Run Them Ashore (16 page)

Sir Richard grinned. ‘Well, he is a sentimental old fellow. I should also like you back, because you seem to have your uses. Good luck, Hanley, good luck to all of us.’

‘Amen,’ the chaplain added.

11

‘
S
o you bring me to watch a battle, Mr Williams,’ Jane MacAndrews said, slim eyebrows raised. ‘Some might consider that a strange choice of sights likely to amuse a young lady. Or did you perhaps bring me here so that we could quiz the crowd assembled to witness the slaughter from afar? There are plenty of ladies among them. Do you see the one with the red scarf – mantilla, I believe it is called in case you do not know. She is on the arm of that elderly gentleman in the frock coat and tall hat. Now, do you believe her to be his daughter, or the young wife sold in marriage by a cruel stepfather to an ancient and wicked old miser? Or is there something worse in her tale?’

Williams knew that he was not being very good company this morning, and struggled for something to say. The ramparts were thronged with civilians and some soldiers staring north at the headland curving round at the far end of the bay. There was a French fort at Santa Catalina, and today the British and Spanish gunboats were to attack it at ten thirty. The whole town appeared to know all about it, and so the crowd had gathered. Williams doubted that the French would not have seen the boats and other vessels assembling for the assault, but even so was worried that there was so little secrecy. Rumours spread in Cadiz even faster than the yellow fever raging in some of the poorer areas.

‘Your thoughts suggest a changed taste in novels, Miss MacAndrews, running more to the macabre and Gothic than the humorous,’ he said at last. There was so much he needed to say, unpleasant though it was, but he did not know how to say it. The girl overwhelmed him. There were plenty of other attractive, even
beautiful, ladies, a good number of whom were lively, witty, accomplished, and some even brave, but none thrilled and daunted him as she did. Being in her company – especially like this, alone in her company in spite of the crowd – brought him a joy he had never otherwise experienced, even now when it was laced with the bitter knowledge that he could no longer in decency hope to win her heart.

‘A response,’ Jane said. ‘One might even say a gentle riposte. So in turn may I suggest that your own fondness for the dramatic and the grim has also grown. Last week it was an attempted assassination by ruffians, and now a battle. If I let you escort me next week then what am I to expect? A grand gladiatorial combat perhaps?’ The girl leaned her head forward so that she could peer up at him, trying to look like a tutor reproving a child. ‘Or perhaps pirates will descend to plunder and burn, and I shall be carried off to the harem of a Barbary sultan? Do you think I should be flattered by the gauzy garments that heroines in stories are forced to wear in such circumstances? I believe I might carry off a veil.’ She pulled loose the long ribbon tying her bonnet and stretched it across her face. ‘But would you come and rescue me, Mr Williams, climbing the castle walls and carrying me back to the bosom of my family with virtue still intact?’

That was no real question. Williams had fought to protect this girl before, and would not hesitate to do it again. He would die for her without hesitation, and would certainly kill for her.

‘Well,’ he said, and spread his hands in apology, ‘I do have many duties keeping me busy.’

Miss MacAndrews tapped him lightly on the arm in reproof, and the crowd gasped and then cheered because a long object had shot into the sky. It sparked with flame and trailed a long streak of smoke, and a moment later a high-pitched screaming sound reached them. The missile arched high and then looped back to fall in the sea a hundred yards short of the French battery.

‘A rocket,’ Williams said. ‘A Congreve rocket. I have never seen one before.’

A dozen gunboats fired, flashes, puffs of smoke and then dull
booms as the sound wafted back to the shore. In reply the fort blossomed clouds of smoke. One of the Navy’s bomb vessels joined in, and Williams was amazed to see its hull shudder when the great mortar fired. The flight of the shell was clear to the naked eye, and reminded him of the bombardment at Ciudad Rodrigo earlier in the year. From this distance it all seemed harmless, a display less impressive that the fireworks in Vauxhall Gardens, but he had plenty of memories of the carnage wrought by jagged fragments of shells, or the ease with which heavy shot ripped men into fragments.

The crowd applauded, and then cheered when another rocket shrieked into the sky.

‘I should say that the carnage appears to be a popular success,’ Miss MacAndrews said.

