by Joan Smith
The children were all allowed to stay up and take part in this happy family occasion. Willie and Bung were decked out in a pair of blue suits that showed an inch of wrist below the sleeves. They darted to the doorway to welcome their cousins in a raucous manner that threatened everyone’s eardrums.
“Alex brought us real guns from Spain!” one of the twins shouted. It was impossible to tell which, as he kept his teeth hidden.
“Mine killed seven Frenchies!” the other boasted, well pleased with such an accomplished weapon.
“And a French flag with blood on it!” Bung said. A broad smile revealed his chipped tooth.
“How nice,” Anne said. “I hope it is French blood.”
Alex strolled up to greet the company. Anne noticed he had removed his uniform. His black jacket made him look more familiar than on his visit to Rosedale. But as he stood, gazing intently at her with a little smile curving his lips, she again had that odd sensation of looking at a stranger.
“Quit pestering your cousins,” he chided the children.
Mrs. Wickfield went forward to receive a welcoming embrace. “Skin and bones,” she complained, shaking her head at him. She tugged at his loose jacket. “You’ll have to get yourself some new jackets, Alex.”
“Not only myself. I’m ashamed to be seen in church with these two scarecrows,” he said, tousling Bung’s hair. “I can’t believe how they’ve grown.”
“We’ve growed six inches since you left,” Willie boasted.
“You’ve growed illiterate, too,” Alex said, leading them all into the saloon. “I notice the biggest change in Babe.” He turned to the baby of the family as he spoke. Babe’s hair was nearly blond, and arranged in a mop of natural curls that framed a pretty face. “She was only a tot when I left. Now she tells me she’s reading, if you please.” At that moment, she sat holding a large stuffed doll on her lap and ignoring the visitors.
Loo came forward, a plainer child but with promise of growing into a handsome young lady. “I’m all finished reading, and I’m writing,” she informed the guests. Then as an afterthought she dropped a curtsy.
“I didn’t see you writing me any letters, you minx,” Alex said, and chucked her chin.
He couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at them, of touching them. Loo put her hand in his and swung on it. “I would have wrote if I’d known you wanted me to,” she apologized.
“Another illiterate. I thought you girls had a governess.”
“Yes, she reads all the time,” Loo told him. “She reads novels. She’s reading me all about a haunted house in Cornwall, with a dungeon and a ghost.”
“Edifying!” Alex said, lifting a brow. “We must look into this novel-reading governess and see if she ever reads grammar. Come and sit down, ladies, if you can find a chair for this brood of gypsies cluttering up the place.”
It was not impossible to find two more seats in a room that boasted six sofas and a dozen chairs, but it was impossible to find any silence or privacy. The children still found their soldier brother too marvelous a novelty to leave his side, and he didn’t seem much disposed to pushing them off. He took Babe on his knee and put up with the twins’ pestering in a very good spirit.
“Why did you take off your uniform, Alex?” Bung demanded.
“Because I’ve already showed it off.”
“I wish I had a uniform like yours,” Willie said. “I’d go and shoot a million Frenchies.”
“Do you think I wore that nice outfit to crawl through the mud and kill my fellowman? That one’s reserved for slaying ladies.”
“Did you bring your fighting outfit home? Can I see it, Alex?”
“I didn’t carry a tattered, mud-stained coat home. I never want to see it again.”
“I wish I had it. I’d love to have it,” Bung declared.
“It was full of lice,” Alex said blandly.
Bung stared, disbelieving. “Lice! In your clothes?”
“Certainly. It’s not easy to bathe when you’re bivouacking in a field.”
Mrs. Tannie shook her head sadly. “You’re making my flesh creep, Alex. I can feel vermin crawling all over me. And you, Master Jackanapes,” she added to Robin, “never mind peering at me like a stuffed frog. Lice should not be discussed in company.”
From long familiarity with her dark humor, the family had learned to ignore Aunt Tannie.
“What did you eat?” Willie asked.
