Anne Barbour (16 page)

As the group finally dispersed to seek their bedchambers, Kate bade everyone good night and left the room on Aunt Fred’s arm. David left the room directly behind her.

“Kate, before you go upstairs, may I have a word with you?”

She swung around at the sound of his voice, but merely smiled her acquiescence and nodded to Aunt Fred, who continued on her way with a warbled good night.

Back in the drawing room, Kate reseated herself on the confidante she had just vacated, and watched in puzzlement as David paced the floor before the fireplace, frowning in abstraction. After a moment, he looked straight at her.

“You never did get to your digging.”

“No,” replied Kate, “but I shall probably go first thing in the morning. Would you like ... ?”

“I am pleased that you have found something in which you can take so great an interest. Such an opportunity is not given to many of us.”

“No, I suppose not.” Kate felt as though she were feeling her way across a midnight landscape full of pitfalls. “However,” she continued cautiously, “you, too, now have a challenging occupation.”

He smiled at that.

“Yes, I guess challenging is the word for it.”

“It’s too bad, in a way, that in all those years in Spain, you did not know that you had this to look forward to.”

David stilled. After a moment, he sighed heavily and sank slowly into a small chair opposite Kate’s confidante.

“About those years in Spain ...” He trailed off as though uncertain of how to continue.

“Oh, David—I’ve never been to war, so I suppose I can’t comprehend the awfulness of it, but I can imagine. I don’t know how one could survive whole in heart and mind, let alone body. I grieved, and still do, at Philip’s death, but watching him die must have been unbearable. I wish I could help you get through this. I wish I could heal you. If only ...”

David made a chopping motion with his hand as though to destroy the flow of her words before it could reach him.

“You may spare your sympathy, Kate,” said David in a voice so void of expression that she barely recognized it. “For, you see, it was I who killed Philip.”

Chapter Eleven

She must not have heard him right, Kate thought. But she knew she had.

“W-what?” she stammered, staring at him.

“I did not kill him, precisely, but I was just as responsible for his death as though it were I who sent that ball crashing into his spine.”

She continued to stare, unable to grasp the words he uttered, for they made no sense. Had she gone mad? Or was it David, saying something unspeakable in that conversational tone, who had become deranged? Then, she looked in his eyes, and it was as though she gazed at death.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

David closed his eyes for a moment, and then rose to stand before the fireplace. He turned away from her, staring into the flames.

“Badajoz lies on the border of Spain and Portugal. It is a fortified city, and squats on the bluff overlooking the Guadiana and Revillas rivers like a great, malevolent toad. The surrounding walls are huge—over twenty feet high and several feet thick. Nine bastions are set into them at intervals and these are some thirty feet high. The French inside the town believed the place to be impregnable, and with good reason. They used to range themselves on the parapet and call down to us, jeering and inviting us to do our worst.

“The Guadiana flows to the north of the town, and the Revillas, really a small feeder stream, follows the line of the walls to the east.

“We arrived at Badajoz on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, a fact that our many Irish troopers believed boded good luck. Their trust could hardly have been more misplaced. From that day on, it rained for a solid week. The sappers dug the parallels, working hip-deep in mud. The plain between the Revillas and the wall became flooded, and it was from there, of course, that the powers-that-be decided we must launch our attack.

“Philip, as usual, had volunteered for the Forlorn Hope. That’s a...”

“Oh, dear God,” Kate half sobbed. “Lucius explained to me about the Forlorn Hope. Why did Philip want to be a part of— of what must virtually have been a suicide squad?”

David’s mouth twisted in a sad smile.

“Because he wanted to win a promotion. He could have purchased one, but he was determined to earn it on his own merit. The Forlorn Hope was the quickest route to that goal. When I heard of his plan, I sought him out and tried to dissuade him. I was his superior officer, and, while I could not forbid his going out, I laid out every ounce of authority I possessed to change his mind.

“Those tactics might have worked with any other young officer in the force, but it pulled no weight with Philip. ‘Don’t be such an old woman, Davey—Major Davey, that is,’ he laughed in that cajoling way of his. He said he would think over what I had said, but refused to promise anything.

