Sweethearts and Wives (The Regiment Family Saga Book 2)

by CL Skelton

  ‘Weel,’ replied Frankie, ‘I’ll no be sayin’ no tae that.’

  ‘The other thing is that you and I are going home. My shoulder, it seems, will still be quite a while mending, and as for you, you are to receive your medal from the Prince of Wales at Buckingham Palace.’

  ‘Why do I get tae go hame, sir?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘That’s easy. The second battalion is coming out from Australia. They will take over what men we have left. As for you and me, well, we’ve got to put a regiment together again. I’m not going to be fit for active service for quite a while, and our first V.C. will be quite an attraction.’

  ‘It’ll be nice to get back to the glen,’ said Frankie.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet. There’s something else. I have suggested that you be recommended for a commission.’

  ‘What, me, sir?’ said Frankie, sounding surprised for the first time.

  ‘Yes. We’re going to need a first-class quartermaster. That could be you.’

  Frankie stroked his chin reflectively. ‘I have nae doobt that this is a great honour that you are offering me, sir. But would it be all right if I was tae say no? I dinna want tae appear ungrateful, but I dinna want tae be an officer, either.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I do thank you for the kind thought, sir.’

  Ian raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t want a commission?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Frankie. ‘The Victoria Cross, that’s fine. It doesna mak’ any difference. But, sir, I am the regimental-sergeant-major. That’s something. Lieutenant Frankie Gibson? He’d be a nothing and I’d hate the man that got ma job. Besides, sir, there’s another thing. If I became an officer, you and the Bruces, you’d a’ be ma brother officers. Now if that happened, how would I feel aboot takin’ a salmon frae the Glass. Or a wee stag from the hill. I couldna dae it, sir. I have no got long tae go afore I retire and after that, weel, you ken hoo it is.’

  ‘Yes, Frankie,’ said Ian, smiling again, ‘I ken how it is.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Well, you had better see that your kit is packed. We go to the Cape tomorrow and then it will be home for both of us.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was the way of things, the way that they always happen, that after their arrival in Cape Town, though Frankie Gibson was shipped home almost immediately, Ian found himself landed with a series of dull administrative posts. He was shunted from one desk to another and seemed to be achieving nothing. He wished that he could have rejoined his battalion, but that was not possible. It would have been very awkward for Colonel MacKay, who commanded the second battalion, had Ian attempted to do any such thing. However, he did succeed in convincing the authorities that his presence in Cape Town was contributing nothing to the war effort, and in August he was given a berth on a ship out of the Cape to Tilbury.

  It was a mild, warm September evening when his ship docked in London. Ian had already made up his mind that he would stay in town for a day or two. There he intended to contact Mr Wilson and see if there was any news at all about Donald. Not that he had any desire to see Donald, but he felt that he had a duty to Willie and Maud to find out anything that was known.

  He stayed the first night at the Great Eastern Hotel, from where he telephoned Culbrech House. Victoria was, of course, delighted to hear his voice and she quite agreed that it would be a kindness if he tried to get word of Donald before coming home. When she had assured him that the children were all well, Andrew came on the line. Ian suggested that he should spend the next couple of nights at the house in Charlotte Street, but Andrew told him that it was temporarily shut.

  ‘Why don’t you,’ said Andrew, ‘go along and stay at Naomi’s house at 182 Park Lane?’

  ‘I could, I suppose,’ replied Ian.

  ‘Her housekeeper is still there and I know it would be all right.’

  Ian felt, as always, guilty at the mention of Naomi, but it was the obvious thing to do, and so, the next morning, he called a hansom and set out for Park Lane after sending his chest on to Scotland by rail.

  He got to the house and Barker answered the door. They had never met before, but when Ian introduced himself, Barker recognized the name.

  ‘Won’t you come in, sir?’ she said. ‘I am sure that madam will be delighted to see you.’

  ‘Madam?’ Ian was surprised.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Barker, ‘Mrs Bruce returned home four months ago.’

  ‘But that’s not possible,’ said Ian. ‘I was talking to Scotland only last night, they would have told me.’

  ‘No, sir. Mrs Bruce has informed no one of her return to this country.’

  Ian had certainly not expected to see Naomi and did not really know how he felt at the prospect He had been certain that she was still nursing in South Africa.

  Barker led him into the softly furnished, airy sitting room. She left him standing, looking out of the tall windows on to the traffic jostling its way up and down Park Lane. It was just the same as it had always been except that there were now quite a few of the new horseless carriages rattling and smelling their way around the streets of London.

  He had only been standing there a moment or two when he heard the click of the door behind him and he turned. She was wearing a tight-waisted skirt of deep green, and a brocade bodice-cum-jacket from which a mass of white lace Bowed from her throat rather like an ornate jabot, and she was as beautiful as ever. Graceful were her movements and she greeted him with that little smile which he had come to know so well.

  ‘Hello, Ian.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to find you here.’

  ‘I hardly expected to see you,’ she replied.

  ‘I was going to stay here for a couple of nights,’ he said haltingly.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, I docked yesterday and I’m on my way up to Scotland. I thought that I should like to contact Donald’s father-in-law before I went home.’

