by Robert Neill
‘A frigate lately--Amphion.’
‘Come and tell me about it. You’re not frightened of me, are you?’ ‘I hope not.’
‘So do I. I’ll ask Hildersham, too, if you want him.’ An eyebrow twitched for a moment as the blue eyes looked at his. ‘Mind you, I’m better by myself. More fun.’
‘Steady,’ said Hildersham.
‘Well, you ought to know.’ She flashed him an impudent smile and then came back to Grant. ‘So come and see me some time.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Hildersham.
‘It isn’t. I want to know about ships.’ She pouted at him and then turned her eyes on Grant once more. ‘He doesn’t live with me, you know. He only comes to see me, and so----’
‘You’re going away,’ said Hildersham.
‘Oh--so we are.’ She managed to sound dismayed for a moment. Yes, we’re going to Paris tomorrow. But it’s only for a few weeks, and you’ll know when we’re back. Someone will tell you.’
‘Very likely,’ said Hildersham darkly.
‘Well, you know how people talk.’
‘From the way you behave, miss, it’s not surprising.’
‘Poor little me! Now you’re to come and see me when we’re back, and don’t forget it. I want you.’
‘Thank you. I---’ Grant found himself laughing, and distinctly pleased at the annoyance he could sense in Hildersham. ‘I ought to say I’m honoured.’
‘Of course you should. Quite right.’ There was a distinct pout of her lips, and then her eyes seemed brighter than before. ‘Do you remember that rose?’
‘I’m afraid it’s fading.’
‘You still have it?’ she asked quickly, laughing with delight. ‘Fading doesn’t matter, if you don’t let the memory fade too.’
‘It won’t.’
‘Is that a promise? Now I’ll tell you something.’
‘Time we were going,’ said Hildersham.
‘Just a minute.’ She tapped him imperiously on the shoulder, and then she leaned down from the box of the barouche to bring her whole force to bear. ‘I’ll tell you something. You’re different, and that’s rather nice.’
‘I don’t quite---’
‘No, you look as if you don’t. But it’s true, all the same, and don’t you forget it, if someone starts smiling at you. They will, you know, some of them--little hussies! Now Jehu---’ She sat suddenly erect, head back, shoulders braced, smiling eyes turned to Hildersham. ‘Forward the horses!’
‘About time too.’ He spoke firmly, as if he had certainly had enough of this. But then, good manners unbroken, he spoke pleasantly to Grant. ‘Whenever I’m back in Town, sir, I’ll be delighted to see you.’
‘Thank you. I---’
‘Au revoir. Happy hunting while I’m away.’ The long reins flicked, and the restless blacks were away in the instant. The harness jingled, the white wheels crunched in the road, and Grant stepped quickly back as the barouche went bowling away with a swirl of dust behind it. Anice turned for a moment on the box, and he saw the smile and the little gloved hand that waved so jauntily at him. He swept his hat in answer, and he saw her turn away. Then he felt utterly alone. She was driving away, and she would not come back. It was not to be expected, whatever she had said. She was driving with Hildersham, who had rank and title and thirty thousand a year, and she was not likely to forget it. He had better do the forgetting himself. Yet he could not forget her, and perhaps he never would. He had been too long at sea, fifteen years of it with scarcely a sight of a woman, and perhaps it was hard that the first to look into his eyes should be this one. She had been friendly too, and the deep yearnings of years were rousing in him. Perhaps she had known how to rouse them, but she was going with Hildersham, and the world seemed grey and lonely.
He went through the Park gate, and just for a moment he looked back, looked at the distant crowd, the horsemen and the gigs and phaetons, the elegant lookers-on. They all seemed very free from care, all intent upon themselves, but it might be different soon. The war was over but the aftermath was not, and no one knew what the post-war world would be--except that it would be different, and already there were tales of falling prices, of unemployment, of manufacturers in ruin as contracts ended. Even the terms of peace were not yet known. Wellington was in Paris discussing those, surrounded by a cloud of pleasure-seekers, and Hildersham would be among them soon; and somewhere in the tropics a ship was sailing south, endlessly in the ocean silence. She would be across the Line by now, close-hauled in the southeast trades, and he wondered how long she would take on passage. Four thousand miles to St. Helena, and Northumberland had no turn of speed.
