Red, Red Rose

by Marjorie Farrell

  “You did well, little brother,” he said as he stroked Charlie’s hand. It was still warm and Val could imagine that Charlie was only unconscious. “Despite that fool Erskine, we won, Charlie, and the French are on their way out of Portugal.”

  He looked down. There on his brother’s third finger was a white stripe in the shape of the Faringdon ring. “Charlie, I kept the ring safe in my kit,” Val reassured him. “I was afraid if anything happened to me…well, you must have it back, Charlie.”

  Oh, God, his brother wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear him, would never smile at him again. Val felt a great emptiness. Charlie had loved him, God alone knew why, but Charlie had loved him. And he had loved Charlie. Had he ever told him? Never in so many words. And now it was too late. “I love you, Charlie,” he whispered. Surely his brother could hear. Surely his hand would stir and he would give Val a sign. But the sun shone down on them both and the flies and mosquitoes buzzed and settled on Charlie’s bloody uniform, and the day became warmer as his brother’s hand grew colder and colder.

  * * * *

  Val didn’t know how long he sat there before the surgeon reached them.

  “He’s gone, is he?” The doctor patted Val’s shoulder. “Is there anything you want, Lieutenant?” he asked awkwardly. “A keepsake? The burial detail will be around soon.”

  Val shook his head and then watched as a small breeze lifted a lock of Charlie’s hair. “Do you have a knife with you, Doctor?”

  “A scalpel, Lieutenant.” The surgeon handed it to him, a puzzled look on his face, which became a look of compassion as he watched Val cut off a few thick curls and tuck them into his tunic pocket.

  “Where is the burial crew, Doctor?”

  “Back up the hill, Lieutenant. They are digging a pit…er, a grave…and soon will start hauling the bodies.”

  “I will wait, then. I don’t want him to be alone. Nor do I want the battlefield buzzards going through his pockets or cutting off his buttons,” Val added bitterly. “I will wait with him.”

  * * * *

  It took an hour, but they finally came to carry Charlie to his final resting place in the soil of a foreign country. Val watched as they shrouded the body and placed it next to one of his fellow light horseman. Charlie was one of the last and as the dirt was piled up on top of them, the chaplain recited the burial service.

  “You should lie at Faringdon, Charlie,” Val whispered as he dropped a handful of dirt on top of the mass grave.

  When he returned to camp, it was dark and he went straight to his tent. He had wrapped Charlie’s ring in a piece of linen and pushed it in the back of his kit. He lit a candle and pulled the kit out of his knapsack.

  He sat there, looking at the battered gold ring. The Faringdon crest, passed down from generation to generation. He had promised to return it. He drew an old brass chain out of his kit and, threading it through the ring, hung it around his neck. It lay there, heavy over his heart.

  “It should have been me, Charlie,” he whispered as he fingered the ring. “You were the son he loved.”

  The ring was gold, but might have been lead for all its lack of luster. He carefully pulled out the curls from his pocket. “For a’ that and a’ that, the man’s the gowd for a’ that,” he half sang, half spoke. “You were golden, Charlie. Not because of your title, but because of your loving heart.” There was a small book in his knapsack that he had carried for years, and he drew it out and opened it to where a faded, brittle rose was still pressed between its pages. There he placed the locks of hair and carefully closed the book. He held it on his lap for a long while before repacking it carefully, for in it lay the only reminders he possessed of the two people who had truly loved him.

  Chapter 26

  For the next two weeks, Val was so busy reporting on the French retreat and Massena’s arrival in Salamanca that he had little time to think of Charlie, much less mourn him. He slept little and ate only enough to keep him going.

  “You look like hell, Lieutenant Aston,” Captain Grant told him bluntly after his last foray into Spain.

  Val rubbed his hand over the bristles on his face. “I apologize, sir. I didn’t take time to shave—

  “Do you think me offended by your whiskers? I am worried about you, Aston. I’ve had to send you out, but you have only just lost your brother.”

