The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘I’m a soldier. Dying comes with the job.’ The glib reply fell flat, even to Jack’s own ears.

  ‘And that’s it? You would lay down your life for employment?’

  Jack held Bridges’ intense gaze. ‘Yes.’ This time he answered seriously. He did not shirk the question he saw in the other man’s eyes. He lifted his chin. ‘I’m a redcoat, or at least I was once, and I’m still a soldier. I made that choice a long time ago.’ He offered Bridges a thin-lipped smile. ‘It’s all I know.’

  Bridges shook his head, as if the reply saddened him. ‘Then I rather think I pity you.’

  ‘No. For God’s sake don’t pity me.’ Jack’s smile faded.

  In front of them the men were dismissed. Immediately they started to chatter, the quiet of early morning broken by the sound of the company’s building excitement.

  Jack nodded farewell to Bridges and went to do his job.

  ‘God bless you, sir.’

  Jack did his best not to wince as a thickset man dressed in a black frock coat stepped forward to shake his hand. Faneuil Hall was packed to the rafters as the well-to-do citizens of Boston crammed inside to bid farewell to the first soldiers being sent to war. The men had spent the early hours of the morning in preparations for their departure. Now the first well-wishers had been allowed in ahead of the company’s formal farewell from the Governor.

  The man who had shaken Jack’s hand with such enthusiasm moved on to clap another soldier on the back. Jack had a moment’s respite and so turned to check that his equipment was still where he had left it. The sergeants had vacated their living space now that the men had cleared the lower level in preparation for their departure, and the regiment’s band had installed themselves up in the gallery. They had struck up a tune the moment the first of the day’s guests had arrived, the bandmaster choosing ‘Hail, Columbia’. They played well, to Jack’s ear at least.

  The music helped to fill the hall with a carnival atmosphere, and the men’s wives, sweethearts and families filed inside to say the first of many farewells to their menfolk. Their voices competed with the band and the noise levels were growing with every new arrival.

  Jack stood remote from it all. Many of the visitors gave him a wide berth, only a few willing to approach the stranger with the scarred face and hard eyes. Those who did moved on quickly, not one of them lingering for conversation, something that pleased Jack no end.

  A grey-haired woman brushed past him as she pushed through the crowd. He followed her passage, wondering whom she sought so eagerly. He heard her cry of delight as she spotted two young soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder. He recognised them at once: the pair of identical twins known to every man in the regiment. He could not help but smile as she dived forward and embraced both at the same time, one under each arm, her face turning quickly from side to side to smother them with kisses. He was close enough to see the tears streaming down her face. His smile faded as she spotted his scrutiny and immediately grabbed her boys’ hands and frogmarched them towards him.

  ‘Are you in charge here?’ She had to shout to be heard over the music and the general hubbub.

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Jack tried to sound polite.

  The woman scowled at the answer. Her face was puffy and blotchy from her tears, but her eyes blazed. ‘My boys ain’t old enough for this. They need to be excused.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll need to take that up with one of the officers.’ Jack tried to deflect the woman. Her boys, Amos and James, would not meet his gaze; both looked at the floorboards, their embarrassment obvious.

  ‘I told them not to join up.’ The twins’ mother kept talking, his words clearly not registering. ‘But they defied me, the little devils, and now here they are, about to go to war when they should be home with me doing their lessons.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jack bent forward so that his mouth was closer to the woman’s ear, ‘but you’ll have to speak to—’

  ‘You should all be ashamed of yourselves, taking boys like this.’ The woman continued without drawing a breath. ‘Why, my lads are barely sixteen! That’s too young, you all know that, but you keep turning a blind eye. You know they’re meant to be eighteen.’

  Jack tried to feign interest. ‘I am sure the recruiting officers would have checked their age, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, you think that, do you?’ The woman’s round cheeks were colouring. She shook both her hands, geeing her boys up. ‘You tell the man, you tell the man what you did.’

  The twins glanced at one another before one of them spoke, his words barely audible. ‘We put a slip of paper in our shoes.’

