by CL Skelton
As they came in, Andrew glanced around at his guests. His son Ian was standing in a corner very close to Naomi Bruce, who was holding a glass of sherry in her delicate hand and sipping at it. Well, he could not blame him, she was a damned attractive woman, though he hoped that the lad was not taking things too seriously. Possibly he would have to have a chat with his son about her.
His mother, Lady Maclaren, was sitting in one of the chintz-covered settees with Maud. Her Ladyship was talking away as if she was afraid to let Maud either escape or get a word in edgeways. Funny how she always behaved like that with Maud. It was as if she was trying to prevent conversation by dominating it. But how on earth could his mother have anything to hide or be ashamed of? Anyhow none of these thoughts really mattered, because the purpose of the evening was to take Donald Bruce’s mind off the happenings of that morning. And there he was, standing alone near the sideboard, nursing a whisky. This was not what Andrew had intended. He did not want Donald left alone to brood. He stomped over in the boy’s direction, clearing his throat in order to draw the young man’s attention.
‘Let me top up your glass, Donald,’ said Andrew.
‘No thank you, sir, I have more than enough,’ replied Donald in a flat, toneless voice.
‘Your father tells me that Gordon’s coming back at the end of the week.’
‘Yes, sir, I know,’ said Donald, looking down at his boots.
‘Hrrumph,’ said Andrew. He was not having much success. ‘I suppose that you’ll be looking forward to that, eh?’
‘I suppose so, sir,’ said Donald without enthusiasm.
‘Well, I know that Gordon is. We saw him last week when I took Robert down to Sandhurst. He can’t wait to join the regiment, especially with Egypt coming up. You must be looking forward to that as well.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
Andrew resolved to try a different tack.
‘Donald, I know what happened this morning. Your father was in a dreadful position. Circumstances dictated that you had to do that job. But you ought to remember that it was the army that did it, not you.’
‘But I failed.’
‘That is as may be, but remember that you would have been every bit as responsible for what happened even if you had been on leave at the time.’
‘Would you mind very much if I did not stay to dinner, sir?’
‘I would mind very much indeed, Donald, and my mother, who knows nothing of this, would be most insulted. You’re a soldier, and soldiers do not run away, especially if their father is Willie Bruce.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry.’
‘All right, lad, we won’t talk about it any more.’
MacKay opened the double polished-mahogany doors. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.’
Lady Maclaren had protested to her son when she was shown the guest list for dinner.
‘Seven is a ridiculous number,’ she had said. ‘Almost as bad as eight. Can’t we invite three more and make it ten?’
‘No, mother,’ Andrew had replied. ‘This is just us and the Bruces.’ And there the matter had rested.
Andrew took his place at the head of the table with Maud on his right and Naomi on his left. Ian Maclaren sat between Naomi and Donald Bruce who was on Lady Maclaren’s right, while Willie on her left had to sit next to his wife.
They dined in the small dining room; the great banqueting hall was used only when there were more than twelve at table. Dinner in the banqueting hall was always a difficult proceeding as it was situated on the top floor, right beneath the black oak trusses of the roof. The small dining room was much more intimate, made warm by the heavy oak panelling and the candlelight flickering from the twin candelabra which stood on the table. The meal was served by MacKay and a footman, dim shadowy figures who emerged from the gloom at the edges of the room to deliver plates of cock-o-leekie soup, venison, and a selection of desserts. And MacKay, ever watchful, kept their glasses topped up with Andrew’s excellent claret.
The meal was not a success. Conversation was desultory and confined to small talk. Lady Maclaren tried hard with Donald but he refused to be drawn, limiting himself to monosyllabic replies. At last the ladies went into the withdrawing room for coffee and the men moved up the table around their host. MacKay placed the port and cigars in front of Andrew.
‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘No, thank you, MacKay. We’ll ring when we join the ladies so you can get cleared up.’
The servants withdrew and as soon as the men were alone, Willie went off on a different tack.
‘Well, Andrew,’ he said, ‘I suppose that I ought to bring you up to date with the news.’
