by Robb, J. D.
They found Ellen’s John and his brother, James, waiting at the bottom of the stairs to the kitchen.
Before James could ask her whatever he was looking so anxious to ask, Mrs. Belweather called him.
“You and John take these pitchers up and fill the punch bowl.”
Martha and Wanda were sent to the entry hall to take wraps and help the ladies.
“I think James is sweet on you, Martha.” Wanda raised her eyebrows, all curious and coy.
Martha shrugged but mentally agreed. It had seemed to her that James was seeking her out more of late. She’d hoped it was only her vanity.
“Do you want me to pass on any message from you?”
“No!” Martha tried to control her panic. “He is very nice but he is too young.”
“Too young? He is a year older than you are.”
“And that is too young for me. I prefer a more experienced man.” Mostly she preferred one who did not breathe through his mouth.
“He is loyal and devoted to his mother.”
“That’s true.” As a matter of fact, his hangdog look was in keeping with his admirable loyalty, for he was as loyal as the major’s dog.
“So you do admit that you admire him.”
“Wanda, I do not want you to pass any message to him. Let me make it perfectly clear to you that I want to kiss him about as much as I want the major’s dog to lick my face.”
“All right, Martha.” Wanda’s tone implied that Martha had been a little too insistent. “There is no need to be disgusting about it.”
“I just wish I could find a man with the qualities I admire in men like James, and the footman Joseph, who also appealed to me in his person.”
“You find a man and, I tell you, he might seem perfect, but then once you are married you will find out the truth.”
“And what truth would that be?” Martha asked.
“I don’t know,” Wanda said irritably, “but there is always something that transforms the perfect man into an idiot.”
“Which explains why you will never find a man. I am not looking for perfection, Wanda. I want a man who is perfect for me, like the ideal bowl of porridge. Neither too hot nor too cold but just right.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Before Martha and Wanda could bicker anymore, the first of the guests arrived. The staff was kept busy for the next hour. After all the ladies had refreshed themselves and joined the party, Mrs. Belweather had one last commission for her.
“Find Sergeant Tresbere, Martha. The countess wants him to join the guests this evening.”
Martha nodded and hurried off, not at all sure where to find the sergeant but thought to start in the obvious places. He was not in the suite of rooms he and the major used. He was not in the kitchen or the servants’ dayroom. She even looked in the library and the bathing room.
Martha reported to Mrs. Belweather, who accepted her failure with good enough grace and sent word to the countess via Joseph that “the sergeant was not available at the moment.”
Taking that phrasing as a mandate, Martha insisted that she would keep on looking. “He must be here somewhere.”
“That’s a good girl, Martha.”
The stables, she thought, and ran around from the front of the house to the block of buildings where the horses were kept. There was some game of chance underway; the usual way to pass time among the coachmen and drivers when there was a party, but no Sergeant Tresbere was among the men gathered there.
Martha was walking slowly back to the house, ready to admit defeat, when she smelled tobacco. With the scent came a wash of memories. Her father favored a pipe. She could see him, in front of the fire, smoking while he read or talked with Mama.
She fingered the coin in her pocket. Oh how she wished she could find a man as wonderful as her papa. She sighed and ignored the way her eyes filled. That was entirely too much to wish for.
No one smoked a pipe at the castle. Of course it could be one of the guests but they would be lingering on the terrace closer to the ballroom, not off the path through the kitchen garden that connected the back of the house with the stables.
She rounded the corner and there sat the sergeant on the bench that was left out for the occasional traveler who came to seek food or shelter, the dogs curled around his feet. He stood up when he saw her.
“Miss Stepp,” he said with some surprise.
“Mrs. Belweather sent me to find you and I have been looking for forever.” It was not very gracious of her to sound petulant and she had no idea why she was being rude. “The countess would like you to join the major.”
He shook his head. “No, I am not ready to go in yet.”
Martha was silent a moment, then ventured, “I do not think it was a suggestion, sir.”
“Neither Mrs. Belweather nor the countess are my employer, Miss Stepp. To be precise, the major is my employer and he understands my wishes in this.”
Was it something they had discussed? she wondered. And why did he not want to join the celebration? Wanda might think her bold but Martha was not so bold as to ask such personal questions.
She nodded instead. “Very well.” She gave a vague curtsylike bob. She really had no idea what this man’s position was in the household hierarchy, but if he was able to defy the countess and Mrs. Belweather, then his station was definitely above hers. She began to turn away.
“Sit a moment, Miss Stepp,” he invited, though it sounded more like a command.
It wasn’t a particularly nice evening. The air was heavy with the threat of rain and too cool for that damp to be welcome, but Martha found herself accepting his suggestion and seated herself at the end of the bench.
They were quiet together and it was a pleasant silence. Martha stroked Midge, who had put her doggie head in her lap, and the sergeant puffed on his pipe with, Martha noticed, something like a nervous sensibility.
