Soldier of the Queen (12 page)

‘Why?’

He gazed at her, wondering if she were pulling his leg. ‘Has to,’ he said. ‘Always has.’

She seemed puzzled that it should matter so much and he was equally puzzled that she couldn’t see that it did matter.

She was staring at him coolly. ‘If you’re a soldier, sir,’ she said, ‘how come you’re able to be here writin’. Shouldn’t you be back in England guardin’ your Queen?’

He smiled at her naivety. ‘I think she’s got enough people at home for that,’ he said. ‘I was on sick leave. I had malaria.’

‘We have it further south. Do you have it in England?’

‘I was in India at the time. The Sepoy Mutiny.’

‘Murderin’ black men, I suppose?’

‘At least, Miss Gussie,’ Colby said gently, ‘we only killed ’em. We didn’t make ’em slaves.’

The shaft went home. ‘We never had slaves,’ she said quickly. ‘At least, not many. Why did they send you to India?’

‘Not
me
in particular. My regiment. It was experience. We’d just come from the fighting in Russia. The Crimea. I expect you’ve heard of it.’

‘ I’ve read Mr Tennyson’s poem. It’s a fine piece. “
Into the Valley of Death rode the Six Hundred
–”’

‘Not impressed myself,’ Colby said. ‘There were nearly seven hundred of us for a start and
we
never called it the Valley of Death.
That
was the Worontzov Ravine, which was a route from the camps to the trenches, and you couldn’t have squeezed a couple of horses down there abreast, let alone ten squadrons.’

She was staring at him with shining eyes.
‘You
were with the Light Brigade?’ she said. ‘How is it you weren’t killed?’

‘A few of us managed not to be.’

‘What a hero Lord Cardigan was!’

Colby’s eyebrows rose. ‘I doubt if he’d be considered fit to command a corporal’s picket in your army.’

‘But he was so brave.’

‘Bravery don’t always go hand in hand with virtue. Ask Tyas there. He’s brave enough and he’s even been known to swear.’

‘Was
he
there, too?’

Ackroyd puffed out his chest. ‘That I was, Miss. Right in the front line be’ind the captain. ’E saved me life. Stuck me on ’is ’orse when I’d been wounded.’

‘And they sent
you
to India to fight those horrible black murderers after all that?’ She was staring at him with shining eyes now. ‘Were you with Cousin Micah at Parks Bridge?’

‘Couldn’t avoid it. He gave me a shove and there I was, right in the middle; we were hoping we might get Custer, but he was somewhere else and we had to be satisfied with one of his colonels!’

She looked shyly at him. ‘As a matter of fact, Mr Goff, not only are we related to General Stuart through my mother’s side, but we’re also related by marriage on the Burtle side to Custer.’

Colby’s eyebrows rose. ‘You certainly do manage to hedge your bets,’ he said.

When Colby brought Gussie Dabney and her mother to his room, Micah Love was looking pale and thin, but he managed a faint smile.

‘My old flame, Gussie Dabney,’ he murmured.

‘She was never your old flame, Micah Love,’ Mrs Dabney said quickly. ‘Your new flame either.’

‘She used to throw her dolls at me,’ Love whispered. ‘That’s supposed to be a sign of true affection.’

Augusta gave Colby a quick glance and blushed. ‘Well, it wasn’t with me,’ she said. ‘All the same, we’re glad to be here to help.’

Love grinned weakly and indicated Colby. ‘You’ll know by this time all about this handsome devil here, I suppose.’

She became stiff and prim. ‘Mr Goff and I have talked.’

‘Stuart’s throwin’ a dance,’ Love said. ‘It won’t be much because his banjoist, Sweeney, died during the winter – I heard it was smallpox – but it’ll bring a little good cheer. You goin’ to let Gussie go, Mrs Dabney?’

Mrs Dabney was already fluttering round the room, seeking linen and bowls for hot water.

‘I guess I’ll have to,’ she said. ‘But it’ll be hard for everybody to find somethin’ to wear. Everythin’s torn up long since for bandages. They say you can even tell a Yankee spy these days because he’s the only person wearin’ new clothes.’

‘Better down round Texas,’ Love murmured. ‘The people round the coast always got the pick of the blockade runner’s cargoes. Texans were always different, though. They had difficulty raisin’ infantry regiments down there because nobody in Texas walks, and they had to raise mounted regiments then dismount ’em. Y’all goin’ to the dance, Gussie?’