‘If you don’t, no one else will,’ was the reply.
‘We’re re-equipping.’
‘With what?’
‘Rifles. We’re getting the Martini-Henry at last.’
‘I didn’t know that, sir,’ interjected Ian.
‘You’re not supposed to,’ said Willie. ‘A second lieutenant is the lowest form of animal life in the British army.’ But he smiled as he said it.
‘It’s not before time,’ said Andrew. ‘Some regiments have had it for over ten years. Mind you, the Snider-Enfield is a pretty accurate weapon.’
‘But the Martini is much quicker to handle,’ said Willie. ‘And then, after that, we’re off. I suppose that neither of you two young gentlemen would care to tell us where?’
‘Why, yes, sir,’ replied Donald. ‘I think I can. My platoon sergeant told me a week ago that we were going to Egypt.’
‘The devil he did,’ said Andrew. ‘Is that right, Willie?’
‘Aye, it’s right enough. But it beats me how they get the information. We are going to join Graham in the Sudan. He has been given a couple of brigades to sort out the Mahdi.’
‘Who’s the Mahdi, sir?’ asked Donald.
‘Really,’ said Andrew, ‘Lieutenant Bruce, you ought to read the papers. The Mahdi is a very dangerous character. Ever since about 1880 he’s been whipping up the Sudanese tribesmen. Calls himself the successor of the Prophet. The Egyptians can’t do anything about it, that’s for sure. They’ve got garrisons down in the south at Berber, Suakim, and Khartoum, and a few other minor ones scattered about, but nothing much. Certainly nothing that would be able to contain the sort of mob that the Mahdi is getting together.’
‘Isn’t General Gordon in charge out there?’ asked Ian.
‘Yes,’ continued Andrew, ‘Chinese Gordon has gone back, Bible and all. He resigned as governor of Egypt about three years ago. What the devil he’s going to do now I don’t know ‒ he hasn’t got any troops to speak of. Anyhow there’s one thing I’d be willing to bet and that is that if you see action it will be south, in the Sudan, not in Egypt. How do you two youngsters feel about that?’
‘I suppose that it’s just part of the job,’ said Ian.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Donald quietly, ‘I always feel that a soldier’s job is to keep the peace; fighting should always be a last resort.’
‘Will we be under Gordon?’ asked Ian.
‘No, I told you you’re under Graham.’
‘And who are the brigade commanders, sir?’ asked Ian.
‘Ours will be commanded by Major General Buller,’ said Willie. ‘Have you heard of him?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Donald. ‘He’s a V.C. They say he is one of our best generals.’
‘Well,’ replied Willie noncommittally. ‘The troops certainly love him.’
‘But that’s jolly important, isn’t it, sir?’ said Donald.
‘Aye, I suppose it might be,’ said Willie.
Andrew allowed himself a smile. Donald was beginning to enter into the conversation. Maybe this evening would be a success after all. ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘this is a family party, so I don’t think we should keep the ladies waiting too long, and besides, I can’t abide lukewarm coffee.’ Which last remark even got a smile out of Donald.
‘Shall we?�
� said Andrew, rising from his place.
When they did join the ladies, and Lady Maclaren with Maud’s help had finished fussing with the coffee, the evening became more relaxed. Ian had eyes only for Naomi. Her pure white silk gown set off the creamy gold of her skin to perfection. Within a very few moments he had sought her out and managed to steer her to a corner of the room where they could talk quietly without being overheard.
‘Naomi,’ he said, ‘I have just heard that we will be off to Egypt soon.’
‘Oh, yes, I already knew that,’ she replied. ‘Daddy told me this morning. I do hope you will like it there. It must be wonderful to be able to travel the world as soldiers do. Sometimes I wish that I had been born a man.’
‘Naomi, I know that we are very young …’
‘Well,’ she replied, laughing as he hesitated, ‘you are younger than I am.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Ian. ‘But … do you think that that is terribly important? I don’t.’
‘I agree. Why should it be important? Everybody must be younger than somebody, unless you happen to be the oldest person in the world.’
