Badge of Glory (1982) (34 page)

He said, ‘I can see where
you
get it from.’ But the joke went flat.

Smithett appeared silently and said, ‘They’re bringin’ yer ’orse, sir.’

Harry nodded and began to fasten his shirt. ‘Thanks.’

He sauntered away to dress himself, and Blackwood said, ‘You remain at Hawks Hill, Smithett. I’m going to Forton to report for duty.’

Smithett watched him passively. ‘Somethin’ wrong, sir?’

‘Probably not. But I’d like you here, just in case. Poor old Oates is getting shaky. It would please my father no end if there was a
real
marine nearby when he feels better.’

‘I dunno about that, sir.’ But Smithett was obviously pleased with the compliment.

Half an hour later they were both ready to leave.

Harry clasped his mother to his chest and hugged her. Blackwood saw that she was watching him instead of listening to her son, her eyes level and challenging.

He could do and say nothing now. It would only add to his father’s suffering and provoke a family disgrace.

She moved towards him and touched his collar.

‘You both look very splendid. I’m proud of you. We all are.’

Harry climbed carelessly into his saddle and looked down at them with amusement.

‘You look more like lovers than respectable people.’

Only then did Blackwood see her start, her eyes spark with alarm. ‘Don’t be so
vulgar
, Harry!’

Blackwood stooped and kissed her cheek. It was as cold as ever. Then without another glance he mounted his horse and followed Harry away from the house.

Whatever happened after this, things would never be the same at Hawks Hill.

Lieutenant-Colonel Rupert Fynmore handed his hat and riding-crop to a clerk and marched through the outer office and into his own.

It was morning, and although the air was cold and damp the sky remained clear, as if the snow was just a bad memory.

Fynmore glanced briefly at his desk and the carefully arrayed papers which awaited his attention, then, as if for the first time, he looked at Blackwood.

‘I hear you arrived back last night?’ His eyes moved busily over Blackwood’s appearance. ‘You could have reported then. I am never too busy to receive one of my officers.’ His mouth shot up in his twisted smile. ‘Especially one of so gallant acquaintance, what? Delayed, were you?’

Blackwood nodded. ‘My half – Mr Blackwood had to retrace his steps and leave some papers with somebody.’

It sounded so peculiar that he flinched under Fynmore’s stare. It had been strange, he thought. They had been keeping up a good pace, talking about the African campaign, the squadron, filling in the gaps. Then Harry had reined up his horse and had pointed at a small inn nestled in a curve of the road.

‘God, my memory! I was supposed to leave some letters at
a house back there. But for this inn I’d have forgotten completely. You wait there and have a glass. I’ll not be long.’

Without waiting for an answer he had turned his horse and cantered back along the road. When he had eventually arrived at the inn about an hour later he had been reticent and apparently unwilling to elaborate on where he had been.

Fynmore snapped, ‘No matter. You’re here and that’s the main thing. Mr Blackwood has told you about the formation of the new companies, right? We have to make a success of it. A step in the right direction. Half the trouble in the past has been the lack of coordination in a squadron.
Send the marines
, orders some admiral or other, and we all tumble into boats and storm ashore, most of us never having worked together before. Monstrous, in my opinion, asking for trouble.’

Blackwood watched him, fascinated. Fynmore seemed to have grown in stature with his new rank, and it was almost impossible to remember him as the cautious, hesitant commander in West Africa.

‘I’ve read your reports, Blackwood. Fine as far as they go. But the medical men are all agreed. Your wound could weaken you again. Can’t have that, what?’

Fynmore crossed to a window and raised some papers to his eyes. ‘Now let me see. Your own Doctor Sturges says much the same.’

Blackwood stiffened as he saw an envelope pinned to the other papers. He would recognize his stepmother’s writing anywhere. He felt trapped, or like a boy at school who is about to be expelled.

Fynmore replaced the papers on his desk and adjusted them until they were in an exact line with the others.

‘Still, can’t believe everything they say, can we?’

‘I’d like to return to duty, sir.’

‘Of course.’ Fynmore studied him thoughtfully, his sandy hair perfect, his uniform looking as ifhe had been poured into it.