He shook himself, telling himself he was turning silly and had better get a grasp on things. The afternoon was ending, and it was time for dinner. But something else had ended too,
and all he had left was the petals of a rose, pressed between the leaves of his prayer book--and that was silly too. But he could not help it. She had been a dream of what he had never known; and less and less did he know what he now should do.
3 The Man from Yesterday
He was in this questing and dissatisfied mood when he turned into Larkin’s chophouse, next to the Little Theatre in the Haymarket, in search of a quiet dinner. It was a house he was beginning to like, of good standing but not of the haut ton, so that he was not troubled by airs and graces, and usually there was plenty of room. But the incident in the Park had made him late. It was now six o’clock, the fashionable hour for dinner in this London after the war, and he could not see an empty table anywhere. Then the head waiter bowed him to a table under a window, where a man was sitting alone, and for a moment Grant hesitated. The table was laid for two, but he was not sure that he had a right to intrude upon a stranger, or even that he wanted to. Then the man looked up while he waited for his dinner, and he had obviously understood the situation. He waved courteously to the vacant chair, and he seemed on the point of speaking when his lean sun-tanned face became suddenly sharp. A little furrow came to his forehead, as if he were trying to recall something, and then he came quickly to his feet.
‘Haven’t we met, sir?’ He spoke in a clear pleasant voice. ‘I’m sure we have.’
‘I don’t remember it.’ Grant spoke more slowly, and there was doubt in his tone. ‘It’s possible, of course. Were you in the war?’
‘Peninsula. And you?’
‘Well--offshore, if you like.’ A half-memory was stirring now, and a thought that he had indeed seen this man before. ‘My name’s Grant, and I’ve the honour to be a captain in the Navy.’
‘Grant?’ The man echoed it, and then his hand slapped suddenly on the table. ‘Of course. You were in--what was the name?--Altair. God, how she rolled!’
‘Now where---’
‘You took us from Oporto--a half-company of infantry-- and you put us on that damned beach, up Vigo way.’ ‘Good God!’
‘About three years ago. A French look-out post, I think it was. We were to raid the place.’
‘Of course.’
It was coming back to him now, just an incident in the years of war, and for a moment the bright and noisy room seemed to fade from his sight. It was dark again now, and quiet, with only a splash of water, a creak of cordage, and a drone of surf from the shore. Altair was lying in the trough of the sea, her deck crowded with soldiers, who were dropping over the side, one by one, into the launch and two cutters that were rising and falling alongside. Rain was threatening, and a rising wind that was more than Grant had liked. He could remember turning his face to it, feeling its strength, as he stood by the gangway for a last word and a handshake with the infantry officer who would command the raid. Then the boats had pulled away, and for Altair there had been the long wait, standing on and off from a lee shore, till the dark line of it grew bright with musket flashes and a signal rocket flared at last from the beach. It was all in memory now, even the scent of breakfast from the galley as Altair stood in, closer than was really safe, to let her guns sweep the sand as
the boats pulled out. The soldiers would be hungry after this, and the Navy was looking after them.
‘Of course.’ Grant spoke quickly, and he was in the crowded room again. Then he held out his hand. ‘I remember it perfectly. Except--stupid of me--I don’t recall your name.’
‘Wickham. And, to be honest, I’d forgotten yours. John Wickham. Major, the 112th Regiment. Captain when we last met.’
‘Thank you. I---’
‘Now for heaven’s sake, join me at dinner. We needn’t stand up like this.’
They settled down, ordered dinner, and then looked at each other with interest while a waiter brought them a half-pint each of sherry. They tasted it, and Wickham looked up with a smile.
‘Captain Grant, did you say? Then you’ve had a step up, too?’ ‘Yes.’ Grant nodded, recognizing this as a fair opening for talk. ‘When was that beach landing?’
‘Three years back. March, perhaps.’