Standing by the bed, small and embarrassed at the teasing, Augusta became severely practical. ‘My duty’s to look after you.’

‘Your duty’s to enjoy yourself, Gussie Dabney. You know Stuart. He likes music and company and if I died tomorrow, you’d have wasted a good evenin’s entertainment. So go to it. If you want to see a good time, jine the cavalry. Doubtless, Mr Goff will lend you his arm.’

It had been in Colby’s mind to seek out Hannah-May Burtle, who was a lot less scrawny and a great deal less prickly, but it was difficult to say so and Love smiled.

‘That’s settled then,’ he said. ‘All I ask is that you come and see me from time to time and bring me a glass of punch. It would be nice to get drunk. At least I’d sleep without pain.’

As Augusta bustled off to join her mother, Love laid his hand on Colby’s sleeve. ‘See she gets a good time,’ he murmured. ‘It might be the last she’ll get for a long while. It might be the last any of us’ll get. The General’s had word that Sheridan’s about to make a move towards Richmond and the whole shebang’ll be movin’ off to get across his route tomorrow.’

When Colby went downstairs, there was a strange air of gaiety and grimness about the house. The Burtle family were busy putting up decorations and hanging regimental flags on the stairs and over the doors, and neighbours kept arriving with precious candles and sweetmeats.

There was a lot of noise and chatter but behind it there was an atmosphere of tension and the men wore smiles that disappeared the minute they were alone. Further news had come in. Two Federal corps were moving down the cold roads from Culpeper towards Madison Court House; Custer, with fifteen hundred well-mounted men, was in Charlottesville at last; and Stuart was intending to head there the following morning. Maps were spread on tables in quiet rooms and wagons were being discreetly loaded behind the house. There was a great deal of pretence, as if nobody knew what was going on, but Colby saw Hannah-May Burtle with tears in her eyes as she gathered a group of girls round her at the grand piano in the library.

A group of musicians with banjoes and fiddles were settling themselves in the big living-room where the carpet had been removed. Despite the cold outside, the room was warm from a blazing fire and aglow with the light of dozens of borrowed candles. As they waited for the music to start, several young officers, one of them a twenty-one-year-old colonel with a wooden leg, clustered round the girls at the piano, their voices thin and reedy over the buzz of conversation in the hall.

The song was clapped and Colby turned to find Augusta Dabney alongside him, the top of her dark head somewhere at the level of his shoulder. She wore a white dress festooned with fading roses, and over her shoulders had draped a yellow scarf of silk. The paleness of the colour set off her olive complexion and dark hair and the mysterious violet eyes. Pity she wasn’t a bit less scrawny, he thought, because there was something about her that was curiously disturbing.

She caught his eye on her and lifted the edge of her dress so that he saw the frills round her ankles. ‘Not whipcord this time, Mr Goff,’ she said, giving him a smile that was intimate and warm and indicated that they already shared secrets. ‘They’ll sing again,’ she observed coolly, glancing at the piano. ‘Though they shouldn’t. Cousin Burtle always sings off-key, and the tenor’s flat.’

He gazed at her, impressed by her forthrightness, and she beamed up at him, confident and sure of herself. ‘It’ll rain before the night’s out, Mr Goll,’ she announced. ‘I heard thunder, too. While I was dressin’. Considerin’ the time of the year, I think the Lord’s got it in for us.’

The singing came to its unsteady end and, as the group at the piano split up, Colby heard the steady patter of rain outside. Almost immediately there was a clap of thunder and several of the girls started wailing, putting their hands to their ears and clinging to the arms of the officers. A flash of lightning lit the trees outside with a purple glow and the girls screamed as the thunderclap which followed shook the house.

As the storm struck, the young men made protective noises. They seemed to have come out of the past, their talk, their clothes and their manners reminding Colby strangely of his father. They had arrived in their best, carefully-preserved uniforms, wearing cloaks and riding rangy horses; plumed, bearded, proud, and looking as if they were about to set off for Waterloo. It was the same heady atmosphere his father must have felt that night in Brussels at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball fifty years ago, before the two great armies clashed on the hillside at Hougoumont.

There was another clap of thunder and more wails.

‘It’s done for show, Mr Goff.’ The cool appraising voice came from alongside. ‘To show what tender flowers they are. They’re not frightened and neither am I, but if I couldn’t get attention without screaming at thunder, then I guess I’d give up and go home.’

