She gave a small cry, and Dr. Anson apologized. “Forgive me, Mrs. Stanford. You have been through quite enough of an ordeal. I shall leave you in peace now. Here is a sleeping powder. Your maid will give it to you after I have left.” He tried to smile, but there was something in his face that prevented any comfort from reaching her. “You are a great deal more resilient than you look, ma’am. With rest and care we shall have you back to perfect health before Christmas.” He snapped his bag shut and gathered up his jacket. “I will call again in the morning. Your husband is waiting in the sitting room. I wish to have a quick word with him before he comes in to bid you good night. Try to rest. Your recovery is in your own hands.”
He went out and pulled the door, to behind him. Rosie began straightening the bedclothes and tidying away the bowl of water and swabs the doctor had used. Victoria could hear male voices in low conversation outside and waited for-Charles to come in to her. There was a vague memory floating in her head of her husband standing beside her at some time during the night, so they must have sent for him, but her most vivid recollection was of Hugo’s anguished expression as he left her here. She longed to see him again, if only to blot out that memory. He must surely be smiling at the thought of her recovery.
The sound of voices outside ceased. The sitting-room door opened and closed, but Charles did not come in. She did not care. The numbness was wearing off. The probing had awakened throbbing pain which she was anxious to put to sleep again. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to return to oblivion. All the ugly problems would start to crowd in on her soon enough. For now, they must allow her to hide from them beneath a layer of laudanum.
She asked Rosie to prepare the sleeping draught, and the girl had just gone through into her small closet when the door was pushed open to admit Charles. He came to stand at the foot of her bed, holding on to one of the posts. The arrogance in his stance had gone. The proud set of his shoulders had tilted downward as if under a heavy weight. Burning blue eyes appeared almost sunken into his gray face. He was a stranger.
“Have you any idea of what you have done?” he asked with difficulty, clutching the post for support. “You have not only killed my son, you have denied me the right to have one at all.”
He did not shout or gesticulate; he did not lose control and curse her with a string of oaths. His very quietness was frightening.
“You would not give me love. You cannot give me a child. You are of no further use to me.”
PART TWO
Chapter Seven
During the winter of 1853–54 the British government grew increasingly uneasy over the sudden conflict between Russia and Turkey. It had begun when Czar Nicholas demanded that the responsibility for the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem should be that of the monks of the Greek Orthodox Church rather than the Roman Catholic monks of French origin. Violent clashes between rival monks led to an ultimatum from Russia: Unless Nicholas was obeyed, and further, unless he was proclaimed legitimate protector of the Orthodox Church throughout Turkey, Russia would use force.
In an ill-advised effort by France and Britain to calm the situation, the British fleet was sent to show the flag in the Dardanelles, a strategic passage. Nicholas countered by marching troops into the Turkish-held territories of Moldavia and Wallachia. The Anglo-French committee wavered and waited. At first, the Turks appeared well able to hold their own, until their entire fleet was destroyed in one attack — an act of war that aroused extraordinary fury among the allies.
In March 1854, Britain and France declared war on Russia in support of Turkey, and the British generals began looking for their army. It barely existed. What there was of it was completely inexperienced in battle and led by officers accustomed only to parading before the public in handsome uniforms that made them the darlings of the ladies.
Chosen to lead this army were elderly men in doubtful health, whose experience of warfare dated from the Napoleonic wars, when campaigns were fought in traditional style with gentlemanly courtesies on both sides. Even worse, the Commander of the Cavalry, Lord Lucan, had a long-standing feud with his brother-in-law, Lord Cardigan, who was chosen to lead the Light Cavalry. The latter, an infamous commanding officer generally hated by captains and subalterns on whom he waged perpetual war, was an eccentric and unreasonable man who pursued quarrels to ridiculous lengths and allowed them to govern all his actions. Any man who had once fallen foul of his lordship’s temper was never likely to be forgotten, and the old quarrels were quickly revived. The Light Cavalry could not believe their ill-fortune in being given the Earl of Cardigan as commander but were ready to suffer such a burden for the chance of crossing swords with the enemy.
Rumors spread daily. Regiments waited jealously for sailing orders, but when the coveted sealed papers arrived, they were hard put to bring their numbers up to strength. A mad bout of recruiting and transferring began in order to muster a respectable force. The cavalry regiments had the additional problem of providing suitable mounts for their troopers and, since no one had heeded the warnings of officers like Hugo Esterly, had to accept the best animals from the considerably disgruntled regiments forced to remain in Britain, who considered it further insult to have to hand over their prime horses in exchange for a lot of broken-down hacks from those who were going off to fame and glory. They little realized the coming conflict was not going to be a mere show of strength.
All of a sudden, the subject of war and the inadequacy of the army had become a universal topic of conversation even among the gentle young creatures who were normally kept from anything unpleasant by their protective menfolk, and, on a day at the start of April, Victoria Stanford sat talking to her friend Letty Markham in the parlor of the little house with the yellow door.
