by Kruger, Mary
“Well, sir, many the mornin’ she came down to breakfast with her eyes red, so we knew she’d been crying. And—”
“What?”
“Once in a while, sir, she’d have a bruise—”
“He beat her?”
“Yes, sir. She always said she fell, but—”
“Damn his black soul to hell. What the hell right did he have—I’ll kill him.” Giles strode toward the stairs. “By God, if he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him for doing that to her.”
“Sir, maybe someone already did it for you.”
Giles stopped on the stairs. “What do you mean?”
“Well, sir, that stretch of road where Mr. Templeton went over the cliff, he knew it like the back of his hand. The way that man rode, he wouldn’t have gone over it himself, not even drunk. No, sir. Everyone thinks some jealous husband did it.”
“Good God!” Giles abruptly sat on a stair, staring at Obadiah. “How did Anne take that?”
“With her head high, sir. She’s a brave woman.”
“I know.” A brave, strong woman, who had survived a miserable marriage and yet had lost none of her spirit. And he had thought her desire for independence no more than the whim of a spoiled, flighty widow. No wonder if she wanted to control her own destiny; no wonder if she pushed him away, after what she had endured. The wonder was that she had allowed him close to her at all.
“Thank you for telling me this, Obadiah,” he said, finally. “It explains much.”
“You won’t tell her I said anything, sir?”
“No, unless I have to. Come, let’s get back upstairs and see what we can devise for our ghost.”
The summer was rapidly passing. Events in Brighton had settled into a kind of routine: the fashionable promenade along the Steyne in the morning; shopping and gossiping in the afternoon for the women, while the men paid a visit to Raggetts’s or the racetrack; balls and routs and soirees in the evening; the daily parade at the barracks of the Tenth Light Dragoons or the other regiments quartered nearby. The most anticipated event of the summer was fast approaching. The Prince of Wales’s birthday was in August, and this year its celebration promised to be memorable.
The day for the celebration dawned clear and sunny. Since last week, soldiers from all over the country had been arriving in town, to participate in the mock battle that was to be held at Race Hill, making the town seem like a military camp. Some said there were as many as ten thousand of them. No young lady was safe without an escort, and yet the atmosphere was almost that of a fun fair. The battle was discussed endlessly, with most of the ton pretending a disdain toward it they did not feel. It was not an event anyone planned to miss.
The Tremonts were no exception. Early in the morning the ladies climbed into the landau, all of them dressed in their summer finery, even Julia, who seemed less cranky today. Beside Anne, wearing a new walking dress of deep rose with flounces at wrist and hem and a lace jabot, sat Jamie, eager but well-behaved. Somehow he had managed to keep his clothes clean and his hair neat. He was a much-chastened little boy since his experience in the heating pipes, at least for the present. Anne didn’t expect that to last much longer.
“Mama, when will we get there?” he asked, for what seemed like the thousandth time.
“Soon, pet,” Anne said absently, though, judging by the long line of carriages preceding them it would take a while. They were to meet Felicity and her family there for a picnic before the battle began. She was glad they were going in a group, glad that Giles had elected to ride, rather than to drive in the landau with them. She still did not know how she was going to face him, after that night in the drawing room. Good heavens, she had never been so wanton in her life! The memory of those few, mad moments haunted her continually, filling her with guilt and a curious warmth. What Giles must think of her, she didn’t know. He appeared to be avoiding her as assiduously as she did, him. It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.
The entire town seemed to be turning out for the event, the ton in their fine carriages, the townspeople on foot. There were lean, sturdy fishermen; smug, content shopkeepers; shabbily dressed fishwives with unruly groups of children, cheerfully calling back and forth to each other. Adding to the carnival air were hawkers with food, sausages, fish, ale, their cries for their wares echoing and overlapping each other. It was festive, a true summer holiday. A day in which one couldn’t help but be happy to be alive, Anne thought, in spite of one’s problems, and smiled, as the landau jounced over the grassy track that led to Race Hill and came to a halt.