  ‘You speak up now, so that the man can hear you.’

  The first twin grimaced, then lifted his gaze to Jack’s face. ‘We both wrote on a scrap of paper and put it in our shoes.’

  Jack was starting to find the conversation rather amusing. ‘Why would you do that?’ He spoke slowly and carefully.

  ‘We wrote the number eighteen on it.’ This time the second twin replied. It was often the way. Jack had only had a few conversations with the twins, and he still could not tell them apart, but he had found that they had the habit of speaking as if they were one person.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So we could say we were over eighteen,’ the first twin replied.

  Jack could not help the guffaw that escaped his lips. There was something in the intensely earnest way that the lad made the confession that he found amusing.

  The twins’ mother did not. ‘My boys are good Christian lads. They couldn’t lie, they ain’t capable of it.’

  ‘Did no one question this ruse?’ Jack tried to sound serious.

  ‘I vouched for him.’ One spoke first.

  ‘And I vouched for him.’ The second chimed in almost immediately.

  ‘They need to be excused.’ Their mother spoke before Jack could say anything further. ‘They’re clever boys, with keen minds. They ain’t cut out to be soldiers. Why, Mr Spratt at the schoolhouse says they could both be lawyers one day.’

  ‘Well, they’re soldiers now.’ Jack sensed someone else approaching. To his relief, it was Rowell. ‘But here is the man you need to be speaking with, Mrs Thatcher.’ He waved for his captain’s attention. ‘Captain Rowell, have you a moment?’

  Rowell came over, smile in place on his face. As the company’s commander, he was a busy man, not least because all the worthy people allowed in to see the troops wanted a moment with the hero of the hour.

  ‘Mrs Thatcher would like to speak with you, sir. About Amos and James. She believes there is a problem with their attestation.’ Jack gave the introduction smoothly, then stepped back to take himself out of the conversation. But he had no intention of slipping away. He wanted to see how Rowell handled the situation.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Thatcher.’ Rowell came close and beamed at the twins’ mother. ‘How may I assist you this morning?’

  ‘Well, sir, Captain Rowell, it’s about my boys.’

  Jack could not help but notice the change that came over Mrs Thatcher. She was a much older woman, yet she could not hide her salacious appraisal of the company’s captain.

  ‘They are fine boys, and fine soldiers. You must be very proud of them both.’

  Rowell was all oily charm, to Jack’s eyes at least. It was enough to make the twins’ mother turn coy and flutter her eyelids as she looked up at the handsome officer. Rowell looked particularly fine that morning. His uniform was immaculate and his skin glowed as if it had been buffed. Jack did not think he had ever seen anyone quite as heroic. Even the fabled General Nicolson, the commander of the army that had attacked Delhi, had never looked as valiant as the magnificent Captain Ethan Rowell.

  ‘Oh, I am, Captain, I am indeed. But, Captain Rowell, you know they ain’t old enough to be soldiers. They’re still just boys. They’ve had their
fun, but enough is enough. They’ve got a bright future ahead of them; one that means they should stay home with me.’

  ‘They do indeed have a bright future, Mrs Thatcher.’ Rowell’s lips curled into an even more expansive smile as he reached out to take her hand, which he held carefully, as if frightened he would break it. ‘As soldiers.’

  ‘But they’re just boys.’ The twins’ mother fought against Rowell’s charm. From the flush on both cheeks, it seemed she was losing the battle.

  ‘The colonel won’t have it, Mrs Thatcher, and nor will I.’ Rowell still held the woman’s hand, which he raised as if about to kiss it. ‘They’ll be back in three months, perhaps sooner, and they shall return to you as men. This adventure will be the making of them, and I’ll warrant they’ll study harder once they’ve seen the elephant.’

  ‘The elephant?’ Mrs Thatcher fairly breathed the words, her eyes locked on Rowell’s handsome face.

