She smiled at Stirling who was still a little shaken by the whole situation. It just pleased him to see that Clementine was having so much fun.
“You look like you are enjoying yourself immensely?”
“Oh, I am, Stirling. We always do have so much fun when we are together, wouldn’t you agree, Stirling?”
Before Stirling could answer, his eardrums reverberated again with another crescendo of “BLACK BOTTLE!” as Clementine yelled her lungs out, inducing the crowd to even greater zeal.
Chapter 19
The following morning, Stirling sat in the antechamber in front of Lord Raglan’s office. He had received a written summons before he had had the chance to read the morning’s newspaper and have a cup of tea – he was to attend his lordship’s pleasure at once. He had completed his ablutions at breakneck speed, dressed in his regimental uniform and had made his way to the part of town off Saint James’s Park where many government offices were located.
The first thing he had noticed when he had arrived was the large statue of the Duke of Wellington outside of the building. It was a temporary spot. So much was clear to Stirling. He had taken a moment to look at it. He remembered it from the impressive archway designed by Decimus Burton close to Buckingham Palace where it had looked quite out of place.
It was the largest equestrian figure ever made and was far too imposing for the arc that lost all of its splendour, becoming puny with such a weight on its top. Finally, someone with a mind for aesthetics had decided to move it, but for the life of him, Stirling could not think where to. He just hoped that they would find something more suitable to place on the victory arch to immortalize one of Britain’s most famous men.
With his lips pressed together, he had entered the building with the imposing façade that somehow resembled a Greek temple. It was relatively quiet inside. A few officers had walked around carrying papers. Stirling had managed to stop one of them and had asked him for directions to Lord Raglan’s office. After, he had ascended a flight of steps to the third floor to the spot where he currently found himself.
To some extent the foyer was far less ostentatious for the supreme commander of the British forces than what he had seen when he had visited Cardigan with Royce at his office. There was one desk where a single clerk was seated. The man did not look up once since having told Stirling that he would have to wait. He was far too immersed in his paperwork to take any notice of the officer staying in his midst.
It was almost completely silent. Occasionally, he would hear the scratch of the clerk’s nib moving over the paper. The ambiance gave him the chance to think. He assumed to know why he had been summoned to see the general.
He was certain that it had to do with the arrest and the black bottle affair. He smirked wanly. Clementine had been right. The press was having a field day. The fact that the Earl of Cardigan had ordered the arrest of a Major in the British army for such a triviality was scandalous even for his eccentric frolics.
Yet, the notion that he might be acquitted of an arrest that never even really took place was not the foremost thing on his mind. Stirling felt no excitement because of it. His head was full of images of her.
Stirling replayed every single second he had spent with her since the day they met. He reminisced about the way she had smiled at him during the ball. The way her cheeks had indented slightly, reddening, and her grey eyes had lit up like stars in the sky at night. The way she had felt in his arms when they had danced.
Then, the most startling revelation – he had been able to tell her everything without feeling the slightest bit strange or out of place. Clementine had listened to his every word and had accepted him for who he was and with the faults he carried. It had been the most magical thing in his life. Stirling knew then, that she made him want to be a better man.
He grinned to himself when he recreated the image of her standing in her father’s drawing room, telling him about mating animals on a carpet. Clementine was unique. Never before had he met a woman who did what she wanted so brazenly and successful in a world where such things were frowned upon. It intrigued him. She had displayed her strong will the night before when she had orchestrated the attack on Cardigan. Not once had she faltered.
Instead, Clementine had kept going until the indefatigable Cardigan had accepted defeat and departed for home. Sadly enough, the play did not continue after that, cutting their evening short. The audience was too worked up and had preferred to frequent the many public houses in the vicinity in celebration of their good deed.
Stirling had sentiments course through him that he did not recognize as his own. The pit of his stomach was hollow, effusing a slight dull burn in its shadowy recesses. It felt like he was hungry, even though he was not. Only the mere imagination of food made him feel nauseous.
All he could think about was her. And when he did, he felt good, but also lost. It was as if he was stuck between two dimensions - one where he knew who he was, and the other where he was no one at all. It was all so confusing that his thought processes only brought him back to thinking of Clementine again and who she was and whether it was he that she craved. He did not know what was wrong with him.
Of course, Stirling had some knowledge of male and female entanglement, but most of it was reserved for the physical side of things. It was just a little something he had picked up on during his time in India. When it came to the real stuff, he had no way of knowing just how complicated things would become when something deeper grew from within.
The incessant stroking fingers, caressing and cajoling circling fits on the underside of his abdomen was certainly something he had never bargained for. Being the pragmatic man that he was, Stirling put it down to having found the right partner. It was time to do something about it, he decided. He would be off to war in a few weeks’ time and there was no way of knowing when he would ever see Clementine again.
“Young, sir. Young, sir,” said General Airey, approaching.