“Whatever we could find. A rabbit, if we were lucky. Roots, windfall oranges, bitter as bedamned. Black bread. How I look forward to Pembers’s dinner. And sleeping in a bed with no rats prowling around, no rain falling on me, no fear of a bullet parting my hair.”
The twins exchanged a wary look. Anne assumed their brother’s propaganda of disillusionment had begun.
“The fighting and shooting must have been exciting,” Willie suggested hopefully.
“Very exciting. Of course, not many days are actually spent fighting and shooting. The dreariest part of being a soldier is the waiting. Sitting around for a month, waiting to attack. Then a day’s ‘fighting and shooting,’ as you call it. The survivors who aren’t maimed ride twenty miles and wait another month.”
Willie frowned into his lap. He lifted his head and smiled. “I’ll bet it’d be exciting being a sailor!”
“A pity we couldn’t ask Admiral Lord Nelson,” Alex said. “Of course, he’s been shot dead already, after losing one eye and one arm. But I daresay it would be great fun.”
Willie was displeased with his hero. “Charlie always said you were having the best time of any of us. He wished he was free to go off to war, but he had responsibilities.”
Anne stole a look at Alex, expecting some show of anger. She was surprised to see only sadness. “He remembered it occasionally, did he?” The words stung her, but she was still surprised at the sad spirit behind them.
“Alex, didn’t you like being a soldier?” Bung asked.
“I liked parts of it well enough. If wasn’t what I thought it would be when I joined up. I didn’t know the uniforms got so dirty, Bung, and so full of holes.”
“Bullet holes?” Bung asked, ever the optimist.
“We’ll talk about it later—it’s impolite to bore our guests.”
The guests had shown no signs of boredom, but Babe and Loo had to tell their cousins what souvenirs had been brought home for them. The showing of Loo’s mantilla and Babe’s Spanish doll proved a genteel diversion in the conversation.
“I got you two ladies a souvenir as well,” Alex said, but he didn’t present the gifts yet, and soon Aunt Tannie bustled them in to dinner.
“I hope the pork isn’t burned to a cinder,” she scolded. “The grease from it has been smoking up the place for hours. Not that one can blame Pembers, with the stove he has to work with. We need a new stove, Alex.”
The pork was delicious. It was a happy crowd who sat around the long table in the dining room, though nine people did not even begin to fill the board. Alex sat in state at the head of his table, Aunt Tannie at the foot. Mrs. Wickfield was given the status of guest of honor at her host’s right side, and Anne sat at his left. It was hardly a decorous feast, with Babe spilling her milk and several decrees having to be laid down as to what portion of wine should be allowed the twins and Loo on this special occasion. The twins would keep reverting to various barbaric deaths they planned to inflict on the Frenchies when they got to war, and even Robin came up with a few ingenious methods of torture.
“This is not an experience we will want to repeat,” Alex said aside to Anne, but said it in such a condoning voice that she knew he didn’t regret this one display of unformed manners.
He seemed more interested in looking contentedly down the table at his family than in eating. Any harshness she imagined in him before was not in evidence now. He shared his attention with Mrs. Wickfield as well, but it was to Anne that his eyes more often turned, till she formed the idea that her being beside him was at least some part of his plea
sure.
“We’ll have to throw a good big party now that I’m home,” he said. “A ball, do you think, Anne, or a garden party? Or both? We’ll have both. The children won’t get much pleasure from a ball.”
“Ah, a ball—we haven’t had one since Charles died,” Mrs. Tannie said. “That will be a deal of work for me, trying to shine us up enough to let the world in. You’d best be satisfied with a garden party.”
Anne had no objection to either. Her mind flew to the white crepe resting on the shelf of Mumbleton’s drapery shop. She would ask the price of it this very week and buy before it was gone. Alex put so many questions and statements to her that she assumed she was to be one of the prime movers in the preparations for his parties. When the meat was placed before Penholme for carving, he laughed nervously.
“This is the first time I’ve been called upon to act my role. Where do I start? I’m more nervous than on the eve of a battle. Imagine if we had guests present!”
