Fortune's Soldier

by Deryn Lake

  ‘Indeed, Countess, indeed.’

  He brushed the back of her hand with his spongy lips.

  ‘After all,’ thought Anne, enduring the moist salute with fortitude, ‘if Horatia does not like him there is always Ida Anna.’

  *

  Inside the trap the beautiful arctic fox struggled helplessly, its legs — unbroken but yet caught in the wicked netting — tearing again and again as it tried to fight its way back to freedom. But what a glorious sight it was, even in the wretched cage. A crystal being in a land of silver — with a pluming tail of snow, muzzle of glittering white, and eyes lakes of fierce and lonely purity.

  The trapper could not kill it. He crouched over the small and primitive prison and saw it turn to look at him. There was blood on that lovely fur; red as poppies in frost. He put out his hand to touch it, knowing that the glacier teeth could not reach him.

  ‘Come, my friend,’ he said. ‘Go free. It is not my intention to harm you.’

  He cut the harsh twine with his knife, glancing over his shoulder as he did so to make sure he was unobserved.

  Just for a moment victor and captive stared one another out. There was everything in that glance; gratitude, love, triumph — and envy.

  ‘How I wish I were you,’ said the captive. ‘How I wish I could run into that great and silent forest and out beyond the vast peaks.’

  The fox made no reply but paused a second longer, the flow from its wounded flesh running towards the captive in a brook of scarlet.

  ‘What are you saying to me? That my time will come? That one day I will run wild again?’

  The fox tilted its head back and howled to its fellows in the pine trees. Then it put out its tongue and licked the hand of the trapper before it turned and ran superbly over the snow and away into the ice-bright Siberian morning.

  *

  At dusk Sutton Place seemed to grow in size — or so Horatia Webbe Weston always thought. Wings grew longer in shadow and the Great Hall would rear against a sky suffused with the mulberry glow of a dying sun. But fascinating as this was, Horatia did not care for the illusion, thinking the house big and omnipotent enough. In fact she had found herself disliking Sutton Place more than ever on this visit to her mother and stepfather, wishing that Cousin Francis had not come to stay at the same time as she, and that she could cut the visit short and return to the friendly world of Leamington.

  But that would have been the height of bad manners, for Francis was as enthusiastic over the house as she was opposed, marching about and exclaiming aloud at all the wonders. Quite as she imagined a bear would investigate a honey-pot. And this made her smile, for who could be in the company of such boyish enthusiasm and not have some of it rub off on them?

  ‘A truly fine old Baronial Hall,’ he was saying now. ‘Simply capital. By Jove, Lady Horatia, how I would like to have seen it in its former magnificence. I think it must have been an evil hour when my grandfather pulled down the tower and gateway.’

  ‘But they were in a ruinous state.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I believe that the past should be preserved when at all possible. In my opinion —’ he lowered his voice ‘— he must have had the mentality of a Goth, as did Oliver Cromwell.’

  She laughed out loud. ‘Oh, Cousin Francis! You look so serious when you talk like that.’

  He seemed gratified at her smile but went on, ‘I am serious. Why if Sutton Place were mine I would wish to see it restored. That is if I had the money to do so.’

  Horatia sighed. ‘Not something that is in the greatest plenitude in the Webbe Weston family, I fear.’

  Cousin Francis laughed gustily. ‘There may be ways, Lady Horatia. There may be ways.’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘What do you mean?’

  But he would not say, simply contenting himself with putting his finger to the side of his nose and making a mysterious face.

  ‘If you are thinking that I could sell it and break the entail then cease to do so. Uncle Thomas Monington is violently against any such scheme.’

  Looking very sheepish Cousin Francis said, ‘Let us not discuss it any further. I shall change the topic. Are you looking forward to visiting the Great Exhibition?’

  Horatia smiled at him. ‘Of course I am. It is a day that nothing could spoil.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  But the cousins by marriage had reckoned without one thing. June 27, 1851 — the day when they had arranged to visit the miraculous display situated in Hyde Park and housed in a vast glass and iron conservatory — was the date of a heatwave. Even on the train, Horatia, Ida Anna and Cousin Annie, garbed as they were in many-flounced skirts maintained by at least a dozen petticoats, began to wilt.