  “I assure you, I am well, sir,” Val said stiffly.

  “Yes, of course,” said Grant, not willing to push where a man didn’t wish him to go. He fingered the papers on his desk. “We have finally discovered the informant at Whitehall, Lieutenant.”

  Val’s eyes showed the first interest in anything since Charlie’s death.

  “Congratulations, Captain.”

  “He is the younger son in a well-known family, Aston. Possessed by a great enthusiasm for radical ideas. Didn’t really see it as treason, mind you,” Grant continued with heavy sarcasm. “He thought it would help to bring about a stalemate, Napoleon would send in more troops, Wellington would retreat, and the war would be over. I think he really believed he was contributing to a sort of bloodless revolution.”

  “A revolution in which one man tyrannized all of Europe!”

  Grant lifted his eyebrows and gave Val an ironic smile. “The thing is, Lieutenant, in return for a pardon—”

  “Pardon! But he’s a traitor, Captain.”

  “He is also the scion of a noble family. In return for not being put on trial he has revealed the name of his accomplice.”

  “Lucas Stanton,” said Val with great satisfaction.

  Colquhoun Grant looked up at Val and shook his head. “It would be so much simpler if it were so, Lieutenant. No, the man to whom he passed the information is the Marquess of Wimborne.”

  “James? No, I’ll not believe it!”

  “The marquess was one of our original suspects, Aston,” Grant said quietly. “And he was an old schoolmate of Stanton’s.”

  “So you are saying that Stanton was blackmailing James?”

  “It would seem so. It all fits: Treason is a capital offense. Lucas discovers him and then blackmails him.”

  “But why would James turn traitor in the first place?”

  “Because he needs the money. His father pretty well bankrupted the estate, as you know. And the marquess’s sympathies have always been with the Whigs. He was known to hold rather radical opinions at university.”

  Val shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. But whomever Stanton has been blackmailing, then he is as much a traitor.”

  “We have nothing but Mrs. Tallman’s memory of that letter, which is hardly the evidence we need. Someone must confront Wimborne.” Grant hesitated. “I was hoping that someone would be you, Lieutenant.”

  Val looked at him blankly. “Me? Why, you need every exploring officer you can get, Captain, now that we are going into Spain.”

  “Especially one of my most capable ones, Lieutenant. But we must avoid a public scandal at all costs,” he added with regret. “And the marquess cannot return to his position here.”

  “He was my only friend at school,” Val said almost to himself. “How can I accuse him of this?”

  “You will have a chance to question his young confederate first, in order to satisfy yourself of the truth of his statement. If you are satisfied, then your duty will be to question Lord Wimborne.”

  “And if he admits to it? What will happen to him?”

  “The authorities may also want to avoid a trial in his case. Perhaps exile to the colonies.”

  “Exile? What of his sister?”

  “The decision will be made by those above you, Lieutenant. Your job is only to determine the truth of these accusations. You will leave as soon as possible, but not before you eat and sleep, Aston, and that is an order.”

  * * * *

  Val was so upset when he left, he almost ran into Major Gordon.

  “Ye look a fair sight, laddie.”

  “So Captain Grant tells me, sir. I confess I haven�
��t looked in a glass for a week.”

  “If you have time tomorrow evening, we would love to have you dine with us.”

  “I would be happy to, sir, but…” Val hesitated. He didn’t think he could stand an evening with Lucas Stanton.

  “But what, laddie?”

  “I don’t wish to be rude, but I would rather not come if Lord Stanton is invited.”

  “Lord Stanton is not one of my wife’s favorites. Or mine,” he added, “though I shouldn’t confess it. Do come, laddie,” he added gently. “Ye’ve had a terrible loss and we wish to express our sympathy in some way.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will.”

  * * * *

  When he got back to his tent and looked in the glass, Val laughed. He looked like one of the bandits who had abducted Elspeth. If she could see him, she wouldn’t come close enough to smell him, much less kiss him.