  ‘I see,’ said Naomi. ‘Why do you want to see him?’

  ‘I thought that I might be able to get some news of Donald. I am sure that your father is worried about him.’

  ‘Donald is all right,’ replied Naomi. ‘He is in London. As a matter of fact, he is living with his father-in-law. As it happens, he is coming here to dine with me this evening.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ian. ‘Well, I’m glad he’s safe.’ Then he continued awkwardly, ‘Well … that is really all I wanted to find out. So I suppose that I could go up on the night train tonight.’

  ‘You could,’ said Naomi. ‘But why not stay and see him?’

  ‘No,’ Ian said quickly. How could he? What was there that he could say to Donald? He was probably the only one who knew the real story about him.

  Something in his expression must have betrayed his thoughts.

  ‘He’s changed, Ian,’ said Naomi.

  ‘How do you mean, changed?’

  ‘I mean that he has told me everything. I think that he has gone back. I think he is now again like the brother I knew.’

  That was all very well, thought Ian, but he doubted even so that he would be able to face Donald, whichever Donald it was; the gentle man who could not kill or the predator who had stalked the veld lusting for vengeance. He looked worried.

  ‘You need not decide right away,’ said Naomi. ‘He won’t be here until seven o’clock. I have asked Barker to make us some coffee. You will have some, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course, thank you.’ Funny, he thought, how awkward he felt in her presence. He had really almost forgotten her. His mind had been so filled with the imminent prospect of reunion with his family, Victoria and the children. Yet somehow, there was always Naomi. Well, he would have to learn to live with it.

  As they sipped their coffee, he asked her, ‘Why did you come back?’

  She studied him with great solemnity. ‘Yes,’ she replied at length, ‘I think that perhaps you should know. I was never going to tell you, but perhaps that would be unjust and you should know the truth.’

&n
bsp; She got up and he rose with her. ‘Come with me, Ian,’ she said.

  She led him into the hallway and to the foot of the stairs. She smiled as he hesitated.

  ‘Don’t worry, Ian,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not that way. It can never be like that again.’

  She led him up the stairs to a room on the first floor. It was all pinks and blues and golds. It overlooked the tiny patch of garden at the back of the house. In the centre of the room, canopied in lace and ribbons, white lace and blue ribbons, stood a cot.

  ‘Go on, Ian, look.’

  He leaned over the cot and saw the baby within. There was something he wanted to ask but was afraid to.

  ‘It looks like a Bruce,’ he said.

  ‘He, Ian, not it. He is mine,’ said Naomi. ‘I thought that I was past it. I thought that I had been barren all my life and that I had reached that age when a woman can no longer have a child. When I knew that he was on the way, I was happy, I mean really happy for the first time in my life. I knew that that was the only thing that I had been searching for all these years. And Ian ‒’

  ‘Yes?’ He could barely whisper the word.

  ‘He’s not a Bruce. He’s a Maclaren.’

  Ian just looked at her as the implication of her words became clear.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your son. I called him Robert. I thought that you would like that.’

  ‘Naomi,’ he said, and stepped towards her.

  ‘No, Ian,’ she replied very calmly, ‘don’t touch me. That is all over now. I have got what I wanted. You are his father, Ian, but he is all mine and he is mine alone. I hope that this does not distress you. I feel that you have a right to know and then a duty to forget. No one else will ever know.’

  ‘But ‒’ started Ian.

  ‘There are no buts. You must go back to Scotland. You must go back to Victoria and you must tell her nothing of this because this is my secret and my fulfilment ‒ and I shall share him with no one. Not even you.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was the twenty-second of January, 1901. That date was the ninety-fifth anniversary of the raising of the 148th Regiment of Foot which in 1881 had been given the name of the Maclaren Highlanders.

  The great Boer War was won but not over. There was still skirmishing going on in South Africa, and a smouldering resentment still burned among the Boer farmers against the imperialism of Britain. It was a resentment that would never die, just as, when a brush fire starts on the high veld and the flames are beaten out, the fire remains. It lies smouldering under the sod waiting for the moment when the flames can break through again. Always that resentment would lie there, just beneath the surface, waiting for the time when they would again be able to claim that which they regarded as their heritage.

  Field Marshal Roberts had returned earlier that month in triumph, to resume the retirement which at the call of the Empire he had so readily abandoned. He had been met and greeted by the Prince of Wales and driven through the crowded streets of London, cheered to the echo, the hero of the hour.

  At Osborne on the Isle of Wight, the reign of Queen Victoria was drawing to its close. The great matriarch of the dynasties of Europe was dying.

  At Culbrech House they were having lunch, the Maclarens and the Bruces. They were nearly all there, for Andrew had decreed that it should be a special occasion for the children. Sir Andrew sat at the head of the table. He was slimmer now. He had managed to shed some of the weight he had accumulated during the years of inactivity which had been forced on him by the loss of half a leg. He was surrounded by his families, both of them. Of the Maclarens, there were Ian and Victoria, reunited and settling down to the humdrum of approaching middle age. Their children were there: Emma, the eldest, now nine, shy and retiring; Henry, now eight, and showing something of the ebullient characteristics of his great-grandfather after whom he was named; Albert, at six, endowed with all the charm that Andrew had possessed as a child, and also with some of the gentleness which had made soldiering so difficult for his grandfather; Phillipa, who was only five, had, after grave consultation, in which she displayed a maturity beyond that of her brothers, also been allowed to be present. Only little James, now approaching his third year, was still confined to the nursery.

