Epilogue
Captain David Blackwood leaned back in a comfortable leather chair and stared through the open French windows. Inside the great house nothing seemed to have changed, he thought. Only when the carriage had carried him through the high gates of Hawks Hill three days ago had he noticed any difference. The big gates needed painting badly, and the lodge-house looked unkempt.
Later after an emotional welcome, Trent, the estate steward, had told him that two of the small farms had been sold off in an effort to pay for some of the General’s extravagances.
But that could wait. It was good to be back in England and in time for another summer. Through the windows he could see the neatly trimmed bushes, the swaying masses of colour from the well-tended flower-beds.
Upon his return to Portsmouth in a slow troopship he had heard the news of the Allies finally lifting the siege of Peking, and the end of the Boxers’ Society. The damage to Chinese trade and finances was almost crippling with millions of pounds’ indemnity to be paid to the European powers and their allies.
Now, looking at the gardens and the green Hampshire countryside beyond, it was hard to believe that it was exactly a year since he and his men had stood together for the final attack which never came.
Most of the survivors of his company had also returned to England, some to their homes, others to the naval hospital at Haslar. Blackwood had made a point of visiting the wounded before he had left Portsmouth for Hawks Hill. They had seemed cheerful enough, but Blackwood doubted if their nights were so peaceful. But now that he was home again perhaps the nightmares would leave him alone. The distorted, screaming faces, the terrible chant Sha! Sha! Even in the troopship he had awakened in a cold sweat night after night.
He thought of the General and his mother. They seemed to have got over Neil’s death, or at least they were able to accept it. His return and Ralf’s impulsive gallantry in that final battle had made up for a lot.
Blackwood often recalled the last time he had seen Friedrike. Almost as soon as the relief force had occupied the city, and the weary defenders relieved, he had hurried to the mission to see her. He had been in time to see her being assisted to a carriage with a full escort of German marines.
They had touched hands and he had seen the tears in her eyes before a black-coated official had coughed politely and guided her into the carriage. It all seemed like a dream. Something which had happened and which he could not accept or understand.
Like the news which had greeted his return to home waters. The Queen was dead. The end of an era. A personality they had all come to take for granted. Perhaps the affairs of state, the wars in China and South Africa, Egypt and the Crimea during her long reign had finally been too much for her.
But the memory of Friedrike and their one night of love together rarely left his thoughts. When he walked round the estate to meet new faces and renew old acquaintances he had touched the locket around his neck, and had wondered about her.
He saw Trooper, the ubiquitous horse, being led by Swan towards the stables. A very adaptable animal, he thought, who seemed as much at home here as in Tientsin. How much younger Swan looked out of uniform. If he was surprised to have survived he kept it a secret.
He heard a door open and watched his father settle himself in one of the big chairs. If he had changed at all it was only that he no longer bothered about the servants seeing him wearing spectacles in the house.
He would want to hear it all over again. The events which had led up to the battle, pieced together with names and faces, strength and weakness.
When Blackwood had told him about Ralf he had chuckled. ‘Young puppy. Up in London now chasin’ some filly or other.’ His severe features had relaxed. ‘God, Philip would have been proud of him. I am.’
There was to be a special dinner in David Blackwood’s honour tonight. He hoped his stomach could cope after all the bad food and coarse rations of the campaign.
And there was Sarah, the girl Neil had hoped to marry. A nice sensible girl, as his mother had described her. But there was a lot more to her than that. She would be here too. She had seemed pleased to meet him, with a sort of questioning shyness. Perhaps she was searching for Neil in him?
He smiled to himself. His mother had taken the girl with her to Alresford, their nearest village. Perhaps she was match-making in her quiet way.
He glanced at the headlines on his father’s newspaper. The Kaiser demands massive rearmament. German Fleet to be reinforced.
His father looked over his glasses.
‘There was a piece about your German countess in the paper a few weeks back. I meant to mention it, but what with your return and the news about –’
‘What was it?’ He found himself on the edge of his chair.
The General eyed him curiously. ‘On the society page. The Countess von Heiser had a baby, a boy as it turns out. So the old family line will continue after all. Strange, I heard at the Club that the Count was supposed to be impotent.’
He went back to his newspaper.
Blackwood stood up and walked slowly into the clean June air.
They had both wanted an heir more than anything. They would tell nobody. Only he knew the truth. He touched the locket beneath his shirt. Our son.
The old General looked up and watched him cross the terrace to speak with Swan.
Then he gave a slow smile. He had not yet forgotten what it was like to be young.
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First published by Arrow Books in 1985
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Copyright © Highseas Authors ltd 1984
Douglas Reeman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
First published in the United Kingdom in 1984 by Hutchinson
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The First to Land (1984) Page 28
