The Maclarens (The Regiment Family Saga Book 1)

by CL Skelton

  ‘Sir,’ said Ensign Doig.

  ‘Yes, Charles?’

  ‘What about casualties on the advance?’

  ‘No one is to stop at any time. Stretcher bearers will follow H.Q. Company and they will deal with the wounded,’ replied Andrew.

  ‘Sir,’ said Ensign Wallace.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When the wall is blown, there should be some cover from fallen masonry or whatever it’s made of. Do we use that?’

  ‘Not unless it is actually in the breach. Our orders are to hold the breach from within. With any luck, we could be there before they realize which wall has been blown.’

  ‘I think, sir, that we should make it an order that no one is to fire at distant targets,’ said Wallace.

  ‘Good point. There probably will not be time to reload, so no firing until we are in the breach, and then only at those of the enemy who are attacking us directly.’

  Willie had waited his turn until the officers had had their say. ‘What do we do, sir, if the wall doesna blow?’ he asked. ‘Guncotton doesna always go off when you want it to.’

  ‘I’ll have to see the colonel about that one. Have you any suggestions?’

  ‘I think, sir,’ said Willie, ‘we should retire. Wi’oot the breach, we’ll be sitting ducks.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ replied Andrew. ‘Anyway, I’ll talk to the colonel, and hopefully, if the breach does not blow, we’ll be allowed to signal retire.’ He paused. ‘If that’s everything, you’d better get off and brief your own troops. We’ll pass the word.’ He looked at the sky. ‘In, I think, about fifteen minutes, we move off to our first position.’

  Fifteen minutes later, as the first grey streaks began to appear in the eastern sky, and the shadowy outlines of the fort became visible, C Company began to crawl towards their target. Within another quarter of an hour, they were in their forward positions, poised for the attack, watching as the shape in front of them began to take form, now finely etched against the greys and pinks of the dawn.

  Andrew lay at the head of his men, taking what advantage they could of the sparse cover available. At his side, Alex watched the fort which, now that they were no more than a hundred yards from it, appeared massive and impregnable as it stood there in the shadow of the sun rising behind it, black and menacing.

  There were shots. They came from far in front of them. That would be B Company trying to draw the fire of the occupants. Then more shots, now from their left, where they could see A Company already on their feet and moving slowly towards the fort. Still there was no command to move, and the tension they were feeling had become an almost tangible thing. Slowly, the blood-red arc of the enormous sun began to show as it started to creep up from behind the fort.

  ‘Stand by, bugler,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Ready, sir,’ replied Alex, and he licked his dry lips and prayed that he would be able to sound the advance.

  Little by little, the disc of the sun became fuller, and the colour of the fort began to change from black to dirty brown. At last the yellowing sun was clear of the battlements.

  ‘Bugler.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Sound the advance.’

  This was it! Alex ran his tongue across his lips again and raised the bugle to his mouth. The notes rang out clear and sweet on the morning air, and all around him, kilted figures rose reluctantly from their places of safety, their Enfields, bayonets fixed, held across their bodies at the port. Andrew stood up and tugged his Colt from his belt, drew his broadsword, took a deep breath of the fresh morning air and, closely followed by Alex, started to walk towards the fort.

  The whole line of C Company followed, moving slowly, step … step … step. Everything seemed to have gone quiet again as they moved inexorably forward to cover the seventy-five yards of open ground which lay between them and the charge. It seemed to Willie, in his position at the rear of the company, that the fort had suddenly been pushed back and away from them. It seemed that they had miles to go. He waited for the first shots which he knew had to come. A and B Companies must, by now, have drawn most of the defenders to the other walls, and with reasonable luck, they might get halfway before the real shooting started. He looked at the men in front of him and knew that they shared the tension he was feeling. He saw one hesitate and another straining to stop himself from breaking into a run; a run which would have brought him to the breach exhausted, and he understood. It had started. From the parapet, he saw a series of puffs of smoke followed by the crack of firing, but no one fell. Muskets, he thought, smoothbores, thank heaven for that. Rifles would have decimated them before they had got twenty yards. He grinned grimly, because he felt that they would do it.

