Of course, Stirling had some knowledge of male and female entanglement, but most of it was reserved for the physical side of things. It was just a little something he had picked up on during his time in India. When it came to the real stuff, he had no way of knowing just how complicated things would become when something deeper grew from within.
The incessant stroking fingers, caressing and cajoling circling fits on the underside of his abdomen was certainly something he had never bargained for. Being the pragmatic man that he was, Stirling put it down to having found the right partner. It was time to do something about it, he decided. He would be off to war in a few weeks’ time and there was no way of knowing when he would ever see Clementine again.
“Young, sir. Young, sir,” said General Airey, approaching.
Dazed from his ruminations, Stirling looked up. Standing before him was a gentleman dressed in a blue double-breasted coat with golden buttons and tight blue trousers that had thick yellow stripes down the sides. “Sir, Major Stirling Whit Whittaker at your service,” he said, getting to his feet with alacrity and standing to attention.
“At ease, young man. I am General Richard Airey, 1st Baron Airey. I am Lord Raglan’s Quartermaster-general.” He smiled at Stirling affably.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord.”
“And it is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a famous man. You nearly outshine your master in the newspapers. You are second only to Lord Cardigan, young man.”
“Not by any wish of mine, sir. It was not something I ever wanted, but I was put there by malicious twists of fate. My honour tarnished and the possibility that my military career will never recover.”
“It is not as morbid as all that, you know. I am sure we can work something out.” Airey’s voice was soft and melodious, making it very pleasant to listen to.
Surprised, Stirling’s gaze slipped through the large sash window and rested on the Duke of Wellington’s bronze frame once more. He had somehow expected reprieve, but hearing it was something else. Could he really be so lucky? At that moment, such fortune only meant one thing to him. He could go to Clementine as a true hussar without the Sword of Damocles hanging over his neck all of the time. And just like “open sesame” broke the spell sealing a cave of treasure, in a heartbeat, new prospects with a brighter future opened up to him.”
“I see you have noticed that. It is quite impossible to miss,” said Airey chucking.
“The queen waited this long to have it removed because she did not want to insult the great duke by detaching him from his perch on Wellington Arch while he still lived. Now that he is gone, something a little less bombastic will grace Hyde Park Corner. Quite a good idea if you ask me.”
He beckoned with his hand to the door.
“Please. Lord Raglan is most eager to talk to you.”
Stirling nodded and entered the office with Airey following in his wake.
“Ah, the man of the hour. Your fame precedes you, Major,” said Raglan, getting to his feet and indicating with his remaining arm that Stirling sit down.
After saluting and greeting his superior officer with the deference befitting one with such a rank, he sat on the chair opposite him. Stirling waited while Raglan arranged a few papers on his desk. In the meantime, Airey sat down on a leather-upholstered chair slightly to the right of Raglan’s desk.
“Blast, I cannot see a thing. That infernal statue is taking away all of my light. I don’t know why they don’t pop it onto one of the new railway stations gracing the capital. It would look so much better there,” Raglan huffed.
“Here, My Lord. I assume that you are looking for The Times newspaper,” said Airey, getting to his feet and handing his superior the periodical.
“Yes, thank you, Airey. Whatever would I do without you?” Raglan flipped a few pages. “Ah, yes, here we are. Officer arrested for un-gentlemanly conduct in the mess. It concerns a black bottle. Shame on you, Lord Cardigan. Those were today’s headlines, Major. Do you have anything to say about it?”
“Well, My Lord…I don’t really know. All I can tell you was that my commanding officer had me arrested for not decanting my moselle,” said Stirling a little taken aback. “And it wasn’t even my moselle. I ordered it for another gentleman.”
“Yes, and quite rightly so. Gentlemen don’t comport themselves in such a fashion. Wine is to be decanted at a gentleman’s table,” barked Cardigan, swanning into the office as if he owned the place.
“Ah, I see that you have arrived also. Do sit down, Cardigan,” said Raglan dismissively, indicating with a sweeping hand to the spot in front of his desk.
Cardigan cleared his throat as he approached the chair next to Stirling. He hesitated for a heartbeat as if he considered it beneath him to sit in such close proximity to the man with the lower rank. Finally, he sat down with a grunt, straightening immediately as he glowered back at Lord Raglan and Airey. He and Stirling resembled a pair of chastened and naughty schoolboys waiting for their headmaster’s punishment.
Raglan cleared his throat. “They are calling you things, words, Cardigan, I do not wish to repeat here. Your antics have put us, the army, in the newspapers and I cannot have it.” His gaze swivelled to Stirling. “And you, young man, have done your upmost to fuel this ridiculous little caper by involving the press. It must stop.” He nodded at Airey.
“You two fools have behaved unseemly and ridiculously by conducting your dispute so publically. It will not do. There is a war on, if you haven’t forgotten. Now, all there remains, is for you to do is apologize to one another and we can forget this whole thing ever happened,” said Airey.