‘I have spoken to the Colonel Commandant. He fully understands the need for experienced officers. The fleet is undermanned and cannot raise enough volunteers for any
sudden emergency. The marines, on the other hand, are the
real force.
Like a well-forged weapon which, if properly used, can put a stop to local wars and uprisings before they know what’s hit them.’ He calmed himself with an effort. ‘I got the Colonel Commandant to agree to your secondment on a temporary basis.’ He watched his words go home and added smoothly, ‘Do your duty, and make good use of your undoubted experience in the field, and I feel sure that this will only be a momentary setback.’

Beyond the room and the thick walls Blackwood heard the measured tramp of feet from the parade-ground, the shouted commands which came from every angle until they merged into a meaningless chorus.

One, probably the sergeant-major’s, ebbed and flowed, chased and persuaded above all the rest.

‘Advance in column from the left, A Company leading!’ There were more shouts and then, ‘
Stand still, that man!
Wait for the order!’

Fynmore was enjoying this. Watching his disappointment, waiting for him to plead. Secondment on a temporary basis. It was better than nothing. But only just.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Anyway, there’s a lot to do before we leave.’ He sounded vaguely irritated. ‘We are embarking in a troopship the week after next. For Malta.’ He squared his shoulders and glared round the office. ‘Not like this place, eh? Do some of the recruits good to see what an
old
barracks looks like.’

Blackwood considered it. That was unexpected. An immediate transfer to the Mediterranean. He had imagined that perhaps the new companies had been formed to support the campaign he had left behind in
Satyr.
For although the Navy was having plenty of successes against the remaining strongholds of slavery, the campaign was still dragging on, with fever taking a heavier toll of seamen and marines than anything else.

Fynmore said suddenly, ‘I understand Sir Geoffrey Slade is back in England too.’

‘Yes, sir. I visited his London house just two days ago.’ There was no need to add that Slade had not been there. His so-called friendship with Slade must be about the only reason Fynmore had requested his secondment to the new command.

‘Splendid.
He
thinks out every move. I
like
that.’

The door opened two inches and a clerk said nervously, ‘The sergeant-major’s here, sir.’

‘Good. Punctual as usual.’ Fynmore glanced around the office and added, ‘Two men for field punishment this morning. I will not have slovenly behaviour and I want everyone to know it.’

Blackwood followed him through the outer office and into the pale sunshine.

Fynmore said over his shoulder, ‘We are getting some of the new Minie rifles too. Mine is the first command to have that honour.’

The sergeant-major stood like a ramrod on the side of the parade-ground, his stick tucked beneath one arm. In the sunlight his brass shoulder-scales shone like gold, perfection, like the rest of his uniform.

His eyes flickered to Blackwood and his mouth opened and closed like a trap.

‘Good to ’ave you back, if I may say so, sir.’

That was all he said, but Blackwood valued his bare welcome more than a full parade.

He watched the nearest marines marching past, their boots kicking up the dust, their eyes glazed with the constant changes of direction, the intricate movements with musket and bayonet which, if the sergeant-major had his way, would soon be as familiar as their own feet.

He saw Harry standing by a platoon which was being instructed in the use of the new Minie rifles. If he remembered the cruel accuracy of these rifles which had taken the lives of so many of their own men he did not show it. He was smiling and joking, and even at a distance Blackwood could sense the relaxed almost carefree atmosphere.

Fynmore said fiercely, ‘Deal with
that
, Sergeant-Major.’ As the giant strode towards the offending platoon Fynmore muttered, ‘Sloppiness will not be tolerated.’ He darted Blackwood a quick glance. ‘From anybody.’

Harry hurried across the square and saluted.

Fynmore said coldly, ‘Those men are raw recruits, Mr Blackwood. You may wish to appear popular in their eyes, but I warn you, they’ll not respect you for it. Discipline is what they know and need.’

Harry flushed. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Report to the adjutant for extra duties, Mr Blackwood. But first attend to the punishment of two offenders. A dozen lashes each, I believe?’

The sergeant-major grunted. ‘Sir.’

‘Carry on then.’

Fynmore turned on his heel and strode away, an orderly trotting behind him.

Harry murmured softly, ‘Pig.’

Blackwood said, ‘You asked for that.
And
you know it.’

