Lavinia now broke in with, ‘Oh, come, we are all just a little too serious. Jane, will you play for us?’ Lavinia gestured towards the upright piano. ‘It’s not much of an instrument, but there’s not enough room in here for a grand piano. General Enticknap likes ladies to play for him. I do sometimes. But you are so much more musical than I am, Jane. You have a delicate touch.’
‘Stuff and nonsense, but I don’t mind playing.’
They all retired to the piano and Jane began with a rollicking tune that belied her ‘delicate touch’ while the other two sang the lyrics. Lavinia had a passable singing voice: one of which she and her mother were not ashamed. Crossman had great difficulty in holding a tune. While he could move a Greek god to tears with the low notes, his high notes tended to waver and threaten to crack. Still, they all made a brave attempt to stay the course together and the servants in the kitchen hummed along with them, they being more concerned with the joy that flowed forth, rather than any lack of musical accomplishment.
After the third song, Crossman went to the table and took a drink of water, knocking over a crystal-glass jug in the process. It crashed to the floor and shattered. He turned in horror to Lavinia. ‘Please tell me that did not belong to General Enticknap.’
‘Oh, but it did,’ replied Lavinia, looking as distressed as he felt. ‘I think it was an heirloom or something, left to him by his great-grandmother. I believe it had been given to her by an Austrian princess.’
‘Oh, my God,’ he murmured. ‘I’m so sorry, Lavinia.’
‘Well, Sergeant Fancy Jack Crossman, you’ll just have to explain it to the general in the best way you can.’
A chill went through him. ‘I – I can’t possibly do that.’
Lavinia’s face was hard. ‘The accident was your fault. You must take the responsibility.’
Crossman squirmed inside his uniform. ‘No, really, you can see it’s impossible. I can’t, for more reasons than you could imagine. Please, Lavinia. You must be sensible.’
She burst out laughing as a servant came in with a brush and dustpan to sweep up the pieces. ‘He is easy, isn’t he, Jane? Of course I shall explain it all to the general. It isn’t an heirloom, so far as I know, and I shall offer to pay for the damage. Now, I have to organize things in the kitchen. Jane, would you mind entertaining Alexander?’ Significant looks passed between the two women. Jane went a little pink and looked about to protest, but in the end she simply nodded and sat down again at the table. Crossman went back to his own seat, relieved that he did not have to face an irate general. Lavinia left the room with the servant.
Now that they were alone, Crossman studied Jane a little more closely in the candlelight. Such light was often flattering to young ladies, but he could see that Jane had grown into a beautiful woman. Her dark hair and eyes contrasted with her pale complexion and Crossman felt she radiated that loveliness that Byron had spoken of in his poem She walks in beauty, like the night. In fact he spoke the words in his thoughts, all that’s best of dark and bright, seeing how well they fitted his cousin. Jane, in her turn, allowed herself to be studied for a few minutes, before feeling she should interrupt this evident flow of thoughts.
‘Cousin Alexander.’
‘Eh, what? Oh, sorry, Jane. We – we have seen so few lovely ladies here in the Crimea. You must forgive me for staring. It’s like having a fresh breeze blow in from an English meadow, or a Scottish hillside. I am so sorry if I appear rude.’
‘Don’t apologize. I do understand. And I’m flattered. But tell me, why do they call you Fancy Jack? It makes you sound like some sort of romantic highwayman.’
‘Oh, that,’ he was dismissive. ‘It’s to do with being a gentleman in the ranks, nothing more.’
With those remarks out of the way, Crossman suddenly felt awkward in the presence of his cousin. She was like some delicate thing blown in from distant shores. And he was not quite prepared for dealing with such a situation. He struggled for something to say, and found himself at a loss. What did one talk to young women about? At first he tried to focus on a local event which could affect the whole war.
‘Have you seen our siege railway? The engineers, along with our sappers, are progressing magnificently.’
‘The one from Balaclava to the front? Yes, I noticed it today. Such muddy conditions they have to work in.’
‘Yes indeed, very muddy.’
‘Extremely muddy.’
They fell silent again.
Well, that seemed to wrap up that particular subject.
