‘This is one of his men . . .’ Stalker frowned for a moment. ‘I have forgotten your name, Captain.’ There was no hint of apology in the bland statement.
‘Fenris, sir.’ Jack reached forward and shook the hands offered in his direction. It was hard not to be overawed. He had been on campaign before, yet he had barely seen the senior officers at whose command hundreds, if not thousands, of men would march to their deaths. It was their decisions that would secure victory or else see the army shattered and broken, the troops fleeing for their lives. Generals on campaign were as close to being God as a mortal man could ever hope to be.
‘May I introduce Rear Admiral Sir Henry Leeke, commander of our naval forces, and Commodore Fetherstone of naval intelligence.’ Ballard made the introductions smoothly. Jack thought he detected a warning tone in his voice, but Stalker gave him no chance to dwell on the thought.
‘Enough of this piss and wind.’ The general was in the process of dispatching another dozen sheets of paper to their grave on the floor behind his chair. ‘I have enough to bloody do without listening to you lot carrying on like we are at some damn garden party.’
The four officers shared a smile.
‘We will leave you, sir.’ Ballard seized the opportunity to depart. ‘I will give my report to Captain Hunter.’
Stalker fluttered his fingers in the briefest acknowledgement. Jack followed Ballard out of the tent, happy to escape.
‘Ballard, a moment of your time.’ The voice called them to a halt before they had gone more than a dozen paces from Stalker’s tent. They turned to see Commodore Fetherstone hurrying after them.
‘Sir?’ Ballard enquired politely.
The naval officer puffed his cheeks as he came to a halt. He was much older than Ballard, his thick mutton chops and thin crop of hair completely grey. His face was lined and weathered by a lifetime spent at sea, but his blue eyes were keen.
‘I wonder if you could send me a copy of your report on the defences at Reshire. I would like to see how well it tallies with my own.’ Fetherstone made the request seem trivial, but Jack saw Ballard’s eyes narrow at the suggestion.
‘Of course, sir. I would be delighted.’ There was little hint of pleasure in Ballard’s icy reply.
‘Obliged to you. I will of course extend the same courtesy and send you the navy’s own intelligence.’ Fetherstone’s small head bobbed forward as he replied. He looked like an undernourished starling pecking at a crumb.
‘It is very kind of you to offer, sir, but there really is no need. I doubt we missed anything.’ Ballard’s opinion of the navy’s intelligence-gathering skills was evident in his less than enthusiastic reply.
Jack realised that Fetherstone’s role was similar to Ballard’s. It was also clear that there was little love lost between the two rival intelligence officers.
‘Our gunboats have drawn an accurate account of the enemy’s position, with an estimate of their numbers,’ Fetherstone continued, despite Ballard’s belligerence. ‘I appreciate it may not be quite as good as a survey on foot, but I warrant you could use the information, if only as a counterbalance to your own. We cannot risk any oversight.’
‘Of course,’ Ballard replied through gritted teeth.
Fetherstone turned his attention to Jack. ‘Captain Fenris, I am surprised we have not met before. You must be a recent attachment to Major Ballard’s department.’
Jack saw the keenness in the older officer’s stare. Fetherstone missed nothing. ‘That’s correct, sir. My transfer came through shortly before embarkation.’ He was smooth in his reply.
‘How interesting. Where were you stationed before? The rest of the 15th are back in merry old England. I had no idea we had another of their officers still with us.’
Ballard took a step forward and spoke before Jack could respond. ‘You must excuse us, sir. I am sure you have as much to do as we do. Perhaps we can continue this fascinating conversation when we don’t have an enemy to fight.’
Fetherstone smiled at Ballard’s sarcasm. ‘Oh, we all have plenty to do. You would be amazed what we get up to in naval intelligence.’ He said nothing more, and retreated to Stalker’s tent with only a fleeting nod of farewell.
‘Odd fellow,’ Jack remarked. Something in the commodore’s manner had struck him as strange. ‘You clearly don’t like him.’