  On their left the firing started up again with increased fury. They heard the sound of a distant bugle as A and B Companies renewed their diversionary assaults. Willie glanced behind him. Headquarters Company were starting to move up some hundred yards to their rear. More shots came from the parapet and a man fell. Two of his comrades lowered their rifles and started towards him.

  ‘Leave him for the bearers!’ shouted Willie. The men hesitated a moment, and then continued on their way towards the fort.

  Andrew too had seen that the Chinese were firing with musket, and there was no cannon. That was a blessing. Before they had time to drag one from another wall, they would be among them, or at least too close for them to bring the cannon to bear. He looked back.

  ‘Not too close,’ he said to Alex, who was less than a yard away from him. Two men together presented an easier target than one alone.

  Dutifully Alex moved away. With no one nearer to him than two or three yards, he felt alone and frightened. He walked automatically, only half-conscious of what he was doing, offering his small body as a living target to the enemy, unseen behind the brown wall.

  The firing was continuing and beginning to tell. Three more men went down. The fort loomed large now; it looked so safe and secure and indestructible. Thirty-five, forty paces. It could not be long now. Hands gripping rifles showed white knuckles through the suntanned flesh. Though it was still not warm, they sweated under the tension that was building up with every step. C Company was like a spring being wound ever tighter, waiting for the release which would hurl them forward into the breach.

  Willie could see the muskets now. They were being poked over the parapet. Then a figure would rise for a moment and there would be a puff of smoke and a crack before the figure would disappear to reload. Still C Company moved forward, their rifles held at the port, ignoring the fire. By now there must be a good half-dozen of them lying either dead or wounded, but Willie was proud of them. The months of training and discipline were paying dividends.

  Suddenly, one of the figures rose from the parapet, fell forward, and crashed to the ground in front of the wall. Willie cursed and glanced along his line. Bob MacDonald was fumbling with his rifle, trying to reload as he moved on. Willie made a mental note that Private MacDonald would face his sergeant’s wrath that day.

  Andrew was near to the point of ordering the retreat. They were getting too close, too damned close to the wall, and more of his men were falling. Then it happened. Accompanied by a huge explosion, a large section of the wall crumbled and fell away before them. Dust and smoke were everywhere mixed with the smell of the exploded guncotton, and for several moments the fort was blotted out from their vision.

  As the last pieces of masonry were crashing to the ground, Alex raised his bugle to his lips and sounded the charge.

  In ten seconds they were scrambling into the breach, firing at the grey-brown figures who were massing to repel them.

  In fifteen seconds, their rounds fired, they were locked together in bloody hand-to-hand combat. The screams of the dying and the wounded filled the air, the victims lying disembowelled and trying to shove their guts back into their bellies, bleeding from the thrust of bayonet or broadsword, retching from fear or pain.

  In twenty seconds, the enemy had started to pull back a
nd away from the breach in a desperate search for cover. This gave the members of C Company who were still on their feet time to reload and fire after them.

  In thirty seconds, Headquarters Company was charging past them through the breach, and for C Company it was all over.

  Two minutes later, a white flag was fluttering over the keep of the fort and the firing had stopped. Andrew looked around him in disgust. Bodies of his own men lay piled in the breach. He could see Willie Bruce ‒ thank God he was safe ‒ kneeling on the ground just inside the fort. Andrew went over to him.

  ‘What are you doing, sergeant?’

  Willie was cradling a Chinese man in his lap. ‘I think he’s dead, sir. I just gave the poor sod a drink of water.’

  Andrew compressed his lips. He could not understand Willie, the real professional Willie, who had no animosity towards anyone, no hatred of the enemy. Willie just did his job.

  ‘Better fall the men in and call the roll. Then we’d better take up defensive positions in case they counter-attack from the big forts.’

  ‘I doot that will be necessary, sir,’ replied Willie. ‘Listen.’