  ‘It’s what we soldiers call battle, Mrs Thatcher.’ Rowell adopted a tone that implied he was sharing some great secret with her and her alone. ‘Your boys will tell you all about it when they get home.’

  Mrs Thatcher tried to reply. Her words, whatever they might have been, came out as little more than a whimper, and the tears started to flow. The twins buried their heads against her shoulders.

  ‘They’ve got to go?’ She tried one last time, but there was no force in her words; her defeat was almost complete.

  ‘Do not upset yourself, Mrs Thatcher.’ Rowell, unmoved by the emotion, was all charm. ‘Your brave lads are doing something that will live long in the memory of this country. You’ll make your mother proud, won’t you, boys?’

  The two young soldiers looked up at their officer and nodded forcefully. ‘Yes, sir!’ they chimed in unison.

  Their mother looked back at Rowell with eyes full of pain before finally nodding and embracing her two boys as if she could hold on to them for ever.

  His victory complete, Rowell finally let go of Mrs Thatcher’s hand. ‘Sergeant Lark.’

  ‘Sir?’ Jack’s amusement had faded. He saw a mother’s love for her children on open display, and it shamed him.

  ‘The Kearneys have arrived to say goodbye. They have asked to see you before we leave.’

  ‘That is kind of them.’ Jack looked around him. Elsewhere there was as much laughing and joking as sadness. The men were loud and confident, and were having a ball as their relatives fussed around them. He had thought it would all pass him by, his lot to stand and watch. But the arrival of the Kearney family had changed that. He might be a stranger in the great city of Boston, but someone had still come to bid him farewell.

  ‘Ethan!’

  Jack was slightly behind Rowell when Elizabeth Kearney spied her fiancé emerging from the crowd of well-wishers and soldiers.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ Rowell’s reaction was enthusiastic, and he swept forward to take her hand and hold it to his lips. ‘I am so glad you are here, my love. I cannot tell you what it means to see you one last time before I embark on this great endeavour.’

  Jack hung back, awkward in front of the pair’s meeting. Elizabeth glowed. A delicate covering of rouge and powder adorned her face, and her lips had been tinted the colour of winter berries. She looked radiant, and Jack could see every man in the vicinity glancing in her direction.

  ‘I have something for you.’ Elizabeth was very aware of the attention directed her way, but to her credit she did not seem to dwell on it, instead focusing on Ethan. She handed him the pale linen sack she was carrying. Ethan made a play of nearly dropping it, as if surprised by its weight.

  ‘Why, it is so heavy!’ he exclaimed, then looked around him to check that everyone was watching his display. ‘Whatever can it be?’

  ‘Why don’t you open it, my love?’

  Jack was watching Elizabeth as closely as any other man in the vicinity. Did he detect a moment’s iciness in her reply? It was delivered with the same beaming smile, but he thought he saw a flash of something in her eyes, as if she was far from impressed by her intended’s display.

  ‘Indeed I shall!’ Ethan spoke overly loudly, like an actor on a stage. He turned and looked around him. To Jack’s dismay, his eyes alighted on him. ‘Sergeant Lark, a moment’s assistance, if you please.’

  Jack did his best not to grimace, and walked forward dutifully. He glanced at Elizabeth as he came closer, but her eyes were focused solely on Rowell, who was fishing inside the linen sack.

  ‘My love, what have you given me here?’ Rowell was playing to the crowd, many of whom were bobbing their heads as they tried to see what was going on. He succeeded in freeing a large dark-wood box from within the sack and placed it in Jack’s hands, then opened the lid with excruciating slowness, drawing the big reveal out for as long as he could. He need not have bothered. The gift was so splendid that it needed no such preamble. The crowd gave a loud moan of delight as he finally pulled out a revolver.

  Jack was only just able to hold back a sigh of his own. The metal of the revolver had been buffed and polished so that it glowed like silver, whilst the handle was inlaid with ivory. It was a magnificent example of the gunsmith’s art, and in a room full of soldiers it was sure to draw almost as much attention as the beautiful young woman who had presented it.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Elizabeth asked as Rowell stood with the gun held carefully across his palms.