The carriage door opened, and first Julia, aided by Giles, and then Beth, stepped down. Jamie followed. At last it was Anne’s turn, and she looked with some misgivings at the strong hand Giles held out to her. A well-shaped hand, a hand used to working. A man’s hand. A sudden chill ran up her spine, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Far from it. Nor was the tremor that ran through her as she took his hand and stepped down, though she quickly stepped away. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed, and Giles, who had turned to say something to Julia, turned back, to enjoy the scene with her.
The soldiers were in place already, thousands of them, arrayed in precise lines upon the rolling emerald green South Downs. In the bright morning sun their tunics were brilliantly colored, scarlet or blue or green; gold and silver lace and braid sparkled and shone. Light glinted off helmets and bayonets with occasionally blinding flashes. Behind the foot soldiers were the cavalry, regiments of them, mounted on magnificent bays or chestnuts or blacks, war-horses all, superbly trained and beautifully groomed. Offshore hovered several ships, their sails glistening white, ready to play their part in the battle; around them dipped and flew smaller craft, from elegant yachts to ordinary fishing boats, and sea birds. Closer at hand, the spectators had settled themselves, some with opera glasses or spy glasses, others seeming far more intent on gossiping to each other, as if they hadn’t just met last evening or earlier this morning. The milling mob, dressed in outfits from the oldest work clothes to the latest in fashion, and the carriages and carts and drays of all description, intensified the feeling of an old-fashioned fair. To her surprise, Anne’s eyes prickled with tears. This was home. This was England, and she was very glad she was here.
She looked up, suddenly needing to share her feelings with Giles, to see him watching her. Defenseless in the emotion of the moment, she searched his face, and saw there the same mixture of pride and wonder that she felt, and something else. The light was back in his eyes, but there was something more, something that made her feel warm and breathless. Whatever it was, it held her, bound her to him. When the time came to go, how could she ever leave him behind?
“Your pardon, Your Grace.” A liveried footman bowed politely, and Giles turned, breaking the silken thread that had bound them for that eternal moment. “Lady Whitehead has asked me to escort you and Mrs. Templeton to her.”
“Thank you.” Giles took Anne’s arm, smiling. “I might have known Felicity would find a place under a tree. Good view too, it looks like. Felicity.” He held his hand out to her. “I see you’ve arranged things in your usual exceptional style.”
“Of course, Giles. Hello, Anne.” Felicity smiled at her. “Why do something if it’s not done well? And Your Grace. I have a comfortable chair just over here for you. I am so glad you decided to come, after all.
“Thank you.” Julia’s smile was wintry, but it was a smile, all the same.
For the remainder of the party, accommodations were provided on rugs thick enough to ward off any dew remaining on the grass. Anne and Beth, along with Susan, settled themselves gracefully across from Felicity and the men, Giles and Lord Whitehead. Footmen handed them dishes loaded with such tidbits as cold sliced chicken, new potatoes in a tangy sauce, and strawberries in cream. The china was almost translucent, the flatware heavy silver, and the champagne was served in crystal flutes. “You have an excellent cook,” Anne said, holding up her goblet. “Though I feel quite decadent, drinking champagne at this time of
day.”
“The occasion seemed to call for it,” Felicity said. “I don’t know when I’ve seen anything quite so stirring, and the battle hasn’t even begun. I invited Mr. Seward and Lieutenant Bancroft to join us afterwards.”
“Why, how nice,” Anne said, not daring to look at Beth. Something was very wrong there. It wasn’t just that Julia disapproved of the romance. There was something more. Anne had the awful feeling that Beth and Thomas had quarreled. If that were so, Beth’s chance for a normal life was gone.
Cannon booming offshore startled everyone. They turned to see puffs of white smoke coming from one of the ships. “Oh, it’s starting!” Susan exclaimed, jumping to her feet, as the drums rattled a tattoo and the band joined in, playing a military air. It was stirring music, and to its beat paraded row upon row, rank upon rank, of soldiers, all in perfect formation, all keeping perfect time. Besides the soldiers rode their officers, their mounts in perfect control. It was so thrilling a moment that, without quite realizing it, Anne held her hand out to share it with someone, and felt a sense of wholeness when her hand was clasped.