Far from taking this as a slight, Anne was pleased that she and Mama were considered family. Their life was thin of company, and she worried that Alex’s return might somehow change things. But till he married, at least, it seemed she was to continue acting as an older sister. Whether it was ponies for the girls or new draperies for the blue room, Alex took for granted she would be not only interested but instrumental in the decision.
“Robin and I will join you shortly,” he said when the meal was finished. “We plan to do the thing up right and claim the males’ privilege of remaining behind for port. Rob has felt the lack of a man around the house, I think. I’ve promised him it will be part of our ritual now that I’m home.”
It was with an air of importance that Robin drew Mrs. Wickfield’s chair after dinner and stood back to watch the ladies and children leave the room. His chest was still swollen when he strolled into the saloon fifteen minutes later, but Anne found her attention rushing to Alex. He looked pale, and his step was slow. She noticed he held his right hand on his left shoulder, as though it bothered him.
He came directly to her. “We gulped it down as fast as we could,” he said, and sat down.
“There was no hurry.”
“Rob doesn’t even care for wine. It was the idea of it that appealed to him. I prefer sherry myself now, not port. I like ritual—that’s one thing I learned in Spain. It was the family rituals I missed—birthdays, Christmas, May Day.” He was no longer rubbing his shoulder, but he sat stiffly, careful not to move it.
“Are you not feeling well, Alex? Surely your wound is not bothering you after all this time.”
“Nothing to speak of. No proper medication was available on the boat, and it’s become a little inflamed. I’ll have my batman take a look at it before I retire.”
“But is it not healed? I thought after such a long time it must be only a scar. You should have Dr. Palmsey look at it.”
“I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“It must have been a very bad wound! You told Aunt Tannie you were only grazed by the bullet.’’
“It was grazed rather deeply,” he admitted. “I thought you would know by my tardy return that I’d become a Belem Ranger.”
“What on earth is that?”
“A soldier who overstays his welcome at the Belem Convalescent Barracks. Malingerers, who are gun-shy.”
His sudden wince was enough to tell her that Alex was not of that class. “Is it very painful?” she asked.
“I shouldn’t have lifted Babe on my knee. I think I’d better have it looked at. I’ll be right back.”
“No, go to bed. You look pale as a sheet, Alex. We’ll chat awhile to Aunt Tannie and leave early.”
He looked alarmed. “No! Don’t go. The children will be retiring right away. We haven’t had a chance to talk. I want to give you and Auntie your presents.”
“You can do it tomorrow.”
“Please stay. I shan’t be a moment,” he said, and left before she had time to insist.
Robin crossed the room to take up his brother’s place on the sofa. “Where’s Alex off to?” he asked.
“His shoulder is bothering him.”
“I told him he wasn’t fit to ride this morning, but he said he’d be damned if a dragoon was going to arrive at Rosedale seated in a carriage like a lady. Simple vanity, you see. The curse of the Penholmes—present company always excepted,” he added, smiling.
“It wasn’t bothering him this morning.”
“Maybe it was rearranging the master bedroom that did it. He wouldn’t sleep in Charlie’s bed last night, and was so eager to be rid of it this afternoon that he gave the footmen a hand dragging it out.”
“What?”
Robin, though he wouldn’t harm a fly, had a thoughtless tongue. “Uh-oh! Maybe I wasn’t supposed to mention it. Alex didn’t say not to. You must know there was no love lost between them, Annie.”
Her pity congealed to anger. “I didn’t know Alex had this unreasonable hatred of Charles. To refuse to sleep in his bed—it hardly sounds rational. My goodness, the man is dead. Why can’t everyone forget that he wasn’t perfect?”
“I daresay it will come, with time.”
Robin went on to discuss Sawburne, and across the room, Aunt Tannie poured a litany of complaints into Mrs. Wickfield’s ears. “He said he was ashamed to have the children seen in public in rags. ‘So am I, sir!’ says I. ‘And ashamed to appear in Mumbleton’s without paying something on the bill. You can’t make jackets and shins out of spiderwebs.’ As to the house being dirty with a dozen maids sitting on their haunches drinking tea, people expect to be paid when they work.”
