William’s previous experience in India led him to expect wooden furniture partially devoured by termites and chintz coverings gnawed by white ants. William reflected sadly that eventually the heat, humidity, and insects would triumph over the stylish new furnishings that now graced the library.
William immediately became the center of everyone’s attention. Colonel Willett’s wife nightly entertained the officers, their wives, and their eldest unmarried daughters. The youngest children stayed home with their native ayahs while the older ones, both sons and daughters, had already been shipped home to Britain to be educated there.
After school, the sons moved on to careers and the still single daughters often returned to India. A few young women now fit that category and when William entered the room, the young ladies simultaneously pivoted their heads in his direction.
In the library before supper, drinks were served and introductions made. William met Lieutenant Dixon, an engineer; Captain Ayres, an infantry officer; and Major Larkin, who served as the quartermaster. A Major Bradley was to be his immediate supervisor and William would be taking direct orders from him.
William paused to take his measure of the man. From across the room, Bradley watched William through partially closed eyes, assessing him as well. To William, the major seemed like a vulture ready to strike.
William considered that this officer was possibly wound too tightly and could be dangerous. He was tall, but not as tall as William, thin with a fine bone structure and short dark hair. Immaculately attired and groomed, Major Bradley usually commanded the attention of the younger ladies, but now they all gazed at the new arrival.
William was pleased to discover a fellow Scot, Doctor George Campbell, seated at a nearby table. They had met at Addiscombe the previous year. “How nice to see ye again, Ferguson!” a smiling Campbell exclaimed, rising to shake his hand. “Ye will find your skills much tested here.”
Adjusting his spectacles, the medical officer turned to the others in the near vicinity. “Captain Ferguson rode with the Royal Scots Greys and has served in India before. And he possesses superb competencies.”
“Is that so?” Major Bradley said drily from across the room, helping himself to another glass of claret. Turning to William, he raised his goblet and saluted him. “Then we are most fortunate indeed.”
A gong announced the supper meal, a formal affair with several courses served. A large mahogany table commanded the center of the dining room, displaying Mrs. Willett’s finest crystal and china. William smiled at the ubiquitous containers of water located under each leg of the table, designed to prevent voracious insects from slithering up to the table’s surface and sampling the cuisine.
The guests filed into the room and stood behind their designated chairs. A servant struck a tone on a small gong. Someone hummed the note and the gathering sang the first verse of “God Save the King.”
The stifling heat was alleviated by native boys pulling on ropes that moved the large punkah fans overhead. William, seated between a captain’s wife and the colonel’s daughter, spoke little, but smiled and listened and learned much about the social and political undercurrents of the post. Not much had changed, except that he now held a higher rank than the last time he had dined in this same room.
As the newest member of the military circle, William naturally generated a great deal of interest. Curious about the news from home, the guests plied him with questions about the latest fashions, politics, and the king’s health. Pressed by the captain’s wife, William responded, “I am sorry to disappoint, but my news is now almost five months old.”
“I understand that you are acquainted with Lord Westmeare’s new bride, Captain,” stated Miss Willett, during a pause between the fifth course and dessert.
William, marveling at how fast news traveled, choked as he attempted to hide his surprise behind his napkin. Finally he said, “We have been introduced. I believe that Lady Westmeare may already be sailing to India.”
This set off a flurry of comments among the other ladies at their end of the table. When would the viscountess arrive? How many servants would she require? Where would she live in Calcutta? And would she journey to Paanchdurga? These questions were discussed and much debated.
At Paanchdurga, as the chief lady of rank at the fort, Lady Westmeare’s arrival could and probably would alter the present accepted and all-important social order even if only for a brief visit.
Temporarily forgotten by the gossiping women, William consumed his cherry compote in peace, preparing to abandon the dining room as soon as etiquette permitted. After the meal and before the men adjourned to the library for cigars, William rose and thanked his hostess, Mrs. Willett, for her gracious hospitality, bowed, and excused himself. Once free of the stifling company, he hurried across the parade ground to visit with Zilphia and Tom Crocker.
Making his way to a quiet corner at the back of the post, William located a simple two room house. It was secluded and private. A petite woman with a cherubic face and dark blond hair opened the door to William’s knock, her welcoming smile beamed up at him as she invited him in.
“Why, Captain! How marvelous to see thee!” Zilphia spoke in her soft Yorkshire dialect. Then shedding convention, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug. Standing back, she scrutinized him up and down. “William, thee dost look wonderful!” Zilphia declared, smiling.
He bent down and kissed both of her cheeks. “Zilphia, ye are as beautiful as ever. Tom Crocker is a lucky man.”
“And ’twere any man but you kissin’ my wife, you would find yourself outside on your arse!” Tom laughed and slapped William on the back, welcoming him into their modest, but tidy abode.
Zilphia offered William a chair and a glass of beer. Unbuttoning his woolen jacket, William stretched out his legs and enjoyed the company of these dear and familiar friends. Together they sat into the night, reminiscing and laughing.