The music changed, became more solemn: “God Save the King.” “Look,” Giles whispered in Anne’s ear, pointing toward a small group of men on horseback riding before the troops. On a gray charger, resplendent in the Hussar uniform of the Tenth Light Dragoons, of which he was Colonel, rode the Prince of Wales. Even at this distance Anne could see how fine were his uniform, with its silver lace looped on the cuffs to allude to the Prince of Wales feathers, and his scarlet saddle blanket, so embroidered with gold thread it was blinding in the sunlight. With him were his brothers, the Royal Dukes, all of them also in uniform, except for the Duke of Cumberland. There were also some others, who were unknown to her.
“Who is that with him?” Anne whispered back, as if the Prince could overhear.
“Sir Dundas, the commander-in-chief. You’d think he’d be better off overseeing real battles, rather than mock ones.”
“You’re sounding more and more like a member of the Opposition every day. I thought the Templetons served the Crown.”
Giles shrugged. “I hate to think what this day is costing. The money could certainly be used to better purpose.”
“Don’t let Prinny hear that, or you’ll no longer be one of his favorites.” She glanced down and realized for the first time that he was holding her hand. She looked swiftly from their linked hands to his face. “You’re holding my hand.”
Giles’s eyes held hers. “I know. Were we alone, I would kiss it,” he said, his voice low.
Her face flaming, Anne snatched her hand away. As if she would let him! But, oh, she wished he would.
With a final flourish of the drums, the ranks of soldiers pulled up to a stop, their lines precise and straight. The Prince rode forward, inspecting his troops, and there was something so majestic about the sight that one could almost believe he would, indeed, lead the men into battle. Anne watched, her hand to her throat, as he rode down the line, and felt again that overwhelming pride in her country. In that moment, she wanted never to leave again.
The troops saluted their Prince, and he saluted back. For a moment there was a curious silence, in which Anne was certain everyone could hear her heart pounding. She didn’t want to return to Jamaica. She wanted to stay here, in England. With Giles.
From somewhere a bugle blew, and suddenly all was chaos, sound and color and movement as the foot soldiers ran forward. With the Prince safely to the side, the mock battle had begun. Cannon boomed from the ships again, and, for the first time, the spectators realized that sailors were storming Brighton’s cliffs. Just as if this were a real invasion and those were Napoleon’s soldiers, Anne stepped closer to Giles. This time she was aware of taking his arm; this time, she had no desire to pull away.
Another bugle blew and the cavalry charged, the hooves of their mounts sounding like thunder over the Downs, swords flashing. All was dust and noise and heat; if she felt it, just watching, what must the soldiers be feeling, Anne wondered. “Oh, heavens, can you imagine what it is like in a real battle?” Anne said, and at that moment Beth gave a shriek.
“Thomas!” she cried, dropping her opera glasses.
Anne glanced over at her. “What is it?”
“He’s fallen.” Beth gathered up her skirts. “I must go to him.”
“Wait.” Anne caught her arm. “You cannot go out there.”
“I must! Thomas has fallen. He might be hurt.”
“It’s not a real battle, Beth,” Giles said from her other side, and Anne looked up at him in relief.
“But he fell, Giles.”
“Doubtless not for the first time.”
“And of course it is all part of the playacting,” Anne chattered as they walked back to the others, she and Giles holding Beth’s arms. “Though why men enjoy playacting at war, I do not know.”
Beth stopped, her eyes stricken. “Someday it may not be playacting.”
Giles squeezed her arm, comfortingly. “Bethie—”
“So be it.” She lifted her chin, ignoring the comfort. Gone was the sweet, but rather vague, girl Beth had been just a moment before; in her place was a woman, facing the world with courage. The transition was so astonishing that Anne could only stare. “That is something I must accustom myself to.”
“Hmph.” Julia glared at her as they returned. “Made a spectacle of yourself, Elizabeth, and for what? Some rubbishy soldier.”
