by CL Skelton
‘Hello,’ said Naomi, taking a quick peek from behind Maud.
‘Hello,’ said Willie. ‘The poor wee thing’s shy, let her go.’
‘She is my daughter,’ said Maud, and waited for Willie’s reaction.
There was none.
‘Och, I know that,’ he replied casually. ‘Is that all you had to tell me? It’s no verra much.’
‘It doesn’t make any difference?’ There was wonder in her voice.
‘What difference? Why should it? There’s many a lad or lassie in the glen who doesna ken his father. I could be one of them. Would that matter? Does that make any difference? As far as I can see, I’ll be getting twa for the price of one. That is, if ‒’
‘Mummy, can I go and play now?’ said the small voice behind her skirt.
‘All right, darling, run along and don’t forget to shut the door.’
They were alone again.
‘Well, Willie, I think the question is, what do you say?’
‘Nay, lassie. You’ve told me nothing I didna already ken. I still want ma answer. What is it to be?’
‘I think,’ she said, ‘we had better go and see the minister. I think that I should like to be your wife.’
And then she was in his arms. He kissed her long and hard. She drew back, and looking into his face, just for a moment she saw Andrew.
Chapter Fourteen
It had arrived. Awkward and clumsy, it stood incongruously in the middle of the barrack square, looking for all the world like a bundle of sticks hanging between a pair of coach wheels. Soldiers off duty stood and stared at it and guessed its purpose. A farm implement perhaps? Some new device for the battalion kitchens? Many and far-fetched were the theories as to its purpose. Corporal Campbell had been given the task of guarding it and, very conscious of his position and the fact that he knew, had allowed no one below the rank of sergeant to approach it. It was in fact a Gatling gun. This was the new American invention which was being tested, with a view to adoption, by the British army, and the 148th had been issued one of the test models for trials.
Sir Henry, who had had prior knowledge of its coming, had arrived from Culbrech House early in the morning, and anxiously awaited its uncrating like a child eager to find out what Santa Claus had brought him. When he had finally got to see it, he had enthused at great length, assuring everyone within earshot that it would undoubtedly revolutionalize warfare. Colonel Macmillan, who did not share his faith in modern gadgetry, had remarked that the damned thing would probably never work, or if it did, it would break down.
Anyhow, they had all had a cautious look at it and taken a walk around it; some of the more adventurous had even touched it. Then Corporal Campbell, being within earshot of most of the conversation, had ventured the suggestion that they might possibly fire it. Major Chisholm had resisted this idea out of hand. He maintained that such a machine would make war like a Lancashire cotton mill; no place for a gentleman.
Colonel Macmillan looked at his new charge sadly.
‘I suppose that we ought to take it down to the butts and fire the damned thing,’ he said.
The quartermaster, Captain Angus Cameron, who had been chatting to Andrew, came over to the C.O. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t fire it.’
‘Why the devil not?’
‘They haven’t sent us any ammunition, sir, and they don’t know when they will be getting any.’
‘Sounds like the War House to me,’ said Macmillan. ‘Good. We can lock the blasted thing up and hope that they forget all about it. Sergeant major.’
‘Sir,’ replied Willie.
‘Find this thing an empty hut and lock it up.’
And thus the machine gun was disposed of, at least for the moment, though Sir Henry went back to Culbrech House sad that he had not been able to have a demonstration.