  ‘Like it?’ he breathed as he turned, his eyes alive with pleasure. ‘It is beautiful.’ He stepped towards her, his back now turned to Jack. ‘Thank you.’

  Jack did his best to hide his jealousy. At least Rowell now blocked his view of Elizabeth’s face. Seeing her pleasure at her fiancé’s reaction would likely make him want to spit.

  He glanced down at his own revolver. Rowell’s gift bore little comparison to the scratched and scuffed weapon he carried. It was hard not to see the two firearms as being made in the image of their owners. One was a hand-crafted jewel of a weapon, a thing of beauty that would inspire jealousy and envy. The other was mass-produced, battered and scarred from long use; a tool to be used in battle then hidden from sight once the fighting was done. It was not a flattering comparison.

  Rowell and Elizabeth were now speaking quietly to one another. The onlookers had mainly turned away, giving the couple less attention now that the ceremony of the gift-giving had passed. Jack was content to merge back into the crowd, but not before he dumped the revolver’s case and the linen sack on a pile of haversacks resting against one of the room’s many pillars. Arms free, he looked around for Robert.

  ‘You finished mooning over her now?’

  Jack started as someone addressed him. It was the young maid who had disturbed his bath. He had not seen her amongst the crowd.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ He felt the burn of embarrassment on his cheeks.

  ‘Oh yes. But don’t you worry none. You aren’t exactly alone.’ The maid stepped closer. ‘Half the room is looking at milady over there.’ She turned to stare at Elizabeth.

  Jack used the moment to look more closely at the girl in front of him. He was struck by quite how pretty she was. There was a flush on her cheeks from the heat in the room that accentuated her high cheekbones. The crimson tinge sat well on her dark skin, but it was her eyes that demanded attention. They were too widely spaced to be considered classically beautiful, yet the whites were bright and the irises were a brown so dark they appeared to be almost black. There was beauty in her finely defined features, but it was marred by the thin scars he had noticed the first time they had met. Now that he stood close to her, he could see that they were made up of a number of thin welts that stretched across the lower part of her right cheek and underneath her jaw. Each scar was razor thin, the raised flesh pinker than the darker skin surrounding it. His scrutiny had to come to an abrupt end as she turned back to face him once again, but he w
as left wondering how she had been injured.

  ‘What’s your name? You didn’t tell me when we last met,’ he asked as soon as he had her attention. She was a good foot shorter than he was and so was forced to crane her neck far back so that she could look him in the eyes.

  ‘Is that how you Englishmen introduce yourselves?’ She was clearly not impressed. ‘Well, my name’s Rose, for whatever that’s worth to you. I know yours, so don’t worry none about telling me.’

  ‘Have I made you jealous, Rose?’ Jack teased. Everything she had said to him up to that point had been peppery. He wanted to see if he could draw out another emotion.

  ‘No.’ The denial was sharp. ‘Don’t you have no one of your own to moon over?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Maybe once.’ Jack scowled. He had been immediately put on the back foot by this slip of a girl half his size.

  Rose’s mouth twitched as if a smile was being hidden. ‘Figures.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘You’re too old to never have had someone.’

  ‘Too old!’ Jack could not help the exclamation.

  ‘Just saying.’ Rose glanced away, hiding her expression. When she looked back at him once again, her face was serious. ‘So why have you signed up for this?’

  ‘I needed employment.’ He shrugged as he replied. He felt comfortable talking to Rose. He sensed they were equals. They had very different types of master, but they both served.

  ‘That all this is to you?’

  ‘I’m a soldier.’

  Rose shook her head, clearly not impressed with his statement. ‘So you’re a mercenary.’

  ‘No.’ His answer was immediate.

  ‘You sure ’bout that?’ The rejoinder was just as quick. ‘You look like one to me.’

  He laughed. ‘The way I see it, there are a lot of us doing what we are told for money. Soldiering. Fighting.’ He looked pointedly at Rose. ‘Serving.’