Then he remembered that he and Jarrard had been talking about clocks the other day, following his abortive attempt with the electric clock in the school room. He wondered if Jane were interested in horology. He guessed she would not be up to discussing the enormous potential possibilities of steam-driven sea vessels, or the latest agricultural machine for the furtherance of the management of land. But time and clocks were surely feminine as well as masculine subjects?
‘My friend Rupert and I were discussing the electric clock the other day,’ he said, tapping the table absently with a silver spoon. ‘You recall the one invented by my namesake, Alexander Bain?’
‘Oh, really. No, I wasn’t aware of Mr Bain’s achievement,’ Jane replied.
He leaned forward sensing, he thought, some enthusiasm in her reply. ‘Well, you really ought to be, Jane. I mean it’s a tremendous leap forward in the world of inventions. Clocks have been with us for centuries now, of course. The Romans had water and candle clocks, and I’m sure they were not the first. I suppose there have been three major developments in the centuries between. The invention of the escapement by a Chinese gentleman called Hing, in 725. This was followed by the spiral spring, which Christian Huygens, the Dutchman, gave us in 1675. Then of course there’s the chronometer . . .’
He had said the last word in such hushed tones Jane felt he must be speaking of some religious artefact, perhaps a clock that fitted a communion cup and assisted the sacraments, or a special pocket watch with which a vicar timed his Evensong sermon. But no, she was wrong, she learned in the next few minutes, for chronometers were used by the navy in order to determine whereabouts they might be on a world of water. Were they then instruments of navigation? Well yes, they were, but they were also time pieces, very precise measurers of time in fact. And going back, she asked, what indeed was an escapement? He told her as best he could, for he could see she was having a little difficulty with some of the terms he was using.
‘The most commonly used escapement, essential to any clock, was invented by the Frenchman, Perron, in 1798. It consists of an arrangement of toothed wheels and an anchor.’
At this point, Jane suddenly excused herself, saying she had just remembered something of great importance she had to tell Lavinia. She swept away and into the kitchen. It was with relief that she leaned against the kitchen wall and recovered her battered senses. Lavinia was there and raised her eyebrows in expectation.
‘Well?’ whispered her friend. ‘What has he been talking about?’
‘Escapement!’ said Jane, her hands fluttering.
Lavinia was horrified. ‘Escaping? From here? He isn’t going to desert?’ she cried.
‘No, no,’ smiled Jane. ‘You don’t understand. Neither do I, really. An escapement is something to do with a clock. Apparently it controls the transfer of energy from the device to the hands and provides the oscillator with energy which compensates for that lost through friction.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, Lavinia dear, I can’t repeat it. I’m amazed I managed to get it all out the first time.’
‘He’s been talking about clocks?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, Lavinia. I’m not equal to his intellect. Even were he to show an interest in me, which I’m not at all sure I’m capable of responding to at the moment – I’m not sure I actually want to respond in fact – I would not be able to talk with him. My chatter about what to purchase for an evening meal and whether a particular
shade of green suited me would not satisfy his yearning for intelligent conversation. I would be a great disappointment to him, I’m certain of that. I agreed to come to this supper because I wanted to see Alexander – see how he had changed and what sort of man he had grown into – but I do not want to be matched with anyone at the present. You know I am soiled goods, in any case. If Alexander were to learn that I had been jilted . . .’
‘If he learned that, he would take the next ship home to England and challenge that blackguard to a duel!’
‘I am sure he would not. I must face it, now that Peter has run off with that Austrian – well, lady – and left me bereft, my previous suitors have not exactly been flocking back to console me. I am a pariah, Lavinia, and I’m sure Alexander would have nothing to do with me if he knew of the business. Why should he attach himself to one so recently involved in a scandal, and set the tongues wagging against his judgement? Not many would, you know. I shall have to put up with elderly, crusty men leering at me and giving me knowing looks, until my youth fades and they are no longer impressed.’
‘It was not your fault,’ cried Lavinia, furiously. ‘That awful man was responsible and I hope someone shoots him very soon. Besides, Alexander did the very same thing to me, you know. At the time I wanted someone to shoot him, too.’