  Andrew heard it, faint on the morning air; it was the sound of the pipes. It meant only one thing. Hope Grant had kept to his timetable and was on his way to the big forts with the bulk of his force and his artillery.

  ‘All right, sergeant,’ he replied. ‘Fall the men in, roll call, then burial parties and assist with the casualties.’

  ‘I doot we’ll find thirty of oor lads still standing,’ said Willie. ‘What’s yon stupid wee bugger doing?’

  Alex was standing in the breach, his face flushed with excitement. He was dancing up and down and blowing a series of discordant notes on his bugle.

  ‘We’s won! We’s won!’ he shouted. ‘Hurrah for the Fighting Hundred and Forty-eighth!’

  ‘Get doon oota that!’ bellowed Willie.

  But he was a second too late. As Alex heard his voice and looked over towards him, a huge piece of masonry jutting out from the jagged hole in the wall cracked away from its tenuous anchorage. Alex knew nothing about it.

  And that was why, after a roll call, Willie gently laid what was left of wee Alex into a shallow grave and cursed the God who had allowed the boy to survive only long enough to strike him down.

  Chapter Ten

  Lady Maclaren tapped the envelope against the fingertips of her left hand. She had recognized the writing. It was Andrew’s. This whole business was disturbing. She should not have the letter; it was addressed to Miss Maud Westburn. Maud was a charming girl, and but for her Eurasian daughter ‒ or niece, as she was known at Culbrech House ‒ would have made a quite suitable match for Andrew. With the child, however, any such thought was completely out of the question. Indeed it was the very reason that she had produced Emma Worthing before the regiment had sailed for China. If only Maud had been willing to have the child adopted before returning from Ireland, then all might have been well. But all was not well, and it had taken quite a lot of persuasion to get her to present Naomi as her niece rather than her daughter.

  If only she knew what Andrew was saying in his letters to Maud, then at least she would know if her fears were well founded. And Maud was receiving letters not only from Andrew; someone else in the regiment was also writing to her. Who that was, Lady Maclaren did not know, though she had seen the envelopes and had not failed to notice the low standard of penmanship in the address. A thought struck her, and she found it worrying. Supposing Andrew and Maud suspected, and Andrew was getting someone else to write the address on the envelopes? That would be most disturbing, for she had already intercepted three letters from her son to Maud and thrown them, unopened, on to the fire.

  She had not acted out of any spiteful motive; she was genuinely fond of Maud. But she had to protect Andrew. An alliance with Maud would have unquestionably ruined his whole career. Her husband had said as much. On the other hand, she had no desire to ask Maud to leave Culbrech and find a home elsewhere. That would have been unkind, and Lady Maclaren was not an unkind person, though if it became necessary for the sake of the family, she would not hesitate. It was also true that, having Maud here under her own roof, she was much more able to keep an eye on things than she would be if Maud was to go and live elsewhere. It was all very difficult, and now here was this other letter.

  Could she look at its contents? She felt, knew rather, that she had no right. But then neither had she the right to burn it as she had done the other three.

  At last she came to a decision and ripped open the envelope. Then, feeling all the while afraid that someone would come into the morning room and find her with the letter in her hand, she read it as quickly as possible and threw it on to the fire.

  The first part told her nothing that she did not already know. The regiment was leaving China and would by now be approaching New Zealand. They had been reduced to a strength of two and a half companies after the battle of Taku, where Andrew had lost both of his ensigns and over half of his men, including that nice boy who had stayed with the Bruces. It was the latter part of the letter which gave her both satisfaction and some little cause for concern. Andrew had finished by pointing out that he had not heard from Maud for several months and had said, as any gentleman would, that if she did not reply to this letter, he would, out of respect for her feelings, discontinue their correspondence. This Lady Maclaren regarded as very satisfactory. What she had not liked was the manner in which her son had signed himself, ‘With much love, your devoted friend, Andrew.’

