The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

“Aye, mother, I am well,” William said, attempting a smile. “I have spoken with the doctor and he says—”

  “Willie, I am dying. I know it. I am ready and my Edward is waiting for me in a better place. Ye must not grieve too much for me, lad. I have had a blessed life. Three of my eight children have lived and are now here with me in this house.” She paused, her eyes focused on something William could not see, perhaps the kirkyard where five wee headstones marked the brief lives of his dead siblings. “Jean is seventeen now. Her Duncan has proven to be a devoted suitor. Ye must allow them to wed when she is eighteen.”

  “Aye, of course, Mother. If Jean desires to be Mrs. Duncan Graham, I will not say her nae. Duncan is a fine steady man with a sound income. And he loves her.”

  “Good.” Rose closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep. William knelt beside her bed and covered both of her small hands with his much larger one. Her icy skin felt as thin and dry as old parchment.

  Then Rose spoke again, without opening her eyes. “Willie, your brother Ian should have the farm, but he will place part of the profits in the bank for ye quarterly for your future investments. And there is a sum of money set aside for Jean’s dowry.” She hesitated, seeming to gather her strength. When she again spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

  “I know that ye and your regiment will be leaving soon for Ireland and who knows when ye will return. But keep your brother and sister in your prayers and write them often. Letters can and do go astray, so write often. Some letters will get through.” She paused again and William thought that she had indeed fallen asleep. Then she uttered, “Promise me.”

  “Aye, Mother. I promise ye. I will write often.” The silent room seemed to swallow his words.

  For many minutes, Rose rested, her slight frame rising and falling in shallow breaths. William rose soundlessly and crouching beside the blazing hearth, rubbed his chapped hands together, and soaked in the heat as the flames wicked out the moisture from his woolen regimentals. Finally warm, William stood and moved about the small, tidy room.

  The two silhouettes of his parents, made when they were newly wed, still graced the top of the oak dresser. He remembered himself as a young boy, peering up at them with curiosity and delight, amazed at the artist’s skill in creating such exact likenesses. He lightly touched the small wooden keepsake box that his father had made and given to his mother on their wedding day.

  Closing the door to the room, his father’s favorite hunting rifle swung into view. William had learned to shoot with that exact gun at a very young age. Scottish border men, toughened by generations of warfare and of necessity, learned how to defend and feed their families. William remembered his da patiently instructing him on the mechanics of the breech-loading rifle and the firing of the weapon. Keep the gun steady now, lad. Easy, easy now . . .

  He never forgot the pride in his father’s deep voice when aged eight he brought down his first kill, a large hare. That same day he learned the techniques for skinning and roasting an animal. It had been a bleak winter’s day and William felt the cold as it seeped through his thick plaid while his hands were chafed raw by the biting wind that blew in from the loch.

  And he never forgot that meal, celebrated on a windy hill with his Ferguson and Stewart uncles, his male cousins, and his da. He remembered his older cousin, Andrew Stewart, who had missed every shot that day, glaring at him over the flames. William remembered the succulence of the roasted meat on his tongue and the fire in his throat from his first dram of real whiskey.

  His mother’s voice recalled him back to the present. With eyes still closed Rose spoke again, taking up the conversation as if she had read his thoughts. “Remember your da, lad. He was verra proud of ye.” She chuckled softly as William returned to her bedside, kneeling beside it.

  “Aye, but he could be stubborn. Did ye know that he wept all the way home the day he left ye in Edinburgh at your uncle’s doorstep? For many weeks, he almost returned to fetch ye back home.” Rose paused, her eyes open now and bright. “If ye are half the man he was, and I know that ye are, ye will do well in life.”

  Looking directly at William, she reached out her thin arm and stroked his curling hair as she had done so often when he was a young lad. “One more thing.” Slipping her wedding ring off her finger, she held it to her lips and next, she placed it in William’s hand. As he took it in his palm, she curled his fingers over it. “Take this ring and wear it or keep it safe. When ye wed, give it to your lady. It is fine enough for any woman to wear.”

