by Saul David
And with that he flung the money from his pocket and strode from the library.
Returning to his room to pack, he found Lucy making the bed. 'Good morning, sir,' she said with a broad smile.
'Is it?' replied George, his temper barely abated. 'I wouldn't know. And don't bother with that. I'm leaving as soon as I've packed.'
'I'll do that, sir,' she said, fetching his leather suitcase from the wardrobe. 'But why are you leaving? I thought you were staying until tomorrow.'
As George's anger gave way to shock he found himself telling the pretty maid what had happened.
'I was. But thanks to your employer and his lady friend Mrs Bradbury, I've been forced to resign from the regiment.'
Lucy looked shocked. 'Resign? Why?'
'Because he's a vindictive man who could not bear having an officer of dubious social standing like me foisted upon his regiment. Unfortunately he has his wish, thanks to a combination of my gullibility and his scheming.'
'I'm sorry, sir,' she said, pausing from her packing, 'but none of this makes any sense. Why would Sir Jocelyn invite you here if he didn't like you?'
'To set me up for a fall - and he seems to have succeeded.'
'And you say Mrs Bradbury was involved?'
'How exactly?'
George blushed. 'I don't want to go into details, but she was certainly party to the scheme.'
'I'm shocked, I truly am. She seemed the perfect lady to me, but I won't deny Sir Jocelyn has a curious hold over her. She adores him and would do anything for him.'
George raised his eyebrows. 'Quite. But it's as well you know the real Sir Jocelyn. He's a dangerous man who will stop at nothing to get his own way.'
'I already know that,' said Lucy quietly. 'When you asked me about him yesterday, I didn't feel I knew you well enough to speak my mind. But the truth is, I'm afraid of him. He has often tried to kiss me - without succeeding. And each time I reject him he becomes angrier still, telling me I should be flattered by his attention. He swears he will have me sooner or later, which is why I'm so desperate to leave his service.'
'Then why don't you?'
'It's not as easy as that. Anyway, where would I go?'
'Does it matter? Surely anywhere would be better than here?'
Before Lucy could answer, the door was opened by Andrews, the butler. 'Sir,' he said, 'the carriage is ready to take you to the station.'
'Thank you. Take my suitcase. I'll be down presently.'
Once Andrews had left the room, George turned back to Lucy. 'I'm sorry. I have to go. I wish I could offer you a post myself, but without money or a career I'm in no position to do so. But I'll think of a way to get you out of here and will write in a day or two when my plans are a little clearer. Will you be all right until then?'
'Of course. Sir Jocelyn leaves me alone when Mrs Bradbury is in the house, and she's staying until next weekend.'
'Goodbye, then,' he said, pecking Lucy on the cheek.
She reddened and lowered her eyes. 'Goodbye.'
Chapter 4
South Wales, 24 January 1878
George's instinct was to head straight for Dublin and tell his mother everything. But he knew how important she now regarded his military career to be, and how shocked she would be by the news, for financial reasons as much as anything, and so he chose to travel first to Brecon, where his best friend, Jake Morgan, was stationed with his new regiment, the 2nd Battalion of the 24th Foot.
At Sandhurst, George had ribbed Jake mercilessly for preferring the infantry - 'the footsloggers' - to the more mobile and glamorous cavalry, and had tried on a number of occasions to make him change his mind and join the KDG. Jake, however, had been adamant. His father had fought with the 24th Foot at Chillianwala in 1849, when the regiment had lost thirteen officers and more than half its strength in a matter of minutes, and he was determined to follow in his footsteps. Literally, thought George at the time, given that Jake was a poor rider and much happier on his own two feet than four hooves.
As his train chugged slowly towards Brecon through the rugged splendour of the Black Mountains, George's mind wandered back to their first meeting on the opening day of the new term at Sandhurst. Jake had been given punishment drill for taking issue with an instructor's mockery of his Welsh accent, and was doubling round the parade ground in full kit, a slight figure almost dwarfed by his pack. The sun was beating down remorselessly and after an hour the instructor took pity on him and said he could stop if he apologized. Jake refused and the ordeal continued until nightfall. When it was over, and George was helping this tough young Welshman to a cup of water, he asked him why he had been so obstinate. 'Because,' said Jake, coughing, 'if I hadn't made a stand now, the jokes would have continued.'
The words had struck a chord with George, and since that day the pair had been inseparable. They could hardly have been more different: George a tall, dark Irishman of unknown paternity and fresh-faced good looks; Jake an unassuming Welshman, the son of a wealthy colliery owner, small and lean, with red hair, freckles and a crooked smile. But opposites attract and the two had developed a bond of friendship that, they had promised each other, time and distance would never break. George had always trusted Jake's advice. Now he needed it more than ever.