The Crockers led a simple life and owned few possessions, but William knew that Tom had slowly put away money to buy a farm back in England when he retired from the army. William studied Zilphia and the special smile she reserved only for her Tom. He had always admired her strength and fortitude, knowing what he did about her life as an army wife.
After their hasty marriage in Gretna Green twenty years before, and not able to return home, her father’s fury being too intense, Zilphia followed Tom wherever he was stationed. The army permitted wives and families to share space in the barracks. She slept with him, often only a thin blanket shielding them from the curious, prurient eyes of the other soldiers. Zilphia even managed to accompany Tom overseas to Europe where the British army clashed with French forces for years.
Inhospitable conditions greeted the young bride as she marched behind the army blasted by icy winds or baked by a merciless sun. Pursued by disease and starvation, across swamps, deserts, and narrow mountain passes, multitudes of women and children straggled along with the army’s supplies and baggage, sometimes miles behind the troops. Zilphia struggled with them.
Tom agonized over these separations, knowing full well that women were sometimes wounded, killed, or even captured by the enemy. For Zilphia, waiting on the fringes of countless battlefields, fearing that by the end of the combat, searching among the bodies of the dead and dying, she might find herself a grieving and defenseless widow and prey to any soldier or officer who desired her. William had promised Tom that, should anything happen to him, he would step in to protect his friend’s wife and see her safely back to England.
Tom would have wanted her safe in England, but Zilphia would not leave him. In Portugal, in Spain, and now in India, Zilphia cooked, nursed the sick and wounded, washed and mended the fine linen of officers, and assisted in the births of other women’s babies.
She herself had conceived and lost five babes. It had been a hard lot for Zilphia, but
when Tom eventually achieved the status of sergeant, her anxieties and burdens eased considerably. Now Tom wore the three chevrons of a troop sergeant major, a pay grade that translated into a degree of financial security for them both.
They remained an attached and devoted couple. They had their health and they had each other. The only cloud in their life was the absence of children. Still, William envied his old friend his domestic happiness and wondered if he would ever find a lady willing to share her life and love with him. A fleeting image of Anne Westmeare drifted through his mind, causing William to sigh audibly. Aye, she was a lovely lass, but not one to share his life or his bed. She was most certainly another man’s wife.
And that man was Albert Grenville, Lord Westmeare.
Chapter 40
May 1813
Fort Paanchdurga, India
William eased into the post’s routine with the practice of a seasoned soldier. He preferred life in the saddle to one shuffling papers behind a desk. For weeks he led patrols, moving further away from the safety of the post with each expedition. He requested and had been granted Sergeant Tom Crocker, as his aide. Their former bond remained strong. They understood each other and could communicate a thought with just a glance. And most importantly, William trusted Tom Crocker with his life.
After two months, the patrols became increasingly dangerous and protracted. The current one lasted three weeks. Skirmishes with local bandits occurred with regularity, forcing the troops to be on constant alert. The enemy burned and laid waste to much of the countryside and poisoned the wells, creating a scarcity of water and feed for both man and beast.
Returning to the fortress, the weary soldiers staggered beside their horses, the animals too weak to bear the weight of any man. Captain Ferguson would not sacrifice his mounts. Some of the men grumbled, but most respected the Captain’s orders. He walked with them.
Shouts of joy greeted their return. As William stepped through the post gate, exhausted and filthy, he uttered a prayer of thanks that no one had died. There were a few injuries, a snakebite, a bullet wound, a monkey scratch. Monkeys were dirty creatures and the cut had already festered. Across the yard, William was relieved to see Dr. Campbell striding toward the infirmary prepared to attend to any injury or illness.
The troop assembled in straight lines inside the fort, awaiting dismissal. Tom Crocker looked at Captain Ferguson. At his nod, Sergeant Crocker barked, “Troop! Dismissed!” The men broke ranks and scattered for their barracks or the canteen. Three headed for the infirmary.
After exchanging official salutes with his friend and sergeant, William turned over his horse to a waiting groom, and then made his way to the duty officer’s station. In the distance he saw Zilphia Crocker, waiting on the veranda of the Quartermaster’s Office. Shielding her eyes from the setting sun, she spotted her Tom sprinting toward her across the yard. Zilphia’s instant broad smile spoke of relief and of a warm welcome home. “Aye,” William whispered. “Tom Crocker is a lucky man.”
Dust streaked William’s face and hands. Dried sweat and salt lined the creases on his face. He brushed away the ubiquitous flies, a wasted gesture. The pests would only return. Layers of dirt, brown and tan, covered his uniform. Mud caked his boots and gray trousers. Dirty and bone weary, William wanted one thing only, to fall into his cot and embrace a deep and uninterrupted sleep. Tomorrow would be time enough for a bath.
But first he must locate Major Bradley and make his verbal report. What he had to convey held deadly consequences for the future safety of the post, the province, and its inhabitants. But he hoped that the major would wait until tomorrow for a more detailed, written version.