“Two regiments of Dragoons have already begun preparations for sailing. We must soon receive orders, Letty, or I vow I shall start writing letters to some of those influential gentlemen who have been pleased to grace my dinner table these past few months. They were happy enough to pat my hand whenever the opportunity occurred, so I do not see why they should not pay for the privilege now.”
Letty laughed. “Do not tell me you are prepared for intrigue, Victoria. Shall you be making secret visits to ministers, in carriages with drawn blinds, and become known as ‘The lady in the black cloak’?”
“If the situation becomes desperate,” Victoria replied, “although I would hesitate in some instances. Several elderly war horses of Charles’s acquaintance believe they are still in the first flush of youth, you know.” She gripped her hands tightly together. “They must send the Hussars. It is such a fine regiment. Think of the honors to be added to an already impressive record.”
Letty smiled with real affection. “You truly count yourself as part of the regiment in a way I never shall. If they are ordered to war I shall accompany Jack because I could not bear to be parted from him, that is all.” She looked up as her maid entered with hot chocolate and little cakes. “Put the tray there, Maisie.”
When the girl had gone she poured chocolate for her guest and offered the cakes. “Have you told the major of your wish to travel with the regiment?”
Victoria nibbled her cake and shook her head. “I do not anticipate things where my husband is concerned. If and when the orders arrive will be the time to broach the subject. I am determined on going, Letty.”
The other girl nodded. “I know and am thankful. It will be good to know you are there, even if we are restricted to nodding our bonnets at one another.”
Victoria paused in the act of drinking and set her cup onto its saucer again. “What a remarkable person you are, my friend.”
Letty shrugged her shoulders as she selected a cake. “Then it is a great pity there are not a few more like me, for it seems no more than common sense. Military protocol has to be observed, and I would be a complete goose if I did not realize that our friendship cannot be taken into consideration on such occasions. There are those officers’ wives who firmly bel
ieve I am no more than a social attention-seeker, but I do not give a fig for them. I value our friendship, Victoria.”
“Do I not know it.” She looked at Letty thoughtfully. “We have not fallen out these past nine months as the gentlemen predicted, have we?”
Letty shook her head, and Victoria went on, after a slight hesitation. “Have you had any word from Ireland recently?”
“Only that Hugo is beside himself with anger that we find ourselves so unprepared at such a time.”
“So I should imagine. He always maintained that we should be ready for war, even in the midst of peace. It must be frustrating to be stranded in such an isolated spot when so much is happening.”
Letty wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Jack says they will be brought back very soon. If the regiment is to go they will need every man and horse.”
The faint color that touched Victoria’s cheeks did not go unnoticed by her friend. Letty sighed inwardly. It was six months since Victoria had lost her child and nearly her own life, but, instead of the experience shattering her, it appeared to have given her strength and calmness of spirit that she had not had before. Letty was continually surprised at the change. The young girl had become a woman in so short a time. Letty could not help feeling there was something deeper behind it all.
Looking at her now as she sipped her chocolate, she saw a young woman dressed in expensive fashion who was, perhaps, even more beautiful for the sadness in her large eyes. She had found the answer to that sadness in social success. In those few months she had flung herself into the military life with great dedication, playing the part of Major’s lady with such flair that she was already regarded as the toast of the regiment. The troops revered her, the subalterns adored her and the senior officers had become putty in her hands. Her popularity with the ladies of the regiment was not as unanimous, naturally, but some of the troopers’ wives had reason to be thankful for her intervention on their behalf.
Mrs. Stanford was to be seen at parades and reviews mounted on her magnificent mare Renata and could always be found taking a morning ride on the Downs with an entourage of Hussar officers, if the major could not accompany her. As if this were not enough, the house in Brunswick Square had become the scene of dinner parties that had Brighton society by the ears. Other hostesses might have prouder ancestry, greater wealth or a more elite circle of friends, but Victoria Stanford could be relied upon to entertain her guests with refreshing novelty. In vain, her rivals tried to outdo her, little realizing it was her personality, not her hospitality, that was the core of her success.
Still, Letty sighed. Beneath her friend’s new veneer of maturity lay an emotion that revealed itself now and again in unguarded moments. That she was still deeply in love with Hugo Esterly was plain, although he had been in Ireland for nine months where Victoria could not possibly have seen him. She saw through her friend’s casual inquiries about him. What she did not know was the relationship between the major and his wife. Victoria would not talk about the two months she had spent at Wychbourne last autumn and spoke only of her husband in terms relative to the regiment or social activities.
Jack had told his wife Charles Stanford had become a more unapproachable man and was often to be seen with a glass in his hand, but added that forty was no age and everyone confidently expected Mrs. Stanford to be in a delicate condition again shortly. Letty was not convinced. Her own wish for a child had not yet been granted, and she could not believe it was simply a matter of forty being considered no age. Jack was only twenty-five.