  It was the first time he had let himself think of her in days. After the army had left Pero Negro, he had exercised great discipline, banishing her face from his mind whenever it came to him. He hadn’t been able to keep her out of his dreams, however, and he awakened many a morning hard with wanting her. But since Charlie’s death, he had not dreamed at all or had time to dwell on anything but getting information back to Wellington.

  He stripped off his filthy uniform and shivered as he washed himself with water that was unheated. He had lost weight, he supposed, for he could feel his ribs under the washcloth. As he toweled himself dry, memories of Elspeth’s kisses came flooding back and he was amazed, given his state of exhaustion, that he could feel aroused.

  He would not think of her, he told himself. They were pointless fantasies and he tried to turn his mind to something else, anything else. But all that came to him was Charlie…and James. He sank down on his cot and stared blankly at the wall of his tent, which was moving in and out in the light wind that was blowing. He had survived on so little over the years: The memory of his mother’s love, the knowledge of Charlie’s affection, and the thought of James’s friendship had sustained him. He was proud of his ability to live with so little. But now the little had become nothing and he wasn’t sure he could survive that. His brother was dead, his friend not the man he had thought him to be, and his love someone he could never marry. As he sank back upon his cot, he wondered how he would make it through the years that stretched ahead of him, empty of love and affection.

  * * * *

  He slept through the night and half the next day and looked considerably revived when he presented himself at the Gordons’.

  “Good evening, Lieutenant,” said Mrs. Gordon with a warm smile. “I was so glad that Ian invited you. I have had few opportunities to dine with him, much less anyone else this last week.”

  The food and the table were much plainer than in Pero Negro, but the warm welcome and the informal family atmosphere was the same and Val found himself relaxing for the first time in days.

  “So Massena is in Salamanca?”

  “For now, sir. But there is the possibility that he might make a last-minute attempt to save Almeida. It is the last piece of Portugal in French hands and Captain Grant intercepted a dispatch which indicates that Napoleon would very much like to see Massena push back.”

  Major Gordon frowned. “I don’t like it, laddie. I wouldn’t want to face the French without Wellington.”

  “Without Wellington?”

  “Didn’t you hear? He left with only a few officers and rode south to see how Beresford is doing outside of Badajoz.”

  Val grinned. “I haven’t heard anything today, not even reveille, I was that tired, sir.”

  “We were very sorry to hear of your brother, Lieutenant Aston,” said Mrs. Gordon, after a few moments of listening to the men discuss strategies to outwit the French. It was the first time Charlie had been brought into the conversation.

  “Thank you for your kind sympathy, Mrs. Gordon,” said Val. The expression on his face kept his hostess from saying anything more, but Ian Gordon did not share his wife’s reserve. “It will be a dreadful blow to your father,” he said. “I hope he receives the news privately and not from the casualty lists.” The major looked over at Val. “ ‘Tis a shame he is not able to make you his heir.”

  Val’s hand automatically went to his chest, as though to finger the ring that was hanging around his neck, reminding him of the promise he had made to Charlie. “I doubt that he would wish to even if he could, Major,” he responded coolly.

  “It’s a damn shame a man has to settle for a second cousin or whoever the heir is, when you are his own son, laddie.”

  “Ian!” his wife protested.

  “I am just telling the boy what I think, Peggy.”

  “He is hardly a boy, Ian.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Val dryly.

  “It is none of our business, Ian.”

  “It is all right, Mrs. Gordon. You both have been very kind to me and you knew I loved Charlie. It is only natural Major Gordon would speak as a friend.”

  “I hope you know I am your friend, laddie,” said the major.

  “I am honored, sir.”

  * * * *

  They were all quietly eating dessert when the major declared, “But I wish, Peggy, that Old Hooky hadn’t gone haring off. It means I will have to stay here and send someone else to escort Elspeth.”