The new arrival provoked a deal of discussion and speculation, all of which proved of little interest to the C.O. who, as soon as the opportunity arose, changed the subject to that of recruiting. They had formed four companies out of the remnants of their force, and the recruiting drive to get more men was in full swing. They were not doing badly, either; with the exception of H.Q. Company, all of the rest were increasing almost daily. The officer shortage had been eased, too, with the arrival of three ensigns, Farquhar, Grant, and Murray, from the Royal Military College at Sandhurst. These youngsters, their enthusiasm as shining as their bright new uniforms, had been shared out between A, B, and C Companies, where they supervised the training of the new recruits with a mixture of keenness and amateurism that resulted in a great deal of scathing comment in the sergeants’ mess. However, as always, these three were rapidly summed up by the senior N.C.O.s. Farquhar and Grant, it seemed, would provide little trouble. They were typical of the young subalterns of the day ‒ young, but not too bright, and willing to learn. A good sergeant would soon make a good officer of those two. Murray was not in quite the same class. He was a reflection of the changing times. He did not come from one of the landed families; in fact, his people were lawyers in Inverness and members of related professions. Donald Murray had joined the army intending to make it his career. Without ever being popular he had done well at Sandhurst and he had arrived at the 148th with a disconcerting knowledge of military law and tactics. Disconcerting, that is, to any N.C.O. who hoped to put one over on him.
In the officers’ mess, the three new ensigns were accepted and Farquhar and Grant were soon at home. Murray, who was not wealthy by regimental standards and was unused to the boisterous behaviour of his younger comrades, kept very much to himself. He did, however, form one friendship and that was outside the mess ‒ with Willie Bruce, who, like Murray, had his eyes set on a field marshal’s baton.
It was a dull September evening. Dinner was over and most of them had left the mess. Chisholm was standing over by the fireplace in the anteroom nursing a glass of brandy and chatting to Murray.
‘By the way,’ said Chisholm, ‘did you know that the R.S.M.’s getting married?’
‘I knew that there was something in the wind,’ replied Murray. ‘He hasn’t told me anything.’
‘Is it true?’ asked Farquhar, who had just joined them.
‘Yes, he told the colonel today and his orderly told my batman, and my batman told me, so it’s got to be true. Andrew,’ he called.
Andrew was sitting smoking over on the other side of the room looking disgustedly at the weather outside. ‘What is it, Ian?’ he replied.
‘You must have known about this, you might have told us.’
‘About what?’ asked Andrew. ‘What’s he talking about?’ He turned to the small, dark, dapper figure of Donald Murray.
‘About the R.S.M. getting married,’ said Murray. ‘He’s a chum of yours, isn’t he?’
‘I promise you that this is the first I’ve heard of it,’ said Andrew. ‘Good luck to him, though, and I suppose we ought to have a whip round for a present.’
‘Surprised that you didn’t know. Anyhow, you do know his lady.’
‘Do I?’ said Andrew.
‘Good Lord, yes, she’s that girl you brought back from India. Westburn, isn’t it? He saw the C.O. this morning and got the go-ahead.’
Andrew was not a little shaken by this piece of news; he resented it, though he knew that he had no right to do so.
‘But I thought she had left the district,’ he remarked, feeling irritated at the casual way Chisholm was nursing his brandy instead of answering.
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Chisholm, swallowing at last. ‘She’s got a cottage up the glen. Not short of money, I gather. Willie Bruce has done all right. Anyway, he’s been seeing a great deal of her. Hasn’t slept in barracks for nearly a month, except when he was orderly officer.’
The laughter which greeted this last remark angered Andrew. As soon as he could, he left the mess and went to his quarters to change, then down to the stables for his charger, and rode off home.
Even there, there was no respite for hi
m. He was greeted by his mother, who also had just heard the news and was bursting to share it with him. Lady Maclaren was delighted. She had never been quite sure about her son’s relationship with Maud Westburn, and she had gone to great lengths to prevent her son finding out where that lady had moved to. But now at last, she felt sure that the woman had been placed beyond Andrew’s reach.
The Worthings were not at Culbrech House. They had left for London to prepare for the wedding. Andrew and his family would follow in a few weeks. General Worthing, being a personage of no little influence, had arranged that his daughter’s marriage should take place in St Margaret’s Chapel, Westminster, and the guard of honour would be provided by his old regiment, the Life Guards. The social implications of this were of course quite startling. Though no one had said it in so many words, it was not regarded as beyond the bounds of possibility that royalty might be present at the service.