The walk from the railway station to the new red-brick barracks on the outskirts of Brecon took George about ten minutes. At the guardhouse he asked to speak to Second Lieutenant Morgan and was told to wait. Within minutes the door opened and in walked Jake, looking extremely dapper in his new scarlet tunic with green facings, Sam Browne belt and blue cloth helmet.
'George!' he said, slightly taken aback that his friend was wearing mufti. 'To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Don't tell me your regiment has been ordered overseas and you've come to say goodbye?'
'No, nothing like that. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?'
'Of course. Let's go to the Red Lion across the street. I'm not on duty again until six.'
The pub was a gloomy affair, all sawdust and stale beer, with only a couple of working men propping up the bar. Jake bought two pints of cider and led George to a secluded table in the saloon.
'Your health,' said Jake, raising his glass and taking a large gulp. 'Just what I needed. Now are you going to tell me why you're here?'
'It's hard to know where to start. But the bombshell my mother dropped on my birthday is, I suppose, as good a place as any.'
'What bombshell?'
George told him everything: about his father and the deal his parents had done; the visit to the lawyer and the ridiculous terms of his father's bequest; and the series of run-ins with his commanding officer, Colonel Harris, culminating in the setup at Westbury Park. When he had finished, Jake was speechless. He sat there open-mouthed, slowly shaking his head. At last he spoke. 'George, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you've been at the drink already. What an extraordinary tale. Poor you! As if finding out the truth about your father and his disgraceful machinations was not enough, you have your career ended by a man who sounds every bit as unpleasant. The question is, what can we do about it?'
'Not we, Jake — I.I won't have you jeopardizing your career for my sake. It's too late anyway.'
'It's never too late. Your father, whoever he is, clearly has influence at the Horse Guards. Why don't you appeal directly to the military secretary, or the commander-in-chief, even? You've been wronged, George, surely they'll see that?'
George put his hand on Jake's sleeve. 'I admire your spirit, but there's no way back for me now. Harris has witnesses who will testify to my cheating at cards, not to mention that vixen Mrs Bradbury, who claims I tried to dishonour her. It's my word against theirs. Who do you think a jury's going to believe: an eighteen-year-old officer or a "respectable" willow? In any case, I gave my word to Harris that, in return for his silence, I'd resign from the KDG. He's kept his side of the bargain; I've got to keep mine.'
'But you haven't done anything wrong!' said his friend, banging the t
able with his fist. 'It's madness to stay silent. That way Harris wins.'
'Either way Harris wins, because if I speak out, I'll face social ostracism and a probable term in prison. No, I have to face facts. My time in the army is over. But look on the bright side,' said George, smiling in a vain effort to lighten the mood. 'At least there's no longer the temptation for me to put my life on the line to win my father's bequest.'
Jake sighed. 'Those sort of sums are not to be sniffed at. I know winning a VC by the age of twenty-eight is not going to be easy, but nor is it impossible. And bear in mind that you don't have to be an officer in a British regiment to win a VC; just under British command. We've recently been warned for service in South Africa against the Kaffir tribes of the Cape frontier. If you go out under your own steam, you might be able to join one of the irregular units already in action. Probably not as an officer, but at least you'd be back in the military. You're a born soldier, George, and don't let anyone tell you different.'
'And you're a good friend. But I've had my fill of the army and officers like Harris and Bell. I've a mind to try something different, and now that you mention it, South Africa might just be the place. Didn't they find diamonds in the Cape a few years ago?'
'Yes, along the Orange and Vaal rivers, if memory serves. But they've made more discoveries since, particularly at Kimberley, where the diggings are dry and the diamonds the size of gulls' eggs. It's said you can go from pauper to prince with one find. If you're lucky, that is. Most aren't.'
'You're such an old pessimist, Jake. It sounds just the ticket. What have I got to lose?'
'I suppose you're right. And if it doesn't work out, which it won't, you can always join up. But don't wait too long or the war will be over and the opportunity gone.'
'There'll never be a shortage of wars to fight, Jake, of that we can be certain. The main thing is we're agreed on my course of action: to take the next ship to South Africa.'
'Aren't you forgetting one thing?' said Jake, draining his glass.
'Am I? What?'
'Your mother.'
'Ah, yes. My mother. She won't be happy, of course. But then she's partly responsible for getting me into this mess in the first place.'
'How so?'
'By her poor choice of men, for one.'
'That's hardly fair, George.'
'I know, please ignore my remarks. I'm just upset. I don't really blame her; how could she know how things would turn out? The real culprit is Harris. But for him I'd be enjoying my time in the army. He has a lot to answer for, and mark my words, one day he will.'
'I don't doubt it, George. And if I can help in any way, I will. Do you need money?'
'Yes, I'm afraid so.' George didn't see any point in beating about the bush with his wealthy friend. He knew that Jake trusted George to stand by him if their positions were reversed.