‘It was quite different with you and Alexander. You had an implied agreement which no one else knew about, and from what you’ve told me, it was not cast in stone. With Peter and I, well the announcement was made public, as you know. Alexander only missed reading about it because he was here in the Crimea. I am now officially a fallen woman, Lavinia, to be abused by every dowager from London to Brighton.’ Jane smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want to drag Alexander into all that. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Stuff and nonsense. If you think that would worry Alexander, you don’t know him very well, even if he is your pretend cousin. I don’t think he’d care a jot about any scandal. Good heavens, Jane, how could he? He’s a sergeant in the army, going under an assumed name. His scandal would eclipse any that you might find yourself embroiled in.’
In order that her argument could not be refuted, Lavinia left her friend and went back into the parlour.
‘What’s this I hear?’ she hissed severely to Crossman, who had just lit the chibouque.
He took the pipe out of his mouth and said, ‘What?’
‘You’ve been talking about clocks!’
He shrugged. ‘Yes. Yes, I have. Cousin Jane expressed an interest.’
‘No she did not. You simply thundered ahead. What did you expect, that she would be enthralled? I expected you to make love to her.’
‘Well – well, I’m sorry, I can’t do such things to order. Jane is my cousin. Can’t I talk with my cousin without being expected to roll out romantic drivel? Listen!’ He pointed to the door. A bugle was playing somewhere in the evening. ‘Beating the retreat. I ought to get back. I may be missed . . .’
Lavinia’s expression told him he was not going to escape that easily. However, there was a knock on the door. It opened without being answered and a head poked round. To Crossman’s horror it was the head of Lavinia’s husband, Captain Durham.
‘Oh, hello Bertie. Come on in. You’ve met Alexander, of course? Son of Major Kirk of the 93rd Foot?’
Bertie, chubby and benign-looking, drifted into the room.
‘Hello old chap,’ he said, extending a hand, purposely not seeing the sergeant’s uniform. ‘Very glad to see you.’
Crossman jumped from the chair, grabbing his pipe with his left hand, and shaking hands with the right. ‘I was just leaving,’ he said, quickly.
‘Not on my account, I hope,’ said Durham. ‘Didn’t mean to intrude. Just thought I’d let you know that we’re about to begin a bombardment. A big one. Tomorrow morning. Thought the ladies ought to know. Be a bit loud I’m afraid. Over 500 guns are going to open up at once. Should be quite a noise, even back here.’
Jane came into the room and Lavinia repeated what her husband Bertie had told them, while Crossman stood awkwardly to attention, fiddling with the hot bowl of his chibouque. He desperatately wanted to leave the cottage, but his feet felt as if they were made of plumbum. So he simply remained, silent and stiff, by the hearth.
Jane said, ‘It seems I’ve arrived at an exciting moment.’
‘Indeed it does,’ replied Bertie. ‘Well, my dear, I’m off. Quartermaster’s duties and all that. Also Duty Officer. I’ll be back for breakfast, my dear. Goodbye, er, Kirk.’
Crossman did not correct him. ‘Goodbye.’
Once he had gone, Crossman made his excuses and said he would be going too. ‘Thanks so much for a wonderful evening,’ he said to Lavinia. ‘Jane, I hope you won’t stay in this mud hole for long. You deserve to be back in England, to enjoy the spring.’
At the door, he whispered to Lavinia, ‘What was all that about? Why didn’t Captain Durham say something?’
‘My dear Alex,’ she replied, a slim hand on his shoulder, ‘you are the son of a baronet. Bertie is the son of a merchant. You forget he was once a sergeant too, when he began his army career.’
‘A baronet is nothing.’
‘To you, perhaps.’
‘But I’m not a baronet. My father is. Nothing to do with me.’
‘Like myself, you are gentry, Alexander. Bertie, bless his heart, is impressed by high society. You might ask why, since we both know that high society is infested by more rats than the Thames embankment, but I’ve never managed to disabuse Bertie of his illusions. He thinks that those born with a silver spoon have silver souls. He believes us to be higher creatures than the rest of the population. Poor Bertie. He aspires, you know, to becoming one of us, not knowing really that he would be taking a step backwards.’