Dazed from his ruminations, Stirling looked up. Standing before him was a gentleman dressed in a blue double-breasted coat with golden buttons and tight blue trousers that had thick yellow stripes down the sides. “Sir, Major Stirling Whit Whittaker at your service,” he said, getting to his feet with alacrity and standing to attention.
“At ease, young man. I am General Richard Airey, 1st Baron Airey. I am Lord Raglan’s Quartermaster-general.” He smiled at Stirling affably.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord.”
“And it is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a famous man. You nearly outshine your master in the newspapers. You are second only to Lord Cardigan, young man.”
“Not by any wish of mine, sir. It was not something I ever wanted, but I was put there by malicious twists of fate. My honour tarnished and the possibility that my military career will never recover.”
“It is not as morbid as all that, you know. I am sure we can work something out.” Airey’s voice was soft and melodious, making it very pleasant to listen to.
Surprised, Stirling’s gaze slipped through the large sash window and rested on the Duke of Wellington’s bronze frame once more. He had somehow expected reprieve, but hearing it was something else. Could he really be so lucky? At that moment, such fortune only meant one thing to him. He could go to Clementine as a true hussar without the Sword of Damocles hanging over his neck all of the time. And just like “open sesame” broke the spell sealing a cave of treasure, in a heartbeat, new prospects with a brighter future opened up to him.”
“I see you have noticed that. It is quite impossible to miss,” said Airey chucking.
“The queen waited this long to have it removed because she did not want to insult the great duke by detaching him from his perch on Wellington Arch while he still lived. Now that he is gone, something a little less bombastic will grace Hyde Park Corner. Quite a good idea if you ask me.”
He beckoned with his hand to the door.
“Please. Lord Raglan is most eager to talk t
o you.”
Stirling nodded and entered the office with Airey following in his wake.
“Ah, the man of the hour. Your fame precedes you, Major,” said Raglan, getting to his feet and indicating with his remaining arm that Stirling sit down.
After saluting and greeting his superior officer with the deference befitting one with such a rank, he sat on the chair opposite him. Stirling waited while Raglan arranged a few papers on his desk. In the meantime, Airey sat down on a leather-upholstered chair slightly to the right of Raglan’s desk.
“Blast, I cannot see a thing. That infernal statue is taking away all of my light. I don’t know why they don’t pop it onto one of the new railway stations gracing the capital. It would look so much better there,” Raglan huffed.
“Here, My Lord. I assume that you are looking for The Times newspaper,” said Airey, getting to his feet and handing his superior the periodical.
“Yes, thank you, Airey. Whatever would I do without you?” Raglan flipped a few pages. “Ah, yes, here we are. Officer arrested for un-gentlemanly conduct in the mess. It concerns a black bottle. Shame on you, Lord Cardigan. Those were today’s headlines, Major. Do you have anything to say about it?”
“Well, My Lord…I don’t really know. All I can tell you was that my commanding officer had me arrested for not decanting my moselle,” said Stirling a little taken aback. “And it wasn’t even my moselle. I ordered it for another gentleman.”
“Yes, and quite rightly so. Gentlemen don’t comport themselves in such a fashion. Wine is to be decanted at a gentleman’s table,” barked Cardigan, swanning into the office as if he owned the place.
“Ah, I see that you have arrived also. Do sit down, Cardigan,” said Raglan dismissively, indicating with a sweeping hand to the spot in front of his desk.
Cardigan cleared his throat as he approached the chair next to Stirling. He hesitated for a heartbeat as if he considered it beneath him to sit in such close proximity to the man with the lower rank. Finally, he sat down with a grunt, straightening immediately as he glowered back at Lord Raglan and Airey. He and Stirling resembled a pair of chastened and naughty schoolboys waiting for their headmaster’s punishment.
Raglan cleared his throat. “They are calling you things, words, Cardigan, I do not wish to repeat here. Your antics have put us, the army, in the newspapers and I cannot have it.” His gaze swivelled to Stirling. “And you, young man, have done your upmost to fuel this ridiculous little caper by involving the press. It must stop.” He nodded at Airey.
“You two fools have behaved unseemly and ridiculously by conducting your dispute so publically. It will not do. There is a war on, if you haven’t forgotten. Now, all there remains, is for you to do is apologize to one another and we can forget this whole thing ever happened,” said Airey.
Cardigan bristled. “I will not apologize to this Indian rogue. I refuse, I do.”
Before Stirling could add his refusal, Raglan cut in. “If you don’t, Cardigan, you forfeit your command of the 11th Hussars. I will make sure of it. Quite possibly, you can command a regiment in India as you find the prospect so distasteful. You will never serve in England again.”
“You can’t do that. It’s impossible. I am in command, I am.” Cardigan’s eyes had taken on the size of saucers.
“Oh, it is possible and I will do it. If you let me down, I will make sure that you are in command of nothing,” continued Raglan.