“We finally attacked on the night of April sixth. It was dry and cloudy, but the Revillas was still swollen, and the land surrounding it was a sea of mud. We marched to our position at the southeast of the fortress, where we were to smash through a breach that had been made between two of the bastions.”

“And Philip was not with you then?” Kate’s voice was choked, for it seemed she had not breathed since David had begun his monologue.

“No. I could not expect to see him, of course. Remember, though Philip and I were in the same division, we were in different regiments. We were to begin the attack at ten, and ahead of us crept the Forlorn Hope. I strained my eyes to see if Philip was among their number, but of course I could make out nothing in the darkness.

“We waited in position for the attack to begin, while the night settled about us like a physical presence. All was silent, except for the voices of the French sentries atop the ramparts, calling to each other. Then, fifteen minutes before we were to march, while the Forlorn Hope was still making its way up the glacis, the sky was lit suddenly by a flaming barrage of artillery fire. We learned later that Picton’s troops—the Third Division—had been spotted as they prepared for their attack farther along the wall, near the castle.

“The Forlorn Hope was mercilessly exposed in the light, and their only course was to begin the attack early. They jumped up from their positions, carrying their scaling ladders and the grass bags they used for cushions, and ran for the ditches that had been created at the foot of the walls between the palisades. These ditches were too wide to be leaped, so the stormers had to descend into them by means of their ladders.

“The rest of us came plummeting after them, and when we reached the ditches, we were met by as horrible a scene of fire and destruction as any of us had ever encountered. The whole area was alight with the blaze of artillery and musket fire, for the French were lined above us, pouring everything at their command down upon us. The ditches themselves were flooded, and were deeper than we had anticipated. On the surface floated the drowned bodies of the Forlorn Hope, and the engineers who had led them. Underneath the water were impediments strewn there by the enemy—broken tools, overturned wheelbarrows, discarded boats—all of which had been sharpened to knife-edge.”

David paused for a moment, and the silence was broken only by the crackle of the flames in the fireplace and the sound of Kate’s soft sobbing. His own eyes were dry and lifeless as he gazed at her.
Save your tears, little one, for the worst is yet to come.

“I stood for a moment, at the brink of the ditch, trying to assimilate the horror spread out before me. It seemed to me that it was no good trying to cross there. We did not know the depth of the water, and it was all too apparent that it served simply as a death trap. I have tried to tell myself that my decision to turn south and east, to where the Light Bobs were assaulting another section of the breach, was sound military thinking. There, the ditches were still dry. But, Sweet Jesus, Kate, I was more afraid of entering that patch of water, red with blood and reflected flames, and with God knew what lurking under the surface, than of anything I’ve ever faced in my life. As I turned to gather my men, I heard my name called out in a hoarse shout. Following the sound, I saw—oh, God ...” David’s voice failed him, and it was some minutes before he could continue. “Philip was in the water, his head just above the surface.”

“ ‘I’ve caught one, Davey,’ he cried, his voice barely audible above the din of the firing and the screams. ‘Can’t move ...’

“Lucius was at my side, and I called to him to take the men toward the Santa Maria bastion. Then I started for Philip. I could see him clearly as I plunged into the water, for the exploding barrels of gunpowder and the flaming shells lit the whole bloody scene like a landscape from hell. I splashed toward him. Then ...”

He broke off.

“Yes? Then?” prompted Kate, her voice a tortured whisper.

“I don’t remember,” he replied abruptly, passing a hand over his eyes. “The next thing I knew, it was morning. I was lying on the edge of the ditch, and almost the first thing that met my eyes was his—Philip’s body, floating facedown among all the other poor sods who’d given their lives in the assault.”

Kate uttered an involuntary groan. David lifted a hand toward her, then dropped it immediately to his side.

“He had a number of wounds—one ball was lodged in his spine. But that wasn’t what killed him, Kate. He drowned. I was not three feet from him, and I let him drown. All I had to do was reach out, and he would have been saved. But I didn’t, and that’s why Philip never came home to you.”