‘Yes, but don’t you understand, I’m talking about you and me.’
Suddenly those beautiful, big, dark brown eyes of hers became solemn and fixed him with a disconcerting attention. ‘Ian, what are you trying to say to me?’
‘It’s like this. If we are going overseas, God knows when we will be back. Naomi, do you think that I could possibly see you alone?’ he blurted out.
‘That would hardly be proper ‒ but I think it could be arranged. Can you not tell me what it is that you want to see me alone about?’
‘Well … it’s terribly important …and … do you think I should ask your father if I can see you alone?’
‘You can if you want to, but you needn’t worry about Daddy. He won’t object. The only thing I must say is that I do hope that you are not thinking too seriously about me.’
‘I could never think too seriously about you, Naomi.’
‘Because it’s no good, you know.’
‘Just because you are a little older than I am?’
‘No. No, if that was the only reason it wouldn’t be important. Speak to your father, Ian. He knows.’
She looked sad.
‘Naomi, I …’
‘Enough for now, Ian.’ And she placed the tips of her fingers on his lips. ‘The others are watching us.’
Willie Bruce was certainly watching them. He watched them with an intensity and a feeling of near pain. They were a beautiful couple. Ian tall and lithe, with his Maclaren red hair and blue eyes, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. And Naomi, so much a perfection of young womanhood, the sort of creature that most men know only in their private fantasies. He watched his stepdaughter put that delicate hand to Ian’s lips, he saw her mouth move slowly as she said something to him and he felt a pang, a twinge of sorrow for the pair of them. For Willie knew that just as Naomi’s mother could never have had Ian’s father, neither could this pair ever fulfil the promise that was so apparent in them as they stood there. It was a damned shame, they looked so right, so perfect for one another and so much in love.
Willie watched as Naomi slowly drew her hand away from Ian’s mouth, the whole movement so intimate and so sensual. Then she walked away from him in the direction of Donald her brother, leaving Ian standing there, his own hand upon his lips where she had touched him.
‘I suppose that you will soon be off to Egypt with your husband, Mrs Bruce?’
Lady Maclaren and Maud Bruce were sitting together on one of the large chintz-covered sofas, sipping their coffee. Maud smiled at Lady Maclaren’s remark and the formality with which Lady Maclaren always addressed her. After all, Culbrech House had been, for a short while, her home, when Andrew had brought her there from India after the mutiny at Cawnpore. She had left Culbrech House because Andrew had started paying court to her. Not that she personally objected to his attentions, but because she knew that it met with the disapproval of both of his parents. It was a long time before she returned to Culbrech House; not until the regiment had returned from India four years ago. Andrew, since she had met him, had been her saviour, her lover, and now he was her friend. Somehow she always felt that Lady Maclaren was afraid of her, even though she was now happy and contented in her marriage and a threat to no one. But Maud Bruce was still a very beautiful woman, tall and slender, with the skin of someone fifteen years her junior, and not a trace of grey in her golden-yellow hair.
‘No, Lady Maclaren, I shall not be going to Egypt,’ Maud replied. ‘And as far as I know, Willie won’t be going, either.’
‘But isn’t the whole regiment going?’ said Lady Maclaren.
‘No, it’s rather more complicated than that. I understand that the second battalion are being withdrawn from India and Colonel Mackinnon will stop off in Egypt with his headquarters company. We are sending out three companies to replace the men that he is sending directly home.’
‘Will your boys be going?’
‘Donald certainly. Gordon, I’m not sure, but I imagine that he will be going as well.’ She glanced over to where Donald was standing alone and smiled as she saw Naomi go up to him. ‘I’m not very happy about them leaving, and I wish that I could be there with them. But it’s not to be. Even if Willie was going, it would all be active service and wives would only be an encumbrance. So I shall sit at home and watch for the postman.’
Lady Maclaren patted her knee in an unusual display of affection. ‘Well, my dear,’ she said, ‘that is what comes from marrying a soldier, as I know only too well.’