‘It was March weather. Well, I’d another year or so in Altair, doing the same sort of thing, though we were working more to the north after that--round Santander, making sure the supply ships got in for you--and then they gave me my frigate--Amphion--so, of course, I was made.’
‘Made?’
‘Posted captain. It’s a phrase we use. So after that it was more deep-water work.’
‘Any prizes?’
‘A few. One good one. How of you?’
‘Oh . . .’ Wickham sounded carefully casual. ‘I just soldiered on. We all did. I missed Badajoz, thank heaven!--but we got the rest of it--Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse, the whole lot, and some small stuff in between. And then, of course, this last affair.’
‘Waterloo?’
‘Yes. Well--here’s our dinner.’
Waiters had arrived with a boiled fowl, and were making the usual fuss as they carved it on a trolley. Talk languished until they had gone, and then Grant looked up as he was dipping a ladle into the oyster sauce.
‘Congratulations, then, on your promotion.’
‘If they’re due.’
‘Oh?’ The ladle stayed suspended for a moment. ‘That sounds cautious?’
‘It depends how a vacancy rises, I suppose.’
‘Oh, you mean--death of holder?’
‘Yes.’ It came rather quickly. ‘Both our majors---’
It ended in a shrug, and silence followed while they gave attention to the fowl and the sauce. Then Grant spoke without looking up.
‘Waterloo?’
‘Yes. Free of purchase, of course, but I’d sooner have had it otherwise.’
‘I know.’ He nodded and then spoke more cheerfully. ‘Well, what are you doing now?’
‘I hardly know. Officially I’m on sick leave.’ There was a faint smile for a moment. ‘That Waterloo affair took it out of us, and we were pretty tired to start with. We hadn’t been home for seven years.’
‘What!’
‘We went out in 1808, in battalion strength. For a month, they said, and we damn well stayed.’
‘How about leave?’
‘There wasn’t any. Lisbon, of course--forty-eight hours--but not home. Not even in winter. One of the Peer’s little whims.’
‘Peer?’
‘Sorry.’ Wickham laughed quietly. ‘One of our phrases. Wellington--after Talavera, when they first made him a peer, and he’s been the Peer ever since. But isn’t this enough about me? What are you doing?’
‘Nothing very much.’ Grant explained his situation briefly. ‘I don’t know this London, and I’m cruising at large, really, trying to get my bearings. Same with you?’
‘Well, more or less.’ Wickham stared thoughtfully at an empty plate. ‘Officially I’m here to collect a new chariot my Uncle Barford has just had built. I’m to take it home for him.
That’s in Dorset. Actually, I’m getting away from things for a while. They’re not good, at home. Same tale, of course.’
‘War?’
‘Yes.’ For an instant Wickham sounded curt. ‘It’s all very well these people celebrating a victory--waving flags and getting drunk--but it cost something. Have you seen the casualty lists?’
‘From Waterloo?’
‘It was worse than Badajoz, and it hits some families worse than others. It took my father and my brother-in-law.’
‘Your---’ A memory of a published list came suddenly to Grant. ‘General Wickham? Sir Harry?’
‘Yes. He was on the Staff, and, of course, they were first targets all the time.’
‘I’m sorry. I---’
‘Can’t be helped. It was right at the end of the day, though, when we had them on the run. Just a stray musket shot. One’s enough, of course.’
‘You need not tell me.’
‘No. But you can guess---’
Roast beef arrived, and vegetables and horse-radish, and again the talk was discreetly dropped while waiters were in earshot. Then Grant brought him gently back to it.
‘You were saying?’
‘Was I?’ He had a wry smile for a moment. ‘I think I was trying to say that it isn’t very lively at my home just now. I’m not quite used to the notion that it is my home--not my father’s. We buried him there.’ He paused for a thoughtful sip at his burgundy. ‘I must say the Peer was decent. He sent for me. “Sorry we’ve lost your father, Wickham. A good officer. Take him home, and bury him decently.” That was all he said, but he sent an order that I was to have special leave for it, and they’ve extended it now to sick leave.’
‘Convenient, perhaps. What will you do?’
