by May Burnett
“Have you ever thought of having children, a family of your own?”
“Now and then, but I was so devoted to the Army that any female would have felt slighted sooner or later. Besides, my background did not make me particularly popular among the young ladies.”
“Now you are your own man again, you can reconsider that part of your life,” she suggested.
What was she doing, to discuss such a personal subject with a man she had met so recently? But she could not help herself; she wanted to know more about him. What had put that disillusioned look into his blue eyes?
“I had not yet thought of that aspect. Until a short while ago, my whole being was bent on serving the army, which consumed me to the exclusion of nearly everything else, no matter how thankless. Lack of appreciation only made me try harder, put in more effort.”
“I have known cases like that,” she said. “Your description reminds me of a friend who felt like that about her husband. The colder he was, the more desperately Renée tried to convince herself that if only she was perfect, he would love her. We all knew he had a mistress on the side, but she would not hear anything against him.”
“Not a very flattering comparison,” he said wryly. “With an institution like the army you can tell yourself that its visible flaws are temporary, that you will right them when given enough responsibility. And there is a glorious history to look back to, no matter how wretched and petty the present. How long did your friend persist in her delusion?”
“For almost a year. There came a point when she no longer could deny reality. Yet even then she believed that she herself had somehow been lacking, that if only she had abased herself more, done something differently, he would have loved her. She died last year, ostensibly of a fever, but it was really of a broken heart.” There had been more to it, and she remembered her last meeting with her unhappy friend as though it were yesterday; but no need to dwell on the awful details.
“From the way you describe this tragedy, I imagine you would not have acted as she did.”
“Certainly not. My friend contributed to her own fate by investing all her hopes, her whole devotion in an unworthy object. I hope I never commit such a mistake.”
“Are you implying that my devotion to the Army was a similar error, Miss Towers?”
“I do not know the particulars, but I would not be surprised if that were the case.”
He was quiet for a long while. “You may be right,” he said in the end, surprising her. “I am stubborn by nature, and when I encounter an obstacle, I refuse to give up. That something is outside my control is difficult to admit. After dreaming of one thing since childhood, relinquishing it leaves emptiness behind, a burnt-out field with nothing but the ashes of vain hopes.”
“Ashes make good fertilizer. By next spring, a new crop of hopes may sprout,” she suggested.
“You look like a naughty boy at this moment, Miss Towers. It is incongruous to hear such wise counsel from you. Nonetheless I shall take your advice under consideration.”
She wondered what had happened to break his dream, and overcome his stubborn determination. The army did not deserve him. She could imagine all too easily how an accident of birth might have blinded his superiors to his worth. “Just what did you do in the army? What led to your selling out?”
“It is not an elevating subject. Do you really want me to tell you the sordid details?”
“Yes, I do. I want to know what kind of man my supposed uncle is, with whom I am travelling so scandalously. Besides, an unbiased listener might see what went wrong, when you are too close to judge for yourself.”
“Oh, I see that quite clearly, now. I suppose there is no reason not to satisfy your curiosity, Miss Towers. As I mentioned before, a while ago one of my superior officers commented on my neat writing and discovered that I have the ability to tally columns of figures with ease. They put me to work for the regiment’s quartermaster.”
“That seems natural enough.” She wondered at his bitter tone. “Even sensible, to make use of an officer’s special abilities.”
“The work was not hard, especially for me, and I did it in much less time than my hapless predecessor. There was some talk to the effect that my shopkeeper’s nature was coming into its own, that I was good for nothing but penny-counting, from fellow officers proud of their own descent from the gentry.”
“In France, you could have pointed to Napoleon and many of his generals as great soldiers without a noble pedigree,” she said. “There is still an unhealthy amount of admiration for him, especially among the military. On the other hand, because the classes were so thoroughly shaken up since the revolution and the money is mostly in the hand of despised arrivistes, genuine blue blood from before the revolution is at a premium. I am familiar with the need of weak men to assert their superior birth, usually because they have nothing else to be proud of.”
“Just so. Curiously, those whose own background was less than noble were the most scathing about my lack of well-born connections. As though they could not be easy unless they made me despise my family, and myself.”
“I have observed the same,” Monique said, “and it is natural enough. The higher a person’s birth, the less need he or she has to look down on others, because their social position is not in constant danger of being challenged. And in the best families, manners are taught from early childhood. They are not reserved for one’s equals only.”
“Then I have rarely met anyone from the best families while serving. Perhaps I should have tried for the guards after all, but they would not have had me.”
“Over seven years you must have become somewhat inured to the asses in you regiment, and they to you,” she probed. “What brought matters to a head? Unless it is too painful to speak of?”
“No, it was a stupid thing…nor was it my fault. My facility with bookkeeping was my downfall, as it turned out.”
She could not imagine how. “What happened?”