‘He’s a webfoot. We really shouldn’t expect too much.’ Ballard was scathing. ‘It’s bloody typical of him to pry, the nosy old beggar. You would’ve thought he would have learnt some manners at his age.’
‘At least he is trying to teach Stalker some new tricks, although I was surprised that he has agreed to learn Persian. He doesn’t seem the type.’ Jack was intrigued by the idea. He had spent a long time living amidst people without sharing their language, though he had picked up a little along the way.
‘Don’t let that act of Stalker’s distract you. The man knows what he is about. The bluster is just a facade.’
‘Well he does a bloody good job of playing the buffoon.’
Ballard shook his head. ‘Do not judge so quickly. There is more to many men than one would first assume.’
Jack contemplated the advice. Coming from Ballard, it meant something. The Devil had a composure about him that Jack envied. Nothing appeared to surprise or shock him. The notion led him to think of Stalker’s story. ‘Did you really go ashore and measure the Persian defences?’ He asked the question with genuine interest. He had done a few rash things in his time. It was nice to hear of another’s madcap exploits.
Ballard looked at Jack as if he sensed mockery. ‘I did. I cannot bear to get things wrong. It seemed the only way to be accurate.’
Jack shook his head. ‘It is a good job you found me. I’ll put a stop to that sort of bloody nonsense before you get yourself killed.’
Ballard gave his short bark of a laugh. ‘Then I shall count myself doubly fortunate for having unravelled the mystery of your identity.’ He leant forward and clapped Jack on the shoulder before leading him away.
They had gone no more than a few paces when a party of a dozen heavily laden sailors blocked their path. The matelots were weighed down with luggage, a bewildering assortment of portmanteaus, cases, hatboxes and canvas-wrapped parcels that looked more suited to a stay at a fine Bombay hotel than a dusty campaign field.
‘I thought orders forbade any baggage.’ Jack watched the procession with envy.
‘They did. But I doubt they apply to her.’
Jack looked across to the rear of the party of sailors. A pair of civilians were strolling along behind the sweating men tasked with carrying their heavy luggage. They walked with calm detachment, as if on a pleasant excursion rather than in the midst of an army preparing for war.
Jack’s breath stuck in his throat as he recognised the woman whose figure being admired by every red-coated and red-blooded man in the vicinity. He caught her eye and felt a tingle of lust shimmer down his spine as she met his stare, her own shock evident in the widening of her eyes.
Jack’s lover had come to join the campaign. And from the look on her face, he was the last person on earth she had expected to find.
‘Arthur!’ Sarah Draper raised her glove to her mouth in a delightfully demure gesture of surprise. ‘I thought you were returning to your regiment?’
Jack felt the devilment stir within him. He was very aware how embarrassing his presence must be. He was meant to be safely on his way up country, far from Bombay and thus far from Sarah Draper’s bed. ‘I found new employment, ma’am. You know Major Ballard?’
‘Mrs Draper.’ Ballard took a step forward. ‘How lovely to see you. I had heard a rumour that you were with the army, but I confess I am a little astonished to discover that it is true. I would have thought you would have preferred to remain in Bombay . . .’ He paused. ‘With your husband.’
Ballard was smooth, but Jack heard the bite in his words.
‘James insisted that I come.’ Sarah Draper smiled tartly back at the major. Clearly the two were well known to each other, and Jack got the sense that there was little love lost between them. He watched Sarah closely, spotting the flash of anger in her eyes as she fixed them on Ballard’s face.
‘I cannot write an account of the campaign from Bombay.’ She continued speaking with icy charm as she rose to Ballard’s challenge. ‘General Stalker was generous enough to listen to my plea and allow me to accompany the expeditionary force.’
Jack did his best not to laugh aloud as she dropped the general’s name into the conversation. He didn’t doubt that Stalker had readily agreed. Beautiful women tended to get what they desired. Even crusty old generals could not deny them. Not that he could blame Stalker. He was very aware of his own infatuation with Sarah. If she made demands, then Jack knew he would oblige, and be delighted to do so.