‘I don’t know. I’m tempted to sell out and be done with it. I’ve had enough of soldiering.’
‘You’ve--er--inherited?’
‘Modestly. Just a house in the village and a little in the Funds. Barford’s the landowner. He lives at the Manor, with a good deal in the Funds. Which is why he can have a new chariot.’
‘Very pleasant.’
‘If you like the life.’
‘You mean you don’t?’
‘I don’t think I can judge. I haven’t had village life since I was a boy. There’s a danger, perhaps, of turning into a sort of vegetable.’
‘When you’ve been away--as we have?’
‘Perhaps not, and Barford seems all right. He’s lively enough. Do you know him, by the way--Lord Barford?’
‘Ambassador to Lisbon?’
‘That’s the man. I suppose that’s how he’s got the peerage --officially--though I’m not sure that playing whist hadn’t something to do with it too. But he illustrates what you were saying--you don’t go to seed in the country if you’ve been away. He’s spry enough. Of course he’s been everywhere--knows everybody. Quite useful, but disconcerting. You feel at times he sees right through you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes.’ Wickham sat back laughing while waiters swooped deftly on the table again. ‘He knew exactly why I offered to fetch his chariot for him--the old devil! He just said, “Yes, go by all means, and my compliments to the ladies, please--rep or demi.” Cream?’
‘Thanks.’ Grant accepted the jug and carefully poured cream over apple tart. ‘And what did you say?’
‘What the devil could I say? I just said, “Delighted, sir,” and then he looked at the ceiling and said he’d had it on the best authority that forty-eight hours was enough.’
‘For what?’
‘Yes--what?’ Wickham laughed softly again. ‘I’ve told you we had Lisbon leave in the Peninsula? Forty-eight hours was usual, and some fool sent in a complaint that this seemed
a bit short. He got a neat little chit back--Peer’s own writing--that it was as long as any reasonable man would wish to stay in bed with the same woman.’
‘Oh ho! That’s a bit sharp. Still, I suppose the fellow asked for it, writing in like that?’
‘Of course he did. And it was the right answer, really. I mean, the Peer knew his officers. We all did it, you know. But going back to Barford, he knows too much. I told him I’d need a week in Town to make su
re of his chariot, and he kept his face all straight and asked for news of the pretty horse-breakers. This port isn’t bad.’
‘Better than we used to get.’
‘Well, one thing about the Peninsula, the port was pretty good. We’ll have another bottle.’
‘Certainly. What do you mean by pretty horse-breakers?’
‘Oh, it’s a Cyprian who’s good with horses. Tools the ribbons well. Or so Barford says, and he ought to know. He was in the regiment himself once, till he found diplomacy suited him better--and whist. I suppose I’ll have to tell him of this Anstey creature. She’s certainly the talk.’ Again Wickham chuckled happily. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘Well--yes.’
‘More than I have, except across the Park. What’s she like?’
‘Very--er--charming. An original, I should say.’
‘She must be. Ah, here’s the port. Thank you, waiter. Is it true about that curricle? She drove it herself?’
‘Oh yes. Prime style, too.’
‘What a woman! Do you know Jack Critchley?’
‘Can’t say I do.’
‘Rifle Corps. Damn nice fellow. But you shouldn’t try to walk through his picquets at night. The Peer once tried it.’
‘And what hap---’
‘We’d better forget it. The point is, I met him last night-- Critchley, I mean, not the Peer--and he was telling me about her. It seems he was riding in the Park that day, and he was one of that view-halloo party that made a chase of it.’
‘Was he?’ For a moment Grant hesitated, and then he could not resist it. ‘As a matter of fact, I was in that affair myself.’
‘What! You mean---’ Wickham stared at him. ‘It wasn’t you that went cross-country and cut her off?’
‘Well, yes. More by luck, I’m afraid, than---’
‘What a man! Here, fill the glasses, and don’t talk about luck! Call it an eye for country. Tactical interception, if you like, and here’s to it, you and her!’
‘Thanks. But---’
‘What comes next? You’re following it up, I hope?’
‘I don’t know that I want to. And even if I did, she seems to be someone else’s prize.’