He glanced at her, amused. She was only about five feet two in her stockinged feet and was built like a sprite, but there was a stout-heartedness about her that suggested she was in terror of being overlooked and was determined not to be.

Stuart was all smiles and full of gallantry, calming nerves, pretending that nothing was amiss, quietly speaking to the Burtle girls when their expression slipped. The dance started as the storm drifted away among the hills, beginning with charades and a tableau in which the officers took part. As the orchestra struck up the tune, ‘Hail, The Conquering Hero Comes’, Stuart stepped forward in full uniform, grey tunic, plumed hat, long thigh boots, scarlet-lined cloak, yellow sash and heavy sabre. With a hiss, the long blade was unsheathed. Stuart clearly enjoyed the acting and his eyes were alight as he moved forward and stood with folded arms, his head down, his eyes on the floor in a posture of humility and defiance, while a voice offstage intoned a verse:

‘To arms, to arms, ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheath!

March on, march on, all hearts resolved

On Victory or Death!’

‘Bravo! Bravo!’ Shouts interspersed the clapping and Augusta was radiant with enthusiasm.

‘No wonder the General’s called “Beauty”,’ she said excitedly. ‘He is beautiful.’ She looked at Colby and realised that his face had unexpected sharp planes and angles that excited her. It was a fine face, she realised, a sensitive, strong face, clean and narrow as the blade of a new axe, the gentleness and strength hidden beneath a frosty British exterior. ‘
You
are beautiful, too, Mr Goff,’ she went on in a sudden rush of confidence. ‘There are beautiful women, among whom I never number myself, and there are beautiful men. The General is one. And so are you.’

Colby was startled at the enthusiasm. ‘I’ve shaved,’ he smiled. ‘That’s why. When there’s anything requiring valour, whether it’s fighting, courting or dancing, I always shave. Young women like it that way and all men are hounds at heart.’

She gave him a bright-eyed glance and grinned. ‘It’s their most excitin’ quality, Mr Goff.’

He grinned back at her. There was something enormously appealing about her forthrightness. She was warm-hearted and generous, had little time for sentiment and, with a strong streak of practicality, believed in standing up for herself, so that he imagined the whole structure of her family rested on her small shoulders. As the music started, he held out his arm.

‘May I have this dance, Miss Gussie?’

She smiled and placed her hand on his wrist. ‘You bet,’ she said.

She was as light as a feather. She danced well and managed to avoid getting her feet trodden on.

‘I’m no dancer,’ Colby said.

‘So I notice.’

‘But it’s easier with you.’

‘That’s because I’m clever, Mr Goff. With two brothers, I learned to keep from under the feet of a man. There are moves in the North, I’m told, by women who feel that females should be more emancipated. Land’s sakes, any girl with a bit of intelligence can wind a man round her little finger!’

‘Can you?’

‘Not just yet. But I’m practisin’ a lot. I shall always remain myself, though, and people who don’t like it can go to hell and pump thunder. Don’t you prefer honesty?’

He had to admit he did.

She stared up at him, her eyes shining. ‘I think I’m in love with you, Mr Goff.’

‘Already?’

‘It need not take long.’

He held her a little more tightly round the waist and she seemed to enjoy it. Then she looked up and grinned in that straightforward honest way of hers so that he decided there was more to her than met the eye. There seemed no point in beating about the bush any longer.

‘Shall we take a walk?’ he suggested.

There was a conservatory at the back of the house, filled with plants, and he manoeuvred her among them.

‘Are you goin’ to kiss me, Mr Goff?’ she asked.

Dammit, he thought, she was two lengths ahead of him already. ‘That was my intention,’ he said.

‘Then you’d better get on with it, before someone comes.’

There was no coyness and no false modesty, and she was as aware as he was that she possessed some quality that other girls didn’t have.

As she held up her small face, he had to stoop. As he kissed her, she sighed and he put his arms round her. This time the kiss was more than mere admiration and she returned it with interest. Then, as his arms tightened, she gave him a little push.

‘I ought to warn you, Mr Goff. I’m only fifteen.’

He released her as if she’d been red-hot. ‘Fifteen!’

‘Does it surprise you?’

‘Yes, by God, it does!’ he said. ‘I thought you were eighteen, at least.’