  And once there Horatia found that the tropical atmosphere lent the whole thing a dream-like quality. In fact she could half recollect having dreamt at some time that she had been at just such a place with just such a hearty man.

  But nothing — be it heat or vision — could detract from the glittering palace of crystal dominating the landscape and housing within its wondrous structure naves and transepts, concert halls and choir halls, to say nothing of all the rare and beautiful things transported from every part of the Empire and Britain itself.

  ‘The Prince Consort has triumphed,’ said Cousin Francis importantly. ‘This far surpasses my expectations. His words have come true — a living picture of the stage of development at which mankind has arrived.’

  Horatia slipped her gloved hand through his arm — he really was such a kind and loveable bear. And he was so pleased at her doing this that he was all smiles when, most unexpectedly — while staring at a case containing a stuffed and mounted Indian tiger — they ran into the entire Hicks family.

  ‘This truly is well met,’ said Caroline, shooting Mr Salvin an enquiring look from beneath jet brows. ‘Shall we remain as one great party?’

  They all thought it a splendid idea and, after seeing as much as they possibly could in an afternoon, the family repaired to Soyers Restaurant to dine.

  And it was then, while everyone else was busy with the menu and the two women had a moment of privacy, that Caroline leant across the table and said, ‘Horatia, are you going to marry that man?’

  Her sister-in-law’s astonished expression was enough to answer her question but she went on, ‘Because I am sure he intends to marry you.’

  ‘Good Heavens, Caro, what makes you say that?’

  ‘I think he likes you a great deal — and also it would be neat.’

  ‘Neat?’

  ‘It would tie up the Sutton Place inheritance, would it not?’

  ‘But he is already the heir — after Uncle False-Teeth Monington.’

  Caroline did not smile. ‘There might be more to it than that. Remember John Joseph left you an allowance of a thousand pounds a year in the event of your remarriage.’

  ‘But that would come from the Sutton Place estate. Caroline, that doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said her sister-in-law enigmatically and changed the subject by asking, ‘Do you remember the first time you saw Jackdaw?’

  ‘At Hastings? How could I ever forget.’

  ‘I dreamt I relived that scene the other night. Horatia, I think he is still alive.’

  John Joseph’s widow went pale. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Just a feeling. You had it once, too, in St Mary-in-the-Castle.’

  ‘Yes, but I was wrong. Nobody could disappear without trace for this length of time.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I am very full of premonition at the moment. And part of it is that you should not marry Mr Salvin.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ said Horatia, more loudly than she had intended. ‘Nothing could be further from his mind.’

  But there she was wrong, for three days later, as they were walking through the Great Hall, he suddenly said, ‘I have so great a taste for all that is ancient that I feel I must declare myself here. Horatia, will you do me the great honour of becomin
g my wife?’

  She pealed with laughter, dropping her book and clutching at her sides in the most unladylike manner. Mr Salvin, looking exceedingly huffy, said, ‘And may I ask, pray, exactly what it is that you find so amusing?’

  ‘Things ancient,’ she chortled, indicating herself.

  ‘What? Oh! Oh I see!’

  Cousin Francis began to laugh too, roaring about in an excess of relieved emotion.

  After a while they grew calmer and Horatia in a quiet voice said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, you old grizzly. Listen, Cousin Francis — I don’t love you but I do think you are fun to be with. Is that good enough?’

  ‘Good gracious, I should say so. Horatia, this is my first love affair —’

  ‘Hardly that.’

  ‘No. I mean yes. But I really will try to make you happy. I will do my best.’

  He sank to one knee, putting a hand over his heart to denote sincerity.

  ‘I know that no one can ever replace your lost love, Horatia. But if you could look on me as a different love — then I won’t have to bear too much comparison.’

  His voice trailed away and Horatia hugged him with all her might.