“It will be all right, Aunt Tannie. Alex is back now.”
He hadn’t returned some fifteen minutes later when the children were sent off to bed. Anne went to the foot of the great staircase with them just as Alex came down. He was still pale but in less distress than before. He stopped to say good night to the children, and Anne turned to go back to the saloon.
“Wait!” he said, and put his hand on her arm to detain her.
Physical touching was part and parcel of the exuberance of the Penholmes. They weren’t the typical English family who spurned physical contact after adolescence. It wasn’t unusual for Robin or even the old earl to reach out and give one’s arm a light blow during conversation. When they walked with a friend or family, it was as likely as not that an arm would be slung over the companion’s shoulder, so this physical contact had no great significance, except that Alex had never done it before to Anne. His hand, laid on her arm unthinkingly, not only remained there but took a firmer grip on her. At last the children were gone, and he turned to her with still no sign of removing his hand.
“Did you get it looked after?” she asked. Her manner was cool, as she was annoyed at his refusing to sleep in Charles’s bed. She made a point of disengaging herself from him.
“Lehman put a new bandage on it.”
“Alex, surely it’s not still bleeding!” she exclaimed, surprise overcoming annoyance. Her concern pleased him; she could see by the satisfaction in his eyes and the easing of the lines in his forehead.
“Only a little. It’s my own vanity that is to blame—riding over to see you.”
“Vanity? I think it more likely dragging a four-poster bed along the hall did the damage,” she snipped.
His jaw tensed angrily. “I see you’ve been talking to my clapper-jawed brother.” It was the worst possible moment to have to give a gift or accept one graciously, but the silver paper was in his hands. He held it out to her. “I have your present here. I hope you like it,” he said stiffly.
The packet was so small she knew it must contain jewelry. She opened it, to reveal a chased silver ring with an opal at its center, surrounded by marquises. “It’s beautiful! Thank you very much, Alex.”
The gift annoyed her in some way. It looked very expensive, for one thing; then, too, a ring had some suggestion of intimacy that struck her as unsuitable. “Did you steal it from a grandee?�
��
“It’s not loot. I bought it for you. Don’t you like it?” He took it from her, obviously intending to put it on her finger himself.
“I love it—but it looks very valuable.”
“These things don’t cost much in Spain. The merchants there aren’t so grasping as ours have become.” He held the ring for a moment, as if deciding which hand and which finger to place it on. Anne wore her grandmother’s engagement ring on her right hand, and offered him her left. After a short pause, he slid it on to her third finger.
“Oh, not there! People will think it’s an engagement ring!” she objected.
He gave a lighthearted laugh with a little sting of anger in it. “People do have a way of jumping to the wrong conclusion, don’t they? Actually, it’s too small for that finger. Your hands are larger than I remembered. It won’t be mistaken for an engagement on your little finger, will it?”
“No, of course not.” She splayed her fingers and looked at the ring. It was too large to suit her little finger. In fact, it could have gone over the knuckle of her third finger with a little push. It would look better on the third finger of her right hand. She experimented, Alex looking at her so closely that she felt self-conscious, and fumbled awkwardly.
“There! I shall save it for very special occasions, like your ball,” she said, smiling to ease the awkward moment. “It looks lovely, don’t you think?”
“Very nice,” he agreed. “I hope you have a lovelier one, one day, to wear on the other finger. I expect you have some parti in mind, as you objected so strenuously to having that special digit encumbered with my metal. My family wrote so infrequently that I’m behind on the local gossip.” His manner was casual, but his eyes, she thought, betrayed a concern for her answer.
“Oh, no. I am resigned to being maiden aunt to all my relatives’ children,” she answered in the same offhand manner.
He smiled, again casually. “We shall see. It’s spring, the wooing season. Now I must give Aunt Alice her gift.”
They returned to the saloon with his hand on her arm. Mrs. Wickfield’s lips opened in a hopeful smile. “Mama is eager for her present, too,” Anne said to conceal the true reason for that expression.