‘I shouldn’t worry, he’ll never get there.’
‘Of course not. Birth is the only door. Once you’ve missed the entrance you can never find it again. They won’t let you. And once you’ve stepped outside, as I have by marrying a man beneath my station, the door is locked behind you.’
‘Nonsense. You have dukes and earls asking you to dine.’
She shook her head and gave him a wistful smile. ‘Only here, Alex, on campaign. In England they would never do it. Their wives and mothers wouldn’t let them. Can you see them letting Bertie into their houses? My father did warn me, of course, but I knew better. If Papa had been a younger man, he might have set himself against the match, but elderly widowers have trouble in resisting determined daughters. And to tell you the truth, I don’t mind that much. Bertie’s father isn’t poor. I shall never want for money. And when Bertie finally leaves the army we’ll settle for a nice house in Devonshire, or Dorset, and I shall have a flower garden and be the lady of the village. In any case, I wouldn’t have Bertie subjected to the tongues, you know.’
Crossman said, ‘Bertie is better off being Bertie.’
‘So I’ve told him, but there you are. He yearns for the impossible. Of course, marrying me was an enormous leap forward for him, but the chasm grows ever wider. Quartermasters, be they commissioned officers or not, stand no better chance than merchants of being accepted. They don’t know the passwords, the gestures, the nuances. Poor, poor Bertie.’
‘Poor, poor us.’
‘Quite. Now, did you like her? Your grown-up cousin?’
‘Of course I liked her,’ replied Crossman. ‘I’ve always liked her.’
‘No, I mean did you like her.’
‘Lavinia, that’s for me to keep in here,’ said Crossman, tapping his chest. ‘It’s no business of yours.’
With that he turned and marched out into the night. Lavinia turned also, closing the door as she did so. ‘Jane, my dear, he is besotted with you.’
‘Oh, Lavinia,’ scolded Jane. ‘Please!’
‘No, no, he is, I assure you. I can tell. Now, what shall we do? General Enticknap will be back soon. A game of whist to pass the time? You shall own up to breaking the crystal-glass jug, of
course. We can’t tell him we entertained a sergeant, even if he is the son of a baronet. General Enticknap is not so gullible or easily impressed as Bertie, since I believe there’s an earl in that family. And I can’t say I did it. He might be very annoyed and I’d never get the use of the cottage again. No, it will have be you I’m afraid, Jane. You’d better practise being dreadfully sorry. Widen your eyes, let them go a little moist and have your lips tremble a little as if you expect the wrath of God to descend upon your bowed head. That ought to weaken him. He’s only a man, after all.’
Jane protested, but was firmly overruled.
Crossman woke next morning to the thunderous roar of the guns. Bertie had been right. There was a major bombardment in progress. When the Russian guns replied, some 1,000 of them, the whole peninsula seemed to rattle and shake. For the next ten days the bombardment did not cease. Hundreds of thousands of rounds were used. They fell in droves on both sides. The allied troops were fairly well protected by their trenches, but the Russian infantry, often exposed, had dreadful casualties. Some reports said that over six thousand Russian soldiers met their death from that bombardment alone. By day Sebastopol’s defences were battered and beaten, by night they were raised again. French attacks were promised, but their commander-in-chief kept calling them off at the last minute, having received counter instructions from his emperor in Paris. It was a frustrating and deadly time, with iron balls raining from the sky, and no real advantage being taken by either side.
Early in May, in the calm that followed a heavy barrage, Crossman took Jane to see some amateur theatricals put on by the Zouaves. The proceeds of the performance would benefit the French prisoners of the Russians. The play had just begun, with some soldiers mincing onto the stage dressed as women. Their faces rouged and wearing wigs of dyed fur, they began squeaking in high voices. Jane protested.
‘Ladies do not speak like that!’
‘Hush,’ replied Crossman, ‘French ladies might.’
‘I know several French ladies and they do not squeak like mice. And what does that creature in the red wig think he’s doing with his skirts? Oh dear, this is rather risqué, Alexander. Petticoats on show?’
The Winter Soldiers Page 26
