Beneath the Major's Scars (13 page)

‘I really don’t think Sir Arthur would approve of that,’
remarked Dominic. He raised his head as he spoke and saw the bailiff’s eyes
widen slightly as he recognised the face beneath the wide-brimmed hat.

‘Beggin’ yer pardon, Major. I’m merely passin’ on a message
from my master. Besides, we’re permitted to shoot the deer, and how are we to
know what’s man and what’s beast in the dark?’

‘Aye, well now you’ve passed on yer message, get yerself back
to the Three Tuns with the rest of yer cronies,’ muttered Abraham Judd. ‘You
bain’t welcome here.’

Miller scowled, and with a reluctant tug at his forelock
towards Dominic he slouched off to the corner, nursing his mug of ale. The men
around the table looked at each other.

‘Well, ’tedn’t too bad at the moment,’ remarked one, shaking
his head, ‘but come summer we needs the high pasture for grazing. And in the
autumn we’ll need to be collectin’ firewood. You’ve been very good, Major,
lettin’ us forage in your own grounds, but that won’t be enough to keep us all
going.’

‘Then we must hope you find the evidence you need to win your
case.’ Dominic finished his ale and rose. ‘Now I’ll bid you goodnight.’

He strode out of the door, buttoning his coat, ready to
continue his journey. Since the assembly he had been making a conscious effort
not to drag his right leg and his stride was becoming easier. Perhaps the
doctors were right, after all. There was nothing wrong with his leg. He grinned
to himself. He had not been prepared to make the effort for the sawbones, but to
please an impertinent slip of a girl...

‘Ooomph!’

As he stepped out of the inn a shambling, unsteady figure
cannoned into him and collapsed on to the ground, cursing roundly. Dominic
grinned as he recognised the ragged heap.

‘Old Robin.’ He held out his hand. ‘Up you come, man, and look
where you are going next time.’

As he pulled the old man to his feet he turned his head away,
grimacing at the stench of beer and onions on his breath.

‘Major Coale,’ he hiccupped and swayed alarmingly. ‘Just goin’
to wet me whistle...’

‘You should be going home, man.’

Robin gave a grunt. ‘A fine night like this, I’ll be sleepin’
in the woods.’

Dominic laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Then take care where you
lay your head. Evanshaw has armed men patrolling Prickett Wood.’

‘That’s very kind o’ you, Major, but I’ve been followin’ the
deer into Prickett Wood since I was a boy an’ I don’t plan to stop now. It’ll
take more’n Sir Oswald’s men to keep me out!’

With a nod he shuffled off into the inn, singing roisterously
as he bounced from wall to wall.

Shaking his head, Dominic went off to collect his horse.

* * *

Summer was nearly here. Zelah could smell it in the air
as she walked across the lawn towards Rooks Tower. Even in the few weeks she had
been coming to the house she could see the changes Major Coale had wrought. The
new road was only one of the improvements he had made—clinging ivy had been
stripped away from the windows, which had been cleaned and painted and gleamed
in the morning sunshine. The gates from the new road had been repaired and oiled
and now opened easily on to the freshly gravelled drive. The house stood proudly
amid its scythed lawns and seemed to welcome her. The weather was so glorious
that Zelah was reluctant to go indoors and once she had reached the library she
lost no time in throwing up the windows.

There was no sign of the major. Zelah assumed he had not yet
returned from Exeter. A pity, she thought, since the oppressive, sultry air
hinted that the good weather would soon break and she would have liked him to
see his house on such a beautiful day.

Even with the windows open it was very warm in the library and
she decided against emptying the last two crates that stood in one corner. She
had peeked in them upon their arrival and knew they held large, ancient
manuscripts that would require some exertion to move. Instead she settled down
at her desk to continue cataloguing the books she had already sorted.