“Is your work finished for the day?” he asked.
“Not quite. Mrs. Belweather already knows I have not been able to locate your whereabouts and when I return she will probably have another task for me.”
“So I am keeping you from your work?”
“Only for a few minutes.” She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “I am a conscientious maid, mind you, but I like to think that the occasional moment of rest is what makes me so good at my work.”
The sergeant laughed. “Your mind is as devious as the colonel’s.” He went on in a hurry. “That is a compliment, Miss Stepp. Perhaps I should have said clever, not devious. The colonel was a brilliant man, always able to make his request sound as though it was the only sensible option. A fine leader he was.”
Martha nodded. “Where is he now?”
“Dead at Quatre Bras, the same battle where the major was injured last.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She was embarrassed and had no idea what else to say.
“The cost of war, Miss Stepp.” He breathed in the night air without the aid of his pipe. “It is worth it. To be able to breathe the scent of rain and to know when the daylight comes we will be free to make our own way on our own terms. It is worth it. Though perhaps the colonel would not see it that way.”
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. They were silent again. This time there was pain in the silence and Martha tried to think of a new subject.
“My father smoked a pipe. He might have even used the same tobacco.”
“It’s Spanish,” he said.
“Yes.” Martha turned to him with a smile. “He did favor Spanish blends.”
“What did your father do?”
“He was a silversmith.”
Which probably made him wonder why she was in service. It was too sad a story to tell. It would ruin her evening, if not his.
“My father was an army man all his life.”
“So you followed him.” She liked it when he volunteered these little bits of information.
“I had little choice. I thought of the navy fo
r a bit but a ship would have felt too confining. No, the army it was for me and my brothers.”
“How many brothers?”
“Five.”
“I was an only child.” She wanted to ask how many had survived the war but was afraid of the answer.
“You had a much quieter life than I did, no doubt of that.”
“Too quiet.” She smiled into the darkness. “Much too quiet. How I longed for adventure.” She looked around her, fingering the coin in her pocket. “And now I have it.”
“You consider working as a serving girl an adventure?” She could hear a whisper of surprise in his voice.
“Compared to life in York, yes, I do. I have not always been here, you know. I worked in London for a time. That was fascinating.”
“You prefer cities?”
“I suppose so, but a house as large as Craig’s Castle is a small city unto itself. All in all, the earl employs several hundred men and women.”
“Several hundred?” The sergeant’s surprise was gratifying.
“Yes, it’s amazing, is it not? Of course most of them work in the fields and on the home farm but the household staff is one of the largest I have ever seen.”
“Do you count them friends?”
“Yes. Some of them are dear friends. Ellen and her husband, John, and Wanda, who I share a bedchamber with. Mrs. Belweather is one of the finest housekeepers I have ever met. If I could manage an estate house as well as she does I would consider my life a success.”
“That is your goal, then?”
“I suppose it must seem trivial to someone like you who has fought for the country, has done something truly fine, but for me it is ambition enough.”
“As I said, you are free to live your life as you choose.”
It seemed the perfect opening to mention her interest in wishes. “If you could wish for anything what would it be?”
“No more wars.”
“Oh,” Martha said, momentarily taken aback. “I am not sure even the finest magic coin in the world could grant that wish. Something more personal,” she suggested with a voice made tentative by her boldness.
“Martha Stepp, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
“What does that mean?” It was a phrase she had never heard before.
“Do you see beggars riding horses, Martha?”
“No.” Was this some sort of trick?
“What it means is that wishing is not the same as working to win it or else every beggar in the world would be astride.”
“So you do not believe in making wishes?” Martha tried to hide the profound disappointment she felt.
“Indeed, I am fool enough to wish as often as the next but not fool enough to believe that wishing is all it takes to make a dream come true.”
Martha brightened at that and pulled the coin from her pocket, holding it so tight in her palm that she could feel the edges cut into the fingers. “If I could offer you a magic coin to wish on would you be willing to test it?”
The sergeant turned on the bench and looked at her directly. The movement roused the dogs who wandered off and left the two of them quite alone. Oh, dear, she thought, he thinks I am flirting. But before she could explain he shook his head.
“No, Miss Stepp.”
He’d used her Christian name a moment ago.
“If I want something from someone, I ask for it. I have no need of wishes.”
And no need of an imagination either. How disappointing. Pushing the coin back into the pocket of her apron, Martha ignored the threat of tears and tried to think of a good excuse to end the conversation.
He puffed on his pipe again and then asked, “Do you not consider marriage and a family?”
Well that certainly was direct. Or perhaps not. She was girl enough to wonder why he asked and woman enough to want to know his answer. “Do you, Sergeant?”
He grinned around his pipe stem. “No, marriage would not work for such a man as I am.” He spoke with a conviction that told her he had given it some thought. “But if my world was different I would look for a woman who did not mind a pipe and longed for adventure.” He took the pipe from his mouth and watched her.