Fortunately, this time William found Bradley in a generous mood. Lounging with a glass of brandy in one hand, the major took one look at William and ordered him to stand down. “Christ, Ferguson, you look like hell. No one would recognize you. Get cleaned up and get to bed immediately!”
William suspected that the man was drunk. Many officers drank to excess out of boredom or lack of personal restraint. He looked straight into Bradley’s eyes. “Aye, Sir. But there is some vital news. Besides local bandits, we also detected some evidence of Pindaris north of here. Our sepoy scouts recognized them.”
“Pindaris?” the major repeated in a hoarse whisper. He lurched upwards, spilling his drink, suddenly all attention. The word sent a visible shiver down his spine. Bradley croaked, “Can that be true? How many?”
“We did not encounter them directly, but found verification of their activities, including burned villages, brutally massacred bodies, and poisoned wells. We will need further confirmation, but it does look as if they are on the move.” William paused. “And they are moving south, closer to Paanchdurga.”
”Isn’t this rather early in the year for their migrations?”
“Aye. But it appears to be the situation.” William confirmed this with a slow nod.
“We will discuss this in more detail tomorrow. There is nothing we can do right now.” Bradley rose and smoothed his hair. “Besides I have an engagement later . . . with a lady.” He glanced at William and his lips curled into a slight smile. “Ferguson, you will make a detailed report at eight o’clock in the morning to Colonel Willett.” With that final command, Bradley dismissed William with a wave.
As he exited the tent, William saw Bradley pour himself another drink with a shaking hand.
Leaving Bradley’s duty station, William took a brief turn through the barracks to verify that all was well with his troops. Other soldiers had already stepped forward to relieve the returning sepoys of their horses and led the exhausted animals to their stalls where they would be groomed, watered, and fed. William watched as his men settled into their cots. He stopped to see the cook and left orders that the men should receive extra rations at breakfast in the morning.
He made his final stop the infirmary to check on his three wounded soldiers, relieved to learn that each man would recover from his injury. Finally, he dragged his own body down the steps of the medical unit and moved toward his bungalow. He heard his cot calling to him.
William’s thoughts returned to his conversation with Major Bradley. He wondered briefly about the identity of Bradley’s lady. William knew there would be no lady waiting for him tonight. His bungalow would be empty and his cot lonely. There would be no lovely lass to welcome him home, to kiss him, to wrap her soft arms around him. Nae. There had been no woman in a verra long time.
But not surprising, his mind now summoned the charming image of Lady Anne Westmeare. William inhaled deeply and pursed his lips together as thoughts of Anne flooded his senses, her curling chestnut hair, her gentle smile, her eyes. Like cornflowers at dusk. So beautiful. So unforgettable. What he would not give to wrap his hands around her lithe figure and draw her into a welcoming embrace.
He tried to drive such visions of the lovely lass from his mind. Lady Anne, no matter how charming, remained beyond his reach. She was a married woman, joined under God to another man.
Yet, he could not forget her. Nae. He could not. She slipped into his thoughts uninvited, but never unwelcome. He sighed as he limped across the yard. Addiscombe and Lady Anne were half a world away, but in his mind they were just at arm’s length. He could feel the rhythm of the country dances, taste the sweetness of the champagne punch, see his own smile reflected in Anne’s blue eyes.
Such agreeable images faded as exhaustion dragged at his strength and undermined his spirit. God, he was too tired to think straight. He raised his hands and massaged his temples. His bungalow and perhaps some sweet dreams were but twenty yards away.
As he pushed onwards, he passed by the stone chapel. A pleasant melody floated out of the open door. He recognized the tune, one of his favorite hymns. And he heard someone singing. A charming soprano. He paused to listen.
And to his amazement, the piano that
had nagged him for so many Sundays with its dreadful pitch now sounded wonderfully in tune. He had complained to the chaplain weeks before, but the Reverend Pearce, amazingly tone deaf for a minister, had done nothing to alleviate the situation. Now the instrument seemed to be in perfect working order.
Who was responsible for this miracle? And who was singing? She sounded like an angel.
The dulcet music drew William toward the church steps. With each stride, he shed his weariness. He paused in the refreshing coolness of the narthex. The church’s high narrow windows admitted a few slender shafts of golden sunset. Within the shadows of the sanctuary, a woman sat at the old piano near the altar, singing softly. Such a lovely sound. Who was this angel? He knew of no lady on the post who could sing like this. And the lady played expertly as well.
William, overcome with curiosity and delight, slipped down a side aisle. He did not want to interrupt her song, but he quietly began to sing the bass part of the old familiar hymn tune. The two voices harmonized through the last verse of Isaac Watts’s famous hymn:
“Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small:
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.”
William pondered the words that spoke of divine love, and for the first time reflected how the words might also represent the deep, abiding love between a man and a woman. The voice and the piano ceased. The player stood and turned toward him.
“Please, please do not stop,” William began and then found he had no voice and no more words to speak. Beside the piano, in the dimness of the stone church, looking more beautiful than he remembered, stood the Lady Anne Westmeare.
Chapter 41
The Lady's Desire Page 14