Cardigan bristled. “I will not apologize to this Indian rogue. I refuse, I do.”
Before Stirling could add his refusal, Raglan cut in. “If you don’t, Cardigan, you forfeit your command of the 11th Hussars. I will make sure of it. Quite possibly, you can command a regiment in India as you find the prospect so distasteful. You will never serve in England again.”
“You can’t do that. It’s impossible. I am in command, I am.” Cardigan’s eyes had taken on the size of saucers.
“Oh, it is possible and I will do it. If you let me down, I will make sure that you are in command of nothing,” continued Raglan.
Hearing the threat, Stirling knew what the earl’s dismissal would mean for the men of the regiment. He paid for most of their victuals and clothing. It was because of him that they were the envy of the British army. Were he to leave that would all come to an abrupt end.
Judging by the glint in the earl’s eyes, he saw that he would never relent. Cardigan was as stubborn as a mule. It went against his grain to back down from any fight no matter how trivial in substance and detrimental to one’s career. There had to be another way. “I will resign my commission, My Lord. It is the only way to save the regiment and keep his lordship in command. He is the life and body of the 11th.”
“Now, my dear Major Whit Whittaker, let us see what we can do about it. Find something that does not involve a very talented officer resigning from his duties, eh?” said Raglan softly.
“I think it’s a damn good idea,” interjected Cardigan.
“Be quiet, Cardigan,” snapped Airey. He turned to look at the young officer. “What would you do?”
“I might join a foreign army as a mercenary. I hear the Belgians are looking to recruit able men.” The finality of his words hit Stirling in the gut. There was nothing he wanted less. It would mean that his hopes with Clementine would dissolve into nothingness.
Raglan sighed. He pondered a moment. As he pressed his lips together, he looked to Airey who read his mind perfectly. They had discussed the whole affair in great detail the day before and had anticipated Cardigan’s pig-headedness and Stirling’s flippant treatment of his commission.
Airey primed his voice with a loud hack of his throat, as he got to his feet and started to pace the room. “You are becoming a laughing stock, Lord Cardigan. You are appearing far too often in the n
ewspapers and as Lord Raglan already said, the army cannot have it. It has to stop. This affair between you and the Major stops now.” Airey looked at Cardigan fiercely.
“I was only doing my duty,” said Cardigan, much of his inflated ego gone because of the threat of losing his beloved 11th.
Airey forestalled any more words with his hand. “As for you, Major, I refuse you tendering in your resignation. This is not some gentlemen’s club where you can up sticks and leave whenever it pleases you. You are an officer in her majesty’s forces and there is a war on. We need every able-bodied man there is. Especially if he has as much experience as you do.”
“But, My Lord…”
“If you persist in this matter, sir, you will forfeit the sympathy of every officer of rank in the service. Your future here and abroad will be at an end. You may be able to command a canoe in the Amazonian jungle, but even that is farfetched. Do I make myself abundantly clear, sir?”
Airey’s glower was unflinching. Stirling felt elated as he nodded lightly. Cardigan could do nothing now. He had to accept what his commanding officers said. It appeared that the both of them would not have to apologize to one another thus allowing them both to save face. The entire matter would just be swept under the carpet and hopefully forgotten about.
Of course, it did not mean that his life in the regiment would be easy. Cardigan was notorious for keeping a grudge, but it did not matter. He could stay in England a few weeks longer and continue his courtship of Clementine as an officer and a gentleman. Lord Airey’s voice cut his internal victory dance short.
“Concerning the conduct of Lord Cardigan, I expect that in the future, his lordship will exercise the proper forbearance and discretion befitting an officer and a gentleman.”
Stirling saw the shade of his commander’s face take on the deeper colour of purple. For a moment, he thought that he would suffocate as he succumbed to a bout of deep rumbles from his throat.
“Yes, that pompous windbag of a brother-in-law of mine never had the knack of maintaining self-control and prudence. He is all hot air and nothing more,” said another man, storming into the room with the arrogance of someone who thought he was god’s gift to humanity.
“Ah, Lucan, right on time,” said Raglan, ignoring the man’s impudence.
“I am assuming, you called me to take command of the army.” All the while George Bingham, 3rd Earl of Lucan spoke, he never deigned to look at Lord Cardigan to whose sister he was married.
“No, not at all. I shall personally take command of the expeditionary force leaving for the Crimea and you shall have…the cavalry,” said Raglan.
“What, I will not serve under that self-important, useless fool. He is unfit for command that man; he is a blackguard and he is no gentleman,” shouted Cardigan at the top of voice as got to his feet. The two men despised one another because Cardigan accused Lucan of mistreating his sister. They resembled a pair of cocks circling each other in the henhouse.