Lady Maclaren prattled on, and Andrew wished that she would stop. Marriage was not in his thoughts at that moment. He knew now that he wanted Maud Westburn. He realized that as soon as he knew that she had given herself to another man. He wanted her, and marriage had damn all to do with it. He hated the thought of Willie Bruce lying beside that soft, cool body that he wanted for himself, and he hated himself for his hatred of Willie. He knew only one thing: he would have to see her. He would have to see her and hope that the sight of her would drive away the fantasy from his mind.
He regarded it as strange that he had not been told that she was still in the district, until he realized that the few people who would know would have been warned by his mother to keep quiet about her whereabouts. Still he believed that finding her would present no great difficulties. MacKay, their butler, was sure to know, and though MacKay would not willingly betray his mother, he would tell Andrew where Maud lived.
He wanted to go right away, but he could not. He would have to wait until the day after tomorrow. Then, he knew, Willie Bruce would be orderly officer and not able to leave camp for twenty-four hours. He would not dare take the risk of running into Willie there. Not that Willie could have done anything about it; after all, Andrew was his superior officer, and though Willie had the Queen’s warrant, he would not be able to challenge Andrew as he was not commissioned, and therefore did not qualify as a gentleman.
Andrew wanted to be fair. He tried to argue with himself rationally. Rationally there was no reason why Willie should not have done that which he had done. Willie had approached Maud in the full knowledge that Andrew was already spoken for. Yet Andrew knew that he would never forgive him, and in his heart hated him for what he had done.
They had a quiet dinner the following night, just the family and Richard Simpson. Andrew felt, unreasonably, a growing dislike for Simpson. It seemed that this man, with his thinning hair and receding chin, was going to marry Margaret. It had, of course, been in the air for some time, and Sir Henry had given his consent, subject to a year’s delay, believing that it would be good for the estate. But it was not fair; his sister could marry a nobody and no one questioned the propriety of this. Dinner was a bore to Andrew. Margaret and Richard talked about the estate, and Jean talked about God, and no one else said more than the odd word, except that his father did ask him to join him in the library afterwards to discuss ‘a matter of mutual interest’.
The library was one of the most comfortable rooms in the house. It smelled of the leather of its comfortable chairs and heavy bound volumes. The big desk had its usual litter of papers dealing with medical matters and hygiene, subjects which were occupying more and more of Sir Henry’s time now that he had retired from active duty.
They settled down and Sir Henry poured out a generous dram of whisky for himself and his son. Andrew sat obediently, watching his father and realizing that he was getting old. The back was not quite so straight, the fringe of hair was now completely grey, and there was a looseness in the skin around the neck which he had never noticed before. Also the hand which handed him his dram was not as steady as it had been a couple of years ago.
‘Well, Andrew,’ he said, ‘you know, of course, about Willie Bruce’s marriage.’
‘Yes, father,’ replied Andrew trying not to show any emotion in his voice. ‘Ian Chisholm told us in the mess.’
‘Didn’t Willie tell you himself? I rather thought you would have been the first to know.’
‘No, sir, he didn’t.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Sir Henry, and stroked the side of his nose with the forefinger of his left hand. ‘Anyhow, no matter. I want to talk to you about Willie, though it has nothing to do with his prospective marriage,’
‘I see,’ said Andrew, not seeing at all.
‘What,’ asked his father, ‘would you feel about Willie as a brother officer?’
‘A commission, sir? You can’t be serious.’
‘Of course I’m serious. He’s a damned good soldier.’
‘None better,’ said Andrew. ‘But an officer ‒’
‘You know, Andrew, we have to move with the times. Several regiments down south have commissioned men from the ranks, and from all I hear, it’s been a great success. There is one colonel I know for a fact who started life as a private soldier.’
‘But sir, I don’t see what this has to do with Willie Bruce. It is something we have never done apart from quartermasters, not in our regiment. Why should we start now?’