  ‘Whoever said comparisons are odious was right. Everyone has his own special place — and so have you, dearest Cousin Francis. And I can assure you it is deep in my affection.’

  But there she lied, for he was like a brother to her. And she — loving, warm, wonderful Horatia — could no more have settled for that than have hurt her good dog Lulie, who had borne so much hardship with her.

  *

  That night — that very night — of June 30, 1851, the trapper caught a sable in his snare. It was quite dead when he found it but, for all that, he gazed on it with sorrow. He was not a killer by inclination, pressed into the role by forces he could not control. But as he skinned it he touched the pelt with a type of love and thought of the woman to whom, one day, he would present it. This was the only thing that kept him alive. And when he was told, ‘Well done, seventy-two. You have been chosen to go to the Amur-Ussuri to hunt the great tiger,’ he smiled. He knew then that Fate had moved at last. That in that bleak and remote spot, where the great tiger ran loose-limbed over the sparkling ice, it would be impossible to check the captive’s every move. That he could, as the vast and terrible darkness descended, slip away and head for the Manchurian border — and there, out! Out on the old Cathay trading route, out on one of the ships bound westwards, out to freedom — and to see, once again, the woman for whom he had sacrificed everything.

  *

  As soon as she had become betrothed, as soon as poor Cousin Francis began to take her about as his fiancée, Horatia knew she had done the wrong thing. Not only her head but the constant knot of anxiety that tightened her heart told her she could never be Francis’s wife. It was terrible to be always ill at ease despite the amazing round of pleasure he organized for her — picture galleries, circus at the Hippodrome, Madam Tussaud’s, theatre visits, a fish and champagne supper at Greenwich, the Zoological Gardens — to say nothing of driving out in the jaunting car.

  And this, of course, made her guilty. She could not bear the poor wretch to go out of his way to entertain her — though naturally all such jollifications were attended by a host of chaperones, in particular Ida Anna — while she, Horatia, had to pretend all the while to be light-hearted. In a way it was torture. Smiling up at him with one thought in her mind: how she could get out of the situation without causing too much pain. She had always hated hypocrisy and now here she was — the arch hypocrite. She did not know which way to turn.

  Yet all the time she was aware of funny old Algy — her dearly beloved and dogged stepfather — watching her with a brilliant eye. She felt that if the family had been different — if he had been her blood father instead of skating the narrow line of a parent brought in by marriage alone — then he would have spoken to her privately. Told her that she must not proceed. But as it was he merely looked, as if he could convey in a glance all the misgivings in his kind and faithful old soul.

  And then came Portsmouth! Final and unendurable: Francis wanted to take her away on holiday. Naturally they would be accompanied by Ida Anna, his sister Annie, his friend Mr Cox and young Charles and Frederick Hicks — but nonetheless the enforced intimacy was more than Horatia could bear. She was absolutely determined she must tell him the truth before they went.

  But there was no chance. Ida Anna — thrilled at the thought of continuing her excursions — was so full of excitement that to have called off the trip would have been cruel. Horatia believed then that she would never escape, that she would be drawn into marriage like dust into a suction brush, that it was her fate to see those merry moustaches and hear that cheerful voice every morning of her life. She was daunted and speechless at the prospect. Had she really lost her great love to replace it with this?

  But Francis was obviously not in the least worried, not a shadow of what she was thinking brushing off on him. For, on their arriving at Portsmouth, after a long train journey, his first remark in the hotel was, ‘I say, what a severe tea. By Jove, that reminds me of nursery days. How I like to see a good spread.’

  And Horatia — looking round hopefully to see if somebody would catch her eye and grin with her — was amazed to see that the others were falling on the hams, jellies and cakes with relish. That it was only she who thought it a bit childish and would have preferred something lighter. And then she felt herself a total prig and was unhappier than ever.

  ‘I’m jolly well going to write to Captain Blackwood,’ Francis was announcing. ‘He commands the Victory, you know. I met him on the Moors some years ago and wondered if he might show us round.’

  ‘I believe it is open to the public anyway,’ answered Mr Cox — a thin tall young man with beady eyes.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes — provided they’re not foreigners, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ murmured everyone — except Horatia.