  William stared at the ring. He had never seen her without it. “But, Mother—”

  “Whoever she is,” Rose continued, “I hope that she loves ye as much as I loved your da. Oh, but he was braw. A good man, honorable and true.” She offered William a fragile smile as she closed her eyes. For a moment neither son nor mother spoke a word. William fought back the tears that flooded his eyes. A faint chiming of the clock in the parlor below marked the passage of the quarter hour.

  “God bless ye, my bonnie Willie. I love ye, my sweet lad. Remember me . . .” Rose drifted off into a gentle sleep.

  William leaned over and kissed her dry cheek as he lost the battle and tears coursed silently down his face. A half hour later, finally garnering his emotions, he pulled himself up and approaching the door, placed the gold wedding band securely within a pocket of his uniform.

  He moved to the head of the stairs where he called softly to Jean and Ian. They joined him at the bedside vigil, alternately weeping, whispering, and holding hands. Duncan kept close to Jean as he supplied them all with cups of hot tea reinforced with fine Scotch whiskey.

  Toward dawn, Rose Ferguson drew her last shuddering breath. An astonished William glimpsed a sweet smile adorning her face as if she were greeting someone very special. She looked transformed, suddenly young and radiant. And so very happy.

  He knew that his mother was reunited at last with her five lost bairns and with her beloved Edward.

  Chapter 34

  February 1813

  Onboard the Adamant

  Calcutta, India

  Standing on the deck of the ship outside Calcutta, William removed his mother’s ring from a small pouch that he carried inside his uniform. It glittered in the harsh Indian sunlight. Had he at last found a lady fine enough to wear it? Perhaps. But she belonged to another.

  Yet he could not help but wonder if he would ever see the Lady Westmeare again. He tried to put her out of his mind, but her sweet countenance imposed itself there and would not be dislodged. Like the fragments of a pleasing melody that lingered, Lady Anne Westmeare haunted his waking thoughts.

  The shrill voice of Mrs. Smythe interrupted his pleasant reverie. “Captain! Captain Ferguson, you told me where you would be stationed, but I have forgotten the name.”

  “That would be Fort Paanchdurga, a week’s ride northeast of Calcutta, unless my orders are changed,” William answered as he slipped the ring back into its protective pouch.

  “Will you ever be in town? I should like to invite you to our home,” Mrs. Smythe said, smiling up at William. Twirling her parasol, she created a small, but welcome breeze. “We live on a hill just north of the city.”

  “My duties may require me to travel back to Calcutta on occasion,” William responded, scanning the river as the ship neared the dock. “If possible, I would be pleased to accept your kind hospitality.”

  “Good! I look forward to your visit.” Mrs. Smythe blinked. When next she spoke, there was no pleasure in her eyes. “Please be careful, Captain. I know you said that you had been stationed here before. I need not remind you that traveling in India can be so difficult, especially during the monsoons. The rains and winds can be treacherous! I never leave Calcutta,” the lady declared. “Except to return to England, of course.”

  Turning her gaze directly at William, she whispered, “S
o much about India is strange and foreboding, Captain. There are many dangers and many horrid surprises. Please do be careful.”

  Months later, William would remember Mrs. Smythe’s warning with startling clarity.

  Chapter 35

  February 1813

  Fort William

  Calcutta, India

  William and Dr. Pettigrew waited until most of the other passengers had disembarked. Managing to extricate themselves from the benign clutches of Mrs. Smythe, the two men shared a carriage ride to Fort William, the headquarters of the East India Company in Calcutta.

  Calcutta was much as William remembered it. Swarming, sweltering, stinking, and strident. The heated humid air formed an invisible canopy overhead, trapping the foul smells and smothering the city with an implacable stench. He was immediately transported back to his first arrival ten years before. Then a green lieutenant, the vistas and sounds of Calcutta had overwhelmed him. Not much had changed, especially the clamor of thousands of animals. Their braying, barking, and bellowing assaulted the ears.