‘Because times are changing and we have to change with them. Anyhow, it’s a good thing for youngsters joining the army to know that even the highest ranks are not closed to them?’
‘Have you discussed this with the C.O.?’
‘Of course; I would not have mentioned the matter until I had done that.’
‘What did he say?’
‘You know Macmillan. A bit of a stick-in-the-mud. He puffed and blew a bit, but he couldn’t deny Willie’s qualities. Then he said that he’d make a damned good quartermaster.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Andrew.
‘Quartermaster? Bah!’ said his father. ‘Willie Bruce will make a damned fine line officer. He’ll have a company inside of six months, and I’ll warrant it’ll be the best company in the regiment.’
What could he reply? What could he say? Willie Bruce, the true professional soldier. Willie Bruce, now to become his social equal. Willie Bruce, who did everything better than he did. Willie Bruce, who was going to marry his woman and was already violating her. It made him feel physically sick, but all he replied to his father’s statement was: ‘He might not take it. I doubt that he would be able to afford to. Look what a hell of a job Angus Cameron has.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to that. I’ll settle three hundred a year on him the day he is commissioned.’
If only he could think of a genuine, valid reason to object. If only he could think of some lie that he could believe himself.
‘Why should you do that, sir?’ he asked, searching his own mind for the answer.
‘I have my reasons,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Reasons which I do not propose to discuss with you.’
So that was that. Andrew knew better than to press his father further on that point, but there was still the question of Maud. He, Andrew, could not continue in the regiment if he married Maud Westburn. Yet his father was proposing to have Willie Bruce commissioned with the foreknowledge that he was marrying Maud Westburn.
‘You can’t have doubts about Willie Bruce’s ability.’ Sir Henry was somewhat surprised that Andrew had not given his wholehearted approval of the idea.
‘No, sir,’ was all he could reply.
Sir Henry continued, ‘I’m glad you agree with me that Willie Bruce is a good soldier, and I am sure that as an officer he would be a credit to the regiment. I think it is worth three hundred a year to have a man like him in a position of responsibility. I would like you to regard that part of the matter as closed.’
Again the nagging thought came to Andrew. Why was it that Willie was able to marry Maud Westburn?
‘Father,’ he said, ‘all this I can understand. I may not agree with you, but I assure you that I do understand your reasoning. However, there is one thing which I find very odd. Some years ago, I suggested that I might marry Maud and you told me that I could not do that and continue in the army. You know that Willie Bruce is doing just that, yet you suggest that he should be commissioned.’
Sir Henry laughed. ‘The circumstances are quite different. For one thing, he will be already married to her before he is commissioned, and certain things which would be socially unacceptable in yourself, or to a person of your social standing, would be quite acceptable in the case of a person of Willie Bruce’s background.’
‘You mean that he is not a gentleman?’
‘I mean no such thing. Willie Bruce is in truth as fine a gentleman as you will ever meet. Well, Andrew, your opinion is important to me. What do you say?’
What could he say? He could not refute the logic of his father’s arguments, or the right of his father to make Willie an allowance. He knew that but for the circumstances, it was something that he would have welcomed enthusiastically. He found himself at odds with his own nature. A few weeks ago, less than that, he would have had no doubts. Reason told him that Willie marrying Maud was not a personal affront, that to be jealous of it was wrong and illogical. But it was true. He was well aware that he should turn to his father now and tell him that it was a great idea and offer all his support, but he could not do that. He could not drive the dark thoughts of Maud from his mind. Instead, he turned to his father and said, ‘You must do as you think fit. I can say no more than that.’
Sir Henry looked at his son. He was disappointed. He had been so sure of his support. This was not the reaction he had anticipated and hoped for. But his mind was made up.
‘Yes, Andrew,’ he replied. ‘I must do what I consider right, what I consider best for the regiment. I am sorry that you have chosen to adopt this attitude, and for the life of me I cannot understand your reasoning.’
Andrew was silent for a moment, and then his father stood up, indicating that the discussion was over.