Ballard stiffened his back so that he stood ramrod straight as he responded to Sarah’s tone. ‘I would be delighted to offer my assistance should you require it. I would hate to see you inconvenienced in any way. An army on campaign is by its very a nature a rough and ready sort of affair. It may not be quite to your taste.’
‘Why, thank you, Major, but I rather think I shall manage quite well. And if I find myself in any difficulties, well, I am not here alone.’ She turned and beckoned her escort into the conversation. ‘I should introduce my brother. Simon, you know Major Ballard, but I don’t think you know his colleague.’
‘No. He does. We met.’ Jack spoke first, fixing his eyes on the young man who had accosted him on the stairs shortly before Ballard had abducted him. It appeared that although Colonel Draper had allowed his wife to join the campaign, he was not foolish enough to do so without making sure she was accompanied by a suitable chaperone. And who better than a brother to safeguard a lady’s virtue? He let his hand fall to the handle of his sword, a gesture noticed by all. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘I’m afraid he did not have the manners to introduce himself.’
The young man scowled. ‘My name is Simon Montfort. I suggest you remember it well.’ He said nothing further, but came to stand protectively at Sarah’s side.
‘I am pleased to see you again, Simon.’ Ballard was watching Jack closely. The tension between the two younger men was evident as they regarded each other like bull mastiffs, their hackles raised. ‘This is Captain Fenris.’ It was obvious that the major was doing his best to ignore the atmosphere.
‘I shall not forget your name.’ Montfort’s tone was icy. He turned to Sarah. ‘We must be getting on, sister dear. We have much to do. As I’m sure do these gentlemen.’
‘Nothing that cannot wait.’ Jack matched the other man’s tone. He turned his body, subtly isolating Montfort on the periphery of the conversation. He had seen enough of polite society to know how to cut someone dead. He focused his attention on Sarah. ‘Perhaps we can meet later on, at a more . . .’ he paused, as if testing the next word, ‘suitable hour.’
He was delighted at the reaction. Sarah’s face flushed scarlet, a shade that sat well on her pale English complexion. Montfort looked as if he was being force-fed a turd. The lack of subtlety in the remark was not lost on Ballard, who raised an eyebrow.
‘I am sure we will all have too much to do.’ Montfort took a firm hold on his sister’s arm and made to push past the two officers.
‘Yes, of course.’ Ballard took a step backwards.
Jack made no effort to move. As he expected, Montfort tried to barge his way past. Instead of forcing a passage, he bounced off Jack’s shoulder, his hissed oath betraying the pain of the impact.
‘Out of my way, dammit.’
Jack stared hard into the young man’s eyes. It was only the second time they had met, and yet on both occasions it had seemed almost inevitable that they would come to blows. ‘You should learn to curb your tongue.’ He spoke in the calm tone of an adult dealing with an unruly child. ‘Otherwise you could find yourself in a whole boatload of trouble.’
‘Captain Fenris.’ Ballard might not understand the source of the tension between the two men, but his anger was clear. ‘You appear to be in the way.’
Jack continued to stare into Montfort’s eyes. He could sense the evil in the man. Montfort met his gaze evenly. A look of mocking satisfaction appeared on his face.
‘Do as you are told, old man. Stand aside.’
Jack held his position for a moment longer before taking a large step to one side and sweeping his arm in a theatrical gesture to show the path was clear. The two civilians hurried after their rapidly departing porters.
‘What on earth was all that about?’ Ballard asked under his breath as Sarah Draper and her brother moved out of earshot. ‘You looked like you wanted to call the man out.’
‘Just letting the little turd know where he stands.’ Jack smiled at the look on Ballard’s face. ‘It had to be done.’
‘No it did not.’ Ballard scowled. ‘Do not forget who you are or why you are here. You ogled that poor woman like a dog on heat and then you tried to force her brother into a fight. It really is too much, Jack, too much indeed. Your new duties require you not to draw attention to yourself and I expect you to remember that. I do not want to have to bring the matter to your attention again.’