Hearing the threat, Stirling knew what the earl’s dismissal would mean for the men of the regiment. He paid for most of their victuals and clothing. It was because of him that they were the envy of the British army. Were he to leave that would all come to an abrupt end.
Judging by the glint in the earl’s eyes, he saw that he would never relent. Cardigan was as stubborn as a mule. It went against his grain to back down from any fight no matter how trivial in substance and detrimental to one’s career. There had to be another way. “I will resign my commission, My Lord. It is the only way to save the regiment and keep his lordship in command. He is the life and body of the 11th.”
“Now, my dear Major Whit Whittaker, let us see what we can do about it. Find something that does not involve a very talented officer resigning from his duties, eh?” said Raglan softly.
“I think it’s a damn good idea,” interjected Cardigan.
“Be quiet, Cardigan,” snapped Airey. He turned to look at the young officer. “What would you do?”
“I might join a foreign army as a mercenary. I hear the Belgians are looking to recruit able men.” The finality of his words hit Stirling in the gut. There was nothing he wanted less. It would mean that his hopes with Clementine would dissolve into nothingness.
Raglan sighed. He pondered a moment. As he pressed his lips together, he looked to Airey who read his mind perfectly. They had discussed the whole affair in great detail the day before and had anticipated Cardigan’s pig-headedness and Stirling’s flippant treatment of his commission.
Airey primed his voice with a loud hack of his throat, as he got to his feet and started to pace the room. “You are becoming a laughing stock, Lord Cardigan. You are appearing far too often in the newspapers and as Lord Raglan already said, the army cannot have it. It has to stop. This affair between you and the Major stops now.” Airey looked at Cardigan fiercely.
“I was only doing my duty,” said Cardigan, much of his inflated ego gone because of the threat of losing his beloved 11th.
Airey forestalled any more words with his hand. “As for you, Major, I refuse you tendering in your resignation. This is not some gentlemen’s club where you can up sticks and leave whenever it pleases you. You are an officer in her majesty’s forces and there is a war on. We need every able-bodied man there is. Especially if he has as much experience as you do.”
“But, My Lord…”
“If you persist in this matter, sir, you will forfeit the sympathy of every officer of rank in the service. Your future here and abroad will be at an end. You may be able to command a canoe in the Amazonian jungle, but even that is farfetched. Do I make myself abundantly clear, sir?”
Airey’s glower was unflinching. Stirling felt elated as he nodded lightly. Cardigan could do nothing now. He had to accept what his commanding officers said. It appeared that the both of them would not have to apologize to one another thus allowing them both to save face. The entire matter would just be swept under the carpet and hopefully forgotten about.
Of course, it did not mean that his life in the regiment would be easy. Cardigan was notorious for keeping a grudge, but it did not matter. He could stay in England a few weeks longer and continue his courtship of Clementine as an officer and a gentleman. Lord Airey’s voice cut his internal victory dance short.
“Concerning the conduct of Lord Cardigan, I expect that in the future, his lordship will exercise the proper forbearance and discretion befitting an officer and a gentleman.”
Stirling saw the shade of his commander’s face take on the deeper colour of purple. For a moment, he thought that he would suffocate as he succumbed to a bout of deep rumbles from his throat.
“Yes, that pompous windbag of a brother-in-law of mine never had the knack of maintaining self-control and prudence. He is all hot air and nothing more,” said another man, storming into the room with the arrogance of someone who thought he was god’s gift to humanity.
“Ah, Lucan, right on time,” said Raglan, ignoring the man’s impudence.
“I am assuming, you called me to take command of the army.” All the while George Bingham, 3rd Earl of Lucan spoke, he never deigned to look at Lord Cardigan to whose sister he was married.
“No, not at all. I shall personally take command of the expeditionary force leaving for the Crimea and you shall have…the cavalry,” said Raglan.
“What, I will not serve under that self-important, useless fool. He is unfit for command that man; he is a blackguard and he is no gentleman,” shouted Cardigan at the top of voice as got to his feet. The two
men despised one another because Cardigan accused Lucan of mistreating his sister. They resembled a pair of cocks circling each other in the henhouse.
“And I shall not have that man under me. Corporal Cardigan and his red-shanked ridgebacks under my command, never,” retorted Lucan, his face becoming as red as his brother-in-law’s.
It was the first time, Stirling had ever seen someone match his commanding officer in arrogance and boast the ability to match or maybe even outshine in the reaching of higher decibel levels.
“Lord Lucan, I am sure that you will see that there is much to be gained by an amicable settlement, and settle any difference between you and Lord Cardigan for the good of your country,” said Raglan, getting to his feet.
Lucan pondered for a moment. “Then make it known to that empty-headed muff of a brother-in-law of mine that I command the cavalry and that I command him,” snapped Lucan.
A Charming Cavalryman for Clementine_A Historical Romance Novel Based on True Events Page 15