“And I shall not have that man under me. Corporal Cardigan and his red-shanked ridgebacks under my command, never,” retorted Lucan, his face becoming as red as his brother-in-law’s.
It was the first time, Stirling had ever seen someone match his commanding officer in arrogance and boast the ability to match or maybe even outshine in the reaching of higher decibel levels.
“Lord Lucan, I am sure that you will see that there is much to be gained by an amicable settlement, and settle any difference between you and Lord Cardigan for the good of your country,” said Raglan, getting to his feet.
Lucan pondered for a moment. “Then make it known to that empty-headed muff of a brother-in-law of mine that I command the cavalry and that I command him,” snapped Lucan.
As the tirade of abuse between the two family members reached epic proportions, Stirling managed to excuse himself from Lord Airey who indicated that he should leave.
Hastening down the stairs, he felt elated and at the same time deflated. How could two men place their own needs above those of the country? Would it be bickering and animosity that would infiltrate the campaign east? If that was the case, then he had little hope for them. But that would have to wait. Stirling wanted to run over to see Clementine as quickly as possible. Maybe he might be able to catch her during her lunch break?
Chapter 20
“My dear, Mary, I have to go and you know that. I signed up for ten years. It was the right thing to do. Now, I can send you and the children the Queen’s shilling,” said Rory, studying his wife with a hopeful expression on his face.
“I dunno, luv. Wars are so dangerous. I’ve seen what they done to the living with my very own eyes. The streets of London are riddled with one-legged and one-armed and blind, crippled beggars. Will ye return to me as one of those, Rory? Will ya?”
“Na, I will not.”
“And besides, I don’t even know where this Crimea place is. Why on earth would Englishmen need to fight in a place that nobody has heard of?”
“It is a part of the Russian Empire,” said Rory, proud that he knew exactly where it was.
“Mm, well, that’s even worse. Why are we fighting for the Russians then?”
“No, we are fighting against them for the Turks.”
Mary did not care. “I still don’t want a crippled husband to look after. Three children are more than enough. You know what happens to men with war injuries – they succumb to the demon drink…”
He studied his wife carefully as she vented her frustration. She looked well. Her anger had flushed her cheeks red, but Rory knew that it was the clean country air that did her good and had given her a rosy tint to her face. In the background, two of his children played on a lush green lawn – they looked well and better than he had ever seen them look. Being free from the smog-ridden London air and the rat-infested rookery had worked miracles on their disposition and health. Mary held the newest addition to their family in her arms. She was a girl and they had named her Lucy.
As the departure for the Crimea loomed, he had obtained leave for a few days to say his farewells to his family. At first, the colour-sergeant had refused his request out right but his order had been immediately rescinded by the kind major who had happened to be nearby. It surprised Rory that a person of a different and more elevated class had cared about his plight.
They had spoken briefly afterwards. The major, whose name he did not know but whose face he recognized from his first day of training, had asked him many things about his family. Rory remembered seeing him become all dreamy when he had mentioned his wife and children.
The sight of it had prompted him to overstep the mark and ask whether the young officer was married. He had laughed after that. He had said no, but that he was hoping to soon ask the woman of his dreams for her hand in marriage. The major had patted Rory on the back and wished him God’s speed and expedient travels. He concluded by saying that they would see each other again at the port of Portsmouth on the day of the departure of the fleet.
“Will ya, Rory?”
“What my blossom?”
“Ye haven’t been a listening to me, have ye? Look around ye and tell me what ye see?” asked Mary bossily.
Rory let his gaze sweep over the place. It was a delightful spot close to the south coast and just outside of Lymington and the New Forest. Up high in the sky, the sun shone from a sea of blue. There was not a cloud in sight. It was the perfect late summer’s day. They sat in front of a small cottage with a thatched roof and brick walls. It formed a part of the lands belonging to the lady of the house. Her mistress had generously placed it at Mary’s disposal since the day she arrived on the estate.
The large manor house where Mary worked stood on a hill overlooking the surrounding parkland. It was a building of Georgian heritage. It was very large, made wide and relatively shallow in dimension in an attempt to make it look even more impressive from a distance. It was highest in the centre with Baroque emphasis on the corner pavilions.
The windows were large and repe
atedly placed on a grid; this had been partly done when it was under construction to minimize window tax, which had been in force throughout the period in which it was built. Henceforward, some windows were subsequently bricked-in. Their height increasingly varied between the floors, and they progressively began below waist-height in the main rooms, allowing for small balconies.
Internal courtyards stood beside the stables, and the functional parts of the building down the sides, or in separate buildings nearby and hidden by trees. The views to and from the front and rear of the main block were concentrated on, with the side approaches rendered much less important. The roof was invisible from the ground, though domes could be seen from where Rory sat. The roofline was clear of ornament except for a balustrade on the top of a pediment.
Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 45