Jack bowed his head as he weathered the lecture, but only to hide his delight. As she had passed, Sarah had flashed him a devilish smile that had sent a shiver of desire surging through his soul. It was all the invitation he needed.
Sarah lay on her back, her face sheeted with perspiration. It was stuffy and close inside her tent, the air thick with the smell of sun-ripened canvas laced with French perfume.
Jack nestled his head into the pillow. He was comfortable and contented despite the heavy air. He had arrived at Sarah’s tent in the dead of night. She had been awake, sitting at her writing desk working on the first chapters of her account. He had been welcomed in silence, her kisses the delightful acknowledgement that he had done the right thing in sneaking to her bed.
‘I don’t know how you work for that man. You know they call him the Devil?’ Sarah pushed herself up on to one elbow and looked at Jack, her fingers reaching forward to brush against his cheek.
‘He is not so bad. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.’
‘You could ask for a transfer.’
Jack smiled at the notion. He would have enjoyed the privilege of such liberty, something he had never had. As a redcoat he had gone wherever his regiment had been sent, no matter how dangerous or unpleasant. His attempts to become an officer had hardly improved his lot. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that.’
‘Yes it does. Or you could sell out. Go back to England. Or purchase a commission in the Company.’
Jack scowled. ‘Why? Are you so keen to be rid of me?’
Sarah’s face did not change. ‘I am merely thinking of how unpleasant it must be to work with that damn man. You should think of your future.’
‘Now why would I do that?’ Jack chuckled. He reached across and pulled Sarah to him. She came willingly, nestling against his side. The warmth of her body pressed into his flesh. He did not want to dwell on the future. He had to enjoy the here and now.
‘Will you be involved in the assault on the fort?’ Her lips brushed against the skin of his upper arm as she asked the question. Jack shivered.
‘No. The intelligence department does not fight.’
Sarah’s head lifted and she returned to her position on her side so that she could look at his face. ‘It sounds like you regret that.’
‘What?’ Jack closed his eyes and feigned indifference. ‘No one wants to fight. Especially in an assault.’
‘Why? You are soldiers. I thought you always wanted to fight.’
/> Jack found he could not answer. There was nothing in battle that was to be sought out. Yet he was drawn to it nonetheless, his skill in the brutal cauldron of the fight the one thing he was certain of. It was not something he could explain, not even to the woman who had taken him into her bed.
‘I’m sorry.’ Sarah broke the silence that had fallen over them. She had been studying his face, as if trying to read his thoughts. ‘I think you know very well what battle is like. I do not, and it was thoughtless of me to make light of it. I know what it is to suffer, to have memories that you lock away.’
Jack looked at her. He thought he caught a glimpse of something more in her gaze, but it retreated quickly, pushed away by the sparkle of light that so captivated him.
‘Will you tell me?’ He asked the question honestly.
Sarah stared back at him. For a moment the faraway look returned, but then she smiled before moving close to him once more. ‘So tell me what is to happen next. I need to understand, otherwise my account will make no sense.’
Jack thought of pressing her, but he knew what it was to have demons, to have a past that had to be shackled away lest it rule a man’s soul. Sarah’s body was against his skin, and he did his best to savour the feeling and to forget the look of pain in her eyes.
‘Well, it will be a hard fight. The enemy are well dug in and they will know we have landed. They know we must attack them and from which direction. The only thing they don’t know is when the attack is coming.’
‘Surely it will take days for the army to be ready.’ Sarah was fiddling with her hair, twisting her fringe into a short plait before letting it unravel. ‘Stalker has only just landed. He cannot be prepared to launch an attack so soon.’
‘We march tomorrow. These boys certainly know what they are about.’ Jack could not hide how impressed he was. In the Crimea, it had taken days to sort out the chaos of the landings. The disembarkation on to Persian soil had only taken place the previous day, yet already the army was ready to march. The sailors of the Indian navy had worked tirelessly to bring the thousands of soldiers ashore, along with the equipment, provisions, guns and stores they would need to start the campaign in earnest.
The Devil's Assassin (Jack Lark) Page 10
