Jane MacAndrews screamed. Her horse reared and she struggled to keep her balance and rein the mare in. Williams gaped in astonishment, then just managed to jump backwards and avoid the animal’s front hoofs as they thrashed against the air. Jane lost her hat, and her red hair came unpinned and flew around her face. A good rider, she had ridden this grey only once before and knew her to be skittish. She felt herself slipping, her weight shifting backwards and to the left and her knee coming off the support of the side saddle. The mare was now turning in close circles. Dimly she recognised that it was Mr Williams who now seemed to be running round and flapping his arms in half-hearted preparation to catch her or give support. The idiot plainly knew little about horses and was only making the beast more nervous.
The mare reared again, and Jane lost her balance altogether and felt herself falling backwards. The horse cantered away back down the path. For a moment the girl fell, then she struck Williams, knocking him down and landing on top of him. Jane was a little dazed, and Hamish winded and at first unable to speak. There was silence for a while.
‘Well, I trust your intentions are honourable,’ said the girl. She was staring up at the blue sky, her back resting on the body of the volunteer. One hand reached down and touched bare skin, but she did not feel real alarm and certainly kept any trace of this out of her voice.
Her hair was in Williams’ mouth and brushing over his face. It felt quite wonderfully soft, and he had to cough before he could speak, although what came out was still barely coherent.
‘I . . . of course, of course. Must apologise . . . Have behaved abominably . . .’
‘Do you make a habit of jumping out on poor innocent girls whenever they go riding? And apparently half naked as well.’
‘It’s all a mistake,’ Williams blurted out, sounding rather like a child caught in the midst of some prank and hoping to escape punishment. ‘I thought you were Redman and Hatch.’
‘Then I shall modify the question. Do you make a habit of wandering about half naked and jumping out on your fellow officers?’ Williams could hear the amusement in her voice and suddenly was himself laughing. Jane joined in, and for a while they both simply laughed at the ridiculous situation. Williams laughed until he could hardly breathe.
‘Mr Williams, I am quite safe and unharmed,’ said Jane eventually. ‘You can let go of me!’
Hamish realised that his right hand had slipped around the girl’s slender waist. His left rested on her skirt and could dimly feel her thigh beneath.
‘I am so very sorry,’ he said nervously, through another mouthful of wispy red hair. ‘I did not realise.’
The girl rolled off him and knelt up on her hands. She smiled as she looked at the discomforted Williams.
‘Mama called you a Viking. I do not think that is adequate. You are clearly a satyr.’ The volunteer babbled more incoherent apologies and claims that she had misunderstood. Jane stood up, taking care not to tread on the skirt of her russet riding habit. Then she very pointedly looked up at the sky.
‘Is it impolite to enquire why you are not wearing breeches?’ she asked.
Williams rose to a crouch and then stood up, all the while frantically tugging his shirt-tails downwards and uttering even more apologies. Finally he managed a coherent account of what had happened.
‘Is this Miss Dobson dark haired and wearing a deep blue skirt?’
Williams nodded. He thought Jenny’s skirt was blue, although could not say that he had noticed.
‘Then your quest may have been unnecessary. I passed her some while ago walking back to camp. She bid me good day by name so I guessed she was from the regiment. From what you say the girl must have come to her senses. She cannot have been with those two for very long. No harm done.’ At least not today, thought Jane, but kept it to herself. She was not sure how well the evidently quixotic Williams might cope with such a cynical suggestion.
Jane MacAndrews shaded her eyes as she looked down the path. Her grey had long since vanished. The girl patted her unruly hair. ‘I must look a mess,’ she said, half to herself.
‘You look perfectly beautiful,’ said Williams, surprised at the assurance of his own voice and the boldness with which he spoke.
‘A gallant satyr. You really are an unusual gentleman, Mr Williams.’ He held out her hat, which had been sadly trampled by the horse and looked beyond repair. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘I was rather fond of that. Now, I would be grateful if you would assist me in recovering my horse. She was only borrowed.’