  The route from the harbor to the fort was mercifully short and in a few minutes, the fortification loomed above them. The fort fronted along the Hooghly River, surrounded on the other three sides by a lush protective esplanade. Dense foliage, flowering plants, and tall palm trees greeted the weary travelers. A central green space also included a racetrack and other amenities, the chief being that it insulated the fort from the city itself.

  The city crowded beyond the gates of the British sanctuary, reeking of a hundred different odors. The most prevalent being the rancid grease from a thousand cooking pots; the sweat from even more unwashed bodies; the excrement from dogs, horses, camels, oxen, monkeys, and human beings. And all of it flowed into the River Hooghly.

  Oh, aye. William was grateful for the esplanade.

  Headquartered at Fort William, the British Army’s and the East India Company’s most senior officials ruled there. Sir Gilbert Elliott, Lord Minto was the current presiding Company Governor-General of India in Bengal of which Calcutta was the capital. Lord Minto also had authority in India over the British governors of Madras and of Bombay.

  William had never met Lord Minto, also a Scot, but he had a solid reputation with officers of both the Company and the British Army. William wondered what Lord Minto thought of Colonel Westmeare. And was the Viscount in Calcutta or would he be stationed elsewhere? Official orders could be changed.

  Arriving at the entrance of the headquarters building, William and Dr. Pettigrew parted ways. Each man must report to different departments, but promised to meet later in the officers’ mess for supper. Before traveling to their assigned posts, they would both spend a week at Fort William, shedding their sea legs, and renewing old acquaintances.

  The day after his arrival, William received orders to report to his commanding officer, Lord Westmeare. So Westmeare had remained in Calcutta. William thought he was prepared for his meeting with Westmeare.

  What should have been a routine interview was anything but.

  Chapter 36

  Fort William

  Calcutta, India

  A thin, nervous lieutenant saluted William and ushered him into Lord Westmeare’s office, closing the door with an air of finality. William removed his shako and stared at the obligatory portrait of King George III hanging on the wall. Although considered by many to be insane, George III was still the official reigning monarch of the realm.

  The British flag and the regimental standard flanked either side of a fireplace. William often wondered at the attention paid to detail in the rooms of British officers. In the depressing heat of Calcutta, the fireplaces were never lit, yet they were often a standard part of the apartments or suites of any British citizen residing in India.

  William found Lord Westmeare gazing out of an open window. Slowly he turned to greet his new cavalry officer. William saluted. The Colonel merely nodded. He appeared thinner, more gaunt than when William had last seen him. Shadows darkened the flesh under his eyes. William wondered if the viscount were ill, or if his unhealthy pallor were the result of an unpleasant sea voyage, or even excessive drink.

  “Ah, Ferguson! You have arrived.” Westmeare stared above William’s head and not directly at him.

  Without further preamble, the viscount continued. “In a few days you will travel north to Fort Paanchdurga with Sergeant Tom Crocker and his troops. Once there, you will report to Lieutenant Colonel Willett and will be placed in charge of a company of native cavalry sepoys.”

  Westmeare slid toward his desk and handed William some official looking papers. “I understand that you were stationed at Paanchdurga on a previous tour of duty.”

  “Aye, sir,” William replied as he stepped forward to accept his written orders.

  With a polite cough, Westmeare released the pages and hurried behind his desk as if he feared contact with his junior officer. William observed this odd behavior then glanced through the sheaf of papers, smiling at the thought that he would soon be reunited with his old comrade, Tom Crocker. “Are there any immediate concerns, milord?” William asked as he slipped his orders inside his jacket.

  “Well, you should probably know that there are rumors of possible danger and unrest up north. Local petty lords are stirring up the populace. Even previously loyal sultans are turning rogue. I have not been shown any official reports, but that is the gist of the situation.” Westmeare cleared his throat. “I just arrived here myself only a few weeks ago. Still getting settled in.”

