly built. Her dress was a dark blue, with a lighter jacket with black lace ribbons and braid that fitted snugl
y. Her bonnet was also blue, again with a black ribbon, but from beneath its edge unruly wisps of red hair were trying to escape. Apparently lacking her mother’s supreme self-confidence, she cast her blue-grey eyes downwards, although this was also to help her negotiate the carriage steps. One hand held tightly on to the carriage door, and the other grasped her dress and raised the hem so that it did not get in the way. On her dainty feet were black shoes fastened with little buckles. Her ankles – even a few inches above them were visible – were sheathed in white silk stockings.
The young gentlemen were staring wide eyed at the sudden vision. Only when the coachman proffered Miss MacAndrews a hand to help her down did they start to recover. All four surged forward. Pringle and Redman stopped short immediately to save themselves from walking into Mrs MacAndrews, and before the other two could arrive, Jane had taken the coachman’s hand and lightly jumped down the last long step to the ground. She straightened her dress, looked up and nodded thanks to the coachman, and treated Hanley and Williams to the briefest of smiles, before once again looking demurely down.
Again there was a round of introductions. Jane offered the merest touch of three fingers to the proffered hands. Each time one of the gentlemen was presented to her, she curtsied and they bobbed down. The girl’s eyes flicked briefly past their face before looking high above them. After the introductions she resumed a close inspection of the ground around their feet. She could be no more than eighteen or nineteen, with smooth and flawlessly white skin.
There was no doubt that Miss MacAndrews was beautiful. Williams was already in love. His gaze soon began to mirror the young lady’s, focusing either high or low and avoiding looking directly at her. Hanley was intrigued and attracted, although he had never in the past found innocence especially fascinating. Pringle wondered how she would look stripped, realised he might be inspecting her too closely, and turned with a light smile to the mother instead. Redman was simply staring, although part of him was scornful that the captain’s wife and daughter were unaccompanied by even a single maid. His mother had always maintained that a true lady never had less than one attendant, an obligation his father had struggled to provide for her and Redman’s two sisters.
‘Well, this is most pleasant,’ said Mrs MacAndrews. She was enjoying their confusion, and had a mother’s complacent satisfaction at the obvious power of her daughter’s charms.
‘I am so sorry,’ stammered Pringle. ‘Let us take you and your things to Captain MacAndrews’ lodgings.’
‘That would be nice.’
The trunks were heavy – exceedingly heavy. Pringle and Williams took one, each grasping one of the brass handles, and Hanley and Redman managed the other. They then draped the valises over their shoulders. There were also some hatboxes, which they piled on to the trunks as best they could. It seemed to work for the first few yards, before arm muscles began to scream in protest. There was strain in Pringle’s voice when he spoke.
‘It is not far, Mrs MacAndrews. The captain has taken one of the nicest cottages in the village.’
Esther smiled. ‘Are you managing, Mr Pringle? I fear our few things have grown into a great burden.’
‘Not at all. It is a mere nothing. An honour to be of service.’ Behind him Redman lost his grip on the trunk, which swung hard against Hanley’s shins. There was muffled cursing.
‘Perhaps we should summon additional help?’ suggested Mrs MacAndrews.
‘Yes, Mama, it is too much for these poor young gentlemen,’ said Jane, speaking for the first time since the introductions. She may just possibly have been older than Redman, but confidently assumed an air of superiority. Still, for the first time she looked straight at them.
‘I do assure both you ladies that we can manage. Anyway, I suspect that the gallant officers of our regiment will rush to aid us as soon as they see the beauty of the captain’s family.’ The other three managed a chorus of agreement, broken only when Redman once again let the trunk slip.
Mrs MacAndrews’ accent became thicker. ‘Why, Mr Pringle, I do declare you are far too generous to two weary and weather-stained travellers.’
‘Not a bit of it, ma’am,’ said Williams. For a moment they waited for more, but he seemed frozen by his own boldness. He was also worried that his voice had sounded gruff, even vulgar.
‘Well, if you are sure. You are all such fine, big men. Are they not, Jane?’
‘Yes, Mama,’ replied Jane, and once more resumed her downward gaze.
In the event the first officer of the 106th they encountered was Lieutenant Wickham, promenading with his wife. He raised an elegantly gloved hand to his cocked hat, then plucked it off his head to welcome the ladies more fittingly. Presentations were made, and the grenadiers took the opportunity to lower the trunks to the ground.
Wickham was widely acknowledged as the handsomest man in the battalion. He was tall – tall enough to be a grenadier, in fact – with an elegant figure and natural grace. Both were always shown off by a finely tailored uniform. His smile was open and welcoming.
His wife was of medium height, and pretty enough in a round-faced way, with thick brown curls beneath her pink ribboned bonnet. Her expression was completely untroubled by any hint of intelligence, but her smile was broad and even more full of welcome.