She found she could not hold his gaze but watched the smoke curling up from the pipe while she tried to find a way to answer him that was less than shouting “Me! Let it be me!” and jumping into his arms.
The sensible part of her screamed “too soon” and “no imagination.” Sensible won, rare as that was. Standing up, abruptly she gave him a clumsy curtsy. “Mrs. Belweather will be suspicious if I am gone any longer. Good night, Sergeant.”
The sergeant stood and bowed slightly in return and Martha hurried through the door into the kitchen.
SO NOT QUITE THAT ADVENTUROUS, JACK DECIDED, AS HE repacked the tobacco in his pipe and sat down again. Or had he been too ham-handed in his flirtation? If that’s what that was. Or was it his inconsistency, to say on one hand he would never marry and then talk about his ideal in the next breath? How would he go about telling her of his gift, of what it would mean to them as couple? Not that he knew, but he could guess.
The dogs wandered back to his side and he thought them cowards for leaving him to face her alone. They circled and settled at his feet, unaware and uncaring of his censure.
He wished he knew proper women better. The camp followers were generous with their favors and those needs were easily met. Sex as a function of the body and not part of the heart or soul. It’s what he was used to. All he had known.
He thought he’d been circumspect enough when he’d asked the major how a gentleman, that is a gentleman in action if not in name, would court a virtuous woman. The major had surprised him in more ways than one, Jack recalled.
“You do not want to head off to the Canadas without a companion, eh?” the major surmised.
Jack had not even realized that the major had an inkling of his not-quite-a-plan.
“Sir, I am thinking that my days here are numbered. You will be wanting—” He rethought his wording at the major’s scowl. “Or your father will insist you find a proper valet.”
“So you are looking for someone else to take care of, is that it then?”
“I’m not sure what I want. Before we arrived here I could not imagine a woman who would want to spend her life with me, with what I am. But now I am not so sure.”
He shrugged away the implication, true as it was, that there was someone here at the castle who had made him rethink his conviction. “The thing is, Major, I want to do it right and not offend. The world beyond the army is a strange place for a man who has spent his whole life there.”
“You could have stayed on. Your skills are so highly valued there are any number of men, of far higher rank than major, who would wish to have you at their side.”
“Sir?” Exactly what was the major referring to?
“Yes, I think you have what it takes to be an officer, Sergeant Tresbere.”
“There is no more war left to fight, Major,” Jack said, shaking his head.
“Even so. When you were injured at Badajoz I thought I was doing you a favor to ask you to stay with me. Now I think it was a disservice.”
“No, sir, I did not have the heart for fighting after the way the English soldiers entered the city with nothing but rape and pillage in mind.”
“You are a natural-born leader. You recovered, yes, but you should have recovered somewhere behind the lines. With time to put Badajoz out of your mind you would have come back, found a way to lead men and, more important, to keep something like what happened there from ever happening again.”
Jack just shook his head. He wanted to say that the cost would have been too great but there were so many who had given far more than their sanity.
“Which is why your healing skills are a blessing and a curse.”
Jack sank into the chair, even though the major was still standing.
“Do you not think it is time we talked about that? I have pretended ignorance l
ong enough.”
“If you say so, Major,” Jack said, still shocked by the realization that the major had kept his knowledge of Jack’s healing skills to himself for so long.
“I remember wondering,” the major went on, “how it could be that the number of casualties in our company was so much less than in the others? The way you insisted on helping the surgeons after battle or how much time you spent in the sick tent. No wonder you so often looked like death yourself.”
“Nothing that a good sleep couldn’t cure.” Jack felt for his pipe but did not draw it out. “Did any others know?”
“The surgeons thought you a damn good nurse.”
“And when did you know for sure, Major? When did your wondering become certainty?”
“For sure when I was injured myself. I felt you pour your life into me and force the devil death out of me. I don’t know how you did it but most days I am grateful for it.”
“My mother had the gift. I’m the only one of my brothers to have it. And I’m the only one still alive. Is that odd or another sort of gift?”
“I think you are still among us because you have more to share, more people who need your touch.”
“How is it that you are willing to believe something so strange?”
It was the major’s turn to fidget uncomfortably. He let his stick drop and closed his eyes. When he did speak his eyes were still closed.
“Because I have always felt, always known, that I was intended for something out of the ordinary myself. I’ve known from my youngest years that I did not truly belong here at Craig’s Castle.”
Having made this confession he waited a moment.
Jack was the last man in the world to question such a sensibility.
The major must have sensed that, for he opened his eyes and went on. “I wished constantly to be someplace else, anyplace else. As a matter of fact, it’s why my father agreed to let me have this set of rooms at the back of the castle. I wanted to live out in the stables but finally we compromised on these rooms.”