Victoria broke Letty’s train of thought by saying, “I met Mrs. Rayne yesterday while purchasing some muslin. What an exceedingly tiresome woman she is! In less than ten minutes I was given a catalogue of her domestic woes that began with the loss of a wheel on her outmoded carriage while she was returning from Sir Hubert Franklin’s dreadfully overcrowded soiree and ended with the ‘disgrace’ of her daughter’s attachment to an officer in the 44th — or is it the 54th? — Foot. My cousin, Charlotte’s husband, is in that regiment and knows the young man well. An excellent officer with good prospects, he says. It is merely the fact of his family’s being in commerce that turns the Raynes against him, you know.” She put down her cup. “I feel very sorry for the girl. If her heart is set on him, of what use is it to tell her he will not do?” She looked away out of the window. “They already have orders to embark, you know. What if he should fall in battle?”
Letty gave the sensible answer. “Mrs. Rayne will say it was all for the best.”
Victoria swung burning eyes back to meet her friend’s cool green gaze. “Her daughter will never agree, nor forgive her.” She sighed. “What creatures of manipulation we are, Letty. If you ever have a daughter, do not rely on me to help persuade her what is ‘all for the best,’ for I have never yet discovered for whom it turns out the best.”
Letty laughed. “I shall remind you of that speech when you forbid your own daughter to…” she broke off and rose to her feet as the door opened to admit her husband. “Jack, you are early!”
Jack Markham pulled his wife to him in a bear hug. “The orders have come. We sail from Portsmouth in ten days,” he said in a voice vibrant with, excitement. Then he gave an exultant laugh. “Ha! They could not fight a war without us. When the Russians hear we are on the way they will relinquish all claims to Turkish territory. Letty, think what a trip it will be for you. Can you be ready in ten days, my love?”
Letty struggled free from his arms and said, “We have Mrs. Stanford with us, Jack. What are you about?”
He immediately turned and bowed to Victoria with a grin on his face. “Ma’am, forgive me. This news has robbed me of my manners, but I promise you the entire regiment is going wild with excitement. The colonel is counting horses with breakneck speed, the regimental tailor has locked himself in his workshop with bales of cloth, a cutler has been engaged to sharpen all the swords we can muster, saddles are being refurbished…and half the officers are applying to get married.” His ebullience made his voice husky. “I have seen nothing like it before. Even old Paddington-Smyth was heard to murmur that he was dashed if he would not purchase a new pair of riding boots for the occasion. That will tell you the extent of the jubilation.” He dropped into a chair and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Gad, the next week or so is going to be hectic. We are nowhere near full strength, even with Hugo’s squadron ordered back to Brighton. The recruiting sergeants will be out in force from today.”
“But Hugo once told me it takes a long time to train a soldier,” protested Victoria.
“And so it does,” Jack agreed with a nod. “These new fellows will have to be trained as we go along — especially if they have never sat upon a horse in their miserable lives. With luck, it will all be over before we need them, but fighting for one’s life is the most effective form of training ever devised, you know.” He gave a rich laugh.
It was a sign of the close friendship between Victoria and the Markhams that he should discuss such things in her presence, although the formal form of address was maintained between the youthful lieutenant and the wife of his major for reasons of protocol.
“Did you learn our destination, Mr. Markham?”
“No, ma’am. We are to march to Portsmouth on the twelfth to await transports…but it will be for the Balkans, there is no doubt. They say it is beautiful there in the summer.” He got to his feet as Victoria made to leave. “Please, do not go on my account.”
A smile crossed her face, suddenly grown pale. “If we are to sail in ten days there is much preparation to be done — the first part of which is to persuade my husband that I am indispensable to the regiment.”
*
Brighton seemed a district of Paradise to Victoria as her carriage made its way through the streets to Brunswick Square. Hugo would be here in a few days. All she had to do now was fight for her place with the regiment when it left England — and fight she would with every weapon at her disposal. If she were left behind the only
purpose left in her life would be gone.
In her agitation of spirits her mind flew back to the night Charles had learned she would never bear another child. It had been a turning point, Charles’s words had burned through her as the minutes ticked away. She had pushed aside the sleeping draught with a cold hand so that she could think the better, and pain had washed over her body, heightening her complete humiliation. She had allowed herself to be used by them all.
It had started with Aunt Almeira persuading her that a girl could have no greater honor and happiness than an offer of marriage from a man like Charles Stanford. Lady Blythe had been insufferably rude under the guise of aristocratic eccentricity, yet she had made only a token stand against her. Why had she not asserted her right as the woman’s successor? Oh, and why had she not laid the ghost of Charity Verewood once and for all?
Her fevered mind had dwelt on memories of her honeymoon that filled her with shame. Why had no one told her she must expect her husband to ask sacrifices of her — not that Charles had asked! Had she so little pride that he could reduce her to the role of chattel; had she so little character that his usage of her set her trembling with fear of him? Surely it was not the natural role of a woman to submit herself to such treatment at her husband’s whim?
Then, when the desired result had been produced, she had been treated only as the impersonal machine designed to bring forth the long-awaited son. Charles had laden her with gifts, flowers and extravagant care, but not for love. With the child within her she had become an echo of his self-gratification. When his dream of an heir was smashed, he had cast her aside.
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