‘Surely you did not think that I would bring you to an inferior engagement? No, no, I gave strict instructions to the admiral to ensure satisfaction. What would best entertain a young lady, I said to Sir Richard – failing a descent by Barbary corsairs, which he was unable to lay on. I must have nothing but the best, I said.’

‘Perhaps next time the admiral might instead suggest that we attend a race day. I understand that several are planned by the regiments on the Isla for later in the month.’

‘There will be fewer explosions,’ he explained, breaking the news to her gently. ‘And certainly no rockets.’ Another Congreve whizzed into the air, going lower this time and diving into the cloud of smoke surrounding the French position. The sound of firing was now a steady rumble.

‘Nevertheless, a race meeting has considerable advantages. For one thing it is far easier to know what is appropriate to wear. I do not know whether this is suitable for today’s occasion.’ Miss MacAndrews had on a dress in Indian muslin, white with a faint pattern of fine flowers. A deep blue jacket protected arms and neck, gloves covered her hands, while the broad-brimmed straw hat worn tied as a bonnet shaded her face. She once again wore her hair down, the thick mass of curls falling around her shoulders. Further shelter was provided by a new parasol, and the
absence of any but the faintest breeze made this easy to manage. ‘I feel safe from the sun, but is it all appropriate for watching mortal combat?’

‘You look magnificent.’ He wondered whether he should mention that such fashionable gowns were sometimes a little revealing when bright light met shadow. Presumably that was occasionally true in England – he had certainly seen a cartoon on that very theme, with fat gentlemen leering at the silhouettes of young ladies in the latest fashions.

‘You truly look magnificent,’ he repeated. ‘I do not believe there could ever be any sight more lovely.’ He meant every word, but cursed himself for he should no longer say such things. There was no hope.

Miss MacAndrews smiled. ‘There now, was that so difficult? It is merely courtesy for a gentleman to pay some compliment to a lady when he escorts her out. Some admiration of a bright ribbon or a new fabric will usually suffice. But I shall take “magnificent”.’ Her eyes flicked down for a moment, a practised gesture although one he knew also marked real emotion. Then she looked up and the mischief was back. ‘However, I am left unsure whether this is suitable for a battle at sea.’

‘You can never be too well dressed to be a corpse,’ Williams said under his breath, his harsh thoughts bringing the saying to mind.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It is something French officers say. They like to dress well for a battle in case it is their last.’

The girl frowned and was silent for a long time. More rockets flew high, and the bomb ship fired again. Williams thought that it must take a long time for them to load so cumbersome a weapon. One of the gunboats rowed back towards them, withdrawing from the fight, but the others continued to pound the fort. Now and then plumes of water were flung up by the French return fire.

‘Do you wish to die, Hamish?’ It was rare for Miss MacAndrews to use his Christian name and always a sign of intimacy
and her seriousness. With her soft voice, touched with no more than the merest hints of Caledonia and the Carolinas, she managed to bring him close to caring for the name.

‘My soul is secure,’ he said. ‘The saved sinner does not need to fear death or what follows.’ For all his fervent belief, Williams rarely spoke about his faith, fearing to boast. He hoped he lived in a worthy manner. Miss MacAndrews’ faith was not the same, but he felt it to be real and differing only in detail.

‘That is not what I asked.’ She lightly bit her lip, and he recognised another sign of deep consideration and earnest purpose.

‘I hope to live to a ripe and active old age,’ he said. ‘And I am prudent enough to wish for a peaceful end. Not fearing for what follows does not mean I do not care for this world – or some who are in it.’ Damn, he should not have said that, but the words rushed out before thought took control.

Another dip of the eyes showed an appreciation of the compliment. When first he had met her, Jane had done such things with art, changing her manner to win over whoever she was with. She was still well able to flirt with the best of them, but was more natural with her true friends. That only made her manner all the more overpowering – and her anger terrible.

‘Then why do you fling yourself into danger so recklessly?’ Miss MacAndrews flushed with a deep rage, only just under control. Her eyes were moist. ‘Why do you seek death as if nothing in life could matter?’

Williams reeled at the unexpected onslaught. A bigger explosion came from the French battery at La Catalina. There were shouts of joy from the crowd. The girl took his hand, pressing it tightly. ‘I am a soldier,’ he managed to say. ‘My duty takes me into danger.’