Harry grimaced. ‘Extra duties too.’ He glanced at the procession which had emerged from the guard-house. Two men stripped for punishment, an armed guard and a sergeant with the necessary papers in his hand. He said ruefully, ‘I’ll be glad to get back to sea.’

Blackwood saw the familiar shape of M’Crystal hurrying across the square.

‘Stay out of trouble, Harry. I mean it.’

Harry watched his half-brother shake hands with the big colour-sergeant. What was the difference? The greeting was warm, and yet there was no lowering of the barrier between them. He kicked angrily at a stone.

Never mind. Fynmore would have cause to regret his outbursts. It had been sickening the way Fynmore had lost no time in passing off Philip’s ideas to the admiral as his own. By so doing he had gained promotion beyond his dreams, a command which any officer would envy.

He smiled in spite of his resentment and wondered if there were any young women in Malta who might be of interest.

‘So you’re off again, Philip. Best thing, I suppose.’

Blackwood adjusted his father’s pillows and watched him sadly. He had difficulty in forming his words, as if his mouth was frozen. But his voice seemed stronger and his mind had not wandered very much while they had been talking.

‘Day after tomorrow, Father. We’ve not been told much, but it sounds as if they genuinely want an independent unit which can be sent anywhere.’

‘Won’t be the first time we’ve had to get the army out of trouble.’

Blackwood smiled. ‘There’s no war.’

‘Will be soon. You mark my words. New weapons, bigger fleets, they’re not being made to play with. Only Britain believes in letting things slip. God, these politicians make me sick.’ He coughed and snatched a handkerchief from his side before Blackwood could help him. ‘Get me a drink, will you?’

Blackwood poured a glass of claret. There was no point in denying him. Oates would fetch it once he had left.

‘Don’t forget what I told you, my boy. Watch that Fynmore. He’ll try to hold you down. You could lose your position, seniority, everything, so keep your eyes on him.’

‘I don’t know why he asked for me anyway.’

‘Then you’re a fool. He
needs
you, don’t you see that? He’s promoted out of his depth. Just like his idiot of a father.’ He sipped the wine and was suddenly quiet. Then he said, ‘Wish I could be there when you sail. What ship, by the way?’

‘The trooper
Liverpool.
She’s steam driven, so the passage won’t be too uncomfortable.’

His father was getting drowsy. ‘I’d like to have seen her. Always a fine sight. Bands playing, people holding up their children as the red coats go past.’

Blackwood looked around the room. His father had always been a strong man. To see him cut down like this was pitiful.
From what the other officers had said, it seemed likely they would not return to England until completing a full commission. This was probably the last time he would see his father alive.

He bent over him and said, ‘Send me a letter if you feel like it. Oates will write it if you feel too tired.’

His father glared at him. ‘
Tired?
I’m not a bloody invalid. This is just a setback, nothing more.’

He thrust out his hand and Blackwood grasped it between his own.

‘Take care, Philip. Look after young Harry if you can. The name has to survive in the Corps, always remember that!’

He watched as Blackwood stood back from the bed and gave a fierce smile.

‘You’ll do, my boy.’

The door opened softly and Blackwood heard her say, ‘The doctor’s here.’

Blackwood walked towards the door and then paused to look back.

His father said, ‘Tell your man Smithett from me. Good marine. Hope for this bloody country yet.’

The door closed as the doctor hurried inside. He barely glanced at Blackwood. He probably felt guilty for his part in the medical reports.

Blackwood forgot him and ran lightly down the stairs where Smithett was filling his bag with gifts from the kitchen.

His stepmother walked with him to the steps and said, ‘You despise me, don’t you?’

When he looked at her she appeared perfectly composed, but something in her tawny eyes made him hold back what he had intended to say.

‘I know about Lord Lapidge, if that is what you mean.’

Her lip quivered slightly. ‘Think what you like. Just remember this. But for me Hawks Hill would have been sold up long ago. When I married your father there were so many debts and outstanding claims it was a matter of weeks, not
months.’ She watched him impassively. ‘But all your father thinks about is the Corps. He would never listen when I told him about the estate. I used a great deal of my own money, but I became lonely. You will discover, if your pride allows, that there is no price high enough to buy off loneliness.’