“There were certain account books, for the explosives, munitions and the like, that my superior officer, Major Donforth, kept himself, and never let me touch. Some weeks ago he broke his leg when hunting with his noble relatives in Derbyshire, during a leave of absence. It was clear that he would be gone for longer than expected, and perforce I had to do his work too, though he had strictly forbidden me to touch anything. Accounting cannot wait on anyone’s broken leg, especially in the army.”
“I should think not.”
The Captain looked around carefully before continuing his tale, as he did regularly, always watching for her enemies. So far everything looked peaceful. With any luck they would have lost their pursuers during that haphazard ride in the rain the previous day.
“I soon discovered why the Major had not let me touch those accounts. Though he had tried to dissimulate the traces, he had grossly overpaid for certain items, presumably to pocket the difference himself, or more likely to split it with the suppliers.”
“I wish I could say I was shocked, but such things will happen. What did you do? Knowing you, I daresay you took your information straight to the Major’s own superior.”
“It was the only course I could take, under the circumstances. Defrauding the army is a serious offense. I was not desirous of causing any scandal that would affect the regiment, and expected Colonel Mossley to handle the issue in a discreet but summary manner.”
“And did he?”
“If he had, I would not have resigned my commission. I did not count with the sympathy that members of the same clubs and schools feel towards each other, even when confronted with clear evidence of a crime.” He was scowling. A good sign, Monique reflected, that his anger was directed at others and not himself. “The regiment was told that Major Donforth’s leave had been extended for an indefinite time, that he was very sick and in danger of dying.”
“Did you believe it?”
“Not for a moment. Within the week, rumours began to circulate that I had tried to accuse him of unnamed cri
mes, had tried to hound him out of the army with specious accusations. Yet I had not confided in any person except the commanding officer of the regiment.”
She said nothing, but conveyed her sympathy by an encouraging glance.
“My fellow officers began to cut me, to refuse to speak to me. A dead cat was thrown into the fountain next to my landlady’s lodgings. Silly and puerile tricks would be played on me, by men whose age should have been beyond that sort of prank. New rumours followed – so scurrilous in nature that I will not sully your ears, as there was not one word of truth in them. I asked the Colonel what he was about, trying to throw the blame for the Major’s theft on me, and ruining my good name. He pretended he had nothing to do with it, and that an investigation was still underway to determine the extent of Donforth’s peculation. I doubt it was true, as such an investigation surely would have included an interview with all the quartermaster staff.”
“I see. They made your position untenable.”
“Over the past seven years I had borne much, but this exceeded the limits of my tolerance. It was made clear that there was no future for me in the army. No doubt my superiors would have liked to cashier me, had they found the slightest pretext, but my stubborn perfectionism came to my rescue there. I stuck it out for a couple of hellish weeks, but in the end I resigned my commission and entrusted an agent with the sale. He’ll forward the sum to me eventually, and that will be the inglorious end of my army service.”
His voice was suspiciously even and neutral. Monique guessed that his seeming indifference hid a maelstrom of anger, hurt pride and resentment.
“So this Major Donforth was not booted out of the army for his crimes? In France he would have shot himself, to save the family the ignominy,” she commented.
“If he has done so, it has not come to my ears. As far as I know he is still in Derbyshire, nursing his broken leg.”
Monique shook her head. She had few illusions regarding the honour of well-born gentlemen and officers, but this really was far outside the bounds of the acceptable.
Chapter 10
As they rode on in companionable silence, Duncan wondered at himself. He was not a loquacious or indiscreet man by nature. What had led him to confide his discomfiture and humiliation to the girl riding at his side, even if she was a sympathetic and intelligent listener?
At least he had taken her mind off her own troubles for a short while, and their discussion had helped put his situation in perspective. Resigning his commission was not a tragedy to anyone else, and to himself only as long as he clung to dreams he should have outgrown. In his foolish youth he had hoped to make some heroic contribution to his country’s security. But how likely was that, with no major war on the horizon?
He would concentrate on assisting Miss Towers escape unscathed from her strange predicament, and postpone any consideration of his own circumstances until afterwards, if there was an afterwards. These fellows with their rifles might yet do for him. But better him than the young lady, and they would have to go through Duncan to harm a hair on her head. That was a nobler goal than the parading and bookkeeping he’d been doing for the last seven years.
They were approaching another town, and more people were about. Duncan redoubled his vigilance, looking for the sheen of a rifle, hidden bodies in the underbrush
Miss Towers’s seat was easy, but the mare’s gait was not as smooth as Emperor’s, and she was unused to riding astride. “We should rest here for a while,” he said, “if we see nothing untoward, we can have a meal at the local inn, ask if anyone has seen that horse with the white blaze.”
“We have no proof that that horse was connected to our pursuers. I can keep up a while longer, but a rest and a warm meal would be welcome.”
They stabled the horses in the larger of the two inns abutting on the commons, and ordered ale and simple food, avoiding the lamb stew. No doubt it was perfectly salubrious, but it would be a while till Duncan could enjoy any kind of stew. The very word was distasteful.
When the food arrived he noted, as on earlier occasions, that Miss Towers ate very little, leaving over half of her portion. “A growing lad should eat more than that,” he teased her.