  But the next day brought a happening which made her realize finally that she must break her engagement to Francis, whatever the cost. It dawned squally and dull, a fact that made all the ladies want to stay on dry land. But despite this, Salvin and Cox insisted on hiring a vessel to visit various ships moored in the harbour. With a great deal of lifting of tiered petticoats and careful placing of well-gartered legs, Horatia, Ida Anna and Annie managed to get aboard the rocking rowing boat and find themselves heading out towards the Victory across the grey and lapping waves.

  But the whole excursion turned out to be embarrassing. Captain Blackwood appeared tremendously busy and hardly able to spare Mr Salvin the time of day, so the party made a tour of the vessel on their own, Francis pointing out with relish the spot where the hero of Trafalgar had fallen and died, and the brass plates bearing the motto, ‘England expects every man to do his duty.’

  ‘Immortal Nelson,’ he kept repeating, his hat clutched across his breast in respect.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Ida Anna. ‘Are we going back to the hotel now?’

  ‘No, not yet. We have to see the Excellent first. You’ll like that, Lady Ida. It is the training ship. You’ll see sword and gun exercise there.’

  ‘Oh good.’ Ida Anna’s hard little eyes lit up at the thought of handsome sailors leaping about with swords. ‘Are we going directly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The noise was appalling, cannons and guns firing from the ship as if Trafalgar was, in act, being relived. Horatia felt she was going to faint, so oppressive was the whole atmosphere. And then it happened! An optical illusion, of course, but she distinctly saw a mirage of John Joseph reflected in one of the Excellent’s brightly polished brass fittings. She leant over the rail, her head spinning with shock, and then he spoke in her inner ear, just as he had done at St Mary-in-the-Castle.

  ‘What are you doing, you foolish girl? Jackdaw lives. I told you before. You must ...’

  The voice faded away as Francis app
eared at her elbow, anxious and worried and quite terrifyingly kind.

  ‘Horatia, dearest! Whatever is it? You’ve gone pale as death!’

  ‘A terrible headache. Let me go back, Francis. The noise is too much for me.’

  He looked fractionally put out — and she prayed that he was not going to offer to accompany her.

  ‘I shall be perfectly all right on my own. I must not spoil the party. Just let me go back and lie down for a while. I will soon recover if I am left to myself.’

  She could see that he was dying to stay and was overwhelmed with relief when he said, ‘Very well, if you are sure. We will be back as soon as we can. Forgive my leaving you but I am so anxious to see all the finest British oak in the building department.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She permitted him to half carry her into the rowing boat and waved a handkerchief in farewell. Then she put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out every sound but that strange inner voice. But it had gone. Then Horatia knew for sure what she must do. There was only one person to whom she could turn for advice. Cloverella must come again to Sutton Place.

  *

  It had always been the tradition of the Westons to watch for visiting riders from the windows of the Long Gallery or, less comfortably, the Gatehouse. But now, of course, with the mansion house so changed this was no longer possible. The Gatehouse had gone, the Long Gallery was the Chapel. Only from the bedroom that had once belonged to the relentless Marguerite Trevelyan could one have an unsurpassed view out over the Home Park and beyond. But as this room now belonged to her mother and stepfather Horatia could find small excuse for loitering there daily. Instead she contented herself with listening for the sound of Cloverella’s flute — for she felt sure that it was by this means the gypsy girl would announce her arrival.

  It had seemed a terrible thing to do; to take the waxen image from its wrappings and see it for the first time, its head all bound up with Cloverella’s own black locks. It had been even worse laying the thing upon her bed and saying to it, ‘Cloverella, thou must come to me.’

  Afterwards she had hidden it away again, wondering if she had done something awful and ungodly: telling herself that she was meddling in things that she did not understand. But there was no help for it — she had to ask someone about Jackdaw. And also how she could get rid of Francis without ill feeling: a thing she had still not had the courage to do. She felt that if she was not helped soon her nerves would begin to crack beneath the strain of uncertainty and falsehood.