When the pretty ormolu clock on the mantelshelf chimed noon she
looked up, surprised at how quickly the morning had gone. She got up and
stretched. The still air was heavy and oppressive. She went to the double doors
and threw them open, but the dark stillness of the shuttered salon did nothing
to dispel the humid atmosphere. She stood for a moment, listening. The house was
hushed, expectant, as if it was waiting for her to act. Zelah crossed to the
first window and after a short struggle with the catch she folded back the
shutters and threw up the sash. She went to the next window, and the next. As
the fresh air and sunlight flooded in the room seemed to sigh and relax, like a
woman released from her confining stays. Zelah chuckled at the image. The room
was decorated in yellow and white with the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling and
the magnificent chimneypiece picked out in gold and reflected in the
straw-coloured sofas and chairs. She took up a cushion and hugged it, revelling
in the glowing opulence of the salon.

‘What in damnation do you think you are doing?’

Zelah dropped the cushion and spun around. Major Coale was
standing in the doorway, his scarred face pale with anger.

‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘N-nothing. That is...I thought this room could use a little
air.’

‘I gave express instructions that this room is to remain
shuttered. I hate this salon. It is not a room for levity.’

‘Oh, but it is,’ cried Zelah, throwing her arms wide and
spinning around. ‘Just look at the colours and the space. Can you not feel it?
The happiness? It is a room for children, and laughter and lo—’

She stopped.

‘Love? Marriage? A happy family?’ His face twisted into a
bitter grimace, making the livid scar even more noticeable. ‘You are far too
romantic, Miss Pentewan. In future you will confine your work to the
library.’

He turned and stalked out. Zelah frowned, but even as she
strove to understand his anger she saw what she had not noticed before, that
between each of the windows was a pier glass, paired with its equal on the
opposite wall. Wherever she went, whichever way she turned, she could not escape
her reflection.

‘Oh goodness. Major!’ Picking up her skirts she flew after him.
‘Major Coale, wait, please.’

He was crossing the hall and she caught up with him just as he
opened the study door. She put out her hands to stop him closing it in her
face.

‘Please,’ she begged him. ‘Please let me apologise.’

He glared at her, eyes blazing, his chest rising and falling as
he fought to contain his rage. She held her ground and after a moment he turned
and walked away. Silently she followed him into the room and shut the door.

‘I did not understand, until I saw the mirrors.’ He was
standing with his back to her, staring down into the empty fireplace. She said
quietly, ‘Forgive me, Major. I did not mean to make you angry.’

‘So now you will go back and close the room up again.’

‘Must I?’

‘Yes! I do not wish to be reminded of the monster I have
become.’

‘You are
not
a monster!’ Angrily
she caught his arm and turned him towards her. ‘You are a man, a soldier with a
scarred face. Is that so very bad? You went to the assembly—’

‘That was an aberration, a moment of madness.’

‘Perhaps it was so, for you, but you were not shunned. One or
two were shocked, of course, people who had not seen you before, but the
majority—those who know and respect you—they accept you for what you are.’

‘What I am is a
freak
.’

‘Now you are just being foolish! There are many men with worse
disfigurements than this, many whose wits are addled.’

‘And there are many who lost their lives!’ he flashed. ‘Do you
think I am not aware of that? Do you think I do not
know
? Every time I see this scarred face it is a reminder of all
those men that died, good men, with more right to live than I will ever have—’
He broke off and swung away towards the window. ‘From the moment we crossed into
Spain I was writing letters of condolence. To wives, fathers, mothers, as more
and more comrades perished. And still they died, those poor souls, never to see
their homeland again. You have no idea of what it’s like to wake up at night
asking,
why me?
Why should I live when all around me
perished—Graddon was a fool to bring me back. And the others who helped him.
They should have left me to die like the rest at Cacabelos—’

‘No!’ Zelah grabbed his arm and pulled him round again. ‘How
dare you say such a thing. Any life lost is a tragedy, yes, but a life
saved
—it shows the love and respect in which you were
held that so many put themselves out to bring you home! So your scars remind you
of your fallen comrades. Is that so very bad? You are not the only one to have
bitter regrets about the past. Perhaps instead of wallowing in your self-pity
every time you look in a mirror you should feel proud to have fought beside
those men.’ She stepped closer and put up her hand to touch his face. ‘These
marks are not so very bad—’

He grabbed her wrist and whipped her hand behind her back. They
were so close that her breast brushed his waistcoat. Immediately her body
tensed. She could see every detail of the long black lashes that fringed his
eyes, the fine lines etched into his skin. She dropped her eyes to his mouth,
the curve of his lips, the slight droop on the left where the scar ran close. In
her mind she put her arms about his neck and gently touched her lips to the
livid scar, kissing his brow, his cheek, his mouth, making him forget his
injuries and remember that he was a man, like any other.