He moved stiffly to stand in front of her. With a terrible effort, he forced himself to look into her eyes. They mirrored his own anguish, and his hands clenched with the effort it took not to take her in his arms to comfort her. He knew that such a gesture would be met only with outrage and contempt.

“I know there’s nothing I can say,” he said. “The words I’m sorry are so inadequate as to be ludicrous. I—I didn’t want to tell you, but I couldn’t let you go on thinking of me as a cherished friend.”

Kate said nothing, but continued to stare at him in shocked silence. He continued awkwardly. “I don’t know what you want to do now. If you feel you can’t live under the same roof with me anymore—if you wish to leave Westerly”—he almost gasped at the pain the words caused him—”I will make some sort of arrangements ...”

Kate interrupted. “You can remember nothing?” she asked softly. “You don’t know how you came to be lying at the edge of the ditch? Were you hurt?”

“No. I wish I had been—I would be glad of an excuse for my ineptitude—or cowardice. But there wasn’t a mark on me.”

Kate rose and moved to stand before him, her hands reaching to grasp his.

“Oh, David, how terrible for you! To know that Philip died only a few feet from you. To have to see ...”

David stared unbelievingly down at her.

“Did you not hear what I said?” He spoke in a harsh growl. “Philip didn’t just die—I let him die!”

To his utter astonishment, Kate simply shook her head.

“I don’t believe that. I know you, David. I cannot believe that you would stand idly by while your best friend sank into that—that cesspool.”

David could only gape at her, willing the spark of hope that had sprung up at her words to expire before it could fan itself into a false warmth.

“You don’t understand,” he rasped. “I told you, I was deathly afraid of that ditch. The only explanation for my not going into it to save Philip is pure funk.”

“No, David, not you,” said Kate with calm insistence.

David fought the bile that rose in his throat, and his features hardened.

“You are very sure of yourself, Little Miss Sunshine.” He watched in bitter satisfaction as Kate’s startled gaze lifted to his. “How pleasant it would be if you had the slightest idea of what you are talking about.”

An expression of anguished confusion crept into Kate’s eyes, and she lifted a hand as though in protest. Ignoring his own rising agony, David continued in a harsh tone. “You say you know me so well?” He barked in a parody of laughter. “You do not. My God, what do you know of fear? Tucked safely away in this little green paradise, and swathed in your impenetrable innocence.”

“David!” Kate’s voice was choked with pain. “I...”

“Fear is not something that can be overcome by nobility of soul. I have seen good men wet their britches at the first sounds of battle, and cry out for their mothers at the first sight of blood. I had thought I was above all that, but in the final analysis, I proved as craven as the most lily-livered recruit. No, never mind,” he grated, as Kate opened her mouth to cry out in protest. “Spare your sympathy. It is wasted on me. Cry for your brother, if you will—not for your brother’s murderer.”

But, Kate did not cry. She stood before him, white-faced and silent, a blind expression in her eyes. Goaded, David continued, expending with an effort the last of his will to alienate the young woman who stood before him. “Just go, now, goddamn it. We have no more to say to each other.”

Kate hesitated, her eyes wide with misery. For a moment David thought she meant to respond to the unforgivable things he had just said. She lifted a hand to him, but then turned, and with great precision, made her way from the room.

David sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He sat thus for several minutes before himself exiting the room. On entering his chambers, he found Curle waiting for him. The valet hurried to him.

“Yer late t’bed this evenin’, Ma—my lord. Will ye ... ?” he stopped short. “What is it? Are ye hurtin’ then? Here, let me...”

David silenced his man with an angry gesture.

“Yes, I hurt, and I wish to be left alone.”

“Now, now, then my lord, let old Curle help ye, and we’ll have ye right and tight as soon as the cat can lick her ear.”

The gaze David bent on the valet was murderous.

“Loyal to the core, eh Curle?” he snarled. “The more fool you.” He turned away from the bewildered surprise in Curle’s face. “Just—leave me.”

As Curle moved to the door, David tossed over his shoulder, “Send up a bottle of brandy.”