They walked sidee waside along the path, Miss MacAndrews carefully keeping her gaze high, either scanning the landscape for her horse or occasionally looking up at the tall man beside her. Williams could not remember being so happy. To his amazement his shyness had vanished, and they talked lightly. Jane first spoke of horses, but as it soon became clear that his knowledge was extremely limited, she asked instead about his earlier life. He spoke of bustling ports, of sailors and their stories of far-flung voyages, of his sisters, and his mother. Miss MacAndrews appeared to be entranced, and whenever he tried to turn the conversation to her own life and her time in America, she quickly asked him another question about himself.
To Williams’ lasting regret, they found the grey mare before very long. It was standing under the shade of a tree, happily cropping the long grass. As he made to creep towards it and grab the trailing reins, the girl stopped him. She approached cautiously, talking softly and making sure that the animal was calm. The grey’s ears flicked back, but it remained still and let the girl pat its neck. Only then did she take the reins and lead it round and back on to the path.
‘Would you give me a leg,’ she said, reaching up to grasp the horn of the saddle. Williams leaned and cupped his hands so that the girl could place her booted foot into them.
‘Thank you, Mr Williams, for a quite extraordinary ride,’ she said with a warm smile as she looked down at him. ‘I will see you again this evening.’
‘Miss MacAndrews?’ he asked.
‘At eight, I believe, yourself and several of the other young gentlemen are invited to dine with us at the cottage. Be prompt, mind you. Father hates unpunctuality.’
‘Major MacAndrews has mentioned nothing.’
‘Oh, I doubt Father knows, but Mama has arranged it and that is all there is to it.’
It was hard to argue with such assurance. ‘In that case I shall look forward to it.’
‘By the way, we are fairly informal at home. However, I should warn you that we do have some standards. The wearing of breeches, for instance.’
Rather foolishly Williams found himself looking down, having almost forgotten his unorthodox state of dress. When he looked up again the girl was already riding fast down the towpath, one arm raised in a leisurely wave.
14
Lieutenant Colonel George Moss savoured the taste of Sir Richard Langley’s port. It was exceedingly good, as were the cigars and the conversation, but his warm glow owed even more to his satisfaction with the events of the evening. He had arrived at Longville House at 4.30 after a hard ride from his regiment’s camp. The annoyance at that morning’s exercise had only served to make him ride even faster and more recklessly than usual. At 5.15 he had proposed to and been accepted by Sir Richard’s daughter, Emily. By six her father had given his consent to the marriage. Sir Richard’s fortune was moderate – less than Moss’s own family – but certainly acceptable when combined with his influence. The girl herself was pretty enough, if a little insipid, but would not disgrace Moss in any company and could no doubt run a household well enough. All in all Moss was satisfied.
After the ladies had retired the serious talk began. Sir Richard’s guests included an admiral and a general. Moss already knew much of what Langley told them, and was warmed by this sense of greater confidence. Yet he still learned new things, as Sir Richard confirmed the rumour that the Duke of York had been desperate to take command of the expedition to Spain, but that the government had adamantly refused. The
general was cautious about the whole business, although the admiral assured him that the navy would land the army wherever it wanted to go, and take it off again if needs be. Both were concerned about the size of the French army in Spain and Portugal. Sir Richard let them know that Sir John Moore’s force, due to return from an ineffective cruise to the Baltic, would be sent to reinforce Wellesley.
This was important news to Moss. ‘Will Moore take command? He is senior.’ Sir John Moore had a fine reputation, only partly dented by the recent shambles, when he had briefly been arrested in Sweden.
Sir Richard shook his head. ‘Moore is Whig. Apart from that he is only a little older than Wellesley. They are sending several more senior generals so the command will go to one of them.’ He did not know who it would be, because again even the government had not yet managed to work that out. ‘Everything is changing by the day. Indeed, George, you have been especially fortunate to be included in the enterprise at all.’ Moss raised an eyebrow and hoped he did not betray the alarm he felt. ‘There were several other regiments clamouring to go in place of you, claiming seniority and a higher state of preparedness. Lord Johnny was especially ardent in pushing the claims of his fusiliers.’