‘You go too far, madam.’ His voice was rough, not quite
steady.

Not far enough
. The words were on
the tip of her tongue. She felt her body softening, yielding to the magnetic
power of the man. She felt naked under his scorching glance. It had been so long
since any man had held her thus, but the desire for that first youthful love had
not been as strong as this, as unconfined. She had never wanted a man as she
wanted Dominic. His eyes wandered to her mouth and nervously she ran her tongue
over her lips. Surely he would kiss her now, or she would die.

He released her so suddenly that Zelah swayed.

Dominic turned away from her, rubbing his eyes. This would not
do. Only by an extraordinary effort of will had he resisted the temptation to
kiss her. She was willing enough, he knew that look; the darkening lustre of the
eyes, the soft flushing of the lips. He could have taken her, made love to her
there and then in this very room, but what then? To have her working in his
library was giving rise to scandalous rumour, but while it remained only that,
she could still become a governess and maintain her independence. If he took her
as his mistress it would outrage the neighbourhood and ruin her reputation for
ever. When they grew tired of each other what would there be for her, save
another man, another protector, until her looks had quite gone.

‘I b-beg your pardon,’ she said quietly. ‘I...perhaps I should
leave. You could find another archivist.’

He swung round. She was very pale, but outwardly composed.

‘Is that what you want?’ She shook her head and Dominic
realised he had been holding his breath for her reply. He nodded. ‘Very well. We
shall say no more of this. Go back to work, now, Miss Pentewan.’

She clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers
together and running the tip of her tongue over her lips. Dear God, if she
continued to do that it would be his ruin! He said roughly, ‘Well, madam?’

‘The salon. May I...will you allow the shutters to remain
open?’

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

‘You are nothing if not persistent, madam. If it is your
wish.’

‘Thank you. You might of course remove the pier glasses.’

‘No, let them stay. The room is designed for them.’

He was surprised by his response and took a moment to consider
how he felt. Exhausted, drained, but somehow calmer than he had felt for years.
Somehow his outburst had been a catharsis. He had spoken to no one of his guilt
and it had built inside him, reaching such proportions that it had distorted
everything, even, he suspected, his view of his own disfigurement. When he
looked up Zelah was still standing before him, uncertainty in her hazel
eyes.

‘Will—will it prevent you coming to the library?’

He thought about it. ‘I do not know. Shall we put it to the
test?’

He walked to the door and stood there, looking at her. After a
brief hesitation she accompanied him back across the hall. The doors to the
salon still stood wide. Beyond, the room glowed with the afternoon sunlight. It
glinted off the gilded plasterwork, twinkled from the mirrors. His step slowed
at the threshold and he held out his arm.

‘Will you do me the honour?’

She placed her fingers on his sleeve and they processed slowly
through the salon.

‘I had no idea you had returned from Exeter, Major.’

‘Evidently, or you would not have turned my house upside down.’
She shook her head, refusing to respond to his teasing. He continued. ‘I have
ordered a carpet for the library. It will mirror the pattern on the ceiling, I
hope you will approve.’

She looked up quickly, surprise and pleasure in her eyes.

‘I am sure it will add the finishing touch.’

They had gone more than halfway across the long room before
Dominic realised that he had held out his left arm to her, so that when he
looked to the left his eyes were drawn to her reflection rather than his own.
And there was something else. The man in the mirror was walking with a sure,
steady gait. He was no longer dragging his right leg.