‘Was it duty that had you volunteering to join the Navy and raid an enemy port! Was it duty had you climbing on to a ship filled with enemies!’

‘You have been talking to Dobson, Miss MacAndrews.’

She nodded. ‘It took some time to worm it out of him – and then more about the summer and battles and sieges. In the end
he enjoyed himself telling stories about you. He laughed and said that it was amazing that you came through it all with scarcely a scratch, and that you acted as if you were afraid of nothing.’ She frowned, struggling to understand. ‘Do you believe you cannot be hurt, or does life hold so little worth to you?’

‘I know that I can be hurt. There are so many things I have seen – worse than anything I could ever have imagined before I enlisted. If they can happen to others they can happen to me.’ This hurt now, in a different way, for the girl’s concern was surely stronger than that for a friend. ‘Your father is a soldier,’ he went on. ‘I should have thought that you would understand the perils incumbent on any officer. If I am to be a soldier then I would wish to be a good one, to prove myself, and for advancement.’ He wondered whether Dobson had told the lady of how her father had led a desperate charge just a few months ago, riding up a hill at the head of a mix of men from several corps, somehow driving the French back. Men had fallen all around him and yet the major rode unscathed.

‘Advancement.’ She spoke with obvious disappointment and more than a little scorn. ‘Is that all it is for, Hamish? Vanity and gain!’

‘No. There is no choice, for I am a poor man and I must do my best to rise. Otherwise I could never offer comfort and security.’ How could he explain? If he rose and kept rising in the army, became colonel of his own battalion, then he would be a man of some means. Not equal to the girl, but not so much poorer. Then, but only then, might it be honourable to seek her hand. Yet how long would that take – ten years if he enjoyed the greatest good fortune ever a man could, but twenty more likely, or never at all. MacAndrews had served for thirty-five years and was one of the finest soldiers he had ever known and was still a major. He could not ask the girl to wait, even if she were so inclined.

‘I am no longer so very poor.’ She spoke slowly, and once again her eyes flicked down from his gaze and did not look up. ‘Comfort is pleasant enough, but far from everything.’

‘Honour.’ He gasped the word, clinging to it although the taste was so bitter. ‘It would not be right. Not equal,’ he tried to explain. He wanted to hold her, to press her tight, but this was agony for it was the closest she had ever come to hinting at feelings matching his own and now it was too late.

She looked up, eyes moist, but with fire in them again. ‘If it were unequal the other way, would you hesitate?’

Williams wanted to tell her, to repeat all he had said before of his utter devotion, and to say it all as finely as he had so many times in his dreams.

‘It is not the other way around,’ he said.

Jane straightened up, slipped her hand free and looked out to sea. ‘I believe we have been neglecting the battle.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke.

They said no more for a while, but several civilians looked in their direction. Williams wondered whether their emotion had been so very obvious, and then caught traces of the conversations and laughed.

‘You sound cheerful.’ Miss MacAndrews sounded displeased. ‘And what are they all saying about us?’

He laughed again. ‘They are talking about your eyes. “Blue eyes”, they keep saying. I should have thought your hair was just as remarkable, but it seems to be the eyes that fascinate.’

‘You have blue eyes,’ Miss MacAndrews said. ‘Indeed, bluer than mine, for my own are more grey than blue.’

‘It is not the same,’ he said.

Out in the bay the gunboats were withdrawing, rowing back out of range. A high plume of black smoke coiled up from the French fort, so some damage had been done, although Williams doubted that it was more than could be swiftly repaired. At least one gun was still firing and he saw a strike in the water smash through the oars of a gunboat. Sieges happened slowly. Today’s battle might delay the enemy for a few days, but fortifications would be repaired and new guns placed in the embrasures. For that delay, much powder had been spent and men had no doubt died or been maimed on both sides.

‘Shall we go?’ he asked, offering his arm.

Miss MacAndrews nodded, and they made their way down from the wall and into the street.

‘When we met in England last year,’ she said after a while, ‘do you remember what happened?’

‘Every moment,’ Williams said. ‘We were awkward and then agreed to be friends, who would not rush, but grow to know each other slowly. Then I made you angry again when I told you that I was soon to depart for Spain. Oh yes, and then you hit me.’