  Westmeare turned to view his own reflection in a mirror suspended above his desk. “It is your job to see that these local rogues are kept in check. Make certain that no one crosses the line.”

  “Will you be joining the regiment at Paanchdurga, sir?” William asked.

  “I doubt that I will be traveling there often. I believe that my unique skills are required here in Calcutta.” He returned his gaze to the window.

  William made no reply, but wondered just what unique skills the Viscount Westmeare possessed. He waited for the Colonel to continue.

  “There is something else you should know, Captain. My wife will be joining me in India. When she does arrive here, we may tour the outer posts together so that she can see India firsthand in all its glory and its peril. We may visit Paanchdurga on our excursion. If we do, I would like you to be our guide.”

  William paused to consider this statement. The man intended to take his wife to a place he had just described as potentially deadly. What was he thinking? William took a deep breath. “Sir, did ye not state that the countryside was growing more dangerous? Would ye risk your wife’s safety?”

  “That is my concern, Captain. Not yours.”

  William stifled a retort and asked the next logical question. “When will Lady Westmeare be arriving in India?”

  “I am not certain. I left instructions for her to follow me a month or so after my departure from England.” Westmeare’s eyes now focused on the floor. “She should be on her way here now.”

  At these words, William felt a soft skip in his chest. Lady Anne would soon be in India! He might have an opportunity to see her. But hopefully she would remain in Calcutta where she would be safe. What was her idiot husband thinking?

  Westmeare paused and actually looked at William for the first time since he had entered the room. William found it somewhat unsettling to converse with a man and never have him make eye contact.

  Westmeare’s thin voice pierced William’s thoughts, as his dry thumbs swirled over his fingers. His lips stretched apart. It was a parody of a smile. “You remember my wife, Captain?”

  “Why, yes, sir. We met at the fête at Addiscombe.”

  “And as I remember you went on an outing with her?” Again the same odd, brittle smile.

  “Major and Mrs. Mayhew accompanied us on a tour
of the countryside.” William wondered where this conversation was headed.

  “And you took a picnic lunch with my wife to the grotto at Hartwood. Is that not correct?” The smile disappeared. “Alone?”

  William felt a tightness in his throat. However did he learn of that? Jasper Winebiddle. Who else? He must have written to his lordship and related the event. What a spying toad!

  William collected his thoughts. “That is correct, sir. I remember it well. The sunny day turned to rain and we made a dash to find shelter. I left Surrey the following day.”

  “I see. And how did you find my wife?”

  “Why she was well. It was a pleasant outing. We discussed childhood remembrances as I recall. Mine of Scotland. Hers of Surrey.” William paused. “Your cook, Mrs. Clarke, provided us with a most delicious luncheon.”

  “I see.”

  An awkward silence descended on the room. The walls seemed to shrink around William.

  Westmeare stepped away from the desk. “That is all for now, Captain. You will depart for Paanchdurga in one week.”

  William saluted, turned, and strode from the room. Out in the hall, he released a deep breath and hastened toward the stairway. He was relieved to be free of Westmeare’s simpering face. But God. What a strange interview.

  In his haste, William took the steps two at a time. Outside the headquarters building, he collided into a fellow soldier. “Bloody hell!”

  His instant annoyance dissolved at the sight of his old comrade-in-arms, Sergeant Tom Crocker. They saluted, then grabbed each other in a bear hug, each man grinning from ear to ear.

  Tom Crocker stood a head shorter than William, but he was broad and powerfully built.

  Smart men did not mess with Sergeant Crocker. During one fierce battle in Portugal, Tom had carried a wounded William away from the battlefield before thieves stripped him of his valuables and left him to die. William later reciprocated during another skirmish in Spain where he fought off a party of French infantrymen and saved Tom’s life. Though separated by rank, they held a mutual admiration for each other. And even more than that, they trusted one another implicitly.