‘I’m not sure that marrying a soldier is such a bad thing,’ said Maud. ‘But I seem to have married the regiment.’
‘One always does.’
‘It might have been easier if I had had another daughter. Naomi is a great comfort.’
At the mention of Naomi, Lady Maclaren withdrew her hand. ‘I’m sure she is,’ she said coldly. ‘Did you notice just now?’
‘Notice what?’
‘She and Ian were talking very earnestly. I do hope that they’re not … well, you know what I mean. After all, she is so much older than Ian.’
‘Not so much as to matter,’ said Maud. ‘But I understand exactly what you mean, Lady Maclaren.’ She paused. ‘I went through it myself, I’m sure that you will remember.’
‘Let me get you some more coffee,’ said Lady Maclaren, deeply embarrassed at the turn that the conversation had taken.
Maud watched the dumpy little figure of Lady Maclaren as she waddled off to the sideboard in search of more coffee, and allowed herself a wry smile. It was an open secret in the glen that Naomi was not Willie Bruce’s child; how could she be with her looks? Among Maud’s more intimate circle, it was known that Naomi was in fact a Eurasian. For Maud had been raped during the Mutiny, and the sepoy who had violated her had fathered this beautiful woman. It was her knowledge of this, when the pregnant Maud had first arrived at Culbrech House and Andrew had started paying her undue attention, that had made Lady Maclaren regard Maud as a threat. Strange, thought Maud, how history was repeating itself. Now Naomi was the threat. She looked around the room for her daughter and caught sight of her chatting with Donald. Poor Donald, he was not enjoying this at all. Maud knew her son, how sensitive he was, how fundamentally gentle. It would take him a long time to get over the chance events of this day.
Naomi noticed her mother looking at her and came over.
‘Mummy,’ she said, ‘I think we should go home. Donald is utterly miserable.’
‘I can see he is,’ replied Maud, ‘but I very much fear that he would be utterly miserable wherever he was. I don’t think that going home is going to help.’
‘But, Mummy ‒’
‘All right, I’ll speak to your father. You go back to Donald.’
Maud went over to where Willie was deep in conversation with Andrew. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Andrew, and then she told Willie what Naomi had told her.
‘I dunno,’ Andrew replied. ‘It’s a difficult one. Maybe this party was a little hasty. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep, he’ll see things better in the morning.’
‘If he sleeps,’ said Willie, glancing towards his son. He turned to Maud. ‘All right, my dear, you can get your wraps and we’ll be awa’.’
Lady Maclaren rang for MacKay and told him that their guests were leaving. When the ladies had their wraps and Willie and Donald their greatcoats, the Maclarens accompanied them to the hallway to make their farewells.
‘Don’t ye come any further,’ said Willie to Andrew. ‘You’ve nae coat and it’s a cold night.’ Though what he really meant was that Andrew would have a devil of a job stomping up and down the stone steps.
Andrew stopped. For a moment, and it was only for a moment, he thought of himself whole and entire, walking down those steps with Maud. He was looking at her so intently, remembering, until he suddenly caught Willie’s eye. There was compassion on his half-brother’s face, not jealousy or anger; Willie did not need that now, he was too secure in his own happiness. Just as suddenly as it had come, the feeling passed.
‘Aye, Andrew,’ said Willie breaking into a large grin. ‘A lot o’ water’s gone under the bridge since then. Good night to ye all and thank ye.’
Ian had accompanied his parents to the hall and now hurried down the steps to hold open the door. As she passed him, Naomi offered Ian her hand.
‘Good night, Ian,’ she murmured softly, ‘I have enjoyed this evening.’
‘Good night, Naomi,’ said Ian, taking her hand, and then he stopped as he felt the hardness of a piece of paper against the softness of her flesh. Naomi smiled at him as the colour rose in his cheeks while he withdrew his hand clutching tight at the precious document.
It seemed an age to Ian before they were all in their carriage and he was free to run upstairs to his room where he shut the door and reverently spread the piece of paper, smoothing it carefully, under the light of a candle.