  Love? Devoted? That would not do. No, it would not do at all. She would have to talk to Maud. She went over to the fireplace and tugged at the tapestry bell pull. A moment later MacKay came into the morning room.

  ‘You rang, my lady?’

  ‘Yes, MacKay, I wonder if you could find Miss Westburn and ask her if she would be kind enough to join me here,’ she said. ‘And perhaps before you do that, you could send in some tea.’

  At the mention of Maud’s name, MacKay stiffened. He did not approve of Miss Westburn. She had returned to Culbrech House with this beautiful dark-haired child after an absence of several months. Her niece, she called it. Well, it was, he supposed, as good a name as any, but MacKay had his private doubts. It seemed to him that Miss Westburn had probably behaved in a manner unbecoming a lady, and while that sort of behaviour was acceptable belowstairs, it really should not be tolerated above.

  ‘Miss Westburn,’ he replied, as coldly as politeness would allow, ‘is in the nursery with Miss Naomi. Nanny is in her room having a cup of tea, but I’ll send her along to look after the child. Tea for two, my lady?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  MacKay withdrew and Lady Maclaren hoped that he had not noticed her confusion when he had entered the room. A minute or so later, the tea arrived, closely followed by Maud.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ she inquired as she entered.

  ‘Yes, Maud, do sit down and make yourself comfortable while I pour you some tea.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Maud, seating herself beside the fire while Lady Maclaren busied herself with the tea things.

  ‘Now, my dear,’ said Lady Maclaren when they were both seated and sipping their tea, ‘what I want to talk to you about is not easy for me, but this has been on my mind for some considerable time. First, let me ask you, are you happy here?’

  ‘Why, yes, of course I am. Everyone here has been so kind. Especially Jean. She has proved to be a real friend.’

  ‘My daughters,’ said Lady Maclaren, ‘have little to do with what I want to talk to you about. Jean, as I am sure she has told you, feels that she too has been a victim of the male sex.’ Maud nodded. ‘And therefore identifies with you in your own problems. Margaret too has problems. I have persuaded her to wait until her father returns home, but I fear that she will probably go through with the match. I cannot say that I blame her, or Jean, for that matter. They are neither of them beauties, and both are soon going to be of an age when marriag
e becomes nothing but a remote possibility.’ She paused. ‘But to continue with what you were saying, are you sure that you are happy here, or at least as happy as you would be anywhere else?’

  Maud thought for a moment before she spoke. ‘I feel that I owe you and your family everything. Was what was worrying you that you wished me to leave? If that is so, please do not hesitate to say so. It would not affect my affection for you, nor the love I have for your family in the least. As you know, I am well provided for financially, so you need have no worries on that score, and I would be most upset to feel that I had outstayed my welcome here.’

  ‘My dear child, it is nothing like that,’ replied Lady Maclaren. But Maud had said ‘love,’ and that worried her just a little. ‘I want you always to regard this as your home for as long as you wish to do so. We are all very fond of you, all of us.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘Well, my dear, I must confess that there is one matter that has me a trifle disturbed.’

  ‘Then please tell me what it is so that I can rectify it. Be assured that I shall not be offended, whatever this matter may be.’

  ‘I am worried about Andrew.’

  ‘Dear God, he has not been hurt!’ Maud responded quickly.

  Too quickly, thought Lady Maclaren. ‘Nothing has happened to Andrew. What I am worried about is Andrew’s relationship to you.’

  Maud sat silent, and then said, ‘I am to understand that you would find that unacceptable, you would not approve?’

  ‘Maud, what do I not approve of?’

  There was no point in talking around the subject. ‘You would not approve of me as a daughter-in-law. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘My dear,’ replied Lady Maclaren, and now that Maud had brought the subject out into the open, her tone became gentle and sincere. ‘You have said that you are fond of us here. I do not need to assure you that the feeling is quite mutual. You are already one of the family and, for myself alone, I should be very happy to see you married to my son. In fact, I find my own feelings in this matter every bit as much as your own, and, for that matter, Andrew’s.’