  Willie and Maud were there, of course. Maud had not changed much, but Willie was beginning to show his years. Somehow he seemed to have got smaller of late, and his pace had slowed somewhat. Naomi had come up, but just for the day. She would leave on the early morning train on the twenty-third. She had still not told any of them about the existence of little Robert, whom she had left in London in the capable hands of a now rather aged Barker. Donald and Brenda’s children were firmly ensconced in Cluny Cottage where they regarded Maud and Willie as their parents. Harry, Susan, and Johnny all regarded themselves as a cut above the Maclaren children. After all, they had been through the war, while the Maclarens had been taking life easy up here in Scotland. The table was completed by the presence of Gordon, the only one who was still serving in the regiment.

  Andrew had intended that the meal should be somewhat in the way of a celebration, but unfortunately it did not work out that way. The children were overawed by the presence of the adults, and the adults were restricted in conversation by the presence of the children. Victoria had chosen the menu with care, hoping that the young, unsophisticated palates might find a soup, mutton pie, and jelly to their liking. In fact they did, to which the clean plates at the end of each course bore witness. But it took place in near silence in spite of a few half-hearted attempts on Andrew’s part to get the conversation going.

  It was the first time that Andrew had managed to have the entire brood around him. He had looked forward to it, but sadly it just did not seem to have come off. However, there was another purpose in this luncheon. Before he and Willie and Gordon changed into mess kit and went off to dine in the officers’ mess at the barracks in Beauly, there was something that he wanted to say to the young.

  When the last jelly plate had been cleared and the last sticky face had been thoroughly wiped on its napkin, Andrew got to his feet.

  ‘Children,’ he said, ‘before you go off to play, there is something I want to say to you. I do not know whether you all realize it, but today is the birthday of our regiment. This is the regiment that all of us grown-ups have served in one way or another for most of our lives. It was founded by your great-great-great grandfather ‒ I hope that I have got the right number of greats.’ There was a titter. ‘It was founded when our country was fighting a man called Napoleon who wanted to rule the world, but we did not let him. Since then, the regiment has served our nation all over the world, and it has become a proud thing to be a Maclaren Highlander. When you boys have to decide what you are going to do with your lives, I would like you to remember that, and at least consider serving in the regiment which gave you your fathers and mothers.

  ‘There is another thing I want to tell you, and that is that before the next batch of recruits take the oath of allegiance, we will probably no longer have a Queen, and probably the greatest chapter in the history of the greatest Empire that the world has ever seen will have ended. But whatever happens, the regiment will go on. It will always be the Maclarens and it will always be your family.’

  Andrew sat down. He looked around the blank uninterested faces at the table. It had not worked. Ah well, he thought, it probably takes a much wiser head than mine to be able to talk to children.

  While he had been speaking, James, the footman, had come into the dining room carrying a silver salver.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ demanded Andrew.

  ‘If I might have a word with General Bruce, sir.’

  ‘Go ahead then.’

  James went over to Willie. ‘Sir, Mrs Buchannan has just come over from Cluny. She fears that the house has been broken into.’

  ‘What?’ Willie said, rising.

  ‘Sir, she says that she cannot find anything missing, but when she went into your bedroom just after you
and Mrs Bruce had left, she found this.’ He offered Willie the salver.

  ‘What is all of this?’ asked Maud, coming over to join her husband.

  On the salver was an envelope addressed to Willie and a small parcel wrapped in a dirty piece of tattered linen. Willie seized the envelope and tore it open. He read the note inside and then looked up gravely.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Maud.

  ‘I think,’ said Willie, ‘that you had better all hear this. It says:

  I really cannot face you so I have left this by your bedside while you were still asleep. Please try and forgive me for things that I cannot tell you. I am returning to Africa. Please look after my children and try not to remind them of their father. The package should take care of them until they are grown up.

  ‘It’s from Donald.’

  ‘Let me see that parcel,’ said Maud.

  She opened the package and a whitish-grey pebble fell out. ‘It’s just a stone,’ she said.

  Gordon came across and picked it up. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘you’ve seen stones like this before. Not so big, but similar.’ He held the stone up between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You’ve seen them in Kimberley and this is the biggest diamond I have ever seen in my life. It must be worth a king’s ransom.’

  In the mess that evening there were a lot of familiar names and a lot of unfamiliar faces. The regiment was re-forming. They had a Chisholm, a Grant, two Farquhars, and among the ranks there were a young MacTavish and three young Gibsons. The family was becoming one again.

  As colonel-in-chief, Willie had been accorded the place of honour beneath the colours; colours which that year would be renewed, emblazoned with a host of new battle honours. Andrew sat on the right of the mess president. While they were still at dinner, the head steward handed a note to the president, who glanced at it and folded it. While the port and Madeira were going around for the first time, the president leaned over to Andrew.