  “Perhaps we could send Private Ryan back?”

  Major Gordon frowned. “Perhaps.”

  Val cleared his throat. “You may not have heard, Major, but I am being sent back to England on a mission for Captain Grant. I would offer myself as Miss Gordon’s escort, if you thought it not improper.”

  Both the Gordons’ faces lit up. “Mrs. Ryan will be there to go with her to Lisbon, Lieutenant,” said the major.

  “But will it slow you down, Lieutenant?” asked Mrs. Gordon.

  “Pero Negro is not that much out of my way, ma’am,” Val reassured her. “But I am leaving early tomorrow, so you will have no time to get word to your daughter about the change in plans.”

  “Elspeth is a soldier’s daughter and a good campaigner. She knows things change weekly in the army,” said Major Gordon with a proud smile. “But you must give the lieutenant a note, Peggy, explaining the situation.”

  “I will, Ian, right away.” Mrs. Gordon went over to her husband’s table and penned a quick note.

  “There you are, Lieutenant,” she said, handing Val the folded paper. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  “It is the least I can do in return for your generous hospitality over these last months, Mrs. Gordon.”

  * * * *

  “Well, I think that turned out well, Peggy,” the major said, turning to his wife after Val left.

  “What a lucky coincidence Lieutenant Aston was returning home.”

  “Indeed. They will have a good three weeks together, Peggy,” he said, pulling his wife to him. “I hope Elspeth puts it to good use.”

  “Ian!”

  “She is half in love with him already, I am convinced, whether she knows it or not.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Don’t you? You have seen the way she looks at him.”

  Mrs. Gordon nodded.

  “And whether Valentine believes it or not, I know enough about Charles Faringdon to know that he will publically recognize Lieutenant Aston as his son. Perhaps that will remove some of the lieutenant’s stubborn insistence that he is unworthy of ma wee lassie,” he concluded with great satisfaction.

  “Do you think he has affection for her, Ian?”

  “I cannot be sure, Peggy, but I am willing to wager that there is something between them, and that is at least a beginning.”

  “What if he remains alienated from the earl, Ian? Would you feel the same about a match between them?” his wife asked.

  “Of course I would. ‘A man’s a man.’ You know I believe that, Peggy.”

  “Yes,” she said with a warm smile, “and that is why I love you, Ian Gordon, even tho
ugh you do go rushing in where even an angel wouldn’t.”

  “I am no angel, Peggy,” he answered, leaning down and muzzling her neck.

  “Oh, I know that and am very glad for it!”

  * * * *

  Val had volunteered his services without thinking. Or rather, only thinking about it as a way to show his gratitude to the Gordons for their kindness to him. How could he not have volunteered? he asked himself as he prepared to ride out the next morning. He was going to England; it would have looked odd not to have offered.

  He stopped at Will Tallman’s tent on his way out of camp and found Mags just setting the coffeepot on the fire.

  “Will you have a cup with us, Lieutenant?” she asked.

  “I can’t stop that long, Mrs. Tallman. I just wanted to say good-bye and wish Will luck in the coming weeks.”

  Will pushed open the tent flap and stumbled out. “Good morning to you, sir.”

  “Good morning, Will. I can’t stop, but I wanted to tell you both good-bye.”

  “You will be missed, Lieutenant,” said Will, extending his hand. Val took it and held it for a minute. “You make sure you don’t do anything foolish, Will. You are a married man now.”

  “Mags won’t let me forget it, sir!”

  “When will you be back, Lieutenant?”

  “I have to resolve this situation you were caught up in, Mags. I don’t suppose you’ve remembered anything further? Perhaps Stanton’s letter gave a name to the man he was blackmailing?” Val asked hopefully.

  “I can’t swear to it, of course,” said Mags, “but I’m sure as sure that what I do remember is right.”

  Val sighed.

  “Which way do you ride, Lieutenant?” Will asked him.