‘There is no regiment as fit for active service as the 106th,’ Moss asserted. ‘Just let us at the French.’ The general and the admiral thumped the table appreciatively. In truth Moss was less happy than he had been, no longer sure of some of his officers. Toye seemed a little too cautious, and he was now less convinced of the wisdom of promoting MacAndrews, although he knew that not to have done so would have caused resentment. Already he was wondering how he might dispose of both majors, as well as some of the captains.
‘What really happened with Hawker?’ asked Sir Richard with artificial innocence. ‘Lord Johnny made a lot of that. Said a regiment that had been led by a madman could not be in much of a state.’
‘There have been plenty of those before,’ put in the admiral, delighted with his own wit.
Moss took care to stay calm, and was glad that the laughter gave him a moment. ‘Major Hawker was simply ill and died suddenly. Nothing more. I trust that Horse Guards no longer have any doubts about the 106th.’
‘Officially, no.’ Sir Richard was choosing his words carefully. ‘Privately, I should avoid any hint of scandal or disorder. At least until you are on board ship.’
A much less grand dinner was held at the MacAndrews’ rented cottage, and the talk was initially more frivolous. Mrs Mosley and Mrs Kidwell were the only other ladies. The Wickhams had been invited, but had declined owing to an existing engagement. As well as their husbands, there were also Truscott, Pringle, Hanley, Williams, Anstey and young Derryck.
The major had not been overenthusiastic about the evening gathering when his wife informed him about it. After the morning’s exercise he was uncertain of the colonel’s mood and had no wish to give the impression that he was creating a faction within the battalion. Still, he had long since admitted to himself that his wife would have her way when it came to social events. It was even more impressive than usual how well and how quickly she had prepared everything, especially since Jane had been out for so much of the day on one of her rides. She had retur hawith a ruined hat and slightly mud-stained clothes, but as yet he had been unable to discover just what had happened.
The meal was pleasant. He had to admit that. Even Derryck, who normally ate like a man who had been starved for a month, appeared to be satisfied and refused an additional helping of beef. At first MacAndrews had managed no more than formal politeness, but as the evening passed he relaxed and genuinely began to enjoy himself. He was proud of his wife and daughter – used to how the former could get away with some outrageous comments, and impressed with the latter’s ease at conversing with anyone. She even managed to draw out the quartermaster, who was notoriously uncomfortable and taciturn in most company.
At 9.30 the ladies went for a walk in the small garden behind the house. The men took their ease, sharing some brandy once the single bottle of port was exhausted. The subject quickly turned to the coming campaign.
‘The French are good. Very good,’ said Mosley after a burst of enthusiastic bravado from Derryck. He had fought in India with another regiment before exchanging into the 106th.
‘Aye, they are brave men,’ agreed Kidwell. As a young private soldier he had served in Flanders and later in another disastrous expedition, this time to the Dutch coast. ‘Skilful, too.’
‘We should never forget that they have hammered half of Europe. However much we despise their upstart of an emperor, he and his men know how to fight.’ Mosley seemed to decide that that was enough and relapsed into silence, taking a long draw from his glass.
‘Napoleon isn’t in Spain, though,’ said Pringle after a pause, when it was clear that Mr Kidwell was also disinclined to add anything.
‘Not yet, anyway, according to the papers.’ Truscott paused to refill his glass. ‘He could be there before we arrived if he chose to join his forces. Depends a bit on how far he trusts the Austrians and Prussians to keep quiet.’
‘A lot of his best regiments are still on the Rhine and Danube.’ Williams spoke with a surprising confidence, feeling for once less awkward in formal company. He was wearing a jacket borrowed from Private Murphy, who was close to his size. His own was at this moment being repaired by Mrs Dobson, for he had managed to spot it caught on a branch that hung over the river. His trousers had vanished altogether. Fortunately he had another pair, although this evening he had donned the more formal breeches and gaiters.
‘Yes, the French officers I spoke to in Madrid complained that most of their men were half-trained conscripts.’ They all looked at Hanley in surprise. Although some of them knew that he had been in Spain during the invasion, he had said next to nothing about it. ‘I saw some of them. They looked younger than our Mr Derryck.’ For a moment he had a vision of the mutilated corpses in Madrid. ‘They know how to kill, though.’