She pushed the plate away with a small grimace. “If I thought it would help me grow by a hairsbreadth, I would force myself to finish it. It is no fun to be the smallest in the family and amongst your friends, the runt of the litter.”
“I must protest that expression, Miss – ah– David. Size is not nearly as important as brains and bottom, and from what I can see, you have both.”
“Thank you.” She smiled briefly, and took a small sip of the ale. “Not too bad. I prefer wine, but I have sometimes tried the products of my mother’s breweries.”
“You are a lady, I meant to say, a boy of many surprises.”
“You don’t find my actions shocking?”
“No, why would I? It is not as though you had a choice. If you succumbed to the vapours, or went into hysterics, you would not have made it this far.”
“Most men prefer women to be helpless, or at least to act as though we were."
“You forget how we first met. You pointed that pistol at me, and I have no doubt would have shot me through the heart had I made a wrong move. After that, I shall never be able to think of you as helpless or timid.”
“I have quite sunk myself in your eyes, in other words.”
“Are you fishing for compliments? Women range from timid to bold, from nervous to valiant. A mere man has no business judging you. We have trouble enough seeing to our own honour.”
“That is a refreshing way to look at matters.” She grinned. “Do you suppose that the people here really take me for a boy?”
“Why not? Your voice is too adult and feminine, but here we cannot easily be overheard.” He had once again chosen a corner seat, from which he could observe anyone entering the premises. “People see what they expect to see, and as long as you don’t speak, you look like a delicate boy. One who has not had to do a great deal of manual labour.”
“Yet these clothes are not those of a young gentleman.” She stroked the shabby sleeve of her jacket with her delicate, pale hand. “If my friends, and some who are not exactly friends, could see me like this, I would never live it down.”
“My lips are sealed,” he promised. “There was nothing better for sale, but we can look again in this place –”
“No, no, it does not matter. This works fine as a disguise.” She took another sip of ale and delicately licked the foam off her lips. He forced himself to avert his eyes from the suggestive sight.
The door opened with a violent push, and two officers entered side by side, talking in boisterous voices. Duncan stiffened as the taller of the two men caught sight of him in the far corner. Thankfully Miss Towers had her back to them.
“Two men I know just entered,” he said in a low voice. “If they accost us, don’t speak, and don’t call attention to yourself.”
She gave a tiny nod to show that she had understood. If only all his men had been so quick to follow his instructions. But as a recruit she would have been rejected on size alone.
His fears were quickly realised. “Kinninmont! Is it you? So this is where you are hiding your face?”
Duncan remained seated, tense as a bowstring. “Dorrington, Meller. What brings you to this place? Whatever it is, don’t let me keep you.”
They drew nearer to his table, glancing curiously at Miss Towers’ back. The young lady put one hand in front of her mouth to simulate a yawn, shadowing her features.
“Who is this cub?” Dorrington asked when he was close enough to see Miss Tower’s profile. “Won’t you introduce him to us?”
“None of your business,” Duncan said shortly. Of all the bad luck! Given some of the most preposterous rumours about him, to be found in the company of a pretty young boy in humble clothes could lead to a most unfortunate interpretation. He cast an apologetic look at her face – what she was about to hear, in all lik
elihood, would be highly unsuitable for the ears of a delicately nurtured female.
Nor was he mistaken. “I suppose that is your nancy-boy, Kinninmont? Pretty enough, but not very husky. He looks as though he would break in two under a hearty swiving.”
Miss Towers’s eyes, resting on his, widened in shock. She clearly understood the slur. Without speaking, she turned her head and shot the officer a look of icy disdain. Alas, an expression that might have frozen the lout under more propitious circumstances had little effect coming from a boy in shabby clothes.
“I have no time for your nonsense, or I would ask you to answer to me for this insult with your blood,” Duncan said as calmly as he could. In Portsmouth he had not been able to challenge any of his detractors, as they had taken care to slander him behind his back. Now that he had cause, the presence of Miss Towers tied his hands. They could not afford to get embroiled in public scandal.
“Is the boy mute, then? Cat got his tongue?” Meller leered at Miss Towers. At least the disguise was convincing so far.
Duncan rose, letting his indignation show. “Why don’t we take this discussion outside, one at a time?”
“What, engage in vulgar fisticuffs with a shopkeeper’s brat over the honour of a molly boy? You cannot be serious.” Dorrington shook his head without disarranging his pomaded hair. “You are no longer one of us, Kinninmont, and I’ll say to you, and about you, whatever the hell I please.”
Duncan felt the blood rush to his head. His fists clenched, and his teeth were close to grinding in fury. Before he could do anything rash, like knocking the taunting boor to the ground, he felt Miss Towers’ foot step smartly on his boot. The small jolt did not hurt – she was too light – but it recalled him to the risk of their situation. “In that case, you might as well go and spread your baseless slander elsewhere, and stop spoiling my appetite with your ugly visage,” he said. “What are you doing so far from Portsmouth, anyway?”