Beth’s eyes widened and her cheeks grew red, sure signs that she was about to burst into tears. Instead, though, she drew a deep breath. “As you say, Mother,” she said, coolly polite. Over her head, Giles and Anne looked at each other, communicating without words. Beth had changed, and while that was to the good, it was not something Julia would appreciate. There would be trouble ahead.
Another bugle blew, and the troops drew up. The battle was over. Cheers went up from the spectators as those who had pretended to be injured rose up again. Ranks were reformed for the Prince to inspect his troops again. Over the rolling Downs his voice, raised in speech, came to the Tremont party, but they were unable to catch more than a word or two. At last the soldiers dispersed, most to return to their quarters, but others to visit with friends and family. The soldiers of the Tenth Light Dragoons were well-known in Brighton.
Lieutenant Bancroft made unerringly for the Tremonts, and Beth. Julia, still sitting in state under the tree, grumbled something, but Beth, who ordinarily catered to her mother’s every whim, today ignored her. Her face shining, she broke away from the group.
“You were splendid,” she said to Thomas as she reached him, her voice carrying back to the others.
“Good afternoon, Lady Elizabeth.” Perfectly proper, Thomas bowed over her hand. In his uniform with its five rows of buttons and his fur dress cap with its red and white plume, his sword by his side, he looked very much a soldier. “Now how could you have possibly seen me?”
“I had opera glasses. Oh, dear, you’ve a smudge on your sleeve,” Beth said, dusting away the dirt with proprietarial fingers. “Whatever would your captain say to that?”
Thomas looked down at her in surprise. “Told me I was a dashed clumsy horseman, and that I’d better do better in the real thing.” Beth looked up at that, and for a moment their eyes held. If something passed between them, only they knew it.
The moment was broken by Giles’s coming forward. “A good show, Lieutenant,” he said, holding out his hand.
Thomas stepped back from Beth. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You acquitted yourself well.”
“As well, I hope, in the real thing.”
“Is that coming soon?” Giles said sharply, alerted by something in the other man’s tone.
“Who can say?” Thomas smiled and shrugged. “Certainly it is not a fit topic for a day like today. Will you be at the birthday ball tonight, Lady Elizabeth?”
Beth gazed up at him. “Oh, yes.”
“Then I shall see you there. If
you will excuse me, Your Grace, I must be leaving. The captain wants us to return to barracks.”
“Of course.” Giles nodded. “We shall see you tonight.
“Oh, yes,” Beth said again. Her eyes held Thomas’s, until, with a quick salute, he turned and marched away.
Anne took Beth’s arm. “Do make him do some work for you, dear.”
Beth looked up at her. “Why?”
“Because romance means more to men when they have to fight for it.”
“Is that so?” Giles asked, from Anne’s other side.
“Yes, that is so. I suppose we should be returning, too. We’ve more ahead of us tonight.”
“Elizabeth!” a querulous voice called. “Elizabeth, I need you.”
Beth sighed. “Yes, Mother,” she said, and turned, but not before giving a distant blue-coated figure one last glance.
Giles turned to watch her go, a little frown on his face. “My mother is not happy about this.”
“No.” Anne watched as Beth helped Julia to her feet. “But this is natural, don’t you think? Lieutenant Bancroft is a handsome young man.”
“Yes, but is he the man for Beth?” Absently Giles took her arm, and they began to stroll toward the waiting carriage. “She’s quiet and gentle. I can’t imagine her with a soldier.”
“I think there is more to Beth than there seems.” Anne kept her voice light, though she was very aware of his touch. It seemed so natural, so right. All the feelings, all the emotions she had felt in his arms in the drawing room came rushing back, making her feel tinglingly alive and at the same time, curiously weak. She wanted to lean against Giles, but not merely for support. Not at all.
“Do you?”
Anne blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“Well, I suppose you are right. Beth has more spirit than she shows. However, she’s been gently raised. A soldier’s life isn’t for her.”
“He’s a good man, Giles.” Inwardly, she sighed. So much for their own romance, if such there were. Well, what did she expect, that he would take her in his arms, right here on Race Hill? Foolish. She didn’t want him to, of course. The way he had made her feel the other night was quite unsettling. “And he cares about Beth.”