She was delighted to see them – had heard so much about them – for they were expected for more than a week now – she had been dying to meet both Mrs and Miss MacAndrews – was not their husband and father respectively the finest of men? So like her own dear father, who was so kind and noble to a silly child like herself – were they tired from their journey? They must be – she dearly liked to travel – had been to many parts of the country, but would dearly love to see more – but travel was always such a wearying business, so of course they must be tired – and to have come from America, just think of that – well, they were welcome to the regiment and now part of our happy family. The 106th were the most gallant gentlemen in the world – but then, they had already met our heroic grenadiers – the finest and handsomest of men – next only to her champion Wickham, of course – and the nice Mr Truscott – oh, and Anstey and Mosley . . .
The flow seemed endless, and was regularly punctuated with a laugh surprising in both its volume and harshness. It did not seem to matter what anyone else said. Wickham took Mrs MacAndrews’ hand, staring into her eyes as he expressed his honour in meeting so fine a lady. He did the same with Jane, who ing met his gaze. While this went on Mrs Wickham happily showered the grenadiers with compliments, flirting with each in turn. When her husband had stepped back she returned her focus to the ladies – was sure they would be the best of friends – especially Miss MacAndrews – and did they know there was to be a ball . . .
Wickham drew Pringle aside.
‘How are you enjoying commanding the company, Billy?’
‘Haven’t had to do much yet,’ replied Pringle. ‘Although I rather suspect that is going to change. I only have to do a little this evening and Hanley is helping prepare the targets for tomorrow.’
‘I am sure you are doing a fine job.’
‘I am just keeping the place warm for MacAndrews. It is a good company.’
‘Are you sure he will come back? There were rumours a year ago that he might get his majority, until Toye purchased the vacancy.’ Major Toye commanded the left wing of the 106th, having come in from the Royal Fusiliers.
‘There are always rumours,’ said Pringle. He rather liked Wickham, although they were not close friends. The latter was married, for one thing, and when he did spend time with the other subalterns he had more enthusiasm for gaming than suited either Pringle’s taste or funds.
‘That’s true, but there were good ones that General Lepper wants to promote him if he can. So there may be a vacancy.’
‘Isn’t Brotherton senior?’ It was odd to think of the diminutive Brotherton taking command of the tall grenadiers.
‘It doesn’t have to go with seniority,’ suggested Wickham quietly
.
‘Oh, I see. Have you got the gilt?’ Everyone knew that Wickham was associated with a rich and powerful man. The connection was old, and had been reinforced more recently when this same man married his wife’s elder sister. Still, in certain company the lieutenant would launch mournful attacks on the selfish and wicked conduct of this same man and his wife, of how they had ignored the spirit of their inheritance, and provided him with only niggardly support. Yet now it seemed they were obliging him with the money needed to purchase the captaincy of the Grenadier Company.
Wickham smiled.
7
Williams thought of Miss MacAndrews, picturing her gentle blue-grey eyes, which had looked into his for just one brief moment. He thought of her fair skin, her wide mouth and the smile which revealed her neat white teeth, and her flowing red hair – deciding that he would think of this as burnished copper, although he knew it did not do the magnificent colour justice. Then he pulled the trigger.
The flint sparked, igniting the powder in the pan, then setting off the main charge. The musket slammed back into his shoulder as a cloud of dirty white smoke obscured the target. There was the now familiar smell of bad eggs.
They were firing at circles of canvas three foot in diameter and placed a hundred yards away. At fifty yards Williams had hit the same target nine times out of ten, with more than half of the shots in the bull’s-eye itself. At this range all the flaws of the army’s smooth-bore muskets made accuracy much more chancy. Still, he was pleased with his shooting, especially since he had never once fired any weapon before joining the 106th. He knew that he must at the very least have been ose to the target.
Mechanically, he went into the motions of loading the last of the ten rounds he would fire at this range. He let go of the grip with his right hand, allowing the butt to fall to the ground. His fingers felt for the next cartridge from his open pouch, raised it to his lips and bit off the top of the paper that contained the ball. The taste was salty on his lips. Pringle had told him this was the saltpetre in it. Taking a pinch of the black powder, he poured it into the pan of his musket, flicking its cover open to do so, and then closing it again. Then he straightened the musket, emptying the rest of the cartridge into the muzzle. He leaned forward and spat the lead ball down on top, drew his ramrod, reversed it so that the wider head pointed downwards, and thrust down just once. He plucked the ramrod out, spun it in his hand and slid it back into place in its holder beneath the muzzle. As he raised his Brown Bess he pulled the lock back to full cock, reassured by its definite click.
True Soldier Gentlemen Page 8