‘We are not the most mature battalion ourselves.’ Kidwell the quartermaster was in his late thirties, but looked older. ‘I was only seventeen in my first battle. In some ways it is easier for the young. At that age death is something that can only happen to other people.’
They asked for more details of Hanley’s experiences. Grudgingly at first he told them of the parades through the streets, the exhibition of the Emperor’s own tents and equipment in one of the parks, and finally the savagery of 2nd May. He tried to keep his account restrained, but his face grew taut when he thought back to the sabres rising and falling amid the fleeing crowd.
There was a sober silence after he had finished.
‘War is rarely a pretty business,’ said MacAndrews eventually. He had spoken little earlier on, content mainly to listen and ask only occasional questions, but was aware of his duty as host. ‘Especially a war when civilians fight.’ His mind had gone back to the brutal struggles in America, the skirmishes and battles when no one British had been present, but Loyalists had fought Patriots, Tories had fought Whigs, and lynchings had been common. That scarcely seemed a suitable topic for the table, so instead he retold a favourite story.
‘I mind the time I first fought the French. They had landed an army to help the rebels attack us in Savannah. Worst country you ever saw in your life. Swamps and streams and forests as thick as jungle. And flies, always flies.’ It was rare to hear MacAndrews talk socially, and even rarer to hear him speak with such enthusiasm. Before his wife arrived it would have been unimaginable. They all craned forward to listen.
‘Well, anyway, they had decided to launch a surprise attack at dawn, moving against what they thought was the weakest bit of our fortifications. My old corps – the seventy-first – were the only regulars there. The rest of the garrison was a ragbag of volunteers. Brave enough, but inexperienced.
‘We knew the French and the Yankees were coming, so the seventy-first were moved to meet the attack. Our pipers greeted the dawn by playing “Hey Johnny Cope”.
Let them know we had smoked them and the highlanders were waiting to entertain them.’ MacAndrews smiled at the memory. ‘They still attacked. Hard to say by then whether it was heroism or folly. Probably just too late to call it off. Well, we simply mowed them down like wheat before the scythe. Never saw men come on better, though. It was hopeless, but the French especially just kept on coming.’
‘Ah, my husband is talking of Savannah once again.’ They had not noticed Esther MacAndrews enter at the head of the ladies. ‘It always cheers him up, although I dare say he has failed to mention that one of my own cousins was killed that day, fighting to make a new country.’
‘You never liked him much,’ retorted the major cheerfully.
‘That is beside the point. Charles Swanson may well have been an ugly louse of a man, but he was still my kin, and you and your Scotsmen spilt his blood.’
‘Well, we were brutal tyrannical redcoats.’
‘I know, I married you.’ MacAndrews kissed his wife’s hand. ‘Enough of this martial talk,’ she declared. ‘I have decided that there is enough light for you to escort us ladies on a short stroll through the town. So you must all make yourselves respectable.’ Williams noticed that she looked at him knowingly as she said this, and wondered whether her daughter had repeated the whole story. It was hard to say, most of Esther MacAndrews’ looks were knowing. Sadly, Pringle and Derryck rushed to escort Jane, one on either side. Williams moved to accompany the Kidwells, but at an imperious gesture from Mrs MacAndrews he fell in alongside the major and his wife.
‘I hear you are well read in the classics, Mr Williams,’ the major’s wife drawled after a while. ‘Come now, you must tell us all about nymphs and satyrs.’
‘I think I shall hire a new maid,’ said Maria, looking at the handful of gold coins Count Denilov had put on the table. She spoke in English, for he had no Portuguese, and she now hated to use French, since Napoleon’s men had invaded her country.
‘You make a goodaid,’ he said with an easy smile. His accent was strong, but there was no hesitation in his use of the language. Maria had a number of costumes which she knew her clients enjoyed. One was a plain black dress, with the white apron and mob cap of a servant girl. The skirt of the dress was hooped in the outdated fashion, and much shorter than any normal clothes. She would pretend to clean the place, bending over so that her legs were visible as far as her knees or even higher. Sooner or later the man would pounce, and then she would pretend to be a surprised innocent, resisting in a way that pleased them, until she ‘let’ herself be seduced or overcome.
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