'How much?'
'Two hundred should do it.'
Jake sucked in air. 'Crikey, that much? I don't have that in cash. I'll have to wire it to your bank in Dublin.'
'Thank you. You'll get it back. Every penny. Oh, and there's one more favour I have to ask of you.'
'Ask away.'
'Would your father consider employing an acquaintance of mine? At present she's a chambermaid at Westbury Park, Harris's seat, but has good reason to seek another position.'
'A maid? An acquaintance of yours? Is there something you're not telling me, George?' queried Jake, one eyebrow raised.
'It's nothing like that,' said George, affronted. 'Though I won't deny she's a highly attractive girl, which is part of the problem. Harris has taken a liking to her and won't be denied.'
'I understand,' said Jake, tapping the side of his nose. 'I'll have a word with Father and see what I can do.'
George shook his hand. 'You're a good friend.'
'I know.'
Dublin, 27 January 1878
Three days later George found himself in a hansom cab in the familiar surroundings of Dublin's O'Connell Street. As the driver whipped up, coaxing a little more speed from his tired- looking nag, George knew that time was running out. His mother's house in Connaught Square was just round the corner.
He was let into the house by Manners. 'Good morning, Mr Hart,' said the old butler pointedly. 'Your mother is in the sitting room. Shall I let her know you've arrived?'
'That won't be necessary, Manners. I'll go straight up.'
He took the stairs two at a time, but halted at the door to the sitting room, his hand hovering above the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he entered to discover his mother reading quietly on the sofa. 'Hello, Mother,' he said with a frown.
'Georgie darling!' she cried, putting down her book. 'You didn't tell me you were coming, and you're not in uniform. Is something the matter?'
As she rose to embrace him, her shiny hair loose about her shoulders, George's heart sank. He had been dreading this meeting since leaving Harris's house, and every minute of the long train and boat journey to Dublin had been spent wracking his brains over how best to break the news.
They sat down on the sofa, his mother taking his hand. 'Georgie, please tell me what's wrong.'
After a pause, George said, 'I don't know how best to say this so I'm just going to say it. I've resigned my commission.'
Emma's mouth gaped. 'You've done what?'
'I've left the army.'
'Why? I know you're upset about your father and his clumsy attempt to bribe you, but you would have achieved great things as a soldier without his help. You finished top of your class at Sandhurst, for heaven's sake. I imagined a brilliant military career for you. Why would you throw it all away?'
George loosened his mother's grip, rose and walked towards the nearest window. He could see a wet nurse pushing her charge along the gravel path of the square's well-kept garden, mostly given over to lawn and shrubs. As a child he had spent many a hot summer's day in that garden. He turned to face his mother. 'I was going to lie and tell you the army was no longer for me. But I know there's no point. I never could lie to you.'
Instead he told the whole truth of his ill-starred association with Sir Jocelyn Harris, from their early clashes in the regiment to the denouement at Westbury Park. 'So you see, Mother,' he concluded, 'I was partly responsible for my own downfall.'
Emma stayed silent for some time, her eyes fixed on her son. At last she spoke. 'You were foolish to gamble, but you don't deserve to lose your career, your only means of earning a living, as a consequence. I'll write to your father.'
'What good will that do? I've discussed this with Jake and we both agree that Harris has me over a barrel. If I complain, he'll use the witnesses against me. No, my only course of action is to make a fresh start.'
'With what exactly? You have neither a salary nor an allowance.'
'Jake has agreed to lend me two hundred pounds.'
'That's very generous of him. But what do you propose to do with this money?'
'Travel to South Africa and try my luck in the diamond mines at Kimberley. People are making fortunes overnight. Why not me?'
'Have you lost your reason? You know nothing about South Africa and even less about mining diamonds!'
'That, Mother, is where you're wrong. Since discussing the matter with Jake, I've been reading up on the subject. It's really quite straightforward. You turn up at Kimberley, stake your claim, buy the necessary equipment and get on with it.'
'As easy as that?'
'Yes. There's no guarantee you'll strike it rich, of course. Prices are high and most prospectors run out of money before they find a diamond worth selling. But don't you see, Mother? If you aren't in the race you can't win the prize. And as things stand I have nothing to lose.'
'Apart from Jake's money.'
'Apart from that. Please try to understand that I'm doing this as much for your benefit as I am for my own. I know you'll lose this house if I don't make some money soon, and I don't want that to happen.'
'And I don't want you to leave o
n a fool's errand because of me.'
'It's not a fool's errand,' said George irritably, 'and I'm not going because of you. But I do want to help you out and South Africa might afford me the opportunity.'
His mother stood and began to pace the room. She stopped
by the fireplace, turned and said, 'So your mind's made up? You're going to South Africa, come what may?'
